Quiriguá Reports, Volume IV: Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala 9781934536414

Table of contents :
Table of Contents
Plates
Figures
Tables
Preface and Acknowledgments
Part 1
1. Introduction
2. Setting and Methodology
3. The Site Periphery Settlement Sample
4. Occupation History at Quiriguá
5. Quiriguá Demography and Land Use
6. Social Distinctions and Integration
7. Socially and Symbolically Constituted Space
8. Conclusions
Endnotes
Part 2
Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery
Part 3
References Cited
Index
Additional Illustrations & Tables
Contents
Plates
Figures
Tables
Plates
Part 1 Figures
Part 2 Figures
Tables Parts 1 and 2
Part 3: Quiriguá Wider Periphery
Index

Citation preview

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

Air view of Quiriguá Site Core and Floodplain Periphery, view from south.

University Museum Monograph 126

wendy ashmore

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

Quiriguá Reports Robert J. Sharer, General Editor Volume IV

University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology Philadelphia

Copyright 2007 University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology All Rights Reserved First Edition





library of congress cataloging-in-publication data

Ashmore, Wendy, 1948– Settlement archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala / Wendy Ashmore. — 1st ed. p. cm. — (Quiriguá reports ; v. 4) (University Museum monograph ; 126) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-1-931707-91-6 (hardcover with CD : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 1-931707-91-X (hardcover with CD : alk. paper) 1. Quiriguá Site (Guatemala)—Antiquities. 2. Mayas—Guatemala—Izabal (Dept.)— Antiquities. 3. Land settlement patterns, Prehistoric—Guatemala—Izabal (Dept.) 4. Excavations (Archaeology)—Guatemala—Izabal (Dept.) 5. Izabal (Guatemala : Dept.)—Antiquities. I. University of Pennsylvania. Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. II. Title. F1435.1.Q8A75 2006 972.81’31–dc22 2006035382

Wendy Ashmore is Professor of Anthropology at the University of California, Riverside. Since completion of research at Quiriguá, Guatemala, she has conducted field projects at Gualjoquito and Copan, in Honduras, and at Xunantunich, Belize. She has edited books on Lowland Maya Settlement Patterns (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1981), Household and Community in the Mesoamerican Past (with Richard R. Wilk; Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1988), Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary Approaches (with A. Bernard Knapp; Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1999), and Integrating the Diversity of 21st-Century Anthropology: The Life and Intellectual Legacies of Susan Kent (with Marcia-Anne Dobres, Sarah Milledge Nelson, and Arlene Rosen; Archeology Division, American Anthropological Association, 2007).

Printed in Canada on acid-free paper.

for Tom

Table of Contents Figures. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix Plates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . x Tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi Preface and Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii PART 1 1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Goals of the Monograph . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Settlement Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 Lowland Maya Settlement Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 Settlement Archaeology and Quiriguá . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Developments since 1981 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Volume Contents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 2. Setting and Methodology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Quiriguá Setting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Data Acquisition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 3. The Site Periphery Settlement Sample . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Forms of Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Architectural Assemblages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 4. Occupation History at Quiriguá . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Definition of Periphery Time Spans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Periphery Time Span 6 (?–ca. AD 400) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 Periphery Time Span 5 (ca. AD 400–550) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 Periphery Time Span 4 (ca. AD 550–700) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 Periphery Time Span 3 (ca. AD 700–850) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 Periphery Time Span 2 (ca. AD 850–900?) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Periphery Time Span 1 (ca. AD 900?–1840) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90 Settlement Trajectory: Continuity and Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 5. Quiriguá Demography and Land Use . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 Evaluating the Late Classic Floodplain Settlement Sample . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 Dwellings and Demography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 Beyond the Bounds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 6. Social Distinctions and Integration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 Social Stratification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 Production . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 Social Integration and Ritual . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128 Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134 7. Socially and Symbolically Constituted Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137 Quiriguá Patterns Revisited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137 Implications of Pattern Distribution for Settlement Planning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144 Stability, Change, and Social Memory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147

Spatial Orders and Civic Planning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8. Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Principal Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Addressing Broader Questions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Closing Thoughts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Notes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

149 155 157 157 158 160 161

Part 2 Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 1A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 1B . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 1C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 1D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 1E . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 2A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 2B . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 2C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 2D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 2E . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 3C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 3E . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 3G . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 4C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 4G . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 5A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 5C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 5E . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 6A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 7A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 7C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 9C . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 11A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 13A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grid 13B . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

165 167 179 186 198 200 203 207 210 221 222 223 281 286 287 288 290 293 300 304 305 310 320 322 323 324

part 3. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . See CD Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351

viii

Plates All Plates are on the accompanying CD. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

Air view of Site Core and Floodplain Periphery, view from south. Exterior surface of adobe fragment (Cat. No. 18A/32-1) showing smoothed, painted molding. Interior surface of adobe fragment (Cat. No. 18A/32-1) showing pole impressions. Str. 1B-23, ditch exposure from northwest (compare drawing in Figure 1B-2). Frontal stair (Unit 16) at Str. 3C-5. Interior of secondary summit room, Str. 3C-5, showing wall construction (Unit 49), doorjambs (Units 54, 55) and fallen lintel slabs, from north. Str. 3C-11, with ditch exposure in foreground, cleared structure beyond. Scale is set at 1 meter horizontal, 50 cm vertical. Pl. 3C-1 and Monument 27, exposed in ditch M-27 and shown the day after vandalism. View to southwest. Men at left are examining deposit of obsidian blade fragments and debitage. Rhyolite masonry steps (Unit 14) of Pl. 3C-1. Str. 3C-20 as exposed in ditch MC-12 (compare drawing in Figure 3C.24). Air view of Loc. 002, from southwest. Looter’s trench into Str. 002-1 is clearly visible. Air view of Loc. 002, from northeast, highlighting relation of Pl. 002-1 and Pl. 002-2 (left of higher platform) and with silhouette of Str. 002-2 visible on summit, beyond Str. 002-1. Str. 002-1, Exc. 1, from southeast, highlighting (foreground to distance) masonry wall Units 21, 39, and 40 of Str. 002-1-1st. Close-up of convex rhyolite masonry of Pl. 002-1-2nd, U. 7, and flat-faced sandstone masonry Units 32-33 of Str. 002-1-1st, from north. Air view of Loc. 011, from east. Highway CA 9 and Quiriguá River are beyond site; railroad is in foreground. Str. 089-2, Exc. 5, with mixed masonry basal façade (Unit 3) in foreground, and well-faced sandstone threshold and bench at summit (Units 10, 14). Air view of Loci 090 through 093, from north, with Morjá River at left. Group 092-2 is recognizable as squared “U” just below center of image. Air view of Loci 090 through 093, from south, with Morjá River at right and Motagua River in distance. Group 092-2 is recognizable as upside-down squared “U” in center of image. Str. 092-2 before clearing, from northwest, with Morjá River at left. Projecting marble masonry stair (Unit 16) is visible at center of image. Loc. 092, Exc. 3: juncture of Strs. 092-1 (center distance) and 092-13 (left), from north, highlighting stratigraphic relations and masonry forms. Str. 092-2, apron molding (Unit 5) and sub-apron wall (Unit 3), from north. West edge of projecting stair is visible at left. Loc. 092, Exc. 13: pillar of Str. 092-6-2nd.

Figures Frontispiece . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ii Part 1 1.1 Map of the Maya area . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 1.2 Map of the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 1.3 Map of the Lower Motagua Valley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 1.4 Map of the Quiriguá Site Core . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 2.1 Geology of the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 2.2 Soils of the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 2.3 Topographic sub-areas of the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 2.4 Quiriguá Wider Periphery: reconnaissance coverage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 2.5 Quiriguá Wider Periphery: loci recorded . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 2.6 Schematic map of magnetic survey locations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 2.7 Map of Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery: commercial farm sectors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30 3.1 Taxonomy showing relations among classes defined in Table 3.1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 3.2 Map of Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 4.1 Location of Motagua River channels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 4.2 Floodplain Periphery features of PTS 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 4.3 Wider Periphery loci of PTS 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 4.4 Schematic profile of ancient and modern ground levels exposed in Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery drainage ditches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 4.5 Floodplain Periphery features of PTS 4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 4.6 Wider Periphery loci of PTS 4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 4.7 Distribution of gravels antedating Strs. 5A-1 through 5A-4, 5C-1, and D. F. 5A-2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 4.8 Floodplain Periphery features of PTS 3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 4.9 Wider Periphery loci of PTS 3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 4.10 Quiriguá Floodplain Center schematic map . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 4.11 Floodplain Periphery features with indications of occupation in PTS 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 4.12 Wider Periphery features with indications of occupation in PTS 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 5.1 Distribution of potential residences or associated residential features in the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104 5.2 Distribution of potential residences or associated residential features in the Quiriguá Wider Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 6.1 Obsidian, ceramic, and textile production in the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123 6.2 Obsidian, ceramic, and textile production in the Quiriguá Wider Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 6.3 Arenas for public gathering in the Floodplain Center of Quiriguá . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 6.4 Arenas for public gathering in the Wider Periphery of Quiriguá. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 6.5 Proportional distribution of censer forms by provenience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 7.1 Distribution of Quiriguá patterns by Floodplain Periphery grid square in PTS 3/2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138 7.2 Distribution of Quiriguá patterns in the Wider Periphery in PTS 3/2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd Figures for Part 2 are on the accompanying CD

Tables part 1

1.1 Concordance of Named Quiriguá Rulers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 2.1 Short Inventory of Flora in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 2.2 Short Inventory of Fauna in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 2.3 Soils of the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 2.4 Quiriguá Wider Periphery: Reconnaissance Coverage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 2.5 Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery: Reconnaissance Coverage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Classes of Individual Archaeological Features and Natural Strata (Quiriguá Project) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 3.1 3.2 Atemporal Distribution of Independently Designated Floodplain Periphery Features by Grid Location . . . . . . 42 3.3 Presence of Quiriguá Site Periphery Construction Materials by Location . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 3.4 Platforms in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 3.5 Pavements in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 3.6 Deposits in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Possible Primary Deposits in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 3.7 3.8 Middens and Related Features in the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Monuments in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 3.9 3.10 Structure Groups in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 3.11 Typology of Architectural Assemblages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54 3.12 Possible Patio Groups in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 3.13 Structure Groups at Quiriguá Fitted to Copán and PLE Typologies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 3.14 Structure Groups at Quiriguá Ranked by Copán and PLE Site Types . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 3.15 Sites in the Quiriguá Wider Periphery Fitted to Copán, PLE, and LMV Typologies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 3.16 Sites in the Quiriguá Wider Periphery Ranked by Copán, PLE and LMV Site Types . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 Ceramic Chronologies for Quiriguá and Selected Other Sites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 4.1 4.2 Detailed Quiriguá Chronology, Non-Settlement Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 4.3 Site Periphery Occupation in PTS 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Site Periphery Occupation in PTS 4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 4.4 4.5 Site Periphery Occupation in PTS 3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 4.6 Distribution of Masonry Use in the Floodplain Periphery During PTS 3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 Site Periphery Occupation in PTS 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 4.7 4.8 Changes in Floodplain Periphery Construction Materials . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 Temporal Distribution of Quiriguá Patterns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 4.9 Percentages of Ditch Exposures Actually Reconnoitered . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94 5.1 5.2 N25°W Ditch Alignments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 5.3 Distribution of Construction by Grid Square . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 Distribution of Construction by Grid Square (Adjusted Sample) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 5.4 5.5 Distribution of Construction by Grid Square Including Grids 1A and 1B (Estimated Values) . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96 5.6 Construction Density Comparisons: Playitas, Copán, Tikal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Extrapolated Densities: Quiriguá . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 5.7 5.8 Structure Densities in Classic Maya and Southeastern Mesoamerican Settlements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 Nonperishable Items Associated with Maya Dwellings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 5.9 5.10 Potential Residences or Associated Residential Features in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102 5.11 Population Estimate for Controlled Sample Area During PTS 3/2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 5.12 Population Estimates for Late Classic Lowland Maya Centers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106 6.1 Obsidian Blade, Ceramic, and Textile Production in the Quiriguá Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122 6.2 Distribution of Obsidian Artifacts in the Quiriguá Site Core and Site Periphery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124 6.3 Preserved Ritual Features in Site Periphery Locations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 6.4 Potential Arenas for Public Gatherings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130

6.5 7.1 7.2

Artifact Inventory for Quiriguá Str. 3C-5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 Distribution of Quiriguá Patterns by Location in PTS 3/2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 Chronological Placement of Possible Analogues for Str. 3C-14/Pl. 3C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143

part 2 1A.1 Chronological Summary of Str. 1A-28 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174 1A.2 Excavation Lot Contents of Ops. 3C and 3F (Mdn. 1-1) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 1C.1 Chronological Summary of Op. 18E . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 1C.2 Chronological Summary of Str. 1C-6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 1C.3 Chronological Summary of Pvmt. 1C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194 2C.1 Op. 8L Provenience Lots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212 2C.2 Str. 2C-1: Distribution of Units, Features, and Strata by Excavation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214 2C.3 Chronological Summary of Str. 2C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215 2C.4 Str. 2C-3: Distribution of Units, Features, and Strata by Excavation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216 2C.5 Chronological Summary of Str. 2C-3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217 3C.1 Op. 13N Provenience Lots (Str. 3C-1) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224 3C.2 Op. 13N Provenience Lots (Excs. 8 and 9) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225 3C.3 Str. 3C-1: Distribution of Units, Features, and Strata by Excavation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226 3C.4 Chronological Summary of Str. 3C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226 3C.5 Op. 13N Provenience Lots (Str. 3C-2, Pvmt. 3C-1, Pvmt. 3C-2) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228 3C.6 Str. 3C-2: Distribution of Units, Feature, and Strata by Excavation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230 3C.7 Chronological Summary of Str. 3C-2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230 3C.8 Op. 13I Provenience Lots in Group 3C-2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 3C.9 Group 3C-2: Distribution of Units, Features, and Strata by Excavation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234 3C.10 Chronological Summary of Group 3C-2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 3C.11 Str. 3C-5: Artifacts Found in Use-related Primary Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238 3C.12 Str. 3C-5: Distribution of Ceramic Types and Forms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239 3C.13 Op. 13I Provenience Lots in Group 3C-3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241 3C.14 Chronological Summary of Str. 3C-7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242 3C.15 Pyrite and Plaque Fragments in Quiriguá Project Collections . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243 3C.16 Op. 18B Provenience Lots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246 3C.17 Obsidian Forms in Op. 18B . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248 3C.18 Chronological Summary of Str. 3C-11 and Well 3C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249 3C.19 Chronological Summary of Str. 3C-12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250 3C.20 Ops. 19R and 19S Provenience Lots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cd 3C.21 Chronological Summary of Str. 3C-14 and Pl. 3C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252 3C.22 Str. 3C-14 and Pl. 3C-1: Distribution of Units, Features, and Strata by Excavation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253 3C.23 Contents of Vessels in Cache 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256 3C.24 Str. 3C-14/Pl. 3C-1: Artifacts in Use-related Primary Context, TS 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259 3C.25 Contents of Lot 19M/27 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260 3C.26 Op. 8P Provenience Lots . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 262 3C.27 Chronological Summary of Str. 3C-16 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263 3C.28 Chronological Summary of Pvmts. 3C-1 and 3C-2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273 3C.29 Contents of Excavation Lots, Mdn. 3C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277 3E.1 Contents of Lots Associated with Pvmt. 3E-1 and D. F. 3E-2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283 3E.2 Contents of Lot 19M/30E . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283 5C.1 Chronological Summary of Str. 5C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 294 7C.1 Contents of Lots Associated with Mdn. 7C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 7C.2 Chronological Summary of Mdn. 7C-1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 316 part 3: See CD xii

Preface and Acknowledgments

T

his monograph reports results of fieldwork conducted in 1975-1979; writing for the monograph concluded in 2004. As indicated in Chapter 1, the years between witnessed significant advances in pertinent bodies of knowledge—theory, data, and interpretation— all of which could thus be brought to bear on considering Quiriguá settlement herein. Inevitably, 2004 is an arbitrary benchmark; within the immediately ensuing year, significant new publications emerged, notably formal release of the School of American Research volume on Copán in 2005. While continuing to explore the ever-expanding corpus, however, I have resisted incorporating most newer works in text here, to avoid simply extending the writing process to another arbitrary cut-off point. From conceptualization of field inquiry to completion of the manuscript, this work has benefited from the help and advice of many, both agencies and individuals. My doctoral advisor and longstanding friend, Robert J. Sharer, and the other invaluable members of my committee, Jacques Bordaz and Ruben E. Reina, guided and encouraged me in formulating the fieldwork and initial interpretations. I am deeply grateful to Quiriguá Project Directors Sharer and William R. Coe for the invitation to work at Quiriguá. At the Instituto de Antropología e Historia, Guatemala, I thank Dr. Luis Luján Muñoz, Lic. Francis Polo Sifontes, Arq. Marcelino Gonzalez Cano, and our extremely capable foreman, Sr. Enrique Monterroso R. The extent of Monterroso’s contributions to the settlement research is acknowledged, if never fully enough, in repeated allusions to his work in the monograph. Mr. B. Edward Taylor, Mr. Roy C. Wells, and Ing. Mario Mena, successive Managers of Bandegua, graciously granted access to the lands comprising the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery. They also generously supplied maps and ditch-engineering profiles, lent us heavy equipment (including a dragline) and skilled operators, and on several occasions adjusted their plantation layout and planting schedule to accommodate archaeological needs.

Principal funding for the Project came from the University of Pennsylvania Museum (Francis Boyer Fund), the National Geographic Society, and the National Science Foundation (BNS 7602185, 7624189). An NSF Dissertation Improvement Grant (BNS 7603283) provided key support for the Site Periphery Program. Additional, much needed Project backing came from the Ford Foundation, the Tikal Association, the Guatemalan Ministry of Defense, and at the University of Pennsylvania, the Museum Applied Science Center for Archaeology (MASCA) and the Department of Anthropology. The Project received generous support, as well, from Landon T. Clay, Alfred G. Zantzinger, and Dr. John M. Keshishian. A Travel-to-Collections Grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities (RY-21512-85) enabled me to examine Quiriguá-related artifacts at the Middle American Institute, Tulane University. Many local men worked with us in the field each year. I acknowledge with particular gratitude the contributions to settlement research from Sres. Seledonio Marcos, Alejandro Salguero, Raul Lopez, Juan Morataya, and above all, Humberto Padilla. Special tribute is in order for Project handyman, Sr. Max Seguenza. Staff resident in camp were congenial and invaluably critical boosters: Julie Benyo, Bruce Bevan, Greta Z. Borie, Mary R. Bullard, Arlen and Diane Chase, Beth Collea Amato, Ira Fogel, Andrea Gerstle, Bob Hill, Chris Jones, Ed Schortman, John Seidel, David and Rebecca Sedat, Bob Sharer, Pat Urban, and John M. Weeks. Simple listing cannot convey the depth of my appreciation for their friendship and collaboration. Ed Schortman and Pat Urban, in particular, have been not only steadfast friends, but also consistently insightful lightning rods for ideas, throughout our collective career odyssey. Although readers will note how centrally they were involved in Site Periphery data collection, the impact of our ongoing conversations has been even more important. Copán research by Gordon Willey and Richard Leventhal coincided with that at Quiriguá. They both continue to inspire me, and I remain tremendously indebted for their strong encouragement and collegial support.

Also since the 1970s, William Haviland and Marshall Becker have been especially generous in sharing ideas, data, and insightful critiques. Carl P. Beetz, Ilene M. Nicholas, and Lois Perlman provided invaluable help during preparing the initial report of this work in my dissertation. Since 1981, further colleagues and friends have significantly impacted my thinking—and development of this monograph—notably Jerry Sabloff, Rebecca Huss-Ashmore, Jane Buikstra, Bernard Knapp, Bob Preucel, Ginny Ebert, Elin Danien, Art Joyce, Bill and Barbara Fash, Ricardo Agurcia, Will Andrews, Clark Erickson, Cynthia Robin, Angie Keller, Jason Yaeger, Scott Fedick, Karl Taube, Chris (Carrelli) Kitchin, and Sue Yorke. Laurie Taylor enabled completion of the bibliography. Invaluable graphics skills were brought to bear on the illustrations by Gini Austerman, Chelsea Blackmore, Christina Halperin, Nick Hearth, Ryan Mongelluzzo, Scott Smith, Kathy Sorensen, and Heather Sturman; Kathy’s GIS skills, in particular, elegantly recreated the floodplain periphery map from pre-computer field notes. I am deeply grateful to Bob Sharer, and to outside reviewers David Pend-

ergast and Anne Pyburn, each of whom offered critical new insights and suggestions for the final revised manuscript. At the University Museum Publications office, Director Walda Metcalf, Matt Manieri, Jim Mathieu, and my long-time friend Jennifer Quick have been supportive throughout the process of bringing this monograph to publication. I have reserved recognition of three centrally important people to this point. My mother, Mary E. Grow, was always an energetic but gentle booster; she influences me still. Richard D. Ashmore encouraged me, from even before we married, to imagine beyond what women of my generation were socialized to think possible, in career and in life. Although we have pursued diverging paths, I am grateful that we remain close friends. It is to Thomas C. Patterson that I dedicate this work, with my love, gratitude, and admiration. That our lives intersected when they did has been, to me, a gift beyond measure. Tom is my life partner and husband, my daily inspiration, valued colleague, most genial critic, and rather incredibly, my seemingly tireless fan.

xiv

Part 1

1

Introduction Of one thing there is no doubt: a large city once stood there; its name is lost, its history unknown;…Every traveller from Yzabal to Guatimala has passed within three hours of it; we ourselves had done the same; and yet there it lay, like the rock-built city of Edom, unvisited, unsought, and utterly unknown. (Stephens 1841:II,123; spelling of original)

W

ith these words, John Lloyd Stephens closed his summary account of Frederick Catherwood’s visit to the lowland Maya ruins of Quiriguá in 1840. It was this brief account, plus Catherwood’s two sketches of carved stelae, that brought Quiriguá (see Fig. 1.1) from obscurity in the rainforest of Izabal, Guatemala, to public attention the world over. Since then, countless scholars and laymen alike have been attracted to the site, and above all, to its magnificent sculpture. But while many have inferred the existence of an important “city” or “capital” to support the rulers and sculptors responsible for these monuments, few tried archaeologically to document the ancient extent, politico-economic setting, organizational underpinnings or occupational history of the center. This monograph, on precolumbian settlement, reports one part of the multifaceted Quiriguá Project, whose overall goal was to address precisely these issues, and to increase our understanding of ancient Maya occupation of that site (Sharer 1980, 1988, 1990; Sharer and Coe 1979). In the time elapsed since completion of that project’s fieldwork in 1979, much has changed in archaeology and in Maya studies. Relevant advances have occurred in theoretical and methodological approaches, and a wealth of substantial new data is available, some from Quiriguá itself. The unsurprising result is that, although the data our project collected have not changed, ways of understanding them certainly have. Reporting here therefore acknowledges the frameworks within which the research was originally implemented, but additionally interprets the data in light of ideas and information current in 2004.

The major conclusions in 2004 can be summarized as three points. First, Quiriguá was a small center, both absolutely (in spatial extent and inferred population size) and relative to what was originally expected for a settlement with its prominence in Late Classic history. Second, although for most of its documented occupation span, Quiriguá was subject to outside authority, especially Copán, local social, economic, political, and spatial organization was significantly different from those kinds of organization encountered elsewhere in the region, including at Copán. Third, these differences relate to Quiriguá’s distinct place in the regional political economy, as well as to specific events in Quiriguá history. Most prominent among the latter were catastrophic flooding, arguably in the 7th century A.D., and rebellion against Copán in A.D. 738. Although the foregoing interpretations are broadly similar to those reached in earlier publications, their precise expression here benefits from reconsideration in light of current theory, methods, and abundant new data noted above.

Goals of the Monograph The monograph has four principal goals. The first is archival, serving to describe data recovered in the Quiriguá Site Periphery Program, which comprised archaeological reconnaissance, survey, and test excavations within a zone of approximately 95 km2 surrounding the traditionally defined 30-hectare “site” of Quiriguá. As explained more fully in Chapter 2, the Site Periphery Program was divided into two subprograms, one documenting settlement remains in the 10.4 km2 Floodplain Periphery immediately outside the 30-hectare civic core, and the other covering an irregularly shaped Wider Periphery, an expanse of 84.6 km2 surrounding the Floodplain Periphery (cd Fig. 1.2). Both subprograms were conducted simultaneously, under my supervision, during five field seasons (1975–1979). The primary data report for the Floodplain Periphery has appeared previously (Ashmore 1981a: 480–1121), although individual entries have been updated for this monograph, as appropriate.

The volume’s fourth, theoretical goal combines and complements the previous three, reinforcing calls for incorporating multiple perspectives in settlement archaeology. Like growing numbers of analyses, interpretations of Quiriguá settlement data illustrate the advantages of including economic and ecological frameworks alongside social and ideational ones (e.g., Ashmore 1986, 1989; Ashmore and Sabloff 2000, 2002, 2003). As with the current conjunctive approach in Maya studies, and its productive integration of diverse methods and data, adopting diverse critical perspectives on observed settlement traces can contribute to more comprehensive understanding (e.g., Fash and Sharer 1991; Flannery and Marcus 1976; Knapp 1997; Sabloff and Ashmore 2001; Sherratt 1990, 1996). The rest of this introductory chapter briefly outlines theoretical, methodological, and substantive contexts for Quiriguá settlement research, with reference to two distinct times. The first is the period 1974–1981, which spans formulation of the original research design through analysis and initial reporting. The second time is 2004, when final revisions to this report have been written. This dual frame of reference allows consideration of subsequently collected data, as well as newer directions in analysis and interpretation. The account begins with brief characterization of settlement archaeology in 1974, highlighting the assumptions and models involved then in such inquiry, and set within broader trends in archaeological theory and method to that point. Settlement archaeology in the Maya lowlands and adjacent areas Fig. 1.1 Map of the Maya area, indicating sites mentioned in text. is then considered in relation to wider practices. A review of research at Quiriguá, specifically, completes the frameworks within which the research reported here was designed. The latter emphasizes the reasons settlement pattern study was an integral part of the Quiriguá This includes reassessment of all ceramic dating inferences, in Project formed in the early 1970s by The University of Pennlight of the revised ceramic sequence (Bullard and Sharer n.d.). sylvania Museum and the Instituto de Antropología e Historia The Wider Periphery data are reported here for the first time. The second major goal of the volume is substantive, to (hereafter IDAEH), Guatemala. Indeed, the Project supported interpret the Quiriguá settlement data, both in terms of questwo lines of settlement research, the Site Periphery Program tions posed at the outset of field research, and with respect to reported here, and the Valley Program, studying archaeological current understanding of ancient Maya society and culture. settlement remains in other parts of the lower Motagua valley Interpretation includes culture historical reconstruction, as (hereafter LMV) (Fig. 1.3). Edward M. Schortman has reported well as proposing crosscutting models of the social, political, results of the Valley Program separately, in Quiriguá Reports III economic, and ritual customs and experiences of Quiriguá’s (Schortman 1993) and elsewhere (e.g., Schortman 1980, 1984, ancient residents. 1986; Schortman and Nakamura 1991; Urban and Schortman The third goal is methodological, to underscore the 1988). This chapter’s final sections briefly review relevant major changes between 1981 and 2004, in theory, method, and continuing need for wide-ranging systematic survey coverage data, and close with an outline of the rest of the volume. in the study of ancient settlement patterns, in the Maya area and elsewhere. In this context, “wide-ranging” refers both to spatial extent, particularly for discovering large-scale spatial regularities or patterns within and among settlements, and to the diversity of kinds of traces sought (e.g., Billman and Feinman 1999; Dunnell and Dancey 1983; Fish and Kowalewski It is widely acknowledged that, in the New World, settle1990; Knapp 1997; Marcus 1992b; Pyburn 1988; Sherratt 1996; ment pattern studies emerged from intellectual unrest over Struever 1971; Willey et al. 1965:274–76). the conduct of American archaeology as practiced before

Settlement Archaeology



Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

World War II, facilitated in part by greater support for archaeological research following the war (e.g., Billman and Feinman 1999; Kehoe 1999; Parsons 1972; Patterson 1995; Sabloff and Ashmore 2001; Willey and Sabloff 1993). Although detailed history of settlement studies seems unnecessary here, it is worth reiterating the close association between the rise to prominence of settlement archaeology and the emergence of processual archaeology, of which it formed a central component. Both were responses to perceptions that archaeology was conceived too narrowly, as the pursuit of cultural historical sequences (e.g., Dunnell 1986; Steward and Setzler 1938; Taylor 1948). By the early 1960s, what had simmered as critique converged with broader scientific, economic, and political conditions to promote expansive and expensive new endeavors in archaeology and science—prominently including settlement pattern studies (e.g., Binford 1962, 1964, 1968; Patterson 1986a, 1986b, 1995; Sabloff and Ashmore 2001; Trigger 1968, 1989). In American archaeology, the rise of settlement pattern research is linked largely to the work of one man, Gordon R. Willey. Directly inspired by one of the prominent critics of traditional American archaeology, Julian H. Steward, Willey was persuaded to try a settlement approach to archaeological research in the Virú Valley of Peru. At the outset of the monograph reporting that research, Willey offers what remains a classic definition of settlement patterns. He says there that a “settlement pattern” comprises

Fig. 1.3 Map of the Lower Motagua Valley (modified from Schortman 1993: Fig. 1).

the way in which man disposed himself over the landscape on which he lived. It refers to dwellings, to their arrangement, and to the nature and disposition of other buildings pertaining to community life. These settlements reflect the natural environment, the level of technology on which the builders operated, and various institutions of social interaction and control which the culture maintained. (Willey 1953:1)

Three key aspects of this definition are its designation of the units of study (i.e., buildings, alone or in aggregate), its recognition of the multiplicity of factors affecting any given pattern of settlement, and its specification of the nature of these factors as ecological, technological, and social. The appeal of settlement archaeology to processual archaeology is clear. The latter emphasized broadening the range of questions that archaeologists could address, expanding from a dominant concern with the chronology and classification of cultures, to questions dealing with how and why—the processes by which—cultures endured and changed through time. Cultural evolution, cultural ecology, and systems theory were fundamental ingredients in framing these questions (e.g.,

Binford 1962, 1968; Leone 1972; Paddaya 1990; Patterson 1986a, 1986b; Schiffer 1988). Settlement archaeology was an apt expression of such inquiry, inasmuch as it studied traces of systems of human activities as these were distributed across the land and through time. Like the New Archaeology, settlement study emphasized the need for regional survey, discovery and investigation of multiple and diverse sites, and interpretation of the latter via ecological and socioeconomic models. Settlement archaeologists also examined diverse spatial scales within the region, to suit different scales of socioeconomic inference (e.g., Clarke 1977; Parsons 1972; Trigger 1968). Settlement pattern studies were readily incorporated in the New Archaeology of the 1960s (e.g., Binford 1962, 1964, 1968; Flannery 1976; Leone 1972; Sabloff and Ashmore 2001; Struever 1971; Willey and Sabloff 1993). Most maintained a regional scope, although they varied in definition of what constituted a “region,” and in the extent of actual coverage (e.g., Billman and Feinman 1999; Fish and Kowalewski 1990; Nichols 1995). Analyses and interpretations usually emphasized socioeconomic factors (especially “trade”; e.g., Sabloff Introduction



and Lamberg-Karlovsky [1975]) and ecological conditions as determinants of settlement patterning. The foregoing outlines the broadest frameworks within which Quiriguá settlement research was designed in 1974. Interpretations of Quiriguá data thus initially invoked socioeconomic and ecological models (e.g., Ashmore 1981a, 1984a). To understand these interpretations more specifically, however, it is first necessary to describe the state of lowland Maya settlement archaeology at that time, and of research—settlement related and otherwise—at Quiriguá in particular (see also Ashmore 1981a; Ashmore and Willey 1981).

