Gender & Italian Archaeology: Challenging the Stereotypes: 0 [1 ed.] 1873415184, 9781873415184

Table of contents :
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Abstracts of papers
The Italian Scene
Italian Gender Theory and Archaeology
Gender and Sex
Reflections on San Teodoro 1-7 and recent sex changes in the Upper Palaeolithic
Representations of gender in prehistoric southern Italy
Space, gender, and architecture in the southern Italian Neolithic
Anthropomorphic figurines and the construction of gender in Neolithic and Copper Age Italy
Public and domestic
Gender issues in north Italian prehistory
The construction of gender in Early Iron Age Etruria
Women’s roles in Iron Age Basilicata, south Italy
The asp’s poison
Holding a mirror to Etruscan gender
Addresses of contributors

Citation preview

Gender and Italian Archaeology challenging the stereotypes

Gender and Italian Archaeology challenging the stereotypes edited by Ruth D. Whitehouse 1988 VOLUME 7 ACCORDIA SPECIALIST STUDIES ON ITALY (Series Editors: Edward Herring, Ruth D. Whitehouse, John B. Wilkins)

First published 1998 by Accordia Research Institute University of London & Institute of Archaeology University College London Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © Accordia Research Institute, University of London & Institute of Archaeology, University College London 1998 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Date A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library Computer typeset by the Accordia Research Institute ISBN: 978-1-873415-18-4 (pbk)

Contents Acknowledgements Introduction Ruth Whitehouse Abstracts of papers The Italian scene: approaches to the study of gender M. Carmen Vida Italian gender theory and archaeology: a political engagement Mary Baker Gender and sex: distinguishing the difference with ancient DNA Keri A. Brown Reflections San Teodoro 1-7 and recent sex changes in the Upper Palaeolithic Robert Leighton Representations of gender in prehistoric southern Italy Mark Pluciennik Space, gender and architecture in the southern Italian Neolithic Jon Morter and John Robb Anthropomorphic figurines and the construction of gender in Neolithic Italy Katie Holmes and Ruth Whitehouse Public and domestic: the social background to the development of gender in prehistoric Sardinia Chris Hayden Gender issues in north Italian prehistory Lawrence Barfield The construction of gender in Early Iron Age Etruria Judith Toms Women’s roles in Iron Age Basilicata, south Italy: Indigenous women in indigenous and Greek contexts Marina Markantonatos The asp’s poison: women and literacy in Iron Age Italy Tamar Hodos

Holding a mirror to Etruscan gender Vedia Izzet Addresses of contributors

Acknowledgements This book has its origins in a seminar held at the Institute of Archaeology, UCL in May 1995, organised jointly by the Accordia Research Institute and the Institute of Archaeology. I am grateful to the speakers at the seminar for their papers (most of which are published here) and their contributions to a most stimulating and enjoyable discussion. I am grateful also to those scholars who were not present at the seminar but who responded positively to my appeal for additional papers for the volume. Thanks are due to them all for adhering so efficiently to Accordia publishing requirements and for putting up patiently with the long delay in publication. I am grateful to Professor David Harris and Professor Peter Ucko, successive Directors of the Institute of Archaeology, UCL, for their support of this project, both the original seminar and the joint publication of the book. I am particularly grateful to my colleagues in Accordia, Edward Herring and John Wilkins, for their unstinting help with organisation, computer typesetting and proof-reading. I offer special thanks to John for his beautiful cover design. Finally, I must finish this section on a sad note, with a reference to the tragic loss of Jon Morter, who was killed in a car accident in May 1997. I knew Jon for several years: we shared research interests in the Neolithic of southern Italy and conducted a long-term if infrequent correspondence on the subject. I met him for the last time at the IUPPS conference in Forli in September 1996; he was in splendid form, happy about his new job at the College of Charleston and full of enthusiasm about various research projects he was planning. His death is a loss to Italian prehistory, as well as a personal tragedy for his family and friends. It is a melancholy privilege to be publishing one of his last (joint) papers in this volume. Ruth D. Whitehouse August 1998

Introduction Ruth Whitehouse The impetus for the publication of this book comes from a seminar of the same title, held at the Institute of Archaeology, UCL in May 1995 and organised jointly by the Accordia Research Institute and the Institute of Archaeology. It was prompted by the contrast between the growth of gender studies in world archaeology and the absence of any work of this type in Italy. Its avowed aim was to ‘kick-start’ the study of gender in Italian archaeology and contributors were invited to focus on any period or aspect of gender, with no direction given as to methodology or theoretical approach. The seminar produced a lively discussion and interchange of ideas and it was felt that it would, be useful for the papers to be published. The present volume includes revised versions of most of the papers given at the seminar and some additional papers by authors whom I knew to be working on aspects of gender archaeology in Italy but who had not been at the seminar. A few points need to be made about the make-up of this volume, in particular about its central concepts and some areas of concentration and omission which may seem in need of explanation. The aim of the publication is the same as that of the seminar: to make a start on gender archaeology in Italy. I have chosen to include papers written from many different perspectives, ranging from traditional biological determinism to radical feminism. In many ways this goes against my own preference, which would always be for feminist approaches of one kind or another. However, my hope is that archaeologists working in Italy will start to ‘think gender’ and this is more likely if a range of approaches is on offer. Indeed, the academic structures of power and dominant interpretative frameworks being what they are, more may be achieved by traditional archaeologists turning their attention to gender than by more radical workers offering revolutionary new approaches and interpretations. However, once the gender door is nudged open, the way is cleared for the development of more radical approaches in the future. Although the title of the volume employs the inclusive term ‘Italian Archaeology’, the majority of the papers deal with prehistory or protohistory and none are concerned with anything later than early Classical Archaeology. This was not my choice: I included classical and medieval archaeologists in my mailings, for both the seminar and the publication, but received offers of papers mainly from prehistorians. There are probably two main reasons. The first is personal: I am myself a prehistorian and an invitation from me to talk about gender might have been taken by archaeologists of all types to refer mainly to prehistory. Secondly, in later periods work on gender has tended to focus on textual sources and on art, with few

explicitly archaeological studies. For the classical period, for instance, five papers in a recent volume published by the Accordia Research Institute (Gender and Ethnicity in Ancient Italy, edited by Tim Cornell and Kathryn Lomas) address aspects of gender in Archaic and Classical Italy, drawing on a mixture of literary, art historical and archaeological data, but none are purely archaeological in focus. In view of the period concentration of the present volume, I considered changing the title to use a less inclusive term, but decided to leave it as it was, on the grounds that the approaches and methodologies offered are relevant to archaeology of all periods. The last point to require specific explanation is the absence of Italian authors from this volume. This is a cause of discomfort to me: I believe in international academic collaboration, I work closely with Italian colleagues on joint Anglo-Italian archaeological projects, and in previously jointly edited Accordia volumes on aspects of Italian archaeology we have always included a mixture of papers by Italian authors and those of other nationalities (e.g. Herring, Whitehouse & Wilkins 1991; 1992; Skeates & Whitehouse 1994). However, on this occasion, I did not know of any Italian scholar who was working on any aspect of gender archaeology. The reasons for this are discussed below and in Carmen Vida’s paper. I hope that this situation will prove short-lived and that this will be the last volume on the topic to depend solely on AngloAmerican contributions. I have divided the papers in this volume into a group on method and theory and a larger group representing case-studies, organised in chronological order of their subject matter. However, the case-study papers also include discussions of methodology and theoretical issues and there are many cross-cutting themes that recur in different papers. In this introduction, therefore, I shall adopt a thematic approach.

WHY IS THERE NO ARCHAEOLOGY OF GENDER IN ITALY? In a well-known article Alison Wylie (1991) asked this question about archaeology in general, arguing that the system-level focus of most processual archaeology, and especially ecologically oriented versions, had militated against studies of social organisation, particularly those concerned with individual actors, and had thereby excluded gender from emerging as a focus of study. Convincing though I find this argument in connection with AngloAmerican archaeology, it will not do for Italy, where processual archaeology has gained only a limited and somewhat precarious foothold (Guidi 1996). Here other factors must account for the fact that gender archaeology has still had no impact whatsoever, despite a decade of stimulating work and publications in this field outside Italy. Why should this be? Vida addresses this question in her paper, focussing on the predominantly empirical nature of Italian archaeology and the absence of much theoretical work, particularly “. . . the theoretical approaches which have [elsewhere] led to a growing interest in the past person (as opposed to the past object). . .”. Combined with the absence of the relevant theoretical tradition, and long established interpretative concerns of quite different kinds, Italian Archaeology offers a great wealth of data — enough to keep generations of chrono-typologists busy for centuries to come

— which can distract practitioners from the need for theory. However, this rich body of data also represents an invitation to gender archaeologists: if we can develop the theory and the methodology, we have something substantial to apply it to.

GENDER BIAS IN ITALIAN ARCHAEOLOGICAL INTERPRETATION What Linda Hurcombe (1995) has described as the ‘BIG issue’ (Biassed Interpretation of Gender) has been characteristic of archaeological interpretation in Italy, as everywhere else. Therefore one direction of archaeological work on gender must be towards ‘remedial’ research, involving the exposure and correction of past biassed interpretations. Most of the contributors to this volume include some such remedial work in their papers, although with varying degrees of emphasis. Robert Leighton is the only contributor to make this a primary concern, in his reconsideration of the skeletal remains from the Sicilian Mesolithic site of Grotta di San Teodoro. The remains of six individuals from this site, found between 1938 and 1942, were originally published as all male, but recent re-analysis has shown that the two reasonably complete skeletons were almost certainly female, as was one of the other skulls, while the other three have not been re-studied. So it now seems that at least three of the six individuals originally published were female (a seventh skull, published later, is probably male). The question that arises is ‘what led the original excavators to believe that the individuals buried were all male?’ There is no clear answer to this question, although the relative robustness of the bones and the height of the two fairly complete skeletons may have been factors. In fact this seems to be a case where gender bias has affected the interpretation of an area of archaeology normally regarded as scientific and objective: when there was any doubt, the ‘default’ identification was male. Vida in her paper indicates that even in the best modern work, exemplified by Anna Maria Bietti Sestieri’s publications of the Iron Age Osteria dell’Osa cemetery, gender bias has not yet disappeared. It seems that some skeletons, initially identified as female, were reclassified as young males because they were found in association with ‘male’ grave goods (Bietti Sestieri 1992a; 1992b). In defence of this last piece of work, however, it must be emphasised that at Osteria dell’Osa, the two categories of information — physical anthropological analysis of the human remains and archaeological interpretation of grave goods — were kept separate and the criteria for the reclassification of the sex of the individuals were set out explicitly. Examples of gender bias of another familiar form appear in Tamar Hodos’ paper, where she shows how different interpretations have been applied to the same or similar artefacts depending on whether they appear in male or female funerary assemblages. In particular, she points out that if an inscribed object is found in a male grave, it is assumed that the dead man was capable of at least reading; however, as she says “when such objects are found in undeniably women’s graves, scholars appear to have a much harder time reaching similar conclusions”. In such cases Hurcombe’s proposed mental sex-change operation (1995: 96) is a useful exercise. This involves consideration of whether the same conclusion would be reached if the sex of the dead individual was changed; it forces the writer to consider whether there is

in fact other evidence to support the original interpretation or whether it was an unconscious projection onto past societies of the naturalised prejudices of our own.

SOURCES FOR GENDER ARCHAEOLOGY IN ITALY Italian prehistory has a rich funerary record and it is not surprising that several of the contributors to this volume have started their analyses in tombs or cemeteries where it is possible to identify individuals and, sometimes at least, to establish their sex, thus providing a basis for comparison between women and men, in terms of, inter alia, types and locations of tombs and types and number of grave goods. This approach, widely adopted elsewhere, can be criticised on the grounds that it places too heavy an emphasis on biology as the basis on which social gender is founded; however if we accept the sex/gender distinction at all, burial material undoubtedly provides the most accessible route to comparing the two in the archaeological record. Judith Toms’ paper explores the rich potential for gender studies of the Villanovan cemeteries of Etruria, while, still in the Iron Age, Marina Markantonatos also draws on the funerary evidence for her analysis of the role of Indigenous women in southern Italy in the period of Greek settlement. Markantonatos also employs data from settlement sites, while Chris Hayden’s analysis of gender roles in Late Neolithic and Copper Age Sardinia is based on a systematic comparison of goods found in settlement sites and cemeteries respectively, through four successive cultural phases. Mark Pluciennik too uses evidence from burials together with that from cave art and other sources in his consideration of gender from the late Upper Palaeolithic to the Neolithic in southern Italy and Sicily. Burial evidence can be used to infer gender roles and practices, gender relations and gender ideology and different papers in this volume touch on various aspects of these topics. In theory, burials could also provide information about the everyday lives of women and men in the past — through the study of skeletal remains in terms of differences in life expectancy, diet, disease and occupational hazards — but very little work of this kind has been done in Italy and none of the papers in this volume deals with these aspects. Another major route by which gender can be approached is through iconography, where appropriate bodies of data occur. Iconographie studies are particularly useful for understanding symbolic and semiotic aspects of gender — how gender was constructed in the societies in question — rather than on actual practices and relations. Italy is rich in iconographie material both for prehistory and especially for the Iron Age and Classical periods and several of the authors make use of this material. Pluciennik discusses the Upper Palaeolithic and Neolithic cave art of southern Italy and Sicily, while Katie Holmes and Ruth Whitehouse focus on the anthropomorphic figurines of the Neolithic and Copper Age. Lawrence Barfield deals both with the statue-menhirs and statue-stelae of the north Italian Copper Age and with the very different ‘Situla Art’ of the Iron Age, found on the situlae themselves and on other bronze objects. Finally, Vedia Izzet looks at the images engraved on Etruscan mirrors in terms of the creation of personal (gendered) identity. The only paper to deal with spatial aspects of gender is that of Jon Morter and John Robb, which looks at gender organisation in Neolithic southern Italy, through the spatial distribution

of gendered practices and symbols.

GENDER AND SEX Most of the contributors rely on the familiar distinction between sex and gender, with sex being defined by a supposedly universal biology, while gender is the cultural/social construction of maleness and femaleness and varies according to time and culture. Useful as this distinction has proved for analytical purposes, some scholars have drawn attention to serious flaws in the underlying assumptions (e.g. Moore 1994: Chapter 2). One problem is that the distinction between universal biology and specific culture cannot really be maintained, since biology is not something that is either understood or experienced separately from culture; it is always culturally mediated. Biology is itself a historically and culturally variable concept; in other words sex, like gender, is socially constructed and our western view of it as some underlying absolute is ethnocentric. If we wish to maintain the sex/gender division — and I think it remains useful — we must recognise that what we are doing is making a distinction between modern western scientific understandings of biology (including genetics, anatomy, reproductive functions and biochemistry), to which we give the label ‘sex’, and ‘nonscientific’ understandings of biology (including both ‘folk’ views in our own society and views recorded by anthropologists in other societies) which are subsumed under ‘gender’, along with more obviously sociocultural attributes, such as demeanour, dress and occupation. We must also recognise that biology and culture continually interact from birth and throughout life. For instance, diet and occupational activity, influenced by such eminently cultural constructs as ideas of female beauty and appropriate roles for women and men, may affect the appearance of the body, reproductive functions and life expectancy. And, in the other direction, biological factors such as muscular strength and fertility or infertility may affect (though not determine) the roles and statuses of people in society. Not all of these interactions between biology and culture are gender related, but they can be and this has relevance for the sex/gender distinction. What we are left with is a less clear-cut and comfortable division than usually envisaged, but one that remains useful as an analytical tool, as long as we do not regard it as an absolute and unchanging division.

GENDER ESSENTIALISM AND GENDER FLUIDITY Much work in anthropology has been devoted to consideration of whether gender should be considered a universal and primary category of social organisation and, if so, whether it invariably takes the dichotomous binary form found in western society. One focus of attention has been on societies that identify third or multiple genders, such as the berdachesof North America or the hijras of India. Another area of research has been societies in which gender is not attached in a fixed way to individuals, but is found in body parts and substances, in social acts and material culture items and can be extracted, exchanged, separated or combined. In archaeology there is something of a division between scholars on these issues. One group,

comprising especially American archaeologists, has tended to ignore the potential dangers of gender essentialism in favour of the perceived advantages of focussing on ‘women’ as a selfevident category which has long been neglected in the discipline. While many European scholars also work in this way, some, closer to the continental philosophical tradition and in particular closer to Foucault, have been more inclined to explore concepts of gender fluidity and gender transformation. In a recent comment, Hodder pursues this argument to its logical conclusion, stating that: “But even the use of the term ‘gender’ would appear to involve defining or assuming some universalist, essentialist category. The very notion of gender, even the question of whether ‘it’ can be discerned as a distinct category of relationship or identity or domain may have varied through time" (Hodder 1997: 75). While appreciating the validity of this argument in theory, I am also aware of its dangers — the chief of which is that women will be written out of prehistory before ever being written into it. From a cynical feminist perspective, one could see Hodder’s statement as a classic example of the way men change the rules of the game whenever women gain any prominence under the traditional organisation. After all, no-one ever suggested that there was a problem with either sex or gender as a primary category of social organisation while men were the dominant actors in archaeological interpretation; it was only when some archaeologists started to focus on women in the past that gender became a dubious principle of classification! We certainly need to be aware of the full range of ways in which past peoples may have been different from ourselves. However, in my opinion, it may sometimes be useful to behave ‘as if’ an analytical category really existed. And so it is with the categories ‘women’ and ‘men’, at least in the current stage of research. We badly need to correct the androcentric bias and neglect of women characteristic of past archaeological writing, before we allow ourselves to be seduced by the interpretative kaleidoscope of post-modern theorising, in which category boundaries form, dissolve and form again in ever-shifting patterns dependent on context and perspective. Of the papers in the present volume, most work not only with the sex/gender dichotomy but also with the binary categories ‘women’ and ‘men’ and none of the authors suggest there is evidence for the existence of additional genders in their dataseis. However, Pluciennik, in the context of the cave art of the late Upper Palaeolithic and Neolithic in Sicily, discusses the possibility that signs of maleness and femaleness in these engravings and paintings may refer not to biologically sexed bodies, but to symbolic associations figuring in myth and ritual. Holmes and Whitehouse offer a possible explanation of some ambiguously gendered Neolithic figurines in terms of the kind of gender transactions documented by Marilyn Strathern (1988) for Melanesia, with gendered essences combining sometimes in same-sex and sometimes in cross-sex combinations.

GENDER IN PREHISTORIC AND PROTOHISTORIC ITALY Do the papers in this volume allow us to come to any conclusions — however tentative — about any aspect of gender in Italian pre- and protohistory? The only published attempt to look at gender roles and relations in prehistoric Italy as a whole is that of Robb (1994), who offers

a developmental framework of increasing gender hierarchy through time. During the Neolithic there was, he argues, generally a balanced complementarity between the genders. The Copper and Bronze Ages then saw a marked transformation involving the establishment of a gender hierarchy with a dominant male ideology based on warfare and hunting. The succeeding Iron Age saw the emergence of a class-based hierarchy, in which gender asymmetry became further entrenched and institutionalised, in spite of the creation of a new elite class which included females. This scheme can be criticised on the grounds that it is over-simplified and depends on only one reading of a complex body of evidence (as Robb himself recognises). However, it does provide a starting point for discussion and in fact the papers in this volume offer some support for a broad evolutionary scheme of the type Robb outlines. The papers concerned with pre-Neolithic and Neolithic periods (Pluciennik, Morter & Robb and Holmes & Whitehouse) all suggest societies in which there was certainly no institutionalised gender hierarchy and in which gender complementarity was apparent in at least some aspects of symbolic representation. However, we should be wary of concluding from this that there was equality between women and men in daily life, since there is abundant ethnographic evidence of societies which lack an instituted gender hierarchy and express an ideology of gender complementarity, but in which male domination at the interpersonal level is marked and sometimes brutal (the Highland New Guinea societies provide particularly vivid examples). The papers that deal with the Copper Age (Hayden and Barfield) also offer some support to Robb’s thesis. Barfield’s discussion of the north Italian statue-stelae focusses on the depiction of the dagger as a symbol of adult male identity. This is in line with Robb’s view of an emerging warrior ideology in the Copper Age, although Barfield’s concluding discussion makes it clear that he is thinking in terms of near universal, and biologically determined, roles for men and women — a viewpoint out of line with that of Robb, and indeed most of the papers in the current volume. Hayden’s careful comparative analysis of artefacts found in Sardinian settlements and graves respectively through four cultural phases from the Late Neolithic to the Late Copper Age identifies an increasing separation between domestic and prestige spheres of activity. These can be related tentatively to gender through the correlation of the domestic/prestige distinction with the private/public dichotomy, often identified as female and male respectively. This can be supported to some extent by specific archaeological evidence linking males with the prestige/public sphere in Sardinian prehistory, in the form of tridents and daggers portrayed on statue-menhirs. Some of the papers concerned with the Iron Age (Barfield, Markantonatos, Toms) also support Robb’s thesis in some respects, since they seem to demonstrate societies in which gender differences, as shown in the burial record and on situla art, are marked and consistent, with men associated with the public world of political and military activity and women with the domestic world and especially with spinning and weaving. So at one level the papers in this volume can be said to lend support to Robb’s model of the development and entrenchment of gender hierarchy through time. However, if I were to leave it at that, I would be presenting a seriously misleading picture, since the papers also offer much more varied, subtle and nuanced ways of looking at gender than can be incorporated into a simple evolutionary model. To take just a few examples by way of illustration, Pluciennik is

particularly concerned with the inter-relationships of gender with other, cross-cutting systems of social categorisation, such as age and kinship, and with differences between contemporaneous Neolithic societies, as well as differences developing through time. By contrast, Markantonatos is not concerned with gender as a system of categorisation but with the range of roles and statuses open to actual women in the past, specifically the roles open to indigenous women in their own communities and in relation to Greek settlers in a contact situation. Toms’ analysis of Early Iron Age cemeteries in Etruria certainly demonstrates two mutually exclusive groups of grave goods (spinning/weaving equipment and weapons/armour respectively) which are plausibly interpreted as gender markers, but she also shows that many graves (more than 40%) contain none of these gender indicators. Thus we have a situation in which, when gender was marked, it was indicated in a way that would suggest well-defined and differentiated social roles for women and men. However, it seems that for many individuals it was not necessary to mark gender in burial at all. Thus, perhaps it was not primarily gender that was being marked in the graves with specific gendered goods, but rather the social roles of cloth-maker and warrior, for which in Villanovan society gender was one, but not the only, defining characteristic. For other social roles gender may not have played a defining role in the same way, suggesting a more complex situation than was at first apparent. As a final example we can take Izzet’s study of Etruscan mirrors, which she argues were used for the creation of the surface of the body as a crucial component of personal identity. Through the images of women and men engraved on the back of the mirrors we can understand the ideal forms of femininity and masculinity in Etruscan society and the changing relationships between male and female identity through time.

FUTURE PROSPECTS The potential for future work on gender in Italian archaeology is considerable. The first three papers in the volume all hold out hope for the future in different ways. Vida’s analysis of the situation of Italian archaeology today ends with a discussion of directions for future research, stressing the need for both theoretical and methodological groundwork and indicating the rich bodies of data available in Italy for the study of gender archaeology, especially from the burial record and the artistic and symbolic tradition. Of the other two papers in this section one offers us new theoretical directions, the other new methodology. Baker’s paper, the most explicitly feminist of the volume, looks at the work of a group of Italian feminist theorists and its potential to change the way we as archaeologists think and write. Her argument concerns archaeology generally and does not refer to Italy in particular. However, the Italian origin of this group of feminist thinkers offers an entrancing prospect: if Italian archaeologists could set aside their concern with the typological details of past material culture and engage in discussion with their sisters in other parts of the academy, they might find the vocabulary and concepts (already developed in their own language) with the potential to transform the way they approach their data. Brown’s paper offers us something more ‘down to earth’: a new way of sexing skeletal material through the use of ancient DNA. This method once fully developed will, Brown argues, represent an improvement on the usual and uncertainly reliable methods of

sexing human remains using features of the skeleton itself. More radically, we might regard genetic sexing not as a substitute for skeletal indicators of anatomical sex, but rather as a separate variable, to be compared with the range of biological variables normally recorded on the skeleton (size, maturity, muscularity etc) as well as with cultural features such as tomb type or grave goods, as suggested by Hodder (1997: 76-7). While I do not think that this will lead to the total dissolution of the categories ‘women’ and ‘men’, it should provide us with more and better signposts as to how the boundaries of these categories may have been variously defined and understood in different societies of the past. The papers published here represent preliminary forays into what is, for Italy, a new field of research. They are breaking new ground and do not build on an established tradition; the theory and methodology employed are drawn from elsewhere and none of it has been around for very long. It follows that we are dealing here with pioneer work, also therefore with work that may rapidly be superseded, if the field develops as I hope. I do not mind whether this book stimulates or infuriates, encourages or worries its readers, so long as some are persuaded to engage thoughtfully with the concepts involved in a gendered understanding of the archaeological past.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bietti Sestieri, A.M. 1992a. The Iron Age community of Osteria dell’Osa:: a study of sociopolitical development in central Tyrrhenian Italy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Bietti Sestieri, A.M. 1992b. La necropoli laziale di Osteria dell’Osa. Quasar, Rome. Cornell, T. & Lomas, K. (eds) 1997. Gender and Ethnicity in Ancient Italy. Accordia Research Institute, London. Guidi, A. 1996. Processual and Post-processual trends in Italian Archaeology. In Bietti, A. et al. (eds), Theoretical and Methodological Problems’. 29-36. The Colloquia of the XIII International Congress of Prehistoric and Protohistoric Sciences, Forlì 8-14 September 1996, vol. 1. A.B.A.C.O., Forlì. Herring, E., Whitehouse, R. & Wilkins, J. (eds) 1991. Papers of the Fourth Conference of Italian Archaeology. The Archaeology of Power. Two vols. Accordia Research Institute, London. Herring, E., Whitehouse, R. & Wilkins, J. (eds) 1992. Papers of the Fourth Conference of Italian Archaeology. New developments in Italian Archaeology. Two vols. Accordia Research Institute, London. Hodder, I. 1997. Commentary: the gender screen. In Moore, J. & Scott, E. (eds), Invisible People and Processes. Writing gender and childhood into European prehistory: 775-8. Leicester University Press, London & New York. Hurcombe, L. 1995. Our own engendered species. Antiquity, 69: 87-100. Moore, H.L. 1994. A Passion for Difference. Polity Press, Cambridge. Robb, J. 1994. Gender contradictions, moral coalitions, and inequality in prehistoric Italy.

Journal of European Archaeology, 2(1): 20-49. Skeates, R. & Whitehouse, R. (eds) 1994. Radiocarbon Dating and Italian Prehistory. Accordia Research Institute, London. Strathern, M. 1988. The Gender of the Gift. University of California Press, Berkeley, Los Angeles & London. Wylie, A. 1991. Gender Theory and the Archaeological Record: Why is there no Archaeology of Gender? In Gero, J.M. & Conkey, M.W. (eds), Engendering Archaeology: Women and Prehistory: 31-54. Blackwell, Oxford.

Abstracts of papers The Italian scene: approaches to the study of gender M. Carmen Vida This paper considers whether it is possible to develop the study of gender in the context of Italian archaeology, whether it is relevant or even necessary. Although Italy is particularly rich in some of the obvious sources for Gender Archaeology (burial material, ritual, iconography and symbolic expressions), there has been so far an almost total vacuum in gender interpretation. The study of gender in Italy has been limited to sex identification, which has not always been rigorous enough in its methodological approaches, nor is it any longer adequate in terms of the questions it seeks to answer (having been traditionally approached as a given datum - male/female - of limited interpretative capacity). This paper looks at the world of Italian archaeology and proposes the development of Gender Archaeology as a new and integral part of archaeological interpretation, in which a basic and universal social/personal category is investigated to shed light on the life and attitudes of the societies under study. The paper sets out a proposal for terminology, aims and methodology to take advantage of the wealth of the Italian data and their particular idiosyncrasies. The negative attitudes towards Gender Archaeology present in the Italian archaeological world are also identified in this paper, and ways of overcoming these obstacles to research are suggested. As a conclusion three different general areas in which future research would be of relevance are suggested.

Italian gender theory and archaeology: a political engagement Mary Baker This paper explores the ways that the work of Italian gender theorists have enriched the field of post-structural gender theory. Their perspectives have mediated between the more established conceptual frameworks of Anglo-American gender studies and the French philosophical theorists. The political nature of the Italian work has meant that the ideas are active in both academia and in the broader social world. The author is interested in the engagement between these gender perspectives as critical theory and the practice of archaeology.

Gender and sex: distinguishing the difference with ancient DNA Keri A. Brown The study of gender in prehistory is restricted to a very limited range of material evidence, such as pictorial representations of humans in various media, and inhumations and cremations and their accompanying artefacts. In both cases, the determination of the biological sex of the

image or burial (i.e. whether man or woman) may be on a subjective level. For human remains, however, sex may in future be determined by analysis of ancient DNA extracted from bone. It must be noted that this type of investigation gives archaeologists the genetic sex of the human remains, that is the presence or absence of the Y chromosome, in both adults and juveniles. In 999,999 cases out of 1,000,000, genetic sex is the same as biological sex, but there are rare occurrences when it differs, due to the influence of the sex hormones on the embryo. For the vast majority of cases, ancient DNA may provide a method for accurately sexing human remains, including juveniles. In turn this would lead to a better understanding of the gender affiliations of cultural artefacts, and hence their roles in mediating gender relations in other contexts.

Reflections on San Teodoro 1-7 and recent sex changes in the Upper Palaeolithic Robert Leighton A considerable proportion of the human remains from the European Upper Palaeolithic comes from cave burials in Italy, which are sometimes discussed in terms of their social significance as well as their physical characteristics. In recent years, however, the sex attributions of several (supposedly male) skeletons have been reversed, which shows that the ratio of females to males has been underestimated in past studies. Recent work on the skeletal remains from the San Teodoro cave in Sicily has shown that some of them were female and that there is no evidence here for the idea of preferential male burial. The rather stereotypical notion of higher status for adult males is not supported by other Palaeolithic or Mesolithic burials in southern Italy and Sicily.

Representations of gender in prehistoric southern Italy Mark Pluciennik This paper considers the evidence from burials and cave art in relation to sex and gender in the Late Upper Palaeolithic, Mesolithic and Early Neolithic of southern Italy, and attempts to discuss the ways in which change in these practices may relate to changes in gender roles and perceptions. It argues that there are both continuities and discontinuities between and across all these periods depending on the context, which is suggestive of dynamic gender roles and relations among the hunter-gatherer as well as the farming communities.

Space, gender and architecture in the southern Italian Neolithic Jon Morter and John Robb Gender ideologies are often sustained by cosmological categories of space and time. Culturally engendered space may be approached archaeologically by combining the physicality of architecture and cultural reconstruction of places, iconography, economic patterns and burial customs. In Early-Late Neolithic Italy, such sources of evidence suggest that space was

gendered in concentric zones around the village, along an axis whose poles were ideologically significant female activities associated with the house and ideologically significant male activities associated with ‘wild’ zones. As a cognitive structure, this opposition may have underwritten multiple explicit gender ideologies; we review a number, including a malehegemony model similar to that proposed by Whitehouse, a female hegemony model, and the possibility of multiple, competing views within Neolithic society. While this reconstruction leaves the exact nature of Neolithic society indeterminate, it makes clear that the Final Neolithic and Eneolithic social transformation involved not the invention of a new gender ideology but rather the promotion of one ideology possible within the Neolithic system to a major structuring principle of political life.

Anthropomorphic figurines and the construction of gender in Neolithic, and Copper Age Italy Katie Holmes and Ruth Whitehouse Anthropomorphic figurines have often borne the weight of theorising about gender in prehistory and uncritical or doctrinal identifications of Mother Goddesses have discredited much of this work. However, it is clear that representations of the human form can offer us insights into the construction of gender in past societies. In this paper the figurines known from Neolithic and Copper Age southern Italy are discussed and analysed in terms of distribution, chronology, typology and context of deposition. Although the small number of figurines and their heterogeneity cast some doubt on the significance of the results, patterns emerge which are suggestive. While female figures dominate during the Neolithic, there are a number of figurines which combine female and male aspects. This suggests a more balanced gender ideology than the traditional interpretation in terms of an exclusively female divinity. In southern Italy at least, there may be a distinction between figurines found in settlement sites, which are often unequivocally female, and those found in cult sites, which may be asexual or combine male and female characteristics. In the Final Neolithic and Copper Age figurines are found mostly in tombs and are again different in type: the two clear male figures come from Copper Age contexts, while other examples again show combined male and female characteristics, although in different ways from the earlier examples. The figurine data are considered together with other classes of evidence to suggest changing patterns of gender construction in prehistoric Italy.

Public and domestic: the social background to the development of gender in prehistoric Sardinia Chris Hayden Through comparison of the artefacts found in settlements and those found in graves through four distinct cultural phases, it is possible to document the emergence of a prestige sphere of activity by the beginning of the Sardinian Copper Age. Between the Late Neolithic and the Late Copper Age there seems to have been an increasing separation between the domestic and

public (prestige) spheres. This distinction can be linked tentatively to gender: the iconographie depictions on statue-menhirs suggest that men were primarily, though not exclusively, associated with the public sphere and women mainly, but again not exclusively, with the domestic sphere. This distinction can be seen again, rather more clearly, in the iconography of the later Nuragic Bronze Age, with its characteristic small bronze figurines (bronzetti).

Gender issues in north Italian prehistory Lawrence Barfield Striking evidence for gender relations is found during two periods of north Italian prehistory/protohistory. In the later fourth and third millennia BC statue-stelae, which may perhaps be interpreted as statues of ancestors, show apparent gender equality with women identified by breasts and men by daggers (which may also have a phallic symbolism). Some statues of this time show evidence of the sex being altered. The situla art of the Iron Age, found on a range of bronze artefacts, reveals what appear to be traditional gender roles. Men are depicted in a range of public roles such as soldiers, chariot drivers, riders, hunters, ploughmen, musicians and contestants in sport, while women are shown in domestic roles as textile producers, food procurers and preparers and keepers of the household. The interpretation is, however, somewhat complicated by social ranking, since both men and women are shown as servants and there is also evidence for high status women forming part of the elite.

The construction of gender in Early Iron Age Etruria Judith Toms Simple analysis of the contents of over 800 tomb groups from the major Villanovan sites of Tarquinia and Veio shows that artefacts used in the production of cloth almost never co-occur with weapons and armour. There are also some other objects which associate only, or most frequently with one of these sets of objects. Since, the two sets of objects cross-cut chronological patterns in the data, and occur also in both less and more elaborately furnished tombs, it is not unreasonable to argue that they are gender related. Thus, traditional identifications of gender related artefacts seem, in part, to be borne out by this large data set. However, there are notable exceptions. First, there is a small number of tombs which contain both ‘male’ and ‘female’ artefacts, and secondly, a large percentage (from 30-70% depending on cemetery and phase) of tombs containing none of these ‘gender indicators’. It is argued that the traditional interpretation needs to be revised to allow for more complex relationships between artefacts and social identities, and for more complex structuring of gender in these Villanovan communities.

Women’s roles in Iron Age Basilicata, south Italy: Indigenous women in indigenous and Greek contexts

Marina Markantonatos This paper has two related foci: the range of gender roles available to indigenous women at indigenous sites and the roles they might have occupied during their interactions in contact and Greek sites. Part one investigates the gender roles of indigenous women using burial evidence from indigenous sites dating between 900 and 550BC in Basilicata, South Italy. The range of gender roles available is reviewed and roles in the political and sacral arena are suggested by some unusual items found in a few elite female burials. Power associated with these gender roles is discussed and it is suggested that the range of roles for indigenous elite women at indigenous sites was broader than usually posited. In part two, the focus switches to contact and Greek sites. There is evidence in Basilicata (burial and habitation) that indigenous people were inhumed in the earliest Greek cremation cemeteries (Schirone and Madonelle at Siris) and lived in traditional huts in direct contact with Greek traders and pre-colonials (proprietà Andrisani, proprità Lazazzera, Cast ello del Barone and Incoronata Greca). Although the burials at Madonelle and Schirone were not examined by physical anthropologists, if we can assume that some of the traditional indigenous adult burials in impasto situle contain females, we have to ask what is the meaning of their presence in a Greek cemetery? Possibly these indigenous women could have served indirectly and directly as ‘acculturators’ and as companions to Greeks. In conclusion, dependent upon their personal status, the range of gender roles available to indigenous women in indigenous culture were broader than previously suggested for a patriarchal, chiefdom level of society. Indigenous women’s ability to interact with the Greeks in Basilicata has also been largely ignored, while their possible physical presence at some contact and Greek sites could attest to their interactions, coexistence (and possible cohabitation) with the Greeks and their potential roles as ‘acculturators’.

The asp’s poison: women and literacy in Iron Age Italy Tamar Hodos The association of inscriptions on burial finds with those buried has often led to disparate conclusions about the genders and their literate abilities. When inscribed objects are found in male graves, it is assumed that the men were literate. When inscribed objects are found amongst female burials, however, scholars simply do not discuss this material as evidence for female literacy. What is literacy and how can one recognise literacy within the archaeological record? Literacy is best defined through a distinction between its skills of reading and writing. With this in mind, we must reconsider the development of the Greek alphabet and evidence for women’s utilisation of this alphabet through the skills of literacy. In Greece, the limited material remains which depict women engaged in reading or writing are augmented by ancient authors’ references. There are no such references or depictions in Archaic Italy, however, yet a convincing case for literate women even as early as the 7th century BC can be made. The development of the

alphabet in Italy was contemporary and parallel to its rise in Greece. Yet the particularly egalitarian status of women in Etruscan society, in contrast to their Greek counterparts, implies that Etruscan women would have utilised the skills of reading and writing just as much as men, perhaps more so than in Greece. In confirmation of this, recent evidence from early Latium associates inscriptions with women in possession of literate skills; this suggests that literacy was not as restricted, by class, gender, or date in Italy as previously assumed.

Holding a mirror to Etruscan gender Vedia Izzet Treatment of gender in Etruria has been restricted to identifying women in the archaeological record. Much stress has been laid on their relatively high social position and public visibilty when compared with Greek and Roman women. Studies from this century, by Bonfante and Heurgon, echo Bachofen’s views of an Etruscan matriarchy, drawing conclusions from epigraphic sources about the right to own property, and pass this on through the matrilineal line; iconography is called upon to illustrate the particularly high social standing of some women. This paper approaches the problem by using a more integrated gender-oriented perspective. It does this by examining a broader cultural change, which is an increasing awareness of self-representation and the creation of an exterior surface, through the lens of gender. The study demonstrates the different articulations of this cultural phenomenon through the dynamic of gender, through the bodies of men and women. The material is the large corpus of Etruscan bronze hand-held mirrors which, through iconographie analysis, exemplify the change and illustrate the gender-dependent varations of it.

The Italian Scene Approaches to the study of gender M. Carmen Vida Any attempt to study the scope of an archaeology of gender in the context of the Italian data is subject to what I perceive as three formidable challenges. The first is that what is now beginning to be known as ‘Gender Archaeology’ remains an ill-defined entity, still in the making. Secondly this blurred concept of Gender Archaeology has been mainly developed in the Anglo-American archaeological world, rather than in Italy, traditionally far more preoccupied with what could be generally termed the positivist aspects of archaeology. Thirdly, the body of archaeological information for Italy is so rich and meaningful that any attempt to study it constitutes, without a doubt, a challenging and complex task. On attempting such an study, therefore, it becomes necessary first to deal with these three challenges.

GENDER, ARCHAEOLOGY, AND GENDER ARCHAEOLOGY Perhaps the clearest sign that Gender Archaeology is still in its incipient stages is the fact that most people writing on the subject still seem to consider it necessary to include in their writings some sort of justification for the approach. This not only shows that the discipline is not yet established, but also that it is by no means universally accepted or acceptable. In the same way that Social Archaeology was still considered an impossibility in the 40s and 50s, Gender Archaeology has come to the fore in the 90s and is in the process of proving that it provides valid conclusions and insights into society. It is also asserting its own methodology to approach an elusive, and frequently hidden, body of data in a valid way. In many circles the subject is considered ‘phoney’, unfeasible or at worst, feared as ‘politically/ideologically loaded’. In this paper I hope to go some way towards establishing that, although Gender Archaeology has been born out of definite theoretical positions, it is not a political stance limited to those who share these positions, but is in fact a meaningful and necessary means — in some respects the only means — of approaching future and past research, if what we are really after is the understanding of human behaviour in the past in its totality. As has been the case with so many other developments in archaeological theory and interpretation, the idea of studying human behaviour from the perspective of gender developed out of a similar trend in the fields of Social and Cultural Anthropology. Both in anthropology

and later in archaeology, the development of Gender Studies has evolved and been promoted from the perspective of Feminist Theory. In what is now a seminal book on Gender Archaeology, M. Conkey and J. Gero set out to define the discipline (Conkey & Gero 1991). In doing so, they adopted an explicitly feminist approach to the study of Gender — an approach which also often informs the anthropological literature — and identified Gender Archaeology with the principles of Feminist Theory, which concentrate mainly on the situation of women and the analysis of domination (Conkey & Gero 1991: 3-30). And yet, although we have now gone some way towards exposing biases in archaeological research and defining what the role, value, contributions, terminology, methodology and approaches of Gender Archaeology may be, we are still a long way off from having a perfect tool, for even in its sharpness the tool has been cutting only along one edge — the female one (for an example, see Wylie 1991). It is true that Feminist Theory first raised the issue of Gender and developed it, but it is also true that Gender Archaeology is not or should not be synonymous with, nor limited to, an archaeology of women. We are perhaps at a stage where we must start to shake off the aspects of the subject inherent to its history and find its true archaeological value, its archaeological feet as it were. We must develop a clear understanding of its universal relevance, its principles and terminology, its theoretical stance and its methods of application. To the questions ‘What is Gender, then?’, and ‘How is it relevant to Archaeology?’ one cannot reply without setting down some basic concepts. In a previous paper I argued for a clear conceptual and terminological division between ‘sex’ and ‘gender’ (Vida 1992) to become standard practice in archaeological research (sex referring to the biological and physiological make-up of individuals, and gender referring to the cultural perceptions and attributions of male/female). This division is critical: in the prevailing theoretical climate of Anglo-American archaeology, when the socio-economic and personal elements of the past are real objectives of archaeological research and interpretation, the study of the relative definitions applied by individuals to themselves and one another provides new insights into the way societies and individuals behaved. Biological sex is a basic characteristic in the make-up of human beings. It is a primary attribute in the composition of individuals which is universally found — everybody is born with a sexual genetic make-up — and which affects the individual’s own concept of self. In as much as it defines the individual it also plays a key role in other areas of life, and is an element in characterising relations between individuals and within groups. On the other hand, the cultural perception of biological sex and séx roles is gender. Gender has been defined as “a constitutive element of human social relations, based on culturally perceived and culturally inscribed differences and similarities between and among males and females" (Conkey & Gero 1991: 8). Gender, as opposed to sex, is dependent on social and cultural values which change through time and from group to group. In many cases, biological sex might induce some aspects of gender relations (i.e. activities related to childbearing, or in some cases strength) though not necessarily: there are cultural alternatives to obviate biologically related situations. The consensus in considering that the division sex/gender is one dictated mainly by biological/cultural characteristics is, however, not universal. Particularly in the field of anthropology there have been voices of dissent (e.g. Moore 1994: Chapter 2) which have argued that sex is not to be considered a biological absolute and that the limits between

biology and culture (as nurture) are less clearly defined than originally thought. This is based on the understanding that biology is itself a historically and culturally variable concept and that our own view of it as some underlying absolute is ethnocentric. If this view is adopted, the division between sex and gender would cease to be meaningful, with all sex characteristics/behaviour becoming a cultural construct. Though there are obvious reasons why such a stance may be appealing to some, I do not consider this objection to constitute a real problem. There is substantial scientific evidence which indicates that sex is genetically — and therefore biologically — determined. There is a 99.9999% correspondence between genetic and biological sex, and therefore only in 0.0001% of cases (i.e. one in a million) does biological sex depart from the genetic ‘normal’ of male/female chromosome patterns (for a more detailed explanation see Brown in this volume). Therefore a division between ‘sex’ and ‘gender’ is realistic and can provide much insight into human behaviour. There is much, thus, to interest archaeologists in the study of gender as a social characteristic which may or may not have coincided with biological sex, and of its role in social formations, economic patterns and relations between individuals. The approach is simply a development of those same principles which motivated the emergence of Social Archaeology: to understand individuals, their relations at various levels, and societies in the past, in an attempt to understand variability, change, or perhaps in post-processual terms, human experience. The key is to look at gender in itself, at the attitudes of individuals and social groups to it at any one time, and at the way these cultural perceptions contributed to shaping specific aspects of the life of the group and its individuals. If gender issues have finally found an echo in archaeological interpretation, it is because archaeological interpretation and theory have moved forward towards more all- encompassing theoretical positions. The development of ‘social’ and ‘post-processual’ archaeologies have put the spotlight back on social relations and the importance of the individual as the centre of action in the production and reading of the archaeological record. One contribution of post-processual theory to archaeology has been to remind us of the way in which material culture was manipulated by individuals and societies to express particular concerns (e.g. Hodder 1986: Chapter 8). It is on this understanding that Gender Archaeology becomes possible through the study, among others, of the symbols in the material culture of past societies which may show the way in which gender and sexuality may or may not have affected social configurations and individuals, and the ways in which it was expressed. The changing relations between sex and gender can tell us much about any society: they provide a sound basis for the study of cultural variability, and an excellent prospective tool with which to interpret behaviour. It is precisely the play between the universality of sex and the variability of gender that allows for new perspectives to be gained into human behaviour. Gender also illuminates “many long-standing concerns of archaeology: the formation of states, trade and exchange, site settlement systems and activity areas, the processes of agriculture, lithic production, food production, pottery, architecture, ancient art — but throws the m into new relief" (Conkey & Gero 1991: 15). A gender approach also introduces the archaeologist to the realm of the individual, in what Conkey and Gero aptly described as the replacement of the “focus on the remains of prehistory with a focus on the people of prehistory" (Conkey & Gero 1991: 15).

We move then from Gender and Archaeology to Gender Archaeology. After all that has been said, it should be hardly necessary to defend the need for it. The adoption of Gender Archaeology is not an ideological but a logical position: it is a key with which to access the past, and we should wonder why we have ignored it for so long. Many will argue that archaeologists have been looking at sex and its social effects before now. Yet, the difference between those studies of sex and Gender Archaeology lies in that the former study was more the search for a datum, a given fact and a social category, and the latter an attempt to investigate that social category to shed light on the life and the society under study. Thus, analyses of sex — for gender has rarely been approached — have been confined to the consideration of sex as an object in, rather than a subject of, research. And yet, to establish that people in a specific society had two arms and two legs, or were blonde or brunette, or were male or female, is of limited interest if left at that. What is of interest for an archaeologist is to understand the ways in which these characteristics may have found expression in society and affected it. This remains a fruitful, yet unexplored avenue for research.

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE : GENDER IN ITALIAN ARCHAEOLOGY When the above points are looked at from the perspective of Italian Archaeology, two things become immediately apparent. First, (the Pride bit) Italy is particularly rich in some of the most promising sources for Gender Archaeology (burial material, other ritual evidence, iconography and symbolic expressions), and this wealth is manifest in almost every period of its past from prehistory onwards. Much of the material is also fairly well known (albeit well known too are the problems of artistic bias and lack of provenance which affect it). The wealth of archaeological data in Italy is particularly susceptible to a study which adopts a gender focus, and which may throw much light on past societies. Secondly, (the Prejudice bit) in some respects that light is like a match lit in a cave: not only is there no Gender Archaeology in Italy, but also the theoretical approaches which have led to a growing interest in the past person (as opposed to the past object) originate elsewhere, mainly in Anglo-American scholarship. There are, it is true, welcome indications of moves towards more theoretically oriented research in Italy: the work of scholars like A.M. Bietti Sestieri, especially at Osteria dell’Osa, stands out (Bietti Sestieri 1992a; 1992b), as does that of some Archaeology Departments such as Padua or Milan. By and large, though, Italian Archaeology is still mainly concerned with more or less positivist approaches, and there is a deeply ingrained belief that these are the only valid approaches. According to this view, innovation must therefore come in the field of methodology, or via the discovery of new material which will shed light on existing interpretations. The title of this volume is Gender & Italian Archaeology: challenging the stereotypes. As a title, it aptly describes what we are up against: a series of stereotypes which, though present everywhere in the archaeological world, have yet to be challenged in Italy. Let us isolate what these specific obstacles for the development of Gender Archaeology in Italy are. I refer here only to those aspects specific to Italian Archaeology, not to the general problems cited in the first section. Obviously, these are

generic problems to which honourable exceptions exist: 1 Lack of the theoretical background to the study of gender. 2 No tradition of an inclusive approach to archaeology (i.e. one that tries to approach all aspects of human beings in the past: social, economic, religious, environmental, technological, sex/gender, etc). 3 The common restriction of research to particular schools of thought, or particular sites. This may lead to methodological inaccuracy and interpretative short-sightedness, since generalisations built from single sites do not adequately take into account the likelihood of considerable cultural variability. 4 The predominance of a deductive, rather than an inductive approach to interpretation. This leads to the frequent use of ready-made assumptions and models, in which framework data tend to be used for confirmation, rather than for new interpretation. 5 Confusion between Gender Archaeology as a theoretical stance and the empirical study of sex in archaeological remains. This limits Gender Archaeology to sex attribution exercises. Therefore, the study of ‘gender’ in Italy has been limited to sex identification (not always rigorous enough in itself) which is no longer adequate in terms of the questions we now wish to answer. In these conditions, is it possible to develop the study of Gender? Given that the relevance of such studies has not yet been universally accepted, we must start by establishing the credentials of Gender approaches. I suspect that their wider acceptance in the Italian academic world will only take place after Italian case studies have demonstrated the interpretative validity and scope of research focussing on social/personal categories in past societies. A paper published in 1992 in which I identified some weaknesses in the approach to sex analysis in a particular case and attempted to establish a broader methodological approach (Vida 1992) was taken by the site excavators almost as a personal insult (Gastaldi 1993). Sadly, this example highlights some of the difficulties outlined above, and shows how distinguished scholars can actually miss the point of the exercise altogether: I was criticising underlying assumptions and arguing for a revision of our own mental structures before we set to work, not primarily for a typological reclassification of a body of data, which is what the excavators seem to have resented most. Thus, if Gender Archaeology is to become acceptable and a standard practice of archaeological research in Italy, we are first going to have to show that it is possible. And so, any research should make allowances, both in its approach and methodology, for the idiosyncrasies of the Italian scene, characterised by the combination of abundance of material, absence of the relevant theoretical tradition and long established methodological and interpretative preconceptions.

MAKING IT HAPPEN: METHODOLOGY Considering the climate of the Italian archaeological world, any attempt to develop Gender Archaeology in Italy would be facilitated by a clear methodological approach that takes into account the obstacles outlined above. That methodology be carefully outlined is important in the context of the Italian data for two reasons. One is the importance given to ‘empirical’

results and approaches. The other is because the many assumptions built into the interpretation of the data necessitate a particularly clear, rigorous approach. Obviously, what the methodology of each particular study will be must be determined by the area, period, type of material and so on under consideration. There are, however, several general areas which I deem important for any methodology to be effective: 1 We should avoid working from assumptions about what is male/female, except when the internal evidence supports such identifications (i.e. to establish the male/femaleness of objects, activities or rituals internally and independently, and to appreciate that they may be characteristic only of the site/period in question and therefore cannot be assumed to be valid elsewhere). 2 We should not stop at simple exercises of sex attribution. Although sex attribution is normally a necessary step in Gender Archaeology, it is just that, a step, not the final aim of the exercise. By shifting the onus from sex attribution as aim to sex attribution as tool of analysis we may expect more rigour in methodology in this area. 3 We should seek to identify areas where a dichotomy is present (for instance by means of the exclusivity of certain objects or assemblages), which cannot be accounted for by other categories such as age or status, but can be explained by male/female differences. We should then compare these cultural representations with biological sex whenever possible. 4 We should pay attention to all the information available from skeletal material: not simply for sexing purposes, but also for other aspects such as possible pathologies or conditions induced by differential activities, differences in diet which may indicate unequal access to food and so on. Particularly for early societies, these may be early yet unseen forms of social ranking which could have preceded the display of ranking through material culture. 5 Multi-disciplinary approaches are likely to be most effective in studying gender: as a reality it may manifest itself differently in a group according to activity (whether social, economic, ritual and so on). Ideally we should aim to look at all the available evidence from a group with a gendered perspective: burials, evidence from art and ritual, excavation of settlements and possible activity zones, etc. 6 Once possible gender similarities and/or differences have been identified, we should move on to interpretation, looking for similar patterns in other contemporary material, and seeking to establish points of similarity or difference with groups of neighbouring areas/periods. In this way it is possible to assess the role of gender in determining or not specific formations (whether social, economic, etc). Only in this way will we acquire the depth and perspective to reach the full interpretative potential of gender differences.

THE WAY AHEAD: AREAS FOR FUTURE RESEARCH When thinking of the potential of a gender approach in Italian archaeology one cannot but express the conviction that for many years we have been overlooking or only superficially

studying a body of data which was definitely present in past societies. I will not pretend that everything in the past talks to us about gender: gender may not always have been explicit or overt but it must always have been part of the way past societies constructed themselves. The challenges ahead are many, but the possibilities for an increased understanding of the past are also great. There are some areas where research would perhaps be easier and more rewarding initially because of the abundance of material, and the possibility of contrasting it with other evidence. Initial research in these areas is also particularly necessary against the background of the Italian scene outlined above. The first area for research would involve the vital need to re-examine the principles by which most of us work, and incorporate theoretically sound positions which bring with them theoretically sound methodologies: e.g. eliminate assumptions, work inductively from the individual evidence, to the individual site, to other sites and so on, trying to eliminate assumptions of male/female and their repercussions inasfar as that is possible. At the same time it is important not to fall into narrow geographical limits, and to avoid losing sight of the play between the very variability of gender and the universality of biological sex: parallels and differences between periods and areas must be sought and identified, enriching our understanding of the development of human history by working not at the system level, or the event level, but at the human level. A second fruitful and so far little explored avenue would be the study of gender through Italy’s abundant burial material. A recent outstanding example of the possibilities of burial material can be seen in the work of Bietti Sestieri at the cemetery site of Osteria dell’Osa (Bietti Sestieri 1992a; 1992b). In her two publications of the site Bietti Sestieri goes further than any other Italian archaeologist so far in using the available skeletal and archaeological information to reconstruct the sequence of social development of a community through time. So as to guarantee sound interpretation, she purposely keeps the analyses of the two sets of evidence separate before bringing their results together to establish sex and age relationships within the material. In doing so, she breaks new ground methodologically, at least in theory. In practice, one is left with a slight feeling of disappointment that the promises are not always fully kept (the influence, no doubt, of the traditional flaws in method already discussed). Therefore, the specific way in which the anthropological evaluation was carried out hides behind a curtain of scientific integrity a few worrying signs that artefacts were occasionally used for sex determination, or that the sex analysis was altered if not compliant with the archaeological data: “based on the archaeological data for gender we discovered that consistent errors were made in evaluating gender for males under 25 years of age (. . .). These young adult males retain gracile features in their post-cranial skeletons which confused the evaluators" (Bietti Sestieri 1992b: 63). There are other areas where perhaps one could have gone further: avoiding the confusing and undifferentiated use of the words ‘sex’ and ‘gender’; understanding what the marked gender differences in assemblages manifest from Period I onwards may mean in relation to the Iron Age of Latium; or explaining those burials where anthropological and artefactual sex determinations did not coincide. But in any case, we must not overlook the importance of this work in proving the valuable insights into society which this approach provides. Within the study of burial material, one would also hope to see approaches which permit the

study of the development of stratified and ranked groups — or the way these phenomena may have originated — through the study of the skeletal material for diet differences, or differential work/stress pathologies. There is also a wealth of information to be gleaned from studies which re-analyse the relations between biological sex (as reflected in differential morphology of skeletal material, or by DNA studies), and cultural gender (as reflected by the ritual or material culture). Studies which bring together serious and systematic correspondences between physical anthropology and material culture might go a long way towards showing where some of our assumptions about society may have lain, as well as opening up new perspectives in our understanding of societies and pinpointing possible reasons for variability in human behaviour. The development of DNA sexing techniques is welcome progress which may go a long way towards establishing such parallels (see Brown, this volume). More work can also be done around the problem of determining sex roles and division of labour as represented from grave goods and or ritual. A case in point would be the analysis of the true extent (at present mostly assumed) and meaning of the dichotomy between weaving/spinning implements and weaponry in burial ritual, a dichotomy that, as we will see later on, seems to be present also in symbolism. And that finally brings us to a third area for future research: our understanding of Italy’s rich artistic and symbolic tradition. It is perhaps in this field that the Italian tradition will find it easiest to approach the study of Gender. It is in fact in the area of symbolism — whether as art or as ritual — that some progress has been made towards Gender Archaeology, though as yet mostly by foreign scholars. Whitehouse has argued that the study of contexts where both male and female are represented may initially be the most productive for research (Whitehouse 1992b: 41). There have been recent instances, however, which show the study of representations of the same sex in different societies may also prove very revealing: Schneider-Herrmann’s iconographie studies of human figures depicted on Campanian Redfigure pottery, for instance, led her to identify similarities between Greek and Samnite female dress, but also some differences, which may have corresponded to differing needs for ease of movement and, therefore, reflect differences in the role of women, the idea of what a female should do and of her place, between the two societies (Schneider-Herrmann 1996: 97). I think the important point is that there be some ground for comparison, either of the symbolism for different sexes, or for the same sex in different areas/periods. There are other interesting and perceptive insights which show the potential of Gender perspectives in research into symbolism and society. Research on cave cult sites in Neolithic Italy has led Whitehouse to suggest social differences based on gender roles for the cults carried out in these sites and the possible use of cults and biological sex as discriminatory or control tools in some Neolithic social systems (Whitehouse 1992a). An explicitly engendered look at the symbolic representations of Italy’s past has also led Whitehouse to identify a potentially revealing, hitherto unobserved, fact: in prehistoric symbolism as seen from cave depictions or statue-menhir sculpture, women are represented by their biological characteristics, and men by artefacts (Whitehouse 1992b: 41). Whitehouse interpreted the evidence available in terms of the contrast between culture and nature (and its associated ideas of domestic and wild, controlling and controlled, and women’s closer associations with nature).

There are several factors of interest here which may open up new areas of study. The first one has to do with the choice of whether or not to represent people and even objects in terms of their sex/gender. As with any depiction, we have the eternal question of whether art is representative or not. Were past artists indicating sex divisions as part of an attempt at being naturalistic or was social meaning being consciously conveyed? In the examples cited above, sex was in most instances clearly represented. There are other examples where that clarity is absent: Toms highlights the case of Villanovan urns for which body symbolism is strong, yet there is usually no apparent indication of sex/gender of the deceased by means of differences in form, decoration etc. (Toms 1993). I would like to suggest that in any study we will have to look at the likely reason(s) for producing the art. In the case of prehistoric depictions these are normally highly stylised. Rather than assuming stylisation to be the product of inability to do any better, and considering that the contexts where most depictions occur are ritual, I would rather argue that depictions are exercises of abstraction and convey meaning. Therefore, the presence/absence of gender representations is significative: that the depiction of individuals in terms of their sex/gender was considered relevant or not throws light onto the society itself. We must study not just the representations of gender, but also the lack of gender representation and the presence of unsexed figures (e.g. in the case of the Neolithic caves there are beaked and horned figures which may not have represented a sex but intermediaries with divine or shamanistic roles). It would also be enlightening to trace whether sex representation becomes more or less important throughout time, and what this may imply for a society (if sex is not taken as a social division are societies more egalitarian?). A second point of reflection has to do with the nature of the symbols chosen. For instance, it is interesting to note the movement from using biological characteristics to represent gender to generalised artefactual differences. Allowing for the differences in geographical location, one can still notice a trend to move from the biological to the artefactual: the biological/artefactual differences in symbolism in Neolithic cave art, the appearance of both biological and artefactual symbolism in the Copper Age stelae and menhirs, and the representation of gender through artefacts rather than biological traits in Early Iron Age Villanovan urns (which may have symbolised the body). Differences in the type of symbols chosen may reflect different perceived roles in society, different status, and/or different relations between the sexes. In any case, their relevance can only be highlighted when the rest of the available archaeological information is integrated with it to give a fuller image of societies. These three areas are but suggestions for initial research. They are not the only possible fields but perhaps those where the task is more urgent, more rewarding or easier: each scholar, though, can find his or her own area of research a field for application. This only proves that Gender Archaeology is meaningful, and as such, valid. We would be doing no one a favour by ignoring it. “Good archaeology is selecting the theory which best fits all the available evidence and is not contradicted by any relevant data which may, or may perhaps not, be known to the archaeologist in question" (Ehrenberg 1989: 13-14, my emphasis). Gender evidence is now available to those who care to seek it. To those who do not wish to look, I can only recommend they read the above quotation again in the hope they change their minds.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bietti Sestieri, A.M. 1992a. The Iron Age community of Osteria dell’Osa: a study of sociopolitical development central Tyhrrenian Italy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Bietti Sestieri, A.M. 1992b. La necropoli laziale di Osteria dell’Osa. Quasar, Rome. Conkey, M. & Gero, J. (eds) 1991. Engendering Archaeology: Women and Prehistory. Blackwell, Oxford. Ehrenberg, M. 1989. Women in Prehistory. British Museum Publications, London. Gastaldi, P. 1993. Recensioni: M.C. Vida Navarro, ‘Warriors and Weavers: Sex and Gender in Early Iron Age Graves from Pontecagnano’. Annali dell’Istituto Orientale di Napoli. Archeologia e Storia Antica, 15: 341-4. Hodder, I. 1986. Reading the Past. Current approaches interpretation in archaeology. CUP, Cambridge (first edition). Moore, H. 1994. A Passion for Difference. Polity Press, Cambridge. Schneider-Herrmann, G. 1996. The Samnites of the Fourth Century BC edited by E. Herring. Specialist Studies on Italy 2, Accordia Research Centre/Bulletin Supplement 61, Institute of Classical Studies. University of London, London. Toms, J. 1993. Symbolic Expression in Iron Age Tarquinia: the case of the biconical urn. Hamburger Beiträge zur Archaologie (forthcoming). Vida Navarro, M.C. 1992. Warriors and Weavers: Sex and Gender in Early Iron Age Graves from Pontecagnano. Accordia Research Papers, 3: 67-99. Whitehouse, R.D. 1992a. Underground Religion. Cult and culture in prehistoric Italy. Accordia Research Centre, London. Whitehouse, R.D. 1992b. Tools the Manmaker: cultural construction of gender in Italian prehistory. Accordia Research Papers, 3: 41-53. Wylie, A. 1991. Gender Theory and the Archaeological Record: Why is there no Archaeology of Gender? In Conkey, M. & Gero, J. (eds.) Engendering Archaeology: Women and Prehistory: 31-54

Italian Gender Theory and Archaeology A political engag Mary Baker

ITALIAN PHILOSOPHIES OF SEXUAL DIFFERENCE In this chapter I will express my excitement about the potential of the perspectives of sexual difference as practised by Italian feminist philosophical theorists to change the way we, as archaeologists think. In particular the works of Rosi Braidotti (1991a; 1991b; 1992; 1994a; 1994b), Teresa de Lauretis (1984; 1986; 1988; 1989), and Adriana Cavarero (1993) offer us ways of critiquing existing knowledge which will change what it is considered possible to think. These women apply theories of gender as critical theory in ways which subvert ‘thinking’ as we know it. By problematising the assumptions at the root of masculist philosophy they undermine the structures of knowledge and destabilise the interpretative frameworks which shape the way we understand the world. With the help of the above feminist theorists I hope to show that it is necessary to ask different questions, and to ask them at a fundamental level. By this I mean we must question the notion of ‘thinking’. Rosi Braidotti describes this feminist project as she sees it: Insofar as it elucidates the material and symbolic structures of this system, feminism is a critical theoretical movement; for, far from limiting themselves to simply enumerating the crimes of oppression and omission committed against women, feminists have taken on the positive task of analysing our culture’s schemes of knowledge. (Braidotti 1991a: 149) For my purposes in this paper gender theory can be divided into two broad conceptual bands: the social science perspective and the philosophical perspective, or, ‘gender’ as ‘the social understanding of sex’, and ‘gender’ as ‘the more active multiple performances of our bodily engagements with the categories of and assumptions about sex’. The Italian theorists about whom I will speak work with and through philosophy, while the gender theory used by archaeologists has usually been based in the social sciences. The primary difference between the two is their different locations in feminist theory. The ‘gender’ of social sciences is informed by the values of equality politics, with the main aim to achieve for women equal representation and equal status to men. While this perspective has enabled valuable critical analysis which undoubtedly changed what we think about women in relation to men it has not changed the way we think. This kind of critique has questioned androcentrism while remaining

embedded in it, and has thus failed to analyse the masculist assumptions which inform the questions we ask. The conceptual frameworks of this gender perspective are androcentric, they recognise a male norm and aim to see women in relation to it. The result at best, can be to describe women as ‘as good as men’. This concept fails even to recognise phallocentrism and in doing so condemns the analysis to failure because while phallocentrism remains in place it is not possible to be ‘as good as men’. The premise of phallocentrism is that men have access to patriarchal power through the symbolic phallus/penis, while women and the feminine lack this access. The embedded nature of this interpretative framework confines women to a position of lack from which they can only escape by denying their position as £ in relation to men’. The philosophical gender theorists are located within feminist politics of sexual difference.1 Instead of aiming for equality in relation to a male norm (created in contemporary discourses) these gender theorists now look for difference and multiplicity, and aim to disrupt the authority of binary interpretative frameworks which have limited the ways we understand women and the feminine. I am particularly excited by the work of the Italian feminists of sexual difference because they are acting on the radical theories of the French philosophical thinkers Luce Irigaray (1985; 1988) and Helen Cixous (1981; Jensen 1991) and also engaging with the Anglo-American post-structural2 gender theorists in ways which combine the poetic qualities of Cixous and Irigaray with the theoretical rigour of Judith Butler (1989; 1990; 1993a; 1993b)and the insights of the poetry and essays of Adrienne Rich. All of these theorists take as implicit the necessity to disrupt phallocentric systems of understanding. Following the strategy of mimetic repetition, the prospect of sexual difference simultaneously exposes and offers a critique of the phallogocentric reification of social inequalities into an allegedly distinct and discursively superior symbolic structure. (Braidotti 1994b: 54) This shared recognition of the violence of masculist world views informed and sanctioned by deeply embedded symbolic structures of dichotomous opposition, is expressed and acted upon in different ways by the above theorists. Their works each offer actively politically subversive tactics with which to disrupt the taken-for-granted nature of the central phallus and its disabling effects. The Italian theorists whose work I will be exploring below, offer very particular located positions, in part, because their own identities and political experiences as Italian feminist women (though not necessarily born or working in Italy) are very different to those of the French and Anglo-American women,3 and because they mediate the generation difference between the work of the French Philosophical theorists and that of their contemporaries, the Anglo-Americans.4 Cixous and Irigaray take flight with ways of thinking which are so different from the masculist world knowledges at the disposal of both men and women at the time (and still) that in order to read, know and act with their feminine writing one has to take a leap of faith into the unknown and unknowable. Those who work with their ideas have been shown it is possible to fly. More, that it is possible to be a woman and to know.5 Helen Cixous and Luce Irigaray both demand active engagement with their writing, a readerliness that is creative. They do not write methodologies, complete and ready to apply,

they write difference. They attempt to write beyond phallocentrism by not accepting the centrality of the phallus as taken. In so doing they live the joy (jouissence) of knowing themselves as complete, as without lack, they claim access to knowledge and in this act they create new knowledge about what it is possible to mean to be women. For archaeologists this creation of new knowledges about the feminine and about autonomous women offers us critical locations from which to rethink the knowledge which informs representations of past social engagements. Masculist knowledge has been dominated by the symbolic phallic T ; power and knowledge have been masculine and necessarily (within this framework) actively linked to this masculine subject. In archaeology this has been evident in the way archaeologists have thought about material culture and has also been in place in the language used in the archaeological texts. The phallus has penetrated the very thinking processes. This we see in the representations of the masculine subject as central, political, inventive, decisive, dominant and public, in relation to the domestic, private, passive, feminine shadows. The Italian theorists of sexual difference actively engage with ideas of ‘beyond phallocentrism’ (indeed they aim for a situation of ‘pre-phallocentrism’) and carry forward the concept of feminine writing in the philosophical perspectives of the critical work they do in their own research fields; Teresa de Lauretis in theatre studies, Rosi Braidotti and Adriana Caverero in philosophy. My argument is that these women can inspire us as archaeologists to think and write in very different ways; we can first be jarred into recognising that the phallocentric form that is dominant in archaeological interpretation is inadequate and that all archaeological interpretation thus far has been built upon assumptions about sexual difference which have confined the feminine in a concept perceived as biology. The use of a gender theory that defines gender as the social understanding of sex has enabled this conceptual slip. The apparent ‘common-sense’ of this definition allows the slide between the physicality of sex, i.e. our biology, and the ontological gender, leaving gender just layered on top of the fixed male/female of sex. Gender in this form is binary. It is particularly important for us as archaeologists to recognise the dangers of the use of a theory of gender that fits so comfortably with dichotomous categories if we are successfully to subvert the taken-for-grantedness of masculist value systems. Binary oppositions form an interpretative framework which in contemporary value systems define status and value in relation to masculist ‘knowledge’. It is, in my opinion, impossible successfully to discuss binary associations without the dominant masculist value systems giving meaning to them. The language we use is embedded in the cultural masculism. In archaeology, interpretations which prioritise biology as a category of role classification have assumed an access to bodily essence which escapes or somehow precedes language and cultural meanings. The resulting archaeological stories are about people who make choices about their lives in relation to the reproduction of the fittest, best adapted offspring. Even if we accept that this is the way societies evolve, and I don’t, the interpretations of these archaeologists have not escaped the binary oppositional structures of meaning which have categorised social relations and given meaning to human reproduction. Phallocentric understandings of the feminine in relation to masculinity and the phallus as symbol of access to power, limit the perceived possibilities for women’s roles, both as active social agents, and as women outside of their reproductive role. Helen Cixous said:

It is not anatomical sex or essence that determines us in anything; it is, on the contrary, the fable from which we never escape . . . (Cixous 1981:93) The point here is that ‘biology’ — that science which describes anatomical sex — is socially and culturally inscribed, with meanings which have defined male and female bodies in relation to hierarchised oppositional dichotomies. Anatomical sex is understood through a series of myths about our bodies which are assimilated into the biological explanations. Having said this about sex and bodies it may not seem to make sense to go on to talk about the perspectives of my chosen theorists as critically focused on the potential of feminine embodied roots of knowledge. Rosi Braidotti says: The starting point for the project of sexual difference is the political will to assert the specificity of the lived, female bodily experience. This involves the refusal to disembody sexual difference through the valorisation of a new allegedly ‘postmodern’ and ‘anti-essentialist’ subject; in other words, the project of sexual difference engages a will to reconnect the whole debate on difference to the bodily experience of women. (Braidotti 1994b: 40) The crucial point here is the ‘specificity of the female bodily experience’; this refers not to bodies as they have been defined within phallocentrism as lacking the phallus/penis, but bodies which are whole, complete. Women’s’ autoeroticism is very different from man’s. In order to touch himself, man needs an instrument: his hand, a woman’s body, language .. . As for woman, she touches herself in and of herself without any need for mediation, and before there is any way to distinguish activity from passivity . . . her sexual organ represents the horror of nothing to see . . . And if woman takes pleasure precisely from this incompleteness of form, which allows her organ to touch itself over and over again, indefinitely, by itself, that pleasure is denied by a civilisation that privileges phallomorphism. (Irigarary 1985:204-6) Here Irigaray is declaring the feminine ‘excess’, the way that being a woman exceeds the language at our disposal within masculist discourses. As Braidotti hints above, one of the primary differences between the work of equality feminists and the work of theorists of sexual difference (or gender multiplicity) is the politics of essence. ‘Essentialism’ has become a key word for danger, and has been taken as shorthand for biological determinism. This feminist critique has not, however, questioned either the form that danger has taken or the assumptions which have informed the dangerous values represented by biological determinism; they have just left the masculism in place and avoided certain topics. The continental feminists have reappropriated the term ‘essentialism’ and as de Lauretis argues: Feminist theory is all about essential difference, an irreducible difference, though not between man and woman, nor a difference inherent in ‘woman’s nature’ (in woman as nature), but a difference in the feminist conception of woman, women and the world.