Lowland Maya Settlement Archaeology Although the 1950s work of Willey and his colleagues in the Middle Belize Valley marked the formal entry of settlement archaeology into lowland Maya research (Willey et al. 1965), several earlier field programs would surely be classed today as settlement studies. Both before and after the 1950s, most settlement data collection has focused on charting the distribution of small mounds, usually presumptively labeled “housemounds” (Haviland 1966). And in interpretation, most attention on the housemound (and other) data was aimed at the issue of whether or not the lowland Maya lived in cities. Whereas discussion of the latter topic has often been heated, a second area of theoretical modeling—defining the determinants of settlement patterns—has been debated less often (e.g., de Montmollin 1989; Haviland 1966; Marcus 1983a:452–54; Rice and Rice 1980; Sanders 1973, 1977; compare the sometimes very heated debate on this topic in Oaxacan archaeology in Sanders and Nichols [1988] and Marcus [1990]). The history of Maya settlement pattern studies has been told many times (e.g., Haviland 1966; Ashmore and Willey 1981; Ashmore and Wilk 1988; Willey 1988; Ashmore 2007), and is sketched here only in broad outline, to highlight changing theoretical frames. In particular, the question of whether or not the Maya lived in cities has followed marked pendulum swings (e.g., Becker 1971, 1979; Marcus 1983a), and current discussion favors urban status generally, focusing more on what kinds of cities were involved (e.g., Chase, Chase and Haviland 1990; Marcus 1983b; Sanders and Webster 1988; cf. Yaeger 2003). The fundamental data for this argument are the distribution of “housemounds” and their relation to civic architecture. By the mid- to late 1960s, a decade after fieldwork for Willey’s Belize Valley project, settlement archaeology was well established in lowland Maya studies (Adams 1969). Nevertheless, Haviland (1966) could conclude that theorizing, speculation, and hypothesizing still exceeded actual data to substantiate or refute competing views—an assessment echoing Willey’s (1956a) remarks a decade before. Significantly, however, enough evidence had accumulated that established concepts were beginning to be tested explicitly and critically, and new models were being proposed (Ashmore and Willey 1981; Marcus 1983a). By the mid-1960s, many archaeologists seriously questioned the applicability of “vacant ceremonial 

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

centers” and a two-class social-structural model for characterizing the ancient lowland Maya. Some continued to support those views, however (e.g., Willey 1956b; Bullard 1964), and a few, citing the modern “vacant center” of Zinacantan in the Chiapas highlands as an ethnographic analogue (e.g., Vogt 1961, 1964), even argued that the ancient Maya might have constituted an egalitarian society, with power shared among all adult males on a rotating (cargo) basis. (Epigraphic delineations of Classic royal dynasties were still very new, and few in number [e.g., Kelley 1962; Proskouriakoff 1960, 1961, 1963, 1964].) But by the late 1960s, many archaeologists, particularly those working at Tikal and Dzibilchaltún, argued that Maya society was indeed similar to other pre-industrial urban civilizations, with multiple and distinguishable levels of wealth and power (e.g., Becker 1971; Haviland 1970a; Rathje 1970) and that the centers themselves were foci of demographic and political centralization, as well as ceremonial importance. In the 1970s, the pace of research increased and methods of data collection and analysis were refined (e.g., Fry 1969; Puleston 1973; Rice 1976a). Some research was explicitly problem oriented, as in investigation of agricultural features (e.g., Harrison and Turner 1978; Siemens and Puleston 1972; Turner 1974; Turner and Harrison 1983). In many cases, however, the central “problem” was still filling in the map. There remained (and remains today) enough archaeologically unknown territory within southeastern Mesoamerica to justify continuing regionally defined survey and reconnaissance in both the Maya lowlands and adjacent regions. Interest also grew in identifying commonalities of lowland Maya settlement as well as detailing variability in space and time. In space, for instance, whereas regional architectural and artifact styles had been recognized for many years, settlement research began to recognize regional parallels in how people, buildings, and activities were distributed on the land (e.g., Adams 1981; Hammond 1981; Kurjack and Garza 1981; Willey 1980, 1981). Similarly, with respect to time, only since the 1970s has information accumulated on Preclassic settlement (e.g., Adams 1977; Andrews and Hammond 1990; Cliff 1982, 1988; Freidel 1979, 1981; Hammond 1991; Hammond and Ashmore 1981; Hansen 1998; Matheny 1980; Rice 1976b; Rice and Rice 1980). In the 1970s, most Maya settlement archaeologists emphasized economic (especially “trade”) and ecological models (e.g., Puleston and Puleston 1971; Sabloff and Rathje 1975a; Sanders 1973, 1977), while some focused on social factors (e.g., Becker 1971; Haviland 1970a). Although advances in Maya iconographic and epigraphic studies were beginning to accelerate (e.g., Coggins 1975; Jones 1977a; Mathews and Schele 1974), they had not yet reached the avalanche proportions characteristic of the late 1970s and beyond, and were still little integrated into ongoing archaeological research, in settlement studies or otherwise. It was in the foregoing research context that settlement archaeology at Quiriguá was formulated in 1974, to seek evidence of settlement distribution (presumably a relatively dense and extensive set of housemounds), and to examine that distribution from the perspective of ecological and socioeconomic models.

Settlement Archaeology and Quiriguá Although the history of archaeological investigation at Quiriguá has been summarized previously by several authors (Ashmore 1991b; Ashmore and Sharer 1978; Morley 1935, 1937–38; Sharer 1978a, 1980, 1990; Sharer and Coe 1979), a concise overview here underscores the mid-1970s need for basic settlement pattern research at the site. In this summary, two facts should be noted. First, no field research took place at Quiriguá from the 1940s to the early 1970s. In other words, although several people made observations relevant to local settlement, there had been no concerted data-acquisition programs at Quiriguá that could benefit from the theoretical and methodological developments of the 1950s and 1960s. Second, and reflecting the age of the earlier fieldwork at Quiriguá, the pre-1970s research was characterized by an overriding concern with the elaborately carved monuments and their inscriptions. While these monuments do indeed constitute an invaluable body of information, their study had so dominated scholarly attention at Quiriguá that relatively little time had been given to understanding other kinds of data available at the site or in the vicinity. Frederick Catherwood’s visit in 1840 was brief, and he was able to make only hasty notes on the ruins and quick sketches of two of the stelae. Nonetheless, his account—especially as relayed through Stephens’ (1841) book—was tantalizing enough to attract other visitors very soon (see Morley 1937–38: IV,72–78 for a listing of key visitors through the 1930s). One of these first visitors, Carl Scherzer between 1852 and 1854, focused again on the monuments and the principal mound ruins—all within what came to be called the “Main Group,” as shown in Figure 1.4 (see below)—but also asserted that “Ruins of ancient habitations, of palaces, etc., have not been found in the next neighborhood of the ruins of Quiriguá, as likewise not the slightest traces of an ancient town” (Scherzer 1936:100). Concerted research at Quiriguá began with the famous archaeological explorer, Alfred P. Maudslay. In fact, it has been said that Quiriguá inspired Maudslay to embark on his great program of recording Maya ruins (Maudslay 1889–1902: II,2; but see Graham 2002:82), and his magnificent photographs, together with Annie Hunter’s drawings, remained the basic corpus of data for much of the Quiriguá sculpture into the 1980s. Others among his contemporaries were similarly attracted to the site, and to its sculptures; some of them contradicted Scherzer’s claim, and spoke of other ruins across the Motagua river to the south of the Main Group (e.g., Bancroft 1882; Berendt 1877; Schmidt 1883; Seler-Sachs 1925). The central figure in the next major round of research at Quiriguá was Sylvanus G. Morley. Like Maudslay, Morley did some of his earliest fieldwork at this site, beginning in 1910 with Edgar L. Hewett in a project sponsored principally by the Archaeological Institute of America (St. Louis chapter) and the School of American Archaeology (now the School of American Research, Santa Fe). From 1915 on, Morley made several more visits to Quiriguá under the aegis of the Carnegie Institution of Washington (hereafter CIW). Morley and his colleagues did accomplish a good deal of excavation (see

summaries in Morley 1935, 1937–38; Sharer 1978a; Sharer and Coe 1979), but his most compelling interest was, as ever, the inscriptions, and it was largely through them that he sought to elucidate Quiriguá’s past (Morley 1935, 1937–38). A key development of this early period, one with important ramifications for interpreting the scale of occupation at Quiriguá, was the 1910 establishment of an archaeological park (Hewett 1911:118–19; Morley 1935, 1937–38:IV,76). This park area—approximately 30 hectares or 75 acres in extent— corresponds to what Morley and others referred to as the Main Group, and what was relabeled in 1975 as the Site Core of Quiriguá (see Fig. 1.4, within broken line showing park perimeter). It was set aside as a park in order to protect and preserve the principal architectural ruins and all of the then-known sculpted monuments, and the park seems, for the most part, to have fulfilled its major purpose. Since detailed mapping prior to 1975 was confined to this arbitrarily delimited area, however, the park or Site Core has also come to be implicitly equated with the “site” of Quiriguá. Granted, dense contemporary vegetation made search for more ruins difficult. Indeed it was only because of reported inscribed monuments that Morley (1923b, 1935, 1937–38) investigated two areas outside the Site Core, areas he called Groups A and B (see cd Fig. 1.2). Beyond this, however, little serious effort was directed toward establishing whether in fact there were detectable remains nearby but outside the Site Core. There was one important exception to this generalization: Hewett, in fact, is frequently cited (e.g., Haviland 1966; Willey and Bullard 1965) as being among the first to evince any interest in “humble housemounds” in the Maya area. Although the Quiriguá Site Core itself is located on the northern floodplain of the Motagua river, Hewett (1911:127) reported finding more ruins than at Quiriguá proper scattered for about two miles, or about 3 km, along the first terrace above and northwest of the floodplain. In cd Figure 1.2, this terrace is the area between the modern railroad and the Atlantic Highway (CA 9); the modern community of Quiriguá occupies much of this area today. In 1912, Hewett commissioned Gerard Fowke to investigate that zone, and Fowke excavated at least three separate structures. All were within a mound-strewn area, about 12.5 hectares or 30 acres in extent, on the aforementioned terrace immediately northwest of the railroad station in the modern town of Quiriguá (see again cd Fig. 1.2). Fowke’s unpublished excavation summary (in Hewett 1913a:5–16) defines this area and provides slightly more archaeological detail than do Hewett’s (1912b, 1913b) reports. Like Hewett’s published summaries, however, Fowke’s typescript includes neither plans nor sections, and it was impossible to pinpoint their location relative to features observable in the 1970s. Fowke reported that earthen substructure mounds were faced or bounded by cobbles, sandstone rubble, and in at least one case, sandstone blocks (cf. Hewett 1913b: Plate I,B). In addition, Fowke discovered (Hewett 1913a:9) what both he and Hewett (1913b:243) interpreted as likely remains of a crumbled earth oven or fireplace, but these seem at least as likely the remains of a perishable (burned?) adobe superstructure. Although Fowke concentrated his observations on this small (and perhaps especially densely settled) archaeological Introduction



Fig. 1.4 Map of the Quiriguá Site Core. (Reproduced from Journal of Field Archaeology with permission of the Trustees of Boston University.)



Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

zone of 12.5 hectares, Hewett (1911:127) noted a general abundance of small mounds along the terrace, extending west as far as what Morley later labeled Group C, near the Quiriguá river (cd Fig. 1.2). On the other hand, aside from mentioning three mounds near a newly discovered carved stela (i.e., Group B and Monument 19 or Stela S; Hewett 1914; Morley 1935, 1937–38), the only reference to ruins on the floodplain anywhere near the Site Core was passing—and ultimately telling—comment by Hewett (e.g., 1912b:167) that ancient construction had been intersected by modern local ditches. Other fieldwork at Quiriguá was conducted at various times as an adjunct to research at Copán, 50 km to the south in Honduras. Such investigations included visits by archaeologists from the Peabody Museum at the close of the 19th century, as well as by CIW staff in the 1930s. The former consisted of varied observations, making molds of some monuments (Gordon 1913), desultory collections (e.g., Saville 1892), and unpublished excavations in an unidentified mound, probably Structure (hereafter Str.) 1B-9 (Gordon 1901). Work by CIW personnel similarly focused on the park or Site Core (Ricketson n.d.; Stromsvik 1941, 1952), with the exception of Ricketson’s (1935) recording of a ceramic-lined well about a kilometer northwest of the park entrance. Kidder (1942, 1954) reported some of the artifacts recovered in CIW excavations, as well as copper bells from unknown context on the plain south of the Motagua, opposite the Site Core. In the early 1930s, Mr. Floyd Avary of the United Fruit Company (hereafter UFC), whose lands surrounded the Site Core, donated a collection of 87 objects, said to be from Quiriguá, to the Middle American Research Institute, which had been founded by then-owner of the UFC, Samuel Zemurray (Ashmore n.d.a). After the 1930s, there was no further research concerning Quiriguá until David Kelley’s (1962) analysis of dynastic records in the inscriptions. A decade later Marion Hatch (1975) completed a more detailed epigraphic study of the Quiriguá texts. By the early 1970s, then, there was a bare chronological framework, built on the record of the dated monuments, but— despite some effort by Hewett (1916) and Ricketson (n.d.)— the inscribed dates were related to neither architectural nor artifact sequences. This skeletal outline suggested elite Maya occupation might have begun in the Quiriguá area around 9.2.0.0.0–9.3.0.0.0 (Thompson 1970), which is at the close of the 5th century A.D. in the Gregorian calendar and within the Early Classic period of Maya archaeological chronology. (All calendar equivalences cited are Maya-Gregorian ones; they are based on the commonly accepted Modified Thompson 2 [584,283] variant of the Goodman-Martinez-Thompson correlation [e.g., Satterthwaite and Ralph 1960; Satter­thwaite and Coe 1967; Sharer 1994].) Morley (1935, 1937–38) preferred a somewhat later reading for the earliest dates, about a century later at 9.13.0.0.0–9.14.0.0.0 (A.D. 692–711), even though Monument 21 (Morley’s Stela U) does bear a widely accepted reference to 9.2.3.8.0 (A.D. 478; see Chapter 4). The major occupation at Quiriguá—as measured by the quantity of inscriptions—was a period of 64 years, from 9.15.15.0.0 (A.D. 746) to 9.19.0.0.0 (A.D. 810), when dates were carved on stelae, altars, monstrous “zoomorphic” sculptures, and the façade of

one building (Str. 1B-1). These dates were commemorated by sculptures at least once and sometimes twice for every hotun or five-year period, an unusually high frequency for a Maya center. It was assumed that most of the visible architecture in the Site Core related to the same span of apparently frenetic activity, although no archaeological evidence was available to support such a conclusion. Nor, as was hinted above, did anyone really know how large a population was living and working in the area during the Classic period, how they were employed, or why the center existed. Kelley (1962) and Hatch (1975) had sketched preliminary dynastic sequences, and some other isolated political references were beginning to emerge, notably the now-infamous altercation with Copán of 9.15.6.14.6 (A.D. 738; Proskouriakoff 1973). This does not mean, of course, that interpretive models for Quiriguá were lacking. Of these, there were several, and they can be reduced to four basic schemas, all of which relate to the interpretive models current (or debated) in the mid-1970s. The first, the simplest and least specific, was the ceremonial center idea alluded to earlier. According to this formulation, Quiriguá—like other Maya elite centers—existed largely as a pilgrimage focus, where ritual was conducted but where few people other than priests lived. This notion was belied by evidence from complex and populous sites such as Tikal and Dzibilchaltún, but it existed still as a possibility for other, smaller centers. It was still generally assumed that all Classic Maya centers, regardless of size, were important foci for public ritual. Both this functional inference and the size and density of local population could be tested. The second proposition was the first of three that pertained more specifically to Quiriguá and its role in Classic times, for it hypothesized that Quiriguá was founded as a political subordinate of its more imposing southern neighbor, Copán (Morley 1935; see also Sharer and Coe 1979:4). The sculptural styles of the two sites had long been considered related (but see Miller 1983) and the site layouts have been frequently described as similar (e.g., Leventhal 1981; Maudslay 1889–1902:II,6; Morley 1935, 1937–38; Pollock 1965). Since Copán was apparently the larger and architecturally more developed center, the prevailing view saw Quiriguá as an offshoot of the former, and indeed, Kelley’s (1962) epigraphic analyses suggested that the most prominent ruler of Quiriguá, whom he called “TwoLegged Sky,” was a member of the ruling dynasty of Copán. (Note, however, that little was known then about Copán’s dynastic history either.) Such a basically political formulation would ostensibly account for the perceived similarities between the two centers, but said nothing directly about why Copán should be interested in establishing a power base in the Quiriguá area in the first place. It also offered no clues as to the reasons for elite occupation prior to the appearance of Two-Legged Sky in the 8th century A.D.—that is, the earlier Maya elite presence, documented by 5th-century monuments, remained unexplained. The other two extant schemas did offer some ideas about why powerful rulers elsewhere might be interested in control of Quiriguá. One of the two suggests that it was the fertility of the lower Motagua floodplain soils that attracted attention, specifically for large-scale agricultural production (Sharer Introduction



and Coe 1979:4). Certainly the soil quality and climate were sufficiently attractive to induce the UFC to develop a major series of banana plantations in the lower Motagua valley in the early part of the 20th century. In precolumbian times, of course, the crop(s) would have been different and would likely have included both maize and cacao. Maize (Zea mays) was and is the central food staple of Mesoamerica; its centrality to precolumbian Maya life has long been recognized, reflected in both paleonutritional and iconography analyses (e.g., Gerry and Krueger 1997:202; Puleston 1977; Taube 1989). At the time of the Spanish conquest, Mesoamerican peoples valued cacao (Theobroma cacao) both as the chief ingredient of a luxury beverage and, in seed or bean form, as a kind of currency (Millon 1955). It was grown in the lower Motagua valley in the 16th century (e.g., Roys 1943). While the precise status held by cacao among the Classic period Maya was less clear in the 1970s than it is now, it did seem even then to have been a highly valued commodity (e.g., Kidder 1947:71; Millon 1955; Sanders and Price 1968; Sharer 1974; Thompson 1956; cf. Gomez-Pompa, Flores, and Fernandez 1990; Hall et al. 1990; Stuart 1988). Perhaps, then, the residents of Quiriguá owed their livelihood to large-scale cultivation of cacao and possibly other crops, ranging from maize to cotton, tobacco, or indigo. The final proposal advanced by the early 1970s offered an alternative, although not mutually exclusive reason for the development of an elite center at Quiriguá. This was the crossroads location of the site on the bank of the Motagua river, astride the intersection of major routes connecting the Maya highlands with the Caribbean coast and, inferentially, with coastal areas to north (Belize and Yucatán) and south (lower Central America; see Fig. 1.1). From these coasts, other rivers provided access to the interior. Besides people, a number of exchange items could have traveled this route. Two major sources of obsidian, El Chayal and Ixtepeque (Fig. 1.1), are accessible from the Motagua or its tributaries. Norman Hammond (1972) had used accumulated obsidian source–identification studies to argue that Ixtepeque obsidian was transported via a MotaguaCaribbean route, El Chayal materials being transported overland, and suggested specifically that Quiriguá may have played a significant role in the Ixtepeque trade. Cargoes would not have been restricted to obsidian, however. In this regard, it is certainly noteworthy that the only known Maya-area sources of that quintessentially valuable item, jadeite, are in the San Agustín Acasaguastlán area of the middle Motagua valley, in high mountains directly upriver from Quiriguá (Foshag and Leslie 1955; Hammond et al. 1977; Walters 1980; see also Seitz et al. 2001). These are only two of the most obvious and imperishable of the items that would have traveled this highlandlowland route in Classic times (Thompson 1970). These, then, were the ideas entertained about the Classic Maya site of Quiriguá at the time the present research was formulated in the early 1970s: that it was a ceremonial center, a political subordinate of Copán, a locus of lucrative agricultural production, and/or a transshipment point on a long-distance trade and transport route. In the absence of archaeological data, all these generalized propositions were plausible, but none was demonstrably correct. Note also that all the models and propositions dealt primarily with socioeconomic and/or 10

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

ecological concerns; the underlying questions concerned population size and density, economic base, trade relations, and all of these as bases for political interaction.

The Quiriguá Project In the early 1970s, then, knowledge about ancient Quiriguá was still largely restricted to a bare chronological outline based on dated monuments, a minimally interpretable map of a 30hectare area, and several hypothetical ideas about why the center had existed and how it had functioned in the past. Added to this was the general dearth of knowledge about the southeastern Maya periphery as a whole (e.g., see comments by Hammond 1975a; Sharer 1974; Voorhies 1972) and virtually nothing known about the lower Motagua valley, of which Quiriguá was the presumed capital. Taken together, these circumstances led William R. Coe, Robert J. Sharer, and The University of Pennsylvania Museum to propose an archaeological project at Quiriguá. The details of development of the project and its co-sponsorship by the Museum and IDAEH are presented elsewhere (Sharer and Ashmore 1979; Sharer and Coe 1979; Sharer 1980). What is important here is recognition that one of the most obvious lacunae in the corpus of Quiriguá data was information about ancient settlement patterns. Such data were important, in various ways, for addressing all of the issues outlined in the preceding section. It should be reiterated at this point that investigation of settlement in the broader spatial context of the wider Motagua valley was, for practical rather than theoretical reasons, designated as a separate program within the Quiriguá Project (see Sharer 1978a, 1980; Sharer and Coe 1979; Schortman 1980, 1984, 1986, 1993). For the area studied by the Site Periphery Program specifically, the original goals of data collection can best be summarized under three headings. 1. extent and density of local settlement: How large was the ancient center at Quiriguá? Did it extend beyond the northern floodplain where the Site Core is located? Are boundaries apparent? What is the distribution of local occupation beyond the center? Data collected to answer these questions could be applied to reconstruction of ancient population size and density, as well as possibly indicating the amount of land available for production of maize, cacao, or other crops, data that would be relevant to examining either ancient subsistence practices or bulk non-subsistence crop production, or both. 2. duration of local occupation: How long and how continuous was the occupation sequence? Discovering the approximate founding date for the settlement on the northern floodplain would constitute not only fundamental archaeological data, but would also be important in evaluating identification of Quiriguá as a political offshoot of Copán, as would discerning growth and decline trends in the Quiriguá area generally. 3. the systems behind the settlement: What was the relative distribution of formally and functionally distinct features within and beyond the center? What was the spatial

relation of public and private zones within the center? Was traffic channeled in any discernible manner? How did residence, craft production, storage, ritual, and other identifiable activities seem to have been arranged within and beyond the confines of the center? Data bearing on such range and arrangement of activities could be applied to existing propositions about the nature of Maya centers (see above) as well as to evaluating contentions that Quiriguá was a crop-production and/or a tradetransport facility. The existence of certain particular features, such as defensive earthworks, could inform on political relations between Quiriguá, its immediate hinterlands, and other settlement areas (especially Copán), while features such as docking, storage, and exchange areas would enrich understanding of economic activities. The foregoing questions were, in condensed form, the basic ones informing settlement archaeology at Quiriguá. The resultant fieldwork was conducted during five seasons (1975–1979) as the Site Periphery Program of the Quiriguá Project, and the results, interpreted according to then-prevailing socioeconomic and ecological models, were reported in 1981 (Ashmore 1981a; see also Ashmore 1984a, 1987c).

Developments since 1981 Since completion of the 1981 report, much has changed in archaeological theory and method, in Maya studies, and in the sheer amount of data available for understanding ancient Quiriguá. The following paragraphs review briefly four sets of developments as they pertain to understanding Quiriguá: archaeological theory; settlement survey methods and research design; advances in Maya epigraphy and iconography; and specific new data sets. Discussion indicates how these developments affect interpretation of the Quiriguá data, and is followed by restatement of the monograph’s goals in light of theory, methods, and data in 2004.

Archaeological Theory Archaeological theory today is very different from that prevailing in the 1970s, both in the discipline at large and in Maya studies. Of myriad changes that have taken place, six overlapping ones are most pertinent to settlement archaeology at Quiriguá (Ashmore 2003; Sabloff and Ashmore 2001; see also Hodder 2001; Schiffer 2000): (1) challenges to and changes in processual archaeology; (2) advent or rise of specific alternative forms of interpretive modeling, including heterarchy, interaction models, and dimensional (as vs. categorical) modeling; (3) stasis, flux, and accumulation as social correlates of time; (4) household and community archaeology; (5) ideational and symbolic approaches; (6) the “conjunctive approach” in Maya studies. 1. challenge and change: Processualism, or the “New Archaeology,” is no longer “new,” and its original principles have been attacked frontally by scholars representing multiple perspectives—some new, some long established and recapturing recognition (e.g., Kehoe 1999; Patterson

1986b, 1990; Trigger 1989). The functionalist, evolutionary, ecological, and systems-theory tenets that marked the New Archaeology, as well as its philosophical positivism, have been challenged by feminist and Marxist theorists, as well as those subscribing to the array of approaches glossed collectively as postprocessualism (Preucel 1995). Among the key contrasts with “traditional” processualist thinking are acknowledgment of historical contingency, and greater attention to variability in time and among individuals. Although “variability” has been a byword of processual research (e.g., Binford 1962), archaeological attention to subdividing blocks of time, space, and human experience grows more complex and intricate. Increasingly, society is analyzed along lines of gender, class, and faction (e.g., Brumfiel 1992; Brumfiel and Fox 1994; R. Joyce 2000; Meskell 1999, 2001; Conkey and Gero 1997); archaeologists address daily life and phenomenological inquiry as well as long-term chronologies and trends, evolutionary or otherwise (e.g., Knapp 1992; Robin 2003; Rosenberg 1992; Thomas 1993). Concepts of agency and practice theory have become particularly prominent for recognizing the frequently potent impact of individual actions (e.g., Flannery 1999; A. Joyce 2000; Pauketat 2001; Robin 1999; Yaeger 2000a). Nor have processualist perspectives remained static: although there remain fundamental aspects of incompatibility among processual and other approaches (see Patterson 1990), growing numbers of archaeologists do draw fruitfully from developments in multiple traditions, and emphasize areas of common ground (e.g., Ashmore 1993; Crumley 1999; Preucel 1991; Sabloff and Ashmore 2001; Schiffer 2000; Watson and Kennedy 1991). The implications of the foregoing for interpreting Quiriguá lie in greater attention given to identifying strategies invoked by different members of society. Some of these involve choices in household organization, especially economic activities and allocation of labor (e.g., Hendon 1996; Wilk 1991). Others implicate factions in community structure and actions. Yet others treat strategies of kings, in political maneuverings (e.g., Quiriguá’s rebellion in the 8th century) and in programs of civic construction, especially as these materialize political symbolism (e.g., the layout of the civic core and of other elite residential compounds). 2. alternative models: Some more specific developments in interpretive modeling are related to the above. What those highlighted here share is greater theoretical and practical recognition of the complexities of how society works. One is the emergent importance of the concept of heterarchy (e.g., Crumley 1979, 1987, 1995), in which “each element [in an analytic set] possesses the potential of being unranked (relative to other elements) or ranked in a number of different ways, depending on systemic requirements” (Crumley 1979: 144). In a similar manner, categorical thinking is giving way to dimensional modeling (e.g., Blanton et al. 1981; Steponaitis 1981). Olivier de Montmollin (1989: 19–21; 1995), for example, argues for use of “bundled continua of variation” in characterizing social and political complexity, rather than trying to isolate firmly bounded, invariant types, ranked by a single or composite criterion. The continua he cites are centralization, differentiation, and integration, archaeological measures of which he specifies in settlement forms. Greater variability can Introduction

11

thereby be recognized on a level of detail arguably closer to the complexities of lived experience. In settlement archaeology, heterarchical and dimensional modeling allows recognition of alternative orders for ancient settlement organization, with diverse orderings potentially existing simultaneously along economic, political, ritual, and other lines. Single, overarching settlement hierarchies may or may not have existed; they are certainly not the only kind of order to be sought (e.g., Chang 1972; Ehrenreich, Crumley and Levy 1995). Such thinking has been applied productively in several Maya instances, notably at Colhá and Nohmul, as well as among settlements of the Rosario and adjacent valleys of the Upper Grijalva (de Montmollin 1989, 1995; King 2000; Potter and King 1995; Pyburn 1990, 1997). In these cases as at Quiriguá, demographic size, architectural elaboration, and other indicators commonly used for developing site hierarchies are not the only indicators of a settlement’s importance in regional interaction, and indeed, liberation from such factors may allow recognition of significant roles. For Quiriguá, Colhá, and Nohmul, specialized production within a regional political economy pointed to quite prominent roles for relatively unimposing civic centers and demographic nodes. 3. stasis, flux, and accumulation in time: In contrast to what had been prevailing emphasis on time at an evolutionary scale, or a “snapshot” perspective of synchronic functional analyses, archaeologists now frequently study shortterm change or cycling in structure of settlement and society. Whether or not adopting the set of scales associated with the Annales school of history (e.g., Knapp 1992), archaeologists acknowledge multiple time scales relevant for understanding the human career, from daily life to seasonal, generational or other cycles, to long-term stasis, variation, or permanent change. At each of these scales, customs, behaviors, and their material expression can reflect stability or change, and change may either appear linear or oscillate among alternative forms. Examples include Joyce Marcus’s (1993) characterization of flux and organizational flexibility in Classic Maya political systems, following Roys (1943), as well as models of cycles in settlement and governance structure for ancient societies of the U.S. Southwest and Southeast (e.g., Fowler and Stein 1992; Hally 1999). In any of these alternatives, material culture accumulates, and for settlement patterns, this means that earlier settlement remains affect the building and other behavior patterns of subsequent generations (e.g., Barrett 1999; Bradley 1987; Bradley and Williams 1998). The implications of the foregoing for interpreting Quiriguá lie especially in study of built environment, of the planning inferred behind observed position and form of buildings and open spaces. Individual buildings and complexes at Quiriguá can be seen to embody cosmological symbolism, as well as political and social mapping, and reference to local history. Civic and residential planning at Quiriguá expresses both widely held Maya views on spatial order and specific allusions to political relations and social structure. 4. household and community archaeology: A direct outgrowth of settlement pattern studies, “household archaeology” has grown tremendously in frequency and sophistication of practice (e.g., Aldenderfer 1993; Flannery 1976; 12

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

Kent 1990; Robin 2003; Rogers and Smith 1993; Santley and Hirth 1992; Wilk and Ashmore 1988; Wilk and Rathje 1982). Understanding social dimensions of variability within and among households, along economic, class, ethnic, and other lines, is seen increasingly as critical for comprehending how society works. Just as settlement-pattern studies complemented traditional emphases on monumental public architecture with attention to “humble” domestic remains, so in analyses defined more by social than material units, household archaeology balances study of elites and their households with consideration of peasants’ lives. Recognition of complex social diversity replaces treatment of both elite and peasantry as undifferentiated blocs, and emerging attention to coalition and competition among households points to intricate dynamics of interaction within neighborhoods, communities, and society as a whole (e.g., Canuto and Yaeger 2000). For Quiriguá, attention to households’ variable participation in economic networks within and beyond the local settlement points to relatively unelaborated social and economic differentiation—especially in comparison to a number of other settlement areas studied in the past twenty years, prominently including Copán, Xunantunich, non-Maya LMV sites, and La Sierra in the Naco Valley (e.g., Hendon 1991, 1996; Robin 1999; Schortman 1993; Schortman and Urban 1994; Yaeger 2000a, 2000b). What structure is evident can now be reconsidered, in turn, in relation to Quiriguá “neighborhoods” or “barrios” that had been inferred from apparent partitioning of the settlement by regularly spaced elite residential compounds (e.g., Ashmore 1988). 5. ideational and symbolic approaches: When the Quiriguá data were first analyzed, models for understanding material symbolism, and especially architectural symbolism, were minimal. Although several distinctive architectural complexes had been recognized, such as Uaxactún’s “E Group” and counterparts at other sites (e.g., Ruppert 1940), or Twin Pyramid Groups at Tikal (e.g., Guillemin 1968), there was little attempt to understand more encompassing spatial organization along any but economic and social-organizational lines. Within the last two decades, largely through the efforts of archaeoastronomers, art historians, and epigraphers, study of symbolic expression in the built environment has blossomed (e.g., Aveni 1980; Coggins 1980; Houston 1998; Kowalski 1999; Miller and Houston 1987; Schele and Mathews 1998; Schele and Miller 1986). Although most of these studies have invoked specific links with iconography, text, or astronomical alignments, others have taken a more structuralist or abstract approach to seeking patterns to which symbolic interpretations are then applied by analogy with ethnographic or ethnohistoric material on spatial symbolism (e.g., Ashmore 1989, 1991a, 1995; Harrison 1994, 1997). At Quiriguá, pursuit of such inquiry was prompted by dissatisfaction with extant models for interpreting the local built environment, especially a series of patterns discerned in the arrangement and distribution of monumental compounds (Ashmore 1986, 1989, 1992). What such pursuits have since yielded at Quiriguá are expanded insights about political strategy and symbolism as embodied in local monumental architecture, both within the civic core and in adjacent

settlement. In addition, interpretive models about royal and commoner building programs, at Quiriguá and a growing range of other Maya settlements, suggest wider understanding of how palimpsest settlement data can be disentangled to inform on political and domestic histories (e.g., Ashmore 1995; Ashmore and Sabloff 2002, 2003; Brady and Ashmore 1999; Maca 2002; Reese-Taylor 2002; Robin 1999). 6. mayanists’ “conjunctive approach”: Much of the foregoing set of developments is expressed in Maya studies as a conjunctive approach (e.g., Fash and Sharer 1991; Fox 1987; Marcus 1995; cf. Taylor 1948). Although this term is taken to refer most directly to conjunction of methods and theories linking distinct disciplines and data sources—particularly archaeology, art history, epigraphy—it also carries with it a rising emphasis on Maya archaeology as historical anthropology (Sharer 1978). With growing collaboration by representatives of such diverse disciplines, as well as the burgeoning richness of new data from all sources, inferences and reconstructions not dreamt of in the late 1970s are now increasingly possible. For Quiriguá, this means greatly enhanced understanding of political and other social relations, especially with regard to Copán, Tikal, and Calakmul.

Methods and Research Design Multiple technical and methodological advances have changed archaeological survey dramatically since the mid- to late 1970s, the time of Quiriguá field research. The pace and accuracy of survey are now enhanced by Global Positioning System devices and electronic survey instruments, data from which can be transferred directly to computers for analysis. Recording with Computer Assisted Drawing (CAD) and Geographic Information Systems (GIS) programs improve analytic abilities for manipulating graphic data on survey maps (e.g., Ashmore et al. 1994; Fedick 1994; Sharer, Miller, and Traxler 1992). Chemical testing, especially for phosphates, now detects subtle traces of human settlement not visible or tangible by traditional survey (e.g., Braswell 1998; Killion et al. 1989; Robin 1999). The widest-reaching changes in this realm, however, stem from rethinking what settlement studies encompass, and thereby what methods are needed to implement their study. One expression of such change is the long-standing, still-growing emphasis on full-coverage survey methods (e.g., Billman and Feinman 1999; Fish and Kowalewski 1990). “Fullcoverage” tends to connote the spatial extent of coverage (but see Cowgill 1990 for other implications). As important is reconsidering the units being recorded, moving beyond traditional “sites” or other archaeological “hot spots” to examine such diffuse or extensive features as artifact scatters, field systems, and roads (e.g., Dunnell and Dancey 1983; Erickson 1993; Trombold 1991), or whole inhabited landscapes (e.g., Ashmore and Knapp 1999; Bender 1993; Sherratt 1996; Tilley 1994). The implications of the foregoing for interpreting Quiriguá prompted critical re-evaluation of settlement preservation and sampling. And although no new settlement data have been collected at Quiriguá since 1979, extensive and long-term

inquiry since then in adjacent areas—especially but not solely greater Copán—expand rather markedly what can be inferred about Quiriguá settlement. Most specifically, the relatively small scale of construction and elaboration of Quiriguá buildings and compounds draws a clear contrast with the range known from both urban and rural components of Copán society.

Maya Epigraphy and Iconography Two decades’ explosive growth has transformed the amount and diversity of historical information available from Maya epigraphy, often linked to iconographic studies and to close consideration of dictionaries and other ethnohistoric documents, as comparison sources and in their own right. Such analyses have yielded insights about social, economic, and—most prominently—political and ritual life, ranging from terms concerning gender-linked craft production (Clark and Houston 1998), to names for kin relations or pottery forms (e.g., Houston 1989; Houston, Stuart, and Taube 1989), place names (e.g., Schele and Mathews 1998; Stuart and Houston 1994), astronomy and cosmology (e.g., Freidel, Schele, and Parker 1993), and passages on war, marriage, and ritual that offer raw materials for reconstructing ancient histories. Most pertinent for this report are the now-abundant socio-political texts, especially dynastic histories, and new models of Classic political organization built from these histories. Although reconstructions focus most often on individual polities (e.g., Bell, Canuto, and Sharer 2004; Fash 1991; Schele and Freidel 1990; Webster 1999), they are set within ever-more-encompassing frameworks (e.g., Culbert 1991; Marcus 1976, 1992b; Stuart 2000). One of the most sweeping reconstructions offered to date is Martin and Grube’s (2000) depiction of long-term conflict between the “superstates” of Calakmul and Tikal, including repercussions on the fortunes and histories of smaller polities. The implications of the foregoing for Quiriguá are most apparent in revised political histories and text- and iconography-based inferences about spatial symbolism. Looper’s (1995a, 1999, 2003) analyses, in particular, have shed significant new light on Quiriguá’s relations with Copán, Tikal, and Calakmul, as well as with its smaller, nearer neighbors (see also Sharer 2002). Looper (1995a, 1997) has also inferred the meaning of particular buildings and arenas within the Site Core, with significant implications for understanding royal building programs as well as public rituals that took place in the heart of the settlement. These analyses differ in complementary ways from my own studies, and the result, in my view, is a richer, more complex understanding of architectural history and political strategy at Quiriguá.

New Data Sets New research pertinent to understanding Quiriguá stems from all the foregoing directions. Recent field research in the Maya area and adjacent regions is far too abundant to review in this chapter (but see Fash [1994] and Marcus [1995] for brief, Introduction

13

Table 1.1

Concordance of Named Quiriguá Rulers

Current Name (hel #)

Pertinent dates Alternative designations

Jade Sky (16 [17?]) d. A.D. 810 or after Jade Sky (Sharer 1978a; Jones and Sharer 1980; Stone 1983; Martin and Grube 2000; Looper 2003); K’ak-Ho-Wo (Looper 1995a: Appendix A); Ruler V (Kelley 1962) Scroll Sky [16]

active A.D. 810 Scroll Sky (Looper 2003; possibly same as Jade Sky)

Sky Xul (15?) d. ??? Sky Xul (Sharer 1978a; Jones and Sharer 1980; Stone 1983; a. 785 Martin and Grube 2000; Looper 2003); Kuch-Xib? (Looper 1995a: Appendix A); Ruler II (Kelley 1962) K’ak’-Tiliw’ Chan d. A.D. 785 K’ak’-Tiliw’ Chan Yo’at/Yo’pat (Looper 2003); K’ak’ Tiliw Chan Yoaat Yo’at/Yo’pat (14) ˆˆ a. AD 724 (Martin and Grube 2000); K’ak’-Tiliw’ (Schele and Looper 1996); Butz’-Tiliw (Looper 1995a, 1999); Cauac Sky (Sharer 1978a; Jones and Sharer 1980; Stone 1983); Two-Armed Sky (Marcus 1976); Ruler I, Two-Legged Sky (Kelley 1962) K’awil Yo’at/Yo’pat (5?)

d. ??? K’awil Yo’at/Yo’pat (Looper 2003); Tah-?-K’awil (Looper 1995a: a. A.D. 653 or before Appendix A); Ruler 5 (Martin and Grube 2000)

Mih-Toh (4)

d. ??? Mih-Toh (Looper 1995a: Appendix A, 2003); Ruler 4 (Sharer 1978a; a. A.D. 493 Jones and Sharer 1980; Stone 1983)

Basket Skull (3?) active: 5th century

Basket Skull (Looper 2003); Ti-Ha? (Looper 1995a: Appendix A); Ruler 3 (Sharer 1978a; Jones and Sharer 1980; Stone 1983)

Turtle Shell d. A.D. 483 or after Turtle Shell (Looper 2003); Ch’a-Ak-Itz’at, Turtle Shell (Looper 1995a: Appendix A) Tutum-Yol-K’inich d. A.D. 455 or after Tutum-Yol-K’inich (Looper 1995a: Appendix A) Ruler 1 (Sharer 1978a; Jones and Sharer 1980) Tok Casper (1?)

a. A.D. 426? Tok Casper (Martin and Grube 2000; Looper 2003)

Notes: Pertinent dates include accession (a.) and death (d.) events, when known. For discussion of hel hieroglyphs as marking ancient position within a dynastic sequence, see Jones and Sharer (1986). Bracketed hel numbers indicate uncertainty about existence of “Scroll Sky,” and previously identified ruler “Imix Dog” is no longer considered part of the sequence (see Jones and Sharer 1980; Looper 1995a, 2003; Martin and Grube 2000; Schele and Looper 1996; Sharer 1978a; Stone 1983).

critically insightful syntheses). For discussion here, the most directly pertinent research programs since 1981 are those that have taken place at Quiriguá, at Copán, and in nearby areas. At Quiriguá itself, the most substantial new work has been iconographic and epigraphic, particularly Andrea Stone’s study of zoomorph sculptures and Matthew Looper’s analysis of the monuments of Quiriguá’s most famous ruler, now known as K’ak’-Tiliw’ (Looper 1995a, 1995b, 2003; Schele and Looper 1996; Stone 1983, 1985). In both inquiries, a principal goal was, broadly, to relate Quiriguá to larger political events and artistic and iconographic traditions. The result is a refined dynastic history, not only modifying the list of identifiable kings, but also inferring additional aspects of royal strategies in diplomacy and war, and identifying key events in Quiriguá’s development and in its relations with other cities (Table 1.1). K’ak’-Tiliw’s long-recognized pivotal defeat and decapitation of Waxaklajuun Ub’aah K’awil, in A.D. 738 (e.g., Marcus 1976; Grube, Schele, and Fahsen 1991), is now further understood as having been overseen by the lord of Calakmul; it also thereby represents a chapter in the long story of conflict between that superpower and its rival, Tikal, with whom Copán had by then 14

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

been allied for centuries (Looper 1995a; Martin and Grube 2000; Schele and Looper 1996; Sharer 2004). Furthermore, Looper has identified subsequent expansionist moves, previously unrecognized, by both K’ak’-Tiliw’ and his successor, Sky Xul, in their repeated—and repeatedly touted—taking of a place called Xkuy in A.D. 762 and 785, a place within “the range of both Quiriguá’s and Copán’s armies, perhaps somewhere on the Morjá” (Morjá river, between the two cities; Schele and Looper 1996:132). Perhaps the most critical aspect of the expanded dynastic history is decisive documentation of three interpretations: that relations between Quiriguá and Copán were close from at least the early fifth century A.D.; that the relation most commonly involved Quiriguá’s subordination by Copán, not Tikal—contrary to Quiriguá Project views in 1981; and that the founders of both dynasties acceded to power in A.D. 426 (e.g., Looper 1995a, 1999, 2003; Jones and Sharer 1980; Martin and Grube 2000). Contemporary material remains confirm the accession and reign of Copán’s founder, K’inich Yax K’uk Mo’ (see below); textual identification of Quiriguá’s founder is currently known only from retrospective allusion, although

Bu. 2 might be his tomb (Sharer 1997b, 2002). Because of the fundamental importance of Copán for understanding Quiriguá, it has been particularly exciting to observe the tremendously productive research at and around Copán in recent decades. Indeed, in their workbook for study of Copán and Quiriguá texts, Schele and Looper (1996:91) asserted that we “can’t understand the history of one without the other.” And the scope and productivity of investigations at Copán have been to the last two decades of Maya studies, in general, what Tikal research was to the 1960s (e.g., Bell, Canuto, and Sharer 2004; Fash 1991, 1994; Houston and Fowler 1992; Marcus 1995; Sharer 1994; Sharer, Fash, et al. 1999; Webster 1999). Ongoing Copán research exemplifies the conjunctive approach described earlier, thereby benefiting from multiple, complementary analytic perspectives (e.g., Fash and Sharer 1991; Webster 1989, 1999, 2000). In both the civic core and near and distant settlement areas, research has optimized conjunctive understanding of the founding, growth, internal organization, and external relations of the polity (e.g., Houston and Fowler 1992; Sharer 2004; Sharer, Fash, et al. 1999; Webster 1999). Not surprisingly, many specific aspects of this recent research are cited in subsequent chapters here. At this point, suffice it to say that settlement archaeology has been centrally important, taking many, and often quite innovative forms (e.g., Webster 1999, 2000). Household archaeology has been prominent (e.g., Hendon 1987, 1989; Webster, Gonlin and Sheets 1998), and models for ancient social and settlement organization are increasingly influential (e.g., Fash 1983a, 1983b; Hendon 1991; Sanders 1989; Webster, Fash, et al. 1998; Webster and Gonlin 1988; Willey and Leventhal 1979). My own brief involvement with Copán examined spatial order and civic planning (Ashmore 1991a, 1992), a domain subsequently expanded significantly by Jennifer Smit (Fash, Fash, and Smit 1997) and Allan Maca (e.g., 1999, 2002). All of the Copán investigations cited, as well as others, inform interpretation of Quiriguá in the chapters to follow here. Beyond Quiriguá and Copán, an extraordinary range of previously little-known ancient places has been examined archaeologically since 1981, those of most relevance here being in the far southern Maya lowlands and the so-called southeast Maya periphery (e.g., Sharer 1984; Sheets 1984; Urban and Schortman 1986). Especially prominent among far-southern lowlands inquiries are projects at Nimli Punit, Pusilhá, and Uxbenka in southern Belize (e.g., Jamison 1994; Leventhal 1990) and, farther north, at Caracol (e.g., Chase and Chase 1987). Although some of these places had been linked before with Quiriguá (e.g., Marcus 1976:145–48), they have since yielded further epigraphic and sculptural evidence of political ties, either as co-subordinates within the Copán polity (e.g., Looper 1995a; Marcus 1992b; Schele and Looper 1996) or, in the case of Nimli Punit, seemingly emulating Quiriguá’s gigantic stelae, which had been among K’ak’-Tiliw’s grand sculptural statements after achieving independence from Copán (e.g., Looper 1995a; Stone 1983). Metaphorically as dramatic as the giant ancient stelae is recent growth of knowledge about the southeast periphery. Largely neglected in earlier decades, the zone has supported myriad recent projects since the late 1970s, and now, growing

attempts at synthesis and stock-taking from diverse perspectives (e.g., Boone and Willey 1988; Fowler 1991; Henderson and Beaudry-Corbett 1993; Lange and Stone 1984; Robinson 1987; Urban and Schortman 1986). Of most relevance for Quiriguá have been research programs in areas of Guatemala and Honduras bracketing the lower Motagua valley, and the extraordinary project at Joya de Cerén, El Salvador. The latter is the site of a village buried by a volcanic eruption around A.D. 600, and sealed “Pompeii-like” until its accidental discovery in 1978. Although initial research began at that time, during the span of the Quiriguá Project, civil war in El Salvador precluded resumption of inquiries until 1990. Since then, Payson Sheets and his colleagues have recovered a wealth of evidence on ancient agrarian village life. Cerén’s durable and perishable remnants (or in situ volcanically preserved casts thereof) yield unique details on topics ranging from farming and gardening, to technology of house construction, to domestic storage strategies, to ritual practices and social interaction (e.g., Sheets 1992, 1998, 2002; Sheets et al. 1990; Sweely 1998; Webster, Gonlin and Sheets 1997). In one of my course syllabi, I referred to Cerén—only partly in jest—as offering a kind of “archaeo-ethnoarchaeology,” an archaeological approximation of data usually available only from modern-day ethnoarchaeological (or ethnographic) research. Now recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site, Cerén has become recognized among archaeologists as a priceless source of analogy for interpreting ancient household and village life. Drawing on more familiar kinds of preservation, multiple other research sites and regions of the southeast periphery have contributed key insights about social, political, and economic contexts in which Quiriguá rose, faltered, flourished, and fell. Recent research has been prolific in much of Honduras, El Salvador, and southeastern Guatemala in recent years (e.g., Cobos 1994; Demarest 1988; Hasemann 1987; Hirth 1988; Hirth et al. 1989; R. Joyce 1991). Of most direct relevance to Quiriguá are projects in the Lake Izabal basin of Guatemala, and in the Rio Amarillo, La Entrada, middle Ulua and Naco valleys of Honduras. La Entrada and the southeast flank of Lake Izabal, those areas most nearly adjoining the central part of the lower Motagua valley, have yielded distinctive monumental architecture and other material traits, similar to those of nonMaya sites of the lower Motagua. More important, their occupation histories suggest pioneer founding in the Late Classic, with rapid growth and expansion in the period when Copán’s hegemony in the region, as well as the Copán-Quiriguá alliance specifically, were vulnerable, if not broken (e.g., Marcus 1992b; Nakamura 1987; Orozco and Bronson 1991; Schortman and Nakamura 1991). In contrast, the interpretive importance here of the Rio Amarillo, middle Ulua, and Naco valley research stems less from inference of close, even if indirect, relations with Quiriguá than from analogies they provide for the sometimes turbulent dynamics of political and economic relations between Copán, its provinces, and distinct polities nearby (e.g., Ashmore 1987a; Canuto 2002, 2004; Schortman and Urban 1992, 1994, 1995; Schortman et al. 1986). The implications of the foregoing for interpreting Quiriguá are greatly expanded resources against which Quiriguá data Introduction

15

can be compared. When this research was originally undertaken, the Southeast Maya Periphery was “known” for the paucity of data sets and interpretive models. The rich variety of social, economic, and political orders attested in the past twenty years’ work in the region has turned the situation around, and the wide-ranging analyses performed in one or multiple settings—from architectural and historical analyses to agricultural simulation studies—make possible many interpretations that could not be anticipated in 1974.

Volume Contents To incorporate the new perspectives that have arisen since 1981, and to achieve the goals outlined at the outset of this chapter, the monograph presents not only synthetic analyses, but also an archive of the data acquired by the Site Periphery Program. The latter comprises a detailed descriptive catalogue whose entries consist of the individual features recorded by reconnaissance, survey, and excavation. Brief reference summaries are also provided for Site Core features (see Quiriguá Reports V) to complete the picture of local settlement. Because organization as a reference catalogue was deemed most efficient for reader use, this data-description section is segregated as Parts 2 (Floodplain Periphery) and 3 (Wider Periphery) of the monograph. Part 1, composed of eight chapters, provides the framework for data collection, as well as analyses and interpretations of the results. Chapter 2 sketches the Quiriguá landscape, as a setting for both ancient occupation and modern archaeology. It also outlines the methods of data collection used in the Site Periphery Program, tracing the partition of this research into two subprograms—in the Floodplain Periphery and the Wider Periphery. The outline emphasizes the evolution of sampling design as a product of prior planning and of adjustment to changing opportunities and constraints in data collection. Chapter 3 summarizes the settlement features encountered in the Quiriguá site periphery. The Quiriguá site periphery operations identified 63 sites of varying composition in the Wider Periphery, and 276 individual cultural features in the Floodplain Periphery. Besides serving as a synopsis of the data catalogue (Parts 2 and 3) by form category, Chapter 3 also defines seven distinctive architectural assemblages (labeled Quiriguá Patterns) recognized in local settlement, assemblages that have proven important in developing sociopolitical and ideational interpretations of Quiriguá and other settlements. Description of settlement typologies in the LMV (Schortman 1993), at Copán, and, farther northeast, in the Proyecto Arqueológico La Entrada (PLE) allows comparison with Quiriguá settlement, with respect to scale and elaboration of individual constructions and complexity of compounds. Chapter 4 orders sequential settlement remains within the known span of ancient occupation in the Quiriguá site periphery. When considered in conjunction with data from the Site Core, these data point to aspects of both continuity and change in the placement of public and private precincts, and point to the importance of both the Motagua river and regional

16

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

political history in shaping overall settlement plan. Quiriguá evinced distinct periods of prosperity and decline, changes that correlated most strongly with shifts in fluvial regime and in relations with Copán. The data also point to regularities in settlement layout that defied direct socioeconomic or ecological explanation, thereby prompting exploration of the sociopolitical and ideational interpretations alluded to above. In these first four chapters and Parts 2 and 3, the basic data objective is fulfilled by presenting the results of the Quiriguá Site Periphery Program. It is principally in Chapters 5 through 7 that the other goals are addressed. Chapter 5 evaluates Late Classic settlement sampling in the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery, considers the extent and internal structure of the ancient settlement, and examines circumstantial evidence for ancient land use. Quantitative assessment of the sample identifies potential density-defined boundaries for floodplain settlement in the eighth century, and evidence for varying construction densities within those bounds. Population reconstruction reiterates findings presented earlier elsewhere (Ashmore 1981a, 1990), together with proposed revision in light of more recent data from Copán, Cerén, and Nohmul. The third section of the chapter brings comparative data from these and other sites to bear on inferring land use—especially specialized agricultural production—and settlement beyond the floodplain center. It is here that Quiriguá emerges more clearly as a relatively small center, specialized in community-scale production and politically subordinate within the regional political economy. Chapter 6 summarizes evidence for social stratification at Quiriguá, and for economic organization at household and community scales. It also considers probable means by which disparate segments of local society were integrated, examining the paraphernalia and the settings that materialized political ceremonies and religious ritual. The conclusions reaffirm characterization of Quiriguá as not only smaller than Copán and stratified socially in less elaborate ways, but also distinct in economic focus and in how participation in a wider political economy shaped the local social order. Chapter 7 considers more closely the spatial organization of Quiriguá. The principal foci are reconsideration of the seven Quiriguá Patterns introduced in Chapter 3, and inference of the symbolism embodied in specific civic buildings and spaces. The central contentions are two: (1) that two particular Quiriguá Patterns materialize subdivision of the eighth-century social landscape, and (2) that arrangement of civic complexes reflect tenets of ancient Maya worldview, in particular allowing those who commissioned construction to express political agendas. The oft-cited resemblance between the Quiriguá Site Core and that of Copán is only one such expression, and it is placed here in larger contexts of political strategy recorded architecturally by Maya and other kings. The volume closes, in Chapter 8, with consideration of models used to interpret Quiriguá and ancient Maya society more generally. The specific issues raised at the outset of the monograph are reconsidered in light of the data and analyses presented in subsequent chapters, and the cumulative results suggest some refinements to prevailing interpretive models.