(De Lauretis 1988:3) In other words the concept of essentialism with which we can empower ourselves is one that recognises essential differences in cultural categories of both sex and gender. Within the dominant masculist discourse we have been defined in relation to biological men, as lacking a penis. This physiological difference has become the dominant metaphor of sexual essence and its symbolic partner, the phallus, has been the cultural determinant of the access to (patriarchal) power. In a feminist reappropriation of ‘essentialism’ we recognise the reality of the lived experience of being a woman in a masculist culture, we are actively recreating a sexual difference that does not accept the phallocentric definitions of the feminine. In this new essentialism we embrace sexual difference as an essence of gender. We reinstate sexual difference at the root of knowledge. The Italian feminists have declared they are willing to take the risk of essentialism. They have argued that sexual difference is the basic difference of humankind and as Patrizia Violi has argued: Difference is here made the very foundation of subjectivity, and a neutral subject is unthinkable; human beings are either women or men, . . . the way we feel, the way we think, the way we experience reality is affected by our being women or men. (Violi 1992: 165) These theorists are not arguing that our brains work in different ways depending on our sex, or that we are programmed in some way which corresponds to the genitals we are born with, but that we engage through our bodies with socially and culturally sanctioned ideas about what it means to be women or men. These sanctioned knowledges are phallocentric. Women are judged to be lacking. As Braidotti says: The focus on gender6 rather than sexual difference presumes that men and women are constituted in symmetrical ways. But this misses the feminist point about masculine dominance. In such a system, the masculine and the feminine are in a structurally symmetrical position: men, as the empirical referent of the masculine . . . (Braidotti 1994b: 38) The positing of sexual difference as a central principle of the theoretical perspective runs alongside politics of self representation; sexual difference is here a strategy of disruption. Universal maleness has been the result of the non-thinking of sexual difference: maleness has been the norm, the subject of discourse, the knowledge, the visible, the positive in opposition to the negative of the feminine. Misogyny need not be read in a paranoid mode as the expression of woman-hating, but rather a structural necessity of philosophy as dominant discourse. In other words, the setting-up of the male subject as the measure of all things requires the positing of the woman as other-than, that is to say less-than, and subordinate to the main point of reference. Sexist domination is therefore a structural necessity internal to philosophical discourse and as such productive of knowledge. (Braidotti 1991a: 176)

This has been both the result of the unspeakableness of woman and the cause of our absence in masculine discourse. The self-representation of women’s embodied subjectivities is crucial to the subversion of the power encompassed in universal masculinity. We must make ourselves visible in ways which deny the lack that has been our space in masculist discourses. The articulation of multiple subjectivities as perceptual informants of choices taken in social situations has been one of the main conceptual leaps that post-structural feminists have made. This has necessitated the disruption of oppositional binary interpretative frameworks. In so doing we have denied the oppressive structures which have dominated analysis of power relations and which have limited the options at our disposal both to understand the world and to understand our place in it. Instead of being constrained within the categories of oppositional columns, we have recognised that we can create knowledge about the world through recognition of feminine embodied engagements with the social and cultural categories. And further, that these categories have been phallogocentric7 classifications which have depended on ahistorical, essential, physiological, sex — that fable of which Helen Cixous spoke above. In this way we can engage at an analytical level which inevitably denies universality to masculinity. Embedded phallocentric values have informed understandings of female bodies as incomplete because we do not produce semen (Aristotle), as lacking because we do not have a penis (Freud) and because we experience only immature orgasm, and as without access to social power because we are metaphorically defined as disempowered by our desire for the symbolic phallus (Lacan). These caricatures of feminine physiology have been parodies of biological facts which have informed dichotomous categories of sex and gender.

WHY SEXUAL DIFFERENCE CAN BE DIFFERENT I have said that the strategy used to disrupt phallocentric logic is the application of the new logic: “sexual difference as the basic difference of humankind”. As Cavarero says: To think sexual difference beginning from the universal man means to think it as already thought, that is, to think it through the categories of a thought system which stands on the non-thinking of difference itself. (Cavarero 1993: 193) We have been trapped by a base line of universal masculinity, in this way ‘sexual difference’ has actually meant ‘difference from men’. This androcentric perspective has been possible because the thinking-through of sexual difference has taken place through a framework of gendered oppositions, ‘difference’ has been limited to binary choice, ‘masculine’ or ‘not’: Sexual difference comes later, as an unproblematic specification of the universal, but in this coming later, its originaryness has already been lost . . . Thus in this universal (in the subject, in the I of philosophy) man is present in all the concreteness of his whole being, a gendered living being . . . and since he is present in it he recognises himself, he speaks himself, he thinks himself, he represents himself. (Cavarero 1993: 191-3)

LANGUAGE AND REALITY The language fails us: The point seems to be that, one must be willing to begin an argument and so formulate questions that will redefine the context, displace the terms of the metaphors, and make up new ones . . . That argument is also a confrontation, a struggle, a political intervention in institutions and in the practices of everyday life. That the confrontation is itself discursive in nature — in the sense that language and metaphors are always embedded in practices, in real life, where meaning ultimately resides — is implicit in one of the first metaphors of feminism: the personal is political. (De Lauretis 1984:3) She describes the feminist project as “the politics of self-representation”. Our understanding of the world is reached through words, through the language which is already full of meaning. Interpretation takes place in a space already controlled by phallocentric values; these values are accepted as though they were always there, as essence of meaning. The feminist position consists in anchoring the deconstruction of identities based on the phallus, and especially of the feminine in its many configurations, to the lived experience of real life women as bio-cultural agents of a massive political movement. The crucial issue for feminists is precisely that knot of identification, loss and pain, that binds women to a feminine that is not one, but is a web of multiple sites. (Braidotti 1994b: 203)

ARCHAEOLOGIES OF DIFFERENCE Feminist archaeologists are faced with the task of re-thinking the interpretative process in order: first to unmask the deeply rooted masculism of the discourse, and then to implement an interpretative framework centred on sexual difference. The dangers are obvious! Archaeology already works from sexual difference but in ways which illustrate the inherent phallocentrism in the ‘non-thinking of sexual difference’, archaeologists work with the ‘male or other’. Following Braidotti, we must question the foundation of thinking. Patrizia Violi suggests that: Feminist women engaged in intellectual work have had to confront their own research with basic issues of feminist thought, calling into question the idea of neutral skill and searching for an engendered way of thinking. (Violi 1992: 168) While this is true in small measure of research in archaeology, if we are to make a real difference to the way the past is represented we need to confront the deeply embedded masculism in our discipline. It is particularly important that we as archaeologists explore the sources of our assumptions because it is too easy for the representations created through phallocentric value systems and expressed and reinforced with assumptions from the same value systems to be used as knowledge with historic authenticity.

The symbolic image of Man is constructed through a complex system of collective representations which are expressed above all in narrative, in the stories that men tell and have always told each other about themselves, and about the world. Narrative is crucial to the construction of male subjectivity because it enables men to objectivize themselves and their own experience in the stories that represent it. (Violi 1992: 169) Archaeology has been stories about men. In recent years both male and female archaeologists have addressed this problem, but they have done so in what Braidotti and Cavarero would call a reformist way. Archaeologists have recognised the absence of women in the representations and acknowledged that it will not do to blame this on lack of evidence of women. It has also been noted that it is not enough to put women back in stereotypical roles as passive, domestic, often pregnant and never cultural. These single dimensional figures are pasted on as tokens of apparent engagement with issues raised by feminists. It is in the project ‘to practice archaeologies of difference’ that I think Teresa de Lauretis can help us: Strategies of writing and of reading are forms of cultural resistance. Not only can they work to turn dominant discourses inside out (and show that it can be done), to undercut their enunciation and address, to unearth the archaeological stratifications on which they are built; but in affirming the historical existence of irreducible contradictions for women in discourse, they also challenge theory in its own terms, the terms of a semiotic space constructed in language, its power based on social validation and well established modes of enunciation and address, so well established that, paradoxically, the only way to position oneself outside of that discourse is to displace oneself within it — to refuse the questions as formulated, or to answer deviously (through its own words), even to quote (but against the grain). (De Lauretis 1984:7) De Lauretis argues that narrative form works through a mythical subject in the image of a hero; the hero is masculine and qualifies for this role via the relationship of his subject to the feminine object. It is no coincidence then, if we apply her theory to archaeological narratives, that we find again and again that we have stories of active, inventive, central men. De Lauretis suggests that: … the myth is already textually inscribed, cast in dramatic literary form, and thus sharply focused on the hero as mover of the narrative, the centre and term of the reference of consciousness and desire. (De Lauretis 1984: 112) We as archaeologists ‘make sense’ of the material evidence by writing narratives about the people for whom it had meanings. Lotman, in a discussion about narrative forms, tells us that: … the origin of the plot must be traced to a text-generating mechanism located at the centre of the cultural massif. (Lotman quoted by De Lauretis 1984: 162) And as De Lauretis describes:

The function of such texts, in the non-discrete world of myth, was to establish distinctions and, from them, to construct a picture of the world in which the most remote phenomena could be seen as being related to one another. By reducing the diversity and variety of phenomena and occurrences to invariant images, these texts could play the role of science … (De Lauretis 1984: 117) … a classifying, stratifying and regulating role. They reduced the world of excesses and anomalies which surrounded man to norm and system. (Lotman quoted by De Lauretis 1984: 162). This very usefully describes the form that archaeological texts have taken, and the way masculism has worked through language to confine the feminine as objectified in the negative space of ‘not masculine’. In this way, the feminine is classified, stratified and regulatedwithin dichotomous opposition. Once defined in this way the world of embodied femaleness is contained, that which is in excess of and an anomaly of the masculine is implicitly denied. Judith Butler describes Irigaray’s defiance of this control: When Irigaray claims that the feminine is always elsewhere, she is marking out a space for the feminine that exceeds and defies any of its given or positive articulations. (Butler 1993b: 18) Paradoxically the very simplicity of the binary system makes it appear to make sense. The myths created in the narrative form endlessly repeat and reinforce the ‘sense’ of ‘man as hero/subject’. It is in this need for repetition that Judith Butler envisions our8 escape. In her analysis of representations of lesbians and the dominance of heterosexuality as normal and central she argues that the repetition is a sign of the instability of the interpretative structure and that it is in the act of repetition that the potential for escape lies. If heterosexuality is compelled to repeat itself in order to establish the illusion of its own uniformity and identity, then this is an identity permanently at risk, for what if it fails to repeat, or if the very exercise of repetition is re-deployed for a very different performative purpose?… That there is a need for repetition at all is a sign that identity is not self-identical. .. . If every performance repeats itself to institute the effect of identity, then every repetition requires an interval between the acts, as it were, in which risk and excess threaten to disrupt the identity being constituted. (Butler 1993b: 315-7) Archaeological narratives about social life in the past can quite clearly be seen to take a similar form to the myths and folk tales which De Lauretis describes and critiques. We can see even more similarities when we look at what De Lauretis calls the mythical subject and how this functions in relation to multi-heroed texts. However varied the conditions of presence of the narrative form in fictional genres, rituals, or social discourses, its movement seems to be that of a passage, a transformation predicated on the figure of a hero, a mythical subject … what has

remained largely unanalysed is how this view of myth and narrative rests on a specific assumption about sexual difference. (De Lauretis 1984: 113). Lotman tells us that in multi-heroed texts: Characters can be divided into those who are mobile, who enjoy freedom with regard to plot-space, who can change their place in the structure of the artistic world and cross the frontier, the basic topological feature of this space, and those who are immobile, who represent, in fact, a function of this space. (Lotman quoted by De Lauretis 1984: 167) So we see in this synechdochal move the male hero becomes symbolic of masculinity, as understood within binary systems, the female becomes representative of that which does not have access to choice, that which is immobile. Lotman goes on to say: In as much as closed space can be interpreted as ‘a cave’, ‘the grave’, ‘a house’, ‘woman’ (and, correspondingly, be allotted the features of darkness, warmth, dampness), entry into it is interpreted on various levels as ‘death’, ‘conception’, ‘return home’, and so on; moreover all these acts are thought of as mutually identical. (Lotman quoted by De Lauretis 1984: 168) De Lauretis says of this: In this mythical-textual mechanics, then, the hero must be male, regardless of the textimage, because the obstacle, whatever its personification, is morphologically female and indeed, simply the womb, … if the work of the mythical structuration is to establish distinctions, the primary distinction on which all others depend is not say, life and death, but rather sexual difference. In other words, the picture of the world produced in mythical thought since the very beginning of culture would rest, first and foremost, on what we call biology. Opposite pairs such as inside/outside, the raw/the cooked, or life/death appear to be merely derivatives of the fundamental opposition between boundary and passage … (De Lauretis 1984: 119) The familiarity of this analysis of mythical-textual mechanics is no coincidence, since it is in fact the effect of phallocentrism that we see in action here: our experiences both as archaeologists and as academics have been located in phallocentrically informed masculist discourses. Symbolic access to power in the form of choice and movement and selfrepresentation, is, in this system available only to those who have the penis/phallus. De Lauretis’ call for the primacy of sexual difference as interpretative notion returns us to my earlier warnings of the risks we must take when we use theories of sexual difference in our attempts to disrupt the phallocentrism of archaeological interpretations: the concept of binary sex difference is already semiologically in place as dichotomous opposition. In order to engage the potential of the gender theory of multiplicity it is important that we activate ‘sexual difference’ as a deconstructive tool. Rosi Braidotti communicates her own sense of urgency in her statement of intent:

I think the notion of ‘difference’ is a concept rooted in European fascism, having been colonised and taken over by a hierarchical and exclusionary ways of thinking. Fascism, however, does not come from nothing. In the European history of philosophy, ‘difference’ is central insofar as it has always functioned by dualistic oppositions, which create sub-categories of otherness or ‘difference-from’. Because in this history, ‘difference’ has been predicated on relations of domination and exclusion, to be ‘different-from’ came to mean ‘less-than’, to be worth less than man … as a critical thinker, an intellectual raised in the bay-boom era of the new Europe, as a feminist committed to enacting empowering alternatives, I choose to make myself accountable for this aspect of my culture and my history. I consequently want to think through difference, through the knots of power and violence that have accompanied its rise to supremacy in the European mind. This notion is far too important and rich to be left to fascist and hegemonic interpretations. (Braidotti 1994b: 45) As a primary interpretative concept, sexual difference can be an expression of autonomous categories of differences. If we understand feminine essentialism as the lived, embodied experiences of engagements with the world and therefore as something which we expect to change but as very real insofar as ‘being a woman’ has been defined culturally. In an audacious move ‘the feminine’ has ontological presence in its own right, she does not lack a penis she has the joy (Jouissence) of her own embodied knowledge. In the same move ‘the masculine’ is relieved of the fear of castration, he need no longer define himself in relation to a mythical order. The perpetual, fearful repetition of masculist discourse can be replaced by fluid, multiple, contextual possibilities. We need to construct new desiring subjects in the ruins of the phallogocentrically enforced dualism. (Braidotti 1994b: 56) For archaeologists the potential of these new embodied subjectivities is enormous. In subversive moves we are freed to think in completely different ways as completely different knowing subjects, we are no longer fixed as masculine or feminine, in relation to reason and emotion, active or passive. In this new pre-phallocentric conceptual framework there are no dichotomous value structures in place, multiplicity and fluidity rule. When we identify ourselves as whole, complex agents, actively engaging with the social and cultural gendered categories we deny the confines of phallocentric opposition. The starting point for the project of sexual difference is the political will to assert the specificity of the lived female bodily experience … the project of sexual difference engages a will to reconnect the whole debate on difference to the bodily experience of women. (Braidotti 1994b: 140) I do not naively believe that simply by wishing the dichotomous structures away that they will disappear, but that we can disrupt the taken-for-granted nature of these phallocentric erections by asserting gendered locations which express multiplicity at the same time as

asserting confident embodied knowledge. In this way the feminine will no longer be that which is lacking. As Judith Butler says: The feminine marks the limit of representability which would undo the presuppositions of representation itself. (Butler 1993b: 19) As academic archaeologists we are of course enmeshed in the symbols and meanings of the dominant masculist discourse, and in consequence we have ‘known’ ourselves and the world we live in relation to androcentric, phallocentric and heterosexual norms. If we are to tell radically different stories about the material culture with which we work we must make a terrifying leap into the interpretative spaces which are as yet largely inexpressible. We will use words which are already occupied by masculist meanings, and ‘describe’ social engagements in terms already dominated by the central, invasive phallus. We will in short be misunderstood.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am grateful to Sue Pitt, Barbara Llewellyn and Michael Tierney for their enthusiastic support and encouragement. Thanks too to Michael for the discussions, comments and arguments which helped me make sense of my political location.

NOTES 1 Rosi Braidotti actually describes the divide as between “gender theorists" and “theorists of sexual difference"; she understands those I have described as “equality perspectives" as “gender" and those I term “gender theorists of difference" as “feminists of sexual difference”. I will discuss this more fully later. 2 Judith Butler has expressed some reservation about being defined as ‘post-structural’ but for the purposes of this chapter I will define her as such to differentiate her from the mainstream Anglo-American gender theorists. 3 I am aware here that Adrienne Rich in many ways does not fit my definition of her as a following generation, but I will be looking at the ways the Italian feminists use her work as engagements with the French flights, rather than at her own undeniably innovative ways of seeing. 4 I do not mean here to express age or dates but the form of the theoretical engagement. 5 Here I refer to the way women and the feminine have been defined as without knowledge and as unknowable when understood in opposition to men and the masculine. By critiquing the roots of the thinking process we can put women back into knowledge. 6 See note 1: here gender is used to refer to the equality politics of Anglo-American feminism of the 1970s and 1980s. 7 The ‘word’ has carried the authority of reason and all the weight that symbolic masculine

power calls on in the perpetuation of masculist discourse. 8 I appropriate Butler’s argument here with misgivings. He r work is embedded in queer theory and is an exploration of ways to escape the heterosexual values system. Her location as a lesbian woman is political and as such prioritises the disruption of heterosexual norms over the disruption of masculist discourses.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Braidotti, R. 1991a. Patterns of Dissonance. Polity Press, Cambridge. Braidotti, R. 1991b. Body-Images and the Pornography of Representation. Gender Studies, 2: 137-51. (reprinted in Braidotti 1994a, as Chapter 2). Braidotti, R. 1992. On the Female Feminist Subject, or from ‘she self’ to ‘she other’. In Bock, G. & James, S. (eds), Beyond Equality and Difference: 178-92. Routledge, London. (reprinted in Braidotti 1994a, as Chapter 10). Braidotti, R. 1994a. Nomadic Subjects. Embodiment and Sexual Difference in Contemporary Feminist Theory. Columbia University Press, New York. Braidotti, R. 1994b. In Schor, N. & Weed, E. (eds), More Gender Trouble: Feminism Meets Queer Theory. Differences. A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies, 6. Indiana University Press, Bloomington. Bunch, C. 1976. Not For Lesbians Only. Building Feminist Theory. Essays from Quest. Longman, London. Butler, J. 1989. Gendering the Body: Beauvoir’s Philosophical Contribution. In Garry, A. & Pearsal, M. (eds), Women, Knowledge and Reality. Explorations in Feminist Philosophy: 253-62. Unwin Hyman, London. Butler, J. 1990. Gender Trouble. Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. Routledge, London. Butler, J. 1993a. Bodies that Matter. Routledge, London. Butler, J. 1993b. Imitation and Gender Subordination. In Abelove, H.J., Borale, M.A. & Halperin, D.M. (ees), The Lesbian and Gay Studies Reader: 307-20. Routledge, London. Card, C. 1994. Adventures in Lesbian Philosophy. Indiana University Press, Bloomington. Cavarero, A. 1993. Towards a Theory of Sexual Difference. In Kemp, S. & Bono, P. (eds), The Lonely Mirror. Italian Perspectives on Feminist Theory: 189-221. Routledge, London. Cixous, H. 1981. Sorties. In Marks, E. & de Courtivran, I. (eds), New French Feminisms: 908. Harvester Press, Brighton. Cocks, J. 1989. Oppositional Imagination: Feminism, Critique and Political Theory. Routledge, London. De Lauretis, T. 1984. Alice Doesn’t. Feminism, Semiotics, Cinema. Macmillan, De Lauretis, T. 1986. Technologies of Gender. Indiana University Press, Bloomington. De Lauretis, T 1988. The Essence of the Triangle or, taking the risk of essentialism seriously: feminist theory in Italy, the U.S. and Britain. Differences. A Journal of Feminist Cultural

Studies, 1 (2): 3-37. De Lauretis, T 1989. Sexual Indifference and Lesbian Representation. Theatre Journal, 40 (2): 155-77. De Lauretis, T. 1990. Sexual Difference: A Theory of Social-Symbolic Practice. Indiana University Press, Bloomington. Frye, M. 1989. In Garry, A. & Pearsal, M. (eds), Women, Knowledge and Reality. Explorations in Feminist Philosophy. Unwin Hyman, London. Gero, J. & Conkey, M. 1990. Engendering Archaeology: Women and Prehistory. Blackwell, Oxford. Irigaray, L. 1985. This Sex Which is Not One (translated by Catherin e Porter). Cornell University Press, Ithaca. Irigaray, L. 1988. Equal to Whom? Differences. A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies, 1 (21): 59-76. Jenson, D. 1991. Helen Cixous. Coming to Writing and other essays. Harvard University Press, New York. Violi, P. 1992. Gender, subjectivity and language. In Bock, G. & James, S. (eds), Beyond Equality and Difference: 164-76. Routledge, London. Weedon, C. 1987. Feminist Practice and Posts truc tura list Theory. Blackwell, Oxford. Whitbeck, C. 1989. A Different Reality: Feminist Ontology. In Garry, A. & Pearsal, M. (eds), Women, Knowledge and Reality. Explorations in Feminist Philosophy: 51-76. Unwin Hyman, London.

Gender and Sex Distinguishing the difference with ancient DNA Keri A. Brown

INTRODUCTION Gender is a cultural construction, a system of cultural categorisation that uses biological sex differences as a way of structuring thought and practice, but is not determined by them. A consequence of this definition is that there is a high degree of correlation between biological sex and social gender, but not always a one to one correspondence.1 Material culture can be studied in order to characterise the types of gender construction present in prehistoric society. One route to understanding gender construction and gender roles is by the recognition of identifiable men and women, either in representations through various media or through inhumations and cremations and their accompanying artefacts. Representations of humans in prehistory have been identified in rock carvings, cave paintings, statue-menhirs, statue-stelae, ceramics and metal objects. Well studied examples from Italy include the statue-menhirs from Lunigiana (Whitehouse 1992b: 45-7) and the cave paintings of Grotta di Porto Badisco (Whitehouse 1992a: 87-124). Human representations may be male, female or nonspecific.2 Determining whether representations depict males or females can be aided by the presence of biological characteristics such as breasts for females. The identification of the biological sex intended in the representation is a prerequisite for gender studies. But without the presence of these definitive features, the identification of the sex of the image can become subjective, and without any intention, could involve our own perceptions of appropriate images of gender today. As an example of the difficulties involved in studying prehistoric art, we can refer to the analysis of the human representations in the cult cave of Grotta di Porto Badisco. Whitehouse (1992b: 92-3) divided these images into three classes. Class I images were those which could be fairly confidently assigned as human and as male or female. Class II and III images are more abstract in form; indeed Class III figures bear very little or no resemblance to human shape. As the images become more abstract, so the difficulty increases of judging the prehistoric artist’s original intentions. There is then the temptation for the archaeologist to stretch the limits of interpretation by assigning meaning to the more obscure images and to complex scenes. Prehistoric art is fraught with these difficulties, and the same images can be given widely differing interpretations. But even general phenomena involving prehistoric art can be given different meanings. The frequent occurrence of human representations seen in some prehistoric cultures can be interpreted in different ways by

individual scholars. Why, for example, is the preponderance of male depictions seen at Grotta di Porto Badisco interpeted as meaning male domination of Neolithic society in Italy (Whitehouse, 1992b) whereas Hodder (1990: 68) declines to interpret the common occurrence of female figurines in the Neolithic of S.E. Europe as an indication of an equivalent female domination of society, but instead suggests “To put it over- simply, women may or may not have had any real power in the Neolithic of S.E. Europe, but certain aspects of being a woman were conceptually central."? One can cite a similar example from Skeates (1994: 207-8), where he accepts Whitehouse’s identification of the human figures as males or females, but disagrees with her interpretation of male dominance and hostility between the sexes in Italian Neolithic society. Each of these two scholars also has their own interpretation of the important group 16 painted scene from the Grotta do Porto Badisco — needless to say, I also have mine. By turning to burial evidence, can one avoid the above dilemmas? Physical anthropological methods can be used to identify male and female human remains, and, knowing the sex of burials could then lead to a better understanding of the gender affiliations of accompanying grave goods. These artefacts can then be investigated in other contexts such as settlement sites. However, there is a surprising amount of uncertainty involved in sexing human remains. In this paper I wish to discuss the uncertainties in the physical anthropological methods of sexing human remains and their implications for gender studies by focussing on a recent analysis of an Iron Age necropolis at Pontecagnano, Campania, carried out by Vida Navarro (1992).

PHYSICAL ANTHROPOLOGICAL METHODS OF SEXING HUMAN REMAINS Since gender is culturally constructed, it is possible for individuals or groups to have a gender that is different from their biological sex, or is intermediate or anomalous in some way. For example, in Ancient Rome, a Vestal Virgin had an ambiguous status in Roman society as shown by the fact that she could give evidence in a law court like a man. Usually Roman women had to be represented by a male relation or their spouse and could not speak in court on their own behalf or give evidence (Beard 1980: 17). Nevertheless, a Vestal Virgin was still a woman, and was allowed to marry, if she so wished, after her term of office finished (Beard 1980:: 14, note 21). Although ambiguous groups of this kind have been recognised in many societies, it is nonetheless the case that one would expect a high level of correlation between biological sex and social gender. The accurate identification of the biological sex of human remains would therefore be a great step forward in understanding gender construction and gender roles in prehistory. Unfortunately, physical anthropological methods are reliable only to a certain extent, and it is important for all archaeologists to be aware of the limitations of these methods. Like other primates, humans show sexual dimorphism i.e., the males have a larger body and show other skeletal differences from females, especially in the shape of the pelvis. When an intact pelvis is present in a burial, the identification of those remains as male or female can be made with 95% confidence (Krogman & Iscan 1986: 259). This, of course, applies to recent skeletal material, as the morphological and morphometric methods for sex identification used by

anthropologists are based on reference collections from modern human populations. As Gotherstrom et ¿z/. (1997) point out, the application of these standards to prehistoric remains may be inappropriate. Prehistoric females may have been more skeletally robust, so that in the absence of a diagnostic pelvis, they could appear to be males, according to standards derived from modern populations. The pelvis anchors muscles, and “Considering the plasticity of the skeleton in response to external forces and stimuli, there are reasons to proceed with caution in interpreting all morphological differences in the pelvic region as a result of differential reproductive function." If the pelvis is fragmented or crushed so that morphological indicators are destroyed and morphometric analyses cannot be carried out, the skull is the next most reliable signpost to biological sex. The differences between male and female skulls are generally those of size and robustness; these differences are not determined by sex, as is the pelvis shape, so are less reliable. Krogman & Iscan (1986: 191ff) discuss which skull features can be used as sex indicators. When put to the test, however, identification of a skull as male or female has only 85-90% confidence (again based on modern populations). Post-cranial features, such as the robustness or gracility of long bones, size of feet and the marks of muscle attachments on bones, can also be used as sex indicators, but consequently there is a decrease in confidence of the accuracy (80-90%). The possibility of the greater robustness of prehistoric females compared to post-industrial females would suggest that identifications of sex based on the skull only, or on post-cranial features, should be accepted with some reservations by the archaeologist. Indeed, there is a strong likelihood of prehistoric females being identified as males when robusticity is used as the sole criterion for sex identification. Juveniles are notoriously difficult to sex as the changes in the skeleton caused by the onset of puberty have not occurred. Some attempts have been made to devise methods of sex identification for foetuses and infants based on the pelvis (see Krogman & Iscan 1986 for a brief review of this research), but the level of accuracy with these methods is only about 70%; for prepubertal remains the accuracy is in the order of 75-80%, but these levels of accuracy depend on the presence of an almost complete skeleton. Without the presence of an intact pelvis, identification of the sex of juveniles is 50-50; in other words, an informed guess (Krogman & Iscan 1986: 259). Recent research has not been able to improve on this. Holcomb et al. (1995) demonstrated that there was measurable sexual dimorphism in the sciatic notch at an early age, but the extensive overlap in measurements made this unreliable as an indicator of sex. Schutkowski (1993) claimed 70-90% accuracy in sexing children’s skeletons from Spitalfields, London, based on a sample of known age and sex from this post-medieval cemetery. However, this study was not carried out ‘blind’ — the anthropologist knew the sex of the samples before he studied them, and may have been influenced by this knowledge. All the previous paragraphs describe the possibility of sexing human remains that are more or less complete. Attempts to sex cremations have been made, but due to the high temperatures involved, bones become cracked and distorted, eventually being reduced to ashes. It is doubtful whether any accurate identification of biological sex can be made from cremated remains even where large enough pieces of bone survive.

THE CASE OF PONTECAGNANO The limitations that are involved in the sexing of human remains are encountered in the analysis of the Iron Age cemetery at Pontecagnano, Campania. In her paper, Vida Navarro (1992) endeavoured to study sex and gender in this sample of Iron Age society via a comparison of the biological sex of the human remains with the gender of the individual as identified by accompanying artefacts. The Picentino necropolis, located to the west of the Iron Age settlement, has been published in detail (D’Agostino & Gastaldi 1990; De Natale 1992), enabling a reanalysis of the burial evidence by Vida Navarro. This study involved a total of 99 burials, comprising 66 cremations and 31 inhumations, and 2 unclassified burials. Vida Navarro described the condition of the human remains: “Because of the specific soil composition in Picentino, the skeletal material from the latter (inhumation burials) was, in fact, usually in an even worse state of preservation than that from cremations, and no traces at all of the skeletons were found in 19 out of 31 cases. Cremations offered, on the other hand, very fragmentary material . . . “ (Vida Navarro 1992: 71). With conventional physical anthropological methods, biological sex could be assigned to only 35 burials, including 2 cremations in this number. Of these 35 burials, only two were sexed according to the most reliable characteristic, the pelvis, and these were identified as one male and one female. The other 33 burials were sexed according to less reliable indicators such as skull features, robust or gracile long bones, large femur heads, large foot bones and strong musclear attachments. Vida Navarro assessed the reliability of the sexing of the burials according to the indicators used by the physical anthropologists as ? (Likely), ?? (Probable) and ??? (Possible). Out of 33 sexed burials, one was a possible male, 11 were probably males, and 13 were likely males, while there were 7 probable females and one likely female (1992: 72-3). The Picentino necropolis is a rich cemetery and Vida Navarro uses the repertoire of grave goods to identify the social gender of the burials. This excercise is quite separate from that of assigning the biological sex through the methods of physical anthropology. Classifying the artefacts entirely on the basis of associations within the cemetery, without reference to evidence from other sites, she recognised two mutually exclusive groups of artefacts, one associated with weaving, the other with weaponry. She hypothesised that these represented gender categories of female and male respectively; this resulted in an initial classification of 25 graves as ‘female’ and 10 as ‘male’. This classification was extended by the addition of other artefacts, not connected specifically with weaving or weapons but found exclusively with one or other of these associations: specific types of fibulae, ornaments of various types, razors, knives, etc. Once these objects were assigned gender, it was possible to identify 33 ‘female’ graves and 35 ‘male’ graves. Vida Navarro then turned to the physical anthropological evidence and compared the results of the two analyses. Discreprancies were found between the biological sex of the burial as identified by physical anthropology and the gender expected from the nature of the grave goods, with 9 graves out of 68 (c.13%) having a different gender from the biological sex identification. While many of these cases may relate to the very poor condition of the bones, the two most securely sexed burials (by use of pelvic features) were found to be with the ‘wrong’ objects — the male burial contained a spindle whorl and a ‘female’ type of fibula, while the female burial contained a clay helmet and a plate, both

objects usually associated with weaponry in this particular cemetery. It must be pointed out that these two burials took the form of cremations, so that the identification of biological sex, although derived from pelvic bones, may not be as reliable as first thought. Vida Navarro considered this possibility, but also considered other possible explanations, e.g. that her artefact analysis did not in fact represent genders or that there was no one to one correspondence between biological sex and social gender at Pontecagnano. Pursuing the latter suggestion, she discusses how these anomalies might cast light on aspects of the social organisation of the Pontecagnano community. The case of Pontecagnano shows that the study of biological sex and social gender separately and subsequent comparison between the two types of analysis can serve as a route into studying aspects of past social organisation. The problems described above were also encountered in the gender/sex analysis carried out at the necropolis of Morgantina, Sicily (Lyons 1996: 182), where the author writes: “This situation illustrates the limitations of postulating gender based on typology of the grave furnishings without corroborating bone evidence”. (See also review of Osteria dell’Osa by Toms (1994)). The implications are important and far-reaching for prehistorians — to provide a firmer foundation for the study of the gender affiliations of artefacts, and their significance in gender construction and gender roles in prehistoric society there is a clear need for an independent method of sexing human remains; not just adult inhumations, but also juveniles, and also cremations.

BACK TO BIOLOGICAL BASICS - WHY ARE MEN DIFFERENT FROM WOMEN? Before describing in detail the biomolecular archaeological methods of sexing human remains, it becomes necessary to give some background information on the genetic basis of sex. At the genetic level, there is very little difference between men and women. We all have 22 pairs of identical chromosomes, called autosomes or non-sex chromosomes, and one pair of sex chromosomes. In a human female these consist of two X chromosomes; in the human male, an X chromosome and a Y chromosome. The chromosomes are present in every cell of the body (except red blood cells) and contain DNA, which contains genes. It is the presence of the Y chromosome that determines maleness in the human; when only one X chromosome is present (XO) the human is female (YO never occurs and is presumed to be lethal). However, there are always exceptions to every rule and one in 20-25,000 males is X X (De la Chapelle 1981); conversely XY females also exist. From research on such ‘sex-reversed’ individuals (and mice) it was discovered that one particular gene was responsible for maleness — the SRY (Sex- determining Region Y) gene. In rare instances this gene may ‘cross over’ from the Y chromosome into the X chromosome, so creating X X males, or be lost from the Y chromosome completely, creating XY females (Tamarin 1989: 77ff.). So although a chromosome test (called a karyotype) would show males with X X or females with XY chromosomes, in their physical appearance (the phenotype) they would be perfectly normal men and women. Table 1 Sex chromosome abnormalities (from Herskowitz 1973)

Sex chromosome complement Frequency among live births Sex XO1

1 per 3000

female

XXX

1 per 1000

female

XYY

1 per 700

male

XXY2

1 per 800

male

xxxx

?

female

XXXY

?

male

XXYY

?

male

XXXXX

?

female

XXXXY

?

male

XXXYY

?

male

1 Turner’s syndrome 2 Klinefelter’s syndrome

As well as these rare sex-reversed individuals, other phenomena involving the sex chromosomes may occur more frequently in human populations. Invariably these involve abnormal chromosome numbers (Herskowitz 1973: 378) (see Table 1). The XXY male is often an intersex in phenotype (because of the presence of the second X chromosome), while X O and XX X females are infrafemales, which are sexually underdeveloped. It should be pointed out however that some specific phenotypic sexual abnormalities may be due to either environmental or biochemical factors that disrupt the operation of the sex hormones. The presence of abnormal numbers of sex chromosomes as listed in Table 1 has no effect on the validity of the molecular methods for sex identification described in the next section. The phenotypic appearance of the individuals affected can vary from the norm, as seen in the nondevelopment of secondary sexual characteristics, lack of fertility and sometimes mental retardation. Some genes appear only on the X chromosome, called sex-linked genes, some appear only on the Y chromosome, called the Y-linked genes. Genes which appear on both X and Y chromosomes are called pseudoautosomal genes (autosomal genes are those present on the 22 pairs of non-sex chromosomes). Non-pseudoautosomal genes identified to date include the gene for amelogenin, which is the major extracellular protein involved in tooth development (Nakahoriet al. 1991a). This gene has been sequenced and provides the basis for a test to identify X and Y chromosomes (Nakahori et al. 1991b) which can be applied to ancient DNA bone extracts, and hence the sexing of human remains. This is possible because the gene does not take identical forms on the X and Y chromosomes (as explained in detail below).

SEX IDENTIFICATION USING ANCIENT DNA (FIGS. 1

AND 2) With modern DNA samples sex identification is routine and usually involves identifying a multiply-repeated Y chromosome sequence. With Ancient DNA, things are more difficult. Ancient DNA is chemically damaged, broken into short fragments and survives in vanishingly small amounts (Brown & Brown 1992: 12). If one were to test only for the presence of a Y chromosome, a negative result caused by the experiment failing for some reason could be interpreted as indicating a female. A more satisfactory method is one that gives unambiguous signals for both male and female. The presence of the amelogenin gene on both X and Y chromosomes means that an experimental system can be designed which will give signals from both sex chromosomes. The experimental system which is the method of choice for studying Ancient DNA is called the polymerase chain reaction (PCR for short). A detailed description of theis method can be found in any recently published molecular biology textbook (eg. Brown 1995), but briefly, PCR is an enzymatic reaction which amplifies (i.e. copies many times) a defined region of DNA, is not inhibited by chemical damage to the template (the sample of DNA used in the reaction) and can work with extremely small amounts of template DNA. Two short pieces of DNA called primers are used to define the limits of the DNA sequence to be amplified; it follows from this that PCR can only be used when the sequence of the DNA to be amplified is already known in advance. New, ‘unknown’ genes cannot be amplified from Ancient DNA. This is no problem as plenty of interesting and informative genes have been sequenced by conventional means which can be used in biomolecular archaeology. The length of DNA that is amplified is known as the PCR product, and the products of PCR are usually placed in an electrophoresis gel. When an electric current is passed through the gel, the PCR products separate into ‘bands’ which look like the rungs of a ladder when the gel is placed under ultraviolet light. That the experiment has worked correctly and the right PCR products of the desired DNA sequence have been formed can be checked by also placing in the gel a ‘marker’. This consists of a DNA sample of known length which has previously been cut up into smaller pieces (also of known length) by enzymes. The lengths of the PCR products can then be compared to the known lengths of the marker bands. The amelogenin gene which forms the basis of the test for sex identification is, as described above, present on-both the X and Y chromosomes. However, the gene does not exist in identical forms on the X and Y chromosomes. Portions of the DNA sequence of the amelogenin gene are missing in the Y chromosome (known as ‘deletions’), and it is these differences that are exploited in the design of two PCR systems. A third method has been used by Stone et al. (1996) which not only involves PCR but also a further technique, called hybridisation (see Brown 1995, for further details of this method), where the PCR products from the X and Y chromosomes are differentiated by means of a small piece of synthesised DNA (called a probe). The first PCR system uses three primers (see fig. 2). Primers 1 and 2 anneal to the X chromosome, while primers 1 and 3 anneal to the Y chromosome, which has a deletion of 64 base pairs (bp). Therefore the PCR product from the X chromosome will be much larger than

that from the Y chromosome, and this size difference is clearly seen on an electrophesis gel. It also means that, when using template DNA from a female, one large, bright band is seen on the gel, whereas two bands will appear when the starting DNA is of male origins. With female template DNA, a second band is sometimes seen on a gel — this is formed by non-specific annealing of primer 3 to the X chromosome. This PCR product is much larger than the other two, over 340 bp, so is easily distinguishable; it is, however, unlikely to be formed when Ancient DNA is used as the template (because of the highly fragmented nature of Ancient DNA). The PCR products from the X and Y chromosomes are 196 bp and 132 bp respectively, and while these can be routinely amplified from modern DNA samples, it is more difficult to obtain these size products from Ancient DNA. This experimental system has been used by Gotherstrom et al. (1997) on human skeletal material from five Neolithic Pitted Ware graves at the cemetery at Ajvide, Gotland, Sweden. Although these burials contained grave goods, the palaeopathologist performed the sex identifications without knowledge of these and other gender-indicative practices such as orientation and position of the skeletons. The sex identifications via physical anthropology were then compared to those derived from molecular methods. Two of the burials were consistently identified as a male and a female according to both methods; however the other three burials were more problematic, due to the failure of the Y chromosome PCR product to amplify reliably, a problem noted by other researchers in this field. This has led to a redesign of the system, so that smaller PCR products are amplified (Sullivan et al. 1993). In this second method (see fig. 2), the size difference between the PCR products is based on a much smaller, 6 bp deletion in the X chromosome. The PCR product sizes are much closer in size, 112 bp from the Y chromosome and 106 bp from the X chromosome. These smaller products may appear to form one band on an ordinary electrophoresis gel, but this minor problem is solved by using a high-resolution gel.

Fig. 1 Structure of DNA (Deoxyribose Nucleic Acid). Two long intertwined polynucleotide chains from the famous double helix, held together by hydrogen bonding between the complementary bases A - T G - C T - A C -G. The order of bases determines the DNA sequence. The DNA sequence codes for the order of amino-acids in a protein

In Stone et al.‘s (1996) method, a 112 bp portion of the amelogenin gene present on both X and Y chromosomes is amplified, but the PCR products are not placed in an electrophoresis gel and visualised under ultra-violet light. Instead, the PCR products are bound onto a nylon membrane (called ‘blotting’). Short pieces of synthesised complementary DNA are then used to test whether the PCR products are derived from the X or Y chromosomes, or both. A male would be identified by two signals, a female by one only (see fig. 2). This method was used on 20 DNA samples of known sex from a modern population, and 20 burials which had been sexed morphologically from a 700 year old cemetery site in Illinois (Stone et al. 1996). This method shows impressive accuracy with both the modern and the ancient DNA samples — 100% accuracy for the modern samples (even identifying a mislabelled sample); of the ancient samples, 19 out of 20 agreed with the physical anthropological sex identifications (only burials which could be readily identified as male or female were used in this study). The sole discreprancy occurred with a burial identified as male according to morphology, but the DNA extracted and amplified from it would only yield the PCR product from the X chromosome. Possible reasons are given for this result in Stone et al.’s (1996) paper, including reasons discussed below. One intriguing possibility not discussed by them is that this burial could be that of an XX (sex- reversed) male; this could be tested by further experiments to look for the presence of the SRY gene via PCR. In a subsequent paper, an 8000 year old skeleton from the Hourglass Cave, western Colorado, was tested using the same methodology (Stone & Stoneking 1996) and the results indicated that the skeleton was that of a male; this was in agreement with the physical anthopological analysis.

Fig. 2 PCR (polymerase chain reaction) systems for identifying the amelogenin gene in Ancient DNA

CONCLUSIONS The major problems of working with Ancient DNA have already been mentioned — the fragmentation into short pieces, the chemical damage and the small amounts that survive. But in using Ancient DNA for sex identification of bone material, an extra difficulty is encountered, for which there is no obvious solution at present. This is the low copy number of the amelogenin gene. Most Ancient DNA work has been carried out on genes found in the mitochondria, small organelles, hundreds of which are present in each cell of the body. This high copy number increases the chance of finding the target sequence during PCR, a template DNA fragment that is intact enough to be amplifiable. The amelogenin gene is present only twice in each cell, so consequently the chances of finding intact and long enough template DNA from the this gene are very small, but not impossible. Redesigning the primers to give much shorter PCR products is one step that can be taken, also using samples from well-preserved bones and more recent burials is another. The method for sex identification developed by Stone et al. (1996) shows great promise for the future, as it has been used on recent burials (700 years old) and on a very ancient one (8000 years old). In the future, other informative genes may be sequenced that could be used in sex identification. Molecular biology is a fast-moving field and new developments take place continuously. To conclude, then, a reliable method of sexing human remains is something that would be greatly appreciated in archaeology. Ancient DNA offers a way out from the uncertainties that may be encountered with physical anthropological methods. The Iron Age cemetery of Pontecagnano is a good example of how the inability to accurately sex burials, both inhumations and cremations, can affect the interpretation of the accompanying grave goods. The assumption of specific gender roles for weapons and weaving equipment seems reasonable — but here lies the danger of imposing our perceptions of appropriate roles for men and women onto the past. If accurate sexing at Pontecagnano were possible, it might confirm this interpretation — or refute it. This last statement, however, needs a further gloss. Since gender is not synonomous with biological sex, it follows that it would not require a 100% correlation between grave goods and sex identification to support the gender interpretation of the weaver and warrior groupings. If, on the other hand, there was not a high level of correlation, we might conclude that the distinction was not based on gender, but represented some other social classification, such as occupation or class. The lack of texts and documents for prehistorians means that we are completely dependent on the interpretation of material culture; interpretations which as we are all aware may be to a greater or lesser degree subjective and influenced by our own perceptions and expectations of gender roles in modern society. While prehistoric art and artefacts can be all things to all men and women, it is to be hoped that burial evidence will, in the future, be analysed scientifically and interpreted rigorously. In turn this would lead to a better understanding of the gender affiliations of cultural artefacts, and hence their roles in mediating gender relations in other

contexts.

NOTES 1 Many thanks to Ruth Whitehouse for this elegant definition of gender. 2 I use the terms ‘male’ and ‘female’ to describe the biological status of human s as these are

terms that lack the gender implications inherent in the terms ‘man’ and ‘woman’.

Acknowledgements Many thanks to the people who read and commented on earlier drafts of this paper, including Terry Brown, Robin Allaby, Andrew Chamberlain and especially Ruth Whitehouse for exercising her editorial judgemen t and improving certain sections.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Beard, M. 1980. The sexual status of Vestal Virgins. Journal of Roman Studies, 70: 12-27. Brown, T. A. 1995. Gene Cloning. An Introduction. 3rd Edition. Chapman & Hall, London. Brown, K.A. & Brown, T.A. 1992. Ancient DNA and the Archaeologist. Antiquity, 66: 10-23. D’Agostino, B. & Gastaldi, P. (eds) 1990. Pontecagnano. La necropoli del Picentino. Le tombe delia Prima Età del Ferro. AION Quad. 8, Istituto Universitario Orientale, Naples. De la Chapelle, A. 1981. The etiology of maleness in XX men. Human Genetics, 58: 105-16. De Natale, S. 1992. Pontecagnano. La necropoli di S. Antonio (prop. ECI). 2: Le tombe délia Prima Eta del Ferro. AION Quad. 8, Istituto Universitario Orientale, Naples. Gotherstrom, A., Liden, K., Ahlstrom, T & Brown, T.A. 1997. Osteology, DNA and Sex Identification. International Journal o/Osteoarchaeology, 7: 71-81. Herskowitz, I.H. 1973. Principles of Genetics. Macmillan. New York. Hodder, I. 1990. The Domestication of Europe. Basil Blackwell. Oxford. Holcomb, S.M.C. & Konigsberg, L.W. 1995. Statistical study of sexual dimorpism in the human fetal sciatic notch. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 97: 113-25. Krogman, W. M. & Iscan, M.Y. (eds) 1986. The Human Skeleton in Forensic Medicine, (second edition.) Charles Thomas. Springfield, Illinois. Lyons, C. L. 1996. Sikel Burials at Morgantina. In Leighton, R. (ed), Early Societies in Sicily: 177-88. Accordia Research Centre, London. Nakahori, Y, Takenaka, O. & Nakagome, Y 1991a. A human X-Y homologous region encodes ‘amelogenin’. Genomics, 9: 264-9. Nakahori, Y, Hamano, K., Iwaya, M & Nakagome, Y 1991b. Sex identification by polymerase chain reaction using X-Y homologous primer. American Journal of Medical Genetics, 39: 472-3.

Schutkowski, H. 1993. Sex determination of infant and juvenile skeletons. I. Morphognostic features. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 90: 199-205. Skeates, R. 1994. Ritual, context and gender in Neolithic south-eastern Italy. Journal of European Archaeology, 2.2: 199-214. Stone, A. C, Milner, G.R., Paabo, S. & Stoneking, M. 1996. Sex determination of ancient human skeletons using DNA. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 99: 231-8. Stone, A. C. & Stoneking, M. 1996. Genetic Analyses of an 8000 year-old Native American skeleton. Ancient Biomolecules, 1: 83-8. Sullivan, K.M., Manucci, A., Kimpton, C.P. & Gill, P. 1993. A rapid and quantitative DNA sex test: fluoresence-based PCR analysis of X-Y homologous gene amelogenin. Biotechniques, 15: 636-41. Tamarin, R.H. (1989) Principles of Genetics. 4th Edition. Wm. C. Brown Publishers. Dubuque, Iowa. Toms, J . 1994. Constructing life from death in Iron Age Italy. Review of Anna Maria Bietti Sestieri (éd.), La necropoli laziale di Ostiera dell’Osa and Anna Maria Bietti Sestieri, The Iron Age communities of Ostiera dell’Osa: a study of socio-political development in central Tyrrhenian Italy. Antiquity, 68: 467-70. Vida Navarro, M.C. 1992. Warriors and Weavers: sex and gender in early Iron Age graves from Pontecagnano. Accordia Research Papers 3: 67-99. Whitehouse, R.D. 1992a. Underground Religion: Cult and Culture in Prehistoric Italy. Accordia Research Centre, London. Whitehouse, R.D. 1992b. Tools the Manmaker: the cultural construction of gender in Italian prehistory. Accordia Research Papers 3: 41-54.

Reflections on San Teodoro 1-7 and recent sex changes in the Upper Palaeolithic Robert Leighton Italy is perhaps the country where more well-preserved skeletons have been unearthed in the name of archaeology than any other in Europe. What do we know, therefore, about the physical anthropology of its earliest inhabitants? Perhaps not as much as might be hoped given the long history of research. However, as in most areas of scientific enquiry, the available data is somewhat uneven in quality and coverage, while the conclusions of earlier research have often been abandoned or overturned. The latter is doubtless a healthy sign of progress. Of course, the importance of skeletal analysis in archaeology is plain to see. A recent conference (AA.VV. 1994) has helped to clarify the current state of research, while Italian ‘cemetery archaeology’ continues to make rapid advances, most obviously in later prehistory. Age and sex determinations in particular are generating a variety of statistical assessments, comparisons and generalisations about social relationships and identities. While the excavation of cemeteries has long been routine in Bronze and Iron Age archaeology, the discovery of even one new burial of the Upper Palaeolithic still attracts wide attention. Perhaps this explains why Palaeolithic skeletons have often received preferential treatment — examination by specialists, painstaking conservation and display in museums — while those of later prehistory were once more likely to be forgotten in the storerooms, or worse. Partly because of its scarcity, such evidence is of particular interest, and not just to specialists. The long duration of the Palaeolithic, however distant in time, its artistic revelations and close-to-nature lifestyle (so easily romanticised in today’s crowded and polluted world) may suggest that the behaviour of our earlier ancestors is most fundamentally revealing about the nature of the species as a whole. Whether based on fact, myth or just wishful thinking, this has a peculiar resonance in contemporary society. Evidence of burial exists for the Middle Palaeolithic, but it is only during the Upper Palaeolithic that the practice becomes at all widespread in Europe, albeit hardly common. Even in Italy as a whole, which has an unusually large sample, only about 60 cases have been recorded so far, and not all are complete skeletons. They cover a period of about 15,000 years: an earlier series is broadly attributed to the Gravettian or early Epigravettian (about 25,000 18,000 years BP), while the majority (about 40) belongs to the late Upper Palaeolithic, or Final Epigravettian (about 14,000 - 10,000 BP)(Borgognini Tarli 1993; Manolis & Mallegni 1996; Mallegni 1996). One should therefore be wary of generalisations, as is often pointed out. In situations where preservation is good, excavation conducted rigorously and analysis undertaken with scientifically credible methods, much new information can be obtained from

Palaeolithic burials. Unfortunately, not all have met these criteria. One might willingly neglect the older discoveries in favour of more recent ones, were it not for the fact that the former represent a vital proportion of the evidence. This is precisely the case in Sicily. The remains of the seven individuals (ST1-7) found in the San Teodoro cave nearly sixty years ago in circumstances that were hardly ideal are unique: they are the only late Palaeolithic burials in the island, and outnumbered as a group only by those from the Arene Candide cave in Liguria. In fact, the San Teodoro cave is an important site for several reasons. Together with the fossil bone deposits in the surrounding area, it provides information dating from the Middle Pleistocene to the Upper Palaeolithic. It also has an interesting place in the history of archaeology: first investigated in 1859 by Baron F. Anca, the faunal samples were studied by Lartet (Anca 1860), while later research was conducted by R. Vaufrey in 1925, and by C. Maviglia and R. Graziosi during the 1940s. In 1982, L. Bonfiglio began excavating the thick layers outside the cave, which contain abundant Quaternary faunal remains, primaiily of hippo (H. pentlandi). These fossilised bones, which do not appear to be associated with human activity, accumulated gradually in an ancient lake bed as animals died of natural causes and their carcasses sank to the bottom (Bonfiglio 1989). Geochemical dating (amino-acid racemisation) of a hippo tooth has provided a reading of 190,000 ± 50,000 years BP (Belluomini et al. 1989). New excavations inside the cave are expected to commence in the near future.

UPPER PALAEOLITHIC BURIALS IN ITALY Before describing the San Teodoro burials, it is worth sketching some background information deriving from examinations of Palaeolithic burials and skeletal remains throughout Italy, as recently summarised by A. Guerreschi (1993) and S. Borgognini Tarli (1993). They advise caution in making generalisations or attempting to characterise Palaeolithic populations as a whole, since the picture varies throughout Italy and the sample size is minute: from 0.000085% (Gravettian) to 0.01% (Final Epigravettian) of the populations concerned, according to certain estimates. The best evidence is still that from Liguria (the so-called Grimaldi caves and Arene Candide). By far the most numerous remains from a single site are those of about twenty individuals from Arene Candide, perhaps the only Italian Palaeolithic site (although formerly regarded as Mesolithic) for which the term ‘necropolis’ is really justified (Guerreschi 1993: 223). As regards burial practice, it is noteworthy that the deceased are typically found in caves, often at one side or near the cave wall, usually placed singly but occasionally in pairs, in pits or trenches, sometimes covered with stones or red ochre, either with or without grave-goods. The latter may be items of daily use: stone tools, shells and bone, often in the form of pendants, necklaces or attachments to clothing, antler, as well as organic materials; or occasionally items of special significance, such as incised stone plaques. As regards the physical characteristics of the Evolved or Final Epigravettian skeletons from Liguria, the majority appear to be adult males (eight), followed by six children, four adult females, one uncertain, one adolescent, and two infants. A considerable degree of sexual

dimorphism has been noted. The adult males are described as medium-tall (166- 174cm, average 169cm), robust, with very well-developed musculature, especially on the right arms (associated with repeated circumduction, consistent with habitual throwing). In marked contrast, the females are described as medium-short (150-154cm, average 152 cm) with “scarsa robustezza ossea”, and slight or gracile build (Borgognini Tarli 1993: 245). Both have reasonably good dentition, despite wear, with few caries (which is also fairly typical of recent hunter-gatherers), and little evidence for diseases which leave traces in bones. The more complete human remains from the rest of peninsular Italy for this period are even more heavily biassed in favour of adult males, twelve of whom are recorded, followed by four children, two adolescents and two adult females. If we also take into account the more fragmented remains we can add a further 5 adult males, 5 adult females, 4 uncertain, 3 adolescents and 3 children. Here again the men are reckoned to be medium-tall (from 166174cm, average 171cm), fairly robust and with marked musculature and evidence of righthandedness. Fewer details are available about the females, although their traits seem to be similar to those of the Ligurian group just described.

SAN TEODORO Located near the little town of Acquedolci (Messina), at the base of a Mesozoic limestone cliff-face, facing the northern coast, at 140m above sea level and about a kilometre from the sea, the San Teodoro cave measures over 60m in length, about 20m in width, and 20m or more in height (figs 1-3). The Upper Palaeolithic deposit (layers A-D), about 2-2.3m thick, contained abundant stone tools, remains of hearths, and late Pleistocene fauna and flora typical of Sicily: primarily red deer, followed by boar, and wild cattle (Graziosi & Maviglia 1946; Lona 1949; Vigliardi 1968: 137). The lithic assemblage is attributed to the Final Epigravettian: that from layers A-B to a slightly later phase than that from layers C- D (Vigliardi 1968). Although 14C dates are lacking, the material is well-paralleled in other Sicilian complexes datable between roughly 14,000 and 10,000 BP (Aranguren & Revedin 1996). According to Vigliardi (1982), layers C-D probably date between about 12,000 and 10,000 BC. Directly below layer D was another layer (E), very different in character, with remains of hyena, deer and equids, preceded in turn by an earlier layer (F) with similar species as well as fossilised elephant (E. mnaidriensis), lacking any evidence of human activity (Graziosi 1943: 85-6). An elephant tooth from a similar context recently provided a date of 460,000 ± 115,000 years BP (Belluomini et al. 1989).

Fig. 1 Principal Upper Palaeolithic sites in Sicily. 1) Fontana Nuova, 2) Grotta Niscemi, 3) Canicattini Bagni, 4) Cala dei Genovesi, 5) S. Corrado, 6) Grotta di San Teodoro, 7) Grotta dell’Uzzo, 8) Grotta Mangiapane, 9) Grotta Addaura, 10) Grotta Mazzamuto, 11) Castello di Termini Imerese, 12) Cisternazza- Vallesecco, 13) Roccazzo, 14) Acqua Fitusa, 15) Grotta Giovanna, 16) Grotta Corruggi, 17) Pedagaggi

Fig. 2 San Teodoro cave entrance (about 8m high) with approximate location (xx) of burials 1-4 (courtesy of L. Bonfiglio)

The human remains inside the cave were discovered between 1937 and 1942, partly during rapid visits or inspections in response to damage by treasure hunters and only partly by more careful excavation. They were found on the eastern side of the cave facing inward, between about 4 and 14 metres from the entrance: one almost complete skeleton (ST1) was summarily removed in 1937, although its stratigraphie position was noted; one skull was collected by C. Maviglia during a visit in 1938 (ST2) and one in 1940 (ST3), and their positions recorded. Excavations by P. Graziosi and Maviglia in 1942 led to the discovery of more bones belonging to ST3, and the lower part (legs and pelvis) of a new skeleton (ST4), the rest of which had been destroyed by looters. All these remains (ST1-4) were found in layer E, and were probably originally intact. The exception is ST5, represented by a skull and a few bones, found higher up in layer B during excavation, mixed with animal bones and the remains of a hearth. This one was either never formally buried or had been disturbed. It is not clear exactly where ST6 (skull only) was found (perhaps not far from ST2 and ST3), although it was one of those recovered by Maviglia prior to excavation. Further details were recently published about another skull from San Teodoro (ST7), apparently also found by Maviglia, although more specific information about its findspot seems to be lacking (Aimar & Giacobini 1989; Fabbri 1993). ST1-4 had evidently been placed separately, a few metres apart, in different alignments, on their backs or on one side in an extended position, probably in shallow pits, dug down into layer E. A few accompanying items were recovered, mostly with ST4: the tip of an antler by the left femur and hand, and other deer bones scattered around the limbs, as well as smooth pebbles (ST4); a set of twelve perforated deer teeth, perhaps a necklace, were probably with ST1. In addition, about 50cm from ST4, Graziosi reported the presence of an almost intact hyena skull, which he thought may have been placed intentionally near the body. (This is a little surprising because hyenas are thought to be characteristic of an earlier period: perhaps it was a relic in the cave, found or dug out of layer E by the first inhabitants). Once covered with a thin layer of soil, much of the cave floor over these burials was sprinkled with ochre, which left a reddish lens in between layers D and E. This proves that the burials belong to the first phase of human activity in the cave, before or contemporary with layer D. Although the cave apparently served both as a place of burial and as a dwelling, the two uses were not necessarily contemporary. The spread of ochre seems to have concluded the ritual of the earlier phase, and later occupants using the cave as a dwelling or shelter need not have been aware of any burials (except perhaps for ST5). Some unresolved questions remain about the earliest faunal associations (see Burgio & Cani 1990) and the stratigraphy, but these are the salient points in the publications (Maviglia 1940; Graziosi & Maviglia 1946).

Fig. 3 Plan and section of 1942 excavations, after Graziosi 1947

SKELETAL ANALYSIS The bulk of the main report was concerned with skeletal analysis (Graziosi 1947). It has been noted that the authors were basically correct in regarding the remains as broadly ‘Cro-magnon’ in type, while noting certain similarities between the specimens, although much of their discussion about racial types is now redundant (Fabbri 1989). Of more relevance here are the estimates of age and sex: all the San Teodoro skeletons were published in the final report as mature males of various ages: ST1 about 25-35, ST2 about 40-50, ST3 about 25-30, ST4 uncertain, and ST5 the oldest individual. It is not always clear why Graziosi and Maviglia thought they were dealing with five, or even six, males. However, they focussed much of their attention on the skulls and seem to have been influenced by a general impression of ‘robustezza’. At any rate, their assessment has been quoted for nearly 60 years and ‘gli uomini di San Teodoro’ have appeared regularly in discussions about Palaeolithic burial practices and skeletal analyses. The latest analyses, using different methods and concentrating on the pelvic bones, have reversed the gender of ST1 and ST4, which are the only two skeletons with a good part of the post-cranial anatomy preserved. According to P. Fabbri (1993), ST1 is about 30-35 years old and fairly unambiguously female: the pelvic bones, inter alia, have a typically female preauriculur sulcus. Whichever method is used for calculating height, this individual would therefore be tall (165.5 ± 2.05cm, by Fully & Pineau’s method) by comparison with the statistics given recently for Palaeolithic females, noted above. Correnti (1967) suggested in an earlier study that this person could have suffered from thalassaemia (a form of anaemia, more common in Mediterranean regions), although the signs of this were not particularly marked. It now transpires that ST4 is most probably a young adult female too. In this case, the height estimate is not as simple, but this individual also seems to be tall: in the region of 160163.5cm. In addition, it is worth recalling that ST1 and ST4 were the only human remains associated with grave- goods. There remain the skulls. One of these (ST6) was found in a precarious condition and covered in plaster, from which L. Cardini, who carefully restored much of the San Teodoro material, was afraid to extract it in case of damage. With the help of new restoration techniques it was carefully reconstructed and subjected to analysis for the first time by E. Pardini, who came to the following conclusion: “sembra trattársi del cranio di una donna e di età non ancora matura" (Pardini 1975: 349). As regards ST2, ST3, ST5 and ST7 (mainly skulls), new evidence is currently available only for ST7, examined recently: Several features of the cranium indicate a general male morphology (developed supraciliary arches, blunt supraorbital margins, relatively large mastoids, cranial capacity of 1500ml; robust mandible with everted gonial angles and marked rugosity of the masseter insertion and of the internal pterygoids). Acsadi and Nemerski index of sexualization was positive (0.80) and male. However, in contrast to these male

features, there were frontal bosses and a thinness of the vault bones. The developmental stage of the sutures corresponds to an estimate of 25-30 years of age. (Aimar & Giacobini 1989: 496) We await a re-appraisal of ST2, 3 and 5. It is worth recalling, however, that although Graziosi (1947) finally concluded that ST3 was male, he had suggested in a preliminary report that this one might be female: A differenza dei precedenti questo cranio è assai leggero e presenta tavolato osseo sottile: gli attacchi muscolari sono poco evidenti nella porzione cérébrale . . . (Graziosi 1943: 95) As noted above, ST5 was found in layer B, in very poor condition, missing much of the facial structure, along with a few fragmentary vertebra and humeri. These were mixed with material from a hearth and human occupation debris in the same layer, including animal bones, which showed a similar state of fossilisation and colour. The significance of this context is difficult to assess. Palaeolithic human bones are not always found clearly arranged in burials. Odd bones of Homo sapiens crop up in Palaeolithic faunal collections from various Sicilian caves, such as Cala Genovesi, Pedagaggi and Fontana Nuova (Cassoli & Tagliacozzo 1982; Gliozzi & Kotsakis 1986; Chilardi et al. 1996). In some cases, these could represent later disturbances, perhaps by animals, but it would be interesting to know more about their condition, and whether any marks or traces of burning are present. In this case (ST5) the excavators could find no signs of a burial.

DISCUSSION The main point is that we should now reckon with at least three females in San Teodoro, which is a decisive turnabout. With the benefit of this new information, it would be unfair to criticise those who have bravely attempted to use the San Teodoro evidence to make some new interpretations about Palaeolithic society. The parameters have clearly changed, with regard to this site at least, but it is worth noting how important such evidence really is. One problem, exacerbated by the paucity of burials for the period as a whole, is that it is very difficult to assess who or what Palaeolithic cave burials represent. They are so few as to be almost anomalous. Were others buried outdoors? Was burial a mark of prestige? Can we identify any selection criteria? Certainly, it is tempting to try. Thus, for example, it was ventured recently that San Teodoro shows the selective burial of a small group of males of similar age, out of a larger band, which must have included women and children, although the latter were excluded. In other words: .. . il s’agit des chasseurs dans le fleur de l’áge — perhaps because — .. . en effet, il se base sur le role et le prestige des chasseurs, et de leur activité, pas toujours aisée, nécessaire à la survie du groupe. (Mussi et al. 1989: 447, 451) Until recently, this may have seemed a reasonable, albeit risky, hypothesis. And yet it

appears from the interesting survey of Italian Palaeolithic burials by these authors that the allmale clique at San Teodoro has always looked unusual. In fact, they felt it necessary to provide a special explanation, connected with the demographic situation in Sicily at the beginning of the Final Epigravettian. It was suggested then that these burials belong to a time when Sicily was almost deserted, and was just beginning to be colonised by the first hunter-gatherers from Italy. At this early stage, the role of prime males was paramount, whereas in later times, or in other parts of Italy, when populations were larger, burials tended to reflect a more mixed group of ages and sexes. The females then earned a place in the cave floor too, or so the argument seems to go (Mussi et al. 1989). Apart from the question of whether cave-burials really do denote status, there is the problem that Palaeolithic sites in Sicily, which are relatively common, are often difficult to date accurately. One might therefore be wary of the idea of a deserted region prior to the Final Epigravettian, as recent research also suggests (Chilardi et al. 1996). It is true that there are a few more males than females (currently) in Italian Upper Palaeolithic burials, or at least at Arene Candide. Here, however, the adult males are almost equalled in number by children, of unknown gender. Three adult females, who were not wellpreserved, were found close to each other in a particular part of the cave: they may represent secondary burials and they had no grave-goods (Mussi et al. 1989: 442). However, the skeletal material from the Grimaldi caves is now being re-examined, and it would be prudent to suspend judgement until further results are published. The nearest neighbours of ST1-7, geographically and chronologically, are in the Grotta del Romito in Calabria (l a 11,268 - 10,959 and 11,273 - 10,585 cal.BC). Here we have a different situation (table 1), represented by two single burials (R3 male and R4 female) and by two double burials, one of which contained an adult female (R5) and male (R6). The other double burial held a very unusual couple: one adult female (R1), together with another younger adult (R2) who was also a dwarf, between 110 and 130cm in height. This is the earliest known case of dwarfism, a genetic condition possibly caused by inbreeding. According to one specialist examination, the sex was probably male and the age about 17 (Frayer et al. 1988), while the latest analysis points out that the incomplete pelvis hinders a sex estimation, although a female seems more likely, aged about 20 (Mallegni & Fabbri 1995). Dwarfs are not normally handicapped mentally, but they tend to tire quickly, suffer from pains in the joints and an awkward gait, which limits their potential for sustained mobility. In this case, the pathology indicates an individual . . . . . . affected by dysplasia of the endochondral ossification of mesomelic type, which led to a serious form of nanism, to a limited functionality of the elbow and radioulnar articulations, and to a serious deformity of the hand and foot bones. (Mallegni & Fabbri 1995: 128) It seems likely that help would have been required to allow survival into early adulthood in what was presumably a band of semi-nomadic hunter-gatherers. Was this, therefore, the original caring society? It is tempting to cast R1, the older female, in the role of guardian and it is possible that they were related. According to the first analysis she was 35-50 years old, in which case she was old enough to have been the mother, although the more recent estimate

gives her a younger age of 25-30 years. While she shows no sign of deformity, her skeleton is nevertheless one of the shortest and more gracile yet recorded for the Palaeolithic, with an estimated height of 143.7/145.9cm (Trotter and Glaser’s method for Blacks/Whites). If they were not related, they at least had a very short stature in common. Perhaps that is why they were partnered. Any lingering preconceptions or hasty generalisations are further undermined by the fact that the single female R4 was not only significantly more robust than the single male R3, but also 7cm taller than the adult male R6. In general, the crania and other physical traits show similarities with those of San Teodoro and several other Italian ‘cromagnoids’ (Mallegni & Fabbri 1995). Of more relevance here, however, is that neither the Romito nor San Teodoro burials support a rather stereotypical notion of prime adult male (hunter) = high prestige and worthy of burial, while adult female (gatherer) = lower prestige and less likely to be buried. In Sicily, the only other comparable cave burials are those in the Grotta dell’Uzzo and Grotta delia Molara (Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993), although they are later in date (8th-7th millennium BC). Comprising twelve individuals in ten graves (Uzzo I-X), those from Uzzo are the largest group of Mesolithic burials to have been excavated in recent years in the western Mediterranean. Located well inside the cave, they took the form of shallow pits dug into occupation or earlier sterile layers. The deceased were mostly on their backs with legs bent, or in a crouched position, and covered with soil or stones. Two double burials (I and IV) each contained an adult male and, probably, an adult female. Three small clusters might suggest areas for consanguine groups, although many features of the graves vary, such as their alignment, and the position, age and sex of the deceased (table 1). Grave-goods were either absent altogether, or few and rather modest, with no indication that they were used to underline or reflect either the prestige or gender of the deceased, although Uzzo V (an adult male) had five items, which is more than the others. On the other hand, in one double burial it was Uzzo IVB (probably adult female) that held a flint blade in one hand, while her male partner had nothing. Certain objects, such as a perforated shell, the odd flint blade and a bone point suggest practical or ornamental uses. More enigmatic, and perhaps symbolic in meaning, are: the broken pebble, next to the shoulder of an infant (4-6 months old, Uzzo III); and the rib cut lengthwise of wild cattle (a rare species in the faunal sample), placed between the legs of Uzzo V, perhaps part of a genital covering. Noteworthy too is the occasional presence of pieces of deer bone (a very common species in the faunal sample): part of a forehead with Uzzo II, and a small fragment of jaw and an indeterminate bone held in each hand by Uzzo V. Hard to regard as choice cuts of meat, perhaps these were not food offerings, but items of symbolic or magical significance. With the benefit of a detailed study, combining several up-to-date methods, it appears that here too we have a more balanced mixture of ages and sexes: probably five males, four females, one child and two infants. The degree of sexual dimorphism (assuming the gender attributions are correct) appears to be low: actually less than that of present-day western Europeans. Amongst several interesting features noted, the average height difference between the sexes appears to be less than 10cm. Mesolithic groups are generally reckoned to be slightly shorter and less robust than their Palaeolithic predecessors: males averaging 166cm, and females 154cm (Borgognini Tarli 1993: 247). Both sexes, but especially the males, underwent

a size reduction, although it is not certain whether the lesser degree of sexual dimorphism (with the exception of facial and upper limb measurements) is a result of strictly environmental, biological or cultural changes, or perhaps all three (Borgognini Tarli & Repetto 1989). In the case of the Uzzo group, the teeth and bones show features consistent with a diet in which marine products figured prominently (Borgognini Tarli et al. 1989), a finding which agrees well with the evidence for subsistence represented by the faunal remains (Tagliacozzo 1993). Individual Sex

Age

Height (cm)

Source

ST1

F

30-35

ST2

M

adult, 40-50

Graziosi 1947

ST3

M? adult, 25-30

Graziosi 1947

ST4

F

young adult

ST5

M

older adult

ST6

F? young adult

Pardini 1975

ST7

M? 25-30

Aimar & Giacobini 1989

Rl

F

R2

160-163.5

Fabbri 1993 Graziosi 1947

145.9

Mallegni & Fabbri 1995

F? about 20

110-130

Mallegni & Fabbri 1995

R3

M

25-30

172.8

Mallegni & Fabbri 1995

R4

F

18-20

162.1

Mallegni & Fabbri 1995

R5

F

25-30

159

Mallegni & Fabbri 1995

R6

M

adult

155.2

Mallegni & Fabbri 1995

UIA

F

adult

152.6

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UIB

M

young adult

162.1

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UII

M

adult

161

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UIII

25-30

165.55±2.05 Fabbri 1993

infant, 4-6 months

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UIVA

M

mature adult

157.9

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UIVB

F

mature adult

155.8

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UV

M

adult

162.4

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UVI

child, about 5

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UVII

M

adult

164.4

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UVIII

F? adult

154.8

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

UIX UX

infant F

adult

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993 148.4

Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993

Table 1 Sex, age and height estimates (see sources for methods used) for individuals from the Grotta di San Teodoro and Grotta del Romito (Upper Palaeolithic) and Grotta dell’Uzzo (Mesolithic)

I would conclude only by underlining, first, that more females are now being recognised. To an earlier Gravettian phase belong the individuals from the two Apulian sites of Grotta Paglicci (Mallegni 1992) and Grotta di S. Maria di Agnano; the latter includes one female of about 20 years of age at a fairly advanced stage of pregnancy, associated with an abundance of shell ornaments and animal teeth (Coppola 1992). Second, in studies of stature and life tables, it appears that ST1 and ST4 have been contributing to the database for males (e.g. Formicola 1983). Third, one may note that there are cases of females having been wrongly cited as males, but apparently not vice versa. For example, Thomm e de Menton’ (Barma del Caviglione 1) is probably ‘une femme’ (Fabbri 1993: 229), while there is also a case of sex determination changing twice: in the double burial at Grotta delle Veneri (Parabita, Apulia), it was first claimed that specimen 1 was male and specimen 2 female (Cremonesi et al. 1972), and then that both were male (Mussi et al. 1989: 445). The latest examination suggests that the original analysis was correct and that Parabita 2 is in fact female (Fabbri 1993: 229). Meanwhile, any archaeologist dependent on the advice of specialists and contemplating a discussion of sex ratios should perhaps take note of the findings of K. Weiss (1972), who suggested that the literature on prehistoric and ethnographic skeletal collections globally is biased towards male attributions. This results even from work by experienced practitioners, and is more apparent when subjective morphological criteria have been used and when skulls have been the focus of study. The bias was estimated to average about 12%. Others dismiss this admittedly controversial claim, and many are still reluctant to drop the idea of male predominance in burials in Europe: The fact that there are more males than females in both Upper Palaeolithic and Mesolithic samples is probably not related to skeletal sexing bias discussed by Weiss (1972), but is a consequence of preferential burial patterns of males in both groups. (Frayer 1981: 61) Is San Teodoro an exceptional case? Not according to Fabbri, who notes that the sex changes postulated here could easily recur throughout Europe if the older findings were subjected to a thorough re-examination: Ricordiamo anche che una parte non indifferente di questi reperti (il gruppo di Predmosti, Bauso da Torre 1, Romanelli 1, etc.) è scomparsa per cui dobbiamo per forza basarci su vecchi e spesso preliminari lavori con un’inevitabile perdita di informazioni e una maggiore approssimazione nei risultati se gli individui suddetti sono presi in considerazione negli studi di sintesi. (Fabbri 1993: 229) Like most archaeologists, I am not qualified to re-assess the primary evidence for myself; no doubt the mistakes were made in the past. And it must be said that there is more to the study

of gender than necessarily transpires from studying bones, especially if one is concerned with engendering archaeology from a more radical standpoint, which goes beyond attributionism or the attempt to find females (e.g. Conkey & Gero 1991). Nevertheless, in this as in every specialised branch of archaeological science, accurate information is vital. To any bystander, it is obvious that Palaeolithic females are making a steady come-back, and that in itself might lead to a few conceptual reorientations.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would like to thank Laura Bonfiglio, Celine Castelino and Francesco Mallegni for offprints and useful information.