2

Setting and Methodology The chief collection of ruins which we now describe…[is] about 150 [sic] metres above the level of the sea, at the foot of the Mico mountains, near a place called Los Amates. Its slight elevation above the river exposes it to frequent floods. The mountains are clad in fir almost to their base, but the river valley is filled with a forest of palms and the deciduous growth of the tropics, converted by the tangle of interlacing vines into an almost impenetrable jungle. (Schmidt 1883)

T

his chapter has two purposes. The first is to describe the ecological setting at Quiriguá, as a set of resources and constraints both to ancient human settlement and to modern archaeological investigation. The second purpose is to outline the methods used in the Quiriguá Site Periphery Program, as the research evolved in response to changing questions and field conditions.

Quiriguá Setting Although Quiriguá is defined culturally and by elevation as a lowland Maya center, its setting shares characteristics variably with the lowlands to the north and with the highland valleys to the west, south, and east. In climate, flora, and fauna, Quiriguá is generally comparable to lowland environments in Petén and Belize, but in geological and geomorphic resources, it more closely resembles Copán and other southern locales. Indeed, the two most striking natural features of the Quiriguá site periphery are the Motagua river and its broad, fertile floodplain, whose environs are reminiscent of the Copán and Ulúa valleys and contrast markedly with the shallow soils and karst drainage of much of the lowlands. The Motagua and its floodplain are suggested later, in Chapters 5 and 6, to have been important in Quiriguá’s rise and continuing occupation. Furthermore, understanding the processes of floodplain accretion and erosion proved a central concern in conducting and later analyzing the results of the archaeological survey outlined later in this chapter.

Climate Contrary to Schmidt’s claim in the epigram, the Site Core of Quiriguá is 70 m above sea level, and despite the presence of some low hills, the whole Quiriguá site periphery lies below 1000 m, all within the tierra caliente or hot tropical lowlands. Temperatures usually fall within a range of 20–35° C with annual mean temperature approximately 25° C (Instituto Geográfico Nacional [IGN] 1972; Vivo Escoto 1964). The dominant easterly or trade winds bring moisture-laden air from the Caribbean, and resultant precipitation for the lower Motagua valley averages some 2000 mm annually, without a well-defined dry season (Schortman 1993; Simmons et al. 1959:537; Vivo Escoto 1964; West and Augelli 1976; Whetten 1961:5). Quiriguá thus receives slightly less than the peak amounts of rainfall documented for northern Alta Verapaz and southern Belize, but more than the gradually declining rainfall totals of lowland areas farther north (Hammond and Ashmore 1981:23–24; Rice 1993). Morley (1935:1) aptly summarized the climate at Quiriguá as “hot and moist, the atmosphere not unlike that of a Turkish bath.” More important, temperature and rainfall are both high enough and sufficiently reliable to support regularly the two annual harvests reported by local residents. These conditions also contribute to maintenance of a stable water supply, and assuming appropriate soils and adequate drainage (see below), they describe an environment conducive to cultivation of a wide variety of crops.

Flora and Fauna The lower Motagua valley constitutes a finger-like extension of Caribbean lowlands between the flanking Sierra de las Minas to the north and the Sierra del Merendón (Espiritu Santo) to the south. The Quiriguá Site Periphery includes both the lowland strip and the lower reaches of the mountain ranges, the climax vegetation of the two contrasting notably.

In the mountains, the dominant vegetation is oak-pine forest, while on the plains it is tropical rainforest, of which the Quiriguá Site Core preserves a rare relic example. Local vegetation has been much altered because of human resettlement during the last century or so, most obviously through extensive clearing for large-scale commercial banana plantations on the floodplains north and south of the Motagua. Observers in the late 18th through early 20th centuries, however, provide glimpses of the vegetation potential of the area (e.g., Lummis 1916; Maudslay 1889–1902; Maudslay and Maudslay 1899; Morley 1935; Record and Kuylen 1926; Sands 1913; Stephens 1841). Some of these (e.g., Record and Kuylen 1926) wrote about the lower Motagua valley generally, but occasionally they described the Quiriguá area specifically (e.g., Archivo General de Centro América [hereafter AGCA] 1797–98). All spoke of the prevalence of mixed tropical hardwoods, along with frequent stands of manaca palm and bamboo in swampier areas. According to Record and Kuylen (1926:10),

Table 2.1

the hardwoods were dominated by tamarindo, naranjo, ramón (breadnut), zorra, and ceiba; other observers spoke of cedar and mahogany as well (AGCA 1797–98:5v,9,10v,12v,13v,15,16; cf. Simmons et al. 1959:785, 882; see Table 2.1). Many authors have alluded to cacao, the high-status tree crop already mentioned in Chapter 1, as being grown in the lower Motagua valley in the 16th century (e.g., Millon 1955; Roys 1943; cf. Viana et al 1955), but in precisely which areas of the valley and with what further antiquity cannot be specified. In the late 18th century, however, cacao was noted in wild stands (silvestre) in the Quiriguá site periphery. As part of a contemporary land claim for precisely that area (AGCA 1797–98), competing sides in the claim agreed that this was a fertile area for agriculture, and encouraged specifically the development of cacao plantations. Juan Payes y Font—the successful claimant, and the father of the Payes brothers met by Catherwood in 1840 (Stephens 1841:II,118ff.)—might never have developed such a plantation, but the cited wild stands of

Short Inventory of Flora in the Quiriguá Site Periphery

Botanical Name

Common Name Source(s)

Brosimum spp.

breadnut, ramon, masico

6,7

Caslophyllum calaba Jacq.

calaba, Santa Maria

6,7

Castilla elastica Cerv.*

rubber, ule

7

Cedrela sp.

cedar, cedro

1,2,4,6

Ceiba pentandra

ceiba

5,6,7,8

Chlorophora tinctoria (L.)*

fustic mulberry, mora

7

Dialium divaricatum Vaht.*

tamarindo

7

Enterolobium cyclocarpum

conacaste

1,6

Ficus glabrata H. B. K.

amate

7

Ficus hemsleyana Standl.

strangler fig, matapalo

4,7

Orbignya cohune

coroza palm, cohune palm

3,4,6,7

Pinus sp.

pine, pino

3,5,7

Quercus sp.*

oak, encino roble

7

Schizolobium parahybum (Vell.) Blake*

sorra

7

Spondias lutea L.

hog-plum, jobo, jocote

7

Swietenia macrophylla King

mahogany, caoba

1,2,4,5,6,7

Terminalia obovata (R&P)

naranjo

7

Theobroma sp.

cacao

1

Zea mays

maize, corn

2

Notes: Sources for this table are listed in chronological order: (1) AGCA (1797–98), (2) Stephens (1841), (3) Maudslay (1899– 1902:II), (4) Maudslay and Maudslay (1899), (5) Sands (1913), (6) Lummis (1916). (7) Record and Kuylen (1926), and (8) Morley (1935). An asterisk (*) indicates a plant that occurs in Record and Kuylen’s list for the lower Motagua valley generally (see text), but without independent confirmation for Quiriguá Site Periphery specifically.

18

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

cacao might attest to cultivation in previous centuries (Wilson Popenoe, personal communication, 1975; cf. Folan et al. 1979; Gómez-Pompa et al. 1990). Whether these actually represented relic plantation groves and whether they pertained to precolumbian (let alone Classic) times cannot be decided on this circumstantial evidence alone (Willey and Smith 1969:42), but the evidence is suggestive (see Chapter 5). Although no one has undertaken a detailed modern study of the Quiriguá site periphery vegetation, Table 2.1 summarizes flora noted by various observers before or at the time of major banana-related clearing. It is necessarily a conservative inventory, and includes only flora actually observed, some of which may be recent introductions. Omitted are unobserved plants potentially grown locally in ancient times, such as tobacco (Nicotiana spp.) or indigo (Indigofera spp.). In the 1970s, the former was grown commercially around Cristina, northeast of the Quiriguá periphery, and indigo requires growing conditions that seem met within the site periphery (Heiser 1965; MacLeod 1973; Rubio Sanchez 1976:18–20; Wisdom 1940). Table 2.1 plus the foregoing narrative suggest that, in the low-lying plains, the forest of the Quiriguá Site Periphery resembles at least superficially the multiple-canopy rainforest of Petén (Lundell 1937; Wagner 1964). Unlike most of the lowlands farther north, however, and more like low valleys of neighboring Honduras (e.g., Naco, Sula, and at a higher elevation, Copán), the Quiriguá Site Periphery also includes mountain slope areas supporting pine and other higher-altitude vegetation. The net result is a landscape prospectively rich and varied in floral resources for subsistence (e.g., maize, breadnut), construction (e.g., hardwood for lintels, canoes), and other useful and desirable products (e.g., rubber, paper, cacao, dyes).

Table 2.2

Short Inventory of Fauna in the Quiriguá Site Periphery

Zoological Name

Common Name Source(s)

Alouatta sp.

howler monkey, mono

1

Basiliscua sp

basilisk lizard

2

Bothrops sp.

fer-de-lance, barba amarilla

2

Bufo sp.

toad, sapo

2

Canis familiaris

dog, perro

2

Chiroptera (order)

bat, murcielago

2

Dasyproctidae (family)

agouti, paca

1, 2

Dasypus novemcinctus

armadillo

2, 3

Nasua narica

coatimundi, pisote

2

Odocoileous virginianus

deer, venado

2, 3

Note: Sources for this table are (1) Maudslay and Maudslay (1899), (2) field observation (1975–1979) or local reports, and (3) identification in archaeo­ logical collections.



Like local flora, the fauna of Quiriguá have changed greatly since precolumbian times. Today the animals most commonly seen are horses, cattle, dogs, pigs, and chickens—all but dogs having been introduced in the 16th century or later. Local residents hunt deer, armadillo, and other native game in the sierras and foothills. They also speak favorably of fishing in the Motagua and Jubuco rivers, echoing comments from the 18th century (AGCA 1797–98). Some forest animals were spotted during project work in the Site Core—the fer-de-lance or barba amarilla snakes being the most worrisome—but, again, most of the information on native fauna comes from reports antedating the early 20th century. These observations are summarized in Table 2.2; like Table 2.1, the faunal listing is intended as conservatively suggestive, not exhaustive. Again, too, the overall picture is not markedly different from other lowland zones of Maya occupation, and Stuart (1964) includes the lower Motagua valley within his Petén biotic province (see also Schortman 1993).

Geology Bedrock geology of the Quiriguá site periphery has two characteristics of principal interest. One is the variety of formations and kinds of rock accessible within or near this small zone, and the other is the fact that the area is traversed by a major strike-slip fault which forms part of the boundary between the North American and Caribbean crustal plates (Plafker 1976; Rice 1993; Weichert 1976). The following summary (and Fig. 2.1) derives from accounts by Roberts and Irving (1957), West (1964), the Instituto Geográfico Nacional (1970, 1972), and personal communications from geologists Peter Muller and Kent Johnson, who were mapping geological formations in the vicinity during the span of the Quiriguá Project. Unlike the archetypal lowland Maya setting, the Quiriguá Site Periphery is not a zone of limestone bedrock. Both the Sierra de las Minas and the Sierra del Espiritu Santo are characterized by formations of metamorphic rock, notably serpentine and schist/gneiss. Farther up the Motagua valley, near San Agustín Acasaguastlán, the Sierra de las Minas is the source of the only known jadeite deposits in the Maya area (Foshag 1955; Foshag and Leslie 1955; Hammond et al. 1977; Seitz et al. 2001); farther downstream, at Las Quebradas, placer gold has washed down from the Sierra del Merendón. Neither of these precious ores occurs at Quiriguá, although there may be copper deposits nearby (Muller, personal communication, 1977). Serpentine and related minerals were used for some artifacts; the main cultural product of the metamorphic formation in and adjoining the Site Periphery, however, was schist for construction and sculpture. The same is true for sedimentary deposits, most prominently the sandstones that outcrop along the valley terraces north of the Motagua, and especially north of the modern Atlantic Highway, CA 9. These served as raw material for masonry and construction Setting and Methodology

19

both locations, recent and ongoing mining has removed a large quantity of material, but there is no evidence that any exploitable deposits of obsidian were associated with any of these formations. Local resources for chipped-stone implements include both obsidian, in the form of small river cobbles, and some chert. This chert or chalcedony may have been the raw material for the relatively few artifacts of this substance found at Quiriguá. Obsidian, on the other hand, is ubiquitous and abundant in the Quiriguá collection, and tool production followed two distinct technologies. Sheets (1983a) suggests that percussion-working of the locally available obsidian cobbles may have comprised the indigenous chipped-stone industry prior to the introduction of standard Mesoamerican blade-core technology, worked on better quality and/or larger nodules imported from distant quarry sources. Sources identified to date are Ixtepeque (80% of 30 samples) and El Chayal (La Joya; 13.3%); the source or sources of the other two analyzed specimens (6.7%) could not be identified (Stross et al. 1983). The latter two pieces and three of the four Chayal samples are from a single surface Fig. 2.1 Geology of the Quiriguá Site Periphery. (Key: l: undivided plucollection of cobble-percussion artifacts and tonic rocks, including granites and diorites; Ksd: Cretaceous carbonates; could ultimately represent obsidian sources Ktsb: Cretaceous-Eocene red beds [sandstone]; Qa: Quaternary alluvium; anywhere upstream in the Motagua drainage Q p: Quaternary thick pumice fills and mantles of diverse origin; Tsp: (for further discussion, see Sharer et al. 1983; Upper Tertiary formations of limestone, sandstone, and conglomerates; π: Sheets 1983a; Stross et al. 1983). Ultrabasics of unknown age, mainly serpentinites.) For groundstone implements, rhyolite and schist were sometimes used, but vesicular basalt, apparently of exotic highland origin, was the most common material used in the manos, metates, and other such artifacts recovered in Quiriguá fill, as well as for most of the spectacular sculptures for which Project operations. Quiriguá is famous. Hewett (1912a, 1912b, 1913b) claimed to The importance of these observations is that while the have found an ancient sandstone quarry, apparently within 1.5 km southwest of Group A. According to Muller and Johnson, Quiriguá Site Periphery provided a variety of lithic resources, marble or marble-like limestone occurs at Cerro Tipón, just residents of the center and its hinterland still imported some west of the Site Periphery, and to the south, up the Morjá materials of clear need or inferred preference (i.e., obsidian valley. Marble, too, served as a building stone, both in the Site and basalt). In ratios of chert to obsidian or of basalt to other Core and—more pervasively—in the masonry of sites near the grinding-stone materials, Quiriguá is more simi­lar to Copán Jubuco and Morjá rivers (see Part 3). Chert-bearing deposits and other Honduran or highland centers than to those in the also occur around La Pita (Muller and Johnson, personal lowlands to the north (e.g., Urban and Schortman 1988), but communications, 1980; see cd Fig. 1.2 for location of modern these gross inter-area contrasts seem more likely attributable to communities). the relative spatial and political accessibility of the particular Igneous formations do occur, although less commonly resources than to strongly differing preferences (e.g., Aoyama 2001; Moholy-Nagy 1976; cf. Spink 1983). than in the volcanic highlands farther south and west. Rhyo The other aspect of local Quiriguá geology cited as particlite is also used for masonry and sculpture at Quiriguá, and in crushed form, for flooring. It outcrops at Switch Molina and is ularly salient to human occupation is the major strike-slip apparently the northeastern limit of a narrow strip of igneous fault that cuts across the site periphery, closely paralleling deposits following the southern margin of the Motagua (Instithe southwest-northeast course of the Motagua. The fact was tuto Geográfico Nacional 1970). Relatively thick deposits of emphasized dramatically on February 4, 1976, by a movement volcanic ejecta are visible in the same area, and also along along this fault line, causing an earthquake of Richter magnithe first terrace north of the northern Motagua floodplain. In tude 7.5, with epicenter less than 20 km from Quiriguá (Bevan 20

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

and Sharer 1983; Plafker 1976). Such tremors have an immediate and sometimes devastating impact on human lives, the 1976 quake and associated aftershocks leaving approximately 23,000 dead, 74,000 injured and more than a million homeless (Plafker 1976:1201). We cannot measure the frequency or severity of tremors in precolumbian times, but we can note the effect they appear to have had. A few (e.g., MacKie 1961) have suggested earthquakes as a cause of the Classic Maya collapse. At Quiriguá, however, certainly a place maximally vulnerable to these crustal shifts, the traces of damage and response are of much less catastrophic proportions. The repeated heavy buttressing in Acropolis architecture is probably at least partly attributable to the need to shore up quake-weakened walls (Sharer 1978a:70; Sharer et al. 1979:51; Rice 1993:15–16), and Sharer (1978a) has suggested that the collapse of the adobe walls of Quiriguá Str. 1B-18 may have been due to a Motaguafault tremor of sufficient strength to discourage rebuilding by an already much diminished population. The point here, however, is that while recurrent earthquakes have dramatic and disastrous short-term influence on human lives, they seem not to have deterred human settlement to any appreciable degree.

Soils Soils in the Maya area received renewed attention with the rise in interest in population-pressure/competition models for Classic origins (e.g., Sanders 1977) and in conjunction with re-examination of Maya subsistence (e.g., Fedick 1996a; Harrison and Turner 1978; Rice 1993). Since completion of the Quiriguá research, increasingly sophisticated studies of soils and land management have examined settings from Copán through Yucatan (e.g., Dunning 1992; Wingard 1996). Summary description here of the Quiriguá Site Periphery soils is based on information available in the late 1970s, especially the pan-Guatemalan survey of Simmons, Tarano, and Pinto (1959) and for the northern Motagua floodplain, the commercially oriented surveys for the United Fruit Company and their successors, Bandegua (Del Monte Corporation). Mr. Roy Wells, former manager of Bandegua, generously supplied the Quiriguá Project with the most recent company soil texture map (1970; map 3-B-50) for the area of their holdings that includes the 10.4-km2 Quiriguá floodplain periphery (see Chapter 1 and below). One must be cautious in linking modern assessments of productivity and fertility with inferred ancient utility or farmers’ preferences. Fedick (1996b:108–9) has recently reviewed the inferential problems, noting the twin dangers of failing to recognize intervening environmental change and of extrapolating back uncritically from soil evaluations geared to modern production technologies and crops. In his own research, Fedick (e.g., 1989; 1995, 1996b) has found that comparing ancient settlement distributions with modern soil surveys does suggest that ancient farmers cultivated and settled preferentially on what 20th-century analysts consider the “best” soils. In the Quiriguá research, anticipated study

of local soils was truncated, but Project geormorphologist Ira Fogel indicated that, with one exception (noted below), at least the floodplain sediments seemed consistent in characteristics between ancient and modern samples. We therefore provisionally assume that available modern surveys are potentially pertinent to the questions raised here. One further complication, however, is that whereas soil surveys usually analyze and describe the upper meter or so of sediment, in the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery those sediments partially or wholly postdate local ancient occupation (e.g., Sharer et al. 1979; also see below). This means that the analyzed soils are potentially irrelevant to study of ancient settlement. Fogel (personal communication, 1978) did find that one series of buried sediments was texturally distinct from the uppermost ones, and interprets the buried strata as unweathered volcanic ash brought from the highlands by one or more episodes of catastrophic flooding (see Chapter 4). With this one exception, however, there is no positive indication from the survey that the sources of alluvium changed through time, and again, we provisionally assume that modern surveys are generally pertinent to our research. Within the Quiriguá site periphery, Simmons, Tarano, and Pinto (1959) defined six soil series, five of which fall into two roughly contrasting categories: those of steeply sloping terrain with good drainage but low natural fertility (Gacho, Jubuco, Toltec soils) and those on flat lands with poor drainage and variable natural fertility (Inca, Quiriguá soils, the latter including the swampy or marshy areas cited earlier). The sixth local soil “type” comprises “undifferentiated valley soils,” for which no specific characteristics are given. The distribution of these soils is shown in Figure 2.2, interpolated from the smaller-scale 1959 published map, and pertinent descriptive details are summarized in Table 2.3. The fit between the Simmons map and that shown here is imperfect because of differences in base-map landmarks and scale; the Simmons map, published at 1:500,000 and smaller scales, was surely never intended to plot soil boundaries with the local precision implied in Figure 2.2. With these qualifications in mind, however, one notes a strong and direct correspondence between soil type and density of ancient settlement traces, the latter correlating strongly with areas of Inca and Quiriguá soils. Survey intensity may account for some of this correspondence, since areas of Gacho and Jubuco soils were least thoroughly explored, and sites are known to exist farther up the Morjá drainage in what may be alluvial pocket valleys or a continuation of the Gacho soils (Vlcek and Fash 1986; Yde 1938). Most sites in the lower Motagua valley, however, both within and beyond the Quiriguá site periphery, are located on or adjacent to Inca soils, and secondarily to Quiriguá soils. On the one hand, there are simply more Inca and Quiriguá soils than anything else. Still, Inca is most obviously differentiated from adjacent Quiriguá series soils by its greater fertility; both types are described as poorly drained. The 18th-century land claim cited earlier speaks glowingly of the fertility of the southern plain, around Chapulco, though it notes that there were numerous marshy or swampy (pantanoso) areas (AGCA 1797–98:2,8v,9,10,12,16). To judge from the 1970 Bandegua soil map for the north Motagua floodplain, the Setting and Methodology

21

As economic resources, the Motagua and its local tributaries (Morjá, Jubuco, and Quiriguá rivers) provide water, food, and transport media. Imposing sites (Loci 090/093, 057, and 011, respectively) were found adjacent to all three cited tributaries at or very near the points where narrower upland valleys merge with the plains that border the Motagua to north and south. The surface waters are accompanied by a high subsurface water table, which aggravates soil drainage problems in areas of Inca, Quiriguá, and some undifferentiated valley soils. They may also have been part of the inspiration for development or adoption of sophisticated ceramic-lined wells to tap the water supply, at least within the floodplain center of Quiriguá (Ashmore 1984b; Johnston 2004). As a dynamic force, the chief impact of local hydrology is the combination of river-channel shaping and flooding. The former both gradually scours land away and rebuilds it as the river modifies its course (e.g., Lathrap 1968; Leopold et al. 1964; Rapp and Hill 1998), and sometimes the implications for human settlement are proFig. 2.2 Soils of the Quiriguá Site Periphery (see Table 2.3 for key). found (e.g., Joyce and Mueller 1997). Floods, too, can dramatically and suddenly scour away areas along river margins (e.g., Turnbaugh 1978), but are known more for inundation, when the river tops its banks, covbest-textured soils (loams) are closest to the river channel, ering the land with water and leaving behind varying amounts precisely within the Inca series in most locations. Other of sediments. Floods can help renew soil fertility, but they also factors—topographic, social, and ideational—are argued later disrupt unprotected settlements, as well as exacerbating any to have impinged as well on settlement location decisions, but local drainage problems (e.g., Siemens 1996). Occasionally as one might expect, soil quality does appear significant. This situation surely resembles others elsewhere, most pertinently, debilitating flooding undoubtedly occurred at Quiriguá, for perhaps, in Petén (e.g., Sanders 1977), Belize (e.g., Fedick 1995; beyond the assumption of long-term uniformity in geomorphic Fedick and Ford 1990), and in the Copán valley (e.g., Fash processes, there is clear evidence of constructions of different 1983a, 1986; Turner et al. 1983; Wingard 1996). ages that were partly washed away (e.g., Platform 3C-1), as well as massive discrete deposits of sand within the settled area (see Chapter 4). Hydrology Equally impressive—if less obviously dramatic—is the cumulative record of alluviation attested by floodplain stratigraphy. Commercial drainage ditches cut in 1977–1979 (see The Motagua river is the most pervasively important below and Fig. 2.7) revealed more than the archaeological feature in the Quiriguá site periphery landscape, but is not the features emphasized in the monograph. They also cut through only noteworthy hydrological entity. Overall, water features naturally deposited sediments that record past processes of affect resident populations in at least two ways, as passive floodplain aggradation and degradation. Although it was not economic resources and as dynamic forces. It has been only always possible to distinguish specific varieties of alluviation, more recently, since completion of Quiriguá field research, such as point bar from flood deposition (Ashmore 1981a:87–88; that archaeologists have begun to take active note of the role Leopold et al. 1964:322; Wolman and Leopold 1970:171–72), of standing and flowing water on Maya world view as, respecwe did record data on ancient ground elevations and contours. tively, media and paths toward contact with supernatural From these data, we could calculate gross alluviation rates (see realms (e.g., Brady and Ashmore 1999; Freidel et al. 1993; below) and estimate the location of at least one Classic-period Scarborough 1998; see also Chapter 6). 22

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

Table 2.3

Soils of the Quiriguá Site Periphery

Soil Series Gacho (Ga) Inca (In)

Jubuco (Ju)

Quiriguá (Qr) Toltec (To)

Parent Material

schist and schistose clay

alluvium

serpentine

ancient alluvium

schistose clay

Relief

steep

nearly flat

steep

nearly flat

steep

Slope

20–30%

0–1%

20–30%

0–2%

20–30%

Internal Drainage

good

poor

good

imperfect to poor

good

micaceous and friable

friable

friable

friable

Texture silt loam clay loam

clayey to clay loam

silt loam

clay loam

Thickness

Superficial Soil: friable Consistency

25 cm

25–30 cm

2 cm

10–20 cm

10–15 cm

Consistency

friable

friable

plastic

friable

friable

Texture

silty clay loam

clay loam or silty clay loam

clayey

clayey

clayey

Thickness

75 cm

40–50 cm

40–50 cm

60–80 cm

30–40 cm

Moisture Retention

high

high

low

high

medium

Subsoil:

Limit to Root none none Penetration

serpentine none at 75 cm

clayey schist at 50 cm

Erosion Danger

high

low

high

low

high

Natural Fertility

low

high

low

low

medium

Special Problems fertility drainage maintenance, erosion

fertility fertility maintenance, maintenance, erosion, erosion [sic] shallowness

fertility maintenance erosion, shallowness

Data are adapted from Simmons, Tarano and Pinto (1959), Tables 98 and 99.

channel of the Motagua (see Chapter 5). That is, ancient ground levels exposed in drainage ditches were dated by the association with ceramically dated cultural features. In areas of the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery approximately 1 km north of the present Motagua channel (e.g., within site-map grid 1B—see Figs. 1.4 and 4.1 for grid locations), alluvial accumulation since A.D. 800–900 has been nearly 2 m, implying a rate of 18–20 cm/century. In grid 3C, near the Site Core but 2 km or more from the present channel, about 0.60 m of sediment has been deposited in the same period, for a rate of 5–6 cm/century. Although simply averaging the two rates (X = 1.03 m/millennium) seems a simplistic and dubious calculation of “average” accretion, the figure is

certainly comparable to those from other measured situations (e.g., Wolman and Leopold [1970:192–93] for the Nile; Ferring [1986:261], for “moderate” to “slow” rates more generally). Considering the hydraulic ingenuity of the ancient Maya from at least Late Preclassic times (e.g., Dunning et al. 1999; B. Fash 2005; Hall and Viel 2004; Matheny 1976, 1978; Matheny and Gurr 1979; Siemens and Puleston 1972; Thompson 1974; Scarborough 1983, 1996, 1998), it seems likely that the Classic residents of Quiriguá developed artificial levees and/or canals to control problems of flooding and poor drainage, at least in the vicinity of the Floodplain Periphery. No direct evidence of such engineering was encountered during reconnaissance, but post-abandonment floods could have removed an ancient Setting and Methodology

23

artificial levee. And ancient drainage features, if any such ever existed, could have eluded detection by being either outside the area of exploration (beyond the horizontal or vertical reach of survey; compare the location of hydraulic features at Edzná and Cobá [Matheny 1978; Folan et al. 1979]) or too subtle to see. With respect to subtlety, the soil exposures along the commercial ditches dried out quickly. In dragline excavations commissioned for archaeological investigation of Quiriguá Platform 3C-1, at least two silted-in ditches from a previous banana plantation were encountered in cross-section, and it was instructive to note that the traces dried out and became essentially imperceptible within a few weeks. Detailed re-clearing of the ditch face would easily have revealed them again, but such intensive search was not feasible on any large scale during the Quiriguá Project investigations.