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Representations of gender in prehistoric southern Italy Mark Pluciennik But I began then to think of time as having a shape, something you could see, like a series of liquid transparencies, one laid on top of another. You don’t look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Margaret Atwood Cat’s Eye (1989) London: Bloomsbury. The problematic of gender, closely related to contemporary feminist issues, has been surfacing for a long time in anthropology and archaeology (Conkey & Spector 1984; Collier & Rosaldo 1981; Ortner & Whitehead 1981; Gero & Conkey 1991; Strathern 1988; Moore 1988; 1994; Broch-Due et al. 1993) and is also being specifically addressed in southern Italian prehistory (e.g. Whitehouse 1992; Skeates 1994; Mussi 1986; 1987; Zampetti & Mussi 1991; Robb 1994a; 1994b). The common thread linking all these approaches is the understanding of genders as dynamic cultural constructs whose constellations of meanings and values may be more or less tightly related to or predicated upon innate and perceived sexual characteristics and differences; and which are hence open to negotiation and change. To consider gender in prehistory there are at least three overlapping arenas which eventually need to be addressed: gendered practices — those which are structured largely in terms of gendered differences; gender constructs — the contents of particular constellations of meaning associated with specific genders; and gender relations, here understood as diachronic social structures, which can be considered as the the history of instantiations and interrelationships of the first two. And all of these spheres of practices and understandings, of course, are mediated through the representations related to gender: whether contemporary with past social relations, or in the present, or both. However, there are empirical limitations and theoretical difficulties in dealing with the prehistoric archaeological record in a way which is likely to bear some resemblance to the potentially complex, and contextually nuanced understandings relating to past genders and gender relations. In prehistory at least, I think, there is a tendency to reproduce contemporary, largely binary and biologically-grounded structures seen very much as oppositional dichotomies; to link sex and gender to the detriment of other potentially cross-cutting social structures (e.g. age, kinship and status — themselves similarly cultural constructs); and to assume that gender was basically a matter of female and male genders. This is despite historical and ethnographic examples of other modes of gender construction such as

ungendered or differently gendered children, or of other, additional or ‘hybrid’ genders besides male and female, such as the Native American berdaches: men who dressed as women but who partook of a different gender and roles to either (Fulton & Anderson 1992; Whitehead 1981); or of changing gender meanings related to individual life-cycles, or gender defined by activity rather than body (Moore 1994: 32ff). In other words, we tend, in the field of gender, to write prehistory under the sign of the same when in other spheres of analysis we would insist on theorising and evoking the difference of the past. As the works quoted above epitomise, gender and feminist archaeologies have had far more impact than ‘just’ raising the profile of women in the present and the past. However, in the attempt to move beyond ‘remedial’ feminist archaeology (Wylie 1991) there can be a tendency to assume or assert that gender was necessarily and invariably important (e.g. Dobres 1995). This is a welcome counterbalance to the long disciplinary history of ignoring gendered roles (or more commonly those of women), of subsuming women’s roles within men’s, or imposing modern (largely male) views of appropriate roles for women and men onto the past. But although we should, like Conkey & Gero (1991: 11) “refuse to feel limited by the notion that we must provide gender [biological sex] attributions and must do so with a certain ‘fixity’”, the difficulties of plausibly interpreting the historical specificity (rather than merely asserting the importance) of ‘gender’ in any particular sphere are formidable (but see e.g. Handsman 1991). Thus although Dobres (1995: 42) writes that her research into Magdalenian technology is “expressly concerned with gender relations”, she recognises that technological practice “necessarily involves individuals defining and expressing social identities, affiliations and differences” which may or may not be related to gender. There may be new, improved agendas, but some are clearly prone to criticisms of circularity or a new hegemony of interpretative practice: women may have done this in the past, gender may have been important in this sphere of practice. But understanding, for example, the subjugation (or not) of women in the past as part of an historical process needs, at some point, the specification of gender relations. Yet much of the southern Italian material with which this paper deals — from the Epipalaeolithic1 and earlier Neolithic, from circa 15000 to 6000 cal. BP — is refractory to this kind of analysis. Of course it is much easier to write this sort of criticism than to present alternatives. This is partly because in much prehistory the contextual data are so poor. It is extremely difficult or impossible to play off one analytical sphere against another — language against practice, for example — in a way which allows us to talk more easily about gender ideologies versus gendered practices, for instance. We are usually dealing with fragmentary information from partial or absent contexts. Also, as in the present case study, although we may have rough chronological contemporaneity of different categories of evidence such as rock art and burials, there may be wide geographical separation. So the empirical as well as theoretical gaps to be filled by prehistorians in constructing a narrative — of gender relations, for example — by imagination or generalisation, may be very wide indeed. At one level that is liberating, and at best it allows the free play of theory and meaning and imaginative constructions of the past; but at another level it may be frustrating because of the lack of empirical richness which enables those stimulating cross-associations and contradictions to emerge. At worst it may allow heavily ideological contemporary agendas to be imposed uncritically or unchallenged on the

past. And so, along with many others, and despite concerns about the initially dichotomised framework which it imposes, I find myself inclined to deal with sexed bodies or representations of bodies as a starting point. Nevertheless, because of the potential pervasiveness and mutual constitution of other facets of social structure and identities apart from gender, I shall not attempt to specify directly particular forms of gender relations.

BURIAL, PLACE AND GENDER The practices associated with death and (in this case) burial are important not only because they are often an archaeologically recognisable category, but also because they may represent points in time and space when certain (contextualised) practices and meanings are re-stated in a highly structured way, some of which which may relate to sexed bodies. They may thus allow a point of entry into part of the ‘symbolic universes’ of past communities — “bodies of theoretical tradition that integrate different provinces of meaning and encompass the institutional order in a symbolic totality” (Berger & Luckmann 1967: 113). Nevertheless, one must remember the possible partial and contextual nature of the understandings, rather than insist on the practices associated with death as necessarily expressing totalising and explicit ideologies. The importance, nature and style of the relations between the practices surrounding death and the dead and the ‘symbolic universes’ of those participating are variable. Nevertheless death is a time at which certain social roles and structures may be explicitly referred to and materially symbolised.

Epipalaeolithic burials Southern Italy is relatively rich in final Late Upper Palaeolithic and Mesolithic burials. In addition numerous other often fragmentary human remains are known from potentially Epipalaeolithic deposits in caves. Table 1 and Table 2 summarise some of the evidence of southern Italian burials for the Epipalaeolithic for the study area concerned - Sicilia (SIC), Basilicata (BAS), Calabria (CAL), Campania south of Napoli (CAM) and Puglia south of the Tavoliere (PUG). Other human remains from this period are known, but have been insufficiently published to allow even a cursory comparison. Virtually all the known skeletal remains derive from caves, but since so few open sites of this period have been excavated, the absence of recognised burials of this period from other contexts is not surprising. The evidence from Sicilia, in particular, suggests that caves were commonly used for disposal of the dead. Given the removal of deposits by clandestini, by palaeontologists seeking fossil bones from the underlying terra rossa during the last century, and the agricultural use of cave soils for manuring, it is reasonable to assume that many more caves than those recorded may once have contained human remains. The total of at least 39 burials from the study area is heavily biassed towards Sicilia. Of the 28 samples which have been approximately aged, 22 are adult (including young and subadults), and just four are said to be children. Of those which have been sexed 15 are said to be male (including a so-called ‘male child’ from the Grotta della Madonna), and seven female.

The age and sex attributions and associated materials are shown in Table 2, ordered in approximate chronological sequence from oldest to youngest. According to the samples described, both females and males, adults and children including young infants (U3: 2-6 months) were buried in graves in the final LUP and Mesolithic of southern Italy. Most of the human remains derive from graves in which the bodies were apparently carefully deposited. The sites with large samples show no evidence of intercutting, and there are no reports of human bone from the grave fills, although other occupation debris (e.g. flint flakes) does occur. When in deposits undisturbed by (much) later activity, the skeletons are articulated. Evidence of activities which would have the effect of marking the graves includes grave slabs, as at the Grotta dell’Uzzo, and a thick layer of ochre above four of the burials in the Grotta di San Teodoro. At each of the sites in northern Sicilia (Uzzo, Molara and San Teodoro) the first burials seem to shortly precede or be contemporary with evidence of the first occupation. Although it has been argued that burials tend to be towards the back or sides of caves (e.g. Mussi 1986), it is unclear whether this is a real distribution or a function of the tendency for later removal of deposits to occur towards the entrances and centres of caves. Site

Province



BAS CAL CAM PUG SIC

GdRomito

-

6

GdMezzogiorno

1

GdMadonna

1

GZinzulusa

1+

GRomanelli

1+

GdCavallo

1?

GdSanTeodoro

5

GdUzzo

12

GMolara

4

GCorruggi

1+

GdCiaraveddi

1

GdCalaMancina

?1+

GdUcciria

?1+

GdOriente

1

GdGenovese (Lévanzo)

1+

GdCastello

?1+

TOTAL

-

6

2

3+

28+

Table 1 LUP-Mesolithic (Epipalaeolithic) burial samples by region

Grotta del Romito: Dettwyler 1991, Frayer et al. 1987, Graziosi 1962a, 1964, Messeri 1966; Grotta del Mezzogiorno (Grotta delle Soppressate): Radmilli 1967, Tozzi 1975; Grotta della Madonna: Cardini 1970, 1972, Taschini 1968; Grotta Zinzulusa: Blanc 1962, Cardini 1962; Grotta Romanelli: Blanc 1920, 1928; Grotta del Cavallo: Palma di Cesnola 1963, 1964; Grotta del San Teodoro: Graziosi 1943, 1947, Pardini 1975, Fabbri 1993; Grotta dell’Uzzo: Borgognini Tarli et al. 1993; Grotta Molara: Mannino 1975, 1978, Borgognini Tarli 1976, Borgognini Tarli & Repetto 1985; Grotta Corruggi: Bernabò Brea 1949, 1950, Villari 1990; Grotta del Ciaraveddi: Vaufrey 1928; Grotta della Cala Mancina: Vaufrey 1928; Grotta dell’Ucciria: Dalla Rosa 1870, Bovio Marconi 1952; Grotta dell’Oriente: V. Tusa 1977; Grotta del Genovese/Grotta di Cala dei Genovesi (Levanzo): Cassoli & Tagliacozzo 1982, Graziosi 1962b; Grotta del Castello di Termini Imerese: Gabrici 1931, Vaufrey 1928

Fig. 1 The position of burials in the Grotta di San Teodoro, Sicilia (after Graziosi 1947)

ID

Age/sex

Age cal. BC

Grave goods

R1*

AF

Aurochs horns; flints

c. 11000

R2*

AM

Aurochs horns; flints

c. 11000

R3

AM

-

c. 11000

AM

R5*

AF

-

c. 11000

R6*

AM

-

c. 11000

[GdGenovese]

Flint points

- c. 11000

R4

-

?c. 10500

ST1

A?F

Deer canines; ochre

late LUP

ST2

A?M

Ochre

late LUP

ST3

A?F

Ochre

late LUP

ST4

A?F

Deer horn; pebbles; ochre; fossil hyena skull

late LUP

ST5

A?M

U5

AM

Deer bone point, jaw; Bos rib; Patella shell; flint flakes; stone fill; ?fire

pre9500

U1A*

A?F

Stone fill; ochre; ?fire

c. 8300

U1B*

AM

Stone fill; ochre; ?deer canine; ?2 microliths

c. 8300

U3

Inf

Pebble

prec.7500

U4A*

AM

U4B*

A?F

Perforated Donax shell; flint blade

prec.7500

U6

Ch

Flint blade; core

prec.7500

U8

A?F

Stone slabs

U2

AM

?Deer frontal

prec.7500

Bone point; adjacent pit

prec.7500

U7

AM

-

-

-

late LUP

prec.7500

prec.7500

?Fire

prec.7500 prec.7500

U9

Inf

U10

AF

Ml

Ch?M

Perforated shell; Ppainted pebble

c. 7700

MO?*

AM

?

c. 7600

O2?*

?A

Perforated shell necklace

?

Table 2 Age categories, sexes and associations for Epipalaeolithic burials in the study area R: Grotta del Romito; ST: Grotta di San Teodoro; U: Grotta dell’Uzzo; MO: Grotta Molara; M: Grotta della Madonna; O: Grotta d’Oriente *=double burial; AM=adult male; AF= adult female; Ch=child; Inf=infant ?= doubt over following descriptor or association

The articulated burials from all areas tend to be supine and extended, although the lower limbs may occasionally be flexed. Individual direction does not appear to be important or consistent, typified by the Grotta di San Teodoro where the three most complete skeletons are placed orthogonally (fig. 1). Of the 26 individuals from the sites described in Table 2, at least eight were found in double burials, a remarkably high proportion. The poorly published burials from the Grotta Molara also included a double or multiple grave. All of the well-described double burials have been sexed as comprising a male and a female, and the earlier skeletons seem undisturbed by the subsequent interment, suggesting that the deposition of both bodies took place within a very short period, perhaps at most a few months (Robb et al. 1991: 128). There is no reported evidence of shared (or single) trauma. Given the sample bias towards Sicilian sites, it is difficult to see any consistent regional differences expressed in burial practices. The start of burial and occupation at the three north Sicilian sites at around the beginning of the Holocene however, suggests that the appearance of these practices (in the archaeological record) may be related to particular circumstances of changed mobility within, and use of, the changing landscape in this area; earlier burials are known from peninsular Italy (Mussi 1986; 1987). Although the list is necessarily incomplete and the dating is uncertainly biassed, there is a suggestion in the figures as presented that burial in caves may have been confined to, or more common in, the final LUP and earlier Mesolithic; burial practice, at least in terms of place, may have been changing by the later Mesolithic. Interestingly, caves with Epipalaeolithic burials do not show continuity of use for the same practice into the Neolithic: different sites are chosen (see below). Arguments against marked regional differentiation are the generally similar burial position, and the occurrence of identical types of perforated deer teeth from Puglia and Sicilia. The perforated tooth from the Grotta del Cavallo in Puglia probably relates to the late Romanellian, perhaps at circa 10000-8000 cal.BC; those from the Grotta Romanelli to a similar date. Equivalence of practice, of course, does not necessarily correlate with equivalence of meaning, as is suggested by the different faunal contexts of these finds. The main hunted

animals in Puglia were generally equids and bovines, but deer and pig in Sicilia.

Discussion Italian Late Upper Palaeolithic and Mesolithic burials have been discussed by Mussi (1986; 1987), Mussi et al. (1989) and Zampetti & Mussi (1991). Although most of the burials are from outside the study area (mostly in Liguria), Mussi (1987) includes the Grotta di San Teodoro and Grotta del’Uzzo (SIC), and the Grotta del Romito (CAL). She considers differences to reflect different emphases and conditions of social reproduction (1987: 45ff). In scheme A only certain sex-age individuals were buried, perhaps related to the circumstances of their death. She suggests that male hunters are represented at the Grotta di San Teodoro (although revision now suggests three tentatively identified females: Mussi 1987: 46; Fabbri 1993). In contrast, the burials at the Grotta del Romito represent scheme C, with both males and females, reflecting increased emphasis on social reproduction through exogamy (Mussi 1987: 47-8). She also notes the apparent contemporaneity of the first occupation and burials at the Grotta di San Teodoro, and argues that this represents the “colonisation” of Sicilia at a time when it was still “almost deserted” (Mussi 1987: 47-8). A similar argument is expanded by Zampetti & Mussi (1991), in which they also consider the evidence of ‘art’. They argue that in the early Late Upper Palaeolithic there were burials of high-status individuals, perhaps related to control of information and partner exchange in a sparsely-populated landscape (Mussi 1987: 156). By the final Late Upper Palaeolithic they argue that there is more evidence of concern with descent, perhaps more stabilised (partner) exchange networks, and less evidence of preeminent individuals in the burials (Mussi 1987: 157). Stimulating though their interpretations are, in attempting to relate burial modes to changing social organisation and mapping of the social landscape, one might criticise some of the work in detail: for example, the burials from the Grotta del Romito are difficult to visualise as partners (see below). Any interpretation must be preceded by the realisation that the sample is extremely small and is already uncertainly biassed by accidents of excavation. Only certain people may have been buried; and the survival and excavation of burial (or other disposal sites) may be skewed. Thirdly, the representation of remains within those sites may be biassed, for example by the lower survival rates of infant and child remains. However, assuming that the sample is at least partly representative of the practices surrounding the dead, the following suggestions may be made. Little distinction appears to be made between whom is entitled to formal burial purely in terms of sex or age. Burial was generally in proper, often marked graves, and commonly involved paired couples of the opposite sex who died and were buried within a very short time. The example of R1/R2 from the Grotta del Romito cautions that this must not necessarily be interpreted in terms of ‘spouses’, but Romito itself may be an unusual site, with abundant ‘art’, two double burials with males (one a dwarf) clasping females, and a further male whose wrist may have been cut or mutilated prior to burial (Dettwyler 1991; Frayer et al. 1987; Messeri 1966). Romito also shows evidence of long-term occupation in which the burials occur towards the top of the Upper Palaeolithic deposits, in contrast to northern Sicilia where both occupation and burial appear together. As far as we can tell there is little obvious

expression within the samples in the form of grave goods, dress or funerary practices of differences associated with sex, age, status or relative chronological position. Neither do there appear to be major differences of treatment of the dead (e.g. by cremation) of the sort observed for the Mesolithic at Franchthi in Greece (Cullen 1995) and suggested as perhaps relating to different modes of death. At the end of the Pleistocene and early Holocene in Sicilia, there is no separation expressed spatially between the living and (some of) the dead: burials mark places which are contemporaneously or subsequently used for other activities. There is little demonstrable association with life practices as marked by archaeologically surviving materials such as flint or bone tools, though of course organic material objects may have disappeared. An exception may be the perforated deer canine teeth, sometimes found in large numbers (ST1:12), and the selected presence of these teeth in graves may hint at material and symbolic associations between certain people and hunting practices, food or animals. In general, however, there seems to be a concentration on ritual practice and context, rather than material expression. Death was clearly different to life, but perhaps not necessarily threateningly so, and generally there may have been a close but not placatory relationship between the living and the dead. This is expressed by the close spatial association between occupation and marked or remembered burials, in which death was neither fully separated, nor perhaps seen as something which could or should be controlled, for example through the manipulation of the dead. The double burials from this period may also express this view: that (some of) those who were linked in life were also (necessarily) linked in and across death. Certain bonds between the living, temporarily disrupted by the death of one person, had to be restored in death: the dead called to the living. Whether this may tell us something about gender or other relations depends on the reliability of the sex data. All the double burials with published stratigraphy (U1A & B, R1/2, R5/6; U4A & B) may be interpreted as with the male being deposited first. The chronological order of deposition may relate to the order of death. If true, this suggests that certain men had claims or priorities over certain women in or through death, and perhaps in life, e.g. perhaps at Uzzo through the practice of female exogamy: the double burials in Sicilia may represent particular forms of alliance. The majority of the single burials (9/12) have been interpreted as male, suggesting that (single or endogenous?) females were perhaps generally buried elsewhere or in a different zone. The reasons for the apparent difference in treatment of females are wholly obscure, but one could speculate that it may have included, for example, their reproductive status, kinship or other affiliations: women originating from other groups, for example, may have been treated differently in life and in death. This potentially gender-related spatial differentiation is known from elsewhere in Europe, such as the recent Belgian example of a burial group of five females, associated with ochre, in the Grotte Margaux (Hedges et al. 1995). Finally, these burials which occur in the same places for long periods without disturbance of the earlier graves, suggest that in some ways memory and and perhaps meaning remained relatively stable, expressed through continuity of practice and place, and with the commensality of the quick and the dead, the moving and the buried. Even the supine burial position typical of the Epipalaeolithic may be construed as a more ‘natural’ metaphor of sleep, in contrast with Neolithic practices (see below).

In general it may be argued that it was selection for burial itself, rather than the style of burial, which structured this sample. Burial was perhaps dependent on social position as a member of a group, or on the nature of affiliation with a particular place or group: we may like to see each act of burial as the crystallisation at a particular point of a relatively mobile (but not necessarily fluid) mapping of the social landscape, in a particular historical form of spatiality.2 Clearly from the available sample, and assuming reasonable accuracy of sexing, women are being treated differently, as are children, in the sense that we would expect there to be equal numbers of adult males and females and a large number of young children, reflecting mortality rates. However it seems more appropriate to interpret these differences in terms of potential age and affiliation as well as gender. Even if, as I have tentatively suggested, the nature of the double burials may also relate to the differentiation of female partners from ‘other places’, there is no necessary link between exogamy and other life practices. Some ‘Neolithic’ (or later Mesolithic) changes may have served to disrupt these particular senses of places. The result was to produce new variability, with the variety of responses ranging from intentional continuity to radical transformation, and with potential changes in social relations including those of gender, which is perhaps partly expressed through differing burial practices.

Neolithic burials I shall not give so much detail about the Neolithic burials in the study area; partly because of reasons of space (but see Pluciennik 1994: 261-80), and also because of Robb’s recently published paper (1994a) which deals with a larger area and hence sample. Of my own catalogue (1994) concentrating on southern Italy (excluding northern Campania, the Tavoliere and northern Puglia) and restricted to the earlier Neoltihic, only 4/110 published burials were ascribed sex on physical anthropological grounds. The published age data are also extremely poor, but suggest that individuals of apparently all ages and both sexes could be buried. Instances of burials are equally divided (in terms of numbers of sites) between caves and open locations which may generally be considered as occupation sites. There is insufficient information to discuss the distribution of burials within sites. At the open sites burials are recorded from a variety of locations including inside structures, near occupation(?) structures, and near and within enclosure ditches. There is a hint that there sometimes may have been early ‘cemetery’ areas, perhaps at Monteverde, Puglia (Mosso & Samarelli 1910) and Fontanazza, in Sicilia (Guerri 1977). The caves tend to be associated with (possible) multiple inhumations, perhaps like those from Grotta Scaloria in northern Puglia (Tinè & Isetti 1980; Robb 1991; Whitehouse 1992), in which the use of the same location necessarily disturbed previous burials. The special treatment, or recognition and disposal of skulls, may be attested at the Grotta Funeraria (BAS: Borgognini Tarli 1978), and of young infants at the Grotta Pacelli (PUG: Striccoli 1988), and even one case of apparent multiple cremation at the Grotta Pavolella (CAL: Carancini & Guerzoni 1987, Gasparo 1979). Other evidence of ‘special’ status for some of these caves is the unusual predominance of figulina wares (cf. Malone 1985), e.g. at the Grotta di Sant’Angelo III (CAL: Tinè 1964), and higher than usual amounts of obsidian at the Grotta Pacelli (PUG), and later at such sites as the Grotta di Cala Colombo

(PUG: Ronchitelli & Sarti 1984). There is great variation in the mode of burial: in graves, often rock-cut (single and double), of oval or rectangular shape, and sometimes covered with slabs (BAS) or delineated by vertical kerbs (SIC); in walled-off niches, and perhaps within or below specially-built (?) structures at Rendina (BAS: Cipolloni Sampò 1983: 227). Of my own smaller sample for the burials whose position is published, many are flexed and 6/7 described individuals were placed on their left-hand-side, a practice known from elsewhere and considered characteristic of Neolithic burial practices (see below). At least seven individuals, from sites in Basilicata and Sicilia, were associated with ochre. In Sicilia, particularly, we have suggestions that excarnated or disturbed bone is treated with ochre (e.g. Guerri 1977; Sluga Messina 1988), pointing to post-death or post-burial manipulation of skeletal elements which does not appear to have been an earlier practice. While at many of the settlement sites burials are clearly marked, in other cases human burials seem to have been disturbed and skeletal fragments are found in settlement enclosure ditches, even where the ditches do not appear to have been recut (as they were at Passo di Corvo, in the Tavoliere, for example). Although many of these sites may have been in use for a millennium or more, the existence of human bone in the basal fills of ditches in Basilicata, Puglia and Sicilia (e.g. at Megara Hyblaea, SIC: Orsi 1921; Villari 1990) hints that some burials were either unmarked, or were not regarded as necessarily sacrosanct, and hence were disturbed within a relatively short period. At Passo di Corvo on the Tavoliere the association of most of the human bones with boundaries is notable (see Tine 1983 and fig. 2). Elsewhere the presence of burials within structures suggests that one way this may have happened is with their collapse, clearing or rebuilding. Surviving grave goods are virtually absent from the earliest Neolithic burials, though with rare exceptions such as the shell necklace from the Grotta d’Oriente on Favignana off the west coast of Sicilia (V. Tusa 1977). The dog skull from the Grotta delle Mura (PUG: Cornaggia Castiglioni & Menghi 1963: 143) may have been associated with the 10 burials.

Fig. 2 The location of burials T1-T12 in areas α and β of Passo di Corvo, Puglia, showing the clustering of human remains around the C-shaped ditches interpreted as hut enclosures (after Tinè 1983)

In those burials which may be slightly later there are associated sherds (intentional or not), and sometimes other goods e.g. the flint trapeze and obsidian blade from Malerba II (PUG: Geniola & Ponzetti 1987). Given the lack of absolute or reliable chronotypological relative dates from pottery (Whitehouse 1969; Cipolloni Sampò 1987; Pluciennik 1997), it is difficult to discuss any chronological trends. Distinctive regional variation is not immediately apparent from the published material.

The Neolithic burials: discussion The keynote of the published Neolithic burials in the study area is variability, and it is not yet clear what relation, if any, this might have to chronological and/or regional differences. Burials are occurring on settlement sites as well as arguably non-settlement sites - the ‘cult’ caves — which may generally be associated with less quotidian activities (see below). The burials in some of these sites seem to be structured differently, with only particular groups being buried, and with distinctive suites of material culture in the cave deposits whether in

close association with any burials or not. The large samples from certain caves can perhaps be interpreted as sites of repeated primary inhumations (as at the Grotta Scaloria: Robb 1991; 1994a). They show a continuity of place and practice, perhaps in contrast to the variability at the settlement sites, and this may reflect different functions and meanings of the burials or burial practices. Unlike many Epipalaeolithic and Neolithic sites in the Near East and Anatolia (Hodder 1990) we do not often seem to get multiple and repeated burials within stable delimited houses or domestic areas, though there are exceptions. The settlements may have been more closely associated with perhaps generational or other change, and (some) of the caves with (actual or claimed) stability or the regrounding of belief. However there is too little information to be able to suggest what may have structured the differential disposal of the dead. Although there were probably never any simple correlations, better resolution eventually may show changing but inter-related emphases between, say, boundaries and structures, or settlement and nonsettlement sites, associated with different groups or practices. What can we say about sex and gender distinctions in burials? Robb’s excellent article (1994a) deals with a total sample of more than 400 individuals from southern and central Italy, spanning the whole of the Neolithic. He also describes the correlations between sex, side and grave goods for the 62 individuals for whom side of burial is known (Robb 1994a: Table 3, pp. 45-6, and figure 5, p. 47). Noting that the sample contains roughly equal numbers of sexed males and females, Robb notes a statistically significant association between males and burial on the right side, and females (and juveniles) and the left side. Now elsewhere in the prehistoric archaeological record there are examples e.g. Beth Rega’s (1997) work on ENeoltihic cemeteries in the FYR where females and males, apparently including children, have consistent and distinctive goods and orientations — a rigid binary division of sex, gender, material culture and burial rite. But to express Robb’s figures for southern Italy in another way: 31% of female burials are buried on the ‘male’ side. Conversely, 26% of male burials are buried on the ‘female’ side. Of course, as Robb recognises, there are numerous problems with any sort of analysis of this sort, many arising from the partial publication and lack of chronological and regional resolution. Robb notes that all five juveniles for whom orientation is known lie on the left (‘female’) side as well, and that male gender may only have been attributed with age or status, such as marriage, or initiation. If what was marked was male gender rather biological sex, this may also explain why at least some individuals who were biologically male were buried on their left sides, if they had not yet been socially recognized as fully adult males. (Robb 1994a: 47) The problem with that suggestion is that if we accept that burial on the right side relates to male gender, we then have a third of females with ascribed male genders. If a third of buried females are ‘men’, and a quarter of males are ‘women’, and we have young ‘women’ who have not yet become adults, because when they do they will become ‘men’, then I think it is our inherent assumptions about the nature of male-female hierachies or gendered oppositions

which need questioning, not necessarily the integrity of the data. It is at this point, I think, that the usefulness of assuming binary sex-related gender as a major or sole structuring principle begins to break down. First of all, let’s note that (known) flexed burials on one or the other side are only 62 out of 413 individuals (15%), suggesting that even if side of burial relates to gender, then this category of differentiation is ‘activated’ only in a small number of cases. If we accept that there is an intentional difference, an expression of categorisation through (certain types of) burial on the left or right side, then although some role or status (in life or in death) is being formalised, it is not necessarily sex-related gender, or gender at all. That this may be so is perhaps highlighted by the example of the double burial at Tirlecchia (M. Bernabò Brea 1984; Borgognini Tarli 1978) for example, in which an adult male and adult female are both buried on the same (left) side in a double grave. (Nor, of course, does the meaning of burial on a particular side have to remain stable through time or across space). However, we can note that burials on the RHS tend to have associated grave goods; and that more males (74% of male flexed burials) than females (31% of female flexed burials) are buried on their RHS. In other words, there are a small number of distinctive burials (15% of the total sample), in which males are roughly twice as likely as females to be buried on a particular side, which also tends to be associated with the presence of archaeologically-recognisable grave goods. I suggest that this pattern is more plausibly explained by refusing to start with male:female dichotomies as our assumed rigid categories, and by accepting potential social complexity, despite all the problems with the data. In fact Robb is also aware of this point, though he doesn’t, I think, make the most of the implications: As a third possibility, the formal distinction in rite may have corresponded not to gender as such, but rather to some culturally-ascribed attribute (for instance, social prominence) which was not identical with gender or sex, but which bore a statistical relationship to one or both of them. (Robb 1994a: 48) Although some common practices seem to occur in Neolithic inhumations across the whole area (e.g. bodies flexed and on their side), the most striking feature about the treatment of the dead at these Neolithic sites is the variability, which does not seem to correlate with the chronology, or with the nature (age, sex) of the individuals. What many may be argued to show, however, is perhaps not so much concern for the dead as the dead, but rather with either defining a place for the dead, as in the cemeteries and some of the caves, or, conversely, defining places, zones or boundaries through the use of the dead. Rather than the dead calling to the living, as I have suggested for some earlier Epipalaeolithic groups, here we have the living using the dead, but for immediate or relatively short-term purposes. The appearance of the flexed burial position in the Neolithic, together with other evidence of post-death manipulation or disturbance and special treatments such as cremation and other forms of categorisation suggests much more concern with marking the boundary between life and death. At certain times, places or contexts it may have been important to emphasise boundaries either between the living (by means of the dead), or between the dead and the living (e.g. the wall at the Grotta delle Mura); boundaries in the form of dry-stone walls are also associated with burials at the Grotta Cosma (PUG: Graziosi 1980; Guerri 1992), and in a non-burial ritual

context at the Grotta dei Cervi at Porto Badisco (PUG). There is a suggestion of more fluidity not only of practice, but also of meaning: whether this corresponds to more fluidity of social relations, or the use of more variable strategies in maintaining or defining certain relations, will be considered below in the context of evidence from other spheres. This evidence of manipulation may correspond to increasing concern with the production of corporate descent groups, lineages or other communities or sub-groups as suggested by Robb (1994a: 49ff) for southern Italy and by others dealing with the Neolithic elsewhere (e.g. Chapman 1981; Thomas & Whittle 1986). This suggests different spatialities to those described for the earlier Epipalaeolithic burials, as does the evidence in much of Neolithic southern Italy for separation of activities such as not only the procurement but also the consumption of wild animals. Remains of these are extremely rare at most settlement sites, but evidenced at other locations whether associated with ‘cults’ e.g. the later Neoltihic (Serra d’Alto) hypogeum at Santa Barbara, (PUG: Geniola 1987; Whitehouse 1985; 1992; 1996; Geniola 1987), or at apparently more utilitarian hunting sites e.g. Riparo della Sperlinga di S. Basilio (SIC: Biduttu 1971; Cavalier 1971). One interpretation may wish to link these to newly or differently gendered zones or landscapes (see below).

ART, GENDER AND TEMPORALITIES In southern Italy there is a rich corpus of earlier prehistoric cave art, parietal and mobiliary, ranging from LUP incised representations on cave walls and engraved designs on stones and bones; probable Mesolithic incised lines and painted pebbles; and Neolithic wall paintings in caves (Pluciennik 1996). Here I shall concentrate on two caves in northwest Sicilia; a place where there is both LUP (i.e. from c.18000-9000 cal. BC) and later prehistoric art, including paintings in caves from the Neolithic, perhaps at around 6000 or 7000 years ago. These are the Grotta Addaura II, a relatively open location near Palermo, and the more hidden inner chamber of the Grotta del Genovese on the island of Levanzo off north west Sicilia. These are isolated, though not unique examples, but we cannot talk about an integrated corpus of work, or easily compare and contrast within a widespread genre, even if we could assign rough contemporaneity.

Grotta dell’Addaura II Despite poor dating evidence for the representations at this cave, material from the excavations perhaps suggests they are 10-12000 years old (Bovio Marconi 1953a). Many parts of the surface show evidence of repeated incision, perhaps also erasure as well as erosion, producing a palimpsest of humans and animals and other lines, without apparent syntax. Most of the interpretations of this cave art have centred on a unique ‘scene’ (fig. 3) in which various masked or beaked vertical figures surround two horizontal ones, one (H5) above the other (H6), with beak-like penes or penis-sheaths, and cords or straps between their buttocks and backs. These central figures could be flying or floating, and have been described as ‘acrobats’. Bovio Marconi (1953a: 12) first suggested that the central figures were engaged in an act of

homosexual copulation, but later preferred to emphasise her suggestion of acrobatic feats, though still connected with a virility ritual (1953b). The act of hanging also leads to penile erection and ejaculation; and in the 1950s Chiapella (1954) and Blanc (1954; 1955) linked this with human sacrifice, death and fertility rites. All of these interpretations of this scene are generally ethnographically plausible. Rituals of masturbation (sometimes of berdaches, men who lived as women) are recorded from North America, where the consequent dispersal of semen on ground symbolised natural fertility (Fulton & Anderson 1992: 609, note 19). In modern Papua New Guinea ritual fellatio was used in initiation ceremonies as a way of giving male-associated sexual power to boys becoming men (Herdt 1984) and this ethnographic analogy has been used by Tim Yates (1993) in his interpretation of rock art in Scandinavia, which has figures with penes, and figures without: he argues in a very unFreudian manner that to be penis-less is not necessarily a female prerogative.

Fig. 3 The central ‘scene’ at Grotta Addaura II, Sicilia (after Bovio Marconi 1953a and Graziosi 1960, with slight amendments)

I have suggested elsewhere (1994; 1996) that this palimpsest of representations at Addaura may be better treated as fragments of narrative or mythic elements, and considered the different conceptual axes within this ‘art’, dealing with space, time and myth, and the intersection and merging of the human-animal, and human-bird worlds. I have also argued that the lack of clear syntax for the animal representations (as on Levanzo, see below), refers to a particular form of temporality—the awareness and experience of rhythms and times both quotidian, personal, generational (social) and mythic. Here I wish to concentrate on ideas of maleness and femaleness in these representations. There is a preponderance of explicitly male characteristics (whoever ‘owns’ them) in terms of penes and penis sheaths. So in this particular context the bulk of the represented activities and forms appear to be to do with maleness — though what ethnography may warn us is that this does not necessarily translate simply into, for example, the power of men over women understood as biologically sexed bodies. As Roscoe points out: What constitutes anatomical sex, however — which organs (or fluids or physiological processes) are considered the signs of maleness and femaleness — has been shown by scholars in several fields to be as much a social construct as what has been termed gender. (Roscoe 1994: 345) But if we take the figures throughout the whole cave, then perhaps only 2 of 17 figures are represented with either female characteristics, or shown as lacking male characteristics. The emphasis on penes perhaps stands for semen and fertility, or male initiation, as proposed in the earlier interpretations. There is also an association in this particular context with certain animals, especially birds which are not represented elsewhere. The humans are partaking in animal world, although that need not always or even be seen as separate from human world. But here at Addaura in this context, males are represented as controlling production of, or being involved in, this particular part of this particular rite, narrative or myth, and women are largely absent or possibly subordinate. Children qua children not represented at all. Hence both age and sex-related group domination is present in terms of the representations.

Grotta del Genovese On the island of Levanzo at perhaps around the same time (when it would have been connected to the Sicilian mainland) we also have numerous incised figures, mainly of animals. There is also a small group of human figures (fig. 4). This is also amenable to interpretations of a scene of a specific rite or practice, and includes a therianthrope. It is not obviously placed in relation to the animals. At least one of the human figures is perhaps bearded, and again it is arguably maleness which is represented. This interpretation is perhaps supported by the observation that elsewhere in this cave (as in the LUP art elsewhere) it seems to be predominantly male animals represented; but again, I want to emphasise that it may not be our understanding of sex; rather maybe male characteristics are taken to represent a certain sort of species and symbolise

a particular association. For example a wild bull and its horns, or a stag with antlers, might be the symbol, or a metonymic or synechdochic reference to a certain sort of entity, being or myth which is presenced in particular ways in certain contexts or through certain associations, of place, or practices, or people. As at Addaura, in fact, very few types of animals are represented, and plants, birds and fish not at all. So can we say anything about sex and gender in the context of these representations in these two caves in LUP northern Sicily? It appears that in this context although women (or their representations) are not totally excluded, it is maleness or male characteristics which are numerically important. Similar arguments can also be made in relation to the animal representations, though this does not necessarily mean that it is men who have a monopoly of that activity (gendered or not), rite, myth or process which is being evoked or recorded. Finally we may note that, particularly at Addaura, the ‘scene’ and other engravings available to us clearly represent the end of a potentially long-lasting cycle or series of transformations of certain narratives, myths or rituals, or at least of their expression in these particular forms and places.

Fig. 4 Incised anthropomorphic figures from the Grotta del Genovese, Levanzo, Sicilia

Neolithic paintings In the same cave on Levanzo there are also three panels of Neolithic painted representations (fig. 5). In stylistic terms these are much less realistic and much more schematic than the Epipalaeolithic engravings discussed above; and in terms of content there are far more humanlike figures and far fewer animals (though perhaps including dolphins or tunny), and it is more

difficult (and maybe inappropriate) to assign unambiguous identifications to them. There are also many indeterminate markings or symbols, some of which may be due to imperfect execution, perhaps because it was unimportant in this context. The two most common types of symbol — the ant-like anthropomorphic figures and the broader so-called ‘violin idols’ — are commonly and reasonably (by parallels with material elsewhere) linked with males and females respectively. If we accept the sexing of these representations, then ‘women’ are definitely presenced in this cave and context, in marked contrast to the Epipalaeolithic material. Women are still outnumbered, but by less, and were certainly not excluded. The three panels seem to represent distinct groupings, of which (parts of) panels A and C may also refer to hunting or other associations of humans with animals. Although one could interpret this in terms of particular narratives and deliberate placing, the overall similarity of the signs and composition of the groups in all three panels, wherever their location in the cave, seems to me to relate more strongly to possible specific individual or group performances in ‘new’ locations. If the representations are (partly) sexed or gendered then both ‘sexes’ occur together in all three groups of signs, despite the disparity in numbers. Even so, the majority of the ‘female’ signs occur in the middle panel (B), and largely in two distinct and separate lines. However, perhaps more relevant in the context of this paper is the observation that there are undoubtedly ‘intermediate’ figures, between the double-curved ‘violin idols’, and the ant-like paintings: thus there are thicker wedge-shaped figures (e.g. at the extreme right of panel B), a motif which merges with thicker bodied ‘ant-like’ figures. This is again a warning that although a binary division may have been intended by the painters and apparent to observers at the time, such polarisation of the symbols may say far more about our contemporary context of interpretation. There is little evidence of the palimpsest of refigurations which were so marked in the Epipalaeolithic of Addaura, though Graziosi (1962b) notes that some of the figures appear to have been retouched or repainted. Here, then, we may have an emphasis on performance as re-presentation. Further, the roughly linear or frieze-like arrangement of many of the symbols is in marked contrast to the apparently unsyntactical location of the earlier material in the same cave. Linearity has been taken as exemplifying the notion of strongly narrative structures which are absent from much Upper Palaeolithic art (e.g. Criado Boado & Penedo Romero 1993; Conkey 1982). It may also be a sign of the additive and perhaps group nature of much or all of this performance, in contrast again to the skills displayed in much of the earlier material which may have been limited to relatively few of the participants. If this interpretation of the additive and performative nature of some or all of this ‘art’ is correct, (i.e. if the final relations between elements are not necessarily important), then formal spatialstructural analysis will not necessarily be particularly informative. I am inclined to see Levanzo as a place connected with performances in some way mimicking or representing through individual, additive and perhaps narrative actions the (re)production of a group. The context of production of the ‘art’ is chronologically much later than the incisions, and in a broadly farming rather than hunting-gathering society. Although I would not wish to overemphasise any essential social or conceptual differences between societies categorised in terms of their subsistence, in farming societies, (re)production of parts of the ‘natural’ world is in some instances obviously and practically controlled (though it may be mediated through understandings of what that reproductive action comprises, such as magic or supernatural

intervention). In this instance at Levanzo, an analogy of partial control (whether actual, ritual or spiritual) by people over the reproduction or acquisition of animals, plants and people, may have been related or extended to the perceived roles of men and women (or a sub-group) over reproduction of the group and the group’s resources. One should note that analyses of the sexed representations in the cave art cannot be homologously mapped onto the society concerned in other contexts: for example, (some) people may have conceptualised that it is maleness which is the life-giving force, and that women are recipients or containers for that power: men may well maintain control over women’s bodies and reproduction in that sense. Alternatively, we may want to see the possible ritual narratives at Levanzo, as ideologies of either contested or co-operative social or spiritual power, signalled by the substantial presence of possible female representations. A third, and more radically and deliberately feminist view might propose, by analogy with what others have argued for representations of male characteristics and their lack (Yates 1993), that Neolithic Levanzo is in fact a site of the making of women (the ant-like ‘non-women’ figures being not rounded, and perhaps reproductively immature, compared with the violin idols). This would suggest that Levanzo was a place of female initiation rites, or the expression of the female component of sexual or reproductive power, neatly contrasted with earlier incised figures in same cave which are of mainly male animals. There are other arguments (Pluciennik 1996) which relate to differing concepts of time expressed in the apparently non-narrative art of the Epipalaeolithic compared with the additive nature of the Neoltihic paintings. This may be taken to suggest the increased perception of the importance of generationally produced time by the Neolithic, which may have become a source of power in itself.

Discussion This paper has so far concentrated on the Sicilian material. For elsewhere in southern Italy, and also drawing on ethnographic analogies and insights, Whitehouse (1992: 151-7) suggests that in Neolithic Puglia some painted and other ‘cult’ caves may have been part of male initiation rituals, linked with hunting and wild animals, and can be interpreted as part of a male strategy and ideology for the control of women by men, as well as of young by the old. Her analysis of the Grotta dei Cervi at Porto Badisco argues that this is shown by the apparent exclusion of images of women and women’s activities from the inner, most secret parts of the cave. Her view of Neolithic southern Italian society as characterised by a high degree of gender conflict, hierarchy and opposition has been criticised in particular by Skeates (1994), who prefers a more cooperative and complementary view of gender relations, and argues for more specificity and less generalisation in considering the archaeological record.

Fig. 5 Painted Neolithic figures and signs from the Grotta del Genovese, Levanzo, Sicilia (after Graziosi 1962b)

Although we have seen the preponderance of apparently male human representations in both LUP and Neolithic art, such proportions cannot be ‘read off’ as reflecting a similar distribution of social power. Femaleness is represented in the Epipalaeolithic caves (such as the incised signs interpreted as vulvas at the Grotta Romanelli), and clay female figurines have been found in Neolithic settlement sites such as Rendina (BAS) and Passo di Corvo (PUG). This certainly suggests that there were spatial and contextual differences in the representation of men and women, and perhaps in their roles and powers. If women, for example, were excluded from certain parts of cult sites as argued by Whitehouse for Puglia, there is also the possibility of the exclusion of males from other areas and/or practices. And this fits in much better with contemporary ideas of different subject positions, the importance of context, and of conflict and ambiguities within communities and societies as well as between them. These sorts of processes should also be seen in other categories of archaeological evidence, where, however, we may have no direct association with sexed or gendered representations or practices.

POTS, SPATIALITIES, TEMPORALITIES In southern Italy, fragments of coarse large storage and/or cooking pots, often impresseddecorated, tend to dominate or form a large proportion of the earlier Neolithic assemblages. This is in contrast to most of early Neolithic Greece where finer monochrome pottery predates coarse impressed wares by perhaps half a millennium (Hameau 1987), and finewares dominate

the Early and Middle Neolithic assemblages (Perlés 1992; Vitelli 1989; 1993). In Greece, Vitelli (1993: 252) has argued that the dramatic increase in coarse wares in the Late Neolithic points to a “significantly different kind of production, probably different producers and certainly different functions and roles for the pots.” She suggests that control of pottery production in the Greek Neolithic changed from “specialists at the very beginning to nonspecialists by the end of the period” (ibid). Early Neolithic pottery in Greece, then, may have been related to shamans, sorcerers and healers and associated with music and “medicines, debilitating poisons, and mind- or mood-altering potions” (Vitelli 1993: 254), while methods of food preparation and consumption used other materials. Vitelli (1995) has also recently suggested that there are good reasons to associate early Neolithic Greek pottery with women and female shamanism (and cf. Cullen 1985 for the transmission of local styles in the Peloponnese through female exogamy). The situation is very different in southern Italy during the earlier Neolithic, with the predominance of coarse wares (on open settlements), but in coexistence with various finewares. I wish to suggest that in southern Italy during the earlier Neolithic (and perhaps in contrast to the Aegean, but not the Adriatic), new foods and/or ways of food preparation and consumption were important in themselves, (recursively) embedded in changing social roles and practices. The association of pottery forms and their relation to inter- or intrahousehold sharing and feasting, for example, has been made elsewhere, though usually in relation to finewares. However in Neolithic southern Italy we see from the outset (however blurred in detail) contextual distinctions between ceramics associated with the utilitarian subsistence or ‘domestic’ sphere, and vessels at least partly reserved for other locations and practices (cf. Malone 1985, Chapman 1988). Attention has often been concentrated on these ‘ritual’ contexts and on pottery as prestige goods per se. However daily practices such as those of food acquisition, preparation, presentation and consumption are equally (or arguably more) important in the production, reproduction and transformation of habituses (sensu Bourdieu 1977; 1990), and consequent social roles and structures, than other more apparently ritualised practices. These latter may in a sense be the explicit assertion or legitimation of the cosmologies and ideologies which are practically instantiated in everyday life. In this sense the coarse or cooking pottery, just as much as any other material culture or more ‘exotic’ evidence such as art and burial practice, is implicated in the construction and marking of those spatial and temporal rhythms and practices, the production of both practical and discursive knowledges of social life, and of social structures including those marked by gender. In southern Italy the ‘arrival’ of the Neolithic is often signified by an apparently more or less contemporaneous suite of elements including pottery, obsidian, polished stone artefacts, sheep and goats, and domesticated cereals - the traditional ‘Neolithic package’. Nevertheless, this ‘package’ is introduced into an area, southern peninsular Italy and Sicily, at different times and into regions inhabited by hunter-gatherer societies with different traditions of, for example, hunting and fishing, flint procurement, lithic manufacture and artefact decoration, rock art, environments and landscapes; and by inference social structures and patterns of settlement and mobility (Pluciennik 1994: 336-40). The acquisition, preparation and consumption of food would have been one arena in which roles and practices may have been strongly structured by custom and tradition relating to age, gender, kinship and ascribed or achieved status, for

example, defining who did what, where and when. The nature of relationships between groups or sections of communities may have been similarly defined, whether by ‘exchange partners’ or in other ways. In other words, neither the acquisition nor assimilation of novel resources — material and non-material elements of the ‘Neolithic package’ — will have been adopted or otherwise spread within pristine, homogeneous or unstructured social contexts, nor understood simply in functional or utilitarian ways. If we assume that in some areas, at least, these novel resources (material or non-material, utilitarian and symbolic) were introduced into the existing hunter-gatherer communities, then the implication is that there may have been either differential access to, or claims or ability to manipulate, the practical and symbolic capital associated with such elements. These new resources will inevitably, and both intentionally and unintentionally, have become implicated in the transformation (or maintenance) of existing practices, structures and understandings. There is a high possibility that one of those arenas may have been the possibly gendered roles associated with subsistence. Ethnographically, it is recorded that males are often actually and ideologically associated with hunting (especially for large-game), and women (and children) with gathering. Herded livestock may be associated with either or both, often depending on the location of the animals: those kept in close proximity to the settlement may be the responsibility of children and women, while those herded routinely further away from mixed-farming settlements are more often under the control of males (e.g. Almagor 1978: 91, 96; Galaty & Johnson 1990: 23-4; Khazanov 1984: 20; Murdock & Provost 1973). As noted earlier, in Puglia, Whitehouse (1992) has argued plausibly that the Grotta dei Cervi (Porto Badisco) may have been the site of a Neolithic cult associating males with hunting, as a source of esoteric knowledge and power over females and/or young males, in a society in which the settlement evidence shows little sign of consumption of wild foods. This is in contrast to the evidence from the Grotta dell’Uzzo, Sicily, for example, in which domesticated plants and animals represent a gradual addition and eventual substitution of wild species (Piperno et al. 1980; Tagliacozzo 1993). It is possible that in the Puglian case the development of a male cult society may have been part of a reaction to changes in which the symbolic capital related to the use of novel plant resources and its associated pottery was appropriated by women, perhaps at the same time as such foods became in another sense ‘mundane’. The baked clay female figurines known from Neolithic settlement sites such as Rendina, Basilicata (Cipolloni Sampò 1983) and Passo di Corvo, Puglia (Tine 1983) may also relate to these arenas of female practice or control. Elsewhere, in different societies and different contexts in southern Italy such as Sicily, both the modes and meanings of such appropriations of Neolithic elements, including pottery, may have had different outcomes. At the Grotta di Sant’Angelo III in Calabria, for example, an unusual proportion of obsidian and fine pottery may signify the association of a certain restricted group with access to, and wishing to express identification with, another ‘exotic’ resource. One could plausibly link some of these ‘cult caves’ which Whitehouse associates with secrecy, maleness and hunting, with the sort of gendered scenario which Robb (1994b) proposes for the later Neolithic and Bronze Age. Robb argues, along with others, that it is in the late Neolithic that we see major changes with much more emphasis on prestige competition and with factors affecting access to such value and prestige as a source of change, and consequently allowing male gender to be

ideologically valorised. He speculates that If proto-political activities such as warfare and exchange were ascribed to males, then changes spreading from neighbouring societies would affect male realms of activity first. Males may have also seized control of the production of cosmological knowledge at an early stage, when the result had little immediate impact on traditional forms of production and interaction. (Robb 1994b: 31) However, even if knowledge or skills associated with pottery, or, for example, obsidian acquisition, exchange and consumption were used in relation to status and prestige, or to reinforce kin or other links, as suggested by Tykot (1996), the different geographical as well as potentially social circumstances (for example between northeast and northwest Sicilia, Calabria (Ammerman (ed.) 1985; Ammerman 1985; Ammerman & Andrefsky 1982), and Puglia again suggest that even if such activities were strongly gendered, they need not have been so either identically or symmetrically in these different areas.

THE MESOLTIHIC-NEOLTIHIC TRANSITION AND GENDER In Engendering Archaeology, Conkey & Gero (1991: 21) pose the question: Is the Solutrean-Magdalenian ‘boundary’ gender-neutral? To the extent that . . . male and female experiences in prehistory are non-overlapping, any form of periodization may be no more than an awkward and biasing obfuscation that homogenizes . . . Although one might argue that since genders are surely relational they are never ‘nonoverlapping’, in later prehistory at least two archaeological boundaries are seen as extremely pertinent to changes in gender relations. In much of Europe including Italy the Late Neolithic/Early Bronze Age is seen as a period in which individual males are valorised and male-female hierarchies increasingly expressed. Another point in time which is often thought to have major implications for gender roles and relations (such as changes in the sexual division of labour) is that of the transition to farming — the Mesolithic-Neolithic boundary. Above I speculated that by the later Neolithic the cave art may evidence a concern with how animal times and human times were both generational and ‘produced’ — and hence capable of manipulation. Furthermore, this happened at a time when evidence from other spheres suggests greater or the more socially emphasised separation of certain practices in space and time, such as burials; hunting sites from settlement sites; cult sites from occupation sites; and with the long-distance exchange of ideas and/or materials. We may postulate a growth in different temporalities and spatialities — transformed experiences and socially distributed practices in, as well as conceptualisations of, time and space. The awareness of and participation in different practices may have led to more attempts to utilise, construct or mark differences in spatialities. These expressions of different spatialities may well have involved different temporalities, and rhythms and meanings of practices and memories. Such awareness could also have encouraged attempts to stabilise the production and manipulation of (perhaps

generational) time, and to control space (a new concern for boundaries). Disjunctures between differently experienced and constructed times and spaces may have found a partial expression in the practices surrounding the placing of the dead, and the making of rock art, in whatever contexts. Both archaeologically-surviving media and practices in the Neolithic were potentially more various and consciously separated in time and space at the local community level and beyond. Simultaneously, the conflation and potential manipulation of ‘geographical’ and ‘historical’ knowledges of other places, practices and people, partly evidenced in and expressed through material culture such as pottery and their associated practices, will have been a source for new strategies, social dynamics and potential or actual social differentiation (Helms 1988; Pluciennik 1997). However I do not wish to use these differences seen in the later Neolithic to draw a rigid boundary in social dynamism between the Epipalaeolithic and the Neolithic. There are hints that spatialities and temporalities are changing in the later Mesolithic (such as the lack of later burials at Uzzo, despite the continuity and only gradual change in occupation deposits from the point of view of subsistence); earlier still we may note the ‘loss’ of the final LUP incised representations, replaced in the Mesolithic by series of vertical lines on cave walls and rock faces. Both these examples suggest earlier changes in the importance, function or categorisation of places and landscapes and their associated practices, of a kind which may only become more archaeologically visible in the Neolithic. It is easy, for a variety of reasons including our own imposition of chronological and societal categories, to contrast essentialist and static notions of the Epipalaeolithic and the Neolithic. Yet in the most undifferentiated society there are still likely to be differing concepts and experiences of both time and space according to different roles and practices (who goes where, when, and who does what), and changes in these through time and variability across space. One of the many social axes along which these transformations may have taken place is that of gender. However it is at this point that I would like to re-emphasise the empirical and theoretical difficulties in either recognising or abstracting implications for ‘gender’ as a separable analytical sphere — as arguably one cannot finally separate feminist struggles from other fights for liberation in contemporary politics, whatever the merits of group solidarity and single-issue politics at particular junctures.

CONCLUSION There are dangers as well as merits in concentrating on particular analytical constructions or abstractions such as gender. The inter-relationship between various analytical spheres such as kinship, gender, age-grades and other roles and statuses is complex and geographically and historically variable. Rather than emphasise one at the expense of the other(s), we should remain aware of potentially cross-cutting statuses, identities and other ways of constructing selves and societies. In the material dealt with above, I have been inclined to see practices, and temporal and spatial variability, potentially as expressions of social actions related to affiliations, roles, and changing temporalities and spatialities. However, only some of these may relate directly to gender, even though gender as a structuring principle may be implicated,

to different degrees, in all of them. There is also a need to think about potential scales of homogeneity or heterogeneity in the past. Prehistorians are used to dealing with change on a temporal scale, but sometimes, because of the discontinuous nature of the data, we are prone to elide the possible geographical nuances of difference between small-scale societies in favour of generalisation on the larger scale. It is tempting to propose or recognise similarities rather than theorise the meaning of differences, especially given the problems of the conflation of samples chronologically and spatially, as well as contextually. Yet I have argued that at the (geographical) extremes of southern Italy and Sicily we can certainly argue for differences in perception and representation and potentially gendered social roles and conceptualisations seen through the contrast between roughly contemporaneous cave art from Puglia and NW Sicily. This may have extended to myths and cosmologies too. Different places and different societies, contemporary or not, may well have had different understandings and different hierarchies, statuses and gender relations, and it is important not to impose our scales of geographical cultural similarity on very much smaller-scale societies in the past. There may have been very different circumstances - or different expressions of similar ones — in Sicily and Puglia, for example. There was also surely widespread hetereogeneity in the past, and our use of widely-drawn models may reflect our somewhat homogeneous understandings and concerns in the present. However difficult the task, we should not be deterred from speculative contextual arguments about social relations and cultural change. If they are partial and complex then this may in fact be truer to the dynamic and contested nature of interpretations and daily lives. Similarly, however tempting binary resolutions of data may be, social life is also messy, and experiences and ideologies are not total and exclusive, but are often partial and conflicting on all sorts of levels including those of understanding and expression by different groups. Although I have not felt able to suggest specific gender relations considered in a holistic sense for the particular societies whose archaeological remains are discussed in this paper, I hope I have conveyed a sense in which, despite the empirical discontinuities and speculative interpolations, this material is redolent of potential fluidity and change, and social negotiation and transformation within the societies of southern Italy and Sicily from the Epipalaeolithic through the Neolithic. In this paper I have often found it difficult to isolate gender and gender relations from other possible social structures influencing the archaeological record in particular contexts. As Broch-Due and Rudie suggest in relation to ethnography: The issue at stake is one about the specific intersections between gender difference and other constructs containing ideas of differences. (Broch-Due & Rudie 1993: 2) It may be that we also need to be critically aware of the possibility of the over-projection of our (legitimate) concerns and priorities with particular aspects of social relations in the present (such as gender) at the expense of others (such as kinship). If feminist and other archaeology and anthropology is, to use Henrietta Moore’s (1994) title, about ‘a passion for difference’, then we must be careful to find it not only in the present, but also in the past.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am grateful to Ruth Whitehouse for the invitation to give the conference paper on which this present article is based, and for her and other participants’ comments at that time. My ideas have also been influenced by discussion during and following a research seminar held at the Department of Archaeology, University of Wales, Lampeter, at which a subsequent version of part of this material was offered: my especial thanks to Mary Baker, Sarah Tarlow and Tim Walley.

NOTES 1 In this paper I use ‘Epipalaeolithic’ to refer to the period from c. 13000 cal. BC to c.8000

cal. BC where finer chronological resolution is unavailable, uncertain or inappropriate. ‘Final Late Upper Palaeolithic’ (LUP) refers to the period from c. 13000 cal. BC to c.9000 cal. BC, and ‘Mesolithic’ to Holocene hunter-gatherer groups i.e. from c.9000 cal. BC to the onset of the ‘Neolithic’, here used generically to signal the appearance in the archaeological record of domesticates and/or cultigens and/or pottery — whatever the significance of these may be argued to be. 2 I use this term to refer to the subjective mapping of spaces and landscape through experience, routinisation, stories, myths and memories producing spaces, places and paths at both the individual and group level. Cf. Pred 1985; Soja 1989: 79-80.

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gender?. In Gero, J. & Conkey, M, (eds), Engendering Archaeology: Women and Prehistory: 31-54. Blackwell, Oxford. Yates, T. 1993. Frameworks for an archaeology of the body. In Tilley, C, (ed.), Interpretative Archaeology: 31-72. Berg, Providence. Zampetti, D., & Mussi, M. 1991. Segni del potere, simboli del potere: la problematica del Paleolitico Superiore Italiano. In Herring, E., Whitehouse, R. & Wilkins, J, (eds), Papers of the Fourth Conference of Italian Archaeology, 2: 149-60. Accordia Research Centre, London.

Space, gender, and architecture in the southern Italian Neolithic Jon Morter and John Robb

INTRODUCTION Space may be ‘gendered’1 in many ways. Males and females, or members of other genders for that matter, may carry out activities in different zones, creating ‘behaviorally’ gendered spaces which may be visible archaeologically as specialised activity areas. General zones or specific locations may be ‘cognitively’ or symbolically associated with one or another gender, and even ideologically celebrated as symbols of them. Places may be ‘jurally’ gendered as well, with males or females explicitly excluded from them or required or allowed to visit them. These forms of gendered space need not coincide with each other, and commonly do not. For instance, in Anglo-American culture the kitchen was traditionally a female-associated space, and the garage or workshop a male-associated one. This was an explicit cognitive classification associated with behavioural patterns, but in no way enforced jurally. Churches, in contrast, may be cognitively and jurally gender-neutral but behaviorally gendered, as when the people attending services are predominantly female (while the major functionaries, utilising the especially sacred zones, may be males). Public toilets are jurally gendered zones in the strictest sense, as well as segregated behaviourally, but their transient impersonal nature and the functional identicality of toilets for both genders makes them not especially gendered in the cognitive sense.2 These distinctions have clear parallels in many tribal societies. For instance, ritual structures are often jurally gendered through explicit prohibitions, while general zones of the natural world and spaces associated with activities particular to one gender are gendered through some combination of cognitive associations and/or behavioural patterns. It is important to make these distinctions when trying to understand gendered spaces in prehistory, both to understand exactly what we are reconstructing and what its social significance was, and to avoid committing interpretative absurdities. Archaeologists have commonly inferred gendered spaces from the differential distribution of activities assumed to have been performed by males or females (e.g. Flannery & Winter 1976). Aside from the thorny question of establishing which gender(s) did a particular task, this approach can tell us about behaviourally gendered space; whether these zones of space were associated with cognitive distinctions or formal restrictions is another question. Cognitive distinctions may be suggested by the spatial distributions of gender-related symbols and the ideological

elaboration of activities typically carried out in particular spatial zones. Jural distinctions may be the most complex to understand archaeologically. As these reflections suggest, categories of space and gender are both inextricable from social structures and bear a complex relation to them. While arbitrary social relations, including gender relations, can be naturalised by mapping them onto an ‘external’, ‘preexisting’ landscape — a countryside imbued with historical depth and thus bulking larger than any individual’s experience — the cultural landscape may not authorise one exclusive pattern of authority or social dominance. Moreover, the total system of gendered spaces may not be best understood as a single totalising symbolic system; rather, it may be a semi-orderly group of symbolic structures which contains the potential for social action, for individuals and categories of people to make alternative claims about the nature of reality and their place within it. In this paper we will discuss the evidence for gender-associated places in the Southern Italian Neolithic. As was natural, the first round of gender studies for Italian prehistory (Robb 1992; 1994b; Whitehouse 1990; 1992) stressed the homogeneous nature of gender symbolisms and ideologies. Using much of the same data, we will argue that symbolisms of gender and space may be elucidated archaeologically, but that, at least for the Neolithic, their relation to patterns of social action is much less determinate and may have been extremely complex and not internally consistent.

THE SOUTHERN ITALIAN NEOLITHIC The geographical focus of this paper is Southern Italy and adjacent areas of Central Italy and Sicily. From about 7000 BC (calibrated: Skeates 1994a), this area was populated by flourishing Neolithic groups who lived in networks of small villages, hundreds of which have been identified in densely-settled areas such as the Tavoliere and the Materano. The Neolithic as an archaeological period endured almost to the end of the 4th millennium BC, and as a way of life Neolithic societies lasted almost as long, changing their nature radically in the Final Neolithic. Within this long period, there was a succession of ceramic styles, sometimes but not always accompanied by changes in other aspects of society and economy. The Early Neolithic Impressed Ware culture lasted through most of the 7th and 6th millennia. After the middle of the 6th millennium, a plethora of local styles become archaeologically visible, having presumably developed out of it. These include various bichrome and trichrome painted wares and elaborately impressed styles such as the Stentinello wares of Calabria and Sicily. By 4500 BC, however, such local Middle Neolithic styles were being replaced or supplemented by elaborate pan-regional finewares such as the Late Neolithic Serra d’Alto ware. This trend continued with the appearance of the Final Neolithic Diana-Bellavista pottery — a broad horizon of unpainted, highly burnished red and grey ceramics. The general appearance and superficial similarity of this pottery has been suggested as associated with an accelerated regional and possibly ritualised trade in obsidian in this period (Malone 1985). The Copper Age which develops out of this can then be placed within the end of the 4th and most of the 3rd

millennium (Cazzella & Moscoloni 1992). Within this broad framework, the precise chronological relationship of many ceramic styles is debated (see Tinè 1983; Whitehouse 1986). Furthermore, with a relative dearth of carbon dates, the exact chronology of even the most important sites is vague; the rock art complex at Porto Badisco, for instance, was probably contemporary with the use of Serra d’Alto pottery but may be in part as late as the Copper Age (Graziosi 1980). Moreover, evidence for space and gender is not concentrated in a particular area or period within the Neolithic, but must be gleaned from sporadic occurrences in more than one culture and region. In such a situation, we must assume that there was a regional cultural system of some sort which all the available evidence can be used to speak to. Such an assumption, invoked carefully, is theoretically warranted, and allows us to speak of general aspects of space and gender in the Southern Italian Neolithic. Throughout most of the Neolithic, the economy appears to have revolved around variations on the theme of domesticated resources. While some gathered plants were used, macrobotanical remains, architectural features such as storage pits and ovens, and the common occurrence of querns suggest that the staples of the diet were wheats and barley, along with some pulses (Castelletti et al. 1987). Evidence from sites throughout Southern Italy shows that game contributed very little to the diet, whose meat component was based on cattle, sheep/goats and pigs (in proportions of roughly 30:60:10 by bone fragment counts) (Castelletti et al. 1987). The striking exception to this is in ritual sites, most notably the Ipogeo Manfredi at Santa Barbara near Bari, where the faunal assemblage was dominated by hunted game — including skulls placed ceremonially around the walls of the underground chamber. Along with some other evidence such as the inclusion of deer antlers in burials at the Grotta Scaloria (Winn & Shimabuku 1988), this suggests that the social role of hunted game was ceremonial rather than as an economic mainstay. Burials in the Early and Middle Neolithic across southern Italy consisted of single primary inhumations in villages or caves without durable goods or architecture. By the Middle Neolithic there was some regional experimentation with more elaboration, but this does not seem to have been typical. Where elaborated there is no obvious gender correspondence with burial goods or architecture. Interestingly though, in an aggregated sample of published data from southern and central Italy, the sex of an inhumed individual was significantly associated with the side on which they were buried. Females were buried more frequently on their left sides, males on their right, with the great majority of burials of both sexes facing east or south. This seems to suggest a formal cognitive distinction between males and females, systematically applied but without extensive ideological elaboration (Robb 1994a).

Developments of the later phases of the Neolithic and Eneolithic Without going deeply into the end of the Neolithic period and beyond, we do wish to touch upon some interesting developments. Malone (1985) has suggested that the distribution of the ever more elaborate painted ceramics culminating in the Late Neolithic Serra d’Alto style is best explained by an extensive network of exchange contacts across the lower peninsula and Sicily. There is growing evidence for dramatically expanded access to exotic raw materials such as obsidian or ‘greenstones’ for polished axes, that had passed, presumably traded, over

long distances. Evidence that this traffic may have been building up over the course of the prior Middle Neolithic period comes from the site of Capo Alfiere in Calabria, where two stratified Middle Neolithic levels have dramatically different lithic raw material compositions. The lower level of the earlier fifth millennium has 28% obsidian whereas the upper level of the later 5th millennium, and late for the Middle Neolithic, has 60% obsidian and has produced all the polished stone axes so far from the site (Morter 1992). By the Final Neolithic the uniform monochrome Diana-Bellavista pottery had come into fashion all across southern Italy and Sicily, eventually replacing previous painted or impressed styles. This is the period of maximum exploitation of the Lipari obsidian sources (Bernabò Brea and Cavalier’s (1960) excavations at the Diana site on Lipari have produced hundreds of kilos of obsidian). Preparation stations interpreted as take-off points for further distribution have been found on the west coast of Calabria (Ammerman 1985). Trade in general seems to have surged in the Final Neolithic. Domestic settlements are poorly understood in the Late and Final Neolithic, but archaeologically known architecture now includes, and is in fact dominated by, mortuary structures. Burial innovations are among the most dramatic changes of the Final Neolithic. Instead of the earlier single inhumations within villages, there were now formal cemeteries distinct from settlements. Stone tombs are known, usually square cists of slabs, and goods were regularly deposited with burials. Multiple episodes of burial in a single tomb are common, with secondary rearrangement of earlier remains and curation of skulls. The Final Neolithic burial tradition represents a standard burial package with a distribution that extends, like the Diana-Bellavista pottery, from eastern Sicily to the Adriatic. These tombs were partly visible above ground, and served as the repositories for remains of segments of society, suggesting an increased interest in burial symbology and its trans-temporal manipulation. The succeeding Eneolithic tombs accentuate these trends by becoming deeper and more elaborate until true rock-cut chamber tombs are in use (Robb 1994a). Besides the art evidence reviewed above, some of which extended into the Final Neolithic, evidence for gender ideology in the Final Neolithic is slender. Due to the combination of communal burial and incomplete archaeological analysis, virtually no sexed burials are known with individually associated goods. Surprisingly few archaeologists have tried to interpret Italian Neolithic society, in contrast to other areas such as Scandinavia and Britain. In the first systematic assessment of the evidence, Whitehouse (1984) concluded that Neolithic societies were egalitarian tribes, in Elman Service’s typological categories. Most syntheses of Italian prehistory reach a similar conclusion, explicitly or implicitly, and devote very little discussion to variations in Neolithic social organisation. While calling Neolithic societies ‘tribes’ seems impeccable as a general characterisation, it leaves unanswered numerous key questions; for instance, recent ethnographic research (Godelier 1986) has stressed the wide latitude of variation within generally ‘tribal’ societies, and by focussing on the category it does not address the social processes at work in such societies.

ARCHITECTURE AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF

SPATIAL CATEGORIES Architecture For much of Southern Italy, ditched villages are the most common settlements known. They are common in the best-known regions, including the Tavoliere (Jones 1987), in the Bari region, and the Materano, and are known from other areas including Sicily. The enclosed areas vary greatly, from a minimum of about 50 metres in diameter to a maximum of almost a kilometre at Passo di Corvo (Tine 1983). The function of the ditches has been debated, with possibilities including defence, water storage in dry seasons (Gravina 1975), drainage in rainy times (Tine 1983), cattle herd control (Jones 1987), and providing a psychological boundary for the community (Whittle 1996). It is likely that they served several of these functions at any given time. Again, the best evidence on architecture and internal site organisation comes from the Tavoliere. Within the large boundary ditches, social sub-units dug their own C-shaped subenclosures, whose purpose is again unknown although probably not defensive. Houses were small wattle-and-daub structures, either square (at Ripa Tetta: Tozzi & Tasca 1989) or rounded at one end (at Passo di Corvo: Tinè 1983). Hut structures from Stentinello contexts were also generally small and rectangular or sub-rectangular (Ammerman et al. 1988; Castellana 1987; Morter 1992). Other features commonly found within village areas include areas paved with cobbles or flagstones, areas paved with baked clay, ovens, and storage pits. Burials, too, are usually found within or adjacent to villages up until the Late Neolithic (Robb 1994a). It is also important to note the variability of Neolithic settlement. Ditched settlements are so well known partly because they are easy to identify on aerial photographs. In all regions, unditched villages are known, and many caves were frequented during the Neolithic, both as herding stations and as sometimes substantial settlements. Several sites or areas within sites partially enclosed with stone walls a metre or more thick are known, including Molfetta (see Mosso (1910), who calls this structure a ‘road’), Trasano near Matera (Guilaine & Cremonesi 1987), and Capo Alfiere (Morter 1992). It is unknown whether such features had special functions, though at Capo Alfiere the monumental wall enclosed an unusual squarish house which was rebuilt at least once. Ammerman’s (1985) research on Stentinello sites on the west coast of Calabria has revealed numerous small, apparently unditched sites which may represent short-term or episodic, shifting occupations. This settlement location and pattern may be associated with the obsidian trade from Lipari. Middle Neolithic chert quarry sites are known from the Gargano (e.g. La Defensola: Tunzi Sisto 1990). Finally, while formal burial sites away from villages are rare until the Late Neolithic, a number of Neolithic ‘ritual’ sites are known. The best include Porto Badisco (Graziosi 1980, see below), the Riparo Rinaldi (Biancafiore 1965), the Grotta Scaloria (Tinè & Isetti 1980), the Ipogeo Manfredi, Cala Scizzo, and the Grotta Pavolella (Carancini & Guerzani 1987). As Whitehouse (1992) points out, most of such sites are found in areas well away from known settlements.

Spatial zones Given the architectural emphasis on bounded villages as the modal fixed points in the cultural landscape of the Neolithic, it makes sense to understand the spatial world in terms of concentric zones around villages. Combining economic, social and architectural data, there may have been at least five kinds of places, which may have corresponded to nested social identities (fig. 1). 1. The innermost zone would have been the domestic house and its immediate space, presumably occupied by small kin units, which would have been the locus of daily household interactions and activities. In the Tavoliere villages, household compounds are bounded by the small (c.8-15m in diameter) circular ‘C-ditches’ mentioned above; these may imply both a formal distinction, in terms of rights of access, between these elemental units and the aggregate group and a structural understanding of the smaller group as isomorphic with the village on a smaller scale. 2. Surrounding the family compounds, the village area would have included areas for communal activities, ritual, storage, and for livestock herds. This would be the locus of interactions within the context of common group identity and interests. As noted, this space was carefully enclosed by ditches, sometimes multiple, representing a serious investment of collective labour. While these probably served multiple functions, cognitively their most salient effect would have been to draw a boundary between the co-resident community as a social group and outsiders — symbolised through both the defence of the group and the containment and protection of its livestock (representing harvest on the hoof). Burials also occur in this space. These considerations suggest that Neolithic villages thus probably identified the primary social unit with the co-resident group, and the use of village space to contain the village dead suggests that this group identity was bolstered through belief in the common historical identity shared by its members. 3. Within 1-3km around the village would be its ‘catchment’ in the classical sense (Delano Smith 1983; Jarman & Webley 1975; Sargent 1983) — an area of cultivated and fallow fields and gardens, tended pastures, sources of water, building materials, fuel, clay, reeds, and other bulky materials. This area would probably have been recognised as ‘belonging’ to this village in some sense of rights of access or usage. It would have bordered either on the catchments of neighbouring villages, or on interstitial zones. 4. Intervillage zones would have been ecologically different from the catchment area, both because they would lack changes due to farming and grazing, and because they would often consist of terrain unfit for agriculture (e.g., highlands and slopes, dunes, coastal marshes). Neolithic settlements were almost always located on or near light agricultural soils workable with digging-stick technologies (Jarman & Webley 1975; Sargent 1983), and the spaces between them would have included a much higher proportion of steep slopes, heavier soils, marshes, and areas far from water sources. Each of these would have offered a different set of resources. The intervillage zone

would be traversed in visiting and trading, and used for collecting less bulky raw materials such as flint, honey or salt, and for hunting and gathering. Based on access patterns, it might be hypothesised as recognised as loosely belonging to a number of related or neighbouring villages. 5. Finally, at the margins of societies, would be zones occupied by strange, possibly hostile or sub-human peoples. To the extent that these corresponded with ecological boundaries these inter-society areas would also have offered exotic resources such as game, flint and obsidian, and the products of different altitudinal ecosystems. With this spatial reconstruction in mind, we can now turn to gender.

Fig. 1 The spatial distribution of gender symbols in the Southern Italian Early-Middle Neolithic. Spatial zones illustrated using Masseria Candelaro (Cassano & Manfredini 1983; Cassano et al. 1987); location of gender symbols is generalised from various sites

EVIDENCE FOR GENDER-SPACE ASSOCIATIONS In practice, it is difficult to separate behavioural from symbolic evidence for space-gender associations, since we must invoke symbolic evidence to demonstrate that an activity was associated with males or females before we can make use of behavioural data. The bestdocumented gender-linked activity in the Southern Italian Neolithic is undoubtedly hunting. At the Grotta dei Cervi and neighbouring, smaller caves at Porto Badisco, human or human-like figures were drawn hunting deer with bows and arrows (Graziosi 1980). A similar hunting scene was also painted on the walls of the Tuppo dei Sassi in Basilicata (Biancofiore 1965). When the sex of individuals hunting is shown, it is explicitly male rather than female (the distinction can be made since female gender seems to have been denoted by a circular spot rather than a phallus: Whitehouse 1992). Given the extremely schematic character of the representational images, we must regard the inclusion of this anatomical detail as making a symbolically important distinction. Males hunting is not the only theme the Neolithic artists were interested in, as the profusion of abstract and other figures shows, but it was a sufficiently distinct one. Why did Neolithic people memorialise males hunting? Two traditional interpretations are naive and insufficient: that hunting is ‘naturally’ a male activity, and that hunting art simply celebrates a contribution to the economy. With regard to the former, Neolithic women certainly would have carried out many tasks requiring physical strength and endurance, and there is nothing in stalking and killing deer with a bow and arrow which particularly requires a male physique. Moreover, it is usually the case ethnographically that males and females both collect animal resources; which game is understood as real ‘hunting’ rather than the insignificant collection of porcupines, fish, or iguanas is a cultural matter which has much to do with social identity. In the Southern Italian case, deer particularly seem to be the ideologised game animal, perhaps simply because they would have been the commonest large land mammal other than humans. With regard to the latter interpretation, hunting is frequently symbolically important to precisely those societies which subsist on agriculture (Kent 1989; see as an example Kensinger 1989). We have already noted the relatively insignificant role of hunted game in contributing meat to the economies of the southern Italian Neolithic. Except in a few ritual sites, the proportion of game in the faunal collections rarely rises above 5%. Much more timeconsuming and important to the material reproduction of the community would have been tasks like grinding grain, hauling water and collecting firewood. These activities, of course, are notable in rock art only for their absence. Hunting then may well have been culturally important primarily because it was part of male gender ideology. Exactly what its meaning was is difficult to say, but it would not have stood in isolation but have been defined by a system of contrasts, among which spatial dimensions may have bulked large in relating antithetical items. Hunting took place in ecological zones where game would be found — in peripheral locations, in intervillage zones and at the margins of society (zones 4 and 5 above). There is no evidence for which gender(s) carried out other activities postulated as associated with peripheral areas, such as exchange, mining, and herding. The assertion that males were responsible for warfare, while plausible, is also not directly documented. But at least one other activity did associate males with peripheral areas: ritual. As Whitehouse (1992) has

pointed out, Porto Badisco and other cult sites with apparently male-oriented ritual themes are located in marginal locations, often quite difficult to reach or enter, and quite possibly valued for their ‘secret’ nature. Thus both ideologically important male activities and the cults celebrating them took place far from villages — in areas useful and perhaps valued for their remoteness (fig. I).3 There is less evidence for the spatial associations of women. Female images occur in two places: painted on walls at Porto Badisco (Graziosi 1980; Whitehouse 1992), and in small clay figurines. The Porto Badisco female images are fewer in number than male images, and are found only in restricted areas of the cave near the hypothesised entry. Whitehouse interprets this to mean that women participated in only the initial, more public stages of ritual at the site. The idea of women using the cult cave certainly implies they visited and used peripheral zones, though presumably cult activities were less regular and prolonged than activities such as hunting trips. Conversely, restriction of the female images to the ‘edge’ of the cave may be further signalling, to the male participants, of the theoretical exclusion of women from the main area, and have nothing to do with the actual presence of females. The clay figurines of women are known primarily from village sites, including Passo di Corvo (Tinè 1983), Contrada Diana (Bernabò Brea & Cavalier 1960), Trasano and Stentinello (Graziosi 1974), although one has been found at a cult site (Cala Scizzo; Geniola & Tunzi Sisto 1980) one at a cave used for burials and habitation (Grotta Pacelli: Striccoli 1988), and one at an extremely anomalous burial cave (Grotta Pavolella; Carancini & Guerzani 1987). Similar figurines are also known from sites in Central and Northern Italy such as Ripabianca di Monterado, Campogalliano, the Rocca di Rivoli, Vhò, and Arene Candide (Barfield 1971; 1976; Bernabò Brea 1946; Graziosi 1974). It is not known what the figurines were used for, although they may have served as toys, as votive or dedicatory images, as amulets or objects of veneration, or as ornaments or tokens (see Talalay 1993). They are typically small, plain, and show little detail beyond the specifics of the female form, denoted through the breasts and possibly hair style. While we don’t know who made or used these images, the figurines establish that female images were manipulated in the context of village life.4

A POSSIBLE INTERPRETATION OF GENDER AND SPACE IN THE NEOLITHIC The evidence of gender-space associations is scanty, but it seems more useful to us to admit this and then present an interpretation which can be discussed, critiqued or definitively refuted than simply to give up on the problem. The burial orientation data mentioned above provides compelling evidence that there was a cognitive gender distinction throughout the Neolithic, and there were doubtless behavioural distinctions between males and females as well. Were these gender distinctions projected into a spatial dimension? Or to pose the question conversely, was the apparently extra-cultural nature of spatial categories harnessed to the production of a social order? We must leave aside the question of jurally gendered spaces, as there is simply no clear

evidence of spaces which were formally restricted to one or another gender. In terms of behaviour, males carried out at least two symbolically elaborated activities, hunting and ritual, in peripheral zones between the territories of specific villages and on the margins of society — in zones 4 and 5 of the spatial reconstruction above. If warfare was practised by males (a plausible but undocumented assumption), it may have been a third ideologically important activity carried out in distant zones, at least as long as it involved raids on other people’s homes rather than the converse. Closer to home, both genders would have worked and lived within the village and its immediate catchment. While there probably would have been genderdivided use of space within the village to a greater or lesser extent, we have no data on this. Behaviourally, then, we might postulate a gradient extending from a gender-neutral or femaleassociated domestic centre through a male-utilised periphery. The spatial distribution of iconography, with male images and references around the margins of society and female imagery found in village sites, might suggest the same thing: an opposition between female images found in habitation contexts and male-oriented symbols associated with the zones beyond daily experience. If the domestic-marginal spatial axis bore gender connotations, how can we interpret it within a social context? The problem is to construe the meaning of such an opposition and to understand how it might have authorised or channeled social relations.5 Discussions of this problem have revolved around two themes: the interpretation of binary oppositions, and gender power relations. In the post-structuralist era, it has become common to decry interpretations based upon binary structural oppositions; an example especially pertinent to the present discussion of Neolithic spatial categories is Whittle’s (1996: 8) critique of Hodder’s (1990) domus-agrios reconstruction. In Neolithic Italy, it is especially important to withstand the impulse to read an axis of gendered space as showing a simple association of males with ‘wildness’ and females with ‘domesticity’. Such a formulation leaves the female role as an untheorised placeholder filled in with a category from our own society. Moreover, the male role idealised in hunting art is adversarial; rather than, or en route to, being identified with the ‘wild’, the hunter subdues the wild and brings it into society, where it is integrated into and helps to reproduce society through patterns of feasting, redistibution of meat, and celebration. However, the fact that males are occupied in subduing nature does not allow us take the opposite approach and equate male with ‘culture’ and female with ‘nature’, an opposition which Ortner (1974) once suggested is universal. These categories may not have been appropriate for analysing Neolithic culture, and to argue that, because males were occupied in creating ‘culture’, female body images must represent ‘nature’ ignores the symbolised nature of the body and is possible only through the most rigid structuralist insistence on parallel binary oppositions. However, the fact that anthropologists have often used binary structural oppositions as a symbolic straitjacket for their hapless natives does not mean that such oppositions do not exist.6 Without subordinating the male:female opposition to a universalising scheme, it seems reasonable to us to suggest that maleness and femaleness, in an abstract, cognitive sense, were associated with distinct, complementary kinds of ordering principles or creative activity (cf. Skeates 1994b). For males, this may have involved the mastery of the wild, as symbolised through hunting and distribution of game, as a socially recreative process. We know less about

what femaleness symbolised, once we dispense with facile interpretations about ‘fertility’, since the most archaeologically visible symbol of women, the female body, has a wide range of potential meanings; as Collier and Rosaldo (1981) note, in many tribal societies sexuality per se is more often celebrated than is fertility. The meaning of maleness and femaleness would have been both established conceptually through an arbitrary contrast with the other gender(s), and practically through specific activities. For males, many of these activities would have taken place in, or have been associated with, spaces outside the domestic centre of society. For females, gender-defining activities may well have been associated with the village as a place. How would cosmological notions of space and gender have furnished a symbolic ground for struggle between the genders? For the European Neolithic, this problem has been tackled in several ways. Hodder (1984) and Shanks and Tilley (1982) pioneered the question of Neolithic power relations of gender with Marxist models: males and members of senior lineages used culture as a tool to extract labour from females and members of junior lineages. However, models of male-dominated Neolithic society are subject to several strictures. Empirically, in the Italian Neolithic, there is no evidence for material inequalities between the genders, particularly in burials; nor is there convincing evidence for each gender’s labour contribution to production and possible inequalities in labour flow. Kelly (1993) provides an interesting cautionary example against assumptions that prestige, material status and labour necessarily coincided. As Whitehouse (1992) argues, if there was male domination, it necessarily was cosmological control of a prestige system rather than material exploitation. But if the cosmological system formed the primary locus of inequality and struggle, it is not clear why we should accept one point of view as definitive. Ruth Whitehouse (1992) has made a provocative argument that at Neolithic ritual sites such as Porto Badisco, senior males controlled access to, and reproduction of, secret ritual knowledge in order to dominate the remainder of society. This is a plausible interpretation of many aspects of the evidence. But we should not expect that all cult sites should fit into the same pattern (cf. Skeates 1994b; especially as much the largest proportion of archaeological evidence for symbols is not directly assimilable to gender motifs), nor that ‘art’ is necessarily more important ideologically than ‘daily’ activities. Moreover, some of the same evidence could equally be used to fashion a view of a Neolithic society dominated by women. The remote, peripheral locations of sites such as Porto Badisco could be understood equally well either as males controlling important secret knowledge in secret places, or as males being relegated to performing unimportant rites in isolated, grotty caves. In the former view, the rites are taken at face value; in the latter, their displacement from the central scenes of social life makes them appear almost as a futile form of resistance. As a third possibility, if there was a Neolithic gender system based upon ideologised contrasts between males and females, we might well expect to see complementary ritual systems, symbolic expressions and interpretations. Such a view might account for some ambiguous aspects of the archaeological record, such as the multiple possible interpretations of Porto Badisco. In this model, members of Neolithic society might think in terms of a common set of cosmological axioms, while maintaining quite diverse points of view on how to interpret male and female activities and statuses in light of them. The ambiguity of the system,

in this view, is not due merely to the defectiveness of archaeological evidence; it would have been an intrinsic characteristic of the gender system ‘on the ground’ and one necessary to its continued operation. What of the Final Neolithic and Copper Age, when Neolithic village society changed with a much diminished emphasis on village settlement and a much greater emphasis on burial and long distance exchange and interaction? This reconstruction should not be interpreted as a proposal for collapse and replacement of the prior gender arrangements. Rather, in the spatial spheres model we have laid out one could envisage a scenario where the changing and increasingly important external community relations — channelled, of necessity, through male dominated spheres of activity — led to a distortion (or modification) of the existing gender arrangements, favouring the hand of one set of players — by happenstance, the males. Thus, the situation in the subsequent Chalcolithic Period is not one of invention of new gender ideologies, but the gradual and circumstantial promotion of one part — presumably aided and abetted by the actors on the spot — to become a central organising principle. The implications for the women are unclear; on one hand, certainly they may have become less overtly celebrated, but conversely, they may have equally well gained political power as their production became central to political designs and their marriages became key links in extended kinship systems of alliance and affinity.

NOTES 1 The authors have struggled ‘man’fully with the terminological semantics of gender

vocabulary. We prefer ‘gendered’ to ‘genderised’ feeling that the latter term gives the impression that the process involves an electrical kitchen appliance. Readers are invited to substitute whichever term they feel more comfortable using. It should be stated at the outset that we are assuming for the Italian Neolithic a gender system with two primary genders, male and female, more or less aligned with biological sex. While we are aware of other possible gender configurations, and particularly of ethnographically known multiple genders, this seems the simplest basic working hypothesis for a preliminary interpretation of the data. 2 The ways in which places and zones are associated with age groups — children, young

adults, mature adults, the elderly — forms an interesting parallel and a topic as yet unexplored in prehistoric archaeology. 3 Similarly, private masculinised space in the village itself would presumably have required architectural construction of some sort. 4 Several activities which took place in the villages are often assumed to have been carried out by women — e.g. grinding grain, making pots — but in the absence of iconographic, burial or skeletal evidence this must rest on pure assertion. 5 It should be noted that this is not a problem with gender theory per se, but a difficulty faced by any attempt to deal with culture as a set of cognitive abstractions.

6 This is clear from Bourdieu’s (1990) ambiguity on this point. As he shows in his critique of

Lévi-Strauss, it is certainly wrong to portray humans as blind slaves to abstract structures. But his own detailed analysis of the gendered Kabyle house, which owes much to structuralist method, demonstrates convincingly that cognitive binary oppositions do play an important role in human social life, and can be a useful analytical tool.

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Anthropomorphic figurines and the construction of gender in Neolithic and Copper Age Italy Katie Holmes and Ruth Whitehouse

INTRODUCTION Anthropomorphic figurines have often borne the weight of theorising about gender in prehistory and uncritical or doctrinal identifications of Mother Goddesses have discredited much of this work (see, for example, Ucko 1962; 1968; 1996; Conkey & Tringham 1995; Hayden 1985; Meskell 1995). However, it is clear that representations of the human form do have the potential to offer insights into the construction of gender in past societies. In this paper the figurines known from Neolithic and Copper Age peninsular Italy and Sicily are analysed in terms of distribution, chronology, typology and context of deposition and a preliminary discussion is offered of what they may tell us about gender symbolism and construction in the societies that made them. Italy, like other areas of southern and southeast Europe, has yielded anthropomorphic (and zoomorphic) figurines from Neolithic and Copper Age sites. Strangely, however, and in marked contrast to the works produced on this subject for other areas (e.g. Campo 1984; Gimbutas 1982; Talalay 1993; Ucko 1968), no independent study of the Italian figurines has ever been made. The only context in which any number of figurines is gathered together in the literature is under the heading of ‘art’ (e.g. Bagolini 1980; Graziosi 1973); otherwise the figurines are published in excavation reports or in articles devoted to single or small groups of figurines. As a result, information about number, variability and context of deposition has never been collated and even at the level of typology — at which Italian archaeologists generally excel — only a proportion of the figurines (mostly those from northern Italy) has been adequately classified. Moreover, explanations for these artefacts are borrowed uncritically from those offered for figurines from other areas, without consideration of their relevance to the Italian data. One of us has recently attempted to remedy this situation and compiled a first catalogue of the Italian figurines (Holmes 1995). This was based largely on a literature search through the main journals, with some additional material provided by individual scholars; it was not possible to search all the minor regional journals nor to visit museums for this purpose. We have since added a few more figurines to the catalogue, but we have also removed a few, on the grounds that they probably represent parts of pottery vessels (since we wish to restrict our

discussion to free-standing figurines). The catalogue is still clearly incomplete: we know of other figurines from references in the literature but have excluded them because we have been unable to gather much information on them; there are doubtless others of which we are totally ignorant. We have also chosen to exclude individual body parts (except for heads) and small fragments from the catalogue, because their identification is often dubious and, even where it is clear, little usable information is available about the form of the figurine from which they came. Nonetheless, we believe that our catalogue includes a high proportion of the known material and provides a reasonable basis for the discussion that follows. We are aware that in this respect we are breaching one of the traditional rules of ‘good scholarship’, which would restrain us from discussion until a truly comprehensive database had been compiled. We are unrepentant, however: consideration of the figurines in the catalogue reveals many features of interest, and many that contrast with other areas where figurines have been better studied. We believe that publication of our observations and explanatory hypotheses may help to focus future attention on this hitherto neglected class of artefacts. This is not the place for a full illustrated catalogue, but we attach a list constituting an abbreviated version, with brief descriptions, plus basic locational, contextual and biblographic references; illustrations are provided to demonstrate particular points. What is offered here might be described as a deck-clearing operation. By this we mean that we wish to establish the basic parameters for sensible discussion of this class of artefact, founded on consideration of the figurines themselves in their archaeological contexts, and to clear away the trailing clouds of ‘Mother-Goddess-speak’ that encumber traditional discussions in the archaeological literature. We do not set off from a good starting point: not only do we have only a small number of figurines to discuss (60 in our catalogue), but this number is reduced still further if we wish to consider only those from well stratified and recorded contexts (41) and not even all of these have been fully published. We include all 60 figurines in our analysis, including those assigned dates only on typological grounds, but clearly the small numbers involved and the doubtful attributions of some examples means that we cannot claim any statistical validity for the patterns we observe. Nonetheless, consideration of the catalogued material highlights a number of observations, some of which contrast quite markedly both with traditional statements about these figurines and with the information about figurines in other areas of southern Europe. A summary of the main information discussed below can be found in Table 1.

Number The area covered in this discussion is mainland Italy and Sicily (Sardinia is excluded, admittedly somewhat arbitrarily, because it has rather different cultural traditions). The total number of Neolithic and Copper Age figurines from this area is very small. Our catalogue contains 60, which, for the reasons mentioned above, is likely to be too low, although it is difficult to estimate by how much. In any case the total of known figurines is probably less than 100. This contrasts markedly with the situation elsewhere, particularly in the Neolithic/Copper Age cultures of southeast Europe, which have produced enormous numbers of figurines. Dan Monah has documented more than 30,000 figurines in the Romanian Cucuteni culture, while the

single site of Vinča in Serbia has produced more than 2,200 figurines (J. Chapman: pers. comm.). The Aegean area does not equal this abundance, but has also produced relatively large numbers of figurines in comparison to Italy: for instance, Ucko (1962) discussed 102 figurines from Neolithic Knossos on Crete, while Talalay documented 45 from Franchthi cave and recorded numbers of more than 100 figurines from four northern Greek sites (Prodromos, Sesklo, Sitagroi and Achilleion) (Talalay 1993: Table 6). Even within the central Mediterranean the situation in mainland Italy and Sicily contrasts with that in Sardinia and Malta, which have both produced larger numbers of (mostly female) figurines.

Fig. 1 Map of peninsular Italy and Sicily showing sites with figurines

Key to sites. The numbers in brackets refer to the numbers in the list of figurines 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

Cerno di S. Anna di Alfaedo (1) Rocca di Rivoli (2-6) Quinzano (7) Riparo Gabán (8-10) Vhò di Piadena (11-14) Alba (15) San Martino Canavese (16) Grotta delle Arene Candide (17-23) Grotta Pollera (24-26) Grotta di Ponte di Vara (27) Campogalliano (28) Chiozza doi Scandiano (29-30) Albinea or Rivaltella (31) Ripabianca di Monterado (32-34) Ortucchio (35) Fonti di San Callisto (36) Cellito(37) Rendina (38) Grotta di Cala Scizzo (39) Grotta Pacelli (40) Lama Belvedere (41) Santa Candida (42) Canne (43) Passo di Corvo (44-45) Arnesano (46) Favella (47) Cozzo Busonè (48-49) Grotta di San Calogero (50-51) Piano Vento (52-59) Grotta dell’Uzzo (60)

Table 1 Table summarising information about the figurines discussed in the text

No Name of site

1

Cemo

Region

Type of site

Northern Probable Italy tomb

Date

Material

Late-Final Stone Neolithic

Part of body Head and schematic body

Sex/gender Posture No indication, but figurine – phallic in

shape Rocca di Rivoli

Middle Neolithic Northern Settlement (5th - early Clay Italy 4th mill. cal.BC)

Head and torso (broken)

Probably female

–

Rocca di Rivoli

Middle Neolithic Northern Settlement (5th - early Clay Italy 4th mill. cal.BC)

Head and torso (broken)

Female

-

Rocca di Rivoli

Middle Neolithic Northern Settlement (5th - early Clay Italy 4th mill. cal.BC)

Buttocks and legs (broken)

No indication

Possibly seated

Rocca di Rivoli

Middle Neolithic Northern Settlement (5th - early Clay Italy 4th mill. cal.BC)

Possibly head

No indication

-

Rocca di Rivoli

Middle Neolithic Northern Settlement (5th - early Clay Italy 4th mill. cal.BCl

Possibly torso

Probably female

-

7

Quinzano

Middle Neolithic Northern Settlement (5th -early Clay Italy 4th mill. cal.BC)

Head

No indication

8

Rock Northern shelter Riparo Gaban Italy (possible cult use)

2

3

4

5

6

Early Neolithic (early 5th mill. cal.BC)

Bone

Whole body Fefnale (schematic)

Upright (schematic

Rock Northern shelter Riparo Gaban Italy (possible cult use)

Early Neolithic (early 5th mill. cal.BC)

Female, but Whole Stone figurine Upright body (pebble) phallic in (schematic (schematic) shape

Rock Northern 10 Riparo Gaban shelter (? Italy cult use)

Early Neolithic (early 5th mill. cal.BC)

Boar tooth

9

Whole body,. no head

Female

Upright (schematic

11 Vhò

Early Neolithic. Northern (later 6th Settlement Clay Italy early 5th mill. cal.BC)

Female, but Whole top of body, with figurine Standing two heads phallic in (broken) shape

12 Vhò

Early Neolithic Northern (later 6th Settlement Clay Italy early 5th mill. cal.BC)

Lower part Prob. of body female (broken)

Standing

13 Vhò

Early Neolithic Northern (later 6th Settlement Clay Italy early 5th mill. cal.BC)

Lower part Poss. of body female (broken)

Standing

14 Vhò

Early Neolithic Northern (later 6th Settlement Clay Italy early 5th mill.

Female, but Upper part figurine of body – phallic in (broken) shape

cal.BC)

Northern Early Settlement Italy Neolithic

Clay

Head and neck

No indication, but figurine – phallic in shape

Northern Middle Settlement Italy Neolimic

Clay

Head

No indication

Middle Northern Occupation Neolithic 17 Arene Candide Italy cave (5th mill. cal.BC)

Clay

Torso only Female (broken)

-

Middle Northern Occupation Neolithic 18 Arene Candide Italy cave (5th mill. cal.BC)

Clay

Torso only Female (broken)

-

Middle Northern Occupation Neolithic 19 Arene Candide Italy cave (5th mill. cal.BC)

Clay

Head only No (broken) indications

Middle Northern Occupation Neolithic 20 Arene Candide Italy cave (5th mill. cal.BC)

Clay Head No only indications (broken)

Middle Northern Occupation Neolithic 21 Arene Candide Italy cave (5th mill; cal.BC)

Clay

Head only No (broken) indications

Clay

Head and torso (broken)

Female

-

Middle Northern Occupation Neolithic 23 Arene Candide Clay Italy cave (5th mill.calBC)

Head and torso (broken)

Female

-

Female

-

15 Alba

16

San Martino Canavese

Middle Northern Occupation Neolithic 22 Arene Candide Italy cave (5th mill. cal.BC)

24 Groita’Pollera

Northern Occupation Middle

Clay

Head and torso

-

-

Italy

cave

Neolithic

(broken)

25 Grotta Pollera

Northern Occupation Middle Italy cave Neolithic

Clay

Complete

Female

Seated

26 Grotta Pollera

Northern Occupation Middle Italy cave Neolithic

Clay

Torso (broken)

Female

-

Grotta di Ponte Northern Burial and Middle 27 di Vara Italy cult cave Neolithic

Clay

Head and torso (broken)

Female

-

28 Campogalliano

Northern Settlement Neolithic Italy

Clay

Complete

Female

Unclear

Chiozza di Scandiano

Northern Middle Settlement Italy Neolithic

Clay

Torso (broken)

Female

-

Chiozza di 30 Scandiano

Possibly Northern Settlement? Middle Italy Neolithic

Stone

Complete

Female

-

Albinea or Rivaltella

Northern Middle Settlement Italy Neolithic

Clay

Part of torso

Female

-

Early Neolithic Ripabianca di Central 32 Settlement (later 5th Monterado Italy mill. cal.BC)

Clay

Torso (broken)

Female

–

Early Neolithic Ripabianca di Central 33 Settlement (later 5th Monterado Italy mill. cal.BC)

Clay

Torso (broken)

Female

-

Early Neolithic Ripabianca di Central 34 Settlement (later 5th Monterado Italy mill. cal.BC)

Clay

Torso (broken)

No indications

Copper Central Age (3rd Settlement Italy mill. cal.BC)

Clay

Torso (broken)

Male

29

31

35 Ortucchio

Neolithic

Whole

-

Standing,

36 Fonti di San Call is to

Central Settlement (later 5th Italy mill. cal.BC)

37 Cellito

Central Early Settlement Italy Neolithic

38 Rendina

Early Southern Neolithic Settlement Italy (6th mill. cal.BC)

39

body (broken)

Female

bent forward

Stone

Upper part No (broken) indications

Clay

Lower torso and legs (broken)

Prob. female

Possibly seated

Grotta di Cala Southern Cult cave Scizzo Italy

Late-Final Neolithic (later 5th Clay early 4th mill. cal.BC)

Ambiguous Head (both male (complete) and female indications)

Southern Cult cave Italy

Middle-Ute Clay Neolithic

Head No (complete) indicationa

40 Grotta Pacelli 41

Clay

Lama Belvedere

Southern Middle Settlement Italy Neolithic

Southern 42 Santa Candida Settlement Neolithic Italy

43 Canne

Southern Settlement Neolithic Italy

Clay

Torso (broken)

Female

-

Clay

Lower part of body Female (broken)

-

Clay

Head and body Female (complete)

-

Passo di 44 Corvo

Middle Neolithic Southern Settlement (later 6th Italy mill. cal. BC)

Passo di 45 Corvo

Middle Neolithic Southern Settlement (later 6th Italy mill. cal. BC)

46 Amesano

Southern Tomb Italy

47 Favella

Southern Early Settlement Italy Neolithic

48 Cozzo Busonè Sicily

49 Cozzo Busonè Sicily

Final Neolithic

Clay

Head and torso (broken)

Female

-

Clay

Head and torso (broken)

Female

–

Stone

Head and schematic body

Possibly female, but figurine phallic in shape

Clay

Lower part of body Female (brokenO

Possibly squatting o crouched

Copper Age

Female, but Whole Stone figurine Upright body (pebble) phallic in (schematic (schematic) shape

Tomb

Copper Age

Female but Whole Stone figurine Upright body (pebble) phallic in (schematic (schematic) shape)

Tomb

50

Grotta di San Calogero

Sicily

Cult cave

Middle Neolithic

Stone Head No (pebble) (complete) indications

51

Grotta di San Calogero

Sicily

Cult cave

Middle Neolithic

Stone Head No (pebble) (complete) indications

Sicily

Settlement Neolithic

52 Piano Vento

Clay

Body (broken)

No indications

53 Piano Vento

Sicily

Cemetery

Copper Age

Clay

Torso (broken)

Probably female

-

54 Piano Vento

Sicily

Cemetery

Copper Age

Clay

Torso (broken)

Probably female

-

55 Piano Vento

Sicily

Cemetery

Copper Age

Clay

Torso (broken)

Probably female

-

56 Piano Vento

Sicily

Cemetery

Copper Age

Clay

Head (broken)

Unclear

-

57 Piano Vento

Sicily

Cemetery

Copper Age

Clay

Fragment of face

No indications

58 Piano Vento

59 Piano Vento

60

Grotta dell’Uzzo

Cemetery

Copper Age

Sicily

Cemetery

Copper Age

Sicily

Occupation Early cave Neolithic

Sicily

Standing o reclining, legs flexed arms by side with palms extended

Clay

Whole body (damaged by fire)

Clay

Whole Standing No body on four indications (complete) legs

Clay

Body (broken)

Male

No indications

Not only is the total number of known figurines very small, but the number from any individual site is low: even if we count various doubtfully interpreted body parts (not included in our catalogue) as representing figurines, no site has produced a number in double figures — less than 0.5% of the number found at Vinča. If we look at the larger geographical picture, and adopt a broadly diffusionist perspective (almost the only perspective found in the Italian literature), we can see the central

Mediterranean as the southwesternmost part of a distribution that is at its most dense in southeast Europe and thins out towards the edges. Further west in the Mediterranean comparable anthropomorphic figurines do not appear in the Neolithic or Copper Age (the various so-called ‘idols’ found in Iberia are very different typologically and are probably unconnected). While the distribution presents a plausible pattern and we have no difficulty in regarding the Italian figurines as part of a wider southeast European and Mediterranean tradition in some sense, this observation offers no explanation of the ways the figurines were used in the various areas. Our view is that it is a priori unlikely that anthropomorphic figurines had the same kind of meaning in societies where they occurred in small numbers as in those where they occurred in hundreds or thousands.

Chronology The date range of the figurines from stratified contexts runs from the Early Neolithic to the Copper Age (approximately 6000 - 2500 cal.BC), and the surface finds can all be attributed at least to broad periods within this range, on the grounds of typology or probable context. A detailed chronological discussion is beyond the scope of this paper — and indeed may be beyond what is possible on the basis of the evidence currently available — but for the purpose of this analysis there seems to be a significant difference between the figurines of the 6th and 5th millennia cal.BC (Early-Middle Neolithic), to which 48 of the examples belong, and those of the 4th and 3rd millennia cal.BC (Later Neolithic and Copper Age) to which the other 12 belong. In fact this contrast is enhanced by the fact that 7 of the 12 Copper Age examples come from one site (Piano Vento) and represent a set of very distinctive figurines, without parallel elsewhere in the Central Mediterranean. As we shall see below, the chronological distinction seems to be meaningful in terms of context, material, typology and gender representation.

Regional distribution (fig. 1) For the purposes of this discussion, we have recognised four broad regions — northern Italy, central Italy, southern Italy and Sicily. 31 figurines come from northern Italy (from 13 sites), 6 from central Italy (4 sites), 10 from southern Italy (9 sites) and 13 from Sicily (5 sites). The predominance of northern Italy probably reflects in part the larger number and better quality of excavations of Neolithic sites in the north. However it may also indicate a genuine difference in the number of figurines in use in the Neolithic period, since some north Italian Neolithic cultural groups, especially the Square-Mouthed Pottery group of the Middle Neolithic (Vasi a bocca quadrata, or VBQ culture), to which the majority of the north Italian figurines is attributed, are often thought to show strong connections with Balkan Neolithic groups, where figurines are common. Some chronological differences can be recognised between the regions: most obviously, of the 12 figurines in the later chronological group identified above (4th and 3rd millennia cal.BC), no fewer than 9 come from Sicily, from two different sites. Other categorisations which show up differences between regions are those based on context and on typology, discussed below.

Context Types of site Figurines have been found in four broad categories of sites: village sites in the open (30 figurines, 18 sites); occupied caves (11 figurines, 3 sites); caves and rock-shelters used for burial and other cult purposes (8 figurines, 5 sites); other funerary sites (11 figurines, 4 sites). There seems to be a clear chronological distinction in the types of context. In the earlier period the vast majority of figurines come from settlement contexts — either open villages or occupied caves — while a few come from cult caves. By contrast, all but one of the 12 figurines of the later period (Late Neolithic and Copper Age) come from burials, mostly individual, either from the tombs themselves or from votive pits closely associated with graves. As we shall see, there are also typological distinctions between the types of figurines found in different contexts. Some of these may represent chronological rather than (or as well as) contextual differences, but a possible difference may also be detected between the figurines from settlement sites and those from cult caves within the earlier Neolithic time range. There are also regional differences in the proportions of different types of context occurring. In northern Italy, 13 sites have produced figurines; of these 8 are village sites, 2 are occupied caves, 1 is a tomb and the other 2 are either certainly or possibly cult cave/rockshelter sites. In central Italy only 4 sites, all settlements, have produced figurines, while in southern Italy, 9 sites have produced figurines; of these 6 sites are settlements, 1 is a tomb and 2 are cult caves. The situation in Sicily stands out as markedly different in many ways: here 5 sites have produced figurines, of which only 2, both Neolithic, are occupation sites (one cave, one village), 2 are cemetery sites of Copper Age date, and 1 is a cult cave, used in both the Neolithic and the Copper Age (but yielding 2 figurines one definitely, the other presumptively, from Neolithic levels). Specific contexts Unfortunately we have specific evidence of location for very few of the figurines. For those coming from settlement sites, none seem to have been associated with buildings of any kind, domestic or other. Some are unstratified surface finds, while others were found in residual layers, redeposited from earlier levels. The only clear contexts in which figurines have been found is in pits (Rivoli, Vhò), a hollow (Alba) and a compound ditch (Passo di Corvo) and in all cases these may represent secondary depositions, as rubbish. In the occupied caves the figurines, when stratified at all, are found either in original occupation layers or in later layers with other redeposited material. The situation is a little better with the cult caves/rock-shelters. While two figurines, one from Grotta di Ponte di Vara (no. 17) and one from Grotta di San Calogero (no. 51), are unstratified, those from Riparo Gaban (nos 8-10) and Grotta di San Calogero (no. 50) come from stratified Neolithic deposits. Moreover, we have two examples from primary and significant depositions: these are the two distinctive clay heads from the central Apulian cult caves of Grotta di Cala Scizzo (no. 39) and Grotta Pacelli (no. 40). The first was found placed in the corner of an artificial stone enclosure at the back of a small cave used for cult purposes, in a layer with late Serra d’Alto and Diana wares and a 14C date of c.4340 - 3710 cal.BC (lσ).

The second was placed face downwards on a hearth inside a limestone slab-built monument; the pottery from this level was of Serra d’Alto type, typologically slightly earlier than that from Grotta di Cala Scizzo. On the basis of their contexts, it seems reasonable to interpret these two figurines as performing some function in the rituals carried out in these caves. This is discussed further below. For some of the 11 figurines from cemeteries or individual tombs we have more detailed evidence of context. Of the two stone figurines attributed to the Late-Final Neolithic, the one from Arnesano (no. 46) in southeast Italy apparently came from a rock-cut tomb of a forno type, entered via a pit. Unfortunately, the tomb was not excavated by archaeologists, who arrived on the scene to find the tomb largely destroyed and the skeletal remains already reburied in the local cemetery. Through the reports of eye witnesses, examination of what remained and recovery of the grave goods, it was possible to make a plausible reconstruction, which suggested that the tomb had originally contained a single burial in the contracted position, associated with three pottery vessels of final Neolithic Bellavista type, as well as the figurine. The skeleton was not examined, although one premolar tooth, collected by the landowner and handed to the authorities, suggests that it might have been that of a young adult. The context of the figurine from Cerno di S. Anna di Alfaedo (no. 1) is even less satisfactory: it was a surface find brought up by the plough; it has been suggested that it came from a funerary context because remains of a slab-built cist tomb were found in the area, together with a number of bifacial flint arrowheads. The remaining 9 figurines come from definite funerary contexts, from two sites in Sicily, both dating to the early Copper Age. The two pebble figurines from Cozzo Busonë (nos 48-49) were found in pits directly associated with tombs. The larger of the two came from pit 16, immediately adjacent to ditch-tomb 17, which contained the remains of a single burial in the contracted position, associated with red ochre, some stone tools and pottery of S. Cono - Piano Notaro type. The bones were in a very bad state of preservation and no information about sex or age was provided by the excavator. The second figurine came from a pit within the crevice E4, apparently also used as a tomb, although no information is provided about the skeletal material from this location. Of the 7 figurines from the cemetery of Piano Vento, 3 (nos 53, 56 and 57), including the large male figure (no. 56), came from votive pit M34, immediately above tomb 26; this tomb produced the remains of 4 individuals, a child of undetermined sex, and three males, one c.18 years old, one c.25 years old and the third mature. One figurine fragment (no. 55) was found in tomb 3, which contained two individuals, one an adult of undetermined age and sex, the other a child of 12-13 years. The other three figurines came from votive pits (M26 and M28) which were located on the edge of the cemetery and not directly associated with specific tombs. Apart from the figurines, the goods found in the tombs and in the votive pits consisted exclusively of pottery vessels, including painted and incised pots of Spatarella style (representing a transitional Final Neolithic/Copper Age phase identified first on Lipari) and incised wares of S. Cono style, representing the early Copper Age in southern Sicily.

Material used The majority of all the figurines are made of baked clay: our sample of 60 contains only 9

examples made of stone, one of bone and one made out of a boar’s tooth. Five of the stone figurines are made on natural river pebbles and may represent opportunistic use of suggestively shaped available material. Of the others, two (those from Arnesano and Cerno (nos 46 and 1)) are made of limestone, while that from Cellito, Paterno (no. 37) is made of sandstone, as is the so-called ‘Venus of Chiozza’ (no. 30), traditionally regarded as of Upper Palaeolithic date, later re-attributed by Graziosi to the Neolithic. The bone figurine and the one made on a boar’s tooth, both from Riparo Gaban (nos 8 and 10), are unique. The clay figurines are normally made from fabric similar to that of contemporary pottery vessels and often have comparable surface treatment. Many retain traces of a slip and some have traces of paint, as well as impressed or incised decoration. There seems to a contextual correlation of stone figurines with cult caves and burial contexts: only two of the nine stone figures come from probable settlement sites (both are unstratified finds); four come from tombs, two from a definite cult cave and one from a rock shelter possibly used for cult purposes (Riparo Gaban). The bone and boar’s tooth figurines also come from this last site. There is also a chronological pattern apparent, with the 4 stone figurines from burial contexts dating to the later phase (later Neolithic and Copper Age), the stone figurines from cult caves and settlements belonging to the earlier Neolithic phase. On the other hand, there seem to be no distinctions between the regions in respect of the material employed: stone figurines have been found in all four of our regions.

Typology When setting out to construct the catalogue, attempts were made to use pre-existing typological schemes applied in other areas (specifically those of Ucko 1968 and Talalay 1993). It rapidly became clear that this approach was not viable because the Italian figurines represent a very variable and heterogeneous body of data, in contrast to the figurines from other areas. What emerges from our study is small groups of figurines, sometimes only two or three, showing marked similarities with each other, but sharing only very generic characteristics with any others, while some figurines are so idiosyncratic that they have to stand on their own and cannot be pressed into any ‘class’ whatsoever. A number of recognisable ‘types’ can be identified, although no category has very many examples. Three of these types are exclusively north Italian in distribution. The first is the mushroom-headed type, identified at the site of Vhò (Bagolini & Biagi 1976; 1977), of which five examples can probably be identified, four from Vhò and one from Alba (nos. 11-15) (fig. 2). Three of these have the distinctive mushroom-shaped head, including the two-headed example (no. 11), while two others (nos. 12 and 13) can probably be attributed to this group, since they show the same exaggerated buttocks and possible umbilicus as the two-headed figurine, although lacking heads and upper parts of the body. The two examples which have upper body parts surviving have breasts depicted in relief, while, three examples have exaggerated buttocks, sometimes described as steatopygous. One example (no. 14) has a Vshaped feature below the head, perhaps representing a necklace. This type can be dated to the local Early Neolithic (c.5500-4800 cal.BC). The other two north Italian types are both attributed to the Middle Neolithic SquareMouthed Pottery Culture (VBQ), dated to approximately the 5th millennium cal.BC, although

few of the figurines come from stratified contexts. One takes the form of the head and upper torso of a female, with arms folded beneath the breasts, with the face showing nose and eyebrows depicted in relief and with hair indicated as a single unit ending in a convex curve on the back (fig. 3, 1-3). Examples include one from Arene Candide (no. 22) and a very similar one from the nearby site of Grotta Pollera (no. 24); a third rather similar figurine comes from Rocca di Rivoli (no. 2), with face, hair and arms shown in a similar way, although no breasts survive on this example. In the Rivoli and Grotta Pollera examples, the hair is indicated by deep vertical incised lines on the back of the head and there are three other individual heads showing this feature, which may therefore come from figurines of this type: two from Arene Candide (nos. 20 and 21) and one from San Martino Canavese (no. 16). The other VBQ figurine type also has breasts shown in relief, but has arms depicted simply as stumps. The only example with a head (rather similar to the heads of the previous group, but executed more crudely) is no. 27 from Grotta di Ponte di Vara (fig. 3, 4), but two torso fragments from Arene Candide (nos 17-18), one from Grotta Pollera (no. 26) and one from Chiozza (no. 29) may also belong to this type. The torso fragment from Albinea or Rivaltella (no. 31) is similar also, although in this case the one arm-stump that survives seems to have been perforated. This latter type of figurine was argued by Tinè (1975: 447) to be later than the previous type, with an evolution in the direction of greater stylisation; however Bagolini (1980: fig. 77) seems to indicate the reverse evolutionary tendency. Since the total number of figurines is so small and with so many of them coming from unstratified or redeposited contexts, there is no real evidence to support either developmental scheme, as Odetti points out (1992: 422). If groups of 5 or 6 figurines seem small, the picture is even more disparate further south in the peninsula and in Sicily, with figurines falling typologically only into pairs, when not appearing entirely unique. In most cases the pairs of similar figurines come from the same site, as in the two from the Middle Neolithic site of Passo di Corvo on the Tavoliere plain (nos. 44 and 45), which both consist of a head with flat face and crudely indicated facial features, and a torso with breasts in relief and arms indicated schematically at the side of the body (fig. 4, 1 and 2). The two figurines are very similar, although one is executed considerably more carefully than the other and has additional incised motifs on the head and body. The figurine from Canne (no. 43) also has incised motifs of rather similar type and facial features depicted in rather similar fashion; however, the form of this figurine, with its hollowed-out trapezeshaped body, is completely different, recalling — generically at least — the decorated lids of the Balkan Vinča culture (fig. 4, 3).

Fig. 2 1 and 2: Vhò (figurine nos 11 and 14); 3: Alba (figurine no. 15). Scale 1:2 (1, 2 after Bagolini & Biagi 1977; 3 after Venturino Gambari 1992)

Fig. 3 1: Grotta Pollera (figurine no. 24); 2: Grotta delle Arene Candide (figurine no. 22): 3: Rocca di Rivoli (figurine no. 2); 4: Grotta di Ponte di Vara (figurine no. 27). Scale 1:2. (1, 2 after Tinè 1975; 3 after Barfield & Bagolini 1976; 4 after Odetti 1992)

Another distinctive type, known from two Neolithic Sicilian sites (nos 52 and 60), is the cylindrical form with curved end and covered with vertical striations, interpreted by Sebastiano Tusa as representing plumage (Tusa 1991); also from Sicily are two other pairings of figurines: the two beaked stone heads from the cult cave of Grotta di San Calogero (nos 50 and 51) and the two pebble figurines from the Copper Age cemetery of Cozzo Busonè, which closely resemble each other, but have no close parallels on any other site (nos 48 and 49) (fig. 5, 1 and 2). There is one case of very similar figurines coming not from the same site or neighbouring sites but from sites separated by a great distance: two stone figurines, cylindrical in form and with an expanded part showing a face at the upper end depicted with eyebrows and nose in relief came from Late or Final Neolithic graves, one from Cerno di S. Anna di Alfaedo in the Veneto in northeast Italy (no. 1), the other from Arnesano, in the province of Lecce at the other end of the peninsula (no. 46) (fig. 6, 1 and 2). John Robb (1994) describes these figures as stelae rather than figurines, because of their relatively large size and their unworked lower parts, but they are included here because there is no direct evidence that they were placed upright in the ground. The other figurines largely defy placing in classes, either because they are too fragmentary to reconstruct or because they appear genuinely unique. Examples of particularly distinctive ‘unclassifiable’ figurines include the three from Riparo Gaban (nos 810) (fig. 5, 3; fig. 7, 3 and 4) and several of those from Piano Vento (especially nos 58 (fig. 8) and 59).

Fig. 4 1 and 2: Passo di Corvo (figurine nos 44 and 45); 3: Canne (figurine no. 43). Scale 1:2 (1, 2 after Tinè 1983a; 3 after Radina 1992)

Fig. 5 1 and 2: Cozzo Busonè (figurine nos 48 and 49); 3: Riparo Gaban (figurine no. 9). Scale 1:2 (1, 2 after Tusa 1983; 3 after Bagolini 1980)

Fig. 6 1: Arnesano (figurine no. 46); 2: Cerno di S. Anna Alfaedo (figurine no. 1). Scale 1:4 (1 after Lo Porto 1972; 2 after Scarani 1971)

THE REPRESENTATION OF SEX AND GENDER At this point we arrive at the subject relevant to the theme of this volume, to which all the preceding sections can (for this purpose) be regarded as background. Information relevant to the representation of sex and gender in the Italian figurines can be divided into three types. Firstly we have the specific depiction of primary or secondary sexual characteristics, indicating that either a female or a male individual is intended. Secondly, we have the depiction of ‘cultural’ features (possible artefacts), which may indicate social gender. Thirdly we have sexual symbolism, with both male and female symbols occurring; these, as we shall see, present a rather different picture from the clear bipolar distinction indicated by the direct representation of sexual characteristics.

Depiction of sexual characteristics In the Italian figurines males are indicated by the penis, females by the pubic area, breasts and possibly steatopygous buttocks, characteristics appearing individually or in various

combinations. Depictions of sexual characteristics range from the fairly naturalistic, as in, for instance, the ‘Venus of Chiozza’ (no. 30) or the two figurines from Cozzo Busonè (nos 48 and 49) (fig. 5, 1 and 2), through the distinctly stylised, on the majority of figurines, e.g those from Rendina (no. 38) and Fonti di San Callisto (no. 36) (fig. 7, 1 and 2) to the almost abstract, as on the three figurines from Riparo Gaban (nos 8, 9 and 10) (fig. 5, 3 and fig. 7, 3 and 4). In these last cases, the depiction of the sexual organs is so stylised that they could perhaps be included in our third category, of sexual symbols. However, we have included them here because, however stylised, the sexual organs are shown on these figurines in approximately correct anatomical relation (i.e. breasts are shown below heads and vulvas below breasts), so as to suggest that whole female figures are being represented; as will be seen this is not the case with the other examples of sexual symbolism. If, for the purposes of this discussion, we ignore the great typological diversity of the figurines and consider them all together, we find an overwhelming preponderance of female figures over male ones. In fact there are only two specifically male figures, both probably from Copper Age contexts: the surface find from the Copper Age settlement site of Ortucchio in central Italy (no. 35) (fig. 8) and the large figure from a votive pit in the Sicilian Copper Age cemetery of Piano Vento (no. 58) (fig. 9). The significance of the dating of these figurines will be discussed below. In contrast, the number of female figurines is at least 30, and possibly 35, if the ‘probably female’ examples are included. Moreover, if we are right in attributing some of the north Italian heads (particularly nos 16, 20 and 21) to figurines of specifically female type, the number would go up still further. It is worth making the point here that among the Italian figurines we do not find a specific category of sexless figures, as occurs elsewhere, e.g. at Knossos, where in Ucko’s analysis (1962: 40), there were more sexless figures than sexed ones. In our list, the figurines with ‘no indication of sex’ are almost all fragmentary and represent body parts, especially heads, which are not sexually specific. The only complete figurines which have no sexual features shown are the two stone figurines from Cerno and Arnesano (nos 1 and 46) (fig. 6) and these in fact represent heads on largely unworked cylindrical shafts. There are also four cases of heads which do not seem to be broken off, but complete in themselves (nos 39 (fig. 10), 40, 50 and 51); this category represents a special case and will be discussed below. It is likely that most of the figurines were originally specifically sexed and that the majority was female. Female figurines occur in both the earlier and later chronological periods, in all areas of Italy and on all the types of sites where figurines are represented. Although the female sex of the figurines is not in doubt, there seems to be little emphasis on fertility. None of the Italian figurines is shown as pregnant and, although V Tinè has claimed that the example from Favella (no. 47) might have been in the birthing position, this is far from clear. None of the figures is shown doing anything; they are mostly depicted as standing, with a few shown seated (nos 4, 25, 38 and possibly 47). In as far as there is emphasis on the sexual organs, it is possible that sexuality is being emphasised rather than fertility. In any case, while there seems to be little emphasis on the limbs and other ‘non-sexual’ body parts, heads and faces are given at least as much attention as bodies — in contrast to the the Upper Palaeolithic ‘Venuses’ — and we should be careful about placing too much emphasis on the sexual organs depicted.

Cultural indicators of gender Most of the figurines appear without indications of dress or any associated artefacts. The only exceptions are the clay head from Grotta Pacelli (no. 40), which has an apparent elaborate headdress and four, or possibly five, figurines which have V-shaped features, incised, impressed or in relief, on the neck, which are sometimes interpreted as necklaces. One example is the bone figurine from Riparo Gaban (no. 8) which has a ‘necklace’ and a possible ‘belt’, both incised, on a female figurine with both breasts and vulva marked (fig. 7, 3). The other two definite incised Vs occur on figurines from Vhò (no. 14), which is a clear female figure with breasts shown in relief (fig. 2, 2)and from Arnesano (no. 46), where it occurs on a stone figurine without indications of sex (fig. 6, 1). One of the clearly female figurines with breasts from Passo di Corvo (no. 44) has a series of impressed dots in a V-shape, also intepreted as a necklace (fig. 4, 1). The other possible example is from Arene Candide (no. 19), a cylindrical head on which Bagolini and Biagi believe it is possible to detect a V-shaped incision at the base of the face. The V-shaped ‘necklace’ is a feature which occurs quite commonly on the large anthropomorphic stone figures of the Copper Age known as statuemenhirs (when carved in relief) and statue-stelae (when incised). The necklaces occur on statues with breasts (so definitely female), and on statues without breasts (unsexed), but are never found on statues depicting weapons, which are interpreted as representing male gender. On this basis, it seems reasonable to regard the necklace as an indicator of female gender, in both the Copper Age and Neolithic examples (see Whitehouse 1992b). The incised symbols that occur on figurines from Vhò (no. 11), Alba (no. 15) (fig. 2, 1 and 3), Canne (no. 41) and Passo di Corvo (no. 44) (fig. 4, 1 and 3) have no obvious gender implications, although three of these figurines are clearly female. The same is true of the painted designs on several of the Copper Age figurines from Piano Vento, which include both female and male examples (nos. 54, 56, 58 and 59).

Fig. 7 1: Rendina (figurine no. 38); 2: Fonti di San Callisto (figurine no. 36); 3 and 4: Riparo Gaban (figurine nos 8 and 10) Scale 1:2 (1); 1:1 (2-4). (1 after Cipolloni Sampò 1983; 2 after Skeates 1992; 3 and 4 after Graziosi 1975)

Fig. 8 Ortucchio (figurine no. 35). Scale 1:1 (after Irti 1992)

Sexual symbolism Whereas there is a clear dominance of female representations in terms of explicit depictions of sex, if we look instead at sexual symbolism, we find that phallic symbolism is widespread and quite often appears in figurines that are overtly female. One example is provided by the socalled mushroom-headed figurines from the Neolithic settlement sites of Vhò (nos 11 and 14) and Alba (no. 15), that are in fact quite explicitly phallic in shape (fig. 2). The two stone figurines from tombs at Cerno (no. 1) and Arnesano (no. 46) are also phallic in shape, and while these are not explicitly sexed, the Arnesano example has a V-shaped ‘necklace’ which we have argued may indicate female gender (fig. 6). The pebble figurines from the Copper Age tombs of Cozzo Busonè and the possible cult rock-shelter site of Riparo Gaban are all also generically, if less explicitly, phallic in shape (fig. 5); these figurines all depict females. Yet another example, which combines male and female elements in a different way, is provided by the clay head from Cala Scizzo (fig. 10). The vaguely female appearance of this head should probably be ignored, since it is likely to derive from our own ethnocentric understanding of hairstyles and it should be regarded as not explicitly sexed. However, Geniola and Tunzi (1980) have argued that both female and male symbolism is present on this figurine: the female indicated by the mouth, which mimics the vulva and division between the legs and the male by

the nose and eyebrows in relief, which resemble a schematic bull’s head, often taken to represent masculinity. Thus, while many of the Italian figurines do not demonstrate any ambivalence and seem to be straightforward female representations, there is a significant number - varying widely in date, context and typology — in which female and male characteristics seem to be combined, usually in terms of a specific female representation combined with male sexual symbolism. Possible interpretations will be discussed below.

Fig. 9 Piano Vento (figurine no. 58) Scale 1:2 (after Castellana 1995)

Human-animal hybrids This category is not strictly part of the present study, but is included here for the sake of completeness (though not illustrated). On the basis of the figurine evidence at least, this is a purely Sicilian phenomenon. As both Tusa (1991; 1996) and one of the present authors (Whitehouse 1996b) have pointed out, there is evidence of a category of human-bird hybrid in the representations of the Sicilian Neolithic, which may possibly be related to similar hybrids (beaked or plumed figures) which appear in the late Palaeolithic cave art of northwest Sicily. In terms of the figurines, there are two types which fit into this category: the beaked stone heads from Grotta di San Calogero (nos 50 and 51) and the cylindrical clay form with curved end and covered with vertical striations, interpreted by Tusa as representing plumage, from Piano Vento (no. 52) and Grotta dell’Uzzo (no. 60). In the Copper Age we find no human-bird hybrids, but there is one example of a human-animal hybrid: no. 59 from Piano Vento, which represents a quadruped of some sort with a flat, more or less human, face.

THE USE OF THE FIGURINES Many different interpretations have been proposed for prehistoric anthropomorphic figurines. Among these, for a variety of reasons, the Mother Goddess explanation continues to be favoured in many quarters, in spite of its convincing dismissal by Ucko as long ago as 1962 (Ucko 1962; 1968; 1996). Reasons for the continuing popularity of this interpretation can be related to the rise of certain versions of feminist and New Age philosophy, for which it provides a convincing origin myth (see Conkey & Tringham 1995; Hamilton 1996; Meskell 1995). A useful step towards interpretation of what figurines ’mean’ is to try to understand how they were used in any particular community. One group of interpretations, applied in particular to the Palaeolithic ‘Venus’ figurines, sees them as sexual objects, a kind of prehistoric pornography (discussed in Hamilton 1996). Ucko suggests other possible uses including one similar to that of the ‘shabti’ figures from Egyptian tombs, which existed to provide services to the tomb’s owner in the afterlife, use as children’s dolls, use for instruction purposes during initiation rites, use as sorcerers’ agents, buried with the sorcerer on his death, use as commemorative figures buried in the owner’s tomb and use in sympathetic magic (Ucko 1962: 44-6). Talalay (1993: Chapters 4 and 5) discusses a similar range of uses, documented ethnographically, including what we would describe as ‘ritual uses’ in initiation rites, curing rites, witchcraft, and fertility rites, as well as ‘secular uses’ as dolls and games for children’s play. Goring has suggested that some Chalcolithic figurines from Cyprus were used as birth aids and educational tools (Goring 1991). Bailey has argued that figurines from the Copper Age Bulgarian sites of Ovcharovo Golyama Delchevo represented individuals and were used for expressing and negotiating individual identities (Bailey 1994; 1995; 1996). It is now generally recognised that archaeological context provides one route into understanding how figurines were used (emphasised by most of the contributors to Hamilton et

al. 1996). Unfortunately, as we have seen, the Italian data offer us few good contexts, although we do have some potentially useful information. None of the figurines from occupation sites (in the open or in caves) come from contexts that can tell us about primary use: we have no indications of deliberate deposition or of associations with structures of any kind. The figurines from cult caves and burials are more informative.

Fig. 10 Grotta di Cala Scizzo (figurine no. 39). Scale 1:1 (after Geniola & Tunzi 1980)

One category of figurines is those from cult caves. We have four examples from definite cult caves, which consist of heads which are apparently complete in themselves: two clay examples from Cala Scizzo (no. 41) (fig. 10) and Grotta Pacelli (no. 42) in southeast Italy and two stone ones from Grotta di San Calogero in southern Sicily (nos. 50 and 51). Among the figurines found in burials, we have four cases, dating to the Late Neolithic or Copper Age, of single figurines, all made of stone, either found in tombs, or in pits associated with tombs, used for individual burial: Cerno (no. 1), Arnesano (no. 46) (fig. 6) and the two from Busonè (nos 48 and 49) (fig. 5, 1 and 2). The unique figurines from the Copper Age cemetery at Piano Vento (nos 53-60; fig. 9 shows no. 58) are not associated with individual burials, but with collective tombs or with the cemetery as a whole. All the figurines from cult caves and burials can be considered ‘ritual’ in some sense. One of us has recently discussed the archaeological category of ‘ritual object’ and has attempted to inject some rigour into the use of the term (Whitehouse 1996b). Six different categories of ritual object were identified (although it was recognised that there could be some overlap between categories and that they might not always be easy to distinguish): 1) sacra (the actual objects of worship); 2) votaries (representations or stand-ins for people making offerings to deities or other supernatural beings); 3) offerings (food objects or objects intended for the

deity’s use or glorification); 4) objects used in rites (items of equipment utilised in religious ritual); 5) grave goods (objects placed with the dead) and 6) amulets (personal possessions used for ritual purposes, often worn on the body). Using these categories, we suggest that the heads from the cult caves represent sacra: actual objects of worship, containing within themselves supernatural powers. As we have seen, the two Apulian examples had both been deliberately placed in association with built structures inside the caves which were certainly used for cult purposes. We may, with caution, extend this interpretation to the Grotta di San Calogero heads, although these were not found in primary deposition. This is a very distinctive group of figurines, characterised by being heads only, one asexual, one showing both male and female symbolism, and two beaked heads, one with a double head, perhaps representing human-bird hybrids. The figurines from Riparo Gaban in northeast Italy (nos 8, 9 and 10) (fig. 5, 3 and fig. 7, 3 and 4) may also have been used for cult purposes of some kind, but because they are completely exceptional, it is difficult to say any more about them. The four figurines associated with individual burials are clearly grave goods, but they could also be regarded as amulets or even as sacra. They seem to have been personal possessions not to be separated from their owners in death. Since only four examples are known, the practice was very restricted and the individuals in question may be seen as special people in some sense: one plausible interpretation is that they were ritual specialists - either shamans or sorcerers — and that the figurines represented their agents or familiars. It is interesting that these figurines belong to the category that is phallic in general shape, combined in two cases with the depiction of specific female characteristics and in another with a possibly female gendered cultural feature, a necklace. Unfortunately we have no evidence of the sex of the individuals buried with the figurines. The figurines from the Piano Vento cemetery do not seem to represent personal possessions but may be considered as part of a funerary cult. They (or some of them) could represent either sacra or offerings. There is little that we can say about the use of the figurines from occupation sites. Because of the lack of contextual information it is difficult to assess whether they were used for ritual or secular purposes. We might argue that the small number of figurines indicates that they were special objects, which could support an argument that they were used for ritual purposes. We might also argue that the incised symbols that occur on figurines from Vhò (no. 11), Alba (no. 15), Canne (no. 43) and Passo di Corvo (no. 44) might also indicate ritual use (figs, 2 and 4). On the other hand, Ucko (1962: 45) argued in the context of the Cretan figurines that those with arms represented by stumps might well have been toys (since longer arms are particularly vulnerable to breakage during play). On this basis, the small group of figurines of this type from VBQ contexts in northern Italy might also represent toys. None of these arguments carries great weight in themselves and we should probably postpone interpretation until examples are recovered from better archaeological contexts. It is worth noting that the figurines from occupation sites are different typologically both from the types found in cult caves and those found in burial contexts.