Data Acquisition Throughout the five-year span of the Quiriguá Site Periphery Program, the most basic objective was to document the spatial extent and temporal duration of ancient occupation. Other goals, especially testing the functional propositions described in Chapter 1, were rapidly subordinated to the need to penetrate the severe alluvial burial of archaeological features on the northern Motagua floodplain, at and around the Site Core. As already noted, this alluvial problem was ultimately solved, and the dearth of settlement data replaced by an abundance of same, through the excavation of new drainage ditches for commercial production of bananas in the 10.4 km2 of the floodplain periphery. To evaluate how effectively the ditch-derived data complemented those data collected by other means, it is necessary to review the range of procedures used in site periphery data collection and to do so in the context of an evolving sample design formulated and implemented in the late 1970s. This section, then, describes the geographic scope of the Site Periphery Program and its subdivisions; the methods of data acquisition used in their investigation; and the sampling strategies followed in each investigation. Both floodplain- and wider periphery investigations were pursued simultaneously, as coordinated aspects of a single research undertaking, with a single, shared budget of time, funds, and personnel.

Geographic Scope The spatial bounds of the Site Periphery Program were nested between the limits of the other two primary datacollection programs of the Quiriguá Project, the Site Core Program and the Valley Program (see Chapter 1). The Site Core, it will be recalled, was defined as spatially equivalent to the fenced Quiriguá national park, or the “site” of Quiriguá as traditionally defined (see Fig. 1.4). In practice, however, the inner bounds to the Site Periphery Program did not coincide exactly with either the park limits or the edges of grid squares 1A and 1B. For example, Strs. 1A-12 through 1A-14, discovered by the Site Periphery Program in 1975, lie outside the limits of the 30-hectare park, but within grid square 1A, and so were 24

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

included on the project’s Site Core map. All recording outside the park, however, was the responsibility of the Site Periphery Program. Conversely, investigation of Str. 1C-6 fell mostly within the park fence, but in grid square 1C. These remains, too, were investigated as part of the Site Periphery. Despite the original spatial definitions, then, the guiding criterion in assigning periphery jurisdiction was, in practice, location beyond the area defined by traditionally recognized Site Core structures (1A-1 through 1A-11 and 1B-1 through 1B-21). At its outer boundaries, the site periphery universe was ideally to have constituted the overall area framed in cd Figure 1.2, with the Site Core near its center. The total area shown measures approximately 192 km2. Coverage by the Site Periphery Program was actually confined within an irregularly shaped area of approximately 95 km2, as shown on cd Figure 1.2. The reasons for the spatial limitation are indicated below, as is a calculation of the true areal coverage by reconnaissance within the 95-km2 zone. The 95-km2 zone is slightly larger than an area of 5-km radius and thus approximates the empirically abstracted “social catchments” discussed by Willey (1981) for lowland Maya centers, as well as a catchment area that might be predicted for an agrarian site (Chisholm 1962; Vita Finzi and Higgs 1970). The radius falls far short of the 12 km needed to recognize boundaries for the site of Tikal (Puleston 1973, 1974; Haviland 1970a), or more recently, the boundaries of other expansive urban settlements like Caracol (Chase and Chase 1987) or Calakmul (Folan et al. 1990). The Quiriguá coverage might therefore be subject to the “site bias” decried by Puleston (1974). Previous observations of Quiriguá’s size and the extent of nearby settlement, however, implied that occupation there was of a very different order of magnitude than at mega-centers like Tikal. Schortman (1993: 209) infers that Quiriguá “seems to have controlled an area of c. 161.3 km2.” The nearest known monumental contemporaries are some 25 km northeast at Playitas in the lower Motagua Valley, 35 km north over the Sierra de las Minas at El Amatillo (YZ-3) on Lake Izabal, 50 km south over the Sierra del Espiritu Santo at Copán, and nearly 108 km southwest along the Motagua at San Agustín Acasaguastlan. With these considerations, plus the adjoining investigation by Schortman’s Valley Program downstream and practical constraints on site periphery research, a study area of approximately 95 km2 was accepted as appropriate for the Site Periphery Program universe. Within this area, the program incorporated spatially complementary goals of (1) discovering the form and extent of the floodplain center, extending outward from the limits of the Site Core, and (2) depicting the nature of occupation beyond that center. As has already been noted—and will become clear in the following sections—field conditions soon reinforced the explicit subdivision of the periphery program into (1) an intensive and methodologically diversified search for settlement remains on the northern Motagua floodplain, within approximately 10.4 km2 around the Site Core; and (2) a more extensive and superficial investigation of the rest of the original site periphery universe, the 84.6-km2 area beyond the cited northern floodplain tract. As noted in Chapter 1, the former, smaller area came to be called the Floodplain Periphery, and the latter, the Wider Periphery.

Sampling Settlement archaeology at Quiriguá was planned at a time of peak interest in archaeological sampling theory and design (e.g., Redman 1973; Mueller 1974, 1975; Plog 1976). In those years, most attention was given to developing approaches based in probability theory and to discovering which techniques were most suited to which range of situations. The goal was to eliminate the selection bias present in samples drawn by purposive (i.e., based on expertise) or haphazard (i.e., “grab” or pseudo-random) procedures, in order to maximize control over representativeness of the overall target population (of sites, areas within a site, etc.). One way around the problem, of course, is to attempt total coverage (i.e., a 100% sample), and some research—mostly reconnaissance and survey oriented—has taken this approach. Examples from Mesoamerica include long-term survey projects in the Valley of Mexico (e.g., Blanton 1972; Parsons 1971, 1976; Sanders, Parsons, and Santley 1979), the Valley of Oaxaca (e.g., Blanton et al. 1979; Kowalewski 1990; Plog 1976), and the Copán Valley (Fash and Long 1983; Leventhal Fig. 2.3 Topographic sub-areas of the Quiriguá Site Periphery. Irregular polygons 1979; Webster 1998), or more recently, outline perimeters of Wider Periphery and Floodplain Periphery (see cd Fig. 2.4). in areas such as the Rosario valley of Chiapas (de Montmollin 1985, 1995) or the El Cajón region of Honduras (Hirth In designing a sampling scheme for the Site Periphery et al. 1989). Most research, however, is constrained tightly enough by time, funding, and personnel budgets, and in some Program, four kinds of information about Quiriguá were taken aspects by a conservation ethic (Lipe 1974) that coverage is into account: rather less than 100% of the area, site, or collection under 1. dual goals of the program to examine settlement in the study. total Site Periphery, and to define limits to continuous The problem, then, is how best to design a sample that settlement in the immediate vicinity of the Site Core (this distinction was subsequently sharpened; see below); will meet the research goals within the practical limits of the 2. previously recorded observations on local prehistoric occufieldwork. There is no question of the value of probabilistic sampling for yielding data amenable to statistical analysis and pation: to controlled extrapolation from sample to population. Despite a. Groups A, B, and C, all with stone monuments (Morley increases in probability-based sampling strategies, however, 1935, 1937–38; Coe and Sharer 1979:21; see cd Fig. purposive sampling retains a crucial role in archaeological 1.2); research, and seems to have risen in prominence since the b. “housemounds” said to be distributed by the hundreds Quiriguá work was planned. The hypothetical probabilistic along the first terrace north of the floodplain (Hewett sample of the Teotihuacan Valley that misses Teotihuacan is 1912b, 1916; Morley 1935:43–44, 1937–38; Coe and an extreme but instructive example of the value of common Sharer 1979:20); sense, as well as archaeological insight (Flannery 1976:159–60). c. ruins on the plain south of the Motagua, including Even at the peak of emphasis on probabilistic sampling, several a reputedly imposing site called Chapulco, variously writers urged a judicious mix of probabilistic and nonprobabidescribed and inconsistently located on maps (Berendt listic approaches, deciding among the alternatives according 1877; Bancroft 1882; Schmidt 1883; Seler-Sachs 1925; to the requirements of the immediate problem at hand, for the Yde 1938; Blom and Ricketson n.d.; cf. Schortman particular phase of research (e.g., Asch 1975; Flannery 1976; 1980, 1984, 1993); Shimada 1978; Schiffer et al. 1978). 3. divisibility of the 95-km2 universe into three subareas,

Setting and Methodology

25

ture of social interaction within the 192-km2 field. It seemed of paramount importance, for the latter goal, to seek possible satellites or Total Area Reconnoitered Area Percentage outliers (minor centers, in Mayanist parlance North Terraces 24.0 5.8 24.2 at the time) if present, and secondarily, to trace the overall distribution of individual small Northern Plain 27.6 0.7 2.5 structures, groups, and clusters. Finally, site Southern Plain 33.0 12.0 36.4 periphery work was originally slated to extend only through the 1977 season, the latter to be Combined 84.6 18.5 21.9 devoted essentially to excavation of periphery sites. It was the latter factor, combined with 2 2 Note: Areas are expressed in km . The 10.4 km tract of the Floodplain Periphery has the actual rate at which reconnaissance were been deleted from the total 38 km2 of the Site Periphery that falls within the northern accomplished, that in 1976 led to a practical plain (see cd Fig. 1.2). Coverage within these 10.4 km2 is discussed separately below redefinition of the Quiriguá Site Periphery as (see Fig. 3.2 and Table 2.5). a zone of 95 km2 instead of 192 km2. Within these 95 km2, approximately 24 km2 (25.3%) were in the area called here the north terraces, approximately 38 km2 (40.0%) in the northern plain, and shown in Figure 2.3, defined in part by differences in topography and geology (see above and Ashmore 1977; approximately 33 km2 (34.7%) in the southern plain (see Table Sharer et al. 1979): 2.4). a. north terraces, between the Motagua floodplain and Quickly added to these conditions was the frustrating the foothills of the Sierra de las Minas, crossed by realization that the alluvium on the northern plain had several tributaries of the Motagua; buried all but a very few, very late features (Coe and Sharer b. northern plain, the floodplain north of the Motagua, 1979:20–21). This fact soon became the chief obstacle in the periphery research: superficial reconnaissance and survey on including the Site Core (and the 10.4 km2 tract which the northern plain simply could not detect features that either came to be called the Floodplain Periphery); predated the Late Classic occupation or were less than one c. southern plain, a somewhat higher plain south of the meter in height, let alone both. With realization that the alluMotagua, traversed by two Motagua tributaries, the vium problem would require considerable attention, effort that Jubuco and the Morjá; might otherwise have gone into the extensive reconnaissance 4. alluvial masking of unknown severity, obscuring settleand survey was redirected to the northern plain, to concentrate ment remains on at least the northern plain. on floodplain areas immediately bordering the Site Core. The original 1974 research design for the Site Periphery Program combined a purposive survey, using both transects and quadrats, with a probabilistically selected sample of excaReconnaissance/Survey: Wider Periphery vation units. The whole plan was modeled after the very successful settlement research conducted at Tikal (Puleston 1973; Fry 1969), in the Yaxhá-Sacnab region (Rice 1976a), and This work was carried out during parts of two seasons, in at Seibal (Tourtellot 1970, 1988a; Willey et al. 1975); Ford’s 1975 and 1976. The areas actually covered are depicted in cd (1986) Tikal/Yaxhá transect was planned at the same time Figure 2.4. Coverage began as intensive field-by-field search as the Quiriguá survey. At Quiriguá, reconnaissance within parallel to existing roads (e.g., east of Quiriguá town and in a quadrat centered on the Site Core would seek remains for the Switch Molina area; see cd Fig. 1.2), but this proved to be 1 km (potentially expandable) to north, south, east, and west inefficiently time-consuming, with poor data return relative to of the Site Core limits. A series of transects would supply effort expended. On the southern plain particularly, informant more extensive coverage in the broader universe. Rather than reports indicated that most of the land had been mechanithe cruciform pattern used at Tikal and Seibal, however, the cally plowed, resulting in the partial destruction of several Quiriguá transects would follow the Yaxhá-Sacnab strategy: observed small sites and the total destruction of an unknown number more. Prior existence of commercial (United Fruit that is, transects would be oriented so as to cut across zones of Company) plantations is attested by residents of the southern observed ecological difference. In addition, previously reported plain and indicated indirectly by the one-time construction sites (Morley’s Groups A, B, and C, and the elusive Chapulco of rail lines there. Corroborating evidence can be found in site) would be relocated and recorded more systematically. toponyms such as “Switch Molina,” and in rail lines marked Purposive positioning of survey units was selected for the on earlier maps of the area (e.g., Yde 1938). In order to increase following reasons. First, the target zone was basically terra incognita, and total personnel quite restricted in number (never the rate of coverage, the survey necessarily became less locally more than four people). While concerned with such goals as intensive; many open fields were scanned from fence lines, reconstructing population for the entire site periphery (i.e., and areas of dense secondary vegetation were not searched. originally 192 km2), we were interested more fundamentally in Cutting vegetation cover was usually precluded, because most local land is privately held and not readily available for explorestablishing the physical and demographic size of the center, atory archaeological clearing. More reliance was also placed the nature and articulation of its built forms, and the strucTable 2.4

26

Quiriguá Wider Periphery: Reconnaissance Coverage

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

on informant leads. The latter assuredly introduces bias into the investigation (e.g., Harrison 1981; Sharer and Ashmore 1979:168–70), but later aerial inspection confirmed groundbased observations on the distribution of remaining traces of ancient settlement, particularly for the more imposing sites (see below). Ground reconnaissance covered approximately 18.5 km2 in the wider periphery (see Table 2.4), within which 63 discrete sites were recorded (cd Fig. 2.5). A “site” could comprise a single cultural feature or a spatial cluster of them (e.g., Willey and Phillips 1958:18; Sharer and Ashmore 1979:72,95). All sites in the entire Site Periphery (including the Floodplain Periphery) were initially numbered in a single consecutive series of “activity loci” (abbreviated Loc. or Loci), the label being simply an alternate for “site.” Numbering within the series reflected order of discovery or of field investigation by the Site Periphery Program: for example, Morley’s Groups A, B, and C were designated Loci 002, 025, and 011, respectively, because of the order in which they were first visited by project members. These numbers were retained as primary labels for loci in the Wider Periphery. In the Floodplain Periphery, however, the Quiriguá grid system was extended outward from the Site Core and loci were broken down into individual features that were then labeled according to grid square (see below and Part 2). Site locations were plotted on the 1:50,000 topographic map (sheet 2361-I) obtained from the Instituto Geográfico Nacional, Guatemala. Locations were estimated from local topographic landmarks, and checked against 1976 aerial photographs, obtained in 1978, at a scale of approximately 1:10,000. For plotting at a scale of 1:50,000 or smaller, the error in localization of archaeological loci relative to features on the base map is believed to be imperceptible. Although the locational accuracy is thereby now less amenable to computer enlargement of map scale, the standard was acceptable for survey instrumentation of the time. As a check on the wider periphery ground reconnaissance, a brief aerial inspection was conducted (see below). It was originally planned as a prelude to the 1976 ground reconnaissance work, but disruptions due to the disastrous earthquake of February 4, 1976 (which happened to be the third day of the field season) forced postponement until late March, by which time the ground reconnaissance and surface survey were essentially complete. Air coverage was more extensive, but also more superficial, than the groundwork. Certainly, both missed some small sites. Two new sites were discovered from the air: a single large structure, comparable to Loc. 091, and a patio group, both west of Loci 092 an 093 and probably connected with them in ancient times. Also, some known sites could not be detected from the air because of vegetation cover (e.g., Loci 059, 122). Otherwise, the air reconnaissance confirmed the ground-based exploration. Surface survey of loci comprised collection of surface artifacts and ecofacts, when available, plus narrative description and mapping of construction features (principally mounds). Artifacts and ecofacts were typically sparse when encountered at all, so a 100% sample was usually collected. When remains were abundant, preference was given for nonceramic artifacts

and for ceramics exhibiting attributes diagnostic of form and/ or surface treatment. Provenience was controlled by an operation/lot system, as described in some detail in the literature (e.g., Adams 1969; Sharer and Ashmore 1979:241–48). Often sites were small and simple enough to have surface collections subsumed under a single lot; when the locus was more complex, spatial or contextual distinctions (such as “regular” surface vs. looter’s trench) were handled by assignment of multiple lots. Sketch plans of loci were supplemented by scaled maps only when more than one feature was present. (Loc. 021 is the sole exception, as its single structure is architecturally complex.) Twenty-one sites were so mapped, in two cases measured with an optical transit (Loci 002 and 089) and once with plane table and alidade (Loci 023 and 024, jointly). For all other maps, measurements were made with Brunton compass, steel tape, and sometimes a dumpy level. To make the maps comparable to those from other lowland Maya research, architectural features were portrayed using standardized conventions (Carr and Hazard 1961). Topographic contours shown on site maps are impressionistic except for Loci 023/024 and 002 (Group A). To further comparability with other publications on lowland Maya sites the individual site maps were to be published at a standard scale of 1:2000.

evaluation:

Within the Wider Periphery, it is certain that some small sites have been destroyed in the last millennium, and particularly within the last century, due to relatively recent resettlement of the area (see Chapter 4) and to land modifications attendant on plantation and varied building activities. Although even the larger remains are clearly quite susceptible to both cultural and natural destructive forces, the degree of preservation of observed remains and relative recency of much of the destructive activity (Chapter 4) suggests that none of the larger sites are likely to have vanished totally. It is surely the smallest and least substantially constructed sites that have suffered most. Given this assertion, it would be expected that all major local sites or aggregates reported prior to 1975 should have been relocated. Even though the “hundreds of housemounds” along the first terrace north of the Motagua were never previously enumerated or described individually, except for Fowke’s unlocalized excavations (reported by Hewett in 1912), they were certainly encountered again in aggregate, at least in part. Reports stemming from reconnaissance of the area by Douglas Hancock (personal communication, 1973) and Timothy Nowak (1973, and personal communication, 1974) suggested, however, that either Hewett’s quantitative assessment was over-enthusiastic, or many of the mounds had been destroyed in the interim, or both. No evidence was encountered that specifically indicated individual or grouped features that had been destroyed. Nevertheless, the inability to relocate with certainty the area of Fowke’s excavations, plus the scattered finding of apparently ancient masonry in modern house foundations, the extent of modern construction in the present town of Quiriguá, and experience with the fate of small ancient mounds in most parts of the world, all suggest the sadly unsurprising inference that an unquantifiable number of ruins have been lost. Setting and Methodology

27

Groups A, B, and C reported by Morley (1935, 1937–38) were revisited and, as already noted, they became Loci 002, 025, and 011, respectively, in the site periphery survey. Because Group B/Loc. 025 is within the Floodplain Periphery, it was later relabeled Group 7A-1 (see below). The identity of sites previously reported as Chapulco and Mixco, however, posed more of a problem. The difficulty here lies primarily in the vague and inconsistent descriptions of past recorders. It seems, first, that both these names may have been applied to the same site, and second, confusing matters even more, that the name Chapulco has been applied to several distinct sites. “Chapulco” is a toponym in use in this area at least as early as 1536 (U.S. Department of State 1919–20; see Chapter 4). By the late 18th century, it was a label for the unpopulated plain and foothills south of the Motagua in this part of the valley (AGCA 1797–98), and is so employed in land claims of 1798 (ibid.:4) and 1840–74 (MARI, map #236).1 As a specific referent for an archaeological site, however, it appears in writings or maps of Berendt (1877), Bancroft (1882), Schmidt (1883), the Hendges map of 1902, Blom and Ricketson (n.d.), and Yde (1938). The combined inconsistencies and paucity of detail in past descriptions of remains in the periphery zone make it impossible to speak with certainty of any single site called Chapulco. With the possible exception of the Blom-RicketsonYde placement of Chapulco, a location beyond the bounds of our reconnaissance, the Quiriguá Wider Periphery Program has discovered sites that match tolerably well with all previous accounts of sites in the Chapulco area (Loci 059 and 089 on cd Fig. 2.5). At the time of the Quiriguá fieldwork, the most recent mention of large sites in or adjacent to the Wider Periphery was Nowak’s reporting (1973; cf. Sharer and Coe 1979: Fig. 1) and Pahl (1977). Relatively little information is available on Nowak’s work (Sharer and Coe 1979) and his Chapulco and Mixco sites may have been plotted according to the location of the modern settlements. The Wider Periphery Program devoted little time to Mixco, but it may be that Loc. 092 is within the aldea of Mixco and hence is sometimes called locally by that name. Finally, Pahl’s (1977) placement of a site he calls La Playona suggests that it, too, is the same as Loc. 092. Pahl (personal communication, 1977) never visited the area, but had been told by a trusted Honduran informant that a large site existed in the position indicated. For purposes of addressing questions posed in the original research, I believe the Wider Periphery Program compiled a reasonable first approximation of precolumbian settlement traces in this zone remaining in the late 1970s. Had there been more time and/or personnel, a more thoroughly systematic sample might have been feasible. As it was, the area most effectively reconnoitered was the southern plain (see Table 2.4); the north terraces were less well covered, particularly in the deceptively flat-looking terrain just north of Los Amates (see cd Fig. 2.4). The northern plain was examined very little beyond the Floodplain Periphery, discussed separately below. The plantation ditches are now virtually inaccessible because of the intensity of plantation cultivation, with continuing erosion and overgrowth of ditch slopes. Future reconnaissance 28

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

in the Quiriguá periphery would likely profit most from expansion into areas not yet examined, especially the foothills of the sierras to north and south, and the valleys of the Motagua tributaries (e.g., Bell et al. 2000; Nakamura et al. 1991; Vlcek and Fash 1986; Webster and Gonlin 1988).

Reconnaissance/Survey: Floodplain Periphery Although project personnel anticipated that the Motagua alluvium could pose problems for reconnaissance (Hewett 1912b; Morley 1935), Nowak’s initially enthusiastic report (personal communication to R. Sharer, 1974) encouraged the hope that the problem might not be too great. The original plan of the Site Periphery Program, then, incorporated reconnaissance and survey in a potentially expandable quadrat, as described earlier. Standard techniques of ground reconnaissance and survey were to be augmented by subsurface detection via aerial photography, magnetometer survey, and a systematic series of probes with a mechanical corer. Our initial optimism was short-lived, however. During the first season, foot reconnaissance encountered only nine loci, collectively yielding only 16 architectural features within an area of approximately 1.77 km2. This yielded a structure density of 9.04/km2, a quite improbably small magnitude. In addition, test excavation of one feature (Str. 3C-16, Loc. 006; Op. 8P) showed that fully one meter of the preserved height of the structure was below current ground level (Coe and Sharer 1979:21). Having then a somewhat firmer idea of the scale of alluvial masking, the Site Periphery Program acquired funds from the National Science Foundation to implement remote sensing. Aerial reconnaissance was designed to guide and facilitate the ground survey. Unfortunately, as already noted above, communication disruption following the 1976 earthquake delayed the air survey, effectively relegating it to a validity check. We also found, however, that neither attention to cropmarks nor use of infra-red film revealed floodplain features not already recognized on the ground. The magnetometer survey (Fig. 2.6) was also delayed by the earthquake but was ultimately somewhat more successful (Sharer et al. 1979:53,54). Excavation tests of some magnetic anomalies indicated that their occurrence was due to the presence of relatively highly magnetic stones in construction, and the stones which proved to be sources of the anomalies were usually river cobbles, apparently distributed haphazardly within cobble construction fill (Bevan 1983; Sharer et al. 1979:54 and Fig. 8b). These cobbles were probably obtained from local deposits such as those still mined at Los Amates; their ultimate bedrock source areas could be anywhere upstream in the Motagua drainage. None of the stones used for masonry at Quiriguá (sandstone, rhyolite, marble, schist) were detectable (Bevan 1983:80–82), nor were nonarchitectural features, unless kilns or metal-working forge-hearths remain unrecognized among the untested anomalies (see Chapter 6). Further complicating the picture were strong but usually recognizable anomalies due to the abundance of recent iron refuse in the reconnaissance zone, the artifact residue of, by then, more

Fig. 2.6 Schematic map of magnetic survey locations (after Bevan 1983:Fig. 9.1).

than half a century of mechanized commercial agriculture. Nevertheless, three areas were searched for magnetic indications of buried features. Anomalies encountered were to have been tested for ground truth in complement to the coring program described below. From west to east, the magnetic survey areas are (see Fig. 2.6): 1. A strip from Group 3C-4 to Group 3C-9 (Bevan’s survey units 20 through 22), 332 m long and 30 m wide with a shorter adjoining strip (unit 25), 134 m by 30 m, along part of the south side. This was placed so as to test a superficially empty area encircled by unusually abundant surface features (i.e., Groups 3C-1, 3C-2, 3C-4, 3C-9). Although two anomalies were noted (Bevan 1983:81–82), we have since come to believe that the transect crossed the southern edge of a relatively open area (Jones et al. 1983; see Chapters 3 through 7). 2. An area at the northeast corner of the Site Core, where a modern fence-post hole had revealed buried cobbles. The location promised not only buried construction, but perhaps revelation of the “causeway” reported in that vicinity by Morley (Villa Rojas 1934; Crowther 1929:16). Bevan’s survey in units 2, 10–15, 26 discerned a linear magnetic feature approximately 90 m long and 2.5 to 4 m wide (Bevan 1983:81). Excavation tests here are described later (see also Str. 1C-6, Part 2). 3. A strip 722 m long and 30 m wide (magnetic survey units

3–9), extending east from the fringe of forest enclosing Site Core Group 1B-2 (traditionally labeled the “East Group”) to a large, old drainage ditch whose backdirt in 1975 had revealed Classic period artifacts. The transect bisects an area of approximately 0.96 km2 which previously had yielded only three surface architectural loci (Strs. 1A12/1A-14, Str. 1B-22, and Group 2C-1), but whose apparent paucity of cultural remains seemed belied by the clusters of artifacts in ditch spoil (defined in 1975 as Loc. 032, Op. 8S; Coe and Sharer 1979:21, 22). Several anomalies were isolated in this survey (Bevan 1983:82). For the coring program, the initial plan was to establish a grid of potential drill sites, at 50-m intervals, within 2 km of the Site Core. From this population, a random sample was to be drawn, stratified according to distance and direction from the Site Core, the Motagua river, and the first terrace above the floodplain. Some further cores would have provided preliminary probes for magnetic anomalies as well. Test pits or potentially larger excavations would have been used to expand from core tests that encountered buried features. The coring program suffered from the same earthquakederived delays as the preceding operations. Unfortunately, these delays were compounded by airline loss of the coring equipment. Since the extensive coring program was deemed less expensive, more practical, and more efficient than a substitute smaller series of manually excavated test pits, and since Setting and Methodology

29

Fig. 2.7 Map of Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery: commercial farm sectors. Stippled area highlights survey coverage in 1979; Maya Farm surveyed in 1978 (after Sharer et al. 1983:Fig. 7.2).