DISCUSSION

Does the above account allow us to make any statements, however provisional, about the intended topic of this paper, as indicated by its sub-title: the cultural construction of gender in Neolithic and Copper Age Italy? Our answer to this question is rather modest: we believe that it allows us to make a start. We have seen that the Italian figurines are few in number, disparate in typology and come from a variety of contexts (although the number of adequately contextualised examples is very small). As a result, none of the statements that follow can be supported statistically. We offer them as working hypotheses and a basis for future research. In terms of chronological development, we have possible evidence of change over time. Unambiguous female images dominate in the Neolithic, while the only two explicitly male figures both come from Copper Age contexts, which also has male (as well as female) representations on the large-scale iconography of the period, the statue-menhirs and statuestelae. The only attempt to provide an overview of the development of gender symbolism and ideology in Italian prehistory is that of Robb (1994). In this stimulating if speculative article, Robb argues that the Neolithic was probably characterised by “balanced, complementary cognitive oppositions between male and female”, with “female-associated images on settlements and male-associated imagery in peripheral, anomalous locations" (Robb 1994: 19). We find this argument quite convincing, particularly in its abandonment of the traditional interpretation of the dominance of female figures in terms of the old and over-used Mother Goddess concept. However, it should be noted that the complementary female/male opposition described here is represented by different types of image: figurines in the case of the female, cave paintings in the case of the male. Robb goes on to argue that the Copper - Bronze Ages saw the emergence of a major system of gender stratification system in Italy, manifest in male warrior figures depicted on statue-stelae and rock-art (Robb 1994: 31). The images of males and females now appear in the same medium (statue-stelae and staue-menhirs) and in the same locations. Again we find this quite convincing, at least as a working hypothesis. The figurine evidence, such as it is, fits comfortably into this pattern, since the two explicitly male figurines come from Copper Age sites. In terms of spatial distribution and context, Robb (1994) and Robb and Morter (this volume) argue that space was differentially gendered in the Italian Neolithic, on the basis of the data just discussed. Robb and Morter postulate a gradient of behaviour “extending from a gender-neutral or female-associated domestic centre through a male-utilised periphery”. This gender imagery fits quite well the concept proposed by Hodder for the European Neolithic, of the domus, associated with women, with men being associated with the wild outside or agrios, although Hodder himself did not apply his schema to the Mediterranean region (Hodder 1990). While we also recognise differentially gendered space in the Italian Neolithic, we would see it somewhat differently from Robb and Morter. In the first place we would tend to see the domestic zone as “female-associated” rather than “gender-neutral”, at least in terms of symbolic representation. We feel that the authors — impeccably politically correct in general — have fallen into a traditional gender trap here. For, why should the exclusively female images in the domestic contexts be interpreted as “gender-neutral or female-associated”, while the mixed male and female images, even if predominantly male, be interpreted as a “maleutilised periphery”? However, there is another important difference between our analysis and that of Robb and

Morter. In their contrast between figurines on settlements sites and cave paintings in cult caves, the contrast highlighted is between female and male. If one concentrates on the figurine evidence alone, however, a different contrast emerges: between single sex (female) images, mostly in domestic contexts and combined sex (female/male) and hybrid (human/animal or human/bird) images, mostly in ritual contexts (cult caves and burials). In terms of context, this is not an absolute distinction, since one group of ambiguous female/male figurines (the Vhò mushroom-headed type) and one group of human/bird figurines (the cylindrical feathered type from Sicily) occur on settlement sites, but it is numerically significant and, if we look at it on a regional basis, we find that in southern Italy it applies without exception. While there is no disputing the numerical predominance of female images in the Neolithic, the existence of ambiguous male/female representations (of various forms) provides another argument against the simplistic characterisation of supernatural beings as exclusively female. Here we need to consider some implications of anthropological work which have been neglected in archaeology to date. While archaeologists interested in gender have mined the ethnographic literature in search of third or multiple genders, they have mostly been content to see gender (male, female or other) as residing unequivocally in individual persons. This arises naturally from our strong emphasis on the individual — the “irreducibly unique” basic component of our own society (Strathern 1988: 12). However, it is not the same everywhere. Many small-scale societies focus less on the individual than on collective entities of various sorts, often based on kinship. In these societies people’s identities are not seen as unique and complete in themselves, but as unbounded, divisible and changing in relation to the collective identities to which they belong. In these small-scale societies, gender is not necessarily something that is attached to individuals in a fixed way, but an essence or attribute that can be exchanged, drawn out or reproduced. Marilyn Strathern’s remarkable book The Gender of the Gift (1988) documents for Melanesian societies multiple and complex transactions in which female and male essences — sometimes in bodies, sometimes in things, sometimes disembodied and free-floating — separate, interact and coalesce in either same-sex or crosssex combinations. This offers us a useful framework for consideration of our Neolithic imagery. We may perhaps imagine some such belief system in Italian Neolithic societies, especially those in southern Italy, with appropriate domains for same-sex manifestations (domestic) and cross-sex manifestations (burial and other cult contexts). It is worth noting that ambiguously gendered figurines occur in other areas: Aegean examples are discussed by Kokkinidou and Nikolaidou (1997), while John Chapman (1997) has offered a stimulating account of Balkan examples. For us, a gender ideology like that of the Melanesian societies discussed by Strathern, involving volatile and shifting, but fundamentally balanced, female and male essences and attributes, not permanently attached to individual people, provides a more appropriate model for ‘Old Europe’ than a female dominated pantheon, with a Mother Goddess as ‘top deity’, as envisaged by Marija Gimbutas and maintained by the majority of Italian prehistorians working on the subject. Our view is in general agreement with that expressed by Robb, discussed above, although we have arrived at it from a different perspective. While the above approach may offer us some insights into gender ideology in the Italian Neolithic, it tells us nothing about the activities, roles or status of women and men in these societies. An ideology of shifting female and male essences does not mean that there were not

real women and men in these societies; nor that they did not have specific social roles and relations — possibly strongly differentiated roles and asymmetric power relations. In fact the Melanesian societies discussed by Strathern provide a powerful warning against any assumption that a balanced gender ideology is necessarily accompanied by equality between actual women and men, for, as is well known and emphasised by Strathern herself, these are societies “in which men are reported as asserting dominance over women ... they demand obedience, roughride women’s concerns, strike and beat their bodies. Frequently this is quite explicit as to gender: it is by virtue of men being men that women must listen to them" (Strathern 1988: 325). If we wish to reconstruct gender roles and relations in the past, as opposed to gender ideology, we need to look at other aspects of the archaeological record, mostly beyond the scope of this article. One of us has argued that the cult caves of peninsular Italy and Sicily were used for male initiation rites in a system used to create and reinforce control of men over women and older men over younger ones (Whitehouse 1992: Chapter 8). This interpretation has been criticised by Robin Skeates, on both archaeological and anthropological grounds. On the archaeology, he argues that the analysis is too generalised and insufficiently contextual, thereby missing detailed evidence showing changes in ritual use of the caves through time. The anthropological grounds of the critique are that “anthropological studies of male-female relationships in small-scale agrarian societies commonly place specific gender distinctions against a fundamental notion of complementarity and mutuality, interdependency, and cooperation" (Skeates 1994: 160). While accepting the validity of the first criticism, we would challenge the second, on the basis just discussed — that a balanced gender ideology is not necessarily accompanied by equality between actual women and men. In parts of the world as far apart as Melanesia and Amazonia (see, for instance, Godelier 1986 and Strathern 1988, Chapter 11, for Melanesia, and Descola 1997 for an Amazonian example), there are societies without instituted social hierarchies, in which men nonetheless dominate women by virtue of their gender and by means of, inter alia, physical violence. These societies are described by anthropologists — apparently without irony — as ‘egalitarian’. We would maintain that such a usage represents a peculiar (male?) interpretation of what constitutes equality. Of course not all small-scale agrarian societies are characterised by gender relations of this sort, but the pattern occurs sufficiently often to make it a reasonable model to consider in the interpretation of prehistoric farming societies. Returning to the specific subject of this paper, one aspect of the figurines has the potential to throw light on gender roles and relations. This is the way the figurines were used. We have seen that anthropomorphic figurines were used for a variety of different purposes in the Italian Neolithic and Copper Age societies and it would be a mistake to look for a single overarching explanation of their function. We have argued that some may have been sources of supernatural power in their own right, revered as sacred objects in underground shrines or serving as agents of shamans or sorcerers. Others could have been used for secular purposes as toys or teaching aids. If we could gain information about who made and used them, in which contexts, and for which audiences —women or men, single-sex or mixed, specific age groups or the whole age range — we might cast some light on gender roles and relations. For the moment this remains a pious hope in the Italian context, but it does represent a possible avenue of future research. And here we would be in complete agreement with Skeates, that the future lies in detailed

contextual analysis. Other promising areas for future work include more detailed examination of the samesex/cross-sex (single sex/combined sex) contrast in the iconography; the role of hybrids, including human/bird and human/animal combinations and the role of the head (free-standing, apparently complete) as a sacred object in the cult caves. The body of data discussed in this paper is both frustrating and stimulating. It frustrates because of the inadequacy of the information available; it stimulates because it allows us tantalising glimpses into a symbolic world for which we have few other sources of evidence. In this paper we have offered a first attempt at ordering and interpreting these data. New data and new analysis will take the subject further.

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LIST OF FIGURINES The catalogue is organised geographically according to the modern administrative regions and provinces of Italy. The regions are listed from north to south, while within regions the provinces are listed in alphabetical order; within provinces, sites are also listed in alphabetical order, according to the name by which the site is most commonly known. We include complete and broken figurines, but exclude individual body parts and anthropomorphic representations which were parts of pottery vessels; in some cases, with the more fragmentary material, we have had to take more or less arbitrary decisions as to which to include. If a figurine is illustrated in the present article, the figure number is given immediately after the site name. Region: Veneto Province: Verona 1. CERNO DI S. ANNA DI ALFAEDO. Fig. 6, 2. Surface find probably from cist tomb destroyed by ploughing of Late-Final Neolithic date. Stone figurine with round head and prismatic body; only the head is carved with nose and eyebrows in relief and eyes indicated by holes adjacent to the nose; overall height 31.5cm. This large figurine is interpreted by Robb as a small stele, presumably originally fixed in the ground, rather than a mobile figurine. Evidence for sex/gender: none on the figure itself, but the figurine is phallic in shape. Reference: Graziosi 1973; Scarani 1971; Robb 1994. 2. ROCCA DI RIVOLI. Fig. 3, 3. From fill of Pit W; Rivoli-Castelnovo phase of SquareMouthed Pottery culture, radiocarbon dated to the second half of the 5th millennium - early 4th millennium cal.BC. Upper part of clay figurine; surviving height 4.8cm. The facial features are poorly modelled, with a broad nose executed in relief and eyes and mouth merely suggested. Two locks of hair fall either side of the face onto the shoulders at the front, while the hair at the back is shoulder length and marked with vertical striations. The torso is angularly modelled with sharp corners at shoulder and elbow; only the right arm survives, but it is suggested by

Barfield and Bagolini that the original design had both hands placed on breasts (though no there are no signs of the breasts). Evidence for sex/gender: possibly female, if Barfield and Bagolini are right in thinking that the figurine originally had hands resting on its breasts. Reference: Barfield & Bagolini 1976. 3. ROCCA DI RIVOLI. From surface of Pit D; Rivoli-Castelnovo phase of Square-Mouthed Pottery culture, radiocarbon dated to the second half of the 5th millennium - early 4th millennium cal.BC. Upper part of clay figurine; surviving height 2.7cm. The head is triangular and set forward on the shoulders. The nose is pinched out from the head and the eyes are indicated by two small impressions. The torso has breasts shown in relief, one damaged; no arms are shown. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). Reference: Barfield & Bagolini 1976. 4. ROCCA DI RIVOLI. From Pit V; Rivoli-Castelnovo phase of Square-Mouthed Pottery culture, radiocarbon dated to the second half of the 5th millennium - early 4th millennium cal.BC. Base of clay figurine; surviving height 1.95cm. It is heart-shaped with two incised lines converging from either side of a broken stem; it probably represents the buttocks and legs of a figure in sitting position. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Barfield & Bagolini 1976. 5. ROCCA DI RIVOLI. From Neolithic floor. Rivoli-Castelnovo phase of Square-Mouthed Pottery culture, radiocarbon dated to the second half of the 5th millennium - early 4th millennium cal.BC. Possible clay figurine head; surviving height 2.1cm. The only surface features are a pair of perforations, which could represent eyes (alternatively, as Barfield and Bagolini suggest, it might be a double lug). Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Barfield & Bagolini 1976. 6. ROCCA DI RIVOLI. From Neolithic floor. Rivoli-Castelnovo phase of Square-Mouthed Pottery culture, radiocarbon dated to the second half of 5th millennium - early 4th millennium cal.BC. Probable clay figurine torso; surviving height 2.25cm. The back is flattened, while the front shows slight bump (a breast?) and what may be the base of an arm. Evidence for sex/gender: possibly female (possible breast). Reference: Barfield & Bagolini 1976. 7. QUINZANO Middle Neolithic settlement site; Square-Mouthed Pottery Culture.

Clay head of figurine. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Bagolini 1980. Region: Trentino-Alto Adige Province: Trento 8. RIPARO GABAN. Fig. 7, 3. Rock-shelter with sequence from Mesolithic to Bronze Age. Early Neolithic attributed to distinctive Gaban group, radiocarbon dated to the first half of the 5th millennium cal.BC. The Early Neolithic deposits have produced a collection of unusual artefacts, including some decorated bone objects, as well as this figurine and nos 9 and 10 described below. This figurine and the other decorated bone artefacts were found on the edge of a hearth of the Neolithic period, which was used and re-used over a long period. Bone figurine, probably made from the shaft of long bone, found in two pieces; overall height 6.1cm. It is flat and plaque-like, oval in shape, approximating to a human form. The head and shoulders are shown, the arms indicated as small projections; no legs are shown and the figurine ends in a point. The lower part of the front and the whole of the back except the head are covered in red ochre; this survives in good condition, appearing almost like a glaze. Incised lines on the back of the head indicate the hair while the only facial feature shown is the mouth, indicated as a curved incised line. On the body, the shape of the breasts and the arms are indicated by incisions and the vulva is shown as an incised ellipse, beneath a herring-bone design, also incised. Possible elements of ornament/clothing are also shown: a necklace and a possible belt, again both incised. Low on the body are further incised motifs: a lattice design and two horizontal lines. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts and vulva). References: Aspes 1996: 130-42; Bagolini 1972; Graziosi 1973. 9. RIPARO GABAN. Fig. 5, 3. Rock-shelter with sequence from Mesolithic to Bronze Age. Early Neolithic attributed to distinctive Gaban group, radiocarbon dated to first half of the 5th millennium cal.BC. The Early Neolithic deposits have produced a collection of unusual artefacts, including some decorated bone objects, as well as this figurine and nos 8 and 10. Stone figurine, made on a polished limestone pebble; height 13.4cm. It is decorated using both incision and relief techniques. The ears are shown in relief and are c-shaped; the eyes are depicted with concentric ovals, the outer one executed in relief, the inner one incised; the nose and eyebrows are shown as a single unit in relief; the mouth is shown in the same way as the eyes. Lower down on the front of the figurine is a panel of incised cross-hatching, inset slightly; this is flanked by two overhanging loops, which Gimbutas interpreted as pendulous breasts. Beneath this is a band containing a large incised X; in the spaces at the side of the X are small incised circles with horizontal lines extending laterally from them, while in the space at the bottom is an incised triangle; in the space at the top is an incised V aligned with the base of the cross-hatched panel and within this an inverted triangle, which might be intended to represent the vulva. Evidence for sex/gender: it is probably intended to represent a female, if the possible

identifications of breasts and vulva are correct, but the figurine itself is phallic in form. References: Aspes 1996: 130-42; Gimbutas 1989; Graziosi 1973. 10. RIPARO GABAN. Fig. 7, 4. Rock-shelter with sequence from Mesolithic to Bronze Age. Early Neolithic attributed to distinctive Gaban group, radiocarbon dated to the first half of the 5th millennium cal.BC. The Early Neolithic deposits have produced a collection of unusual artefacts, including some decorated bone objects, as well as this figurine and nos 8 and 9. Figurine made on the tooth of a wild boar (lower 3rd molar); height 3.4cm. It is carved to exploit the natural shape of the tooth roots. The head is missing, but the body complete; the breasts are shown as rounded proberances with holes in the middle; the legs shown with the division between them. In the centre the stomach area is taken up mainly by a natural cavity with two small holes at the base; the cavity might have been meant to represent the vulva. On the top of the stomach, under the breasts, is a series of short incised lines. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts and division between legs). Reference: Bagolini & Biagi 1977; Graziosi 1975. Region: Lombardia Province: Cremona 11. VHÒ DI PIADENA, CAMPO CERESOLE. Fig. 2, 1. Found in occupation area VI of an Early Neolithic open settlement site, attributed to Vhò group, radiocarbon dated the later 6th to early 5th millennium cal.BC. Baked clay figurine, fairly complete, although lacking one leg; height 14cm. The figure has two mushroom-like heads; few facial features are shown, although two small central projections in relief, one on each head, might be intended as noses. V-shaped incised designs occur on top of the left head while traces of similar incised motifs survive on the top of the right head and on the back of the neck. A lateral projection beneath the left head might indicate an arm. The figure seems intended to be female, since breasts are shown in relief (the left one complete, the right damaged); the genital area is mostly missing, along with the right leg, and no indications of genitalia survive. A small circular indentation on the front in the middle of the figurine might indicate an umbilicus, while two round projections on the back of the figure may indicate buttocks. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts and exaggerated buttocks), but the figurine is phallic in form. References: Bagolini & Biagi 1976; 1977; Graziosi 1973. 12. VHÒ DI PIADENA, CAMPO CERESOLE. Early Neolithic open settlement site, attributed to Vhò group, radiocarbon dated to the later 6th to early 5th millennium cal.BC. Found in Pit XVIII, which produced two later 6th millennium dates. Fragmentary baked clay figurine; maximum surviving height 5.7cm. This figure lacks the upper part with head (or heads) and breasts, but the lower part is very similar to that of figurine 11 (above), showing a similar possible umbilicus and exaggerated buttocks. In this

case the right leg is present and the left is missing; again no indications of genitalia survive. Evidence for sex/gender: probably female (exaggerated buttocks combined with absence of male genitalia). References: Bagolini & Biagi 1977; Graziosi 1973. 13. VHÒ DI PIADENA, CAMPO CERESOLE. Early Neolithic open settlement site, attributed to Vhò group, radiocarbon dated to the later 6th to early 5th millennium cal.BC. Context not known. Fragmentary baked clay figurine; size not known. This figure lacks the upper part and left leg but the surviving part is very similar to that of figurines 11 and 12 (above), showing the same possible umbilicus and buttocks, though these are less exaggerated than in the other cases. Again no indications of genitalia survive. Evidence for sex/gender: possibly female (marked buttocks combined with absence of male genitalia). References Bagolini & Biagi 1977. 14. VHÒ DI PIADENA, S. LORENZO GUAZZONE. Fig. 2, 2. Unstratified, from old excavations, probably of Early Neolithic Vhò group, like those from Campo Ceresole. Fragmentary baked clay figurine; maximum surviving height 8cm. Only the upper part of this figure survives; it has a mushroom-like head, similar to those of figurine 10 (above). The front part of the head is damged, so no traces of facial features survive. Beneath the head is a Vshaped necklace in relief, recalling that on the stone figure from Arnesano (no. 46, below) and beneath that two breasts also executed in relief. Evidence for sex: female (breasts), but the figurine is phallic in form. References: Bagolini & Biagi 1977; Graziosi 1973. Region: Piemonte Province: Cuneo 15. ALBA, loc. BORGO MORETTA. Fig. 2, 3. Found in fill of hollow on Early Neolithic settlement site, attributed to Alba group. Fragmentary baked clay figurine; maximum surviving height 5.2cm. It consists of mushroomshaped head, neck and small projections indicating arms. No facial features are shown, but the head and neck are decorated with incised zig-zag designs. Very similar to examples from Vhò di Piadena (nos 11 and 14). Evidence for sex/gender: no indications, but the figurine is phallic in form. References: Venturino Gambari 1992. Province: Torino 16. SAN MARTINO CANAVESE. From Middle Neolithic settlement site of the SquareMouthed Pottery Culture. Head of clay figurine; maximum surviving height 4cm. The nose and eyebrows are executed in relief, while long hair is indicated by incised striations on the back of the head.

Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. References: Cima 1987. Region: Liguria Province: Savona 17. GROTTA DELLE ARENE CANDIDE. Middle Neolithic deposits with Square-Mouthed Pottery, in occupation cave, radiocarbon dated to the 5th millennium cal.BC. Layer 18G of Bernabò Brea’s excavation. Baked clay torso with head and lower part broken off; surviving height 4.4.cm. The breasts are shown in relief; the right undamaged one is circular with the nipple indicated by a small hole. Very similar to no. 18. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). References: Graziosi 1973; Tinè 1975; Tinè 1983b. 18. GROTTA DELLE ARENE CANDIDE. Middle Neolithic deposits with Square-Mouthed Pottery, in occupation cave, radiocarbon dated to the 5th millennium cal.BC. Layer 12 of Tinè’s excavation. Baked clay torso with head and lower part broken off, very similar to no. 17. The breasts are shown in relief, the arms are shown as stumps. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). Reference: Bagolini & Biagi 1977. 19. GROTTA DELLE ARENE CANDIDE. Residual deposits, not in context, in occupation cave, probably Middle Neolithic, radiocarbon dated to the 5th millennium cal.BC. Bernabò Brea’s excavations. Cylindrical baked clay head broken off at neck; surviving height 4.6cm. The nose shown in relief, the eyebrows by curved incised lines; the eyes are indicated by small holes either side of the nose. Bagolini and Biagi suggest that traces of an incised V-shape can be detected at the base of the face, which they interpret as a necklace. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications of sex, but the ‘necklace’ might indicate that a female is intended. References: Bagolini & Biagi 1977; Graziosi 1973; Tinè 1983b. 20. GROTTA DELLE ARENE CANDIDE. Middle Neolithic deposits with Square-Mouthed Pottery, in occupation cave, radiocarbon dated to the 5th millennium cal.BC. Tinè’s excavations. Baked clay head broken off at neck; size unknown. The eyebrows and nose are shown in relief, although the nose has since been broken off; the eyes are indicated by small circular indentations either side of the nose; the hair is indicated on back of head by deep irregular vertical striations. Very similar to no. 21. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Bagolini & Biagi 1977.

21. GROTTA DELLE ARENE CANDIDE. Middle Neolithic deposits with Square-Mouthed Pottery, in occupation cave, radiocarbon dated to the 5th millennium cal.BC. Layer 23 of Bernabò Brea’s excavations. Baked clay head broken off at neck. It is very badly damaged, so no facial features survive; hair indicated on back of head by deep irregular vertical striations. Very similar to no. 20. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Bagolini & Biagi 1977. 22. GROTTA DELLE ARENE CANDIDE. Fig. 3, 2. Residual deposits, not in context, in occupation cave. 1970 excavations. Baked clay head and upper half of body, broken off below arms; surviving height 8.2cm. The head is squarish in shape and flat; the eyes and nose are indicated in relief as a single unit; the hair is indicated as single unit in relief on back of head, and by two separate locks at front, separated from the sides of the face by incised lines; the breasts are shown in relief and the arms and hands curved around underneath cradling breasts. Very similar to no. 24 from Grotta Pollera. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). References: Graziosi 1973; Tinè 1983b. 23. GROTTA DELLE ARENE CANDIDE. Residual deposits, not in context, in occupation cave; thought to be Middle Neolithic. Baked clay head and upper half of body, broken off in middle of body; surviving height 7.5cm. It has a round head with no clear facial features indicated; there are two circular indentations on the face, but they are very asymmetrical so they do not seem to be eyes; the breasts are shown in relief, the arms broken, but perhaps represented as stumps. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). References: Bagolini 1980; Graziosi 1973. 24. GROTTA POLLERA. Fig. 3, 1. Unstratified in occupation cave; thought to be Middle Neolithic. Baked clay head and upper half of body, broken off a little way below arms; surviving height 4.3cm. The head is squarish in shape; the eyebrows and nose are indicated in relief, the eyes incised; it is not clear whether a mouth is indicated because of damage to the right side and lower part of the face; the hair is indicated as a single unit in relief with deep vertical grooves on the back of the head, and by a lock on the left front (the right side is damaged), separated from the side of the face by incised line; the breasts are not shown in relief, but are indicated by slight incised lines; the arms are curved around the body with hands meeting at front underneath the breasts. Very similar to no. 22 from Arene Candide. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). References: Graziosi 1973; Tinè 1975; 1983b. 25. GROTTA POLLERA. Unstratified find but probably Middle Neolithic in occupation cave,

associated with Square Mouthed Pottery. Baked clay seated figurine, apparently complete, 5.8cm high. It is rather crudely made, with few details shown. The eyes are incised and the nose is executed in relief; the head is tilted forwards; the breasts are shown in relief, while the arms are are shown at the sides of the body; it is unclear whether they turn under the breasts or not; the legs are folded under the body, creating a deep hemispherical hollow between them; the figurine has a unique rounded base with a circular depression on the underside. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). References: Graziosi 1973; Leale Anfossi 1968; Tinè 1983b. 26. GROTTA POLLERA. Layer XII of Tinè and Odetti’s excavation in occupation cave; Middle Neolithic from, associated with Square Mouthed Pottery. Torso of clay figurine. The breasts are shown in relief, the arms are shown as stumps. Similar to Arene Candide examples, nos 17 and 18. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). References: Odetti 1974. 27. GROTTA DI PONTE DI VARA. Fig. 3, 4. Unstratified find from burial and cult cave used in prehistoric and classical times. Attributed to Middle Neolithic on typological grounds. Broken baked clay figurine, surviving height 6cm. The head is roughly cylindrical; the only facial feature shown is the nose, executed in relief; a lock of hair is shown on the left side of the head (the right side is damaged). The breasts are shown in relief, while the arms are represented by two small projections, as in examples without heads from Grotta delle Arene Candide (nos 17 and 18) and Grotta Pollera (no. 26). Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). References: Odetti 1992. Region: Emilia-Romagna Province: Modena 28. CAMPOGALLIANO, LOC. FRANTOIO. Excavated at depth of c.4m. in a gravel quarry; assumed to come from a Neolithic settlement site. Baked clay figurine, in worn and battered condition; height 12.5cm. The head shows no visible facial features, but the body has breasts and belly shown in relief. Because of the worn state of the figure, it is not possible to establish whether the arms were present or whether the legs, now seen as a single mass, were orginally separated by a groove. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). Reference: Magnani 1996. Province: Reggio Emilia 29. CHIOZZA DI SCANDIANO. Find from old excavations in Museum of Reggio Emilia, from Middle Neolithic settlement site.

Fragment of torso of clay figurine; surviving height 3.5cm; one breast survives, applied in relief. Similar to examples from Grotta delle Arene Candide and Grotta Pollera. Evidence for sex/gender, female (breasts). Reference: Bagolini & Barfield 1971. 30. CHIOZZA DI SCANDIANO. Found in industrial clay quarry close to town. So-called ‘Venus of Chiozza’, originally attributed to the Palaeolithic on typological grounds. However, Graziosi (1975) has argued that, since the findspot is close to the wellknown late Middle Neolithic site of Chiozza, and no Palaeolithic material has ever been found in the area, the figurine probably came from either the settlement site or a tomb of this culture, in spite of its typologically archaic features. Sandstone figurine, very abraded, but apparently complete; height 20.5cm. It has a rounded head without facial features; the upper body is divided into two, probably representing pendulous breasts; it has a rounded protruding stomach, with shallow horizontal groove across it, slightly deeper in the centre (possibly reprsenting the umbilicus); below the stomach the vulva and the division between the legs are marked by incisions; the position of the knees is marked by slanting incised lines, while the. legs end in a rounded point. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts and vulva). Reference: Graziosi 1975. 31. ALBINEA or RIVALTELLA. Find in the Museum of Reggio Emilia from old excavations at one or other of these two sites of the Middle Neolithic Fiorano culture. Part of torso of clay figurine; one breast in relief survives; the remains of a perforated projection above the breast may indicate the stump of an arm. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). Reference: Bagolini & Biagi 1977; Bagolini 1980. Region: Marche Province: Ancona 32. RIPABIANCA DI MONTERADO. Early Neolithic settlement site, radiocarbon dated to the the later 5th millennium cal. BC. Fragmentary baked clay figurine, representing the trunk of female figure; the left breast survives, shown in relief. Similar to no. 33. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). Reference: Lollini 1991. 33. RIPABIANCA DI MONTERADO. Early Neolithic settlement site, radiocarbon dated to the the later 5th millennium cal.BC. Fragmentary baked clay figurine, representing the trunk of female figure; again the left breast survives, shown in relief. Similar to no. 32. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts).

Reference: Lollini 1991. 34. RIPABIANCA DI MONTERADO. Early Neolithic settlement site, radiocarbon dated to the the later 5th millennium cal.BC. A third fragmentary baked clay figurine was apparently found on this site; it is not illustrated by Lollini, but was apparently similar to nos 32 and 33. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. References Lollini 1991. Region: Abruzzo Province: L’Aquila 35. ORTUCCHIO. Fig. 8. Surface find from Copper Age settlement site, dated to the first half of the 3rd millennium cal.BC. Baked clay figurine, in very battered condition, with parts missing; height 7cm. The head is broken off, while the arms and legs are indicated schematically by small rounded projections; the penis (broken) and testicles are indicated. Evidence for sex/gender: male (penis and testicles) References: Irti 1979b; 1992; Skeates 1992. Province: Pescara 36. FONTI DI SAN CALLISTO. Fig. 7, 2. Surface find on Neolithic settlement site, with one radiocarbon date, in the later 5th millennium cal.BC. Baked clay figure with head and feet broken off.; height 8.5cm. Evidence for sex/gender: the figure is generically female in form and the vulva/division between the legs is indicated by an incised Y shape; other sexual characteristics are not explicitly shown. References: Mattiocco 1981; Skeates 1992. Province: Teramo 37. CELLITO, PATERNO. Surface find on Neolithic settlement site; both Impressed ware and Ripoli phases are represented on the site. Upper half of sandstone figurine, surviving height 3.5cm. Round head with facial features shown: the eyes, eyebrows and nose are incised; one ear is indicated by a rhomboidal hollow, while the other side of the head is missing; no mouth is shown. The upper part of the body is shown with arms, executed in relief, shown folded and resting on the belly. No breasts are shown. Evidence for sex/gender: no indication. References: Irti 1979a; 1992; Skeates 1992. Region: Basilicata

Province: Potenza 38. RENDINA. Fig. 7, 1. Found in occupation level of phase 1 of Early-Middle Neolithic settlement. Phase 2 of the site is radiocarbon dated to the early and middle 6th millennium cal.BC. Clay figurine, consisting of lower torso and legs; surviving height 22cm. The navel is indicated as a slight protrusion and there is pecked decoration on the lower front part of the body and between the legs, marking the pubic area. Evidence for sex/gender: female: the shape of the hips and legs and pubic area suggest a female is intended. References: Cipolloni Sampò 1983. Region: Puglia Province: Bari 39. GROTTA DI CALA SCIZZO. Fig. 10. Found in stratum 1 in the southeast corner of an artificial enclosure constructed at the back of a small cave used for cult purposes; stratum 1 has Late-Final Neolithic wares and is radiocarbon dated to the later 5th - early 4th millennium cal.BC. Clay head, apparently complete and unbroken, height 7cm. The features are shown schematically, with nose and eyebrows executed as a single unit in relief, the eyes shown as horizontal incised lines; the mouth takes the form of an incised inverted isosceles triangle from which a vertical incised line descends downwards onto the neck; the hair, which is executed in relief with deep horizontal incisions, frames the face and hangs down to near the bottom of the neck, which finishes in a smooth tongue-like shape. Traces of red and white colouring survive on the surface. Evidence for sex/gender: no clear sexual features shown. Geniola and Tunzi argue that it represents both female (the incised mouth mimics the vulva) and male (the nose and eyebrows mimic a bull’s head, often taken to represent masculinity). Reference: Geniola & Tunzi 1980. 40. GROTTA PACELLI. Found associated with a centrally placed hearth inside a limestone slab-built monument in stratum II of a cult cave site; the associated pottery is of Middle- Late Neolithic Serra d’Alto type. Clay head, with incised eyes and nose executed in relief; the hair is indicated as a single bulbous unit and is topped by what appears to be an elaborate headdress. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Striccoli 1974. 41. LAMA BELVEDERE, MONOPOLI. Found in context with Serra d’Alto ware on Middle Neolithic settlement site Clay figurine fragment; arm to breast. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts).

References: Radina 1992; Giannitrapani 1997. 42. SANTA CANDIDA, BARI. Presumed Neolithic settlement site. Part of clay figurine. Lower part of body showing legs and indication of pubic area. Evidence for sex/gender: female (pubic area). References: Radina 1992; Giannitrapani 1997. Province: Foggia 43. CANNE. Fig. 4, 3. Found in secondary deposition, but assumed to come from a Neolithic settlement site. Baked clay figurine, made from a hollowed out block of clay, with a maximum diameter of 9.2cm; height 8.3cm. The head projects above the hollowed-out body; the nose is executed in relief while the eyes and mouth are incised. Below the mouth is an incised vertical line which forms a T with the mouth itself. The shoulders are shown and below them the breasts are shown in relief. No limbs or other body features are shown, but there are a number of incised motifs on the body. Traces of red paint remain on the surface. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). References; Radina 1992. 44. PASSO DI CORVO. Fig. 4, 1. Fill of ‘C-ditch’ enclosure within ditched Middle Neolithic settlement; associated with Passo di Corvo ware, radiocarbon dated to the later 6th millennium cal.BC. Baked clay head and torso, height 6cm; the head tapers and the face is flat; the eyes are marked with hortizontal incisions, the arched eyebrows and nose are executed in relief, the nostrils shown with two small holes; the mouth is indicated by a wider horizontal incision; the breasts are executed in relief; the arms indicated at the side of the body. There are many incised motifs: two concentric circles with additional lobes on top of head, a double triangle design under each breast and on the back, a zigzag design under one breast, another adjacent to the breast and two more on the back; a series of impressed dots may possibly represent a necklace; traces of red paint survive on the surface. Generically similar to no. 45 but better made. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts). References: Tine 1983a. 45. PASSO DI CORVO. Fig. 4, 2. Fill of £C-ditch’ enclosure within ditched Middle Neolithic settlement; associated with Passo di Corvo ware, radiocarbon dated to the later 6th millennium cal.BC. Baked clay head and torso, height 6.5cm; it is very crudely made and in rather battered condition; the eyes and mouth are incised (although the mouth was damaged during excavation), the nose is shown in relief; the breasts are also executed in relief and the arms are indicated at the side of the body. Generically similar to no. 44 but much more crudely made. Evidence for sex/gender: female (breasts).

References: Tinè 1983a. Province: Lecce 46. ARNESANO. Fig. 6, 1. Rock-cut tomb containing single burial with grave goods of Final Neolithic date. Limestone figurine, overall length 35cm. Only the head is carved, with eyebrows and nose shown in relief and with an incised V-shaped ‘necklace’ beneath. This large figurine is interpreted by Robb as a small stele, presumably originally fixed in the ground rather than a mobile figurine. Evidence for sex/gender: the figurine is phallic in shape, but the ‘necklace’ if correctly interpreted, recalls those found on female statue menhirs of the Copper Age. References: Lo Porto 1972; Graziosi 1973; Robb 1994. Region: Calabria Province: Cosenza 47. FAVELLA. Pit within settlement site of Early Neolithic date. Baked clay figurine representing the lower part of a human body in a squatting or crouched posture, with the buttocks clearly shown; an oval shape outlined by an incised line and filled with short incised marks, on the underside, is interpreted by V. Tinè as the vulva, horizontally dilated. He suggests therefore that the figurine may represent the birthing posture. Evidence for sex/gender: female (vulva and exaggerated buttocks). Reference: V. Tinè 1996. Region: Sicilia Province: Agrigento 48. COZZO BUSONÈ. Fig. 5, 1. Pit within crevice E4 used as tomb within the Early Copper Age cemetery. Stone figurine made on an oval river pebble; height 6cm. Pecked designs indicate the breasts, navel, vulva and the division between the legs. Evidence for sex/gender: the figure is clearly female, although the elongated pebble could be considered phallic in form. References: Bianchini 1968. 49. COZZO BUSONÈ. Fig. 5, 2. Pit B16 adjacent to crevice B17 used as tomb within the Early Copper Age cemetery. Stone figurine made on an oval river pebble; height 16.1cm. Pecked designs indicate the hair, eyes, nose, breasts, navel, vulva and the division between the legs. Evidence for sex/gender: the figure is clearly female, although the elongated pebble could be considered phallic in form. References: Bianchini 1968.

50. GROTTA DI SAN CALOGERO. From Middle Neolithic level of cult cave associated with Kronio ware (a developed impressed ware) and a few painted sherds of Trichrome and Serra d’Alto type). Stone figurine made on a natural pebble of greenstone, height 4cm; it is shaped and highly polished to resemble a human head with a bird’s beak and appears to be complete. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Tinè 1971. 51. GROTTA DI SAN CALOGERO. In a private collection; it is assumed to have come from a similar context in the cult cave as no. 50. Greenstone figurine, with two opposed faces each with a projecting beak. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. References: Tinè 1989; Tusa 1991. 52. PIANO VENTO. Neolithic settlement site. Clay figurine, covered with vertical striations, comparable to example from Grotta dell’Uzzo (no. 60), interpreted by Tusa as representing plumage. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Castellana 1985-86, quoted in Tusa 1991. 53. PIANO VENTO. From votive pit 26 adjacent to a burial within the Early Copper Age cemetery. A different tomb has been radiocarbon dated to the second half of the third millennium cal.BC. Baked clay figurine fragment; surviving height 10.6cm; it perhaps represents a torso, with breasts shown in relief and remains of the right arm represented by a triangular projection. The surface is covered by a white slip with traces of red paint surviving on the surface. Evidence for sex/gender: probably female, if correctly identified as torso (breasts). Reference: Castellana 1995. 54. PIANO VENTO. From votive pit 26 adjacent to a burial within the Copper Age cemetery. A different tomb has been radiocarbon dated to the second half of the third millennium cal.BC. Baked clay figurine fragment; surviving height 8.5cm; it perhaps represents a torso, with breasts shown in relief. The surface is covered by a white slip with dark red painted decoration in the form of a curvilinear band around one of the breasts. (The excavator, G. Castellana, interprets this piece as a face fragment and the globular protrusions as eyes; however, this seems less plausible, as we do not find eyes depicted in relief on other Italian figurines). Evidence for sex/gender: probably female, if correctly identified as torso (breasts). Reference: Castellana 1995. 55. PIANO VENTO. From votive pit 34 above tomb 26 within the Early Copper Age cemetery. A different tomb has been radiocarbon dated to the second half of the third

millennium cal.BC. Baked clay figurine fragment; surviving height; 5cm it is described as coming from part of a shrine structure, in which the male statue, no. 58 was placed. It may represent a (face with two large almond-shaped eyes placed obliquely, shown in relief with central indentations, and a circular depression which could be a mouth shown lower; alternatively, and perhaps more plausibly, it might represent a torso, with breasts shown in relief and the lower depression representing either the navel or the vulva. Evidence for sex/gender: perhaps female (breasts) Reference: Castellana 1995. 56. PIANO VENTO. From votive pit 28 in K III/IV within the Early Copper Age cemetery. A different tomb has been radiocarbon dated to the second half of the third millennium cal.BC. Baked clay figurine fragment; surviving height 6cm. It represents a bull’s head with left horn surviving, ears executed in relief, eyes shown as small impressions; broken off at neck attachment; snout oblong and tubular. This piece may come from a pottery vessel, with the animal’s snout serving as a spout for pouring. Traces of red paint survive on the surface. Evidence for sex/gender: assumed to be male (a bull), but there is no clear reason why it could not represent a cow, which also have horns. Reference: Castellana 1995. 57. PIANO VENTO. From tomb 3 in C 9/III within the Early Copper Age cemetery. A different tomb has been radiocarbon dated to the second half of the third millennium cal. BC. Baked clay figurine fragment; surviving height 4cm. It represents part of a face. The eyes are represented by two large circular depressions, while the nose is executed in relief; the top of the head is elongated to a rounded point and is perforated, presumably for suspension, above the nose; the lower part of the face is missing. It is described by Castellana as representing an animal, but it could equally be regarded as human. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Castellana 1995. 58. PIANO VENTO. Fig. 9. From votive pit 34 above tomb 26 within the Early Copper Age cemetery. A different tomb has been radiocarbon dated to the second half of the third millennium cal.BC. Baked clay human figure; height 51.5cm. It is fairly complete, but badly damaged by fire; it seems to have been in a clay niche attached to the back of a shrine structure associated with the tomb. The top of the head is missing, as is part of the right leg, the wrist of the left arm, some fingers and the pubic area. It is clearly a male figure, although the pubic area is damaged and it cannot be established precisely how the genitals were shown. The right arm is held away from the body with the hand raised, showing the palm; the left arm lies along the side and is made in one with the body, the palm extending at thigh level; the legs are markedly flexed, with knees projecting; the feet project forward and point slightly upwards. A relief cordon winds round the right wrist; this has been interpreted as either a snake or a bracelet. The triangular, masklike, head is turned upwards; the eyes take the form of applied discs in relief and the figure

seems to be wearing an elongated hat or headdress. The surface is badly fire-damaged, but traces of a light cream-coloured slip survive, on which remains of a lattice of wide orthogonbal bands in wine red paint are preserved, especially in the lower part of the figure and the areas which have escaped burning. Evidence for sex/gender: male (remains of male genitals). Reference. Castellana 1995. 59. PIANO VENTO. From votive pit 34 above tomb 26 and votive pit in F7/IV within the Early Copper Age cemetery. A different tomb has been radiocarbon dated to the second half of the third millennium cal.BC. Baked clay zoomorphic or theriomorphic figure or lid; height 21cm, on a circular base 22.2cm in diameter. It is reconstructed from many fragments found in two different votive deposits. The figure is that of a quadruped; the front legs are missing, the hind legs are placed against each other, and are not symmetrical; the body is elongated, formed of a slightly rounded flat strip of clay ending in a point representing the tail. Onto the animal body is grafted a more or less human head made of another flat strip of clay; the eyebrow ridge and nose are executed as a single form in relief; the eyes are shown as hollows and the mouth is shown as a barely visible horizontal incision. At the top of the head are attachments for probable horns. The surface is of polished red, decorated with intersecting bands in black paint, which occur over the entire figure. Castellana interprets this in terms of Greek mythology as either a centaur or a minotaur. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Castellana 1995. Province: Trapani 60. GROTTA DELL’UZZO. Early Neolithic level occupation level of cave, radiocarbon dated to first half of the 6th millennium cal.BC. Clay figure, roughly cylindrical in shape, curved at one end, broken off at other. It has irregular, roughly vertical striations all over, which are interpreted by Tusa as representing plumage. Evidence for sex/gender: no indications. Reference: Tusa 1991.

Public and domestic The social background to the development of gender in prehistoric Sardinia Christopher Hayden

Fig. 1 La madre dell’ucciso (the mother of the dead warrior), a Nuragic bronze figurine from the cult-cave of Domu ‘e s’Orku - Urzulei, Nuoro. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Cagliari

. . . an arcane and anguished story of death. The son, in the lap of his mother, wrapped in her cloak that seems a shroud, is a young warrior, dead, abandoned in her arms, face rigid, body naked . . .

(Lilliu 1982:211) The romanticism of Lilliu’s interpretation of la madre dell’ucciso, (fig. 1) a Nuragic bronze from the cult cave of Domu ‘e s’Orku (Lilliu 1966: n. 68) reflects the ease with which it seems we can read its meaning. In part that ease stems from the apparent familiarity of the gender roles it seems to illustrate: the man, his status signified by the dagger he wears on his chest, is presented as a warrior, the woman is presented, if we follow Lilliu, as the caring mother. The two figures are thus referred to very different spheres of life: the role of the young warrior lies in the public sphere of conflict with outsiders, the mother’s within the domestic sphere — the care of the family. It is easy to join Lilliu in indulging in such speculations but the interpretation of such figures (Lilliu 1966) is, of course, highly problematical. Even on a superficial level there is disagreement over the interpretation of la madre dell’ucciso. Contu (1974a), for example, suggests that the young warrior, rather than dying, is recovering from his wounds. But the difficulties of interpretation go much deeper than this. Although the contexts in which this and many of the other bronzetti have been found — sacred caves and wells, temples, as well as occasionally in tombs, nuraghi and other contexts (Lilliu 1966) — allow us to exclude many of the possible interpretations of figurines (Talalay 1993; Ucko 1968) and suggest that many of them had some kind of ritual role, many details of their significance remain obscure. Do they represent particular individuals from actual or mythological events or are they idealised, generic figures? The notion, implicit in attempts to make straightforward inferences about Nuragic society from these figures, of art representing everyday life is probably anachronistic. Some, at least, of the figures, for example, with four eyes and four arms clearly represent mythical figures (e.g. Lilliu 1966: nn. 104-11, 140-1). These difficulties of interpretation mean that the story of la madre dell’ucciso remains arcane. Even in making apparently straightforward identifications of the social roles of the figures many potentially anachronistic assumptions have been bought to bear, not least in the identification of their sex. Although we readily see the mother as female and the warrior as male it is difficult to explicitly justify such interpretations. The figures often lack clear representations of primary and secondary sexual characteristics. Although a few figurines are identified by beards and what may be interpreted as breasts, the identification of their sex usually relies more upon our assumptions of the appropriate roles of the sexes than it does upon the features of the figurines themselves. It is equally true, however, that the bronzetti themselves offer very little resistance to such interpretations. Although it may be difficult to demonstrate clearly why some figures are seen as male and others as female, the figurines seem to conform easily to our expectations. The importance attached to the public sphere of men is reflected both in the frequency with which they are represented — they outnumber representations of women by a ratio of about 6 to 1 — and in the equipment they carry and the activities they engage in. Although a small number are shown engaging in lower status, everyday tasks1 a greater number have been interpreted as high status individuals — chiefs and priests.2 Nearly half, however, usually interpreted as warriors, are identified by the weapons and armour they bear: swords, shields, helmets, bows and especially the daggers they often wear on their chests (fig. I).3

The relatively small number of representations of women are usually not identified so clearly with particular artefacts or activities. Some, however, are shown in their roles in the domestic sphere: as mothers4 and in association with domestic activities.5 The association between the public sphere and men and the domestic sphere and women is not, however, absolute. Although they are never armed and are far outnumbered by the male figures, a number of the women, appear to be of higher status. Lilliu interprets them as sacerdotesse.6 The interpretation of these figurines is highly problematical and many may find Lilliu’s interpretations unacceptable. Nevertheless, the bronzetti can very plausibly be seen as presenting us with an image of gender roles in Later Nuragic society in which men, depicted as chiefs and warriors, the roles of government — are most closely associated with the public sphere whilst women are associated most closely with the domestic sphere.

PUBLIC AND DOMESTIC SPHERES The domestic sphere is an associated set of activities and social relationships united by their spatial and social context: they are the quotidian activities related to the household, carried out in and around the house. The political sphere consists of those activities and social relationships which extend beyond the domestic sphere: between households, villages, or other, wider, social groups. Distinctions between what may be appropriately termed the public and domestic spheres exist in many, if not absolutely all, societies — and very often the distinction is related to gender. Commonly, the public sphere is primarily associated with men and the domestic sphere with women. But as the possibly high status female Nuragic sacerdotesse figurines suggest, the relationship may be more complex. In relation to these two spheres of action, gender does not itself define social roles but is one dimension of social differentiation, cross cut by others such as age, descent and ability. It may act, as the Nuragic bronzetti suggest it did in later Nuragic society, as a dimension of social differentiation which splits a society into two such that differing potential ‘careers’ are open to men and women. The association between the genders and particular spheres of social life may mean that their opportunities lie in only one sphere whilst it may be very difficult, if not impossible, for them to act within the other. The significance of gender within differing societies is thus intimately linked to their wider structure: the character of the public and domestic spheres, how the distinction is drawn between them and how they are related to gender determines the opportunities open to men and women. How this distinction is drawn is very variable. The communities, their boundaries and external relationships and the associated political institutions with which the affairs of the public sphere are concerned may take many different forms: from the simplest tribes without rulers to highly centralised despotic states (Llewellyn 1983). So too may the domestic sphere be organised in many different ways: from the extended families of communal long-house to single-parent families. And as the spheres vary in character, so the boundary between them may be drawn in differing ways.

In this paper I want to move back in time to trace the development of the distinction between public and domestic and its connection to gender. The Nuragic bronzetti date, roughly, from the first half of the first millennium BC (Lilliu 1982). But I will argue that a distinction similar to that which the bronzetti reveal first emerged at the beginning of the Copper Age (Atzeni 1981, Atzeni et al. 1988, Lilliu 1988). And it is the emergence and development of this distinction from the Late Neolithic into the Copper Age (table 1) which I will concentrate upon here. Approx. Date

Phase

Period

2,600 - 2,300 Bell Beaker

Late Copper Age - Bell Beaker

3,100-2,600

Monte Claro

Late Copper Age

3,600-3,100

Abealzu-Filigosa Early Copper Age

4,000 - 3,600 Ozieri

Late Neolithic

Table 1 Chronology (cal.BC) of the Late Neolithic and Copper Age in Sardinia (radiocarbon dates are listed in Tykot 1994)

In attempting to trace this development there is, however, one major difficulty which must be faced. The distinction between gender and sex is important: the sex of an individual is a matter of more or less clear universal biological fact while gender is a highly variable cultural construct. But the relationship between the two is also essential. Gender is a cultural interpretation of the biological fact of sex. Nowhere is this connection more important than in archaeology. From archaeological evidence alone, it is generally only by relating cultural features to biological sex that the character of gender can be inferred. And nowhere does this connection thus lead to such difficulties: the relevant evidence is often highly ambiguous and may simply not exist. Unfortunately the very little archaeological evidence in Sardinia which might reveal the form of this relationship exemplifies these difficulties very clearly. Such difficulties have sometimes manifested themselves in the resort to ethnographic generalisations. The validity of such generalisations in any particular context is, however, unclear. Ethnographic sources also document clearly how varied gender roles and their relationships with the domestic and public spheres are. This variation rules out the use of ethnographic generalisations as a means of inferring the relationship between these two spheres and gender. The difficulty of making this connection severely limits the extent to which we can pursue an archaeology of gender, if gender is construed as the cultural interpretation of biological sex. But gender is also important for archaeology because it is one of the most important dimensions along which societies may be structured and it is upon this which this essay focusses. Although it may be difficult to determine exactly how the two were related, as the social background to its development, the development of the public and domestic spheres is, nevertheless, relevant to an understanding of the development of gender.

BURIAL AND SETTLEMENT CONTEXTS

The different frequencies with which artefacts were deposited in two different kinds of contexts — tombs and settlements — provides one kind of evidence for the development of this distinction.7 A comparison of the proportions of types deposited in these two contexts reveals an interesting pattern: over time the types selected for deposition as grave goods diverge from those that were deposited as rubbish on settlements (fig. 2).8 In the Late Neolithic although the proportions differ slightly and not all of the types (e.g. loom-weights) occurring on settlements occur in tombs, almost all of the artefacts deposited in tombs also occur on settlements. The only artefacts in tombs which do not occur on settlements are two beads, one of greenstone, the other of clay. Although just two artefacts cannot be regarded as constituting a major difference between the two kinds of sites, it is of interest that it is beads which form the only small difference in this phase. In later phases, it is the increase in the numbers of beads and other ornaments which differentiate the assemblages from tombs and settlements.9 In the Early Copper Age although there are slight differences in the domestic types selected — querns are now rare in tombs whilst weaving equipment is more common — the grave goods still contain a range of types also found on settlements similar to those occurring in the Ozieri phase. In contrast to the Late Neolithic tombs, however, the Early Copper Age tombs also commonly contain a much larger number of ornaments in a wider range of types — copper and silver rings and shell, bone and clay beads — which do not occur on settlements. There is also a difference in the numbers of copper daggers deposited in the two kinds of contexts which, because they are only quantified by numbers of sites, is misrepresented in figure 2. Although copper daggers occur in only one tomb — Serra Cannigas — the number of daggers in this tomb — nine — is greater than the number of all daggers found on all the settlements.10 The types used as grave goods and those occurring on settlements have thus begun to diverge, beginning a trend which continues in later phases. By the Late Copper Age types occurring on settlements are almost absent from tombs. The grave goods are composed almost entirely of copper daggers, now absent from settlements, and a range of ornaments — shell and clay beads and perforated shells — which are rare on settlements. Even the small number of perforated shells which occur on settlements are of species different from those in tombs. Thus, by the Late Copper Age a clear distinction had emerged between the artefact types selected for use as grave goods and the artefacts deposited on settlements.

Fig. 2 Comparison of the number of tombs and settlements upon which artefacts occur (represented as a percentage of all the tombs or settlements in the samples for each phase). In the Ozieri phase a similar range of artefacts occurs in both kinds of sites but from the beginning of the Copper Age, whilst the types on settlements remain relatively unchanged, a new range of artefacts - ornaments and weapons - were deposited only in tombs

Although no settlements can clearly be regarded as belonging to the Bell Beaker phase a small number of Bell Beaker sherds have been found on settlements with Monte Claro pottery (Ferrarese Ceruti 1981) and settlements of this phase have, therefore, been used for the comparison with Bell Beaker grave goods. The scarcity of Bell Beaker pottery on settlements may itself be significant. In previous phases there are no significant differences between the pottery in tombs and on settlements. If Bell Beaker burials are, in part, contemporary with the end of the Monte Claro phase then, by this date, a distinction had emerged between the pottery used on settlements and the pottery deposited in tombs. A similar distinction between the other kinds of artefacts deposited in the two types of context continues and is exaggerated in this phase. Although copper awls and arrows occur in both kinds of sites, the arrows in the tombs are of new types (semilunar microliths and tanged and barbed) which differ from those found on settlements and, as in the Late Copper Age, settlement types are again largely absent from tombs. The majority of Bell Beaker grave goods are of types — copper daggers and ornaments — which do not occur or are rare on settlements. The number of ornaments deposited is now, however, much greater and they occur in a much wider range of forms: the only single period Bell Beaker burial at Padru Jossu contained over 2,000 ornaments including, amongst other, less standardised types, silver beads and pendants, greenstone, limestone and shell beads, elliptical and semilunar shell and ivory pendants, hemispherical and ‘tortoise-shaped’ v-perforated buttons, perforated canine teeth and boars’ tusks. Comparison of the artefacts deposited in tombs and settlements thus reveals the development of an increasingly clear distinction between two spheres of artefacts. The significance of this distinction is partly revealed by considering the differences between the kinds of depositional processes and activities occurring at these two kinds of sites. Although they may also have been the location of other, non-domestic activities the artefacts found on settlements were probably primarily deposited as rubbish, most of which would have been generated by everyday domestic activities. Most of the artefacts deposited on settlements were thus probably related to the domestic sphere. In contrast the artefacts deposited in tombs were deliberately selected for deposition as grave goods during burial rites. Although grave goods are thus quite straightforwardly related to funerary activity, their relationship with other kinds of activities may be complex. As well as having been made specifically for funerary rites, they may also have been selected for use as grave goods because of their relationship with other, non-funerary activities. A funerary context itself does not necessarily provide evidence for the character of these other activities. All that can inferred is that since the kinds of artefacts deposited in tombs from the beginning of the Copper Age differ from those occurring on settlements they were not domestic. There is, however, an obvious contrast in the overt functions of the two groups of artefacts

which gives some indication of the wider role of the non-domestic types. Although their precise functions are not always clear, the types occurring on settlements can all be related to two broad kinds of activities which, intuitively, can easily be regarded as domestic. Many may have been used in the acquisition, production and preparation of food: stone axes for clearing land, arrows for hunting, the chipped stone blades, scrapers and flakes for reaping, butchering and cutting various kinds of food and querns for grinding cereals. Reports of animal bones — usually sheep, cows, pigs and dogs — and un-perforated marine shells, although too incomplete to have been included in this analysis, provide evidence of food consumption. The spindle whorls and loom-weights used to produce textiles are the most obvious evidence of craft production but stone axes and chipped stone tools may also have been used for working wood and the chipped stone types for working leather or other materials. Waste flakes provide evidence for the re-working at least and probably the production of the chipped stone tools themselves on settlements. All of these domestic activities involve ways of processing other materials. In contrast, it seems likely that the non-domestic types, especially the ornaments, being items of dress ideally suited to the role of communicating something about the social persona of the wearer, would have had communicative functions. We could thus contrast the processing functions of the domestic tools with the communicative functions of the non-domestic objects of display. A qualification is needed here, however. Arguably all artefacts, including domestic tools, may be used to present social fronts or to communicate something about the person using the object and the activity with which they are associated. Rather than contrasting the two groups of artefacts in terms of processing or communicative functions, the difference between them may be better captured by adapting Goffman’s (1990) theatrical metaphor of front and back spaces. In Goffman’s usage, front spaces are areas in which people present themselves to others and in which it is important to maintain one’s social face. Back spaces are areas in which individuals may make the necessary arrangements for their front space performances, in which people need not be concerned with presenting a front since interaction with others is restricted. Applying this distinction to artefact types and their associated activities rather than to spaces, the objects of display could be seen as front space types, particularly associated with presenting certain social fronts, whilst the domestic tools were back space types primarily associated with processing functions rather than specifically presenting social fronts to others. In ethnographic contexts such objects of display are often used as primitive valuables (Einzig 1949; Douglas 1967) or gifts (Mauss 1954; Gregory 1982; 1994) or what archaeologists often term prestige goods. One reason why the non-domestic artefacts may be rare on settlements in Sardinia is that, in contrast to the domestic tools which were discarded as value-less rubbish, the non-domestic artefacts were carefully preserved, valuable items. There is thus some reason to think that the ornaments and other non-domestic artefacts were more than just objects of display. A number of ethnographic parallels support the suggestion that the non-domestic types were primitive valuables. There are close formal similarities between the archaeological and ethnographic examples.

Not only do both often take the same general form of ornaments — beads and pendants — in some cases they are almost identical. The elliptical shell pendants of the Bell Beaker phase Sardinia, for example, are almost indistinguishable from shell pendants used as gifts in the New Guinea highlands. Whilst it may provide some support for the interpretation of the archaeological examples as primitive valuables, as the common occurrence of, for example, simple shell disc beads in both archaeological and ethnographic contexts suggests, the convergence of forms may also be explained both by their simplicity and the exigencies of working similar materials. That the same materials - shell, teeth, tusks, copper and greenstones — frequently occur in both ethnographic and archaeological cases is, however, also significant. In ethnographic cases the two main practical limitations upon the availability of valuables are imposed by distance and labour (Einzig 1949; Douglas 1958). Since many of the same materials were worked into similar forms in the islands, labour and in some cases perhaps also distance may have imposed limitations similar to those which occur in ethnographic cases. Furthermore, because the limitations upon the availability of artefacts are intimately related to their value (Simmel 1978) this third parallel thus provides further support for the suggestion that the artefacts of the nondomestic sphere were valuables. Such limitations are crucial to the role of valuables. Ethnography provides many examples of situations in which inflation arises when they become too freely available (Douglas 1967; Einzig 1949). In such situations, to counter their falling value, such valuables must be used either in greater quantities or new scarcer kinds of artefacts must be adopted. The arrival of the first outsiders in Highland New Guinea bringing with them large numbers of shell valuables, for example, caused dramatic inflation: as the supply of shells increased greater quantities were required for each transaction until shells were abandoned for a new form of valuable, in this case, dollar notes. There is evidence from Sardinia to suggest that a similar process of inflation may have occurred there. Not only do the numbers of non-domestic artefacts deposited in tombs increase over time, but the rate of innovation in this group is also very high (table 2). In contrast to the domestic types which remain almost unchanged throughout the Late Neolithic and Copper Age, many of the objects of display occur in only one phase and few survive for more than two phases. In ethnographic cases primitive valuables are used for a range of social transactions (Einzig 1949; Douglas 1967). As well as being used for social advancement — to gain admission and promotion in secret societies, to obtain political positions and to gain prestige — they are also used for settling disputes between relatively distantly related groups or individuals and to make alliances or forge and maintain social relationships in this public sphere. Among the most common, however, are transactions relating to marriage and other rites of passage, including funerals. Given that in ethnographic cases it is common, if not universal (Ucko 1969), for gifts to be deposited with the dead, it is striking that in Sardinia almost all the nondomestic artefacts have been found in tombs. As well as supporting the suggestion that they were primitive valuables, the use of objects of display as gifts at funerals suggests that they may also have been used in other, less archaeologically visible rites of passage. It is, however, one last parallel which is of special significance here. In ethnographic cases

primitive valuables and domestic items are often divided into two — sometimes more (e.g. Armstrong 1924; Salisbury 1962) — spheres of exchange (Firth 1929; Bohannan 1955). That, in ethnographic cases the distinction is so often between domestic and prestige spheres (e.g. Malinowski 1920; 1922) provides some support for the interpretation of the archaeological distinction in the same terms. It is this separation into distinct spheres which is important here. The transactions for which the primitive valuables were used belong in the public sphere: they extend between communities or households rather than within domestic groups. Primitive valuables themselves were not, of course, an innovation of the Copper Age. Some Late Neolithic types — finely polished greenstone axes and mace-heads and marble figurines for example — may also have been valuables used for similar kinds of transactions. The development, however, from the beginning of the Copper Age, of an increasingly distinct sphere, consisting of ever greater numbers of ever more varied kinds of primitive valuables indicates the increasing importance of the public sphere and its increasingly clear separation from the domestic. These developments were related to wider changes in society which are reflected most clearly in the the changing structure of settlements.

ORGANISATION OF SETTLEMENTS Late Neolithic settlements (e.g. Atzeni 1959-61; Lilliu 1988) seem to have been composed of relatively small numbers of daub huts.11 The admittedly rather limited excavations within these sites have given no evidence of internal differentiation or of the presence of specialised ritual structures (e.g. Ugas et al. 1985; 1989). The main foci of ritual in the Late Neolithic were the domus de janas (Lilliu 1988; Santoni 1976), sometimes large and elaborate collective rock cut tombs, decorated with paint and carved with bull-horn motifs (Tanda 1977a; 1984), imitations of wooden-framed huts (Demartis 1984) and other features. Although it seems likely that they were most closely linked with the kith and kin of the deceased interred within them and were perhaps thus linked with domestic groups, these tombs could be regarded as public monuments of a sort. Nevertheless, the situation in the Late Neolithic contrasts markedly with that of later phases in which the contrast between the public and domestic spheres is clearly marked within settlements. The first signs of these changes which crystallised only in the Late Copper Age, appear at Monte d’Accoddi (Contu 1966a; 1984; Tinè & Traverso 1992) in the Early Copper Age, at the same time as the distinct sphere of primitive valuables begins to emerge. The structure of the first monument at this site — a large rectangular platform (24m by 27m) retained by cyclopean walls upon which stood a small red-painted room reached by a long ramp — suggests that it was used for rituals. Its scale indicates that a relatively large community must have been involved. Late Copper Age Early Copper Age Late Neolithic

Settlements

X

Figurine

X

X

Reniform Weight

X

X

X

Mace Head

X

X

X

Polished Axe

X

X

X

Blade

X

X

X

Arrow

X

X

X

Scraper

X

X

X

Foliate Point

X

X

X

Spindle Whorl

X

X

X

Trapeziform Weight

X

X

X

Unperforated Shell

X

X

X

Perforated Shell

X

X

Rough Axe

X

X

Cu Awl

X

X

Cu Dagger

X

Tronco-pyramidal Weight Bell Beaker

Late Copper Age

X

X X

Early Copper Age

Late Neolithic

Burials

X

Figurine

X

Mace Head

X

X

Polished Axe

X

X

Blade

X

X

Scraper

X

X

Spindle Whorl

X

X

Barrel Bead

X

X

Arrow

X

Loom Weight

X

Cu Ring

X

Ag Ring

X

X

Cu Dagger

X

X

Unperforated Shell

X

X

Cu Awl

X X

X

X

Cylinder Bead

X

Perforated Shell

X

Pendants Bone Awl

X

Wrist Guard

X

Boar’s Tusk

X

Perforated Tooth

X

V-perforated Button

X

Elliptical Shell Pendant

X

Axe Amulet

Table 2 Seriations of the artefact types occurring on settlements and in tombs. The rate of innovation in the types occurring in tombs is much higher than that within the types occurring on settlements

This first monument was not directly associated with a settlement but after its reconstruction in a similar form but on an even larger scale, a settlement built up around it. At Monte d’Accoddi a public ritual monument thus became the focus for a settlement. Monte d’Accoddi is unique in the Early Copper Age but this differentiation of settlements into domestic areas of houses and public ritual monuments became much more widespread in the Late Copper Age. Although other comparable sites may exist at Ortachis (Tanda 1977b) and Marras (Manunza 1982), the most thoroughly investigated example of a site where a similar division existed in the Late Copper Age is the settlement at Biriai (Castaldi 1979; 1981; 1984a; 1984b; 1985; 1992). The ritual area here consists of a platform partly natural, partly artificial, retained by cyclopean walls and terraces and entered by steps and a semi-circular ramp. These terraces and walls divide the ritual areas from the densely spaced houses of the surrounding settlement. At other sites the boundary between the domestic area of houses and the public ritual areas is marked more clearly by the enclosure of the domestic area within massive cyclopean walls. The enclosure of settlements is again a feature which appears first in the Early Copper Age. The settlement of San Giuseppe di Padria (Contu 1974b; Lo Schiavo 1974; Tore 1975; Santoni 1976; Tanda 1976a; Foschi 1980) which belongs to this period was enclosed within a large cyclopean wall. This site however is again unique in this period and is not accompanied by the distinct ritual areas which appear at the walled settlements of the Late Copper Age. At the most thoroughly investigated of these Late Copper Age sites — Monte Baranta (Moravetti 1981; 1988) — a cyclopean wall, 97m long, preserved up to 3m tall and from 3.75 to 5m thick, delimits the edge of the domestic area of huts at the end of a steep-sided triangular promontory. Just outside the walls, on an area of flattened rock, lies the ritual area: a circle with a diameter of 10m formed of around 80 standing stones, around 2m tall. Several menhirs stood both in the circle and at a short distance from it. Similar sites may have existed at Monte Ossoni (Moravetti 1979a; 1988), Punta S’Arroccu (Moravetti 1984: note 60; 1988; Basoli et

al. 1988), Sa Ureci (Lilliu 1988: 134-5), Bia Ebbas (Manunza 1985a; 1985b), Cucché (Manunza 1985a; 1985b), Mandra Comida (Moravetti 1979b), Sos Frontes (Moravetti 1979b), Sa Sillida ‘e sa Cresia (Perra 1987-92) and Lasasai (Manunza 1984).12 Although, because of the scale of their construction, the walls of these settlements look, and may have been partly defensive, their strength is beyond any strictly necessary requirements for defence given the offensive technology available. It thus seems that their significance went beyond just defence (Rowlands 1972). In part this significance may have been ritual: the walls divided the mundane internal domestic space of the settlement from the ritual space outside. But it may have also had political significance. As much as excluding outsiders, the cyclopean walls expressed and may have partly created a political community from the occupants within. The changing structure of settlements thus gives some insight into the wider changes in society to which the development of a distinct sphere of primitive valuables was related. The separation of the public and domestic spheres reflected in the development of distinct assemblages of domestic and valuable artefacts is reflected also in the spatial differentiation of settlements into distinct domestic areas of houses and public ritual monuments. The enclosure of settlements also suggests the development of increasingly discrete social groups. These developments were closely related: the increasing importance of the public sphere was a consequence of the changes in the character of inter-communal relations which itself resulted from the formation of more discrete social groups.

GENDER AND DOMESTIC AND PRESTIGE SPHERES There is little evidence from this period to suggest how the domestic and prestige spheres were related to gender. The only indications are provided by anthropomorphic representations. Like the Nuragic figurines, however, their interpretation is highly problematical. Most of the figurines of the Late Neolithic (Antona Ruju 1980), for example, have what appear to be representations of breasts and can thus be interpreted as female. Apart from the vague suggestion that they were ritual items we have little idea of how they were used or what they represent. To make an inference from the occurrence of female figurines to the roles of women in Late Neolithic society would, as someone has put it, be as dubious as making inferences about the role of women today from depictions of the Virgin Mary. The statue-menhirs of the Copper Age at first appear to make a more direct link between the artefactual evidence and gender.13 Of the four regional groups (Cossu, A.M. 1992-3; Perra 1987-92) it is the Sarcidano group (Atzeni 1973-4; 1978; 1979-80; 1988a; 1988b; 1994, Amalet et al. 1983) which is of most interest. Within this group there are two varieties of statue menhirs. On the most common are carved a stylised face, a trident motif and a dagger; on the other, much less common, a face and breasts. These two types may be male and female respectively — daggers alone sufficing to signify the gender of the males. The statue-menhirs thus seem to associate men with one aspect of the public sphere. The role of the statue-menhirs, however, is no better understood than that of the Late Neolithic figurines. They occur as isolated stones with no contextual clues to their significance other than the possible relationships between their motifs and artefacts in other contexts. They

may have been territorial markers representing the leader of the territory or the focal point for ritual activities representing a deity or spirit. There is simply little evidence to go on. And making inferences about gender roles from the statue-menhirs is therefore just as problematical as making inferences from the Late Neolithic figurines. It could, for example, be argued that they demonstrate an association between men, daggers and the prestige sphere and that the absence of artefacts on the small number of female statuemenhirs indicates a lower status for women. But since there are female examples it could also be argued that women were clearly a part of whatever statue menhirs represent. If the depictions of daggers relate statue-menhirs to prestige they do so as a whole indicating that women too played a part there.

CONCLUSIONS Despite these problems of interpretation there are, nevertheless, interesting echoes of patterns in the statue-menhirs in the Nuragic figurines with which we began. In both the Copper Age and the Nuragic period it is daggers which commonly identify males and although most of the Nuragic figurines which appear to represent persons of high status appear to be male, as with the statue menhirs, there seem to be a small number of representations of high status women too. There were, of course, great changes between these two periods marked, not least, by the appearance and development of the nuraghi themselves. But these similarities between the two also suggest continuity and it is in the Copper Age that we may find the developments which formed the basis for some elements, including the gender distinctions, of Nuragic society. From the beginning of the Copper Age, accompanying the formation of more discrete communities, an increasingly clear distinction developed between the public and domestic spheres which is reflected both in the structure of settlements and in the elaboration of a distinct sphere of primitive valuables. Although it is difficult at present to relate these developments directly to gender, the character of social divisions based upon gender is related to the wider structure of society. And it was these Copper Age developments which formed the background to the gender-based distinctions — associating men primarily but not exclusively with the public sphere and women, again primarily but not exclusively with the domestic — which we can perceive more clearly, much later in the Nuragic period.