the equipment had already been purchased, the program was postponed and the time thereby freed was used for intensive excavation during 1976 and 1977 (see below). By the time the coring equipment arrived, an unforeseen and invaluably beneficial “solution” to the alluvium problem had also come to hand. This was the series of new drainage ditches dug between late 1977 and 1979 by Bandegua, then a subsidiary of the Del Monte Corporation, and still owner of the land surrounding the Site Core. The ditches were dug as one facet of a new, multimilliondollar banana plantation in the Quiriguá area. While Morley wrote of banana groves surrounding the Site Core when he worked at Quiriguá, the locale had been devoted in more recent decades to cattle pasture, with occasional short-term plantings of sorghum or other crops. In 1977 the company began to re-establish banana cultivation at Quiriguá. Preparatory development involved an elaborate hydraulic system, wherein overhead sprinklers provided irrigation and deep ditches provided drainage. The latter are the most immediately significant elements, for they incidentally supplied an extensive sample of buried archaeological and natural features, on a scale unapproachable with solely archaeological research resources. The area covered by the new plantations (Maya Farm; Quiriguá Farm) comprises approximately 10.4 km2 as shown in Figure 2.7. Within this area, ditches are spaced at regular 30

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

intervals of 76.2 m (250 feet) from one centerline to the next. The majority of the ditches run approximately N24°30’–25°W, perpendicular to the company railway, and almost all drain northward into larger master ditches. These in turn follow the natural drainage vector to the northeast. Individual ditches vary somewhat in length, width, and depth according to location, to the stability of underlying deposits, and to elevation of the mildly undulating ground surface. Modally, however, they are about 2 m deep with beds tending to be slightly deeper at the north end or mouth. Surface breadth is usually about 4 to 4.5 m, but there are no detailed statistics on actual inter-ditch variability in exact breadth and wall slope. Length varies with location, according to interruptions by roads and other crosscutting features (see Fig. 2.7). As a sample of settlement features, the material in the ditches constitutes an essentially systematic aligned sample. It is not probabilistically located, but the bias in selecting the point of origin for plotting the regular interval units was archaeological in nature only to the extent that the layout had to be planned around the Quiriguá Site Core. Probably a more important factor in ditch position was distance from the next adjacent ditches in the previously established plantation to the northeast (Aztec Farm). The caveat regarding the systematic nature of the sample is that the units are all transects, but are unlike most archaeo-

logical and geographical samples, which are more commonly oriented to two-dimensional space (i.e., a horizontal plane; Brown 1975). The ditches sample a three-dimensional space. That is, they cut into the ground as well as across it, and therefore yield information on vertically (i.e., temporally) sequential materials in addition to the horizontal distributions of remains more commonly associated with archaeological surveys. Even if we were to extract Late Classic features and deal with them as representing a single planar sample, there would still be two problems. The first is contemporaneity. The “Late Classic” at Quiriguá is approximately 200–300 years long (depending on which criteria are used for age discriminations), and it is unlikely that materials pertaining to that period were all in use at precisely the same time (see Chapter 4). This problem, however, is one faced by all surveys, often even with more detailed chronological evidence available (e.g., Coe 1966; Fry 1969; Tourtellot 1970; Willey 1970; Rice 1976a), and abstracting a sample which represents the Late Classic at Quiriguá is analogous to what is done in settlement survey at ground level (see also Chapter 4, for discussion of Quiriguá chronology). Perhaps a more serious problem is that caused by geomorphologic processes of floodplain accretion, a problem foreshadowed by discussion earlier in this chapter. That is, rivers deposit larger quantities of alluvium closer to their channel. First, heavier loads are carried less lateral distance by the floodwaters; stones are deposited earliest, while light clay particles are transported farthest. Second, flood magnitude is inversely related to frequency (e.g., Leopold et al. 1964:63–66, Figure 3.14, 321, Figure 7.10; Allen 1970:123), so that deposition occurs more frequently closer to the river channel. The significance of these observations is that Late Classic remains nearer the current or recent courses of the Motagua are covered by deeper alluvium than are those farther away. Based on examination of inferred ancient ground levels, the overall southwest to northeast valley gradient seems to be approximately the same as in Classic times (see Chapter 4 and cd Fig. 4.3). But because of the locale-specific flood deposit accumulation, the Late/Terminal Classic features revealed in ditches near and north of the Site Core are generally a meter or less from the present surface, while those south or distantly west of the Site Core appear 2 m below the modern ground surface, at the base of the ditches. The Late Classic ground “plane” therefore is tilted relative to the present surface (or vice versa), with the effect that buried materials from or preceding the Early Classic (i.e., earlier than ca. A.D. 600) appear at the base of some northern ditches, and (with the possible exception of Str. 6A1) do not appear at all in ditches south of row “C” on the map grid. Possible analytical corrections for this sampling dilemma are discussed in Chapter 5 (see also Ashmore 1990), but two further, interrelated aspects of the sample should be considered here. These are the problem of periodicity (i.e., interval at which occurrences are repeated) and the orientation of sample transects. A systematic sample runs the risk that some characteristic of the population being sampled has the same periodic interval of distribution as the regularized sampling

interval (here, a southwest-northeast spatial interval of 76.2 m). Geographer Brian Berry (1962) introduced systematic unaligned sampling to vary the interval without sacrificing benefits of systematic samples, such as dispersal of sample units through the universe (e.g., Redman 1974). Since the Quiriguá floodplain sample was made available for reasons other than archaeological research, there was no option available to change the ditch placement, to obviate the problem of periodicity. Nonetheless, it seems unlikely that significant distributional patterns have been missed because of coincident periodicities. Reasoning for such an assertion is based partly on length of the survey transects and partly on their orientation. The shortest ditch line is 125 m long, at the far west end of Quiriguá Farm; most ditches are much longer, in a compound sense, running in nearly continuous lines of up to 2.1 km across Maya Farm and 2.2 km across Quiriguá Farm. The orientation of ditch transects is very regular, as mentioned above, at N24°30’–25°W. The salient fact here is that this is an orientation unrelated to any observed in these or any other Maya archaeological remains, or in local topographic features. It is thus unlikely that there exist at Quiriguá any linear alignments of archaeological features exactly parallel to the ditches, and especially improbable that there would be multiple linear distributions that parallel (NW–SE) and share the same periodicity (76.2 m intervals, SW–NE). Some lines of features could conceivably have the same periodicity and differing orientations, but these would have to be perpendicular to the ditches, or have such a periodicity/orientation combination as to exactly miss (or exactly encounter) every ditch alignment. This is certainly not to claim that no significant individual features have been missed; it would seem, however that the periodic interval of ditch transects is sufficiently small, their aggregate lengths sufficiently great, and their orientation sufficiently independent of known archaeological orientations that periodicity, per se, is a negligible problem in this sample. Procedures for recording information from the ditch transects combined reconnaissance, narrative, and photographic recording, collection of surface artifacts, and mapping. A variety of staff members assisted in reconnoitering the ditches, noting the form and approximate location of features, as well as (less systematically across recorders) variations in observed soil strata, surface elevation, and extant vegetation. Some ditch walls had become quite overgrown with low secondary vegetation by the time of reconnaissance, and when present, this was one of the two chief hindrances to our work. The other was the high water table, which rendered some ditch beds unwalkable. In the latter cases, reconnaissance was conducted along one bank (usually the west bank) of the ditch, or sometimes both, the observer re-entering as often as was feasible. The percentage of area actually reconnoitered was calculated for each 0.25-km2 grid square of the Floodplain Periphery (see below). Separate totals were calculated for pre-ditch ground reconnaissance and ditch-based search, because the sampling methods were so different. These figures are given in Table 2.5. Altogether, 42.1% of the Floodplain Periphery was reconnoitered at ground level, and 38.7% of the ditch Setting and Methodology

31

Table 2.5

Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery: Reconnaissance Coverage



Pre-Ditch Reconnaissance

Ditch Reconnaissance

Grida Area of Grid Within Area Covered

Percentage Ditch Lengthsc Ditch Lengths Percentage Floodplain Exposed Reconnoitered Peripheryb 1Ad 1Bd

0.07 0.10

0.10

100.0

1075

1075

100.0

1Cd

0.23

0.23

100.0

2880

2880

100.0

1D

0.21

0.21

100.0

2795

1030

36.8

1E

0.10

0.09

90.0

2027

1307

64.5

2A 2Bd

0.25

0.25

100.0

3483

3483

100.0

0.25

0.25

100.0

3360

3360

100.0

2C

0.25

0.25

100.0

3376

2758

81.7

2D

0.22

0.22

100.0

2709

1473

54.4

0.07

100.0

925

925

100.0

2E

0.16

0.00

0.0

2774

590

21.3

3Ad

0.25

0.25

100.0

3263

2760

84.6

3B

0.25

0.25

100.0

3457

818

23.7

3C

0.25

0.25

100.0

3447

3447

100.0

3D

0.25

0.00

0.0

767

0

0.0

3E

0.24

0.03

12.5

3746

2564

68.4

3G

0.12

0.00

0.0

1800

645

35.8

4A

0.25

0.16

64.0

3341

1932

57.8

4B

0.25

0.14

56.0

3147

1787

56.8

4C

0.25

0.07

28.0

3761

720

19.1

4D

0.09

0.005

5.5

1357

215

15.8

4E

0.25

0.02

8.0

2685

50

1.9

4G

0.15

0.00

0.0

2122

225

10.6

5A

0.25

0.25

100.0

3232

1275

39.4

5B

0.25

0.12

48.0

3680

0

0.0

5C

0.25

0.25

100.0

3260

3260

100.0

5D

0.07

0.00

0.0

777

0

0.0

5E

0.25

0.04

16.0

3668

1548

42.2

5G

0.08

0.00

0.0

1765

0

0.0

6A

0.25

0.00

0.0

3476

20

0.6

6B

0.16

0.00

0.0

2430

250

10.3

6C

0.23

0.00

0.0

2062

454

22.0

6D

0.01

0.00

0.0

290

0

0.0

6E

0.25

0.03

12.0

2493

390

15.6

6G

0.19

0.00

0.0

3077

85

2.8

7A

0.25

0.25

100.0

1930

1440

74.6

7B

0.25

0.04

16.0

3204

0

0.0

7C

0.25

0.19

76.0

3580

2425

67.7

32

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

Table 2.5 cont’d.

Pre-Ditch Reconnaissance

Ditch Reconnaissance

Grida Area of Grid Within Area Covered Percentage Ditch Lengthsc Ditch Lengths Percentage Floodplain Exposed Reconnoitered Peripheryb 7D

0.08

0.00

0.0

935

0

0.0

7E

0.17

0.00

0.0

2722

380

14.0

8A

0.21

0.00

0.0

3362

0

0.0

8B

0.22

0.00

0.0

1143

0

0.0

8C

0.01

0.00

0.0

363

0

0.0

8E

0.23

0.00

0.0

512

0

0.0

8G

0.22

0.00

0.0

3377

390

11.5

9A

0.25

0.12

48.0

2046

1321

64.6

9B

0.25

0.00

0.0

3290

50

1.5

9C

0.25

0.08

32.0

3660

1400

38.2

9D

0.02

0.00

0.0

169

0

0.0

9E

0.10

0.00

0.0

1732

115

6.6

11A

0.24

0.00

0.0

3882

1279

32.9

11B

0.25

0.00

0.0

3192

620

19.4

11C

0.17

0.00

0.0

2927

352

12.0

11D

0.01

0.00

0.0

60

0

0.0

13A

0.02

0.00

0.0

592

352

59.4

13B

0.17

0.15

88.0

2715

595

21.9

13D

0.06

0.00

0.0

550

0

0.0

10.36

4.36

42.1

134450

52045

38.7

Combined Notes:

a The map grid system is described in this chapter, and by Coe and Sharer (1979:14). b All areas are expressed in km2; each grid is 0.25 km2, but not all fall completely within the limits of the Floodplain Periphery, as defined by the extent of commercial ditch-cutting. c Ditch lengths are expressed in meters. d Areas outside the Site Core as shown in Figure 1.4. The portions of the Site Core falling within grids 3A and 2B are each less than 0.005 km2.

exposures were examined. Further consideration of the ditch sample and interpretation of what it represents are undertaken in Chapter 5. Mapping was done with an optical transit, within timeconstrained bounds shown on Figure 2.7. Similarly, for time reasons, only observed features could be plotted, with limited additional data on elevations. That is, no detailed surface topographic map was created, and given complications of repeated plowing, displacing substantial sediment by ditchdigging, and then smoothing the ditch backdirt, such detail would probably not be more informative of natural flood

plain contours than is the corpus of data actually collected. Another compromise in the face of time limits was a decision not to attempt major transit traverses. Vertical measurements were corroborated and validated by short, temporally distinct cross-sightings, and horizontal locations were checked on the scaled commercial engineering maps of the banana plantation generously donated by Sres. Roy Wells and Mario Mena of Bandegua. As an average safety or tolerance factor, however, the reader should probably allow up to 5 m potential radial error in specific placement of features of aggregates on the final map; horizontal errors are unlikely to exceed 10 m at any Setting and Methodology

33

point within the instrument-mapped zone. Regardless of which staff member reconnoitered individual ditches, the author checked all recorded features and participated directly in all mapping. Data were plotted at 1:1000 and the Quiriguá grid system was expanded to designate the features. Surface-level construction, plotted before ditch excavation in 1977, was rectified with standard conventions for the final site map. The ditch features, however, required some conventions unique to Quiriguá, and these are described in the map legends for Figure 3.2. Following precedent at Tikal, Copán, Seibal, and many other lowland Maya sites, the survey was to produce one overall map, reduced to a conventional scale of 1:6250, and a set of four 1-km2 sheets, portraying features at 1:2000. Loss of the original paper-and-pencil plot was turned ultimately to advantage, when Kathryn Sorensen re-generated the present map electronically as an ArcGIS file, from 1978–1979 field survey notes, in consultation with Ashmore. The Quiriguá Site Core map has been reproduced as part of these maps, but somewhat modified. Following convention, the original version (Fig. 1.4) illustrated only surface features, using no information gained through excavation (Coe and Sharer 1979). Because the periphery data rely so heavily on information not visible on the surface, however, it seemed appropriate to make the same allowance for data from the Site Core. Not only does this mean including data from the few ditches that fall within grid squares 1A and 1B, it also allows incorporation of features discovered in the test-pitting program conducted in the Great Plaza (Jones et al. 1983). Collections of artifacts exposed by the commercial ditches represent varying degrees of control over provenience and context. Substantial and valuable ditch-based collections were made between regular field seasons by Sr. Enrique Monterroso R. (IDAEH), then guardian and labor chief at Quiriguá, and his staff. These collections were almost always recovered from ditch backdirt, retrieved very soon after the ditches were dug, and were assigned a provenience specifying only the appropriate ditch. With Monterroso’s aid, it was later occasionally possible to narrow the potential range of probable horizontal provenience for these ditch-spoil collections, such as where dense midden deposits were still partly preserved in situ. These collections are important, both for providing supplementary samples for artifact analysis, and for preserving some functionally and/or chronologically diagnostic artifacts that otherwise would likely have been unofficially and illegally removed by other people before the annual arrival of project staff. Collections made by project staff were given more specific provenience whenever possible, and were oriented toward diagnostic pieces, with impressionistic observations made concerning overall artifact density. These constraints were necessary because the size of potential collections far exceeded project capabilities to store and process them. The provenience records of the collections merit some consideration. Unless an item was firmly embedded in the ditch wall, it was not considered in situ. Nonetheless, recorded proveniences are probably reasonably precise, for the following reasons. From observing the draglines at work in October 1978, the approximate limits to machine movement of artifacts can be estimated. Cutting always began at the master ditch (i.e., 34

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

usually the north end), proceeding southward. The backdirt was deposited alternately on both banks, so bank provenience is not a clue to source within the ditch (i.e., east or west side, let alone center). Deposition produced southward displacement no greater than about 20 m. Eventually the backdirt was leveled, usually before the irrigation pipes were laid and always before planting began. This spread the materials farther but probably not more than half the distance to the next adjacent ditch (i.e., about 38 m) and probably not more than 20 m north or south. The total error in backdirt proveniences is therefore likely to be less than a 40-m radius from the original provenience. Since features ought, by definition, to retain primary context, consideration of displacement parameters may seem irrelevant to settlement studies, of which features are the elemental unit. But noting the position of strewn cobbles, for example, which do not occur naturally on the floodplain, may be a clue to the nearby presence of a partially dismantled and yet-undisclosed construction. Such evidence is not conclusive, but is obviously worth noting. Also, understanding the maximum likely displacement helps one assess better whether artifacts in the backdirt vicinity of an exposed feature (such as sherds and a metate leg found near a cut structure) were probably once actually associated with the feature. A more serious problem concerns vertical provenience. Directly superimposed cultural deposits were not particularly common in the ditch walls. When they were encountered, however, an attempt was made to segregate collections by levels. Constant rain erosion of the ditch walls carried some pieces downwards within the ditches, and some backdirt material may have washed down into upper strata, in both cases potentially mixing material from originally distinct strata. There was not always time to clean an adequately fresh ditch face, so some deposits may in fact be mixed; such instances are noted in catalogue entries in Part 2. For the preceding paragraphs, in situ refers to subsurface context and provenience in 1977. Location and context in ancient times may have been different for some materials, in that the plain has undergone several kinds of modifications that would have effects of variable severity on archaeological materials. Floods and earthquakes have been disruptive factors throughout and beyond the occupation history (see above and Chapter 4). Most recently, major disruptions have ensued primarily from (1) construction and land modification associated with previous banana plantations, (2) repeated mechanized plowing, and (3) installation of semi-permanent facilities associated with cattle husbandry. Modifications attendant on the previous plantations involved construction of tramlines and excavation of drainage ditches, as well as banana planting itself. Concerning these former ditches, Ricketson’s (1935) report on a Classic-period well confirms that, as one would expect, these excavations cut through precolumbian features. Hewett (1912b, 1913b) observed buried constructions, but gave no details of their distribution or density. The Middle American Research Institute (MARI) houses a collection of artifacts donated in 1932 by Floyd Avary of the United Fruit Company; said to have come from Quiriguá, many quite possibly could be items retrieved from the earlier ditches (Ashmore n.d.a).

Traces of those ditches, now filled in, were still clearly visible in 1977, both from eye-level and even more strikingly from the air (e.g., Coe and Sharer 1979:Figure 8a; Sharer and Coe 1979:Figure 2b). Unlike the new ditches, the old were quite irregular in layout, following patterns of natural drainage. That the ditch traces seen in 1977 were from the pre-1932 plantation is confirmed by comparisons of UFC maps (8-B-32 and 4-B-15) with government aerial photographs (1:10,000 scale; 1976 series). Furthermore, following specific ditch referents used by Morley (1935:4) to describe access to Group B (Group 7A-1) in the 1920s, and using the company maps as a key, one can hypothetically retrace the route on the air photographs and indeed end up at Group B, visible on the photograph! Such confirmation in turn allows plotting the approximate location of Ricketson’s (1935) well, described as having been “near the mouth of Ditch E-3 on Quiriguá Farm” and therefore in project grid 7C. As mentioned earlier, traces of old ditches were noted in the fresh face of one of the dragline excavations dug at our behest in 1979 (Ashmore et al. 1983); once the excavations had dried out, however, such traces were obscured, and too subtle for ready detection. When disturbed features were encountered, their locations relative to the derelict ditches were examined to try to determine whether the disturbance might be due to the ditch excavations. Banana planting, tramline construction, and mechanized plowing have probably most seriously affected sectors where Late Classic features are nearest to the present ground surface, especially in grids 1C and 3C. Separately or in combination, these activities have at least partially destroyed some remains. That the effect may not be uniformly devastating, however, is suggested by the state of preservation of Str. 3C11, a small cobble structure cleared in 1978. The highest part of the preserved architecture was only 4 cm below present ground surface. Yet while the top of the raised bench area was disturbed, most of the structure was still very much intact (see Ashmore and Sharer 1978:16, photo; Ashmore 1980a:Figure 6; Sharer et al. 1983:Figure 7.4c). Another effect of plowing is to spread superficial materials, previously disturbed or not, across the landscape. Re-survey west of Str. 3C-16, immediately after plowing in February 1976, revealed one definite and two possible small, relatively intact architectural loci. Twenty-five other concentrations of cobbles and/or artifacts were noted, and these tended (72%) to occur at the heads or junctions of derelict ditches. While exact original provenience of these materials is unknown, it seems most likely that they derived from the associated ditches or from closely neighboring ditches. These loci received feature designations in Part 2 only when ditch reconnaissance in 1978–79 confirmed presence of an ancient feature. Since the acreage of Quiriguá and Maya Farms has been used mostly for cattle grazing in recent decades, it is not surprising that a number of semi-permanent installations and land modifications have been effected to facilitate husbandry. These include small feed sheds, water troughs (with superficially buried waterlines), several large concrete constructions (of unknown function, but possibly earlier banana packing-shed platforms), and a large stock pen near the park entrance, where cattle were concentrated prior to transport. Several of these

features are readily detected, near the entrance to the Site Core, on the 1:10,000 aerial photographs (1976 series; e.g., #F-109).

Excavations The reconnaissance and survey phase of the entire Site Periphery Program was intended to provide a sampling frame of known sites from which an excavation sample would be chosen. The latter was originally planned as a stratified random sample, with stratification according to site form and location (Sharer et al. 1979:Table 1). The two architectural loci selected for excavation at the close of extensive survey in 1976 were selected randomly as representatives of their locus classes (ibid.:57); other selections were made non-randomly, for a combination of reasons. The principal reason for opting to sample purposively rather than probabilistically was the need to investigate specific questions which could not best be answered through random sample selection (e.g., Asch 1975; Shimada 1978). Because of cited limits on the coverage of the wider periphery reconnaissance, and because of special interest in particular sites throughout the Site Periphery which seemed important to an understanding of local social, political, and/or economic integration, we chose to focus the limited research resources on sites we believed would best repay excavation. Reasoning for sample selection is summarized below by year, for both Floodplain and Wider Periphery Programs. More specific information is provided in the catalogue in Part 2, under the appropriate entries. First, a generalized account of excavation strategy explains the basic approach used: For non-constructional features, such as middens, test pits were used to plumb the depth and structure of the deposits, with optional expansion to clear constructed features should they appear. For constructed features, the idealized strategy was to work from an initial axial test, to penetrate construction for chronological data, and for functional data (including architectural plan), to clear in continuous or disjunctive excavations as much of the construction as time, ethical judgment, construction form, and degree of preservation would permit. Selection criteria for excavation samples varied with evolving research needs and questions. At the close of the 1975 season, when archaeological information of all kinds was still quite limited and the Site Periphery Program had not yet been subdivided, excavations were conducted principally as a guide to planning future, more extensive periods of excavation. The two loci selected, 006 (Op. 8P; Group 3C-9) and 015 (Op. 8Q), were chosen to provide a balance of locations (northern plain and north terraces, respectively). The loci were left in the sampling frame for possible later selection; if they were not chosen, their information was to be excluded from any conclusions drawn from the sample chosen probabilistically. In 1976, two loci in the Floodplain Periphery (026 or Group 2C-1; Op. 8L; and 029 or Group 3C-1; Op. 13N) were selected randomly for excavation as the first representatives of regularly arranged small groups on the northern plain (Group 2C-1) and irregularly arranged small groups, also on the northern Setting and Methodology

35

plain (Group 3C-1; cf. Sharer et al. 1979:Table 1). In addition, the Floodplain Periphery Program participated in Project-wide attempts to expand the then-severely limited artifact samples, an effort designed to provide more raw material for developing temporal and spatial discriminations in artifact inventories, particularly ceramics (Sharer et al. 1979:56,60–62). Excavations at Midden 1A-1 (Op. 3F) constituted an attempt to relocate an apparent Late Classic midden originally reported in Nowak’s 1974 field notes. Operations 3E, 3J, and 3K in Loc. 0322 aimed at recovering stratified deposits and possible construction in areas where collections from the backdirt of an old, still functioning drainage and irrigation ditch had yielded examples of otherwise rare materials antedating the Late/ Terminal Classic period (e.g., Mapache Grooved: Guayabal Variety, Carolina Black, Usulutan). The only other periphery excavations in 1976 were those conducted to test the linear feature mapped by magnetometer and thought to represent, perhaps, the causeway reported indirectly by Morley (Villa Rojas 1934; see above and Str. 1C-6, Part 2). Other tests of magnetic anomalies were postponed, as noted earlier, until arrival of the mechanical corer. The 1977 season was the major excavation season for the Site Periphery Program. The overall objectives can be organized in six categories. First, an architectural form, labeled by us as “quadrangle,” had been isolated at numerous sites within and beyond the site periphery (Sharer et al. 1979; see also Chapter 3). It seemed to be associated with moderately imposing sites throughout the lower Motagua valley that were hypothesized to be nodes of some sort in a politico-economic hierarchy (Ashmore 1977; Schortman 1980, 1993). Testing several of these sites was deemed important to verify formal regularities used to define the class and to seek clues for functional interpretation. Quadrangle Loci 089 and 082 (Group 3C-2) were accordingly chosen for excavation, one each in the Wider and Floodplain Peripheries. Also chosen was Loc. 092, the single most architecturally imposing locus in the Site Periphery. This site is located in a hypothetically crucial position, at the mouth of the Morjá valley, and contains a possible quadrangle group within the overall architectural complex. The only remaining quadrangle then recognized in the site periphery, Loc. 059 in the wider periphery had been heavily pitted by non-archaeological activities, and therefore was not chosen for excavation. The second category of excavations in 1977 comprised investigation of Morley’s Groups A, B, and C (Loci 002, Op. 10K; 025 or Group 7A-1, Op. 11H; and 011, Op. 10J, respectively). The intent was to seek information concerning why these particular loci have stone monuments, and whether the architectural forms and style encountered could be correlated distinctively with discrete time periods to which the different monuments were assigned. Such information could provide a cross-check for the emerging Site Core stratigraphic architectural sequence (Sharer et al. 1979; Jones 1977b), as well as potentially contributing to dating other site periphery or valley architecture. A third excavation was investigation of Midden 7C-1 (Op. 13P), discovered in 1976 eroding from the south bank of the Mejía canal, a large, permanent water course about 300 m 36

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

north of Group 7A-1 in the Floodplain Periphery. These excavations were aimed at procuring a stratified sample of refuse, hopefully providing links to assemblages earlier than the Late Classic. Fourth, excavation at Loc. 013 (Op. 8B), in the Wider Periphery, allowed combined investigation of a patio group on the north terraces with that of an area believed to be a production place for obsidian tools (Sheets 1983a). Excavation at Loc. 039 (Op. 12B), the fifth category, was to examine a patio group on the southern plain. Choice of this particular site was dictated principally by field logistics—that is, a location that would allow the author’s concurrent supervision of more than one excavation. The sixth category of excavation in 1977 would have been the coring tests in the Floodplain Periphery. The equipment was to have arrived in time for a coring program to be implemented in the latter half of the season. When the machinery was lost in shipment, a limited Site Periphery Program was planned for 1978, combining coring and associated floodplainperiphery work with excavations in Group A (Loc. 002) in the Wider Periphery, the one group of Morley’s three for which there was not adequate excavation time in 1977. By January 1978, the commercial ditches of Maya Farm— that is, east of the Site Core—had been dug (Fig. 2.7). In terms of research design, it is important to note here that the Project did not know in advance that these ditches were to be excavated. Archaeological work in 1978, then, focused on excavations in Loc. 002 (Wider Periphery) and on recording the archaeological features exposed in the new ditches (Floodplain Periphery). In the course of the latter, one architectural feature was cleared, Str. 3C-11 (Sharer et al. 1983; Ashmore and Sharer 1978; Ashmore 1980a:Figure 6). This work (Op. 18B) was undertaken (1) to test our supposition that the apparent constructed features revealed in cross-section in the ditch slopes were indeed structures, and (2) to gain a better idea, in at least one instance, of plan-view information that could not be gained from the ditch exposures. This particular cobble construction was chosen because it allowed simultaneous investigation of an associated ceramic well (Ashmore 1980a:Figure 7; Ashmore 1984b), a type of feature Ricketson had reported succinctly in 1935, but which had previously lacked any apparent architectural associations. The Floodplain Periphery Program was extended to a twoweek reconnaissance in October 1978 and a full season in 1979 in order to record the ditches west of the Site Core—that is, Quiriguá Farm—that were to be dug after the close of the 1978 season. The brief trip in October 1978 was undertaken to observe the procedures of ditch cutting, to supervise the limited ongoing collection of artifacts from the new ditches, to check security conditions, to reconnoiter briefly some of the new ditches, and to assess needs and priorities for 1979 recording. The bulk of the 1979 workload constituted ditch survey, but time was set aside to excavate Platform 3C-1 and Str. 3C-14 (Ashmore et al. 1983). This architectural assemblage was chosen because of its apparent association with an Early Classic stela discovered in that ditch in November 1978 (within two weeks after the brief visit!) and because it simultaneously constituted the only opportunity to examine what was

likely to be Early Classic civic architecture in the floodplain center (Ashmore 1980b; Jones 1983). These various excavations, from 1975 through 1979, met their stated objectives with differing degrees of success, as is spelled out in remaining chapters and Parts 2 and 3. It is important to observe here that, with the exceptions of Groups 2C-1 and 3C-1, these investigations were dictated by a strategy of purposive sampling. That is, they were instituted, individually or in small sets, to answer specific questions, and particular loci were chosen in each instance as being judged the most appropriate for answering the questions. Had we known, in 1975, of the coming plantation, we might have largely ignored the Floodplain Periphery until 1978, and a different strategy for the Wider Periphery reconnaissance, plus the original random excavation sample, might have been undertaken. With the changing circumstances at Quiriguá, however, the foregoing discussion presents what had to be an evolving research design, incorporating a growing fund of local archaeological knowledge as well as changing field conditions over a span of five years.