NOTES 1 E.g. Lilliu 1966: nn. 57-8, 60-1, 66, 149-50, 153, 181. 2 E.g. Lilliu 1966: nn. 4 to 7, interpreted as principi and nn. 111-2, 120 and 145-148

interpreted as sacerdoti. It is worth noting too that the mythical anthropomorphic beings, esseri demoniaci iperantropici, (Lilliu 1966: nn. 68 and 123-4) and the centaur, (ibid. n. 267) appear also to be male. 3 E.g. Lilliu 1966: nn. 12-15, 82-97, 125-139 interpreted as opliti, nn.ll, 16-36 and 98-100 -

arcieri and other soldiers nn. 8, 64-5. 4 In addition to la madre dell’ucciso, see also Lilliu 1966: nn. 123-4. 5 Lilliu 1966: n. 187, see also n. 186. 6 Lilliu 1966: nn. 69-81 and 121-2. 7 To avoid the charge of circularity it is important to stress that the identification of these two kinds of contexts does not rely upon inferences from the artefacts with which we are concerned but from features of their structural context. 8 The sites used in the analysis are a sample of the most completely preserved, undisturbed contexts from each phase. They are — Settlements — Late Neolithic and Early Copper Age: S. Michele - Fonni (Lilliu 1981), Cuccuru s’Arriu (Santoni 1977; 1982; 1992; Depalmas 1990-1), Su Coddu (Ugas et al. 1985; 1989), Terramaini (Usai 1984; 1986). Early and Late Copper Age: Isca Maiori (Depalmas 1988-9), Sa Corona (Atzeni 1966). Late Copper Age: Campu ‘e Cresia (Atzori 1958-9; Melis 1988-9), Biriai (Castaldi 1979; 1981; 1984a; 1984b; 1985; 1992), Enna Pruna (Lilliu & Ferrarese Ceruti 1958-9). Tombs — Late Neolithic: Monte Crobu 1 (Frau 1985; Cocco 1988a; Atzeni 1987), San Benedetto 2 (Maxia & Atzeni 1964; Atzeni 1987), Perda Lada 2 layer 3 (Ugas 1990), Serra Crabiles 4 (Foschi 1981; Foschi Nieddu 1984), Su Avagliu (Desantis 1987-8), Cannas di Sotto 12 (Cocco & Usai 1988b). Early Copper Age: Filigosa 1 (Foschi 1980; Foschi Nieddu 1986; 1988), Sa Corte Noa (Atzeni 1979-80; 1982), Serra Cannigas A (Atzeni 1985; Usai 1988), Santa Caterina di Pitinuri (Cocco & Usai 1988c; Cocco 1988b), Santu Pedru 1 layers bVII-VI (Contu 1966b). Late Copper Age: Simbinizzi 3 (Usai 1985; 1988b), Via Basilicata 1 and 4 (Atzeni 1967; 1983), Padru Jossu, layer VIa-IV (Ugas 1982), San Gemiliano (Atzeni 1959-61), Sa Duchessa (Lilliu & Ferrarese Ceruti 1958-9). Bell Beaker: Monte d’Accoddi 2 (Tanda 1976b), Padru Jossu Bell Beaker A and B (Ugas 1982), Anghelu Ruju 3, 13, 17, 30 (Taramelli 1904; 1909), Ponte Secco (Contu 1952-4), Su Crucifissu Mannu XVI (Ferrarese Ceruti 1972-4). 9 There may be one further difference between the tombs and settlements. The grave goods from the sample of Ozieri phase tombs also includes one, fine, polished stone mace-head. Although mace-heads are also sometimes reported on settlements in the few cases where it has been possible to check these are much more roughly finished than the example from the tomb. Their chronology, however, is very uncertain. Although, because it has been impossible to ascertain their typology and chronology on settlements, mace heads have been excluded from the analysis it seems likely that the finely polished examples are characteristic of the tombs only. 10 Although of interest as some of the earliest lead in the Western Mediterranean, because it is a unique find, the presence of a single piece of amorphous lead in one tomb — Sa Corte Noa — cannot be regarded as marking a significant difference between tombs and settlements. 11 A few calculations may help to make the point and give some idea of scale. The commonest features on settlements of this phase are shallow pits. Although these are often interpreted as fondi di capanne, because they are so often irregular in shape (e.g. at Su Coddu, Ugas et al. 1985; 1989) and because of the absence of structural features such as post-holes it is unlikely that they are actually the remains of houses. They may, instead, have been the pits from which the daub out of which the real houses were built was dug. Although they may have been re-cut,

there may, nonetheless, be some relationship between the number of fondi di capanne and the number of huts. The settlement at Puisteris (Puxeddu 1959-61; Lilliu 1988:79) with the largest number — 267 — of documented fondi di capanne was occupied in the Ozieri and Monte Claro phases and possibly also in the Abealzu-Filigosa phase. Settlement may thus have lasted for 1,500 years. Assuming one fondo for each hut and a life span of 50 years for a daub hut this amounts to an average of no more than 9 huts in existence at any one time. Even varying these figures by a factor of two to allow for discontinuous occupation, for example, does not suggest a very large settlement. 12 It should be noted that of these sites only Biriai, Monte Baranta and Monte Ossoni are really securely dated although there is some indication that Sa Uredi dates also from the Late Copper Age. The other sites are dated only by comparison with these sites. Further similar sites, still awaiting more detailed investigation may exist at Sos Settiles (Lo Schiavo et al. 1988), Pabude (Tanda 1977b), Molia (Tanda 1977b) and Nurarchei (Costa 1984). The ‘protonuraghi’ of Brunku Màdugui (Lilliu 1982: 14-5) and Sa Corona, Villagreca (Atzeni 1966: 119-26) may also belong in this phase but their association with Monte Claro pottery may be purely fortuitous. 13 They can be dated to the Copper Age because, firstly, copper daggers which appear to be depicted upon some of them were introduced only at the beginning of this period and secondly because they have been found re-used in Early Bronze Age structures. Although the form of the representations of possible daggers is not exactly paralleled by any actual daggers, they are closest in shape to the triangular blades of the Early Copper Age rather than the foliate blades of the Late Copper Age.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Antona Ruju, A. 1980. Appunti per una seriazione evolutiva delle statuette femminili della Sardegna prenuragica. Atti della XXII Riunione Scientifiche dell’stituto Italiano di Preistoria e Protostoria, Firenze 1978: 115-47. Armstrong, W.E. 1924. Rossel Island money: a unique monetary system. The Economic Journal, 34: 423. Arnal, J., Arnal, L. Demurtas, L. & Demurtas, S. 1983. Les statues-menhirs sardes. Bulletin du Musée d’Anthropologie prehistorique de Monaco, 27: 123-50. Atzeni, E. 1959-61. I villagi preistorici di San Gemiliano di Sestu e di Monte Olladiri di Monastir presso Cagliari e le ceramiche della facies di Monte Claro. Studi Sardi, 17: 3216. Atzeni, E. 1966. Il nuraghe Sa Corona di Villagreca. Atti XIII congresso di storia del’architettura. Cagliari 1963: 119-24. Atzeni, E, 1967. Tombe a forno di cultura Monte Claro nella Via Basilicata di Cagliari. Rivista di Scienze Preistoriche, 22: 157-79. Atzeni, E. 1973-4. Nuovi idoli della Sardegna prenuragica. Studi Sardi, 23: 3-51. Atzeni, E. 1978. Le statue-menhirs di Laconi. In Sardegna centro-settentrionale dal Neolitico

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Gender issues in north Italian prehistory Lawrence Barfield

INTRODUCTION In the prehistory and protohistory of northern Italy there are several chronologically distinct bodies of evidence in which men and women are iconographically represented. The main subject of this essay is two of these, the statue-stelae and menhirs of the Chalcolithic period, dateable approximately to the late 4th and earlier 3rd millennia BC, and the situla art on bronze items which were manufactured between the 7th and the 5th centuries BC. In both the art forms gender differentiation is clearly indicated. The parameters of the interpretation of these representations are ill-defined, and both categories have thus been the subject of extensive debate. In both cases, however, it is clear that the question of their context is crucial for a full understanding, including the question of gender. Gender can also be recognised in rock art, on the two most abundant rock art sites of Mont Bégo in France — which because of its proximity to the border may be given honorary Italian status — and in the Valcamonica, but this will not be discussed in any detail here, except where relevant to the discussion of the statues. We can say, however, in general terms, that this was largely done by men for men. Also, although gender differentiation is evident in the burial record from the Mesolithic onwards, this aspect will again only be discussed, where pertinent to the main arguments.

GENDER AND STATUE-STELAE Stone statue-stelae — the flatter slab-like equivalents of the three dimensional statue-menhirs — have a wide distribution throughout southern Europe and are particularly well represented in northern Italy during the Chalcolithic. Here they are today found in some five main, discrete geographical clusters, the Lunigiana, Aosta, the Valtellina, Valcamonica and the Trentino-Alto Adige, although originally they probably had a much more continuous distribution — if we are correct in assuming that there were also abundant wooden versions of these figures (Barfield 1995). Originally seen as manifestations of a mother goddess, with the recognition that they belonged to both sexes (Fleming 1969), other interpretations were put forward. These included an identification as other deities (De Marinis 1994 and D’Anna 1977) or tomb guardians (Arnal 1976). Increasingly, however, their frequent association with burial points to their being ancestral figures, perhaps deified, or monuments to the recent dead (Barfield 1995).

In the Lunigiana, and the Trentino-Alto Adige, male and female figures are clearly distinguished and here the equal representation of both genders might suggest that there was little differentiation in status between the sexes (fig. 1). On these examples, whereas daggers, as well as other weapons, are the main symbols of male identity, breasts denote females. At Aosta, Sion and in the Valtellina and the Valcamonica men are still identified by weapons but females are more difficult to recognise. Whitehouse, in discussing the Lunigiana and the Central Alpine statues (Whitehouse 1992), pointed out that the fact that women are identified by breasts, their biological sexual features, and men by weapons, objects of material culture. This, she continued, could be related to the concept, debated in some schools of feminist anthropology, that in many societies women are considered to be closer to nature, whereas men are identified with culture. Whitehouse noted the same distinction on the somewhat earlier, painted figures in the cave of Porto Badisco in Southern Italy, in which women had clearly marked genitals but men were depicted with bows and arrows. She did not claim, however, that this was necessarily a universal phenomenon. Without denying the possible underlying validity of such a concept, we would suggest that a more mundane explanation could be offered for this means of distinguishing gender on the statues. That is, since the figures are clearly represented as clothed, whereas women could be identified by breasts, protruding through their clothing, the penis would an inappropriate indicator of a clothed male. Indeed, both at Sion and Aosta we can see that the male genital area is often covered by a loin cloth. On the other hand, more subtle gender symbolism does seem to be present, for it can be argued that males are in fact represented by a phallus, since the dagger itself is phallic in form and indeed the overall shape of some of the Luni stelae themselves has a phallic appearance (fig. 1, 1-3), with the Malgrate or capello di carabiniere type (fig. 1, 2) also closely resembling the outline of the daggers (Bagolini 1981: 256). The dagger, as a symbol of the adult male, is still found in several societies throughout the world (e.g. Sikh and Ethiopian Afar), and it clearly had this function in Chalcolithic Italy, as can be shown, not only by the statues, but also by grave goods in cemeteries such as Remedello di Sotto (Barfield 1986) and the, probably contemporary, rock engravings of Mont Bégo (Barfield & Chippindale forthcoming). We thus have the situation, somewhat more complex than Whitehouse’s original thesis, in which, although the male is identified by the dagger, a cultural object, this itself resembles and symbolises both a phallus and the adult male. Other complexities of symbolism arise, if one follows this line of argument further, in that in the case of the Lunigiana statues the phallic forms of the whole statue are used both for male and female statues, and in all cases in which the daggers are shown as sheathed, it is possible to suggest that the sheath is a female symbol (Bagolini 1981: 256). We can also mention that on both the rock engravings on Mont Bégo, which we regard as probably contemporary with the statues, and in the later Valcamonica drawings, males are clearly indicated by a penis. An explanation for this difference between the iconography of rock art and the stelae might be that in the rock art, either we are in a different social arena, probably exclusively male, perhaps connected with male initiation (Barfield & Chippindale

forthcoming; De Marinis 1988) or, alternatively, the stick-figure schemata, used in the cruder art form of rock engraving, required a different convention for identifying males. These symbolic representations of gender perhaps do not get us very far in understanding Chalcolithic society as a whole, beyond saying that the equal representation of men and women, at least in the statuary, may reflect the rather simplistic characterisation of the period, albeit one with possibly some element of truth, as a time before the transition to a more male dominated world of Indo-European Bronze Age culture (Gimbutas 1979).

Fig. 1 Statue menhirs from the Lunigiana with phallic form of both statue and dagger 1 and 3 Pontevecchio type, 2 Malgrate type

Another consideration which would affect our understanding of gender relations is whether or not the statues represented an elite, with the dagger, and especially the multiple daggers and weapons found on the stelae of the central Alps, as indicators of rank. We would maintain, as seems to be confirmed in the Chalcolithic cemetery of Remedello di Sotto, that daggers most likely just symbolised the social persona of an adult male, rather than leaders of the community. It is also possible to suggest that at Remedello, not only is a male/female binary opposition represented, but also an adult/juvenile social division, based on age (Barfield 1986). Other traits associated with the statues, include apparent sex changes of stelae, with examples of mastectomy or having a dagger added to become male. This may mean no more than the recarving and reuse of a statue, a phenomenon which may relate to the short term ritual

significance of the figures (Barfield 1995).

GENDER REPRESENTATION ON SITULA ART Some 2000 years after the statue-stelae we find situla art. This north Italian and east Alpine art style, which was produced between the 7th and the 5th centuries BC, offers us a unique document for the study of life and society in what was still essentially a non-Mediterranean prehistoric culture. The art is found embossed and engraved on a range of mainly sheet, but occasionally more solid, bronze artefacts, which include mirrors, belt buckles, girdles, helmets, shield bosses and other objects of bronze, besides the more spectacular and richly decorated, shouldered buckets — the situlae — from which the art style takes its name (fig. 2) (Lucke & Frey 1962; Frey 1969; Kromer 1962). Since the subject matter includes men and women, although not, with one possible exception, children, it provides us with an opportunity to observe both dress and gender roles of the time. However, although the depictions are striking, and suggest direct representations of contemporary life, their interpretation is not obvious, and requires a careful evaluation of the origin, context and purpose of the art itself.

Fig. 2 The Benvenuti situla from Este showing male activity themes and situlae being used as drink containers (redrawn by H. Buglass)

Origins Although many of the metal items, such as the situlae, helmets and belt-plates, are embedded in the local tradition reaching back to the Final Bronze Age, the art is an interesting mixture of the old and the new, involving surviving Urnfield Culture features on the one hand, and intrusive Late Orientalising and Etruscan innovations, on the other (Gabrovec 1962). Recent research suggests that some of the most characteristic elements of the art style originated in northern Etruria and were introduced suddenly into the Po Plain; initially to Bologna and thence further northwards to the Este culture (Bonfante 1981; Colonna 1980). However, there is little doubt that what we are seeing in the art are only contemporary north Italian and east Alpine fashions and activities and the style must surely only have reached its full development on the Po Plain, most probably in the Veneto.

Fig. 3 Scenes from the Situlenfest or the Iron Age from the male perspective: men and women 1: Vace; 2: Welzelach; 3: Certosa (after Lucke & Frey 1962)

The Urnfield tradition is clearly to be seen in the representation of the bird boat motif, as well as in the dress, armour, weapons and vessels (Frey 1980). Even in such activities as lovemaking we can observe local practice, or more probably local iconographic convention, since the missionary position of intercourse of male on top of female, on a bed with a mattress (fig. 6, 1 and 2), is not found in eastern iconography (Boardman 1971).

A principal difference between the decoration of most of the Orientalising metalwork of Etruria and the situla art, is that on the latter the main designs show a local subject matter of clothing, artefacts and activities of which, as Mansuelli (1965) summed up, “the content is never mythological, nor based on workings of the imagination or iconographic repetition”. Pure Orientalising motifs, such as exotic animals, when they are found, are here mostly relegated to border friezes.

Fig. 4 Situla art; male pursuits 1: Certosa soldiers; 2: spectator sport, Vace; 3: ploughing, Sanzeno (after Lucke & Frey 1962)

The question of the stylistic inspiration is, however, complicated by the fact that some Orientalising traits had already been absorbed by the local culture. We can also see how the situla artists clearly prided themselves as proponents of the new Mediterranean Orientalising style, and were culturally, ‘foreign’ observers of the local scene, in that they often show the Urnfield bird boat as decoration on objects they portrayed, such as beds (fig. 6, 1), settees, chariots etc., while their own range of ornamentation employed only Orientalising motifs. Other factors, which clearly influenced the nature of situla art, are the regional variations of culture. These may reflect geographical, social and cultural differences which range from a Villanovan Bologna, on the one hand, to an East Hallstatt culture in Slovenia, on the other. Objects such as the decorated mirrors (fig. 6, 1), very much items of Etruscan fashion, only reached Emilia, the very southernmost margin of the situla art distribution range; rectangular belt plates, decorated in the same style, on the other hand, are an east Alpine, Hallstatt speciality.

Fig. 5 Productive women or the Iron Age from a female perspective. The rattle from the Tomba degli Ori, Bologna. (after Morigi Govi 1971)

We are dealing with a culture which has a strong central European background, but which is subjected to Orientalising influences. This transition can be observed both chronologically and geographically.

Context and function The interpretation of the meaning of situla art ranges from the religious or funerary to the purely secular. In early studies Ducati and Franz suggested that the situlae were designed as cremation containers and that the subject matter of the art was thus funerary in character, with the funerary feasts and games being their main subject matter. Later interpretations favoured a religious explanation (Kastelic 1962). Thus the scene of copulation on the Castelvetro mirror (fig. 6, 1) represented a hieros gamos with the man, above, as the sun god, and the woman, below, representing the earth. The bird in the centre, often a space filler in situla art, was the consort bird of the sun - Begleitvogel der Sonnengottheit (Kastelic 1962). In the same way the textile production scenes on the Bologna rattle might be taken to represent goddesses — perhaps Iron Age Fates — spinning (Eibner 1981). Eibner has put forward a convincing argument that the finer situlae, like the one found at Certosa, could have been used in the context of the rituals of a tribal reunion — a Bundesfest — comparable to those recorded in Italic and Greek political life, and that many of the scenes represented such festivals. These would have been occasions when animals would have been driven for sacrifice and to which each tribe, represented here by squads of differently equipped soldiers (fig. 4, 1), would have contributed. It would have been a time when competitive sports would have taken place (fig. 4, 2). Whether this line of thought should be developed further, as Eibner does, to suggest that the love scenes, and even the ploughing, represent a fertility cult aspect of such a Situlenfest, we would, however, doubt (Eibner 1981). Others such as Frey and Bonfante on the other hand suggest that what we are seeing is mainly secular. The situla, in any case, can be taken to have had symbolic functions comparable to those of the Greek krater.

Fig. 6 Love in the Iron Age 1: the Castelvetro mirror; 2: Vace situla; 3: Brezje belt plate (after Bonfante 1981 (1 and 3); Lucke & Frey 1962 (2))

One approach to the interpretation of the art is not to interpret it as a single body of art but to look at the relationship between the function of the objects and their decoration. If we do this we see that the subject matter is not homogeneous across all the categories of bronze work, but is often, although not always, closely connected with the use of the objects themselves. Felgenhauer, indeed, already noted that the situlae bore scenes appropriate to those in which the situlae would have been used (Felgenhauer 1962). Situlae, being primarily wine containers, and only secondarily cremation urns, thus carry scenes which relate to occasions when wine is dispensed, festivities, feasting, partying, the refreshment of people engaged in sport and contests and even ploughing. Situlae, identical to those carrying the art, are frequently also represented on situlae in the scenes in which they are carried full, in processions, or used for the dispensing of wine, sometimes being ladled out by servants clearly questioning whether the recipient is thirsty. Another use for a situla was as a prize in a competition, again an analogy with the Greek krater, and a function also clearly represented in the art. Here it would be useful to make a distinction between the term ‘situla art’, which covers all objects decorated in this style, and the art which is found just on the situlae, since the same self referencing principle can be applied to other items carrying situla art. The helmet from Magdalenska Gora thus has a line of warriors marching around the base of the cap, above the brim (Torbrügge 1992: fig. 93); belt plates show fighting and manly pursuits; a love scene is on the mirror from Castevetro; a knife sheath from Castellin sopra Fisterre (Calzavara 1984), clearly designed to be a hunting knife, is adorned with a fowl, a fish, a deer and a rabbit. The art on votive plaques, as might be expected, bears deities or donors (fig. 7). We can conclude that if the subject matter of the situla art is thus often self referencing, it is only giving us a partial view of contemporary culture, one which is related to the use of those objects.

Situla society Most would agree that the art relates mainly to a social elite. ‘Homeric’ is an adjective that has been used to describe this society (Bonfante 1981: 35), with the suggestion that we are looking at a “‘proto-urban’ tradition with chiefs, or princes, and their ladies, horseman and knights” (Bonfante 1981: 47). There is, however, little to identify such individuals in the art and, if an elite is involved, we are clearly not dealing with the princely class of East Mediterranean inspiration in control at this time in Etruria. On the situlae we can at best identify some officers leading their troops and a few seated figures carrying bird-headed sceptres (fig. 3, 1). A similar picture is revealed by the burial evidence, for although differences in wealth are found in burials in Emilia, the richest even running to tumuli, gold and elaborate grave markers, these are in no way comparable with the princely splendour of contemporary Etruria or even the chieftainled, probably partly Celtic society, of the Lombard Golasecca culture. The burial evidence, taken together with the almost incidental inclusion of men of higher rank, suggests

officials rather than heroes, and a society which is oligarchic rather than ‘Homeric’. Some status differentiation between elite and peasant also seems to be suggested by the long cloaks and broad brimmed or Phrygian hats of the males at the feasts (fig. 3, 1 and 2), which contrast with the short tunics and berets of the hunters and ploughmen (fig. 4, 3) (Eibner 1981). On the situlae servants are bare and shaven headed, comparable with slaves in classical times, and male servants carry heavy loads and serve wine.

Fig. 7 Central motif on a bronze disc from Montebelluna, showing the ‘the key goddess’

The situla women all wear similar clothing, whether servants, housewives or deities, although in the latter cases these may be more ornate (fig. 7). The status of the women in processions, in the love scenes and on the rattle from Tomba degli Ori grave in Bologna, will be discussed in the following section.

Gender roles

Men clearly dominate most of the scenes and are represented, in their more elite roles, with their distinctive male clothing of cloaks and Phrygian and broad brimmed hats and accoutrements. They are shown as civilians, soldiers, servants, ploughmen (fig. 4, 3) and hunters. In one scene a man appears to be selling a horse and in others they are competitors in boxing, chariot racing and musical contests, as well as, of course being present present in scenes of love-making. The latter activity, in some scenes, also appears to take on the trappings of a competitive sport, (fig. 6, 2), even running to multiple partners, as on the Brezje belt plate in which a second woman is just visible to the man’s right (fig. 6, 3). It is only men who are shown drinking and it is clear that situlae, and the wine they contained, were used in the context of exlusively male feasting (Frey 1980: 144). Women are shown in their local costume of head shawls, long skirts and sometimes their distinctive Venetic boots. In Frey’s opinion they were always represented on the situlae in the role of servants, serving wine or in one case washing a man’s feet, or else hetairai in giochi amorosi for the pleasure of men. On the Certosa situla, however, women in procession shown carrying fire wood, food and drink, even though these are heavier burdens than borne by the men, may well not be servants, since their clothes are ornate, (fig. 3, 2 and 3). In Greece it was an honour to bear offerings to a feast, so perhaps these processions are overt displays of what each family was contributing? Another example of the depiction of women probably in a non-servile role comes from the rich Tomba degli Ori in the Arsenale Militare cemetery in Bologna. Here a high status woman has been buried with gold and accompanied by numerous bobbins and spindles relating to weaving, as well as a rattle (tintinnabulum). The grave has been dated to the Villanovan IVb2 period (c.625-575 BC) making the rattle one of the earliest examples of situla art (fig. 5). Represented on the rattle we see women in the role of producers of cloth, spinning and weaving on an ‘industrial size’, two storey loom (Morigi Govi 1971). Given the practice of self referencing in situla art, which we have suggested earlier, this object is likely to have been also somehow used in the weaving process; perhaps being used by the weaver for calling for more thread. Weaving equipment regularly distinguishes female graves in the Italian Iron Age, throughout the peninsula. Examples of sites, in which the role of women as textile producers has been highlighted, include the cemetery at Pontecagnano (Campania), in which whorls identify female graves (Vida Navarro 1992) and the Osteria dell’Osa cemetery outside Rome, where most women had spindle whorls, while higher status women were accompanied by weaver sets (Bietti Sestieri 1992: 108). In the north too, in both Villanovan Bologna and the Este cultures, wealthier females were buried with weaving gear, or even models of looms, whereas poorer ones just have a spindle whorl (Chieco Bianchi & Tombolani 1988)). Women were also manufacturers of textiles in classical Greece, with weaving also an upper class activity, while in Roman Italy women were traditionally the providers of clothing for the family (Barber 1991: 1994). While we can note the contemporary Hallstatt evidence from central Europe (Frey 1980), the generalisation of relating women to textile production is widespread, one of the world wide female correlates observed by Murdoch and Provost (1973). This association is often symbolised by religious tradition, not only in the Classical world, but elsewhere such as in the

Meso-American Aztec civilisation, where the role of women as textile producers is so deeply embedded in ritual and belief, that female infants were allocated equipment for their role as a spinners and weavers at birth (Brumfiel 1991). During the Iron Age in Italy the repeated association between women and textile production must surely indicate, besides a symbolic gender identity, a general acknowledgement of the importance of economic contribution of women, as indeed has been suggested in the New World in the Aztec civilisation (Brumfiel 1991; Bevan 1996), which is not just for the maintenance of the domestic and household needs, but also of substantial importance in the economic production of the community. The role of women in textile production, however, has to be qualified by the recognition that the complete process of such production also involves the provision of the fibre for spinning and weaving which is traditionally a male preserve. We can in fact see just this on the remarkable 7th century BC wooden chair from a male burial, tomb 89, in the cemetery below the Rocca Malatestiana at Verucchio. The carved pictures on this chair show an even more comprehensive rendering of textile production, from the shearing of goats for wool and its transportation by men, through to spinning, weaving and dyeing by women (Gentili 1987: fig. 162). Here we seem to have community level production, involving cooperation between men and women. There appear to be other traditional female roles represented in the art. The carrying of firewood and food, shown on the Certosa situla (fig. 3, 2 and 3), which can be matched by the presence of spits and firedogs in female graves at Este, perhaps reflects another traditional role for women; that of food preparation. We can note, however, that it is men who are carrying the wine in the situlae! Both servants and women (as servants?) usually carry heavier objects than men (fig. 3, 3). The women alone carry objects on their heads, a widely established practice in the ancient and historical world, possibly related to another Murdoch and Provost correlate, that of the female role in fetching water. Perhaps the ubiquitous head shawls have something to do with this method of carrying. Yet another gender related activity is suggested by the association between women and keys. In the Iron Age of the Veneto and the eastern Alps iron keys are sometimes found in female graves and this has been taken to indicate the role of women as keepers of the keys of the house, both practically and symbolically — a role which links women, not only with the traditional concept of hearth and home, but also indicates her authority and control in that sphere (Bonomi & Ruta Serafini 1994). Keys and women are further symbolised in religious iconography, as we will see later.

Sex The depiction of love-making, on both beds and chairs, is very graphically represented in situla art (fig. 6). Boardman wrote that “love-making has iconographic conventions like any other . . . whether the intention is pleasure, display, procreation or cult” and indeed all these explanations have been offered as explanation for such scenes in situla art. I would concur with Boardman and Bonfante that these depictions are purely secular (Boardman 1971;

Bonfante 1981), rather than ritual, as suggested by Kastelic and Eibner. The scene on the Castelvetro mirror (fig. 6, 1), which, as we have seen, is for Kastelic a hieros gamos, could, perhaps, be more plausibly can be read in the form of a strip cartoon, in which a rider arrives on horseback, a prostitute is procured, with price being negotiated between a man and a woman — with the women holding up two fingers the man one — and the act subsequently carried out after further arrangements between a woman and a seated man. In all probability this was a recognisable story, perhaps related to the one about the inn-keeper’s daughter still celebrated in Italian popular song, or, if we take into account the link between this and Etruscan mirrors, perhaps even some myth or legend. Even though the bed is in the form of the Urnfield bird-headed sun-boat, since the latter is such a common decorative motif, it cannot be used to interpret this as a religious image. The fact that this ‘tale’ is depicted on a mirror, which one presumes was a female item, is rather surprising and suggests that, either it was intended as a gift for a high class prostitute, or can be seen a rather crude allusion to sex on a gift for a more respectable woman. Whatever the interpretation, there is surely some relationship between the mirror, as an object of self adornment, and the subject matter depicted on it, which again follows the tendency of situla art to relate decoration to the function of the object. This and other depictions of love-making, rich in the sensuous detail of vibrating mattresses and pubic hair, indeed are more redolent of an earthy Italic sense of enjoyment than any religious allusion to sacred marriage. Such sexually explicit designs are comparable with Eruscan tomb painting and may reflect the open sexuality held to be characteristic of Etruscan women, which was commented on by Theopompus in the 4th century BC (Bonfante 1994). We can conclude that women may be shown in mainly subservient roles on the situlae because these were used in the context of male entertainment and festivals, but on the rattle they appear in a more productive light. The mirror, certainly belonging to someone with wealth, if not respectability, carries a more uncertain message. On Greek red figure drinking cups, objects of male use, we sometime find a duality of the representation of the hetairai and the virtuous wife, sometimes on the same cup, with the latter, incidentally, often engaged in spinning or weaving (Beard 1991: 28- 9).

Female deities The representation of a goddess with the keys, as well as animals, is found in situla art on five votive plaques probably found in a hoard near Montebelluna (Fogolari 1956) (fig. 7). The figure, accompanied by both plants and animals, is, according to Fogolari, probably a fertility goddess, Pothnia theron — a Venetic equivalent of Demeter — carrying the key to both the opening of the fertility of plants and help in the birth of animals and women (Fogolari 1956). Keys, however, as we have seen, are also found in female graves in the area, where they suggest the role of women as keepers of the household, a role which may also have been sanctioned in the supernatural world (Bonomi & Ruta Serafini 1994).

CONCLUSION

Surviving archaeological evidence is often said to be biassed towards male activities. Here in Northern Italy, besides the burial evidence, we have two sets of chronologically separate iconography in which both sexes are represented. But what do they really tell us about gender in prehistoric Italy? On the statue menhirs we can only see gender roles transmitted through the symbolic filter of ancestor cult and burial ritual. The situla art is, on the other hand, more direct, not necessarily symbolic. It was probably executed to suit the taste of the customer, with subject matter sometime biassed by the function of the artefact. The clear identification of males and females on the statues shows an equality of representation which would argue against their interpretation as divinities and favour ancestors. The symbolism may primarily be there to identify a gender difference between male and female and possibly, in some cases, rank. In the Iron Age we have both objects which were used in a male activity sphere, the situlae, helmets, belt plates etc. and fewer objects used by women, the rattle and the mirror. We can see on the former a world of wine, women and song, with women shown as seen by men, as servants and sexual partners, while on the rattle women are represented in a productive role as producers of textiles. It would seem as if we are seeing a world interpreted through contemporary gender bias. In spite of the visible tension between oriental and local ideas, and taking into account the various biases discussed above, the gender roles and relationships, appear to be very ‘traditional’ ones which cut across this cultural frontier. What we are dealing with is indeed essentially a non-Mediterranean European prehistoric heritage. Men are thus leaders, drinkers, soldiers, chariot drivers, riders, musicians, contestants in sport, horse traders, hunters, ploughmen, shearers of wool and servants; women are textile producers, procurers and preparers of food, keepers of the household, servants and, perhaps, prostitutes. On this very direct evidence we can ‘see’ gender roles and the male/female ‘structural dichotomy’ in action (pace Boyd 1997) from which it would be difficult to get away from accepting the stereotype gender roles found in most preindustrial societies (Hayden 1992). Culture, by defining specific and often almost universal roles for men and women, as well as underlining that difference through clothing, both emphasises the biological difference and physically separates men from women. Such differences are often further endorsed and strengthened by divine and mythical sanctions. Whatever other reasons there may be to explain the duality of gender roles (Hayden 1992), the cultural control of the dangers of human sexual attraction should probably be seen as a crucial one. Such a division may well have become accentuated in post-Neolithic times, when matters of lineage and inheritance became more important, but cultural sanctions on sexual association would also have been present before that time. Perhaps the art can be interpreted at more than one level, or it is presenting a conventional vision of how society should be, and probably, other, more subtle readings, are possible.

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The construction of gender in Early Iron Age Etruria Judith Toms

INTRODUCTION This paper investigates the archaeological identification of gender in the Villanovan cultural group of Early Iron Age Etruria (conventionally dated c.900-720 BC but probably beginning in the 10th century). Relatively little is known about the settlements, but the tombs and tomb goods are abundant, the latter consisting of a wide range of pottery forms, personal ornaments, utensils, bronze vessels, and other equipment. Since the late 1800s, it has been widely thought that certain tomb goods indicate the gender of the deceased. Most authors have assumed that women were responsible for the preparation of cloth, and thus the deposition of items thought to be used in cloth manufacture (spindle whorls, spindles, distaffs, thread spools, loomweights) indicates a female burial, and that weapons, armour and razors indicate a male tomb. It was also noticed that certain brooch forms were preferentially associated with spinning equipment and others with weapons, for example the serpentine brooch was only or most often found in association with weapons and razors and has acquired a reputation as a ‘male’ artefact. These assumptions will be tested by analysing the contents of 915 Villanovan tombs from the major sites of Veio and Tarquinia. The results show that while the traditional picture is supported to some extent, it is also clear that it does not tell the whole story; there are other patterns in the material to be taken into account and which demand a more complex reading.

THE DATA The analysis of material from Tarquinia (fig. 1) is based on those cemeteries which have been adequately documented and published. These are the north-east cemeteries, and the south-west cemetery of Le Rose. The latter is a small cemetery of 69 tombs, excavated in 1953-4 and recently republished in full (Buranelli 1983). Sixty-one tombs contained at least one object; two (LR44 and LR59) are of a later date and have been omitted from analysis leaving a total of 59. The north-east cemeteries — Selciatello, Selciatello di Sopra and Impiccato (S, SS and I) — were excavated between 1904 and 1906 and the tomb groups sent to the new archaeological museum in Florence where they were displayed by tomb group, rather than being divided into artefact classes. A brief list of the contents was published shortly after (Pernier 1907), but they

were not substantially published until Hencken produced his monumental two volume work on Tarquinia (Hencken 1968). The material was damaged in the great flood of 1966 and subsequently underwent a programme of cleaning and restoration which revealed many details of decoration and manufacture. Also, the site notebooks have recently come to light.1 They contain hitherto unpublished details of excavation, tomb form and contents and provide the most reliable record of the contents of each tomb. In the 1904-6 excavations Impiccato yielded 106 tombs, 83 of which contained artefacts. The addition of one tomb (Imp -, Hencken 1968: 258) found in 1935 makes a total of 84 tomb groups for Impiccato. Selciatello yielded 65 tombs, all with artefacts. Pernier, followed by Hencken, listed 78 tombs from this cemetery, but the site notebooks make it clear that 13 of the tombs (published by Pernier and Hencken as S58-70) were actually excavated at Selciatello di Sopra (notebook entries for 15-18 April 1904), and I have relabelled them as SSA-M. The excavation of Selciatello di Sopra uncovered 219 tombs, 217 of which contained tomb groups. Altogether the northeast cemeteries and that of Le Rose produced 425 Villanovan tombs containing one or more classifiable artefacts.

Fig. 1 Map of central Italy

Some tombs from the Monterozzi site will be discussed but none are included in the main analysis because material from this site is beset with problems. Many of these tombs were found in the 1800s or very early in the 1900s, the records are overly brief and often confusing, and the objects no longer available for study. Indeed, Hencken was able to find very few objects from Monterozzi in the late 1950s when he was preparing his catalogue. In addition to the inadequate documentation and lack of comprehensive illustration, there are also strong doubts about the integrity of certain tomb groups. Veio (fig. 1) has produced a large number of Villanovan tombs including some 30 from the small cemetery of Valle la Fata (Bartoloni & Delpino 1979), and over 1,000 from Grotta Gramiccia and Casale del Fosso, the publication of which is eagerly awaited (in the meantime see Bartoloni & Delpino 1979, Buranelli 1981, and Bartoloni et al. 1996). The analysis in this paper is restricted to the cemetery of Quattro Fontanili, where excavations uncovered 651 tombs, 490 of which contained one or more classifiable objects. This cemetery was partially excavated between 1960 and 1972, by joint Anglo-Italian teams, and published in full between 1963 and 1976 (QF 1-7, and see Close-Brooks 1965, Toms 1986, Guidi 1993 for the relative chronology).2 Due to erosion, deep ploughing and tomb robbing, the last two especially marked since the second world war, many tombs yielded few or no artefacts. Also it is not always certain that all goods found in a tomb were part of the original tomb group. Goods, complete or fragmentary, were found in the fills of a number of tombs which — from this and other signs of disturbance — must have been robbed. In these cases the material in the fill might or might not belong to the tomb, especially when it is fragmentary. However, since it is impossible to judge for certain, all items found in the tombs are included in the analysis, and the discussion deals with instances where the possibility that one or more items do not belong in the tomb would significantly affect the results of the analysis. Some material from Valle la Fata is mentioned but not included in the tables. In the discussion below ‘Veio’ should be taken to mean the cemetery of Quattro Fontanili alone, unless other cemeteries are specified.

WORK ON GENDER AT TARQUINIA AND VEIO In earlier studies of the Tarquinian material the question of gender is dealt with briefly and unsystematically, for example, Randall Maclver, describing the Villanovan cemetery of Selciatello di Sopra at Tarquinia only noted that “there would seem to be a much greater preponderance of men in this cemetery, . . . [there are] 54 razors” (Randall Maclver 1924: 42), and a few years later he wonders if “weapons passed down from father to son” (Randall Maclver 1927: 12). In this he was characteristic of his time — assumptions about the relationships between artefacts and gender are not made explicit, and analysis is not systematic or wholesale. Some 30 years later, Hencken wrote at greater length about Tarquinia: “In the absence of satisfactory skeletal material owing to cremation or lack of preservation, I have depended on archaeological criteria to determine sex. For male graves I have used the following criteria: razors, spears, swords and helmets . . . fibulae with multiple bows [a type of serpentine brooch] only occurred in men’s graves .. . I have used the following primary criteria for female

graves: spindles, spindle whorls and spools.” (Hencken 1968: 431-2). However, his application of these criteria was not presented in full. For those tombs included in his seriation charts (144 in total) he added columns indicating the presence of these male and female indicators. For the rest of the tombs there is little or no discussion of gender, just occasional comments in passing. Also there is no recognition of the significant number of tombs which contain none of these objects, and anomalies were treated with relative indifference or levity. Of tomb SS137 which contained both a bronze belt, an item considered to be female, and a razor, he suggests that “Perhaps this Villanovan lady, like many Italian women today, could have used a razor!” (Hencken 1968: 431-2). Mario Zuffa, writing on the Villanovan culture, voiced concern about the validity of these gender associations. He argued that while some scholars are always aware of the conventional nature of this type of analysis others accept it passively and apply it “confident of its validity — thus making it an act of faith”, but that, in fact, the arguments for distinctive male and female artefacts are not as secure as many claim (Zuffa 1976). He cites Hencken’s analysis of male and female artefacts at Tarquinia as a prime example of “over optimism” and argues that it is undermined by the exceptions. Without systematic analysis of the whole data set, patterns which are not anticipated a priori may not be noticed, or considered of interest. Given the very complex nature of archaeological data, of the function of funerary rituals within society, and of the ever shifting significance of these rituals and the artefacts used in them, significant patterns in the material will usually be better revealed if a large data set is examined in detail. In the post-war period there has been a trend towards analysing whole cemeteries for chronological, gender and rank distinctions, rather than building a story on the basis of a few selected tombs of particular interest. In some cases mathematical methods have been used to identify patterns in the material. A notable recent example is Roy Hodson’s work on the major Iron Age cemetery of Hallstatt (see especially Hodson 1990). In Italy the leading exponent is Renato Peroni who, with his students and colleagues, has worked on a number of Italian Iron Age cemeteries. A key concept for these scholars is the ‘parure’ — the set of personal ornaments and equipment in a tomb apart from pottery and metal vessels. The tombs are divided into male and female and then these are divided into ranks on the basis of what are considered significant variations in the ‘parures’. Also important is the idea that family groups of tombs can be identified at certain cemeteries on the basis of the type and combination of tomb goods, tomb form and burial rite, and the relative locations of the tombs. Peroni has presented a statement of this approach, together with some examples (Peroni 1981). Its application to the Villanovan cemeteries of Veio and Tarquinia is restricted to the work of a few scholars. Marco Pacciarelli’s unpublished doctoral thesis (1990) includes short sections on Le Rose and Quattro Fontanili in which he divides tombs into groups according to their parures, and notes spatial patterns at the cemeteries which he sees as mainly related to family groups. Francesco Buranelli has done the same for the unpublished cemetery of Casale del Fosso which contains many Orientalising tombs (Buranelli 1981). Cristiano Iaia (1995) analyses Villanovan I tombs from Tarquinia, based on published sources, and stresses the symbolic nature of the material. Alessandro Guidi (1993) in his study of the relative chronological sequence of Quattro Fontanili also discusses the range of wealth in 128 tombs already divided by phase and sex. He does not explain how the tombs have been gendered, though in passing states that certain artefact classes belong to

male or female tombs. Wolf-Rüdiger Teegen (1995) has analysed Quattro Fontanili on the basis of the tombs, tomb goods and bone analysis. He concludes that grave depth and surface area can be an indicator of general age and status, and that female tombs tend to be slightly smaller than male ones. On the whole these scholars seem to have gendered the tombs on the basis of the traditional assumptions about what are male and female items, and on the patterns of associations of artefacts in the cemeteries.

FUNCTION OF OBJECTS When Hencken wrote “I have of course assumed that [the] names given to archaeological objects faithfully reflect their use” (Hencken 1968: 431-2), he was touching on a fundamental issue. While the everyday/basic function of some objects is obvious, as in the case of the sword and helmet, it is not for some objects found in Iron Age Italian graves. Nor is the ‘everyday’ function the only one: for example a knife may be used in many different contexts, and in each accrue different significance and associations. I will discuss the basic functions of the objects traditionally assumed to be used in the production of thread and cloth and the ‘razors’. Villanovan items interpreted as spinning and weaving equipment (figs 2-3) are those called spindle whorl, thread spool, spindle, distaff, and loom-weight (fuseruola, rocchetto, fuso, conocchia, peso di telaio). Mario Zuffa sought to challenge the identification of the spindle whorls in Villanovan tombs, arguing that they may actually have been part of heavy necklaces or elements of belts (citing a fresco from Thera which shows a small triangular object at the end of a belt). He illustrates some possible uses for these objects; as weights for parts of clothing, as toggles, and wonders if the different shapes were used on different garments or parts of the body (Zuffa 1975: 253-7). I sympathise with his attempts to take a fresh approach to the matter, but it seems that in this particular case his argument is not convincing. Elizabeth Barber, in her monumental work on ancient textiles, has identified such objects in many European and Mediterranean prehistoric cultures as spindle whorls on the basis of practical experience, and archaeological and ethnographic evidence (Barber 1991: e.g. figs 14.7-10). She illustrates a variety of forms, some very similar to those in Villanovan contexts, and notes that two features which can help identify spindle whorls are that the hole must be centred, and that the diameter is generally over 2cm. The Villanovan examples tend to be around 3cm in diameter. The whorls would have been attached to an organic shaft, probably of wood or bone. Whorls can be placed high or low on the shaft (or centrally, although this is rare). The European and Greek tradition, from the prehistoric period, seems to have been to have a lowwhorl spindle which is set spinning by one hand as it hangs in the air, rather than the highwhorl spindle (used in Egypt and the Near East) which is set spinning by being rolled along a surface — often the thigh — and then dropped to continue spinning (Barber 1991: 43-52). The use of low-whorl spindles in Iron Age Italy is suggested by the scene of spinning and weaving on the bronze ‘tintinnabulum’ from Bologna (see fig. 4,1 for detail; Morigi Govi 1971).

Fig. 2 Spinning and weaving equipment, pottery: 1 - spindle whorls; 2 - thread spools; 3 - loom-weight Scales vary

Fig. 3 Bronze spinning equipment, 1-2 and 4 roughly at same scale

Fig. 4 Distaffs in use: 1 - the Bologna ‘tintinnabulum’, short distaff (after Morigi Govi 1971: plate 52); 2 - modern Greek woman with short distaff (after Salskov Roberts 1968: fig. 11); 3 - modern Greek woman with long distaff (after Barber 1991: fig. 2, 3)

The bronze ‘spindles’ (fig. 3, 1-2) are rare and presumably prestige items. Barber reports spindles in bone, ivory and metal from various Late Bronze and Early Iron Age contexts in the Near East and east Mediterranean (Barber 1991: 57-63). They vary in length from c.15-30cm (the Villanovan examples are around 25-30cm long) and although a number bear similar decoration to that on the solid Villanovan examples (fig. 3, 1), none are of precisely the same form. Perhaps the closest are those from Deve Hüyük in Eastern Turkey of the mid 1st millennium BC with thin bronze discs forming the spindle, and incised decoration (Barber 1991: fig. 2.31). Barber makes the important observation that the weight of a spindle whorl or a spindle is more important than its size when assessing what type of fibre was being spun. A heavier spindle is useful for long staple fibres (like flax and many varieties of wool) and for plying threads, while a lighter one is necessary for short staple fibres and very fine threads. Unfortunately the weights of the spindle whorls and bronze spindles are not given in the publications,3 but I would be surprised if a bronze spindle was not considerably heavier than a pottery spindle whorl on a wood or bone shaft. The bronze spindle is not necessarily a replacement for the spindle whorl; they occur together in a number of cases. Perhaps the bronze spindle had purely symbolic uses, although the careful notching of the ends and centring of the discs could also indicate that they were made to be used. A small number of Villanovan tombs contain hollow sheet bronze cones with repoussé decoration and central perforations (fig. 3, 3), and these have generally been interpreted as parts of another type of spindle — the organic shaft having decayed. A distaff is a “rod or board onto which prepared fibres are fastened to serve as a source of supply during spinning” (Barber 1991: 69-70) and can be hand-held or tucked into a belt or backstrap. Figure 4 shows two 20th century Greek women, the first with a hand-held distaff (fig. 4, 2) and the second with a much longer distaff tucked into her belt and supported on the upper arm (fig. 4, 3). Images of distaff use are rare in antiquity, perhaps the most numerous are those on Attic vases which invariably show women using hand-held distaffs and low-whorl drop-spindles (e.g. see Barber 1991 and Salskov Roberts 1968). Earlier Iron Age Italy has produced only one spinning scene (as far as I am aware) — that on the Bologna ‘tintinnabulum’, and here the woman also uses a hand-held distaff (fig. 4, 1). It is possible that one or more forms of the Villanovan bronze ‘spindle’ were used as distaffs — this is how they are interpreted by Pacciarelli (1990) — in which case they would be hand-held. The two wood and sheet bronze U-shaped items from Quattro Fontanili (fig. 3, 4), interpreted as distaffs in the excavation reports, would be of the other type. The example in tomb JJ 17-18 (QF 1:217, 220) has an estimated length of 1.25m, far too long to be used hand-held (for which I imagine a length of c.30-45cm would be optimal). Finally the loom-weight and thread spools. Only one tomb contained an obvious loomweight,4 and it is of a form familiar at Iron Age settlement sites across Italy and beyond. The thread spools are unusual objects and nothing quite like them is illustrated by Barber. However, their use in textile manufacture is possible: Early Iron Age Italian examples have been found with threads wound around them (Dott. Marco Pacciarelli: pers. comm.), and while they certainly would not be used for spinning they could have fulfilled various roles in

weaving or other cloth making techniques, for example as another type of loom-weight or as shuttles.5 As for the Villanovan ‘razor’ (fig. 5) — could it have been used as a razor, would it fit the problematic parts under the chin and nose and around the Adam’s apple? Men of my acquaintance are of mixed opinions, some frankly sceptical but others think it should be possible to shave with even a fully lunate Villanovan razor (fig. 5, 3),6 although no practical experiments have been attempted. The razor’s edge was of very thinly beaten bronze and could have been more than sharp enough to cut hair. We have almost no archaeological evidence, iconographic or otherwise, for the way facial hair was treated in the Villanovan cultural group. Zuffa argues that ‘razors’ may have been used for purposes other than shaving or trimming the beard or hair (Zuffa 1975: 258-9). Bianco Peroni, following Jockenhovel (1971: 246), finds it difficult to add much to the interpretation of these objects as instruments for trimming hair and shaving beards (Bianco Peroni 1979: 177). What are the logical possibilities for use of the razors? I can think of four — shaving facial hair; shaving body hair on the head, legs or chest; trimming hair and beards; and as a sacrificial blade, but this last one is unlikely as the blade is small, also the shape would probably result in a blood drenched hand and wrist (though of course this might not be considered a drawback). All that can be said at present is that the ‘razor’ was a form of blade. Its associations in the Villanovan cemeteries are discussed below.

METHODOLOGY The main aim of this paper is to examine the patterns of occurrence of the items most often considered to be male or female: spinning/weaving equipment, armour/weapons, razors and serpentine brooches. Of particular relevance for methodology is the study by Carmen Vida Navarro of Early Iron Age tombs at Pontecagnano, Campania (Vida Navarro 1992), and that by Agneta Strömberg of the Iron Age tombs from Athens (Strömberg 1993). Both derive ‘male’ and ‘female’ artefacts from the associations between objects in tombs. Both also work on an exclusion principle by initially isolating two sets of artefacts which do not co-occur. Strömberg takes tombs with sex assignments from bone analysis (some 20% of the total sample) as her starting point, and isolates for each period (Sub-Mycenean, Proto-Geometric, and Geometric) items which only occur in male-sexed or only in female-sexed tombs. Other tombs are then analysed and a further set of artefacts derived which co-occur most frequently with those only found in male and those only in female tombs. These items were termed ‘High Frequency Items’, and those occurring in more than one third of male or female sexed tombs were considered to be ‘potential’ sex-indicators. She found that weapons were indeed associated with males and spinning equipment with females (Strömberg 1993: 101). But the traditional assumption that neck-handled urns indicated male burials and belly and shoulderhandled urns indicated female tombs was not found to be invariable, instead these vessels were only potential sex-indicators. Drinking vessels (oinochoai and skyphoi) which have been considered male, did not prove to be sex-indicators: even though some types were common, they occurred in both male and female tombs (Strömberg 1993: 101).

Fig. 5 Main razor forms: 1 - rectangular; 2 - semi-lunate; 3 - lunate

Vida Navarro’s approach to the Picentino cemetery at Pontecagnano is similar in some respects. The weapons and weaving equipment are shown, in an initial cross-tabulation of tomb goods, to never occur in the same tomb (the same pattern seen at Athens). She then labels the ten tombs with weapons as ‘male’, and the 25 with weaving equipment as ‘female’. Other goods were then added to these two groups. If a class of artefact met with two or more exceptions it was not considered gender specific. The arch and serpentine bow brooches were found to be associated exclusively with weaving equipment and weapons respectively, with three exceptions (Vida Navarro 1992: 88). Other items which associated only with ‘female’ artefacts were interlocking rings, finely coiled springs, pins, beads, pendants and bronze studs, and with ‘male’ artefacts were razors, knives, and possibly pottery plates (Vida Navarro 1992:

92). On the basis of the internal evidence Vida Navarro was able to identify 35 ‘male’ tombs and 33 ‘female’, leaving 31 without gender assignment. These results were then compared with the anthropological sex assignments (Vida Navarro 1992: table 8). These two authors have approached the material in slightly different ways, but what they share is a stated aim to check the validity of assumptions, which have attained the status of ‘facts’ in the literature by systematic examination of all associations between the different classes of artefact found in tombs. In this paper a similar methodology is used. Associations between all 101 artefact classes in the 915 tombs were counted and patterns distinguished. Given the sheer quantitites involved, the results presented here record the most relevant and striking patterns of associations — that is the objects (preferably those which occur frequently) which fall into completely or largely mutually exclusive groups, where the exclusivity is not purely a function of chronological difference. Tables 1-2 show the rarity of associations between weaving/spinning items on one hand and weapons, armour, razors and serpentine brooches on the other. Tables 3-4 show the associations between these two groups, a selection of the other classes which associate preferentially with one of these groups, and a few of the classes which show no preferential association with one of these groups. In the discussion of the results that follows, artefacts are provisionally labelled as exclusive ‘male’ or ‘female’ indicators if there are no more than two secure contrary associations, and preferential gender indicators if at least 40% associate with exclusive male or female indicators, and no more than 20% associate with the opposite gender. Only a limited amount of bone analysis is available for Quattro Fontanili and none for Tarquinia, so the sex identification from bone can only be compared with results from artefact analysis for a very small number of tombs (see below).

THE RESULTS In the following discussion, percentages have been rounded up or down to the nearest half per cent. Where there are only one or two reliable exceptions to a distinct pattern of association, these exceptions will be left aside and addressed later. One or more items of spinning/weaving equipment occur in 140 (33%) tombs at Tarquinia and 119 (24%) at Veio — a substantial number. The most common of these artefacts is the spindle whorl which occurs (generally singly) in 132 and 99 tombs respectively. The other items are thread spools, bronze spindles and/or hand-held distaffs (with discs or cones), long distaffs and a loom-weight (the last two classes only identified at Veio). One or more items of weapons/armour, that is bronze or pottery helmet, sword, spearhead, and shield, occur in 49 (11.5%) tombs at Tarquinia and 52 (10.5%) tombs at Veio. There are no associations between spinning/weaving equipment and weapons/armour at either site with the single exception of ZAA17-18 at Veio (QF 1: 123-33, figs 28, 31-5). This tomb had clearly been robbed, and the fragmentary and incomplete tomb goods were found in the fill at various depths. The goods included a razor, serpentine brooch, small fragments of an embossed bronze shield, fragments of a chariot?, and the corner of a thread spool only a centimetre or so in length. ZAA17-18 is located at the edge of the zone of greatest erosion and deep ploughing damage and the plough

soil here was littered with fragments of tomb goods. It is quite possible that this fragment of a thread spool did not belong with the tomb but became incorporated in the fill after the tomb was robbed. Two other exceptions occur at Monterozzi: the ‘Pozzo with crested pottery helmet’ (Hencken 1968: 259) containing various spindle whorls, sheet bronze cones of a type which is generally considered to belong to a spindle with the shaft in a perishable material, serpentine and composite arch bow brooches, and a pottery helmet; and the ‘Pozzo with an iron sword’ (Hencken 1968: 340) containing three spindle whorls, plain and composite arch bow brooches, a sword, a spearhead and a ferrule. Given the uncertainty about many Monterozzi contexts and the problems with the integrity of ZAA17-18. it seems fair to conclude, for the purposes of this paper, that there is no significant association between spinning/weaving equipment and weapons/armour at Tarquinia or Veio. Thus, there are two groups of objects which are consistently found in Early Iron Age cemeteries across Italy, and elsewhere (e.g. Athens and parts of Central Europe), and are almost never found together in Villanovan contexts. Their occurrence cross-cuts other patterns in the funerary data. They occur in tombs of all periods and the distinction cannot therefore be a chronological one. Similarly, they occur in tombs of varying type and ‘wealth’, for example a spindle whorl can occur in a fossa tomb with only one pot and one arch bow brooch, or in a tomb containing multiple accessory vases, arch bow brooches, ornaments, and sheet bronze vessels. Whatever such differences in ‘wealth’ might mean it is clearly a different pattern in the material from the distribution of the spinning/weaving equipment and weapons/armour. Ethnography provides plenty of examples of societies with some division of types of labour between men and women, and Barber has produced convincing arguments why textile production has often been a predominantly female activity (Barber 1990). So there is no compelling reason why the two groups of artefacts may not at this stage be interpreted as female and male gender indicators respectively. The numbers so far are: Tarquinia has 140 tombs with spinning/weaving items, 49 tombs with weapons/armour, and none with both, giving a total of 189 (44.5%) tombs with female or male indicators. Veio has 118 tombs with spinning/weaving items, 51 tombs with weapons/armour giving a total of 169 gendered tombs (34.5%), and one problematic association with both, which is set aside. Razors are relatively frequent at both sites, occurring in 84 tombs at Tarquinia and 57 at Veio. Their associations link them almost exclusively with weapons/armour, thus confirming the traditional picture. There are few exceptions: two tombs at Tarquinia (S48 and SS 159) contain both spindle whorl and razor. S48 seems to be a secure context, the site notebook records it as a pozzetto covered with a large nenfro slab containing a cremation burial in a biconical urn (notebook entry for 13 April 1904). The spindle whorl and the razor were found inside the urn. SS 159 is a small pozzetto cut in the local tufagno rock, also containing a cremation in a biconical urn. Two spindle whorls, a razor and a serpentine brooch were in the urn (notebook entry for 1-4 March 1905). The spindle whorls were not recorded by Pernier, and consequently not by later writers either, but it seems wise to take the site notebook as the primary source of information and let this unusual association stand. At Veio there are also only two associations on the charts between a razor and spinning/weaving equipment: ZAA1718 which is not a reliable context (see above), and AAdelta which is also unreliable (QF 5: 258, 262). It is a large pozzo tomb which had been robbed and the goods, including a

serpentine brooch, razor, knife, and thread spool, were found fragmented and scattered through the fill. At the small cemetery of Valle la Fata (38 tombs, of which 34 have one or more classifiable goods), tomb 31 contains a razor, serpentine brooch and a spindle whorl. There seems no reason to doubt this association, but as it is the only reliable example at Veio as far as I am aware, it may be laid aside for the moment. Given the relative abundance of spindle whorls, thread spools and razors, it may be argued that these exceptions are not numerous enough to prevent the razor being added to the group of exclusive male indicators. The serpentine brooch (fibula) (fig. 6, 3) occurs in 85 tombs at Tarquinia and 105 at Quattro Fontanili. At the latter site it occurs twice with a thread spool — in ZAA17-18 and AAdelta, associations which have already been established as unreliable. It occurs once with a loomweight in FFGG7-8, a large fossa tomb whose history appears to be complex (QF 3: 162-70). It has two alcoves, one high up with a second body and no goods, and the second with goods that probably belong with the main burial which appears to have been at the bottom of the fossa.7 There are problems with the integrity of this tomb: at least part of the tomb has been robbed, and parts of some of the pots are reported as occurring in two other tombs. Finally, the serpentine brooch occurs once with a spindle whorl in the small pozzo tomb AA10A which has a cremation urn containing a spindle whorl, a serpentine brooch and two arch bow brooches (QF 3: 98). There is no reason to doubt this association. With three of the four exceptional associations between serpentine brooches and spinning/weaving equipment being doubtful, the traditional picture of serpentine brooches as male indicators may be confirmed for this site. Adding the tombs with serpentine brooches at Quattro Fontanili brings the total of male tombs to 138 (28%). This number does not include the four tombs with both male and female goods.

Fig. 6 Main fibula forms: 1 - arch bow; 2 - composite arch bow; 3 - serpentine bow

At Tarquinia, however, where 85 tombs contain a serpentine brooch, a surprising 12 of

these tombs also contain spinning/weaving equipment. Ten have an association between the serpentine brooch and spindle whorl (S24, S26, SSD (S61), SSL (S69), SS6, SS69, SS99, SS 115, SS 116, SS 149); SSB (S59) has a serpentine brooch, spindle whorl and 24 thread spools; and SS 159 has spindle whorl, razor and serpentine brooch. SSB is a pozzo with a biconical urn containing one serpentine and two arch bow brooches, and with spinning/weaving equipment lying around the urn (notebook entry for 16 April 1904). This is an unusual arrangement, but the context seems secure. Similarly, there is no good reason to doubt the integrity of the other eleven tombs either. Although the serpentine brooch is strongly associated with weapons/armour and razors, co-occurring with around 60% of bronze helmets and swords, with over 40% of pottery helmets and razors, and with 39% of spearheads, the twelve tombs in which it co-occurs with weaving equipment rule it out as an exclusive gender indicator at Tarquinia, though it could be considered as strongly preferentially male. Tarquinia has 112 (26.5%) tombs which contain exclusive male indicators (weapons/armour and razors). This number does not include the two tombs which contain both male and female goods. 27 other tombs have serpentine brooches and no other male or female items. If these are also defined as male tombs this brings the total at Tarquinia to 139 (32.5%). Some other objects have been thought by some to be gender indicators: the axe, iron knife, and bronze belt will be examined here. At Tarquinia the single axe occurs in only two of the tombs represented in the charts and does not co-occur with spinning/weaving equipment. At Monterozzi, a single axe occurs in M5 (Hencken 1968: 186-7) and the ‘Cassetta with fibulae with long catches’ (Hencken 1968: 264) neither of which contain the ‘male’ or ‘female’ indicators defined so far. Interestingly, a handful of late Villanovan/Early Orientalising tombs each contain a pair of axes. Three8 of these tombs also contain bronze spindles, and four9 contain an oval sheet bronze belt which is defined below as female at Veio. At Quattro Fontanili there are eleven tombs with one axe. Three of these also contain spinning/weaving equipment: OP4-5 (QF 5: 295-9) and 117 (QF 7: 180-1) seem intact, and EF11-12 (QF 6: 1308) may have been robbed — some goods are fragmentary. So the axe is, at these two sites, a rare item with no strong associations with either male or female indicators, though some do cooccur with the latter and thus the axe was not always an exclusively male artefact. Three tombs at Tarquinia contain a knife and male artefacts, but no female artefacts. At Monterozzi a knife is associated with a warrior panoply in tomb M1 (Hencken 1968: 201), but in M6 (Ibid: 191) a knife occurs with a bronze spindle. Given the small quantities firm conclusions cannot be drawn. Twenty-nine tombs at Quattro Fontanili contain one or more knives. They generally occur singly, and many are associated with ‘male’ items. However, four of these tombs also contain spinning/weaving equipment: AAdelta and FFGG7-8 (both with problems regarding their integrity), G8-9 and B15-16. G8-9 is a large fossa with abundant tomb goods and the context seems intact (QF 6: 99-106). The goods include six thread spools, three spindle whorls, 13 arch bow brooches, a spit, a bronze cup, and small tools. B15-16 is a fossa tomb which seems intact, goods include 40 thread spools, an arch bow brooch, a bronze cup, bowl, and tripod (QF 6: 151-4). At both sites knives are uncommon items which occur with both male and female indicators, though more frequently with the former. Oval or rectangular sheet bronze belts occur in only two of the Tarquinian tombs on table 3. At Tarquinia one is associated with a razor and an axe in tomb SS137 (Hencken 1968: 252).

However, at Monterozzi there is a series of tombs with oval belts many of which also contain spinning/weaving equipment indicating that the belt might be preferentially female. Fifteen belts occur in fourteen tombs at Quattro Fontanili, nine of which also contain spinning/weaving equipment, and none have weapons/armour, razors or serpentine brooches. It would seem that the bronze belt may be a female indicator here. If the five tombs with bronze belts and none of the other gender indicators are added to the tombs with spinning/weaving items this brings the total number of female tombs at Veio to 123 (25% of 490). There is a wide range of small ornaments in the Villanovan cemeteries, from glass paste beads and small interlinked or single bronze rings to various pendants, often of cast bronze, but also of other materials notably gold and amber. The precise manner of usage of many of these objects is not always clear, so I have just called them all ‘ornaments’ for the purposes of this paper. As female tombs are sometimes identified on the basis of jewellery (including ornaments) it is useful to review the male and female associations of some types to show the range of variation and difficulties in identifying some as clearly or preferentially gender indicators. Five forms (fig. 7) have been added to tables 3-4. These were chosen as they are distinctive and relatively frequent. As the numbers involved are generally small, most conclusions should be tentative. Ornament 1 consists of three cast bronze drops suspended from one end of a perforated cast bronze tube or solid cast triangular plate (fig.7, 1). This ornament is c.8-10cm long, and is often found in groups of three. It occurs in seven tombs at Tarquinia, four with ‘female’ goods, and one with a razor (SS202). At Veio it occurs in ten tombs, seven with spinning/weaving goods, another two with an oval bronze belt, and none with male items. So, it could be a female indicator at Veio, and preferentially female at Tarquinia. Ornament 2 is a single cast bronze drop with suspension ring (fig 7, 2) found in various quantities per tomb. It occurs in 11 tombs at Tarquinia, five associated with female items, and none with male. At Veio it occurs in 13 tombs, ten with female goods, and none with male. It could be a female indicator at both sites. Ornament 3 is a perforated cast bronze tube, often found in threes (fig.7, 3). It occurs at Tarquinia in 25 tombs, ten with female items, three with male goods (ImpI, SS137, SS203). At Veio it is in eight tombs, of which five also contain spinning/weaving items, and one an oval bronze belt. So this type is preferentially female at Tarquinia, and possibly female at Veio. Ornament 4 is a cast bronze wheel with various numbers of spokes (fig. 7, 4). At Tarquinia it occurs in four tombs, of which three contain spindle whorl/s, and one has male goods (razor, serpentine brooch, bronze helmet, sword and spearhead). At Veio it occurs in ten tombs, of which three have spinning/weaving goods, one an oval bronze belt, and six have male goods. It might be preferentially female at Tarquinia and preferentially male at Veio but the numbers are small. Ornament 5 is a pendant in sheet bronze with an overlay of sheet gold with repoussé decoration (fig. 7, 5). The type with suspension tube must usually have formed part of a necklace, and that without was probably sewn to cloth or applied to some other surface. This ornament occurs in 16 tombs at Tarquinia, of which 10 also contain female items, two have male items, and one a serpentine brooch. At Veio it occurs in ten tombs, of which five also contain female goods, two more have oval bronze belt, and three have 1, 2 or 3 type ornaments. One tomb at Veio contains both 5 and a serpentine brooch. So 5 may be preferentially female at both sites. To sum up: each ornament is female or preferentially female at both sites, except for ornament 4 which may be preferentially male at

Veio.

Fig. 7 Ornaments 1-5

Brooches form one of the largest categories of artefact from Villanovan cemeteries. At Tarquinia 351 tombs (almost 62% of all tomb groups) contain brooches (only 28% of tombs at Le Rose contain brooches but the percentage rises to over 60% in the north-east cemeteries). I have divided them into arch bow (fig. 6, 1) composite arch bow (fig. 6, 2), and serpentine bow (fig. 6, 3) forms. The arch bow brooch is particularly common, occurring (singly or in groups) in 176 tombs at Tarquinia and 201 tombs at Veio. The composite arch bow brooch occurs in 53 and 41 tombs at respectively. Their associations (tables 3-4) show that the composite arch bow brooch is strongly preferentially female at both sites, and the arch bow brooch is weakly preferentially female at both sites. This is in contrast to some other parts of Italy such as Latium and Campania where they are seen as exclusively female. The associations of the serpentine bow form have already been discussed. The commonest classes of pots show little or no gender preference. The biconical urn occurs in almost all cremation burials of Villanovan I and early II phases, as does the shallow bowl with ring handle. Also frequent are the cup and the mug/jug (tables 3-4) which at both

sites both frequently co-occur with both spinning/weaving goods and with weapons/armour, razors, and serpentine brooches, and show no preference for either group. In conclusion, spinning/weaving equipment and weapons/armour form distinct groups at both sites and have been provisionally called female and male indicators. In addition at Veio serpentine brooches may be defined as male and bronze belts as female. At Tarquinia the serpentine brooch is only preferentially male, and there are too few bronze belts in the sample to allow any conclusions to be drawn about this class. Knives and axes are not exclusively male items at either site, nor are arch bow brooches exclusively female, although they are preferentially female, especially the composite arch bow form which very rarely co-occurs with male items. Ornaments show varied patterns of associations although the overall tendency is for them to be female or prefentially female. In stark contrast many of the pottery forms show no gender preference.

BONE ANALYSIS Both Stromberg and Vida Navarro were able to use the results of bone analysis. Unfortunately, such analysis has rarely been carried out for Early Iron Age cemeteries in Etruria. The main reason is that the soil in many areas is acid and organic remains have a poor survival rate — at Quattro Fontanili for example inhumed skeletons were often only recognisable in dusty traces of the main long bones and in teeth of which only the dental enamel remained, thus allowing some impression of the stature and age of the individual to be gauged but often little else. There is also a high rate of cremation, especially in the Villanovan I period. While cremated bone more frequently survives (because rendered more durable by being burnt, and because generally protected from the soil being stored in an urn) it is less easy to analyse because fractured and destroyed by the fire, and may be incompletely recovered prior to burial. In addition, many excavations were carried out in the late 1800s to early 1990s when some excavators made little systematic effort to collect, securely label and preserve skeletal remains. However, some analysis was carried out on part of the skeletal material recovered from Quattro Fontanili. In the first three excavation reports remains of 115 individuals were identified from 93 tombs (Alciati & Passarello 1963; Passarello 1965; 1967). The great majority of individuals were only represented by teeth, and generally a very incomplete set. The exceptions were tomb KK12 with teeth and parts of the upper and lower jaws of one individual (Alciati & Passarello 1963: 273-5), and six tombs containing 14 cremated individuals, but here the remains were so fragmentary that only general conclusions could be drawn (Alciati & Passarello 1963: 277). Of the total 115 individuals identified, 111 were aged. The Vallois age classification system was used10 and approximate age was based on the degree of wear and on stages of dentition (Passarello 1967: 281). Out of the total of 115 only 25 were sexed; all but one of these identifications were tentative, the degree of uncertainty being indicated by ‘probably’, ‘perhaps’ or ‘?’. Passarello notes that sex was difficult to determine and was not attempted unless many permanent teeth had survived (Passarello 1967: 281). This is not surprising, see for example the Spitalfields project which showed that 100%

accuracy in sexing is impossible to achieve even with very well preserved skeletal remains (Molleson & Cox 1993: 23, 169). There is a striking difference in the number of individuals sexed in the three reports although the total number of individuals examined in each report did not differ greatly (45, 34 and 36). Four were sexed in the first report (Alciati & Passarelli 1963)11, 18 in the second (Passarello 1965)12 and three in the third (Passarello 1967)13. The reason for this difference is not apparent, certainly there seems to be no significant variation in the quality of the dental remains as they are reported. There were only 13 tombs which contained an individual sexed from bone remains and accompanied by exclusive gender indicators (see table 5). In only two cases is there a conflict between the bone analysis and the tomb goods: tombs GG14-15 (QF 2: 117) and HHII9 (QF 2: 198-9). GG14-15 contained a serpentine brooch but the body was identified as ‘F?’, on the basis of five teeth. HHII9 contained a serpentine brooch and a sword while the body was identified as ‘perhaps female’ on the basis of 20 teeth. The high degree of agreement might be taken as independent support for the conclusions drawn from the analysis of the tomb goods. But, given the small number of burials involved — only 13 (11.5%) out of a total of 115 individuals subjected to bone analysis — and the element of uncertainty in almost all cases of sexing from bone remains, this cannot be taken as conclusive evidence.

THE CONSTRUCTION OF GENDER IN EARLY IRON AGE ETRURIA So there is indeed a split between weapons/armour and spinning/weaving goods which might confirm the idea that these are gender related. But having waded through the data and painstakingly counted the associations we are merely at a new beginning rather than a conclusion. This is because the analysis revealed additional patterns in the material which are not explained by the traditional interpretation, and also because the growth of gender studies in recent years has led to a recognition of the complexity and possibilities involved in the construction of gender and gender relationships. First, to set out the other related patterns in the material: tombs which contain both definite male and female indicators defined above, and tombs which contain neither. Tombs with both male and female indicators are rare: only two (0.5%) at Tarquinia and four (almost 1%) at Veio. The two at Tarquinia (S48, SS159) seem secure contexts, but two of those at Veio (ZAA17-18, AAdelta) may be dismissed as unreliable (see above), and one (FFGG7-8) is not without its problems — the tomb has clearly been disturbed and parts of some goods are reported in other tombs. Also the female item in FFGG7-8 is a loom-weight — the only one known from both sites. The loom-weight has been identified as female purely on the basis of its presumed function — making it a member of the spinning/weaving set of objects. But it could be argued on the basis of quantities that there is no justification for defining this single unique item as a gender indicator. Only the fourth tomb at Quattro Fontanili (AA10A) cannot be dismissed and if only this one is taken into account the percentage is reduced to a minute 0.2%. Given the extreme rarity of tombs with both male and female items, it is difficult to know how to interpret them — as a small but significant pattern, or as an insignificant

anomaly? In contrast, Villanovan tombs with none of the definite gender indicators are surprisingly common at both sites: 47.5% at Quattro Fontanili, and 40.5% at Tarquinia. If the serpentine brooches are included for Tarquinia the number of tombs without gender indicators is reduced to 34.5%. It is possible that there were other classes which are preferential indicators of gender, for example composite arch bow brooches at Veio. However, there are only 15 tombs with composite arch bow brooches and none of the other gender indicators, and their addition only brings the total of female tombs at Veio to 138 (28%), and the total of ungendered tombs to 214 (43.5%). Similarly if ornaments 1-5 were added, the number of gendered tombs would not be greatly increased as most of the ornaments occur in tombs with other gender indicators. Also, this is reaching methodologically tricky territory — how to decide what constitutes a strongly preferentially male or female item. How many examples of the item are needed overall, and what is the minimum percentage of the examples to indicate a gender preference? Any percentage will be arbitrary and may bear no relation to distinctions drawn in Early Iron Age Etruria. There might already be problems justifying the inclusion — on numerical grounds — of the more uncommon spinning/weaving and weapons/armour items such as the bronze long distaffs, shields, and helmets. There are only two long distaffs and five shields at Veio, three bronze helmets at Tarquinia and four at Veio. These and the bronze spindles and swords at both sites, and the thread spools and spearheads at Tarquinia, have been included mainly on the basis of their presumed functions and in spite of their rarity. There are no other classes of artefact at these two sites which occur in large quantities and which only associate with either ‘male’ or ‘female’ goods. It may be that ‘male’ and ‘female’ were not defined purely on an exclusion principle in Villanovan Etruria, that is some artefacts might have operated as exclusively male or female, while others could have been gender indicators in some contexts but not in others. Gender might be indicated by a particular combination of otherwise unexceptional items. This is more than possible but does pose immense methodological problems. Furthermore, there may have been artefacts of wood or cloth, or other organic materials that are invisible archaeologically. However, even if these accounted for all ‘genderless’ tombs, which I think unlikely, we still have to ask why these tombs have gender indicators that are so different from those which have survived, in other words the striking distinction is still maintained. Iaia suggests for Tarquinia that the large number of tombs “without personal or symbolic goods” may represent categories (perhaps infants or clients) which are socially inferior to those with the usual male and female goods (Iaia 1995: 252). Stromberg found that the definite sex indicators did not occur frequently in the Athenian tombs — only 16% of female tombs contained spindle whorls (Stromberg 1993: 95), and only 5% of male tombs had weapons (Stromberg 1993: 82). She argues that sex seems to be accentuated at Athens where large numbers of tomb goods are used to demonstrate social status, and consequently sex is not the main aspect being emphasised in these tombs but rather the wealth and power of the families of the dead (Stromberg 1993: 108-9). Stromberg’s explanation is tantalising but does not seem to be the answer for Tarquinia and Veio where the percentages of tombs with gender indicators are much higher than at Athens and also represent the full spectrum of ‘wealth’. Tombs without

gender indicators vary between cremations with just urn and cover bowl (eg SS14, S37, 12), cremation with urn, bowl and one other item (eg SS43 with a mug/jug, and SS35 with a single arch bow brooch), and more ‘wealthy’ tombs (eg QF fossa GG16-17 which contains three skyphoi, a bowl, amphora, cup, mug and a sheet bronze cup (QF1: 192-3)). Iaia’s suggestion that the pattern might be age-related is also tempting. Anthropology provides various examples of gender status being age-related, for example in parts of Africa where women are classed according to whether they are fertile or are too old to bear children. Thus “respected paragons of femaleness such as Queen Mothers can often end up classed, paradoxically, as ‘male’” (Barley 1994: 66), and post-menopause women be allowed to take part in some male activities such as the production of certain pots (Barley 1994: 63 and footnote 31). While there is an age-related pattern at Quattro Fontanili — Teegen (1995) notes that almost no children under the age of two were identified in the bone analysis, and argues that infants of this age were generally buried in the settlement — the distribution by age of male and female tomb goods is not restricted to certain age classes. Table 6 shows the distribution of tombs with both single, aged individuals and tomb goods. The total number of tombs is 65 (13.5% of 490), and of these 41.5% lack the male and female goods defined above — not too different from the percentage for all 490 tombs. This might indicate that the 65 tombs, although a small sample, are reasonably representative of the whole cemetery. Half or more of the tombs in each age class have gender distinctive goods, although it is interesting that the relative proportions of male and female gendered by tomb goods in each of age classes Infant I, Infant II and Youth are reversed in classes Adult and Mature. Also spinning/weaving equipment accompanied only three out of six ‘females’ in age classes Infant I-Youth, but was found with all 13 Adult and Mature ‘females’. So there is some variation in the gendering of different age groups, but there is no evidence that age alone accounts for the large number of tombs without the definite gender indicators. It is apparent that the marking of gender at death in Early Iron Age Etruria is by no means clear-cut and straightforward — it is not simply a case of all women getting X and all men getting Y. But should we expect it to be simple? Recent work in gender studies and anthropology increasingly demonstrates that the construction of sex and gender is complex and may vary greatly between cultures and over time. Of particular interest is the relationship between biology and society in the formation of gender identities. A distinction which has been widely accepted is that between sex which is biological and gender which is socially constructed. But there is also an increasing move towards the view that sees both sex and gender as constructed to some extent by culture (Moore & Scott 1997 contains a number of relevant discussions and a good bibliography). Modern European society insists that we are of either male or female sex and this identification applies from the cradle to the grave. The solid body is the primary indicator of sex/gender. Or as Alphonso Lingis says: “The codes of our culture have as their aim to make isomorphic primary core gender identity, determined by genetic psychobiochemical factors and by the character of the biopsychic imprinting of the first months of life, the gender identity attributed to us by others and that we attribute subjectively to ourselves, and the optative gender identity we desire or envy.” (Lingis 1994: 154). People who are uncomfortable with their biological sex — and hence the social gender society expects them to develop — and wish to change it, almost invariably feel they have to change

their biology as well as their clothes, manner of speech, deportment and so on. Even then, changing the body is not always enough since one’s biology at birth is deemed immutable for certain legal purposes.14 Other cultures can vary dramatically in their coding of sex/gender. Age and stages in reproductive life can be a determining factor in gender identity, whether by stages of fertility (as noted above) or other criteria. Similarly, the sophistication and complexity of human interactions and possible world pictures allows the holding of what are, or seem to be to us, unresolved contradictory beliefs and views, for example a person may be acknowledged as biologically of one sex and also socially of the other sex/gender under certain circumstances. Vida Navarro draws attention to a pattern at Pontecagnano which might be related to this. In twelve cases both sex from bone and gender from artefacts agreed but in fourteen cases they did not, including two tombs for which the sex assignment was considered secure being based on pubic characteristics. Given the difficulty of secure sex assignments for the fragmentary remains at Pontecagnano — many of the assignments are ‘possible’ and ‘probable’ — she suggests that part of the misfit between the results from the two sorts of analysis may be due to inaccuracy in the anthropology. However, this seems unlikely in the case of the two sex assignments based on pubic characteristics, and Vida Navarro explains these misfits by suggesting that there is no one-to-one correspondence between biological sex and social gender and that the “misfits may tell us more about society than a perfect agreement would have”, that is that only most ‘warriors’ were men and most ‘weavers’ were women (Vida Navarro 1992: 95). While “ideas about physiology are central to a society’s classification of sex and the gendering of the body”, these ideas can vary dramatically (Gilchrist 1997: 43-4). Anthropology has documented examples of gender systems which are not simple binary structures. One example which confounds western views of the body is the ‘Sambia’ of Papua New Guinea (Herdt 1981). Here society is structured around a complex series of regulated exchanges of body fluids. In what Lingis calls a “fluid economy”, these exchanges include Sambia youths initially ingesting their mother’s milk and later the semen of older men in the community in order to grow, gain strength and most importantly to become men. Sambia gender identity is not determined by the innate morphology of the body, but is based in a person’s fluid substance, and is shifting and episodic relating to the movement of fluids between members of the society. Lingis points up the relative strangeness of this: “How utterly anomalous seems a society that could make of the whole period of the boy’s development from childhood to adulthood a period of exclusive, positively valued and erotically exciting homosexuality, could make of this homosexuality the royal road to heterosexuality! For us such a society could only risk its reproduction and such a culture its coherence.” (Lingis 1994: 140). Thus, we are presented with multiple possibilities for the construction of gender in Villanovan Etruria. It may be that gender was not seen as an isolatable characteristic but always as part of a set of characteristics that defined the person at one point in their lives or in a particular situation. For example, the razor is not a common item, it occurs in only a small number of tombs. This restriction to a. relatively small section of those accorded formal burial indicates that while the razor may only be associated with ‘male’ artefacts, it is not merely an indicator of maleness for then surely all men would get one, but perhaps rather of maleness and

some other aspect of the person’s social persona. Nor does it always mean that the person with whom it was found used it to shave their facial hair: a child (0-6 years of age) found in Quattro Fontanili tomb EEFF4 was accompanied by a wealthy set of tomb goods including a razor, sword, and three spearheads (QF 3: 233-41). ‘He’ could perhaps have wielded the weapons but presumably he would have had no beard to shave. In conclusion, it is clear that there is a split at Villanovan cemeteries between two groups of artefacts that may be interpreted as gender-related. The traditional assumptions about which artefacts can be identified as male or female related are largely upheld by the analysis, but local variations and additional patterns have also been revealed. Very striking is the large percentage of tombs at both Tarquinia and Veio without any of these gender indicators. This group does not appear to be ‘wealth’ or age related, or a result of chronological difference, nor is it confined to particular areas of the cemeteries and thus is unlikely to be a function of kinship group preference. Thus, the gender indicators presumably are significant of something other than simple femaleness or maleness. Perhaps it is not actually a single separate category. And it may be that the search for a clear-cut division between male and female in these cemeteries means that we are “in danger of reinforcing binary oppositions” (Moore 1997: 255) which we cannot assume were operating in Villanovan Etruria. Gender may not have been as primary a social distinction for them as it is for us, and therefore perhaps we should not assume that gender is one of the main features that is automatically and clearly expressed in burial.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS A Dr M. Aylwin Cotton Fellowship funded me while I wrote up this paper. The data on which it is based was collected over a number of years - during which time I received funding from various bodies - as an Ellaina Macnamara Memorial Scholar, as a scholar at the British School at Rome, the British Academy, and in Oxford from the Meyerstein and Craven Committees and Hertford College. Ellen Macnamara and David Ridgway gave valuable support and encouragement, and they and others gave me advice and criticism. Finally I would like to thank Ruth Whitehouse for inviting me to participate in the conference, and for being such a patient editor.

NOTES 1 I was given permission to examine the material from these cemeteries, and wish to thank

those who made this possible: Dott. Enrico Pellegrini at the Pigorini Museum, Rome EUR; Dott.ssa Lollini, Superintendant at the Archaeological Museum Ancona; and most importantly, at the Archaeological Museum/Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana in Florence where all but a handful of the tomb groups are conserved, many thanks to Dott.ssa A.M. Esposito, Inspector responsible for the Tarquinian material, who has given me every assistance in this long task, and also Dott. Stefano Bruni for help and advice, and also for tracking down the

vital site notebooks. 2 Many thanks to Dott.ssa F. Boitani, Inspector responsible for Veio at the Soprintendenza Archeologica per l’Etruria Meridionale at the Villa Giulia Museum, Rome, for giving me permission to examine the material from Quattro Fontanili both in Rome and at the Forte Borgiano, Civita Castellana, and for being consistently helpful with this research. 3 Nor I have to admit did it occur to me to weigh them when I examined the material. I hope to remedy this in the future. 4 In FFGG7-8 (QF3: 162-70). 5 I thank colleagues in Copenhagen for helpful suggestions concerning the possible functions of the Villanovan ‘spindles’, ‘distaffs’ and ‘thread spools’. 6 E.g. Dr Paul Roberts (pers. comm.). 7 No traces of the body were found at the bottom of the fossa, but some of the goods are arranged as though placed around and on a body. 8 M6 (Hencken 1968: 191), ‘Cassa with a bronze spindle’ (Ibid: 264), ‘Pozzo of March 10, 1883’ (Ibid: 266). 9 M6 (Hencken 1968: 191), ‘Pozzo of March 10, 1883’ (Ibid: 266), ‘Fossa with a bronze girdle with bird’ (Ibid: 269), ‘Cassa with a bronze girdle’ (Ibid: 273). 10 Infant I (0-6 yrs); Infant II (6/7-12/13 yrs); Youth (12/13-21 yrs); Adult (21-40 yrs); Mature (40-59 yrs); Senile (60+ yrs). 11 KK12, FFGG17, IIJJ13 - north loculus, and IIJJ13 - south loculus, all ‘perhaps’. 12 17 are ‘probably’ or ‘perhaps’ - AA12A, BB12-13A; DD12-13; DD14; DD13-14A; FF12A; GG13-14; GG14-15; GG11-12; HH7-8; HH9-10; HH14; II10-11; IIJJ8-9; JJ10; HHII9; GGHH10, and one (JJ8) is ‘almost certainly female’. 13 All ‘probably’, AA5-6; BB7-8; BB9-10. 14 Under British law men who undergo a sex-change to become women, are forbidden to marry men, as the law does not recognise them as female.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Alciati, G. & Passarello, P. 1963. Relazione su alcuni reperti ossei umani della necropoli dei “Quattro Fontanili”. QF 1: 273-9. Barber, E. 1991. Prehistoric textiles. Princeton University Press, Princeton. Barley, N. 1994. Smashing pots: feats of clay from Africa. British Museum, London. Bartoloni, G. & Delpino, F. 1979. Veio I: Introduzione allo studio delle necropoli arcaiche di Veio : il sepolcreto di Valle la Fata. Monumenti Antichi 50. Bartoloni, G., Berardinetti, A., Drago, L. & De Santis, A. 1994. Veio tra IX e VI sceolo A.C., primi resultati sull’analisi comparata delle necropoli veienti. Archeologia Classica: 1-46. Bianco Peroni, V. 1979. I rasoi nell’Italia continentale Pràhistorische Bronzefunde, 7, 2. C.H. Beck, Munich.

Buranelli, F. 1981. Proposta di interpretazione dello sviluppo topografico della necropoli di Casale del Fosso a Veio. In Peroni, R. (ed.), Necropoli e usi funerari nell’età del ferro: 19-45. Roma & Bari. Buranelli, F. 1983. La necropoli villanoviana “Le Rose” di Tarquinia. Quaderni del Centro di Studio per l’archeologia etrusco-italica, 6, Roma. Close-Brooks, J. 1965. Proposta per una divisione in fasi. Notizie degli Scavi: 53-64. Gilchrist, R. 1997. Ambivalent bodies: gender and medieval archaeology. In Moore, J. & Scott, E. (eds), Invisible People and Processes: writing gender and childhood into European archaeology: 42-58. Guidi, A. 1993. La necropoli veiente dei Quattro Fontanili, nel quadro della fase recente della prima età del ferro Italiana. Istituto di Studi Etruschi ed Italici, Biblioteca di ‘Studi Etruschi’: 26, Firenze. Hencken, H. 1968. Tarquinia, Villanovans and Early Etruscans. American School of Prehistoric Research 23. Peabody Museum, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Herdt, G. H. 1981. Guardians of the Flutes: idioms of masculinity. McGraw-Hill, New York. Hodson, F. R. 1990. Hallstatt, the Ramsauer graves: quantification and analysis. RömischGermanisches Zentralmuseum, Monographien, Band 16, Bonn. Iaia, C. 1995. Simbolismo funerario e organizazzione sociale a Tarquinia nelle fasi iniziali dell’età del ferro. In Negroni Catacchio, N. (ed.), Tipologia delle necropoli e rituali di deposizione: ricerche e scavi: 249-56. Preistoria e protostoria in Etruria, Atti del Secondo Incontro di Studi, Farnese 21-23 March 1993. Centro Studi di Preistoria e Archeologia, Milano. Jockenhovel, A. 1971. Die Rasiermesser in Mitteleuropa, Prähistorische Bronzefunde. 7, 1. C.H. Beck, Munich. Lingis, A. 1994. Foreign bodies. Routledge, London. Molleson, T. & Cox, M. 1993. The Spitalfields Project vol. 2: the anthropology, the middling sort. CBA Research Report 86, Council for British Archaeology, York. Moore, J. 1997. Conclusion: the visibility of the invisible. In Moore, J. & Scott, E. (eds), Invisible people and processes: writing gender and childhood into European archaeology: 251-7. Moore, J. & Scott, E. (eds) 1997. Invisible people and processes: writing gender and childhood into European archaeology. Leicester University Press, London. Morigi Govi, C. 1971. Il tintinnabulo della “Tomba degli ori” dell’Arsenale Militare di Bologna. Archeologia Classica, 23: 211-35. Pacciarelli, M. 1990. Comunità protourbane dell’Italia tirrenica. Unpublished doctoral thesis presented to the University “La Sapienza”, Rome. Passarello, P 1965. Relazione sui resti dentari di 35 individui della necropoli dei “Quattro Fontanili”. QF 2: 232-6. Passarello, P. 1967. Relazione sui resti dentari di una necropoli villanoviana in località “Quattro Fontanili”. QF 3: 281-6. Pernier, L. 1907. Corneto Tarquinia I-IV. Notizie degli Scavi: 45-82, 227-61, 321-47.

Peroni, R. (ed.) 1981. Necropoli e usi funerari nell’età del ferro. Roma & Bari. QF 1-7 = Various authors. Veio: scavi in una necropoli villanoviana in località Quattro Fontanili. Notizie degli Scavi. 1 = 1963: 77-297; 2 = 1965 : 49-236; 3 = 1967 : 87-286; 4 = 1970 : 178-329; 5 = 1972 : 195-384; 6 = 1975 : 63-184; 7 = 1976 : 149-220. Randall Maclver, D. 1924. Villanovans and Early Etruscans. Clarendon Press, Oxford. Randall Maclver, D. 1927. The Iron Age in Italy. Clarendon Press, Oxford. Salskov Roberts, H. 1968. Hun sad i sit hus og spandt uld. Nationalmuseets Arbejdsmark: 4558. Nationalmuseet, Copenhagen. Strömberg, A. 1993. Male or Female?: A methodological study of grave gifts as sexindicators in Iron Age burials from Athens. Paul Åstroms Förlag, Jonsered. Teegen, W.-R. 1995. Grave dimensions as a diagnostic tool for palaeodemography and social ranking. The example of Veio - Quattro Fontanili. In Christie, N. (ed.), Settlement and economy in Italy 1500 BC - AD 1500: 261-71. Papers of the Fifth Conference of Italian Archaeology, Oxbow Monograph 41. Oxbow, Oxford. Toms, J. 1986. The relative chronology of the Villanovan cemetery of Quattro Fontanili at Veii. Annali dell’Istituto Orientale di Napoli. Archeologia e Storia Antica, 8: 41-97. Vida Navarro, M.C. 1992. Warriors and weavers : sex and gender in Early Iron Age graves from Pontecagnano. Accordia Research Papers, 3 : 67-99. Zuffa, M. 1976. La civiltà villanoviana. Popoli e Civiltà dell’Italia Antica, 5: 199-363. Roma.

TABLES Table 1 Associations between spinning/weaving equipment and weapons/armour, razors and serpentine brooches in 425 tombs at Tarquinia

Bs Ts Sw Sf Rz Bh Sw Sp Ph Bronze spindle

10 1 3

.

.

.

.

.

.

Thread spool

1 6 4

1 .

.

.

.

.

Spindle whorl

3 4 132 12 2 .

.

.

.

Serpentine fibula .

1 12 85 33 2 2

4 18

Razor

.

. 2

33 84 3 2

6 14

Bz helmet

.

. .

2 3 3 1

3 .

Sword

.

. .

2 2 1 3

2 2

Spearhead

.

. .

4 6 3 2

8 1

Pottery helmet

.

. .

18 14 .

1 43

2

Table 2 Associations between spinning/weaving equipment and weapons/armour, razors and serpentine brooches in 490 tombs at Quattro Fontanili, Veio

Lw Bd Bs Ts Sw Sf Rz Sh Bh Sw Sp Ph Loomweight 1

.

.

.

.

1

.

.

.

.

.

.

Bz distaff

.

2 .

.

2

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Bz spindle

.

.

8 6 4

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Thread spool .

.

6 32 15 2

2 1 .

.

.

.

Spindle whorl .

2 4 15 99 1

.

.

.

.

Serp fibula

1

.

.

2 1

105 38 4 4 8

12 15

Razor

.

.

.

2 .

38 57 5 3 6

10 8

Shield

.

.

.

1 .

4

5 5 2 3

4 .

Bz helmet

.

.

.

.

.

4

3 2 4 2

3 .

Sword

.

.

.

.

.

8

6 3 2 9

6 .

Spearhead

.

.

.

.

.

12 10 4 3 6

23 .

Pottery helmet .

.

.

.

.

15 8 .

.

.

.

.

.

24

Bz = Bronze; Serp fibula = Serpentine fibula Table 3 Associations between various artefact classes in 425 tombs at Tarquinia

Bs Ts Sw 2 Bb 1 3 Cf 5 Af 4 Cp M/j Sf B1 Ax Pt Rz Ph Bh Sw Sp Bz spindle

10 1 3

.

.

22 4 2 7

. 3 4

.

.

.

. .

.

.

.

.

Thread spool 1 6 4

.

.

. .

. .

1 .

.

. .

.

.

.

.

Spindle whorl 3 4 132 5 .

3 9 29 8 82 3 25 33 12 .

.

. 2 .

.

.

.

2

.

. 5

11 .

1 8 6 4 10 . 3 3

. .

Bz belt

.

. .

.

1

2 . 3

1 .

3

2 . 9

8 1 2 25 10 7 19 2 6 8

Comp fibula

4 1 29 6 .

5 10 53 6 34 3 15 20 6 .

.

1 4 2 .

5

2 1 8

2 7 6 16 12 3 7 6

.

2 2 .

Arch fibula

7 4 82 10 2 6 19 34 12 176 3 43 47 17 .

1 1 18 5 .

4

.

1 .

.

1 1 .

Cup

3 . 25 3 .

4 6 15 7 43 . 79 38 14 .

.

Mug/jug

4 . 33 3 .

3 8 20 6 47 1 38 91 20 1 1 2 17 9 .

Serp fibula

.

. 2 6 3 17 1 14 20 85 1 .

. 3

2 . 1 .

4 . .

1 12 .

1 1 4

.

.

.

2

72 5 2 6

. 2 3 3 3

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

1 . 1 .

.

.

.

. 4 3

.

.

.

.

.

.

1 1

1

. .

4.

1

2 . 3 .

. 1 .

1 1 3 .

.

.

2 1

2

.

1

1 1

1

3 18 11 1 .

4

.

2

3 33 18 2 2

4

Blade

.

. .

.

.

. .

.

.

.

. .

1

1 3 .

1 2 .

.

.

1

Axe

.

. .

.

1 . 1 .

.

1

. .

1

.

2 . 1 .

.

.

.

Puntale

.

. .

.

.

7 5 1 3 2

4

Razor

.

. 2

.

1 1 3 4 2 18 1 18 17 33 2 1 5 84 14 3 2

6

Pottery helmet .

. .

.

.

. .

2

1

Bz helmet

.

. .

.

.

Sword

.

. .

.

Spearhead

.

. .

.

. 1 1 2 1 2 .

13 2

.

3 1 .

5

. 11 9

18 .

.

1 14 43 .

. 1 .

2 .

11 .

2 .

.

3 3 .

3 1

3

.

. 1 .

1 .

1.

2 .

.

2 2 2 1 3

2

.

. 1 .

2 1

14 2

4 1 .

4 6 1 3 2

8

.

Bz = Bronze; Comp fibula = Composite fibula; Serp fibula = Serpentine fibula Table 4 Associations betweenvarious artefact classes in 490 tombs at Quattro Fontanili, Veio

Lw Bd Bs Ts Sw Bb 5 1 2 3 Cf Af Cp M/j 4 B1 Ax Pt Sf Rz Sh Bh Sw Sp Loomwt

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

. 1 1

1

.

.

1 .

1 1

.

.

.

.

.

Bz distaff .

2 .

.

2

.

.

.

.

. .

2

2

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Bz spindle

.

.

8 6 4

. 6 8

6

2

1 .

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Thread spool

.

.

6 32 15 7 4 7 3 3 11 19 23 4

2 1 .

.

.

1

.

5 4 4 .

2 3 2 1 2

Sp whorl .

2 4 15 99 5 3 5 8 5 17 85 38 10 3 1 2 8 1

.

.

.

.

.

Bronze belt

.

.

5 7 5

14 4 5 1 1 7 12 8

3

2 .

2 .

.

.

.

.

.

.

5

.

.

4 4 3

4 10 5 1 1 7 7

6

2

.

.

.

.

1

.

.

.

.

.

1

.

.

4 7 5

5 5 10 .

1 7 10 6

2

.

.

1 .

.

.

.

.

.

.

2

.

.

3 8 1

1 .

13 2 7 13 8

2

.

1 2 1 .

.

.

.

.

.

.

3

.

.

3 5 1

1 1 2 8 17 4

1

2

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Comp fib 1

.

6 11 17 7 7 7 7 1 41 33 25 5

1 1 1 1

1

Arch fibula

1

2 8 19 85 12 7 10 13 7 33 201 79 22 4 9 5 15 10 6 1 .

Cup

1

2 6 23 38 8 6 6 8 4 25 79 187 32 7 19 7 23 37 24 5 2 9

13

Mug/jug

.

.

2 4 10 3 2 2 2 1 5 22 32 48 2 5 1 4 10 4 1 1 3

4

4

.

.

1 2 3

2 .

.

.

4

Blade

1

.

.

3 1

.

.

1 . 1 9

Axe

.

.

.

2 2

2 .

.

21 4

1 2 . 2 5

7

2

.

1 .

1 1 2 4 2

10 1 1 3 5

19 5

1 29 .

7

1 .

1

4 1 2 2

7 17 9 1 .

11 6 3

2

6

2

6

4 2 2 2

4

Puntale

1

.

.

1 8

.

.

.

1 1 4 15 23 4

Serp fibula

1

.

.

2 1

.

.

.

Razor

.

.

.

2 .

.

.

Shield

.

.

.

1 .

.

Bz helmet .

.

.

.

.

Sword

.

.

.

.

Spearhead .

.

.

Pott helmet

.

.

.

3 7 6 38 14 8 3 2 6

12

.

. 2 10 37 10 5 17 3 14 105 38 4 4 8

12

.

.

. 1 6

24 4

4 9 4 8 38 57 5 3 6

10

.

.

.

. 1 1

5

1

1 1 2 3 4

5 5 2 3

4

.

.

.

.

. 1 .

2

1

2 .

2 2 4

3 2 4 2

3

.

.

.

.

.

. 1 2

9

3

2 2 2 6 8

6 3 2 9

6

.

.

.

.

.

.

. 1 6

13 4

4 6 4 12 12 10 4 3 6

23

.

.

.

.

.

.

. .

2

.

.

1

.

.

.

1 15 8 .

.

.

Loomwt = Loomweight; Sp whorl = Spindle whorl; Bz = Bronze; Comp fib = Composite fibula; Serp fibula = Serpentine fibula; Pott helmet = Pottery Helmet Table 5 13 tombs from Quattro Fontanili. Comparison between bone and artefact analysis

bone artefact analysis analysis

Tomb

Age

AA5-6

late prob F 50s

F

Spindle whorl (4 arch fibulas)

AA12A c. 30 prob F

F

Spindle whorl, 15 thread spools, bronze spindle (bronze belt and 7 arch fibulas)

4059

F

Spindle whorl (3 arch fibulas)

BB7-8

prob F

Gender indicators in tomb (possibles in brackets)

HH14 c. 25

perhaps F F

Spindle whorl, (20 of ornament 5, and 3 arch fibulas)

IIJJ8-9 c. 35

perhaps F F

Spindle whorl, 3 thread spools

JJ8

c. 50

aim cert F F

Spindle whorl, (4 arch fibulas)

JJ10

2025

prob F

F

Spindle whorl

BB12- 2013A 25

prob M

M

Razor

DD135-6 14A

perhaps M M

Serpentine fibula

GG13- 6-7 14

perhaps M M

1520

perhaps M M

HH7-8

Spearhead (axe) Serpentine fibula, (two iron knives)

GG14perhaps c. 15 M 15 F HHII9 7-8

Serpentine fibula

perhaps M F

Serpentine fibula, sword

prob = probably ; aim cert = almost certainly Table 6 65 tombs from Quattro Fontanili by age-class and gender

Ageclass

Tombs with male goods

Tombs with female goods

Tombs not gendered by tomb goods

Infant I

7

3

6

Infant II 4

2

6

Youth

3

1

3

Adult

3

8

6

Mature

2

5

6

Total

19

19

27

Women’s roles in Iron Age Basilicata, south Italy Indigenous women in indigenous and Greek contexts Marina J. Markantonatos This paper is concerned with indigenous women and their range of social and political interactions during the Iron Age in Basilicata, South Italy. The following discussion is based upon an archaeological analysis of indigenous and Greek habitation areas and necropoleis. The information that these contexts and artefacts provide will be used to elucidate the range of indigenous women’s interactions with indigenous men and with non-indigenous (i.e. Greek) males. First, I will define the range of roles available to indigenous women using cross cultural comparisons with the New World to establish potential roles for indigenous women in contact situations. Second, I will briefly discuss the types of archaeological contexts used in this study. Third, I will investigate a series of relationships that Iron Age indigenous women could have had in Basilicata based upon the archaeological evidence. These relationships can be summarised as follows: 1 Indigenous female with an indigenous male 2 Indigenous female with a Greek trader 3 Indigenous female with Greek colonists Fourth, I will discuss an unusual set of sixth century elite, indigenous female graves and the implications for women performing socio-cultic roles during this period in Basilicata. I will conclude with a discussion of the range of roles available to indigenous women in Iron Age South Italy and the implications for gender studies in other areas during contact and colonial situations. I begin by outlining the spatial and chronological parameters of this study.

PARAMETERS: PERIOD, PLACE AND INDIGENOUS POPULATION The chronological parameters for this study are 900-550 BC. This period comprises the First Iron Age (900-675/650 BC)1 and part of the Greek colonisation period in Magna Grecia (700550 BC).

Fig. 1 Map indicating the location of some indigenous settlements in the 8th century BC and the future Greek colony sites located in Basilicata and northern Calabria. See specifically Siris and Metaponto. After Carter 1993: Figure 13

This study focusses on the region of Basilicata in south Italy (fig. 1)2 and includes both east and west Basilicata. In previous studies these areas have usually been differentiated as having fallen under the influence of two separate Greek colonies (Metaponto and Siris) which were

established on the Ionic coast. But by carefully reviewing the indigenous settlements in these two areas, as well as integrating Yntema’s (1985) classification of the local Matt Painted pottery, the conviction arose that both areas should be studied as a unit, based on the similarities and contrasts they present during the period of interaction with the Greeks. The indigenous population who inhabited east and west Basilicata are referred to as the Enotrians (Oenotrians) and the Chones by Strabo (6.1.10 and 6.1.2 respectively). These tribal names appear in the ancient sources, but can be interpreted two ways. First they may reflect the actual names of these groups of indigenous peoples. Or, second, they may only reflect the Greek names given to these indigenous groups by the Greeks (Whitehouse & Wilkins 1985: 912). Therefore, with this doubt as to the applicability of these names born in mind,3 the terms Enotrians and Chones will not be used in this paper. In this paper the terms ‘Indigeni’ (with a capital ‘I’ to denote the ethnic identification of this group in this study versus the Greeks with capital ‘G’), ‘indigenous population’, ‘locals’, and ‘native population’ will be used to denote the indigenous inhabitants of east and west Basilicata between 900-550 BC.

WOMEN’S ROLES DURING CONTACT AND COLONIAL PERIODS: THE NEW WORLD AND SOUTHERN ITALY. This study focusses on the range of potential roles that Indigenous women in South Italy occupied in the Iron Age. By looking at other contact and colonial situations, we gain perspective about the types of roles that South Italian women could have potentially played as ‘cultural mediators’,4 first between the Greek traders and indigenous population, and later between the Greek colonists and the indigenous population. Examining Native American women’s roles as cultural mediators in the New World, Kidwell (1992: 97) enlightens us to the variety and importance of roles that Native American women performed during the contact period in the New World. There is an important Indian woman in virtually every major encounter between Europeans and Indians in the New World. As mistresses or wives, they counseled, translated, and guided white men who were entering new territory. While men made treaties and carried on negotiations and waged war, Indian women lived with white men, translated their words, and bore their children. Theirs was the more sustained and enduring contact with new cultural ways, and they gave their men an entree into the cultures and communities of their own people. In this way, Indian women were the first important mediators of meaning between the cultures of two worlds. (Kidwell 1992: 97)5 The roles that Kidwell covers can also be used as a springboard to establish a range of roles that South. Italian Iron Age indigenous women could have preformed during the contact and colonisation period in South Italy (after 750 BC); specifically as mistresses, wives, counsellors, translators, guides, companions, mothers, liaisons, granters of entrance into the indigenous group, and cultural mediators. Indigenous women could also be used by both sides (indigenous and Greek) as points of real and fictive kinship and for creating trade and

economic alliances, especially among the elite. The range of social roles available to indigenous women in South Italy in their own culture could also have enlarged after contact with the Greeks to include potential socio-cultic leaders, at least on rare occasions (see below, p.189). As acculturators of their ‘creole’ children, indigenous women in Iron Age South Italy could have contributed to the blending of the indigenous and Greek cultures (see below, pp. 185-7). This impact on children and companions is also noted by Kidwell in the New World: Women, perceived as powerless by European men and voiceless in the historical records, are nevertheless powerful in the roles that they play in their own cultures, and even more powerful in the impact that they have on their husbands or consorts and on the children of those liaisons. (Kidwell 1992: 98) While this statement was about Native American women’s experience, it could enlighten us as to the types of impact that South Italian indigenous women could have had among the Greeks, a subject which is not addressed by the Greek sources for this area. The omission of indigenous women in the ancient texts does not deny their actual presence and a series of indigenous graves found at the Greek cemetery of Madonnelle and Schirone (in the environs of ancient Siris) may attest both to presence and importance of these indigenous women acting as mothers and companions in the Greek polis (see below, p. 187). Therefore, when we discuss ‘gender’ issues in this study, we are discussing two specific questions: 1 The expansion and transformation of indigenous women’s gender roles during periods of contact and colonisation.6 2 The ability of some elite indigenous females to attain positions of power in their own culture during the sixth century BC. Gender relationships are socially constructed relationships. But certain exceptional gender roles clarify that relationships based on gender, status, and age7 may all have their own set of caveats which coalesce into the potentiality and reality of one person’s particular range of gender roles. This broader range of gender roles based upon differing status is seen in some of the elite female indigenous burials discussed below, pp. 189-91. Previously South Italian Iron Age society has been assumed to be a male dominated society. But this perception may be slightly corroded by rare examples of elite females who attain power within their own cultures during the period of Greek colonisation.

ARCHAEOLOGICAL CONTEXTS IN BASILICATA Before discussing the implications that habitation and burial evidence have for the study of gender roles of Iron Age women in Basilicata, we briefly need to cover the types of evidence used and potential shortcomings in the burial record.

Habitation evidence in Basilicata The habitation evidence at indigenous sites consists of huts (with hollowed out foundations in the soft bedrock) and an array of indigenous and Greek ceramics8. At contact sites the evidence is usually hut foundations which Greek traders may also have inhabited9.

Burial evidence in Basilicata The burial evidence in Basilicata, both for the Indigeni and the Greeks, consists of the actual burial or cremation and the burial artefacts noted during the excavations. Both indigenous and Greek necropoleis were examined. A quick analysis of the typical burial practices in the Basilicata area will help the reader understand the assignation of ethnicity based on burial practice, context and goods. In east Basilicata most indigenous inhumations are in a flexed position, which aligns with the burial practices in Apulia to the east (Bianco 1990: 8). West Basilicatan indigenous burials generally contain inhumations in a supine position and this shows their cultural affinity to the Tyrrhenian coast, to the west, and to the Campanians, to the north (Bianco 1990: 8). Cremation is not part of the indigenous burial practices in Basilicata, with the single exception of the Late Bronze Age Protovillanovan-type cremations at Timmari, in east Basilicata, which predate the period of study.10 Therefore cremation is thought to represent the presence of Greeks or an indigenous person exposed to Greek influence. The Greeks themselves either use cremations, as at the Greek cemetery of Siris-Policoro, or inhumations in a supine position, as at Metaponto. Therefore it is easy to note the presence of east Basilicatans in Greek cemeteries but discerning west Basilicatan Indigeni versus Greek colonials requires close attention to the burial goods, specifically the presence of indigenous vases and burial context.

Burial caveats Before continuing, a few caveats need to be noted concerning burial evidence in Basilicata. Some of the burial evidence comes from salvage excavations which vary both in quality and detail of the recorded data. In addition, the determination of sex in burials is nearly always derived from the type of burial offering or adornments. Only a few burials had the benefit of physical analysis, since physical anthropology focussing on the Indigeni is just becoming available in Basilicata (Becker 1982: 150-1; Carter 1990). Coldstream, in a lecture at the British School of Athens (April 1992), addressed the same problem at the site of Pithekoussai. Physical anthropologists first examined and determined the gender of cremations by carefully examining the partially preserved burned bones from the cremations. They then compared their results with those determined by burial goods alone and found only a small percentage did not agree with the original sex determination which was based on burial goods solely.11 It has also been suggested recently that burials goods can indicate gender as well as family power and status in Athenian Iron Age burials. Stromberg reports that “Through a methodological study and with the help of an exclusion principle it is demonstrated that some

sex-indicating items from all the three main periods in the Iron Age of Athens do exist. Also a number and certain combinations of objects turn out to indicate male or female sex.” (Stromberg 1993: abstract). Stromberg (1993: 34) also affirms that power and status implications for Iron Age burials can be derived from analysis of the burial goods. It was decided to work with the Basilicata Iron Age burials and use the preassigned gender of the skeleton (based on the description supplied by the archaeologists who themselves had made the attribution of gender based on the burial goods), because Becker’s and Stromberg’s conclusions posit a strong correlation between sex based on physical analysis and sex based on associated burial goods. Obviously the next step in the future is to have all extant skeletal remains from this Iron Age data-set re-checked by physical anthropologists.

INDIGENOUS FEMALES AND THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL RECORD In this section different sets of relationships that indigenous women could have been involved in between 900-550 BC, both within their own culture and in Greek culture, will be covered. These relationships are suggested based on the burial and habitation record. While some of the relationships are obvious, (i.e. spouse/companion to an indigenous male), some of the information revealed about gender roles during contact situations is more subtle.

Indigenous women with indigenous males The most obvious social relationship for an indigenous women would be to marry or bond within her own group, i.e. east Basilicatans with east Basilicatans, etc. There is also evidence that east Basilicatans and west Basilicatans intermixed, as exemplified by grave T2 found at Masseria Incoronata-La Cappella. T2 contained a supine skeleton listed as probably female (Chiartano 1977: 18). This female burial contained metal ornaments which are used to support the conclusion that this was a high status individual, as well as T2’s location among other elite burials. Based on T2’s unusual supine burial position in a necropolis characterised by flexed burials and the early date of this burial (between the late ninth century BC and 750 BC, when the Greek presence is still minimal in this area) it seems reasonable to posit a west Basilicata identity for T2. T2, if truly a west Basilicatan, is indicative of exogamous marriage between east and west Basilicatans at the elite level. This burial indicates that within indigenous society elite women seem to be moving about (or being moved about?) infrequently, perhaps consolidating fictive kinship or economic relations. This woman’s relationship to the group she married into would be partially dictated by her elite status, as indicated by the metal artefacts found in her grave. The burial ornaments in this grave (bronze rings, fibula, armlets) can be characterised as a female assemblage (Chiartano 1977: 84, 87), indicative of elite status, but not indicative of any extraordinary gender roles. On pages 189-91 I will discuss a series of exceptional elite burials which may indicate broadened gender roles for indigenous women in the sixth century BC.

Indigenous women and Greek traders When attempting to document indigenous women’s interactions and potential cohabitation with Greek traders, a series of coastal huts located along the Ionian coast at proprietà Andrisani (Metaponto), proprietà Lazzera (Metaponto), and Castello del Barone (Siris), (all dating after 700 BC), prove a worthy area for discussion. These huts are surprising because there is a preconception that the indigenous population settled on the valley ridges only, and because the huts raise the issue of acculturation and cohabitation between the Indigeni and the pre-colonial and colonial Greeks at Siris and Metaponto. At Andrisani (located under the later Metaponto urban area of the classical period) Structures A and B (650-600 BC) both provide glimpses of early habitation in this area (De Siena 1986a: 142-5). The location and date of these two structures put their occupation in the Metapontine area with an abandonment phase just prior to the Greek colony’s foundation12 (De Siena 1990: 85). The pottery recovered contained imported and colonial Greek, indigenous and bucchero sherds.13 Do these remains mark the presence of a Greek who chose to live in an indigenous-type abode just prior to the establishment of the Greek colony, or possibly a mixed Greek-indigenous group, as Adamesteanu has proposed for this site (Carter 1993: 350-2).14 Or were Indigeni living in the Metaponto area just prior to the establishment of the Greek colony, as De Siena has suggested occurred at this site (De Siena 1990: 87). The presence of these huts at Andrisani prove two points. First the Indigeni actually inhabited the Ionian coastal area, based on the presence of the fossa huts. But the ceramic remains inside the huts attest to a Greek presence, either through trade or cohabitation. This hut could be interpreted as a place of cohabitation. It is at such a hut that one could postulate the presence of a Greek trader and indigenous female companion. Another oval hut was found at propriété Lazazzera dating between 650-600 BC and located in the future urban area of Metaponto (De Siena 1990: 87). Hut A87 contained colonial and imported Greek material, many sherds from Corinthian transport amphorae, and a fragment of a Matt Painted bichrome olla (De Siena 1990: 87). The presence of predominantly Greek ceramics in this hut may mean that a Greek resided in this indigenous-type hut circa 650-600 BC or, conversely, these goods may indicate the presence of an indigenous resident with trade connections to the Greeks. At Siris the earliest habitation was located on the hillock of Castello del Barone. A large ellipsoidal fossa (circa 6.60m) was found (Tagliente 1986c: 129). In the fill inside the pit-hut two levels could be differentiated. In level 1 the ceramics dated after 650 BC and include impasto, Greek archaic sherds and fragments of mud brick from the hut. The inhabitant of this level could be interpreted as a Greek. In the lower level 2 (700-650 BC) river cobbles and Early and Middle Protocorinthian cups and skyphoi sherds were found, as well as impasto sherds, one locally produced deinos, hydriae and amphorae sherds (Tagliente 1986c: 129-30). Tagliente points out that only one fragment of a brocchetta can be considered an indigenous production (Tagliente 1986b: 195). Level 2, based on the predominance of Greek pottery, could be interpreted as showing evidence for a Greek person inhabiting a hut structure on top of the hillock where and while the colony of Siris was being established.15 Alternatively, level 2 could theoretically be an example of a mixed indigenous and Greek household, with the

indigenous female using her traditional cooking wares and the Greek male adding his imported wares to the household set.16 These huts on the coastline exemplify possible points of coexistence and cohabitation between the Indigeni and Greek traders. Further inland, at Incoronata Greca, there are additional hut foundations with mixed Greek and indigenous ceramics. These huts point to the possibility of coexistence and cohabitation between the Indigeni and Greeks at this site thought possibly to be an emporium.17 Pre-colonial traders and colonists had to deal with the indigenous population from the beginning for regular trade, and later they had to arrange a means of land accessibility in the earliest sites of Greek colonial habitation at Siris (Castello del Barone) and the Metapontine urban area. The archaeological evidence suggests a fluidity in the interaction patterns based on daily contact between the Indigeni and the Greeks during the pre-colonial and earliest colonial phase in the areas of Siris and Metaponto. As De Siena, who published preliminary notes on the propriété Lazazzera and propriété Andrisani huts and excavated the site of Incoronata Indigena, has concluded, at the moment of the colonial foundations one cannot see a simple substitution or destruction associated with the arrival of the first Achaean colonists (De Siena 1986a: 150). Rather, both the indigenous population and the Greek colonists seem, for a period, to have operated contemporaneously in the same area (De Siena 1986a: 150) reflecting a temporary situation of peaceful co-existence typical of contact situations.18 These coastal huts not only have implications for interactions between Indigeni and Greek traders, but also implications for possible relationships between indigenous women and Greeks. Specifically in the levels of the huts where the ceramic assemblage shows the presence of predominantly Greek wares,19 but also contain some indigenous domestic wares, this combination could also suggest a mixed couple. In this case scenario, the indigenous female continues to use her cooking assemblage of indigenous wares, but these ceramics are augmented by her foreign companion’s own set of pottery (the Greek wares). This is a hypothesis and needs to be explored further. But we are attempting to document moments of interactions between Greek traders and indigenous women and these huts may represent such possibilities. What do these huts intimate concerning gender roles? May we make the assumption that if there is a Greek male/indigenous female couple in the hut, that her roles will be domestic, as well as providing a counterpoint for interactions between the Greek traders and the Indigeni? This would then follow a similar pattern of interaction as among certain Native American women who proved to be cultural mediators (Kidwell 1992: 97) between themselves and their companions (and between their culture and their companions culture). By suggesting that such interactions and relationships could have existed at coastal contact points, we allow ourselves to explore potential roles that indigenous women fulfilled during the period prior to Greek colonisation in South Italy.

Indigenous women and Greek colonists When documenting the presence of indigenous women among the Greek colonists, we turn to the area of the ancient Greek polis known as Siris. The Greek necropoleis at Madonnelle and

Schirone (Siris) provide the best mortuary evidence for Greek and indigenous cohabitation. Both Greeks and Indigeni20 seem to be buried in these two necropoleis (Berlingo 1986: 122, Bianco & Tagliente 1985: 78). It is hypothesised that their burial in the same community necropolis represents their habitation within the same community, specifically early Siris. At the proprietà Madonnelle necropolis, dating between 700-550 BC, more than 229 burials were found (Berlingo 1986: 120). There are three types of burials: (1) fossa burials with the deceased in a flexed position (containing Indigeni) (7 adults and 4 children); (2) enchytrismos burials (inhumation in a local or imported urn) usually for infants/children (65 burials); and (3) secondary cremation with deposition in a Greek or indigenous vase (containing Greeks and probably Indigeni) (94 cremations). Looking at the Greek necropolis of Madonnelle in more detail, there were “seven cases (4% of the total of adults) of inhumations in simple fossa burials in flexed position, according to the indigenous funeral ritual . . . Burial goods were present in three cases, always of a local indigenous production.‘ (Berlingo 1986: 122). Based on burial position and burial type, these seven burials seem to contain east Basilicata Indigeni. It should be noted that these cases represent the Indigeni who warranted burial in the Greek community necropolis. The indigenous vessels found in the fossa burials also supports the attribution of these burials as indigenous (Berlingo 1986: 122). Infants were found in enchytrismos burials, both a Greek and indigenous custom, and 65 such burials were located at Madonnelle. There were 12 child/adolescent fossa burials which contained supine inhumations. Four of these graves had burial goods. Four fossa burials were found with inhumations in a flexed position without burial goods (Berlingo 1986: 122). These latter four burials may have contained four east Basilicata indigenous children who were buried in traditional style. Their presence in this necropolis represents their inclusion in the community. They could be the children of resident Indigeni. Recent excavations at Madonnelle reinforce the evidence for an indigenous presence in this Greek necropolis. Emergency excavations took place at the extreme western limit of the Madonnelle necropolis in 1991 (Bottini 1992:193-4). Twenty-six burials were recovered. Twenty were enchytrismos burials, with five burials in local vases and the rest in imported Attic and Corinthian amphorae and two hydriae. There was one cremation in a small fossa. There were five inhumations, three in a supine position and two in a flexed position (Bottini 1992: 194). The two flexed fossa burials probably represent the presence of two Indigeni buried in traditional east Basilicata indigenous style in this Greek necropolis. This brings the total number of traditional east Basilicata indigenous flexed fossa burials at Madonnelle to thirteen. The four child/adolescent inhumations in a flexed position and the seven adult inhumations in a flexed position, plus two more flexed fossa burials found in 1991 by Bottini (1992: 194), are thought to represent the presence of thirteen local East Basilicata indigenous inhabitants and “used to confirm the mixed character, both Greek and indigenous, of this necropolis.” (Bianco & Tagliente 1985: 78). Cremations were found at the Greek necropolis at Madonnelle. Out of a total of 94

cremations usually in Greek imported vessels or colonially produced vessels, there were also 27 indigenous impasto situle used as cremation urns. These are the same types of impasto situle as used at indigenous sites. In only five cases do these vessels contain burial goods, which are specifically of an indigenous production (Berlingo 1986: 124). These five cases look strongly to represent the presence of acculturated Indigeni cremated in indigenous vessels, with indigenous burial goods (pots) — but having adopted the Greek burial practice of cremation. At the Greek necropolis of Schirone similar cremations in indigenous impasto vessels with indigenous burial goods were located.21 This necropolis dates from 700-650 BC. Secondary cremation burials with deposition in a vase were found at Schirone.22 In 1971, one third of the cremations vessels, i.e. 26 cremations,23 excavated at Schirone (Siris) were in indigenous vases, impasto situle (Adamesteanu 1971b: 643, 646). Those cremations in impasto situle contained only small indigenous vases (Adamesteanu 1971a: 484; 1974: 113). Greek cremations, those in Greek imported or colonially produced pithoi, amphorae, or hydriae, contain all Greek burial goods, specifically Protocorinthian vases (Adamesteanu 1971a: 484; 1974: 113). The appearance of these cremations in impasto situle has led Adamesteanu (1971a: 484) and Tagliente (1986b: 198 fn 16) to suggest that the people cremated in these vessels were Indigeni, and more importantly ‘Hellenised’ Indigeni. These indigenous cremations show the adoption of the Greek practice of cremation while maintaining the traditional indigenous burial assemblage, i.e. the presence of indigenous vessels in the cremations. These cremations would signify the acculturation of some Indigeni buried at the Schirone necropolis in the seventh century BC.24 At present the evidence is that Indigeni are buried in two Greek necropoleis, which would indicate semi-inclusion in Greek society. Some Indigeni did not adopt Greek burial practices but continue to use their own traditional burial practices, perhaps to express their ethnic identity. This maintenance of traditional burial practice may also be the subtle expression of the non-inclusion in the acculturation process. In contrast, the indigenous cremations represent partially acculturated Indigeni who adopted Greek cremation practices. These indigenous adult inhumations and cremations (which have not been sexed) possibly represent the presence of indigenous companions and/or spouses. Indigenous women could have served in traditional gender roles, such as mothers and companions, but by acculturating their children they propagated their own culture and enabled a blending of the two cultures within the colonial setting. If there were indigenous mothers in the Greek polis or chora then their children would reflect and possibly propagate this mixed heritage.25 Indigenous women also could have served as contacts, negotiators or translators between the Greek group they were residing with and their own ethnic group. The possible presence of indigenous women in the Greek polity necropoleis of Siris-Policoro raises the issue of local wives and more importantly a mixed culture of Greek-indigenous population in the ancient Greek polis.

INDIGENOUS ELITE WOMEN AND SOME UNUSUAL

BURIAL GOODS We return now to the theme of indigenous women in their own culture and some unusual elite burials which lead me to question previous assumptions of indigenous socio-cultic roles and organisation, at least among the elite26 female Indigeni in the Late Iron Age. Some indigenous females are the recipients of many valuable burial goods in the eighth century and later. It is difficult to determine what kind of status and power is symbolised by these goods. The acquisition or possession of many metal and exotic grave goods may indicate that a few elite women attained positions of prestige and power within their culture. There are even rare occasions when very rich female burials with metal tools and ornamental paraphernalia and weaponry are found. In Basilicata, the sickles found in female elite graves appear to have been functional, and modern Greek parallels of women as the cutters of wheat could apply to one function of these tools. In other words, some functional farm tools deposited in female burials were probably exactly that, both functional as well as her property. But the inclusion of sickles in the burial context also signifies that these tools have symbolic meaning. These tools may symbolise the land ‘owned’ by the woman in question or possibly power in the agricultural arena. But the ceremonial paraphernalia and weapons infrequently found in elite female burials require interpretation. Ceremonial paraphernalia, weapons, helmets and metal objects can be interpreted as high status luxury goods (frequently supplied by long distance trade networks) which only the elite manage to acquire. These goods may also represent certain positions, for example, it is suspected that lances and swords not only indicate elite status but are restricted to elite power brokers (i.e. big men or, in this case study, big women). Therefore, ceremonial paraphernalia and weapons can be referred to as symbols of power in the social and ritual realms. Herring (1991a: 122) discussing the Greek weapons traded to the indigenous South Italian elite population, posits that they are not only expressions of ‘wealth’: they are expressions of power. This may be seen most notably in the weapons. This role would only have been enhanced if the native social elite controlled external trade. Having these products would, thus, have been the expressions of that involvement and by extension potent symbols of social status. (Herring 1991a: 122)27 Usually weapons and banquet paraphernalia are used to distinguish male graves, but some times these items are found in female graves, as in T42 at Roccanova Serre, which contains a spit (Tocco Sciarelli 1980: 454). Can we extrapolate that ceremonial weapons and paraphernalia are symbols of power for indigenous women (in the social and ritual realm) or just symbols of high status? For indigenous men, ornamental weapons and paraphernalia are symbols of status and power. To illustrate this problem, elite female burials that contain weapons and ceremonial paraphernalia will be examined. Two of these burials were found at Chiaromonte-sotto La Croce, an eighth and sixth century necropolis where seventy tombs were found. T96, a sixth century female burial, contained a bronze tripod as well as spits (spiedi) and fire dogs (alari) which indicates an ideology sanctions the prestigious role of the

deceased” (Bianco 1991b: 599). In T154, another female burial, iron spits and firedogs were found as well as a gold and silver beaded necklace and silver earrings and other ornamental goods (Bianco 1991b: 599). At Alianello-contrada Cazziola, Bianco notes the presence of iron fire dogs, spits, knives and weapons in some particularly rich female burials, which he states are “significant elements of prestige” (Bianco 1991a: 588). The preceding sites and burials are all in west Basilicata, and it is interesting to note that northwest of Basilicata at the site of Pontecagnano, in Tomb 215, a similar rare occurrence is noted. This burial contains a securely identified female (based on physical analysis) but she has acquired two male items — a clay helmet and a plate. Vida Navarro wonders if this was “perhaps the tomb of a woman who acquired some aspects of male status in society” (Vida Navarro 1992: 95). There is a hint that elite females in east Basilicata also managed to acquire these items and possibly the status, prestige and power associated with them. At San Francisco (Matera), in an unnumbered tomb, a geometric krater, a bronze armband, a large amber necklace and an iron sword were found. The tomb was dated between 610-600 BC (Adamesteanu 1976: 111). The burial was not examined by physical anthropologists. The sword generally would signal a male, but the large amber necklace and bronze armband are traditionally elite female ornaments in this area and lead one to suggest that this is a female burial with a sword. If the field archaeologists who have made the gender identifications of the previous burials are correct that the tombs listed above contain elite females, then this raises the original question of the significance of weapons and ceremonial paraphernalia in elite female burials. Two alternative theories explain the tools and weapons seen in female burials. The metal tools, such as the reaping hocks and blades, seen in female burials T3 (1970) San Teodoro and T9 at Masseria Incoronata-La Capella (Chiartano 1977: 34, 83) were functional and could have been used in domestic pursuits. Furthermore, these tools may symbolise power in the agricultural realm. On the other hand, the ceremonial paraphernalia and weapons seen in some elite female burials may indicate that elite women were able to attain positions of prestige and power within this culture in the sixth century BC. This could be taken to signify that the positions of control were not limited to males. Ceremonial paraphernalia and weapons may have been used to substantiate the power and status of certain elite indigenous females derived from their own position and prestige. The presence of many luxury goods in certain elite female burials may represent more than ostentation. It is suggested here that elite females who possessed ceremonial paraphernalia and weapons, which are symbols of social and ritual power for men, may also have exercised such power within the indigenous Iron Age culture. Although female dominated hierarchies are not usually visualised during the Iron Age in the Mediterranean, anthropological parallels for a chiefdom-level of society with women periodically in charge can be found in Africa, specifically in the Kpa Mende confederacy.28 The appearance of elite female graves with ceremonial weapons and paraphernalia in the sixth century BC is curious because this is a period of intense trade with the Greeks and acculturation. It could be hypothesised that these elite females may have been power brokers who dealt with the Greeks and are a product of this time period and increased opportunities due to trade. Perhaps the period of intense acculturation between the Greeks and indigenous population provided the flexible moment whereby assertive elite females could step into

certain powerful social and ritual roles. The appearance of possible power broker females also leads one to speculate that there may have been an elasticity in the gender relationships and roles in the Iron Age society that is not seen either in Classical Greek or some periods of Roman society. In my hypothesis it is suggested that while power was usually invested in the male, there seem to be occasions when the female could be made ‘male’,29 by taking the attributes of men, namely the acquisition of ceremonial paraphernalia and weapons which are the symbols of power. Elite females may then have exercised the power associated with these roles. It is symptomatic of the Iron Age that gender roles were more flexible than in later periods. The previous statement can be explained by pointing out that the ancient Greek literary sources (and myths) reflect the early power of the female prior to the classical period. Homer depicts assertive and formidable females such as the Amazons fighting at Troy. Circe, while a sorceress, was a powerful woman who negotiated her own decisions and own relationships. Penelope too, while cast as the faithful patient wife, is a powerful woman and is expected to make her own decision as to who will be her next husband. Medea, Clytaemnesta, and other formidable women in early Greek tragedy all emphasise this theme of the powerful woman at some point in the past. It is interesting that this image fades and is considered unsavoury in the classical period. Even Virgil is sensitive to the presence of powerful women in the past and places Amazons in Latium, although he writes for a Roman audience.30 While these examples are from the Greek and Roman literary tradition, it is important that archaeologically the late Iron Age burial evidence in Basilicata seems to lend support to the presence of these powerful females justifying a conclusion that gender differentiation, at least for elite women, was much more fluid than has been usually thought and that the patriarchal social organisation did not preclude elite females from acting as power brokers at certain points in time. It makes sense that an elite indigenous female would be more powerful than a non-elite male, especially in a society where social relations are based on kinship. What is interesting is the proposal that she may have, under certain circumstances, been more powerful that other elite males. The status of an indigenous woman between 900 and 550 BC should be related to her economic status, as well as her relationship to her father and her spouse and other kinship relations. Personal acquired status accrued over her lifetime, too, would have influenced her power. Elite women probably wielded more power which is reflected in their greater accumulation of burial goods. Lower ranking women’s status within their own families may have varied from low to high depending on the couple’s personal relationship, and on the various ways which women can employ in order to obtain ‘indirect power’.31 The ethnographic evidence for modern Greek peasant women indicates that there exists a bi-level icon of low status for women in the opinion of the society (the external world) but in the family (the internal world) the status and power brokerage of women is much higher.32 At Pontecagnano, the Iron Age site to the northwest of Basilicata previously mentioned, Vida Navarro notes the existence of another unusual burial, specifically the male in Tomb 164 who has a spindle whorl and a female fibula. The skeleton was determined to be male by physical anthropologists. This problematic burial represents possibly a male weaver who was

“defined socially as entirely ‘female’” (Vida Navarro 1992: 95). This burial, while not located in the study area, is pointed out for two reasons. First, to raise the possibility that some indigenous weavers (and spinners) may have been male. Second, and more importantly, indigenous gender roles may have been much more fluid than thought previously. Therefore, some tasks usually associated with females, like weaving, may have been carried out infrequently by males, and other tasks associated with males, for instance group and ritual leadership, may have been undertaken by females, as documented by the presence of ceremonial paraphernalia and weapons in some elite female burials.

CONCLUSIONS In this paper I have covered the possible realms of interactions that indigenous women had in their own cultural sphere and among the Greeks in the period 900-550 BC in Basilicata. I have highlighted the presence of some unusual elite women who may have exercised group and/or ritual leadership, possibly during the period of interaction with Greek colonists in Basilicata. The presence of powerful female figures within late Iron Age indigenous society would be indicative of the more fluid gender roles in practice during that period. These elite indigenous women may have possibly been capitalising on a period of social and economic flux within indigenous society generated at the point of contact with the Greeks. The period of intense acculturation between the colonial Greeks and the indigenous population (sixth century BC), may have provided the social stresses which created the opportunity for assertive indigenous elite females to rise in status and their burial goods reflect these roles which they occupy. I have discussed the possible presence of some indigenous women co-existing and cohabitating with Greek traders and colonists and the roles these indigenous women would have played in partially acculturating their children to indigenous cultural tropes within Greek surroundings. During this period, viewing Iron Age indigenous women in Basilicata as only mothers and companions (which are important and useful roles) denies them other active roles that they may have played in Basilicata, such as translators, acculturators, cultural mediators, negotiators and in liaisons. These roles would have been useful and necessary to both the Greek traders and colonists and to their own indigenous culture and may be possibly hinted at in the archaeological record. The possible existence of rare ‘big women’, either in the cultic or social realm, also needs further exploration in Italian Iron Age society. What are the macro-implications from this study for gender studies in other areas? First, south Italy and Greece have long been assumed to be bastions of patriarchy based on the reflections of ancient society dealt with in the ancient Greek sources. This image may have been generally true in some Greek settings (Classical Athens, for instance), but when dealing with Iron Age societies which did not leave their own written documents for decoding, we may be mistaken if we transpose Ancient Greeks’ attitudes towards women onto other Iron Age societies. It is the archaeologists’ and historians’ duty to try to see into the realm of interactions that could occur between an indigenous group and the incoming Greek population both at the point of first contact (when relationships are usually more fluid) and at the point of

colonisation. Other areas of the Mediterranean and Black Sea that experience ‘Greek colonisation’ and ‘Hellenisation’ also warrant further investigation to see how the women of those indigenous cultures interacted with new Greek foreigners and colonials. Did cultural blending take place in many other areas and can we credit indigenous women for some of this blending that takes place? We have a lot of work to do still, but opening our minds to more flexible roles for Iron Age women in the Mediterranean may lead us to a larger range of possibilities for ancient women’s roles which may be partially documented in the archaeological record.

NOTES 1 Phase I of the First Iron Age is 900-800/775 BC and Phase II of the First Iron Age is

775/750-675/650 BC. (Tocco 1978:113). Tocco’s chronological scheme (1978:113) is local and applies to the region of Basilicata. See also de La Genière 1979:81. 2 The work of Adamesteanu (1971b; 1974; 1976, Bianco (1990; 1991a), De Siena (1986a; 1986b; 1990), Tagliente (1985; 1986a; 1989) and Bottini (1981a, 1981b; 1983, 1988) in this area was particularly helpful in an attempt to define the geographical limits of this particular area. 3 Herring (1991b: 50, fn. 1) also chooses to use a less specific name for the indigenous inhabitants of South Italy. The name ‘Lucanians’ will also not be used, as it refers to the indigenous inhabitants of this area in the fourth century BC. Therefore the name ‘Lucanians’ does not directly refer to the people involved in this study, although the Lucanians are most likely the descendants of Basilicata’s indigenous and Greek population. 4 Cultural mediators, based on Kidwell 1992:97, can be seen as negotiators of two diverse cultures and potential blenders and transferers of all the cultural knowledge available to them. 5 I thank D. Lippert for pointing out this reference. 6 Conkey and Gero point out that “Transformations of gender relations (e.g. with colonization)” (Conkey & Gero 1991: 4) need to be investigated by archaeologists and this is particularly applicable to an investigation of indigenous women’s changing roles during the period of contact and colonisation with the Greeks. 7 “Gender relations enter into and are constituent elements in every aspect of human experience. In turn, the experience of gender relations for any person and the structure of gender as a social category are shaped by the interactions of gender relations and other social relations such as class and race. Gender relations thus have no fixed essence; they vary both within and over time. (Flax 1987: 622-3)” (Conkey & Gero 1991: 9). 8 For the latest study on indigenous huts see Russo Tagliente 1992. 9 Fossa huts, though often thought to be an indigeneous-type domestic structure, were possibly used by Greeks at Incoronata Greca (Carter 1993: 347-8), Castello del Barone (Tagliente 1986c: 129), Andrisani (De Siena 1990: 87) and Lazazzera (De Siena 1990: 80). See discussion on pp. 185-7.

10 de La Genière 1979: 60. 11 Published in Becker 1995: “A double blind system of analysis demonstrated an extremely

high reliability in the determination of gender where at least 100 grammes of bones could be recovered. Results verify the accuracy of gender evaluation based on associated artefacts and also provide gender evaluations for the majority of the tombs which lack associated offerings.” 12 We must remember that the date for the establishment of Metaponto is still not definite. Some propose a foundation circa 650 BC, while others posit a later date. De Siena (1990: 85) believes the that foundation date is 625-600 BC. Carter also believes in a late foundation (written comment March 1994). Bottini & Guzzo (1986: 101) say that Metaponto was established between 650-625 BC. Pelosi (1991: 51) dates Metaponto’s establishment after 650 BC. 13 Specifically, the sherds found in Structure B were “a hydria found inside a perirrhanterion, Corinthian amphorae, SOS amphorae, a fragment of tenda ware, three fragments of bucchero, a kotyle with a running dog (Late Protocorinthian), skyphoi and alabastra, a bichrome subgeometric kantheros, a locally produced cup with a fillet” (De Siena 1986a: 143-5). De Siena believes that Structures A and B represent two different habitation units and that the size of each hut corresponds to that which would be used by a nuclear family (De Siena 1986a: 150). 14 Carter (1993: 351-2) sees this group as peacefully relocated from Incoronata Greca and inhabiting this area between 640-600 BC. 15 The date for the establishment of the Greek colony at Siris is still the subject of a hot debate. See Lombardo (1983) and Adamesteanu (1981; 1986) for a summary of these points. The dates range between 720-650 BC. But as long as the colony was established in the first half of the seventh century BC, this hut would be in contact with the Greek colonists. 16 As in Okun’s model 3 in which indigenous women marry foreigners and keep their own cooking ware but use their foreign husbands’ tableware (Okun 1989: 51). 17 Greek-indigenous cohabitation at Incoronata Greca is still in dispute. For a discussion of both points of view see Markantonatos 1994: 178-83. Orlandini does not see a simultaneous Greek and indigenous occupation of the site (Orlandini 1976: 29-31; 1981: 212; 1986; 1992). Carter sees a mixed Greek and indigenous occupation at Incoronata Greca (1993: 347-8). De Siena (1986b: 210) half believes both theories. For another summary see Pelosi (1991: 56-8), although she does not accept Orlandini’s interpretations (Pelosi 1991: 71). 18 De Siena 1986a: 155-6. “In conclusione, i nuclei di VII sec. a.C. documentati all’interno di Metaponto 68 [i.e. Andrisani] potrebbero essere le prime espressioni di questi struttura emporica costiera nella quale le due componenti greca-indigena s’integrano e coesistono.” 19 At Andrisani, Structures A and B (De Siena 1990: 85); at Castello del Barone, Siris, the pithut, levels one and two (Tagliente 1986c: 129). 20 This includes those Indigeni inhumed in traditional fossa burials in flexed position and those potentially acculturated Indigeni cremated in indigenous urns (situle) and supplied with indigenous burial vessels. 21 Adamesteanu (1974: 113) sees no destruction which means contemporaneous burial of

Greeks and Indigeni. Also see Pelosi 1991: 63. 22 Either an indigenous vase such as a situla or Greek vessels such as an amphorae, hydriae or pithoi. 23 There were 64 cremations in total. 24 Perhaps indigenous wives would have been the first group to acculturate sufficiently to adopt the cremation practice. 25 Coldstream (1993: 90, 91 and 103) suggests that the females will socialise their children and therefore partially acculturate them. 26 It is important to note the difference in power potentialities between elite women and ordinary women diachronically in Europe. “In later societies particularly, a distinction must be drawn between the lives of ordinary women and the evidence for a small number of wealthy or ‘high-class’ women reaching individual positions of power, or taking on the role of religious leaders. This may be true of Minoan Crete, and is particularly problematic in the Iron Age, when we have evidence that women such as Boudica did become rulers, but do not really know what influence most women had within their families or villages.” (Ehrenberg 1989: 173). 27 When discussing symbols of power found in elite women’s burials in ancient Sumer, Pollock states that: “Women were able to attain positions of high status and power mainly through ritual rather than ‘secular’ political domains. Both ritual and political domains held a potential for some degree of economic power and control.” “There are indications, in the Royal cemetery burials and in the works of Enheduanna, that some women may have gained access to male domains of political power, perhaps as their traditional opportunities were being denied to them. That they were granted some of the symbolic trappings of male positions implies some degree of social recognitions of their aspirations and achievements, but whether for their achievements as women or not is more difficult to say.” (Pollock 1991: 383-4). 28 See Hoffer 1974: 173-88. 29 While an elite female may have been made ‘male’, it is important to remember that this would have been true in some areas of her interactions (and in her burial accouterments). But in other interactions she would have been perceived as female. I thank Dr Edward Herring for pointing out this duality. 30 I thank Prof. A. Christopherson for pointing out the examples above. 31 See Denich (1974: 243-62) and Wolf (1974: 157-72) for ways of obtaining indirect power. Once indirect power is obtained, women then have the capacity to negotiate decisions. As far as a young female is concerned, her high status and power may potentially come from her father, who she represents especially if there arc no male siblings. 32 See Dubisch 1983 and Friedl 1967: 97-108.

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reconciliation of the evidence. In Malone, C. & Stoddart, S. (eds), Papers in Italian Archaeology IV-Part III Patterns in Protohistory, BAR International Series, 245: 89-109. Oxford. Wolf, M. 1974. Chinese Women: old skills in new context. In Zimbalist Rosaldo, M. & Lamphere, L. (eds), Women, Culture and Society: 157-72. Stanford University Press, Stanford. Yntema, D. 1985. The Matt-Painted Pottery of Southern Italy. Drukkerji Elinkwijk, Utrecht.

The asp’s poison Women and literacy in Iron Age Italy Tamar Hodos A man who teaches a woman to write should recognise that he is providing poison to an asp Menander

INTRODUCTION The concept of literacy remains a distinguishing feature of today’s Western notion of civilisation, in which literacy is frequently viewed as one of the most significant hallmarks distinguishing a sophisticated society from a primitive, barbaric one. We live with “an unquestioned necessity of literacy for mobility, citizenship, democracy, progress, development, and civilization” (Graff 1981: 4). What is this essential need we call literacy? How do we define it? The establishment of a definition has not been a simple task (see particularly Graff 1987: chapter 1). The first hurdle to overcome is a vagueness which surrounds the concept of what it means to be literate (Graff 1987: 58). Obviously, literacy relies upon possession of the skills of reading and writing. Yet literacy is also dependent upon context. Havelock has observed that an assumption has grown up that “writing is language, rather than merely a visual artefact designed to trigger the memory of a series of linguistic noises by symbolic association” (1986: 112). He describes literacy as a social condition defined only in terms of readership, not by the simple existence of the technology of inscription (1982: 57). The primary difficulty in applying any definition of literacy to the past lies in reconstructing these contexts of reading and writing: the how, where, when, why, and to whom. Often, historically, literacy has been restricted to special classes, such as the clergy, or scribes. Havelock views this as ‘craft literacy’, or literacy as a trade, in which there was no need for an individual to know the skills of reading and writing any more than any other trade (1982). In fact, reading and writing may not necessarily have been mastered by the same person. Our understanding of who possessed the skills of literacy in the past will always be skewed towards those who could write, for they are the ones who have left behind proof of their skill (Thomas 1992: 10). With regard to the classical world in particular, it is difficult to determine the extent to

which citizens needed to read and write, and to what extent they were debarred from the major activities in society if they could not. Ancient writers praise the uses of writing rather than the skill, and more stress seems to have been placed on oral agreements and witnesses than on the production of written documents. Thomas reminds us that in classical Athens, for instance, someone who did not read written texts would not necessarily have been cut off from them since the texts would have been publicly performed (1992: 3-4). For these reasons it is perhaps impossible to determine at what point the level of one’s ability to read and write would have constituted literacy in the ancient world. It may be simplest, therefore, to discuss literacy in terms of its individual components, reading and writing. This should help clarify the uses and extent of the skills of literacy and allow speculation upon the relative degree of literacy which an individual or class may have possessed.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF ALPHABETIC WRITING IN GREECE The Greek alphabet appears to have derived from the Phoenician alphabet some time during the 8th century BC (for a discussion of the dissemination of the Greek alphabet, see Jeffery 1961; 19902; Johnston 1983; most recently and with bibliography, see Woodward 1997: chapter 7). The presence of single letters or names in the genitive with suggest that the marking of property was one of the oldest uses of the Greek alphabet, in keeping with Phoenician tradition (Johnston 1983: 66; for a more sociological approach to the reading of written communication, see Svenbro 1993). Most of the thirty-five or so probable Greek alphabetic inscriptions at Pithekoussai which date to the 8th and early 7th centuries, for instance, are single letters on burial amphorae (Johnston 1983: 63). Some, such as the letters on a fragment of a Pithekoussai vessel which dates to c.740 BC have been interpreted as a claim of possession (Sp. 2/1; Buchner & Ridgway 1993). The first potter’s signature in Greek appears by the end of the century on another vessel from Pithekoussai which dates to 700 BC (krater from under structure II of the Mazzola area on the Mezzavia hill; Ridgway 1992: 96). By this time, more lengthy inscriptions were becoming more common. One such example is the toast to Aphrodite which appears on the famous Nestor cup (kotyle 168-9, deposited c.720 BC; Buchner & Ridgway 1993), a vessel of Rhodian manufacture with an inscription in the Chalkidian alphabet. It may have been inscribed at Pithekoussai. A number of these early lengthy inscriptions seem to some to display a metrical, Homeric rhythm, suggesting that writing may have developed out of a mnemonic need to set down oral poetry. One such example is the graffito on the Dipylon oinochoe from the mid-8th century (Athens National Museum no. 192, c.740 BC): . It means something along the lines of whoever of all the dancers now disports himself most friskily . . . [he will get this pot]. The letters up to form a perfect hexameter with the remaining identifiable ones seemingly continuing in hexametric form (Powell 1988: 69 and 74; Powell 1991: 158-63).