Summary This chapter has sketched the setting in which Quiriguá was built, occupied, and—much later—investigated archaeologically. It has also outlined the methods by which settlement data were collected in the Quiriguá Site Periphery Program. The landscape of the Quiriguá Site Periphery would seem to have been an attractive one for human occupation.



Rich, deep soils, at least some ultimately volcanic in origin, supported lush plant and animal populations, here comprising mixed highland and lowland species. These combined with reliable rainfall, stable local water supplies, and quite diverse geological resources to create a setting appealing to settled agriculturalists such as the Maya. Moreover, the Motagua river and its several local tributaries provided ready corridors for external acquisition, from almost any direction, of materials not locally available. Although the hazards posed by floods and earthquakes must occasionally have upset this hospitable and tranquil setting, the benefits for human settlement clearly outweighed the problems, at least for the half millennium of documented ancient occupation. Twice that time span later, archaeologists of the Quiriguá Project arrived to study that human settlement. The spatial universe for the site periphery part of said research was an irregularly shaped zone 95 km2 in extent, later subdivided into two smaller areas. Research design and execution for the Site Periphery Program have been described here, in the form of a chronological narrative, to emphasize the evolving nature of priorities and problems in data collection. The overriding obstacle to site periphery research, the northern plain alluvium, dictated some of the changes in strategy. It also indirectly stimulated a solution to the situation, however, when floodplain drainage problems prompted the commercial ditch excavations. What had been a frustrating lack of data was then replaced by a wealth of information on floodplain settlement, complementing the material gathered by more traditional methods from the Wider Periphery. It is to description of the site periphery data that discussion now turns.

Setting and Methodology

37

3

The Site Periphery Settlement Sample The indications are that we have here the remains of two cities of different epochs. The upper one at its foundation level is about a meter below the present surface of the Motagua valley, which has been silting up gradually during past ages at a nearly uniform rate. (Hewett 1916:158)

T

he purpose of this chapter is to summarize the archaeological remains recorded in the Quiriguá Site Periphery Program. Detailed descriptions of all settlement features are presented in Parts 2 and 3 of the monograph, the data catalogues proper. Here, however, an overview of the range and number of forms encountered provides the foundation for interpretive inferences outlined in Chapters 4 through 7.

Forms of Data While it is true that archaeological features are the basic units of settlement, different kinds of features represent different kinds of behavior. The task of classification is to clarify the dimensions of variability within a data set, at least those dimensions deemed important by the analyst. At Quiriguá, initial classification of archaeological features had three goals: (1) to differentiate classes of features by form, and thereby facilitate analysis and comparison at secondary levels (e.g., variability within categories; relative spatial distributions across categories); (2) to provide a system of labels that would encompass all forms encountered by the Project, thus making individual discussions mutually consistent and compatible, and facilitating inter-program comparisons; (3) to employ formalized terms in a manner consistent with their use in other Maya archaeological reports, in order to further intersite and interregional comparisons. Long before 1975, Maya archaeologists had acquired a shared vocabulary to describe and categorize features, a

lexicon including form classes such as structure, platform, burial, cache, and midden. Some unique forms were encountered at Quiriguá, however, and these, largely derived from the ditch data, also required formal labels. The task, therefore, was to devise taxonomic categories to encompass all features encountered by the Quiriguá Project with minimal additions to existing technical vocabulary. The first steps were taken at the outset of the project by resolving prior inconsistencies in Quiriguá architectural nomenclature (Coe and Sharer 1979:14) and establishing a flexible set of field labels, following successful systems used previously at Tikal and Chalchuapa (ibid.; Sharer and Coe 1979:6). After the Quiriguá data were collected, a final set of feature designations was developed, accommodating the range of observed forms, the observable attributes that could be employed as defining criteria (e.g., taking into account the unusual nature of ditch-exposed data), extant empirical classifications of Maya features (e.g., Loten 1970; Pendergast 1979; Pollock 1965; Satterthwaite 1943; Shook and Coe 1961; A. L. Smith 1950, 1955, 1972; cf. Loten and Pendergast 1984) and pertinent theoretical discussions of feature categories then available (e.g., Clarke 1977; Willey and Shimkin 1973; Sharer and Ashmore 1979:345–52). The result is presented in Table 3.1 and Figure 3.1, and constitutes a taxonomy of feature form classes devised jointly by supervisors of the Site Core, Site Periphery, and Valley Programs. While we believe the ancient Maya probably could have recognized some of the categories designated here, ours does not claim to attempt an “emic” analysis of features. Subsequent classifications invoking Maya categories include Marcus’s (1983a) use of ethnohistoric data, Fash’s (1983a:264–302; 1983b) application of categories from ethnographic accounts, and increasingly, epigraphic decipherment of Classic terms for architectural and other kinds of units (e.g., B. Fash et al. 1992; Houston 1998; Houston, Stuart, and Taube 1989; Schele and Freidel 1990:71–72; Schele and Mathews 1998). Such approaches are considered for Quiriguá later in this and succeeding chapters. The classification outlined in Table 3.1, however, is a systematic listing and hierarchical clustering of the form classes modeled

Table 3.1

Classes of Individual Archaeological Features and Natural Strata (Quiriguá Project)

I. Stratum* (abbreviated S.) Matrix deposited by natural means (such as alluviation), each definable layer designated a stratum. II. Feature* (abbreviated F.) Entity resulting from human activity, not recoverable from its matrix without destroying its integrity; divided into constructed and cumulative features. A. Constructed feature 1. Architecture Originally visible constructed features built on or up from ground level; divided into subcategories of structures and pavements; note that individual components of architecture, such as walls, fill, stairs, or floors, are designated units* (abbreviated U.) a. Structure* (abbreviated Str.) Three-dimensional architecture: divided into operational categories of platforms, substructures, superstructures, and buildings; note that structure may be retained as an operational term when subcategories cannot be determined. i. Substructure* (abbreviated Sub-str.) Elevated mass supporting construction. ii. Superstructure* (abbreviated Sup-str.) Construction supported by a substructure. iii. Building* (abbreviated Bldg.) Generic term for enclosed and roofed space; may correspond to superstucture, but here designation implies lack of substructure. iv. Platform* (abbreviated Pl.) Elevated mass supporting or basal to one or more substructures or to one or more monuments. b. Pavement* (abbreviated Pvmt.) Two-dimensional architecture (prepared surface, either paved or modified ground surface); divided into operational categories: plaza and court; note that pavement may be retained as an operational category when subcategories cannot be determined. i. Plaza Pavement enclosed by structures on two or fewer sides. ii. Court Pavement enclosed by structures on three or more sides. 2. Deposit Feature built into architecture or under ground level; divided into sealed and unsealed categories. a. Unsealed deposit Feature built under ground level, but not intentionally sealed; divided into operational categories: wells, pits. i. Well Shaft excavated to water table; usually lined. ii. Pit Intrusive excavation; usually unlined. b. Sealed Deposit Intentionally sealed deposits; divided into operational categories: burials, caches, special deposits. i. Burial* (abbreviated Bu.) Interment with evidence of human remains. ii. Cache* (abbreviated Ca.) Interment without human remains. iii. Special Deposit* (abbreviated S. D.) Sealed deposit of undetermined nature. B. Cumulative Feature Feature without evidence of deliberate building activity, resulting from accretion or subtraction; divided into use-related and transposed categories. 1. Use-related Cumulative Feature Cumulative feature resulting from undisturbed and initial extraction or deposition of matrix, artifacts, and/or ecofacts produced by human activity; divided into operational categories: primary deposits and negative features. a. Primary Deposit* (abbreviated Pr. D.) Unsealed deposit of use-related debris (e.g., workshop debris in situ; cf. Schiffer’s [1972] de facto refuse). b. Negative Feature* (abbreviated N. F.) Unsealed deposit resulting from cumulative extraction of matrix (e.g., quarry). 2. Transposed Cumulative Features Cumulative features resulting from secondary deposition of matrix, artifacts, and/or ecofacts; designated by a single operational term: midden* (abbreviated Mdn.). C. Disturbed Feature* (abbreviated D. F.) Any feature disturbed to a degree sufficient to prevent determination of original form or provenience. Notes: (a) An asterisk (*) indicates terms that are commonly abbreviated in text discussion, along with the abbreviations used. (b) Monuments are artifacts, not features. Definition of the term, as used by the Quiriguá Project, is given in Note 1 of this chapter.

on earlier systematization at Tikal (e.g., Shook and Coe 1961), as exemplified by the data recorded for sites studied by the Quiriguá Project. In discussions to follow, the most specific designations are preferred over less specific ones, whenever the data are complete enough. When data are incomplete, however, a more inclusive and general term is used as a default category. Sometimes a single term serves at two levels of specificity (see “structure” and “pavement”), but this slight ambiguity seemed preferable to further proliferation of jargon. Numbering systems vary among the different categories. Burials, caches, miscellaneous sealed deposits, and primary deposits are numbered within separate series for each form category, for the Site Core and Site Periphery combined. Field designation for all the foregoing began as undifferentiated Special Deposits within a single general numbered series, and more specific categories (and their own numbered sets) were distinguished later, when possible. For both the Site Core and the Floodplain Periphery, numeration of structures, platforms, pavements, plazas, courts, wells, pits, and middens follows separate series according to form category and grid-square location (e.g., Str. 1A-1, Pl. 1A-1, Plaza 1A-1, Well 1A-1; Sharer and Coe 1979:6). For sites in the Wider Periphery, beyond the extension of the Quiriguá grid system, site or locus number substitutes for grid label in feature designations (e.g., Str. 089-1, Pl. 002-1). Although strata are often quite extensive, they need not be, nor can their continuity always be documented. Consequently, strata are labeled as Fig. 3.1 Taxonomy showing relations among classes defined in Table 3.1. subsidiary to adjacent structures, platforms, or to the operations in which the strata were revealed (e.g., Op. 19R, S. 1); the choice depends on what will achieve greatest clarity in the particular situation. Finally, disturbed and/or formally indeterminate features represented in the inventory, and the most frequently encounare numbered within series pertaining to other specified tered construction material was river cobbles. These stones, features whenever possible (e.g., Str. 3C-5, F. 2) to avoid prolifat least 4 cm and usually 8–10 cm in diameter (see Chapter eration of discrete but relatively trivial entities among cata4), were used in the Floodplain Periphery in 206 of 229 cases logue entries. When a structural referent is absent or ambigu(90.0%), including those 35 disturbed features which probous, however, a disturbed feature is designated in a grid- or ably represent architecture. In the Wider Periphery, cobbles locus-specific series (e.g., D. F. 3C-1). were noted at 108 of the 157 observed construction features The distribution of feature forms by location is outlined (68.8%); for the Site Periphery in aggregate, cobbles were part of construction at least 81.3% of the time. The “at least” here in Table 3.2 and Figure 3.2. Each feature category is discussed refers to uncertainty in surface descriptions of Wider Periphery in the following paragraphs, and Quiriguá examples summafeatures, where cobbles may be present but obscured. rized. Also, although features are here emphasized, the distri The latter caveat also applies to masonry, as well as to bution of stone monuments (which are technically artifacts) is discussed briefly. specific types of stone used for same, because this most exterior construction element was most immediately vulnerable to erosion. Moreover, especially for the Wider Periphery, rubble Constructed Features: Architecture might represent broken or eroded masonry. While observed occurrences are therefore minimal, however, the relative frequencies of different stone types and of probable masonry Not surprisingly, the largest class of features encountered at all are still of interest, as potential dating criteria, indices of is composed of structures, platforms, and pavements. Obviwealth, and clues to stone procurement networks (see Chapters ously only the least perishable architectural components are

Site Periphery Settlement Sample

41

Table 3.2

Atemporal Distribution of Independently Designated Floodplain Periphery Features by Grid Location

Special Grid Str. Pl. Pvmt. Well Pit Burial Cache Deposit Midden D. F. Total 1Aa

18

2

0

1

0

0

0

0

1

0

22

1Ba

10

0

1

0

0

0

0

0

2

1

14

1C

17

0

3

2

0

0

0

0

3

5

30

1D

3

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

4

1E

4

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2

3

9

2A

9

0

0

0

1

0

0

0

0

1

11

2B

9

0

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

10

2C

6

0

2

0

0

(1)b

0

(1)b

2

13

25

2D

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

2E

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

1

(4)b

6

6

57

3C

37

2

5

1

0

0

(1)b

3E

5

1

1

1

0

0

0

0

2

2

12

3G

0

0

0

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

4C

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

4E

1

0

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2

4G

0

0

0

0

1

0

0

0

1

0

2

5A

4

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2

6

5C

7

0

3

0

0

0

0

0

6

6

22

5E

3

1

2

1

0

0

0

0

4

1

12

6A

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

7A

4

1

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

6

7C

8

0

3

1

0

0

0

0

6

3

21

9C

3

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

4

11A

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

1

1

13A

0

0

2

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

2

13B

7

0

2

0

0

0

0

0

0

2

11

2

(1)b

(1)b

(5)b

35

40

276

Totals 158

7

26

8

Notes:

a Totals for grids 1A and 1B omit features from Site Core investigations: 32 structures, plus those in the Acropolis “sub” series; 3 platforms and 1 plaza. These features are described in summary fashion in Part 2, and discussed in more depth elsewhere in the Quiriguá Reports monographs. b Sealed deposits (burials, caches, and miscellaneous sealed or special deposits) are not counted in marginal totals, since they are contained within and described with surrounding construction. The locations of the sealed deposits are shown in Table 3.6.

4 through 6). In the 386 recorded site periphery architectural features, the frequencies of individual construction masonry types are given in cd Table 3.3. Schist slabs were also employed in 111 instances (28.8%), 51 cases (22.3%) in the Floodplain Periphery, and 60 (38.2%) in the Wider Periphery. When in situ, these slabs constituted horizontal surfaces, although in some cases, they seem also to 42

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

have provided lintels for doors and niches (see Strs. 3C-5, Part 2, and 089-2, Part 3). The term “adobe” is used here to refer to a category of generally coarse-tempered, hard, but usually unfired clay material. Although it was most often recovered as small amorphous lumps, evidence from Strs. 3C-5, 1B-29, 1A-10, and 089-4 conclusively affirms the use of unfired adobe blocks in some



43

Fig. 3.2 Map of Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery.

construction. The one intact block found at Str. 1A-10 in the Site Core measured 36 x 14 x 10 cm (Jones et al. 1983:11); a block seen only in cross-section at Str. 1B-29 measured 15 x 8 cm. Rarely did adobe fragments preserved impressions of attachment to other materials, but pole impressions that were recorded ranged from 1.86 to 2.33 cm in diameter (ditch provenience lots 19Q/9, 19M/22, 18A/32). Other pieces seemed comparable, but were more fragmentary (e.g., at Str. 089-4). In one case (19O/32), small poles, each about 1.3 cm in diameter, seem to have been tied into a bundle similar to that evident in a published example from Oaxaca (Flannery 1976:Figure 2.4,B). Besides the indicated wattle-and-daub construction, some of what Wauchope (1938:80–82) called “mass adobe” construction also seems likely, where bits of adobe preserve what appear to be impressions of small rocks or pebbles on one side. Opposite the pole or pebble impressions, the adobe or daub was flat-surfaced (in the few well-preserved cases), sometimes with grass-like impressions (e.g., 19O/32, 19M/22, 19M/27e). Two pieces from a rounded right-angle corner were found (19Q/58), and these bore profuse fibrous impressions on the burned interior side. Finally, use of exterior whitewash was also encountered in two cases. One of these was the corner piece just mentioned; the other (18A/32-1) had parallel casts of 11 poles, each 1.5–2.1 cm in diameter, on the interior surface, and the exterior was smoothed and whitened, with a modeled projection (basal or superior molding?) extending 3.5 cm from the wall surface. Although lime-based plaster is common on building surfaces in the central Maya lowlands and Copán, and is known from the Quiriguá Site Core (e.g., at Str. 1B-5), only three instances were encountered in site periphery investigations (at Str. 3C-16 [catalogue no. 8P/3-4], possibly at Str. 5C-1, and as a chunk of stucco at Str. 089-1). Plaster floors also were absent; F. 9 at Str. 3C-14/Pl. 3C-1 is a possible exception, although it seems more likely residue of a termination ritual at that structure (Coe 1959; Freidel et al. 1998; Garber 1983, 1989; Mock 1998; see Chapter 6 and catalogue entry in Part 2). For floor surfacing, pebbles in a mud matrix were found at Str. 3C-16 and perhaps Str. 011-2, while red clay was recorded at Pls. 3C-1, 3C-2, and 7A-1. Crushed-rhyolite surfaces were noted in multiple locations, in both Floodplain Periphery (Strs. 1B-23, 1C-14, 1C-16, 3C-1, 3C5, 3C-14, 3C-17, and possibly 7C-2) and Wider Periphery (Strs. 089-1, 089-2). Otherwise, flooring appears to have consisted of exposed cobbles, rubble or schist. Tamped earth was quite likely another alternative (e.g., Loci 011, 105), but one more difficult to detect, especially in the ditch survey. Most architectural forms encountered in the Site Periphery were substructures, many of which seem to have supported perishable superstructures. Substructures in the Wider Periphery generally involved mounds of simple contour, although Loc. 021 seems a relatively complex exception, with multiple levels (possibly shaped by erosion). Within the Floodplain Periphery, ditch-exposed profiles of many substructures were quite obviously and severely eroded, although some form regularities could be perceived. However, because the locations of the ditch cross-sections were not archaeologically controlled (i.e., could intersect the construction at any angle) and since minimal lateral clearing was feasible in ditch-exposed features, establishment of detailed section or profile “types” 44

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

Table 3.4

Platforms in the Quiriguá Site Periphery

Floodplain Periphery Designation

Structure/Monument Associations

Pl. 1A-4 Str. 1A-12 Pl. 1A-5 Strs. 1A-22, 1A-23 (?) Pl. 3C-1 Str. 3C-14, Mons. 26, 27 Pl. 3C-2 Strs. 3C-17, 3C-18 Pl. 3E-1 Strs. 3E-1, 3E-2 Pl. 5E-1 Strs. 5E-1, 5E-2 Pl. 7A-1 Mon. 19

Wider Periphery Designation

Structure/Monument Associations

Pl. 002-1 Strs. 002-1, 002-2, Mon. 20 Pl. 002-2 Mon. 21 Note: Platforms 1A-1, 1A-2, and 1A-3 are within the Site Core (Jones et al. 1983).

risks spurious discriminations among and/or equation of exposure forms. In all, the settlement form analyses at Quiriguá are probably more informative at the group or cluster level of comparison (see below), and for these reasons, analyses of individual architectural entities are relatively brief. In a general sense, it seems clear that the basic mode of construction involved in substructures and platforms joined an earthen core with a stone exterior, the proportional masses of the constituents varying from a ratio of 0:100 (i.e., a solid cobble construction, such as Strs. 1C-1, 3C-11, or 3C-20), to nearly the reverse (e.g., Strs. 1C-10, 7C-7). Obviously, some substructures could have been built totally of earth, but these were seldom detected (see Chapter 2, as well as discussion in Part 2, of Str. 1A-25, and in Part 3, Loci 015, 024, 057, and 123). This dimension of variation seems to correlate neither with chronological placement (Chapter 4) nor with structure mass, although admittedly our excavations were not designed to test that particular proposition. A possible but unproven exception is association of monumental earthen construction with the Early Classic or earlier (see below and Chapter 4). When reasonably well preserved and well revealed, floodplain substructure heights seem to fall within a range of 0.15 to 2.20 m, excluding Str. 1B-22 (see Part 2), unimodally distributed (n = 129; mean = 0.55 m; mode = 0.30 m). In the Wider Periphery, the height measurements for 135 unexcavated mounds ranged from 0.2 m to 10.0 m, although two of the largest (Str. 123-1: 6 m; Str. 057-6: 10 m) may be natural hillocks used as substructures. Deleting these two, and counting as 0.5 m in height those mounds recorded only as “< 1.0 m high,” the recorded range is 0.2–6.0 m, again unimodally distributed (n = 133; mean = 1.23 m; mode = 0.50 m). Substructure profiles involve one, two or—rarely—three horizontal levels, but information from the ditch exposures is complicated by the limited amount of plan data and of archaeologically uncontrolled placement and orientation in

Table 3.5

Pavements in the Quiriguá Site Periphery

tionally, some further, minimally probed or unexcavated structures of the Wider Floodplain Periphery Floodplain Periphery Periphery (e.g., 002-2, 089-3, 091-1, 092-3, 092-4; see below) may have borne stone Designation Materiala Designation Materiala superstructures, and where ditch exposures had multiple levels, some may represent Str. 1A-15, U. 14 C Str. 3E-5, U. 2 C interior stone benches. When multiple Str. 1A-16, U. 5 S Pvmt. 3E-1 C rooms could be discerned (Strs. 2C-3, 3C-5, Str. 1A-28, U. 2 S D. F. 3E-2 (?) C 3C-16), they were arranged asymmetrically. Well 1A-1, U. 6 C Pvmt. 4E-1 C Buildings appear always to have had one Pvmt. 1B-1 C Str. 5C-1, U. 5 C central doorway, on the transverse axial Str. 1C-14, U. 5 CR Str. 5C-3, U. 3/4 (?) S line of the building. The same observation Str. 1C-16, U. 2b Pvmt. 5C-1 C CR can be made concerning Strs. 1B-2 through Pvmt. 5C-2 C Pvmt. 1C-1 C 1B-6 in Group 1B-1, the Acropolis of the Pvmt. 5C-3 C Pvmt. 1C-2 C Site Core. One example of a colonnaded D. F. 5C-4 (?) S Pvmt. 1C-3 C Pvmt. 5E-1 S Well 1C-2, U. 2b building was encountered, at Str. 092-6, but C Pvmt. 5E-2 C the interior space of the building could not Str. 2B-2, U. 1 (?) C Str. 7A-2, U. 6 (?) CR be explored in the time available. Pvmt. 2B-1 C Str. 7A-3, F. 1 (?) C Multiple wall niches, like those docu Str. 2C-3, U. 11/12 S Pvmt. 7C-1 C Str. 2C-2, F. 5 (?) S mented in Acropolis buildings, were prob Pvmt. 7C-2 C ably present within rooms of Strs. 089-2, Pvmt. 2C-1 C Pvmt. 7C-3 C 3C-5, 3C-6, and 3C-16, as argued in perti Pvmt. 2C-2 C D. F. 7C-2 (?) C nent catalogue entries. The last named Str. 3C-1, F. 7 (?) S D. F. 7C-3 (?) C structure preserves evidence of “curtain Str. 3C–11, U. 7 S Pvmt. 13A-1 C holder” features interior to the axial door Str. 3C–11, U. 11/12 C Pvmt. 13A-2b jambs (cd 3C.22), and distinctive T-shaped Well 3C-1, U. 10b C C curtain-holder stones were also found loose Str. 3C-19, F. 1 S Str. 13B-2, U. 2 C on the surface of Str. 089-1. For only six Str. 3C-20, U. 2 (?) C Str. 13B-3, U. 3 C superstructures were remains of stone walls Str. 3C-26, F. 1 (?) S Pvmt. 13B-1 C or wall bases surely identified (Strs. 2C Pvmt. 3C-1 C Pvmt. 13B-2 C 3, 3C-5 3C-16, 002-1, 089-2, and 092-6), Pvmt. 3C-2 C Wider Periphery although summit masonry at Strs. 3C-1, Pvmt. 3C-3 C 002-2, 089-1, 091-1, 092-3, and 092-4 could Pvmt. 3C-4 C Pvmt. 013-1 E have served as wall footings or building Pvmt. 3C-5 C platform edges. Notes: No direct positive evidence of roof types was noted. Although stone corbel vaults a Materials comprise cobbles (C), schist (S), crushed rhyolite (CR), and earth (E). were known in and beyond the Site Core b This pavement may have been continuous with that of preceding entry. (e.g., the chambers within Str. 089-1), no evidence was encountered for vaulted roofs in the site periphery. Most roofs were probably constructed of perishable materials. the sections. That is, an oblique section through a structure Almost all platforms (Table 3.4) were used to support either might fail to disclose the complete number of levels of the substructure, or perhaps less probably, it might show as a substructures. The sole known exceptions in the Site Periphery bi-level substructure what was actually a broad low step. In sample are Pl. 7A-1 and the lower platform of Loc. 002, which general, however, substructure profiles in the floodplain inveswere settings for, respectively, Monuments 19 and 21. There tigation accord well with those recorded elsewhere in the Maya may also have been a platform at Monument 25 in Loc. 011, area and adjacent regions, both highland and lowland (e.g., but if so, it was small and almost completely destroyed before Haviland 1963; Schortman and Urban 1987; Stenholm 1979; project recording. Whether supporting monuments or structures, however, platforms are consistently associated with Wauchope 1934, 1938; Webster, Fash, and Abrams 1986; Willey relatively large and imposing groups. In some cases (e.g., Pl. and Leventhal 1979). As was pointed out in the 1977 Maya 3C-2, or Units 1 and 2 of Str. 1A-15) construction was intesettlement pattern seminar, especially by David Freidel, use of gral and apparently continuous with that of the surmounting elevation differences to define intrastructural spaces seems a structure(s). The degree to which groups of structures tended to characteristic of Petén sites (e.g., Tikal, Uaxactún) in contrast be supported by such platforms remains questionable, however. to sites farther north (e.g., Dzibilchaltún). In some instances (e.g., Groups 3C-8, 3E-1, 5E-1, Loc. 002; Elements of imperishable superstructures were docusee Table 3.10, below, for structure group designations), the mented at Floodplain Periphery Strs. 2C-3, 3C-5, 3C-11, 3C-16, platform is clear; in others, such as Groups 3C-1 or 7A-1 or and in Wider Periphery Strs. 002-1, 089-2, and 092-6. Addi

Site Periphery Settlement Sample

45

Loc. 059, the presence or absence of such a platform is less obvious. Pavements (Table 3.5) were commonly encountered in the floodplain investigations (54 cases), and less so in the Wider Periphery (4 cases), where excavations were few. Constructed variously of cobbles (37 of 54, or 68.5%), schist slabs (11 of 54; 20.4%), flat-sided marble or sandstone rubble (3 of 54; 5.6%; the two instances of marble, both at Loc. 092, were covered with crushed marble), crushed rhyolite (2 of 54; 3.7%), or red clay (1 of 54; 1.8%), they provided formally surfaced exterior space, presumably unroofed and at ground level. As at other sites in the southeast Maya region, notably Choco (Schortman 1993) and Copán (Leventhal 1979), court or plaza surfaces in the Quiriguá Site Periphery were sometimes incompletely paved (e.g., Groups 1C-3, 2C-1, Loc. 002). While formally paved surfaces were often appended directly to structures (e.g., Str. 2C-3, U. 10; Str. 3C-11, U. 12; Str. 092-2, U. 19), in other cases pavements were distinct from but adjacent to structures (e.g., Pvmt. 3C-2; Str. 3C-11, U. 7). Those pavements lacking visible neighboring structures in the ditch exposures may or may not have such neighbors nearby, unexposed between ditch lines. Bounded pavements—comprising courts and plazas— could consist of either formalized or unformalized surfaces. Because they are spatially defined by their bounding architecture, they are treated below as parts of architectural assemblages. Note, however, that the nature of the ditch survey data makes it difficult in subsurface architecture to distinguish between courts and plazas, as defined by the project. For these reasons, none were formally defined in Floodplain Periphery investigations by the time of the 1981 report, nor have any been inventoried for the Wider Periphery (but see site plans in Part 3). Circumstantial evidence led subsequently to designation of Plaza 3C-1, as described in some detail in Chapter 7 (see also Jones et al. 1983:16). To compare Quiriguá floodplain architecture in general with that of settlements in adjacent regions, a summary assessment indicates closest parallels with other sites of the lower Motagua valley and with Copán. Basic construction techniques resemble those known at many and varied sites, from Tikal to central Honduras (e.g., Ashmore 1987a; Benyo 1986; Hasemann 1987; Haviland 1963; Schortman 1984, 1993; Urban 1986; Willey et al. 1965), and selection of particular building materials at any of these sites is ultimately constrained by what is locally available. Prominent or even dominant use of earth in monumental construction in early times parallels findings elsewhere in the southeast (e.g., Ashmore 1987a; Sharer 1978b; Sharer, Traxler, et al. 1999; Traxler 2004). In later times, too, the more imposing constructions—whether in elite residences or civic complexes—yield clearer intersite distinctions and affinities. The small sample of information available on combined room-plan and bench-profile configurations at Quiriguá has direct counterparts at Copán, especially in the large excavated sample of buildings from the Principal Group (e.g., Fash 1991; Trik 1939; Sharer et al. 1990; Sharer, Traxler, et al. 1999) and Las Sepulturas (e.g., Leventhal 1979; Sanders 1986a, 1990; Webster, B. Fash, et al. 1998; Webster, W. Fash, and Abrams 1986; Willey and Leventhal 1979; Willey et al. 1978) and only much more generalized similarity exists with 46

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

superstructure architecture known elsewhere.1 Deliberately incomplete paving of courts, plazas, and other exterior areas adjacent to structures is another architectural trait linking the Quiriguá periphery with Copán (Leventhal 1979:95), as well as with lower Motagua valley sites investigated by Schortman (1993). In all, again, Quiriguá periphery architectural features are, as might be expected, most similar to others within relatively nearby settlement centers of southeast Mesoamerica.