Some feel that the composer of this verse, working at a time when most singers of hexametric poetry would have been professionals, may have been “an aoidos in the living tradition of oral literary composition” (Powell 1988: 76). During the 7th century, the uses of writing widen. An early 7th century Corinthian perfume flask threatens any potential thief with a curse of blindness (Jeffery 1961: 238, no. 3). Sherds from the 7th century sanctuary of Zeus on the top of Mt. Hymettos are marked with graffiti, most attesting that so-and-so wrote this (Langdon 1976). Marked tombstones begin to appear during the first half of the century, and by 650 BC, writing had moved from the private sphere to the public, as indicated by public laws carved in stone (Thomas 1992: 62, 65ff.). The functions of writing proliferate during the 6th century, particularly in public capacities, which to some demonstrate the city-state’s widening use of the written word as a means of enforcing its power, particularly through public display on lithic monuments (Thomas 1994). Thus we find treaties between states and officials lists from this time (Thomas 1992: 66ff.). The earliest documentation of official secretaries in Athens dates to 550 BC, while coinage by the end of the century relied upon letters as much as symbols for identification of polis affiliation. Inscriptions on vases become fashionable during the 6th century for their decorative effect rather than their phonetic value as reflected in the appearance of nonsense inscriptions on Athenian and Corinthian vases (Hurwit 1990: 189ff). Beazley attributes the frequency of such inscriptions on Athenian vessels to the artist’s boredom: “I have written and all that so often. I don’t care if I am spelling right or not. I don’t care if I write sense or nonsense. All that really matters is a line of letters between the handles. That I really ought to put, for it is part of the idea” (Beazley 1932: 194-5) and therefore implies literacy among Athenian pot painters. A similar explanation has not been offered for the artists in contemporary Corinth, however, where there are far fewer vessels with inscriptions, accurate and nonsense, than in Athens. To some scholars, the diminished quantity renders copying a more plausible explanation, along with the possibility that a nonsenseinscribing artist may have been capable of nothing better (i.e. illiterate) or may have had a friend put in the letters (Amyx 1988: 601-2). Yet this does not account for both sensical and nonsensical inscriptions appearing on different vases which are attributed to the same painter. For instance, the namepiece of the Late Corinthian Tydeus Painter (Louvre E640, Amyx 1988: 270, A6) has accurately labelled figures, while two lesser works attributed to the same artist (BM B41, London 1884.8-4.9, Amyx 1988: 270, A3; BM B39, London 1884.8-4.7, Amyx 1988: 269, Al) have nonsense words labelling figures where one would expect figure labels. In fact, it can be argued that inscriptions on vases cannot be used to determine the degree of literacy among pot painters in Athens or Corinth, for a painter presumably would have had no difficulty copying a series of letters if asked to, whether the original lettering was sensical or not (Hurwit 1990: 189-90). While it is probable that copying did exist, the sheer quantity of inscriptions on Athenian vases in particular renders it unlikely that most inscriptions in Athens were copied. The rise in the number of inscriptions on Athenian vessels during the 6th century suggests that words with images became fashionable at that time. Nonsense inscriptions might just have been a marketing tool aimed at those who couldn’t read well enough to tell the difference. Or they could represent the work of artists who didn’t know their letters sufficiently, sold to consumers

who didn’t mind or didn’t care. It can be concluded that it is likely that many pot painters were somewhat literate, even if they did make the odd mistake. This seems to find support in the decrease in the number of nonsense inscriptions during the 5th century, which has suggested to some higher aspirations towards literate skills particularly by Athenian vase craftsmen (Boardman 1975: 213; Harris 1989: 52). It is likely that Corinthian craftsmen were also able to write, as suggested by the above example of the Tydeus painter (even if the artist was not always accurate), although the lesser quantity of vessels with inscriptions from Corinth prevents one from arguing so with equal conviction. It appears that the skill of writing was widely utilised by the artisans and civil servants of the day. It is particularly interesting to note that during the Classical period, daughters of the aristocracy would have been taught to read and write by a slave or an employee of the home (Harris 1989: 96). This suggests that even certain individuals from among the servile classes were literate. One must bear in mind that ultimately the artisans, civil servants and slave classes worked for the aristocracy, rendering literacy an activity driven by the demands of the rich. Whether aristocracy-driven or function of craft, the skills of literacy nevertheless were utilised by diverse classes of society. Some scholars have gone one step further and have argued for general social literacy by the end of the 6th century in Athens on the basis that the institution of ostracism established at that time presupposes a literate citizen body (Goody & Watt 1968: 42; Jeffery 1961: 63).

WOMEN AND THE SKILLS OF LITERACY IN THE GREEK AND ROMAN WORLDS Some women were taught the skills of reading and writing, although they remained at an educational handicap for the most part in the ancient world. Plato notes in both the Laws and the Republic that the education of Athenian females should include horse-riding, land working, gymnastics, music, and even the art of war and how to practise it (Laws 7.804e; Republic 451c. 4th century BC), as well as to read and write (Laws 7.809e-810b). Plutarch (Lykurgus 27.2) attests that Spartan girls’ education was limited to physical exercise to ease pregnancy and childbirth, although Plato speaks of compulsory education in the arts (Laws 806a; see Cartledge 1978: 31; 1984: 90-3). Plutarch also relates anecdotes of Spartan mothers writing to their warrior sons (Moralia 241a, d, d-e), although there is no mention of how they learned their letters. Some females must clearly have used their skills of literacy to their advantage, for Menander later wrote that a man who teaches a woman to write should recognise that he is providing poison to an asp (Synkrisis I, 209-210 Jakel - Fr. 7092 Kock. 4th-3rd century BC). Evidence of organised tutelage under a schoolmaster (Epicurus, Epistles Fr. 172 Usener; Ion of Chios, FGrH 392 F6; Demonsthenes 18. 129, 265; 19. 249; Harris 1989: 98, note 145) exists from the mid-5th century, but there is mention only of boys being schooled (Herodotus 6.27.2; Pausanias 6.9.6-7; Harris 1989: 58). Presumably, girls were educated at home. Our earliest representations of women being educated in any subject come from the Classical period. Women depicted holding or reading a book are first seen on red-figure vases and white-ground lekythoi (Immerwahr 1964; 1973: 146, pl. 33.3-4; 1990; Beck 1975: 56-8).

The fact that some of these scenes are obviously domestic ones has indicated to some that reading was a normal everyday activity for some women (Cole 1981: 224). However, R. Thomas (pers. comm.) has suggested that these might represent learning by heart, a common part of Greek education, rather than silent reading. Alternatively, they could indicate reading aloud to oneself. Although there seem to be no representations of women writing, the British Museum displays an ivory stylus from a mid-5th century woman’s tomb in Eretria (BM GR 1893.11-2.1). Its explanatory plaque highlights that the deceased woman was probably literate. During the Hellenistic period, girls were regularly educated in reading, writing, and the study of poetry (Pomeroy 1977). Philip of Macedon’s mother, Eurydice, learned her letters in the interest of her sons:

(Plutarch, Moralia, 14b-c. 2nd century AD) Hellenistic women are identified in several cities as holders of public office, a position which would have involved the skills of reading and writing (Pleket 1969 cited in Humphreys 1993: 46). Nevertheless, literate abilities in women continue to be noted as exceptions, even during the Late Hellenistic and Roman periods. We hear about Aufria, a Delphic woman who demonstrated the entire range of her education, and delivered many excellent and enjoyable lectures at the Pythian games (Fouilles de Delphes 4, 79. 2nd century AD). Quintillian reminds us that Nam Gracchorum eloquentiae multum contulisse accepimus Corneliam matrem, cuius doctissimus sermo in posteros quoque est epistolis traditus (Institute of Oratory 1.1.6. 1st century AD). Pamphile, an Epidaurian woman of the 1st century AD, was commended as a learned woman, for she wrote historical memoirs in 33 books, an epitome of Ctesias’ history in 3 books, as well as other histories and books about controversies, sex and other subjects (The Suda FHG 3.520ff. 1st century AD). Meanwhile, Tacitus makes reference to the memoirs of Agrippina the Younger, the murdered mother of Nero (Annals 4.53. 1st century AD). Elsewhere, degrees of literacy were related to social status, but possession of the skills of literacy did not bring status itself, especially for women. In Graeco-Roman Egypt, for instance, women with the privilege of acting without a guardian could not always read and write. One famous example, POxy 1467, involves a woman petitioning for this right, the ius trium liberorum, which specifically allowed women with three children to act without a guardian; in her application, she stresses that she is an able writer. Both Cole and Youtie note that although literate skills were not legally required in order to obtain the ius trium liberorum, her application would probably have been given more serious consideration because she was literate (Youtie 1975: 221, n. 62; Cole 1981: 236). On the other hand, legally significant is a marriage annulment from 1st century BC Alexandria, which describes a woman making a formal acknowledgement to her deceased husband’s mother that her dowry has been returned to

her and that she no longer has any claims on her husband’s family. It is specified that since she has become pregnant, she must not return for childbirth on the grounds that this would give her stronger claims. She may, however, expose the child and give herself in marriage to another husband (BGU 1104, 1st century BC; Humphrey 1993: 46-7). The two women concerned, the wife and her mother-in-law, both appear with male guardians, as was common. While the women may not have been literate, it is clear that they are making their own decisions and can invoke the law in defence of this agreement, if need be. The male guardians are there as a formality. Literate skills were useful, therefore, but not essential. Illiterate people turned to literate friends and relatives for help when the skills of literacy were required.

WRITING IN CENTRAL ITALY The uses of the alphabet and the utilisation of the skills of literacy in central Italy during the Archaic period appear to have been not too dissimilar from contemporary Greece. The Etruscans, for instance, used an alphabetic script derived from the Greek and Phoenician models and from which most other Italic scripts developed. The earliest examples of alphabetic writing from Etruria seem to date to the end of the 8th century and early 7th century. These are mostly single letters, dedicatory inscriptions, or possessive graffiti (see Stoddart & Whitley 1988: tables 3 and 4; see also Bagnaso Gianni 1996). They come from the main urban centres, although almost entirely limited to funerary contexts. The ivory writing tablet from Marsiliana (Minto 1921: 191ff; Bundgård 1965; Pandolfini & Prosdocimi 1990 for a list of abecedaria), for instance, formed part of the grave goods buried with a rich ruler near Vulci. Up until 650 BC, there is no evidence that writing was used as a commercial or administrative tool. During the second half of the 7th century, as in Greece, literacy also appears to have become available to a wider spectrum of society. Short inscriptions of this time appear more plentiful and some examples suggest commercial use, as a shorthand in the pottery manufacturing industry, or administrative functions. A portable writing table from an Etruscan wreck of 600 BC near the island of Giglio indicates that writing may have been used for the maintenance of trade accounts (Bound 1991: 28, fig. 62). Inscribed gravestones appear during this time. The fact that the vast majority of early inscriptions come from wealthy funerary contexts has led some scholars to limit literacy in Etruria during the Archaic period to the elite class’ need for ideological legitimisation and interpersonal exchange (Stoddart & Whitley 1988). Tim Cornell (1991), however, believes that this restriction to social group and function is based on mistaken premises. What we possess, he argues, may not be a representative sample of the written material that once existed; it is not so much that literacy was confined to funerary contexts during the 7th and 6th centuries, but rather that the evidence we have comes almost solely from tombs. While it is generally dangerous to argue from negative evidence in this manner, Cornell points to the chance discovery of a dump of 6th and 5th century Etruscan pottery with graffiti of single letters and one declaration of ownership. The site, Casale Pian Roseto, to the north of Veii, is an uninteresting one and has produced nothing remarkable

except these inscribed fragments. This lack of anything extraordinary at the site reinforces Cornell’s point: the sherds imply that writing on pottery was a normal feature of everyday life practised by ordinary people. This seems to contrast with Stoddart and Whitley’s conclusion that literacy in Archaic Etruria was limited to the elite class. Part of the difficulty in determining the extent of literacy in Etruscan society stems from the quantity of Etruscan inscriptions. Stoddart and Whitley highlight the disparities in the quantity and types of writing found in Greece and Etruria. No legal codes have been found in Etruria, unlike in Greece, and hardly any dipinti appear on Etruscan vases, although many inscribed examples have been found. It is far more difficult to suggest that craftsmen were literate in Etruria than in Greece, for inscriptions on vessels or metalwork are not especially common during the Archaic period, suggesting that inscribed objects may have been commissioned pieces for which the formula may have been copied, particularly as many of these inscriptions are of personal possession. Yet remembering the implications of the material from Cásale Pian Roseto, it might be more fair to conclude that while craftsmen may not have utilised the skills of literacy as widely as elsewhere, the possibility remains that literacy may have played a limited role in daily life.

WOMEN AND THE SKILLS OF LITERACY IN ARCHAIC ITALY In the absence of extensive written or representational descriptions, our knowledge of women’s activities in pre-Roman Italy comes largely from the archaeological record. Evidence from Etruria presents a particularly interesting case of possible gender parity unparalleled elsewhere in the ancient world (see Barker & Rasmussen 1998: 103-11. Etruscan society appears to have always been different from Greece and Rome with respect to the status of women. Unlike contemporary classical cultures, where the ideal woman was the domesticated one, such as Penelope or Lucretia, in Etruria women seem to have maintained a status much more comparable to that of men, often to the shock and disgust of later Greek and Roman writers. Athenaeus attributes to Theopompus a description of Etruscan women and some of their habits. Apparently they took care of their bodies and exercised often, sometimes with men. It was not a disgrace for them to be seen naked. When dining, they did not necessarily share their couches with their husbands but with the other men who happened to be present, and they proposed toasts to anyone they choose. Furthermore, Etruscan women allegedly were expert drinkers and very attractive (Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae 12. 517d-e: Theopompus Histories 115. 4th century BC). While some have criticised Theopompus’ account as “the sort of salacious embroidery one might expect from a group of hack philosophers at their dinnertable” (Spivey 1991: 55), others have considered that by inversion it suggests what a 4th century Greek might have viewed as acceptable behaviour for a woman (Lefkowitz & Fant 1992: 88). Toasts, for instance, were performed in Greece by men and were regulated by the formalities of symposium, from which respectable women were excluded. A black-figure stamnos now in the Ashmolean Museum (Inv. 1965.97; Vickers 1978: no. 30) depicts men and women at a banquet on the shoulder of the vase. Rather than illustrating a gathering of men

only, or men with naked or half-naked women, who would therefore be courtesans, as is usual on Greek representations, the vessel shows women who are decently dressed alongside the men. Such iconography, destined for the Etruscan market, would not have been startling for an Etruscan buyer, who would see nothing wrong in the depiction of a respectable woman, perhaps a wife, accompanying her husband to the symposium, as was the Etruscan tradition (Bonfante 1989: 564ff.). Wall paintings and sculpture further support some of Theopompus’ claims. Wall paintings at Tarquinia depict well-dressed women reclining on the same bench with men under the same blanket.1 As indicated above, this iconographical form is never seen in contemporary Greek art, where one might find men with other men, or a slave girl, but never with a respectable woman (Bonfante 1994: 250). A sarcophagus from Vulci, now in Boston, portrays a nude couple reclining underneath a blanket. This pose is purely Etruscan with the blanket representing a symbol of their marriage. The fact that both figures are nude reflects a lack of perception of the contrast between gender nudity in Etruscan art (Bonfante 1989: 567). Such a representation, even between married couples, is also never depicted in Greek art. There is no iconographical evidence that Etruscan men and women exercised together, although the handle of a 4th-3rd century strigil from Palestrina (BM 665) is a representation of a woman cleaning herself with a strigil. While strigils from funerary contexts are generally found in male graves, the presence of another strigil among the finds of a woman’s burial in Scataglini grave 4883 suggests that strigils may have also been used by women (Rallo 1989: 30). Gender parity appears to have permeated further in Etruscan society than in other contemporary cultures. The Etruscan woman’s dress may have suggested an intolerable equality to her Roman neighbours, for during the 6th and 5th centuries, both women and men in Etruria wore a rounded mantle (Bonfante 1975: 48); this fashion was reserved for men only in Rome and was later adapted particularly as a religious and ritual costume (Bonfante 1975: 91). Etruscan female first names were also without reference to a man. For instance, a 4th century BC sarcophagus from Tarquinia bears the inscription ramtha apatrui larthal sex larthialc alethna: Ramthe, daughter of Larth Apatrui and of Larthia Alethna (CIE 5473; see Cristofani 1991: 93-102 for an explanation of the onomastic system). Although she is identified as the daughter of her parents, her first name is not a variation on that of her father. This is in direct contrast particularly to Rome, where a woman was commonly named after the gens of a male member of the family, usually her father, such as Lucretia and Octavia. Furthermore, the matronymic was often added to Etruscan names, both male and female, in addition to the patronymic. Thus we find names such as TLE 129: velthur larisal clan cuclnial thanchvilus: Velthur, son of Laris and of Tanaquil Cuclni. Such a formula was uncommon elsewhere in the classical world (Heurgon 1964; Bonfante 1983) and may be an indication of acknowledged female parity in Etruscan society. The egalitarian status between men and women in Etruscan society is further reflected in the material remains from various Etruscan centres. As early as the Villanovan I period, several women’s graves were equalled or surpassed in wealth only by the graves of the most important warriors. The finds from one such grave of this period include an uninscribed pottery boat as well as spindles, whorls, spools and fibulae (Hencken 1968: 31, 55). The boat has been

interpreted as an indication of the deceased woman’s wealth and status. Horse bits are generally found with tools of war and associated with warrior men, although pairs of horse bits in both bronze and iron have been found in women’s tombs in several cemeteries in Veii and Bologna.2 Two-wheeled chariots have also been found in tombs belonging to women from the last third of the 8th century, primarily along the Tyrrhenian coast in both Greek and indigenous sites, including Cumae and Veii, with later examples found at Ischia, Castro, and settlements in Perugia and Populonia (Bartoloni & Grottanelli 1989: 56). This may be demonstrative of Homeric ritual, which was not infrequent elsewhere in the Mediterranean during this time.3 In addition, actual carriages have been found in female tombs at Veii,4 Narce,5 Marsiliana,6 and Vetulonia.7 Female burials with chariots are a phenomenon associated with mid-Tyrrhenian Italy from the 8th century. Although these are rare in comparison with the number of male tombs with chariots, there are also graves without chariots which have been identified as female burials which display even greater wealth than most male burials. This could be indicative of different classes of aristocratic women, or possibly of different functions of women. Bartoloni & Grottanelli suggest that in later periods Vestals may have circulated in chariots (Bartoloni Grottanelli 1989: 66); perhaps these earlier chariots represent a similar class of women serving a religious function in society. Domestic tools, such as spindles, whorls and spools, often are associated with women in funerary contexts, even as early as the Villanovan phase. In fact, 8th century tombs at Veii with whorls, spools and spindles may indicate a possible class distinction from those tombs with just spindles. As Rallo explains, whorls with spindles suggest the use of spindles and distaffs, work of some skill. A spindle alone, however, cannot be considered distinctive of an artisan craft (1989: 16 and note 8). The association between weaving tools and women in funerary contexts has been applied to other regions as well, such as neighbouring Latium. Thus we arrive at cremation burial 482 of the Osteria dell’Osa cemetery at Gabii. This burial can be securely dated to the first quarter of the 8th century and has been identified as that of a woman (Bietti Sestieri 1992a; 1992b: 184). The burial belongs to a cluster in which several of the female graves possess weaver sets with various weights and whorls. In addition, the cremation vessel, a pot of local manufacture, bears an inscription which may be read as the Greek letters and interpreted as an abbreviation of , spinning well (Pausanias 8.21.3; Bietti Sestieri et al. 1989-1990: 83; Peruzzi 1992: 463; Prosdocimi 1993; Ridgway 1996; for the most recent bibliography of other interpretations of the letters, see Smith 1996: 233). If this inscription is indeed Greek, then it would be the earliest Greek inscription in the West (Peruzzi 1992: 463; Ridgway 1994: 42-3; 1996) and interestingly found at the site where Romulus and Remus were said to have been instructed in Greek learning, especially letters, or (Dionysius of Halicarnassus 1.84.5; although see Ridgway 1996: 96-7). If the inscription is an abbreviation of the Greek , then it is significant that the epithet has been found in a woman’s grave at such a remarkably early period and raises questions such as who is advertising her as a good spinner, and to whom? Was a Greek prospector leaving a simple message that other Greeks could read? Or could she not have been advertising herself? Ridgway asserts that what should strike us forcibly is that such an individual was already literate at least to a point that enabled that

person to leave a message for anyone else who came afterwards (Ridgway 1994: 43; 1996: 95). There are other associations between writing and spinning which appear slightly later in central Italy. Graffiti have been found at Veii on the tops of spinning spools of the earlier 8th century (Vianello & Ridgway 1963: 152, fig. 49g; Bartoloni & Pandolfini 1972: 300, fig. 73.7; Ridgway 1996: 95). Additionally, grave 21 from Caprara, Bologna, contained one and a half Greek letters on a Villanovan urn; spindle whorls were included amongst the grave goods (Tovoli 1989: 82-3). While these examples are small and infrequent, their existence should be noted. There is additional evidence of a connection between women and writing, especially in Etruria and in the Etruscan language, and particularly from inscriptions which refer directly to women. The gold fibula dated to the end of the 7th century from a tomb at Castelluccio di Pienza, near Chiusi, is one such example. The granulation inscription (TLE 489) reads mi arathia velaveshnash zamathi manurke mreveinke tursikina (after Heurgon 1971) which means ‘I am the gold of Arathia Velaveshnash; I was given by Manourke Tursekina’. A late 7th century bucchero amphora from Caere has an inscription which reads mi aranth ramuthasi vestiricinala muluvanice: I have been given by Aranth to Ramutha Vestiricina (TLE 868; after Cristofani 1991: 58). These early inscriptions are on objects given to women as gifts from men. While this may suggest that at least the men could read, other 7th and 6th century vessels declare their ownership by women with phrases such as ‘I am the pitcher of Lemausna’ (TLE 28) and ‘I am of Arathia . . . ‘ (Buonamici 1938), not to mention the five goblets, six cups and an amphora from the Regolini-Galassi tomb inscribed mi Larthia (Pareti 1947; also Heurgon 1964: 89-90 for a concise summary).8 In addition, there are several notable dedications by women at Pyrgi (Pallottino 1967), Poggibonsi (TLE 420) and elsewhere.9 There is also evidence of women constructing their own tombs at Tarquinia10 and Orvieto.11 What this reveals is the wealth of women through material possessions, whether obtained for her or by her. It also suggests independent actions by women to take their own actions in their own name, whether to have their own tombs constructed or offer their own dedications. The fact that this distinction must be highlighted points out our gender biases when regarding material evidence. Spivey observes several other such biases in our interpretative views. Citing examples from the Poggio delle Granate necropolis at Populonia, he points out that when spindle whorls are found with spears, the interpretations do not favour domesticated men or pugnacious women but rather suggest some special funerary significance unrelated to their original function. Similarly, when knives appear among otherwise traditionally female assemblages, they are seen as tools for butchery rather than as weapons for war, which is their interpretation when otherwise found in male graves (Spivey 1991: 58). At Monte Bibele, a tomb was discovered which contained arms and armour, as well as a set of cups, some of which were inscribed with a feminine name petnei (Cristofani 1982: 260-1). Spivey notes that “we are asked to subsume the specifically gendered cups under the ethnocentrically gendered armour: the cups must be a gift from a woman to the ‘warrior-chief’ buried in this tomb” (1991: 61). In the same manner, when objects with inscriptions are found in decidedly male graves, scholars conclude that the man was capable of at least reading. The associations between

drinking vessels and the symposium have resulted in the general conclusions that men of the ranks that participated in the symposium were able to read. It is ludicrous to imagine that a man in possession of a vessel with an inscription calling for merriment would have been unable to read it. Why, then, would he have possessed such an object, except for the prestige value of its inscription, if he could not fully appreciate it? Not every member of society would have been trying to keep up with the Joneses without at least some appreciation of what it was they were trying to keep up with. Yet when such objects are found in undeniably women’s graves, scholars appear to have a much harder time reaching similar conclusions. An inscription on one Etruscan mirror reads tite cale atial turce malstria cver: Titus Calus gave (this) mirror to his mother as a gift (TLE 752. End of the 4th century BC). Would Titus Calus have bothered to inscribe the mirror if his mother couldn’t read the inscription? Surely the act of giving would have indicated sufficiently that it was a gift. And she must have been able to read the inscription in order to fully appreciate the gift; the impact is hardly as significant if someone has to read the inscription to you. Or was Titus Calus merely trying to impress his neighbours with his wealth and status when he had the mirror inscribed? Inscriptions such as this one, or even just the naming of figures, occur too often to be only social competition. The natural conclusion must be that Titus Calus’ mother could read. And if Titus Calus’ mother, then why not Arathia Velaveshnash and Ramutha Vestiricina of the 7th century? What is required when the question of literacy and women comes up is an application of Linda Hurcombe’s (1995) solution to this Biassed Interpretation of Gender (BIG) problem. We need a mental gender switch: “When an archaeologist makes an interpretive statement about a person or group of one sex and their relationships to objects or society, they mentally switch the sex around and examine whether their interpretation changes. If it does, then further justification for the interpretation is needed. If the difference cannot be justified, then it cannot be made” (Hurcombe 1995: 96). If this switch were applied to literacy, then we would have no problem in accepting that 7th century Etruscan women could read (although the degree to which Etruscan society used literacy remains debatable), or that women in early 8th century Latium may have been able to write. Our biases in interpretation are beginning to receive attention (Gilchrist 1991; Gero & Conkey 1991), although such revision has been applied primarily to prehistoric periods, as highlighted recently in works by Moser (1992), Nixon (1994) and the collection edited by Moore and Scott (1997). Rarely are the historical periods subject to such reconsideration, for we have more evidence available about the structures of ancient societies from the written word of ancient authors. Through their descriptions, they guide our interpretations. Yet where gender issues of historical periods are concerned, we may forget that the ancient writers were selective (see Foxhall 1994 for a revised account of gendered roles in Greek life, or Graham 1995 on the subject of the ancient authors’ references to women in the foundation tales of Greek colonies, for instance); lack of written descriptions of or references to women using the skills of reading and writing should not preclude the possibility that they did so.

CONCLUSION

It is clear that possession of the skills of literacy was not limited just to aristocratic males in the ancient world. In Greece, for instance, artisans, civil servants, and even domestic staff utilised reading and writing in their trades. While this supports the notion of literacy as a craft skill, the fact remains that a considerable spectrum of non-aristocratic society needed to read and write and did so. Evidence from the Classical period allows us firmly to include women by this time, although there is no reason to deny the likelihood that women were reading and writing before then. It is much more difficult to arrive at similar conclusions about literacy in central Italy from the comparatively quantitatively and contextually limited evidence, although it can be argued that literate skills were utilised by more than just aristocratic males. While we lack inscriptions of a civic nature, there is evidence that writing may have been used by the trade industry and most probably by the artisan class, for it seems unlikely that all inscriptions were copied from the aristocrat’s original order. Certainly our own biases in gendered interpretation have prevented us from adequately considering evidence of female literacy from early contexts. An unequal standard has traditionally been applied by scholars when it has come to assessing the possibilities of literacy among women, particularly when there does not appear to be general literacy throughout society. We must now begin to consider how our biases limit our interpretations of the presence of inscriptions pertaining to or in association with women as opposed to men. It is not sufficient simply to assume that now that we are aware of the problem of our biases they will disappear, however. Evans’ research on sexist interpretations as represented linguistically in archaeological journals and her subsequent discourse with Chippindale demonstrate this (Evans 1990; 1991; Chippindale 1991). We must continue actively to avoid double standards in gender interpretations in order to prevent our biases from tainting our understanding of the ancient world.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am indebted to Paul Cartledge, Christopher Smith, Rosalind Thomas, and Ruth Whitehouse for their comments on earlier versions of this paper.

NOTES 1 Tomba dei Leopardi; Tomba della Caccia e Pesca, tympanum decoration; Tomba della

Pulcella; Tomba dei Scudi. 2 Veii: Casale del Fosso T.872, 968; Quattro Fontanili EE FF 67, 78, D 11-12, C 20-21, AB 12-13; Vaccareccia XIII, XV, XX; Grotta Gramiccia 413, 440, 744, 785; Bologna: von Hase 1969. 3 Horse remains: Eretria T9, Heroon; Athenian Agora c.900 BC; Arkades and Prinias on Crete. Horse remains are otherwise found in sanctuaries (Donder 1980). 4 Casale del Fosso, fossa 804 and camera 868. Last quarter of the 8th - mid 7th century.

5 Piazza Piede, fossae XLII, XLVI. 6 Two from the Banditella necropolis. 7 Circolo del Tridente, T2; second Circolo delle Pellicce, T3. 8 Although some scholars have argued that Larthia is the genitive of the male name Larth (most

recently Cristofani 1984: 321 and Spivey 1991: 59), Bonfante (1983: 109) and Rallo (1989: 22) uphold it as the genitive of the female name Larthi. The name Larthia appears in graves otherwise identified as women’s burials at Orvieto (CIE 4966), Chiusi (CIE 1136) and Siena (CIE 198). 9 A 4th century bronze Apollo was dedicated by a woman (TLE 737); bronze votives TLE 640 and 696. 10 Tomba dell’Orco, TLE 87; The Amazon Sarcophagus, CIE 5452. 11 CIE 4966, for instance. See Barker & Rasmussen 1998: 107.

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Holding a mirror to Etruscan gender Vedia Izzet

INTRODUCTORY SPECULATION When Alice goes Through the Looking-Glass, what she finds is a back-to-front world of speaking plants, backwards words and inverse actions. However, this backwards world is not entirely random: Carroll’s Looking-glass world succeeds because it is a reversal of the ‘real’ world from which Alice has come. Inanimate objects move and speak, dry biscuits quench thirst, and the future is remembered (Carroll 1994: 20-1; 30-1; 67-8). The relationship between reality and the mirror-world is not arbitrary: the two are linked and mediated by constantly questioning each other. Though the mirror image is not the same as the real image, the former is intricately linked to the latter. Thus, when we go through the Etruscan lookingglass, the images we see are reflections or distortions of Etruscan society. The mirror images the Etruscans have left are not necessarily exact reproductions of reality but the two are closely associated. The image in a mirror is never ‘true’; it can only be interpreted with the knowledge that it is back-to-front: when we see a smudge on our face in a mirror, we know to wipe the opposite side. Such actions are so engrained as to have become automatic. In the same way, when looking at the images on Etruscan mirrors, we must be careful not to read them as unproblematically ‘true’. Rather, because they are reflections, we must acknowledge the possibility of distortion and reversal. We need to be aware of the interpretative distance between the image and the original. In this paper, mirrors deposited by Etruscan individuals in burial will be considered in order to examine the workings of gender identity in Etruscan society. The central concern of studies of Etruscan gender has been the putative power of women. It will be argued that this is based on a simplistic reading of the images which we have been left. A more critical examination of the images on Etruscan mirrors reveals a complicated picture of the workings of Etruscan gender. These images are not direct representations of reality; nor are the two completely unrelated. Indeed, the nature of reflection implies a direct, though mediated, correspondence between the two. Just as Alice holds up a mirror to understand the poem Jabberwocky (Carroll 1994: 15), we will hold up an Etruscan mirror in order to reveal aspects of Etruscan gender. The Etruscan mirror will be used as the object of study as well as a tool for our understanding. An examination of previous approaches to Etruscan gender, will be followed by an analysis of mirrors which, in the first instance, brings to the fore their function as mechanisms for personal adornment and so identity. Then, the images engraved onto the backs of these objects

will be used to elaborate the ways in which personal identity was played out through the lens of gender in Etruscan society. The mirror is a particularly pertinent object for such a study. As a mechanism for the manipulation of the body according to socially desirable conventions, it is crucial in the creation of the image the individual wants to portray of himself.1 Thus, the mirror becomes inextricably implicated in the creation of personal identities. A central element of such identity is gender. This paper will discuss the changing attitudes towards gender identity in Etruscan society.

ASPECTS OF PREVIOUS SCHOLARSHIP The study of Etruscan gender has, so far, been concerned only with Etruscan women. They have aroused interest since antiquity, both in terms of the material accoutrements associated with them, and in terms of their unusually high social standing. When compared with contemporary Athenian women, they are said to have had much more visibility and freedom. Ancient authors were the first to note this. Athenaeus draws out several aspects of the lives of Etruscan women which would have been truly shocking to a Greek, such as female nudity and vanity, their promiscuity and their relatively high public visibility in encroaching on the quintessentially male domain for the Greeks: dining (Athenaeus 12, 517). This was elaborated upon in the nineteenth century by Bachofen’s “tyranny of women" through what he perceived to be Etruscan matriarchy (Bachofen 1861; 1967: 217). In this century, Heurgon (Heurgon 1961; 1964) and Bonfante (Bonfante 1973a; 1973b; 1981; 1986; 1989a; 1989b; 1994) have continued to emphasise the role of women, the latter drawing links between the raising of children regardless of the father, and female rights to own property (Bonfante 1973b: 93); the dignity of the family unit with the woman at the centre (Bonfante 1986: 232-41); the importance of the matronymic (Bonfante 1981: 323); the role of Etruscan women in public life (Bonfante 1983: 323) and dining (Bonfante 1981: 325). The most recent contribution to the field, Le Donne in Etruria (Rallo (ed.) 1989), still fails to move away from simply identifying women in the archaeological record, rather than exploring the more complex ways in which gender operates (for example, Rallo 1989a). In the first instance, such studies seem to ignore the existence of men. In the second, they fail to recognise gender as a dynamic between men and women which is continually negotiated and renegotiated. Looking at ‘women’ or even ‘men’ does not take this into account (cf. Gero & Conkey (eds) 1991; Gibbs 1987; Gilchrist 1991; Walde & Willows (eds) 1991; Wylie 1991). In this paper, I will attempt to shift the emphases and biases of these approaches. I shall examine the way men and women were representing themselves, concentrating on the period from about 530 BC to about 470 BC. I hope not simply to identify ‘women’ in the record which has passed down to us, nor to do a ‘compare and contrast’ of men and women in Etruria. Instead, I suggest that one of the ways in which gender can be examined is by removing the distinction between men and women as the initial point of entry into the study of gender. Rather, I start with a more general hypothesis which can be applied to men and women: mirrors are a mechanism for the deliberate creation of personal identities. Central to these identities is gender (Bourdieu 1989: 200-7; Gottdiener 1995; Hodder 1982; Kidwell & Steele

(eds) 1989; Marcus 1993; Pacteau 1994; Wilson 1985). Changing Etruscan attitudes to gender identity can be seen in the images engraved on the backs of their mirrors. In other words, rather than starting with an investigation of Etruscan women, or men, it is suggested that a more fruitful way of examining Etruscan gender is by looking at the creation of personal identity, and the changing relationships between male and female identity. As a key element in the creation of personal identity, the mirror forms the starting point of this investigation.

SOME REFLECTIONS ON ETRUSCAN MIRRORS Etruscan mirrors are traditionally studied in terms of typologies, and the images they contain on their reverse sides in order to elucidate the realia rather than the discourse of Etruscan ‘daily life’ (Bendinelli 1920; Gerhard 1839; 1843; 1861; 1862; Körte 1897;2 Mansuelli 1942; 1943; 1946; 1947; Steingràber 1979: 257-70). In this paper I shall look at mirrors as objects in themselves. The question of who used these mirrors is still unresolved definitively. De Grummond puts forward the case for female use: representations of mirrors are mostly found on mirrors themselves, where there are few instances of a male user, and these have been explained as attendants holding mirrors for their mistresses. Other evidence used by De Grummond to place mirrors in the female domain are tomb paintings, such as the Tomba Bruschi, where female figures are shown using mirrors. Volterran cinerary urns provide 21 examples of female figures holding mirrors and the eight inscriptions of ownership on mirrors indicate that this ownership was female. She also uses contextual evidence to point to the same conclusion. Rich burials with consistent female paraphernalia such as jewellery and spindle whorls are the types of assemblages that contain mirrors. Osteological evidence is rare in Etruscan archaeology; however tomb number 10 at Monte Rosello near Sovana contained a female “cadaver" which had a mirror as part of the grave goods (De Gummond (ed.) 1982: 166-8). Although the need for Etruscan men to use mirrors has been argued (Spivey 1991: 62; Spivey 1997a: 77), it is generally accepted that there was a strong link between Etruscan women and mirrors. The significance of this has been used to draw information from mirrors as to the ‘role’ or ‘power’ of Etruscan women, usually couched in terms of the quotidian, and reflecting, for example, dress style (Bonfante 1982). The work of this paper goes some way to give mirrors a male context, and the iconographic evidence would seem to re-iterate Spivey’s doubts about the exclusively female assignations of mirrors. Unlike the previous studies of mirrors this paper sets out with different questions from the outset, taking account of the primary function of a mirror as a mechanism for self-adornment and the creation of personal identity. Implicit in this is the need for an ideal image that the user of a mirror would require in order to create the idealised image of him or herself. These images are socially and culturally derived and imposed onto the individual’s body, through its manipulation, using a mirror. Mirrors appear relatively late in the Etruscan material record. They are found, exclusively in burial contexts, from c.530 or 520 BC. Following the results of recent interest in mortuary theory, it will be taken that burial remains are somehow related to the perceived experiences of the living, and that the creation of a social persona for the deceased is a central feature of

this (Parker Pearson 1982; Morris 1987; 1992). Of particular interest here is that the individual’s representation in burial can be idealised (Hodder 1982; Parker Pearson 1982: 110). Gender is an area which archaeologists have examined through burial. This paper takes the theoretical stance outlined above for the examination of gender as an idealised representation of the individual through burial. It is for this reason that there is little analysis of the types of men and women I see as represented in the mirrors (cf. Kampen 1982). The idealisation and codification of the outer appearance of the body is just that: an idealisation. It displays the dynamics of ways of seeing and being seen in a normative way. The expression of this in burial indicates the premium placed on this as an essential, though not unique, component of the dynamic of Etruscan self representation. Whether these were literally translated onto the bodies of real men and women is of secondary importance, and trying to extrapolate the kinds of individuals that did this is to underestimate the premium on self representation itself. Having said that, the mirrors are relatively luxurious objects and, though not rare in the burial record which survives, the tombs recorded may not be representative of the total population. In the following analysis we could be dealing with self representation of a fairly wealthy sector of Etruscan society.

SPECULUM: “AN INSTRUMENT FOR DILATING THE CAVITIES OF THE HUMAN BODY FOR INSPECTION" (OED) Reflection is the primary function of a mirror. It is created to throw back an image. As such it is a vehicle for the creation of a very specific image: that of the viewer. To the perceptions of the viewer this image is formed immediately, reflecting him as he ‘is’. I follow the results of ethnoarchaeological research over the last 15 years in the assumption that the appearance of the outside of the body is crucial in the creation and reception of a social identity (Hodder 1982; Wiessner 1989; 1990: 107). The surface of the body is the only contact with the outside world and thus the body’s, and by implication, the individual’s relation with the world. The surface of the body is a point of negotiation. From c.530 BC mirrors became the locus for the articulation of the construction of the self and gender identity. The mechanism for this is adornment (Cordwell 1979; Roach & Eicher 1979:7; Steele 1989: 15). Rallo asserts that for women, this involved the application of perfumed oils, with essences imported from the Orient. Detergents and face packs were used to cleanse the skin. These contained barley, lentils, eggs, narcissus bulbs and honey. To counter the astringency of these packs emollient oils were used to hydrate the skin and restore elasticity. To highlight facial features, natural pigments such as red and yellow ochre, mulberry essence and a substance to whiten the skin were mixed with an oil base, using worked ivory or bronze sticks and spoons in small silver vessels. It is possible that a henna tincture may have been used to colour the hair (all from Rallo 1989b). In addition, sumptuous jewellery and fabrics were used to adorn the body. Through adornment, the surface of the body is manipulated and transformed using cosmetics,

clothing, jewellery and discipline; it is loaded with deliberately selected significance. For men, the process is internalised through athleticism. Mirrors also frame the viewer within certain parameters: within the frame of the mirror itself and in the composition of what the holder wishes to include on the image since he has the power of selecting what he would like as a back drop. The viewer sets himself within a context of his own choice. This power of creating an image of oneself and of one’s background can be manipulated to create normative appearances. Another agency which affects and effects mirrors, apart from the viewer, is the commissioner and/or bestower. One mirror (Gerhard CXII) bears the inscription “Tite Cale gave this mirror to his mother as a gift”. On the reverse of the mirror we see Turan and Atunis: the Etruscan Aphrodite and Adonis. This inscription suggests that men bought or even commissioned expensive mirrors as gifts for women, imposing the frame of the mirror onto the female form. Mirrors were placed in burials and some had their reflective surface scratched or inscribed as preparation for the grave. The mortuary context of mirrors also frames the concept of self adornment in funerary practice, an arena for the negotiation of gender. The creation of images in and with mirrors, attested by the presence of mirrors, reflects an awareness of this potential in late sixth and fifth century BC Etruria. I shall explore several aspects of this potential.

Female representations on the mirrors Female adornment scenes are extremely common on Etruscan mirrors. Figures can be adorning themselves or may be the object of a complicated process of adornment by other women (Fig. 1). In such scenes female figures are shown in the process of creating their own images as they wish it to be seen by others. The process is therefore informed by the society’s conception of what that image should be. As a member of that society, and as the object of the creation, the woman is imposing onto her body that society’s ideals of how her body should appear. Scenes of women being adorned, like that in Figure 1, reflect this explicitly. The surface of the seated woman’s body is being worked by others, using extremely luxurious materials, to create a surface-deep image for society and by society. The bustle around the seated figure in these scenes is particularly striking. She sits, still and resigned to the consequences of all the alterations her appearance is undergoing. This role of adornment as a mechanism for social integration is emphasised by the possibility that ‘Malavish’, the label attached to many such figures, including this one, is the Etruscan for bride (Bonfante 1990: 34). Thus we have socialisation of the female in preparation for her future role, by unnamed members of her family or more often by divinities, giving an air of ‘naturalness’ through the ritualisation of the process (Sáflund 1993: 45: Smith 1991: 86). Adornment, though carried out by women, is not done exclusively for women. Instead, the female body is being packaged and decorated for the male viewer in general, and the groom specifically. That this adornment is for the male gaze in the Etruscan context is made explicit in the mirror in Figure 2, where a voyeuristic head pokes over the architectural frame, watching the adornment scene. On another mirror (Gerhard V. 97) the toilette of Thetis is watched by Peleus. Several mirrors show the Judgement of Paris. In one example from Cambridge (Nicholls 1993: no. 4), Paris is shown standing, casually leaning

on the edge of the frame of the mirror, imposing it onto the female figures bearing their all before him, for his inspection. We see three women under the scrutiny of the male gaze in what is the ultimate beauty contest.

Fig. 1 Adornment scene: seated Malavish, being adorned by Lase, supervised by Turan on the far right (Gerhard CCXIII)

Fig. 2 Adornment scene being watched from above (Gerhard CGXII)

In female adornment scenes where goddesses are taking part in the construction of the woman we see one of the ways the female body is objectified: eroticisation. In later mirrors Turan, Etruscan Aphrodite, becomes a stock figure, often carrying the tools of her trade, an aryballos and a perfume dipper. In Figure 1 the captions tell us the figure on the far right is Turan. She is carefully supervising the production, watching to ensure everything is done to her specifications. The concentration of the figures in the central panel shows the studied care with which the whole process is carried out. The adornment and transformation of the surface is a serious business. Seduction is the key. As goddess of love, frivolity and seduction, Aphrodite reflects these gifts onto women through adornment. Adornment is a mechanism for seduction, making the body erotically enticing. The female body, and so the woman herself, is being constructed as an erotic object, pleasing to the male gaze. Women were using mirrors as a tool for their self-construction, one of the intents being seduction, creating a female body which was a malleable erotic object for the male subject. In the Malavish scenes the body of Malavish, the unnamed, undefined, depersonalised canvas is preened, groomed, perfumed, and painted to cover any deviation. She thus becomes an irresistibly tempting, beautiful object like the mirror itself.

Fig. 3 Strict visual division of the space of the mirror into male and female halves (Gerhard CDXXI)

She also becomes an irresistible addition to the material collection of any respectable wealthy man. Through adornment women become highly decorative luxury objects. As I have said, mirrors themselves are luxury items. This is projected or defracted onto their users, who

also become luxury objects. Female figures on Etruscan mirrors are often juxtaposed with elaborate, expensive luxury objects. In Figure 3 the association is emphasised by the division of the surface into a faithful, natural male half, and a female half, full of ornament and decoration. The shawl, metal bowl hanging from the bough, and most of all the bed with its elaborately carved leg and finely woven cover, place the woman in the object class ‘luxury consumable’, waiting for the male figure’s arrival. Through her association with such items and the wealth invested in her appearance, the adorned female became an addition to a wealthy man’s system of status signs. In the sarcophagus of a married couple from c.300 BC, now in Boston, (De Grummond (ed.) 1982: fig. 115) this is taken to its extreme: the side of the sarcophagus is divided into two by the couple at the centre. The woman’s body itself is decorating that of her husband’s, hanging off his neck like a piece of jewellery. Woman has become embellishment for the male body. She is a symbol, not of herself, but of her husband’s wealth and status. She has become part of his insignia, along with the stool and military horn carried by his servants behind him. The objects by which she is represented are the tools which project her identity as her husband’s wife, and are themselves illustrations of his wealth: two caskets for cosmetics or jewellery, and a highly decorated fan of ostrich feathers, studded with pearls, all carried by figures behind her. To become a symbol of male status in this way the female body had to be viewed. In creating a seductive, sumptuous exterior to her body a woman would be looking into a mirror image of herself. To achieve her desirability she would have needed an idea of what this exterior should look like. She would need to know what, for men, was seductive and beautiful. In creating her image she would have been looking at herself as a man would in order to attain and maintain his gaze. By wanting to create a specific image when adorning herself in a mirror, a woman has a man’s eyes. In this way, reflections in mirrors are highly transgressive, questioning who is male and who is female, and who is creating the ideal after all. However, looking at herself as a man would, a woman is constructing an image of the male image of herself. The image is continually reflecting back on itself, perpetuating itself, left to right, right to left; male to female, female to male. The image a woman creates of herself through adornment is on the surface of her body. The creation of a surface appearance implies the existence of a certain ‘reality’ behind it which is not visible. The creation of this false reality is developed in the iconography of mirrors as a female craft or perhaps craftiness. Mirrors themselves are the results of skilled craftsmanship, as are the many other items of the female toilette including the highly decorated and ornate cistae, or cosmetics boxes. Etruscan mirrors are usually made of bronze, a relatively luxurious substance, and are elaborately worked. When the handles are not of sculptured bronze, they are of carved imported and opulent ivory sheaths around a bronze strut. Mirrors were luxurious objects in themselves. Etruscan jewellery, often represented on the mirrors, is a feature of a woman’s adornment. Women are seen being decorated with necklaces, diadems, bracelets and earrings (Figs 1 and 2). The technical skill of these objects is exceptional. The craftsmanship and creativity of adornment is represented in all its stages on the mirror in Figure 4. At the bottom we have a figure making a necklace. From this fly winged figures bearing perfume jars, ribbons, wreaths and more jewellery. In the central scene, the main figure is being crafted by two technicians behind her, adjusting her hair and ribbons. The figure to the left holds a

perfume dipper in one hand and a painted alabastron in the other. A small winged figure holds a little casket from which he offers more decoration for the ‘Christmas tree’. All these objects are known from burial groups and all show the craftsmanship for which the Etruscans were deemed worthy of study in the eighteenth century. At the top of the border are the recipients of all this work. The winged figures are carrying the social symbols of women up as offerings towards the dining men. Through her participation in the ritual of adornment a woman was confronted with a decision as to whether to reiterate or challenge the norms of adornment and thus the cultural meanings of such actions. With this creation of an externality, woman is constructing a purely superficial image. Women use their skill to mould and reconstruct the raw material before them: their bodies. These transformed images question the relationship between the body before transformation, after transformation and where reality lies. The object becomes something it is not. The viewer has to extract the truth from behind the artifice and deceit of the image, negotiating the ambiguity between truth and reality. The adorned body of a woman poses a riddle.

Fig. 4 Adornment scene: seated female figure adorned by other females, with winged Lase around the edges, and male diners at the top (Körte V. 22)

The furniture and domestic paraphernalia of adornment scenes place the activity safely inside the house. In some adornment scenes architectural features emphasise this (for example, in Fig. 2). This female domesticity is often contrasted with, and divided from, the male exterior world. Figure 3 shows the vertical division of the representational space of the mirror into a

female half, filled with furniture, and a male half with wild plants. The stick held by the man could be read as indicating the public sphere, like the staff held by men in Attic vase painting. Located in the domestic sphere, women become less active in external activities and through their adornment become symbols of male status.

Fig. 5 The Dioskouroi (Gerhard XLVIII.5)

Male representations on the mirrors So far I have examined the way women are represented in the iconographic language of mirrors. However, if as I have said, there is a broader ideological process being negotiated, it is necessary to look at the other side of the coin: representations of men on Etruscan mirrors. Figure 5 shows two men wearing loose-fitting tunics, lobed caps and strapped sandals. These figures are traditionally interpreted as Castur and Pultuke and this is borne out in the not inconsiderable number of inscriptions on mirrors identifying them as such (for example, Gerhard LIX.3). Representations of Castur and Pultuke, the Etruscan Castor and Pollux or the Divine Twins (Dioskouroi), are extremely common in Etruscan mirrors; they have a developed, codified iconography which, combined with the epigraphic evidence, makes their identification relatively simple. The hierarchy for such identifications starts with figures identified by labels inscribed on the mirrors. Where there are no inscriptions, iconographic devices are employed, that is their characteristic dress and the presence of stars or the sun and moon above their heads. The third and most tentative identifications rest on the position and pose of the figures, framing the figurative space of the mirror which is visible in nearly all representations of the Divine Twins.

Fig. 6 Male figure and the Dioskouroi (Gerhard CCLVI.l)

The gazing Dioskouroi are often shown with female figures, though men are also depicted in the centre of their introspective lines of sight. In Figure 6, the Dioskouroi are in their characteristic poses, resting on the inside edges of the frame with a naked male figure in the centre. The gaze of the Twins is directed at this figure. In these mirrors, Castur and Pultuke are set up as judges of the naked human body being displayed before them. This role is not out of

character with their associations as liminal immortals, mediating between the living and the dead or immortal. The depictions of the Dioskouroi on mirrors, which are found exclusively in funerary contexts, is consistent with this attribute. Sometimes (for example, Gerhard CCLV) Castur and Pultuke are shown winged and carrying a human male figure which they frame. In other mirrors this role is emphasised by their association with Hermes (for example, Gerhard CCLXI). However it is with their role as judges of the body that I am primarily concerned. Their association with judgement is also seen in their role as the patrons of athleticism and sometimes warfare, where contest is at issue, and needs adjudication. This adjudication needs rules. The judges need not decide the rules but they impose them onto the judged. As judges of the male and female body the Dioskouroi are not imposing specific ancient or divine notions of beauty, but their presence on mirrors gives a face to the viewer which has to be imagined for the creation of self-conscious representations of Etruscan individuals. The Dioskouroi could be read as the personification of the object of adornment and of personal image creation. They are indicative of the self awareness which adornment implies because, in these mirrors, they are the ones to whom this is indirectly aimed. More broadly, they indicate the assumption of a viewer for whom the self-representations are being created. On some mirrors (for example, Gerhard CCLII) the Dioskouroi, like Turan, are shown holding aryballoi, part of the equipment of both male and female adornment, bringing together their roles as judges and as judges of the body. The Dioskouroi mirrors can be read as describing this explicitly: the naked male body is put up on show and displayed for view. However there are many mirrors where the two are represented alone as an autonomous pair (Fig. 5). In these cases the body being viewed could be that of the user of the mirror. They confirm the reason behind looking in a mirror by resonating the omnipresence of a viewer. They reiterate one of the messages of the mirror as an object through which one gazes at oneself, and that one does so in order to be gazed at by others. Instances of the male body being viewed are not restricted to the Dioskouroi mirrors. Some examples show the viewing of the male body both by other male and female figures (Fig. 7). Such mirrors echo the structure of the Dioskouroi mirrors with the viewed body in the centre and onlookers at either side, gazing inwards. The last has the head of one such viewer peering from behind the others like the voyeur from earlier on (Fig. 2). The bodies of the youths are rendered with particular emphasis on musculature, and the form of the male anatomy and are always full frontal to the viewer of the mirror. Their central position and minimal use of engraving create a large clear area, in contrast to the drapery of the figures around. This draws the eye in straight to the displayed body; we are asked to collude in looking at the body, and as our gaze extends into the rest of the scene, we are reassured by all the figures within the scene doing the same thing. One way in which the male body was manipulated is through altering the appearance of the surface. Male adornment is a mirror of female adornment in that it works on the body itself, sculpting and manipulating it according to desirability, rather than adding to it in the form of jewellery or pigments. Athletic training is one of the ways in which this is done. Associated with this are the processes of scraping, oiling and depilating the body. Through athleticism and physical training, the surface of the male body was worked on almost from within. The

selective building of musculature from under the skin affected the surface of the body by pushing against the skin, giving it new, desirable contours. In contrast with female adornment, the manipulation of the body itself and the removal of clothing and accoutrements is almost sculptural. The additions to the male body are stripped away, leaving the contoured body, hewn down to its minimum, the surface of which was manipulated through exercise and sculpted into the right shape. The addition of a sheen through the application of oils to the skin would have added to this sculptural feel. Some mirrors show details of the process: in one (Gerhard V.138.2) two naked male figures are shown, one of whom is holding his leg up to use his strigil on his outer calf. Strigils become common in male burials at this time as did aryballoi and alabastra. Although no evidence survives of palaestra or similar structures in Etruria, the elaboration of consistent palaestra paraphernalia indicates that exercise of this type, and the material cultural associations of it, were used in Etruria (Spivey & Stoddart 1990: 93). The presence of strigils in male hands in the iconography of mirrors is a reference to the male process of adornment. Contexts where the male body was manipulated through exercise, in order to mould the form in accordance with the ideal, are plentiful in Etruria. Boxing and wrestling are depicted on mirrors (for example, Gerhard LVI.1) where the rendition of the musculature of the naked male body is emphasised. One form of exercise for which the Etruscans were famous, specially in South Etruria, is horse riding and this too is represented in mirrors (for instance, Gerhard V137). In these scenes male figures are depicted either riding or leading horses.

Fig. 7 Naked male body under scrutiny (Gerhard CCCLVl)

Two mirrors show running or jumping. In both cases the figures are male (Gerhard V.144 & V.138.1). An athlete is depicted practising or performing to music with a servant carrying his strigil. The scene is highly reminiscent of those of palaestra or gymnasia from Greece or Rome, where a cult of the body beautiful is often cited (Spivey 1997b: 133-55). In both cases the only viewer is the holder of the mirror. The scene is made up of participants in the action. The absence of a specific viewer in the depiction hints at a more abstract, generic viewer. In the first example the action takes place on a monumental architectural plinth, setting the scene outside, in public view, as performance in competition or in training. I would argue that one of the details of difference between male and female adornment and viewing is in the context in which it takes place: whereas female adornment is restricted to the house or interior private space, male adornment takes place in the public sphere. Ancient and modern writers ascribe greater public visibility to Etruscan women. Whether this is true or not, the process of adornment is carried out in different contexts even if the visibility of the end result is the same. The efforts of male adornment in terms of athletic training are viewed in public loci, whether funeral games, athletic competitions or in a palaestra situation, though as I have said no archaeological palaestra sites exist. Given the importance of athleticism, the choice of the Dioskouroi in so many mirrors is particularly resonant. The Divine Twins were the patrons of athleticism: Castur was a renowned horseman and Pultuke a boxer, a sport in which he won a contest at the funeral of Pelias. The link between the Dioskouroi and athleticism was not overlooked in the Etruscan mirrors. Some scenes show one or both of the Dioskouroi holding javelins (for example, Gerhard LVI.1,2&3). In other instances it is the horsemanship that is picked up (for example, Nicholls 1993: number 4). The veneration of this association is shown in one mirror (Gerhard CLXXI) where there is a statue of Pultuke wearing his boxing gloves (he is interpreted as a statue because he is on an architectural plinth, unlike the other figures in the scene). To his left sits a human boxer (identified by his gloves). Although extrapolations about the worship of Pultuke are tentative, this mirror seems to show that such statues were of particular relevance to boxers, if not all athletes, and there was some kind of veneration of the athletic persona of Pultuke. These images seem to be not only establishing adornment with the Dioskouroi as aspirational but also intimating the quasi-religious importance of the process of adornment. The act of adornment to create an idealised image of the human body is naturalised through its religious juxtapositions. Athleticism is not the only attribute of the Dioskouroi. They are also linked to warfare: Castur was a famous soldier and taught Herakles swordsmanship and cavalry skills. In this association, it is possible to see the construction of an idealised role for the Etruscan male: warfare. This parallels the strict association of the female to the domestic. One mirror provides epigraphic association of the Dioskouroi with warfare in Etruria (Gerhard V78). The two outer male figures are labelled as Pultuke and Castur, standing either side of their sister, Helen, who is naked but bejewelled. These siblings are all used repeatedly in Etruscan iconography associated with adornment. Castur and Pultuke are armed with spears and are wearing cuirasses of metal. In this mirror adornment is associated with male and female

beauty, its judgement through Helen, and to warfare through Castur and Pultuke. The complexity of the image also allows association of warfare and the male body as warrior with judgement and male adornment. In other mirrors the same association is made. In some, Castur and Pultuke are identified by the presence of stars near their heads. In these scenes the arms they bear tend to be spears and shields (for example, Gerhard XLIX.2), but some representations show helmets and cuirasses as well (for example, Gerhard CCI). In yet another type Castur and Pultuke are identified by pose alone. In such instances they have extensive armour including helmets, cuirasses, shields and spears (for example, Gerhard V135) or spears and shields (for example, Gerhard XLIX.4 & 5) or in the later examples simply shields (for example, Gerhard LII.2). The significance of Castur and Pultuke as judges of male athleticism has been outlined above. Here I suggest that the same normative role is expressed in warfare too. Castur and Pultuke as exemplary warriors and judges of the manipulation of the surface of the body were put on mirrors precisely for this reason. Mirrors also contain depictions of warriors other than the Dioskouroi. These images are sometimes mythical heroes and sometimes, at least to us, non-specific male figures. They can be read in the same way as the unnamed bride in female adornment scenes. The images set up the valorisation and codification of the male body in terms of martial adornment and the male persona as warrior. The representations of the male body are largely restricted to the two areas of athleticism or warfare. The body is being codified according to these, not unrelated, criteria.

Women and men in Etruscan representations The previous sections have demonstrated a clear distinction between the ways in which men and women represented themselves, and were represented. Through the mirror, the Etruscan woman became objectified, eroticised and located in the domestic. By contrast, the male body, worked on from within, became associated with public roles, such as warfare and athletics. Such a position is in stark contrast to the interpretations of the position of Etruscan women put forward by other scholars, particularly Bonfante. For her the prevalence of images of couples indicates a prominent public role for Etruscan women as equal partners in their marriage, enjoying greater freedom than contemporary Greek women (Bonfante 1973b: 93; 1986: 234; 1981: 323). The visibility of women with their husbands is seen as indicative of their importance in Etruscan society as the core of the family unit, which Bonfante sees as more important than the individual civic or military achievements of the single male (Bonfante 1989a: 92-101). She cites the many depictions of couples in Etruscan art in the sixth, fifth and fourth centuries. One of the earliest examples of such images is the Sarcofago degli Sposi in the Villa Giulia Museum (Giglioli 1935: plates 117-20). The couple recline on an elaborately carved couch. They lie together with the man’s arm around the woman in a ‘protective’ gesture, both covered by a blanket which Bonfante sees as a symbol of marriage. The same blanket can be seen in the sarcophagus lid from Boston (Bonfante 1986: fig. VIII-4) covering a married couple in bed, the domesticity emphasised by the gabled bed-ends. Dining is another activity from which Bonfante extrapolates the relatively high status of

Etruscan women (Bonfante 1973b: 92; 1994: 247). In the Tomba dei Leopardi from Tarquinia, women and men are depicted dining with men as equals, sharing their couches and games. Two figures from the Tomba del Triclinio shows a similar scene. The frivolity of the banquets is epitomised by the figures who dance through an olive grove. However, even using Bonfante’s evidence, it is possible to paint a different picture, one which is closer to the account presented above using the mirrors. I shall argue that instead of showing the independence and power of Etruscan women from the sixth century on, such images can be read as placing women in the position I outlined earlier: erotic images for the male gaze, and part of the Etruscan man’s system of wealth display. In the Tomba del Gallo at Tarquinia (Steingräber 1986; fig. 76) there is a couple dancing. The woman is the object of the male gaze: she is dancing, deliberately averting her eyes from the man next to her. He, in contrast, though dancing too, is looking directly at her. The woman as the object of his gaze is dancing for his pleasure and entertainment. The Tombe delle Leonese also shows women dancing on its far wall (Steingräber 1986: fig. 97) but it is not until one sees the sides of the tomb that one realises that the performance is being watched: each side contains two largescale reclining male figures facing the scene of the dancers (Steingräber 1986: figs 101-2). In the Tomba della Caccia e Pesca (Steingráber 1986: figs 41 & 45) there is a scene which could fit Bonfante’s argument: on the far wall there is a couple reclining together, gazing at each other, the man’s arm around the woman’s shoulder. However, the woman is dressed in elaborate garments with decoration down the side, has a complex coiffure topped by a hat, and is wearing three bracelets, a choker and an elaborately worked pair of earrings. She has undergone transformation through adornment: she has become an ostentatious repository for her husband’s wealth. The rest of the scene amplifies this. The couple are set within a scene of preparation of another sort: that for the banquet. Two figures on the left prepare garlands for diners, a flute player is playing and on the left two youths are collecting wine. The man is set within a scene of industry for his pleasure and ostentation. The objectification of Etruscan women developed further during the fifth and fourth centuries, culminating in their marginalisation in the major forms of art. For instance, in a sarcophagus lid from Chianciano in Terme, now in the Florence museum (Rallo (ed.) 1989: plate 70) the woman has been pushed to the end of the couch where she sits, knees turned away, barely on the couch at all. Women’s objectification in terms of eroticism or luxury set the requisite conditions for their relegation to a position of relative insignificance in the iconography. A mid fifth century tomb painting (no. 5513, Steingráber 1986: fig. 174) suggests the first signs of this process. In what appears to be a standard dining scene with male and female figures apparently being served by smaller figures, we notice that instead of being seated with the male diners the women are in fact standing behind the couches, attending the men. In the later Tomba degli Scudi (Steingráber 1986: fig. 146) we see that while the man reclines on his couch, the woman is not reclining with him but perched on the couch selecting food for him from the table in front of them. She has been pushed from a position on the couch as participant to that of a server. Given the analysis of mirrors, and the alternative readings of Bonfante’s material, how are we to account for the startling difference between these and the traditional accounts of Etruscan gender? First, starting from a specific examination of women has led many authors to ignore

the male side of the coin. By isolating women in this way, such examinations do not provide any mark against which to gauge the objects of their study: the women. When examined within a unifying framework, in this instance the creation of identity, very different treatments of the male and female body emerge. Second, these treatments do not allow for any diachronic change. The monomorphic group ‘Etruscan women’ is studied as a temporal constant. Scholars conjoin, for example, seventh century tomb groups, with the sixth century Sarcófago degli Sposi, with third century inscriptions, in order to create an image of Etruscan women. So far this paper has been concerned with the period after c.530 BC. When a long-term perspective is taken, the negotiation of gender developed in the mirrors becomes particularly significant. Much of the evidence for the ‘status’ and ‘power’ of Etruscan women comes from the large monumental tumuli of the Orientalising period, with their wealthy grave goods, such as the Tomba Regolini Galassi. Similarly, at Marsiliana d’Albegna (Minto 1921), there are several very richly furnished female burials. The discrepancy between the implications of this and the analysis of mirrors could be the result of a fall in the status and wealth of Etruscan women. Though such a hypothesis has obvious appeal, again, it falls into the trap of ‘compare and contrast male and female’. Here again, the starting point from gender identity provides a more integrated account. Many of the rich female burials contain war chariots (Bartoloni & Grottanelli 1989). It has been argued that the role of arms and armour in Etruscan burial was part of the ‘clan’ system of social structure where they expressed the power of the ruling elite (Spivey & Stoddart 1990: 131-2). Female chariot burials could be seen in the same light, as expressing the broader class from which the individual female came. However, poorer burials also show the same mixing of male and female objects, combining, for example, spearheads or razors with spools (Spivey 1991: 57). Such burials, which are ambiguously gendered, are usually ignored because of the difficulties they present for modern scholars wanting to know whether the burial is that of a man or woman. Given that burial is a locus for the expression of gender identity, perhaps these ambiguous burials should be seen as deliberately ambiguous. Such ambiguity, present in the Iron Age and Orientalising periods, stands in marked contrast to the results of the discussion above on mirrors. Perhaps the difference in the treatments of the male and female body from the later material should be seen as the result of a change in conceptions of maleness and femaleness, involving clarifications and codifications of difference, and the eradication of ambiguity in the representations of gender identity.

CONCLUSION This paper has not delineated male or female roles in Etruria. It has looked at one aspect of the ideological change which took place in Etruria and which characterises the change from the so called archaic to classical periods. This transition is derived from art historical classifications and is still studied in these terms. I have tried to show that though this stylistic change is attestible, behind it lies a broader shift in Etruscan perceptions of the self and the representation of this. The starting point for this was the sudden appearance of mirrors in the

culturally charged area of burial and the significance of these as mechanisms for embodying this cultural change. I hope I have demonstrated how this worked and at the same time have integrated an art historian’s material into a broader archaeological study. Examination of the creation of a surface has led to a more integrated study of gender in Etruria. The premise that mirrors allow and signify the creation of this surface permits a closer look at how this was manifest in different ways on the male and female body. The female figure, with all its attributes and constructions, is set within the male gaze and domestic toilette interior. The creation of the female surface was domestic and involved the objectification and eroticisation of the female body. I see the same emphasis on the exterior of the body in representations of the male body, except here it manifests itself in the removal of adornment. Through athleticism and exercise the male body is sculpted according to the rules of what is conceived to be the ideal form, in the same way that cosmetics and jewellery were used in female adornment. It is possible to see the same emphasis and premium given to the exterior of the male body, with exercise at the centre, accompanied by the application of oils and scraping of the skin which creates an almost statuary sheen to the surface of the body. Like the female, the male body is contained by the imposition of an ideal form but their containment is mediated and less layered. For instance on mirrors, men are nearly always viewers and not, therefore, held within an objectifying gaze. Rather than passive objects for adornment, they are presented in an active milieu such as athletics or warfare. Most importantly, the link with the domestic is not drawn, through the physical setting of their increasingly characteristic activities outside. This is mirrored by the activity and paraphernalia of female adornment. Simultaneously, and as part of the same process, the representations of men and women are becoming more standardised: women as beautiful luxurious objects and men as athletic, heroised warriors. To return to the mirrors themselves, I would argue that the repeated action and gesture of placing and sealing mirrors in graves is a key to revealing what Etruscan society valued, feared, or aspired to. The material value and opulence, and the iconography of mirrors draws out the importance of ostentation and the moulding of the body into desired norms, both male and female. These objects, which were imbued with multi-layered symbolic value, were deposited in tombs which are facsimiles of the domestic house. The gesture thus becomes indicative of the value placed on what is ideal, what is luxurious and, most of all, what society needs and prizes, in order to define and control the ideal self-image, both of individuals and of society as a whole. The definitions and boundaries of gender become heavily implicated in the commission, iconography and funerary deposition of mirrors. This happens both on mirrors, in other iconography and in the composition of grave assemblages, where the ambiguity of the Iron Age and early archaic periods is ironed out, and clearer gender identity is discernible.

NOTES 1 Generally in discussions of Etruscan mirrors and adornment, it is assumed that this involves

only women. Throughout this text, I have retained the masculine pronoun in order to emphasise the usually neglected pertinence of male particpation in a discussion of Etruscan mirrors. 2 Mirrors from Gerhard-Körte used in this paper will be referred to as ‘Gerhard’ followed by

the plate number from the five volumes.

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Addresses of contributors Mary Baker Dept of Archaeology University of Southampton Southampton S01 7 1BJ Lawrence Barfield Dept of Ancient History and Archaeology University of Birmingham Edgbaston Birmingham B15 2TT Keri A. Brown Dept. of Biomolecular Sciences PO Box 88 UMIST Manchester M60 1QD Chris Hayden St John’s College Cambridge CB2 1TP Tamar Hodos Faculty of Classics Sidgwick Avenue Cambridge CB3 9DA Katie Holmes Flat 3 23 Hanson Street London W1P 7LP

Vedia Izzet Christ’s College Cambridge CB2 9BU Robert Leighton Dept of Archaeology University of Edinburgh Old High School Infirmary Street Edinburgh EH 1 1LT Marina Markantonatos 20 Huron Way Lawrenceville NJ 08648 USA Jon Morter† formerly of: Dept of Sociology and Anthropology College of Charleston South Carolina 29424-0001 Charleston USA Mark Pluciennik Dept. of Archaeology University of Wales Lampeter Ceredigion Wales SA48 7EY John Robb Dept of Archaeology University of Southampton Southampton SO17 1BJ

Judith Toms Institute of Archaeology University of Oxford 36 Beaumont Street Oxford OX1 2PG M. Carmen Vida CEMS Archaeology Birkbeck College 26 Russell Square London WC1B 5DQ Ruth Whitehouse Institute of Archaeology University College London 31-34 Gordon Square London WC1H OPY