Constructed Features: Deposits A deposit is a construction built or intruded into architecture or below the ground. Two subdivisions were distinguished as (1) unsealed deposits, forming facilities with continued access to the buried construction (i.e., wells, pits) or (2) sealed features to which continuous access was physically denied (i.e., burials, caches, special deposits). Table 3.6 summarizes deposits in the site periphery sample. Wells at Quiriguá were first reported in the 1930s, after an earlier episode of ditch digging on Quiriguá Farm. Ricketson (1935) concisely described one of them, and his account allowed approximate placement of the feature in the northeast part of grid 7C. Other wells seem to have been observed at that time, but were not specifically reported (ibid.). Six more wells were revealed in the more recent drainage ditches, however, and the well form seems to be extremely regular and easily recognizable (Ashmore 1984b). A column formed of one to three ceramic tubes, 0.31–0.45 m in diameter and each 0.88– 0.98 m long, was set in the ground over a large, flat-bottomed jar, 0.67–0.76 m high and with 0.55–0.58 m maximum diameter. This compound apparatus allowed access to the level of the subsurface water table. Water entered the well through five apertures, four (2.1–2.6 cm diameter) at or near the level of the greatest diameter of the jar, and one (6.7–8.5 cm diameter) centered in its base. Entry of water and sediment at the junction of two tubes or of the lowest tube and the jar mouth was prevented by packing the outside of these junctures with sherds (e.g., Ricketson 1935:Figure 1). A gravel matrix around the jar may have served as a water filter (ibid.). The ceramics of the tubes and jar are very distinctive, having a well-fired orange paste, 1.0–1.5 cm thick, with diagnostic raking on the outer surface. The rims of both tubes and jar are thickened to 2.5–3.7 cm and their lip edges flattened, presumably to provide a better surface for joining the well elements. Although the forms are very regular, even the small sample available shows some variation in dimensions and assembly technique (e.g., compare Wells 3C-1 and 7C-1, Part 2). In addition to the seven securely identified wells, alternative forms may be represented by Pits 2A-1 and 4G-1, and sherds of diagnostic well ware have been found at a number of site periphery locations suggesting the nearby presence of yet-undiscovered wells (i.e., Strs. 1B-27, 3C-5, 3C-13, 3C-22, 089-4, D. F. 3C-5, Mdn. 5E-2). Well shafts reported from karstic areas of the lowlands are lined at least partially with stones (e.g., Bullard 1960: 363; Harrison 1993: 78–81; Johnston 2004). In at least three cases, a cobble pavement surrounded the well mouth, presumably to provide convenient access to

Table 3.6 Deposits in the Quiriguá Site Periphery

erately set higher than the pavement level, perhaps in order to keep out debris. Designation Nature The two independently designated pits (2A-1 and 4G-1) recognized in the FloodWell 1A-1 ceramic-lined well plain Periphery have been mentioned as possible alternative well forms (Table 3.6). Well 1C-1 ceramic-lined well The first comprised a buried stack of baseWell 1C-2 ceramic-lined well less jars of non-well wares, forming a “tube”; the second was a problematical feature from Well 3C-1 ceramic-lined well which the potential well constituents had Well 3E-1 ceramic-lined well been uprooted by vandals before archaeological recording, but in which juncture-packing Well 3G-1 ceramic-lined well sherds (?) and/or interior debris remained. A Well 5E-1 alternative well form (?) third ancient pit was incorporated into Pvmt. 3C-4 (U. 4), and was filled with cobbles, Well 7C-1 ceramic-lined well some of them burned. Its function remains Pit 2A-1 alternative well form (?) unknown. Eleven sealed deposits were recognized Pvmt. 3C-4, U. 4 cobble-filled pit in site periphery research, four of which could Pit 4G-1 alternative well form (?) not be formally investigated. Of the latter, S. D. 23 and 24, on the east and west sides of Bu. 1 human burial (Str. 2C-3; originally designated S. D. 5) Str. 3C-7, and S. D. 28, adjacent to Str. 092Ca. 1 stone chamber with cached pottery vessels (Str. 3C-14; 2, were not excavated but probably represent originally designated S. D. 21) caches or burials. S. D. 27, a vaulted chamber in the hearting of Str. 089-1, was probably a Ca. 2 foundation cache for Mon. 21 (Pl. 002-2; originally tomb chamber (see discussion of neighboring designated S. D. 16) S. D. 26, below, and Loc. 089, Part 3). S. D. 6 stone chamber with cached pottery vessels (Str. 3C-2) The seven investigated sealed deposits comprised one burial, two caches, and four S. D. 22 area of ancient removed cache (?) (Str. 2C-1, F. 3) problematical special deposits. More specifiS. D. 23 uninvestigated pit sealed by structure (Str. 3C-7, U. 8) cally, Bu. 1 was an inhumation of a solitary adult female, extended supine with head to S. D. 24 uninvestigated pit sealed by structure (Str. 3C-7, U. 12) east, in a simple grave intruded through the S. D. 25 slab-lined pit, anciently re-opened and resealed floor of Late Classic Str. 2C-3 (Sharer et al. (Pl. 3C-1, U. 2) 1979:59 and Figure 9b). Cache 1 was interred in a masonry chamber during construction S. D. 26 vaulted chamber within Str. 089-1 of Early Classic Str. 3C-14 (Ashmore 1980b: S. D. 27 unexcavated vaulted chamber within Str. 089-1 Figures 6, 7, 13; Ashmore et al. 1983:58–59). Cache 2 was a dedicatory deposit in the founS. D. 28 unexcavated cobble deposit on Str. 092-3, U. 3–4, at dation matrix for Early Classic Monument 21 base of Str. 092-13-1st, U. 13 (Ashmore 1984a:377; Sharer et al. 1983:43). Two deposits had been disinterred in Note: Unit 1 of Str. 1C-6, Units 1–3 of Str. 3C-1, and Unit 3 of Str. 7C-5 also conceivably antiquity. S. D. 22 was in front of the bottom represent sealed deposits; see descriptions of these structures in Part 2. stair of Str. 2C-1 and appears as subtle traces of a refilled pit. S. D. 25, in Pl. 3C-1, was a slab-lined pit that could have been part of a stela foundation or a cache; whatever the pit held originally, the well. In Yucatan, where some chultuns served as cisterns, those contents were anciently removed and the cavity refilled similar pavements channeled surface runoff into the system and resealed. The location of S. D. 25 seems to have been (e.g., Puleston 1971; Sabloff et al. 1985:65–68; Thompson remembered, however, as marked by burning and marl deposi1897; see Matheny and Gurr 1979, for highland Chiapas). For tion directly above the emptied pit, and separated from it by chultuns, the water source being exploited was rain, and the two resurfacings. pavement was part of the cistern catchment system. Since Two of the three remaining deposits, S. D. 6 and S. D. 26, Quiriguá wells tapped underground water, however, at a place where the water table seems perennially high, the need to were plausibly intended for burials, although they contained make the pavement a rainwater trap was absent. Indeed, at no bones when excavated. S. D. 6 consisted of a masonry Quiriguá, preserved well mouths project 0.17–0.21 m above chamber, 2.4 m long, 1.0 m wide, 0.5 m deep, and sealed with the pavements. Unless this situation is due to gradual settling stone slabs, in the hearting of Str. 3C-2. It was similar in form of fill around the well, the mouth appears to have been deliband construction to burial cists known from Lubaantún in

Site Periphery Settlement Sample

47

Belize (Hammond et al. 1975), Guaytan, up the Table 3.7 Possible Primary Deposits in the Quiriguá Site Periphery Motagua valley near San Agustín Acasaguastlán (Smith and Kidder 1943), and Copán (Ashmore Designation Nature 1991a; Carrelli 1991; Longyear 1952; see also Geller Pr. D. 1 bowl or potstand in doorway of Str. 2C-3 (disturbed?) 2004, Welsh 1988). Although the S. D. 6 chamber was still sealed when found, it contained nothing Pr. D. 2 jar adjacent to doorway of Str. 2C-3 more than three Late Classic vessels at its east end Pr. D. 3 three-stone hearth (?), somewhat disturbed, Str. 3C-1 (Sharer et al. 1979:59 and Figure 9c). S. D. 26 was a vaulted chamber, at least 3.47 m Pr. D. 4 two pottery vessels on floor of Room 2, Str. 3C-5 long, 1.20 m wide, and 1.68 m high, within the mass Pr. D. 5 broken, overturned metate on substructure summit, of Str. 089-1. The south wall was partially collapsed, Str. 3C-5 but included either a deep niche (62 cm wide) or a passage to the chamber of S. D. 27, farther south. S. Pr. D. 6 obsidian blade production on Pl. 3C-1-1st (F. 10) D. 27 was not excavated. Chamber location and form Pr. D. 7-11 areas of burning on Pl. 3C-1 and Str. 3C-14 recall similar constructions elsewhere, especially at nearby Copán (e.g., Ashmore 1991a; Carrelli 1991; Pr. D. 12 ceramics, censers and other materials thought to Longyear 1952; Viel and Cheek 1983). By 1977, the represent rituals at Str. 3C-14 and Pl. 3C-1 S. D. 26 chamber had been breached and could have Pr. D. 13 jar smashed in front of Str. 039-5 (F. 1) been looted; if so, however, the nature of sediments encountered in excavation suggests the original Pr. D. 14 burnt materials associated with burnt masonry robbing took place long ago. surfaces, west side of frontal stair, Str. 092-2 Considering the relatively good preservation of (U. 3, U. 16, F. 1) bones and teeth in Bu. 1 (Floodplain Periphery) and Pr. D. 15 obsidian production debris on cobble surface at Bu. 2 (Quiriguá Acropolis), disintegration seems an unlikely explanation for the lack of skeletal remains corner of Strs. 092-5 (U. 2, F. 3) and 092-6-1st (F. 3) in the S. D. 6 crypt. Soil acidity at Loc. 089 is unmeasured, but lack of artifacts as well as bones Note: Pr.D. 12 was originally thought to constitute a midden, but may instead be suggests the chamber was truly empty. The S. D. 26 traces of rituals involving censers; see Chapters 6 and 7, and Str. 3C-14. chamber could have been an anteroom for S. D. 27, farther south and deeper within Str. 089-1. Speculative alternative explanations for both S. D. 6 and S. D. 26 include loss of the decedent’s remains prior to interment among activities are represented only indirectly. (e.g., in battle), their retention for rites related to ancestor The former category, use-related cumulative features, worship, or for S. D. 26 alone, tomb robbing. was rarely encountered in project operations. Perhaps the The eleven Quiriguá periphery sealed deposits are, as a best example comes from the Quiriguá Acropolis, where an assemblage of storage vessels was found, still in place, with group, quite formally diverse, but all share the attributes of the crushed skeleton of a child, all under the collapsed adobe (1) deliberate construction (formal bounding of space) and walls of Str. 1B-18 (Jones et al. 1983:8). In the site periphery (2) deliberate sealing of the space thereby defined. They also investigations, use-related primary deposits were quite rare therefore all share, inferentially, an association with activities (Table 3.7). The most probable examples were found in excavacarried out one time in these spaces, rather than habitually, tions at seven structures, and even these “features” may have a class of activities usually inferred as ritual or ceremonial in been somewhat disturbed. As Sheets (1998) and Hayden and nature. They also span the increasingly indistinct boundary between “caches” and “burials,” a distinction that Becker has Cannon (1982) have documented, at Pompeii-like Cerén and argued obscures their unity as “earth offerings” (Becker 1988, in the modern Maya highlands of Chiapas, respectively, items 1992; see also Ashmore 1980b; Carrelli 1991). thought to be archaeologically in primary use-related context actually most often mark storage contexts (e.g., Kent 1999) and sometimes re-deposition (e.g., Moholy-Nagy 1990). Cumulative Features At Str. 2C-3, a broken shallow bowl (or potstand?) was found overturned in the doorway (Pr. D. 1) and a storage jar rested on the substructure just outside that doorway, to the Cumulative features are the result of human activities but south (Pr. D. 2). The “activity” represented seems to have been their form does not involve construction of formal surfaces or storage or use of stored goods, but lacking residue analysis of facilities. They may include such entities as quarries, middens, the jar, what these goods were remains unknown. Another jar or de facto work areas (e.g., areas for food preparation, obsidian was found smashed (not necessarily deliberately) in front of knapping; Schiffer 1972). A basic distinction is drawn between Str. 039-5 (Pr. D. 13). those features that preserve use-related context (i.e., materials One possible three-stone hearth was found in front of Str. left in place where the activity was conducted) and those where the materials have been anciently “transposed” or moved (i.e., 3C-1 (Pr. D. 3), along with ash and sherd debris arguably assomiddens), and in which the disposition of and associations ciated with use of the inferred “hearth.” If the identifications 48

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

are correct, the inferred activity is cooking. At Str. 3C-5, two areas possibly preserved use-related context. One consisted of two pottery vessels found on the floor of the northern Room 2 (Pr. D. 4), and the other, at the opposite end of the structure, comprised an overturned and broken metate lying on the surface of the substructure summit (Pr. D. 5). Two activities are represented—storage and grinding—both of which are further attested by materials from secondary contexts at the same structure. These are interpreted as probably facets of a single production process, likely related to public feasting (see below, Chapter 6, and Str. 3C-5, Part 2). At Str. 3C-14/Pl. 3C-1, dense debris from manufacture of obsidian blades was recovered in association with the surface of the final version of the platform (3C-1-1st. F. 10; Pr. D. 6), and patches of localized burning were found in several places on Pl. 3C-1-2nd, 3C-1-1st, and Str. 3C-14-1st-A (Pr. D. 7-11). In fact, some of the burning of Pl. 3C-1-1st was apparently associated with the obsidian assemblage, and it seems likely the latter was ritually re-deposited, like S. D. 10 in Acropolis Str. 1B-Sub. 3 (Jones et al. 1983; Sheets 1983a; cf. MoholyNagy 1976:100; 1990). In Coe’s (1965a:464) terms, Pr. D. 6–11 were “exposed offerings.” In these contexts, the obsidian blade production suggests preparations for bloodletting, and the burning could have been part of the same ritual (e.g., Schele and Miller 1986). The white chalky plaster lens (F. 9) at Str. 3C-14 loosely resembles the marl cap on “termination ritual” deposits described in Preclassic and Classic contexts at Piedras Negras, Yaxuna, Blue Creek, and Cerros (Coe 1959:127; Freidel et al. 1998; Garber 1989:50; Guderjan 1998). As in those and other sites (notably Copán), some of the burning deposits at Quiriguá may have been part of termination rituals as well, a possibility discussed further in Chapters 4 and 6 (Coe 1959; Garber 1983, 1989; Mock 1998). At least some of the materials in the Late Classic “midden” lens (Pr. D. 12) overlying Str. 3C14 are thought to represent a use-related primary deposit and exposed offering, related to ongoing (or revitalized) use of this important structure. The effigy censer fragments, in particular, may be residues of ritual activities related to Monument 26 (see Chapters 6 and 7). Two primary deposits were identified at Loc. 092. At Str. 092-2, two areas of burning (Pr. D. 14) were accompanied by charcoal and burned patches on adjacent masonry. Censer fragments found relatively densely in the same location suggest ritual use of fire; the location, adjacent to the frontal stair of one of the most imposing structures of the Wider Periphery, seems an appropriate setting for ritual. As Pr. D. 15, Loc. 092 also yielded remains of obsidian blade manufacture (possibly re-deposited) at the juncture of Strs. 092-5 and 092-6; whether these were connected with economic or ritual activities, or both, remains unclear (Jones et al. 1983:18; Sheets 1983a:95; cf. Moholy-Nagy 1990). Along with these relatively undisturbed use-related contexts are a number of instances, not listed in Table 3.7, which seem to represent gross spatial distinctions in activities. That is, although surface collections are always necessarily suspect of being in secondary context, neither the dragline in the Floodplain Periphery, nor other site-formation processes

there and in the Wider Periphery appear to have obliterated distinctions in artifact distributions. Examples are the apparent obsidian cobble–percussion manufacture area of Loci 013/014, the obsidian biface workshop residues found at Loc. 051 (Sheets 1983a), and the contrasts in artifact (and therefore activity?) assemblages among individual structures of Groups 3E-3, 5A-1, and 5A-2 (see Part 2). While individual artifacts do not seem to be necessarily in use-related primary contexts, the aggregate assemblages suggest a gross delineation of activity areas. These are discussed in Chapter 6 and in conjunction with individual features, in catalogue entries of Parts 2 and 3. Middens were identified as independent entities in 36 locations (35 in the Floodplain Periphery and 1 in the Wider Periphery), and in 13 further locations were labeled as features subsidiary to construction entities. Table 3.8 lists these occurrences and also indicates artifact densities (expressed as sherds per cubic meter of matrix) where excavations were carried out. Although some trash lenses and middens were found associated directly with structures and pavements, it is possible (if not demonstrable, due to necessarily incomplete geomorphic profiling of the encompassing alluvium) that the largest and densest floodplain periphery middens (i.e., Mdns. 1C-2, 3C-1, 5C-4, and 7C-1) were deposited in localized depressions, some of which may have held water.

Monuments For the Quiriguá Project, the term “monument” is used to refer to any freestanding, non-architectural stone sculpture (Coe and Sharer 1979:19). Of the 30 monuments included in the Quiriguá inventory, 25 were known before the onset of the project (see Coe and Sharer 1979:Table 2; Sharer 1990). Of those 25, 21 were within the confines of the Site Core and 4 in the Site Periphery. The latter 4 were all known by the 1920s in the groups Morley (1935) labeled A (Loc. 002; Mons. 20, 21), B (Group 7A-1; Mon. 19), and C (Loc. 011; Mon. 25). In 1977 and 1978, the Project encountered 5 new monuments (26–30), all in the Site Periphery (Table 3.9). Sharer (1990) has published a catalogue of known Quiriguá sculptures, but a brief review of those in the Site Periphery is in order here, for the information they embody on chronology and ancient activities. A summary of historical information recorded in the monument texts is included in Chapter 4. Mon. 19 (Stela S) is a badly eroded sandstone portrait stela, standing 2.8 m above ground (Sharer 1990), with a dedicatory date of 9.15.15.0.0 (A.D. 746). First reported by Hewett (1914), its foundations were partially excavated by Morley (1923a, 1935, 1937–38). While the latter thought Mon. 19 and its associated structures marked a prototype for the later Site Core, current interpretation sees Mon. 19 as having probably been moved from an original erection site in the Quiriguá Great Plaza to Group 7A-1, around A.D. 800 (see Pl. 7A-1, Part 2; Jones et al. 1983:10,19–20; Looper 1995a, 2003; Sharer 1990:66–68). Mons. 20 and 21 (Stelae T and U) were found in 1921 in Loc. 002, and their presence was what brought Morley, in 1922, to explore what he called Group A (Morley 1923a, 1923b, Site Periphery Settlement Sample

49

Table 3.8 Middens and Related Features in the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery Nearest known contemporary Designation Sherds/m3 construction (distance) Mdn. 1A-1 Str. 1A-28, F. 3 Str. 1A-28, F. 1, 2 Mdn. 1B-1 Mdn. 1B-2 Str. 1B-29, F. 1 Mdn. 1C-1 Mdn. 1C-2 Mdn. 1C-3 Str. 1C-15, F. 1 Pvmt. 1C-1, S. 2? Mdn. 1E-1 Mdn. 1E-2 Str. 2A-1, F. 1 Mdn. 2C-1 Mdn. 2C-2 Mdn. 3C-1 Mdn. 3C-2 Mdn. 3C-3 Mdn. 3C-4 Mdn. 3C-5 Mdn. 3C-6 Str. 3C-14, Pr. D. 12 Str. 3C-32, F. 1, 2 Mdn. 3E-1 Mdn. 3E-2 Mdn. 4G-1 Mdn. 5C-1 Mdn. 5C-2 Mdn. 5C-3 Mdn. 5C-4 Mdn. 5C-5 Mdn. 5C-6 Str. 5C-2, F. 1 Mdn. 5E-1 Mdn. 5E-2 Mdn. 5E-3 Mdn. 5E-4 Str. 7A-4, F. 1 Mdn. 7C-1, F. 2–3 Mdn. 7C-1, F. 4 Mdn. 7C-2 Mdn. 7C-3 Mdn. 7C-4 Mdn. 7C-5 Mdn. 7C-6 Str. 7C-2, F. 1 Str. 7C-5, F. 2 D. F. 11A-1

50

606.2 1A-2 (ca. 100 m) — Str. 1A-28 (0 m) — Str. 1A-28 (0 m) — Str. 1B-26 — Str. 1B-11 (50 m) — Str. 1B-29 (0 m) — Pvmt. 1C-1 963.0 Pvmt. 1C-1 — Pvmt. 1C-2 (15 m) — Str. 1C-15 (0 m) 235.5 Pvmt. 1C-1 — Str. 1E-2 (10 m) — D. F. 1E-3 (55 m) — Str. 2A-1 (0 m) — Str. 1C-8 (60 m) — Str. 2C-6 (75 m) 706.0 Str. 1C-5/3C-11/3C-34 (each 75 m) — D. F. 3C-2 (50 m)/Str. 3C-23 (65 m) — Str. 3C-10 (5 m) — D. F. 3C-2 (20 m) — Str. 3C-1 (40 m) — Str. 3C-37 (85 m) — Str. 3C-14 (0 m) — Str. 3C-32 (0 m) — Str. 3E-3 (5 m) — Str. 3E-3 (75 m) — Pit 4G-1 (1 m) — Str. 5A-4 (95 m) — D. F. 5C-6 (30 m) — D. F. 5C-5 (90 m) — Str. 3C-9/Str. 5C-2/Pvmt. 5C-1 (each 80 m) — Str. 5C-5/D. F. 5C-4 (each 75 m) — Str. 5C-4 (0 m) — Str. 5C-2 (0 m) — Pvmt. 5E-1 (0 m) — Pl. 5E-1 (125 m) — Pvmt. 5E-2 (10 m) — Pvmt. 5E-2 (15 m) — Str. 7A-4 (0 m) 2873.7 Pvmt. 7C-3 (50 m) 1481.7 Pvmt. 7C-3 (50 m) — D. F. 7C-1 (175 m) — D. F. 7C-1 (90 m) — D. F. 5A-2 (150 m) — D. F. 7C-1 (135 m)/Str. 7C-8 (150 m) — Str. 7C-6 (15 m) — Str. 7C-2 (0 m) — Str. 7C-5 (0 m) — Pvmt. 13A-1 (235 m)

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

1935:43–52, 1937–38). Mon. 20 is now 2.4 m long, but an estimated 25% has broken off; Mon. 21 is also broken and its parts total 2.7 m in length (Sharer 1990). Both monuments are light gray schist, and both originally bore figural carving on one face and hieroglyphic text on the other (Morley 1935:47–51; Sharer 1990:69–71). Most of the carving (especially on Mon. 20) has worn down or flaked off. Enough remained, however, to allow reading dates of 9.2.3.8.0 (A.D. 478; Jones and Sharer 1980; cf. Morley 1935:50) or 9.2.5.11.0 (A.D. 480; Looper 1995a:37) for Mon. 21 and, for Mon. 20, either 9.3.0.0.0 (A.D. 495; Marcus 1976:146; Sharer 1978a:62; Jones et al. 1983:21) or 9.13.0.0.0 (A.D. 692; Looper 1995a:62; Morley 1935:47–49, 1937–38:IV,86–89; Sharer 1990:69–70). Looper’s most recent readings are 9.2.5.0.0 (A.D. 480) for Mon. 21, and 9.13.0.0.0 (A.D. 692) for Mon. 20 (Looper 2003:39,54). Both stelae had fallen before 1975, but their original settings were established by excavation in 1978 (Sharer et al. 1983:43; Ashmore 1984a:377), including discovery of a foundation cache (Cache 2) for Mon. 21. Mon. 25 is a schist cylinder, 2.5 m long and 0.6 m in diameter, found in Loc. 011 (Sharer 1990:72). Morley, who named the site Group C, reported the monument as still standing when he saw it (1937–38: IV,241); by 1973 it had fallen. Lack of carving on the stone led Morley (1935:43– 44) to speculate that it, and Group C, dated to a time before the sculptural arts had developed at Quiriguá. Excavations in 1977 suggest the monument pertains to the Late Classic, and adjacent architecture has both Early and Late Classic components (see Part 3 and Jones et al. 1983: 20; Ashmore 1984a:377,380; 1986). It now seems more plausibly related to Late Classic monuments elsewhere in the LMV (Schortman 1993). Mon. 26 is a broken Early Classic schist stela with a projected total height of 2.2 m. Two fragments were found by Bandegua dragline in November 1978, prompting 1979 investigation of Pl. 3C-1 and discovery of Str. 3C-14. A brief epigraphic and stylistic study of Mon. 26 was undertaken by Christopher Jones (1983; see also Jones and Sharer 1980, 1986; Sharer 1990:72–74; Schele 1990), and independently derived discussions of its probable context appear both in Jones’s articles and in Part 2 here (Str. 3C-14/Pl. 3C-1; see also Ashmore 1980b, 1984a). Looper’s analysis is reviewed

Table 3.9

Monuments in the Quiriguá Site Periphery

Monument Number Location Material

Form Date Dating Evidence



stela A.D. 746 Initial Series date: 9.15.15.0.0

19 Grid 7A

sandstone

20 Loc. 002 schist stela A.D. 692 Initial Series date: 9.13.0.0.0 (Group A) 21 Loc. 002 (Group A)

schist

stela A.D. 480 Initial Series date: 9.2.5.0.0

25 Loc. 011 schist stela Late/Terminal (Group C) Classic

26 Grid 3C

schist

association with Hewett/Morley complex ceramics, stylistic similarity with Late/Terminal Classic monuments of the LMV

stela A.D. 493 Initial Series date: 9.2.18.13.1 (or .10?)

27 Grid 3C schist slab Early Classic

association with Pl. 3C-1-1st, material, likely association with Mon. 26

28 Grid 1B sandstone slab Late Classic

material, association with Late/Terminal Classic features

29 Grid 1C/3C schist pedestal Early Classic material, stylistic or earlier affinities with Preclassic sculptures of the Guatemalan highlands 30 Grid 3C schist pedestal Early Classic material, stylistic or earlier affinities with Preclassic sculptures of the Guatemalan highlands

in Chapter 4. In aggregate, the analyses suggested initially that Mon. 26 was erected on Pl. 3C-1, probably near Str. 3C-14, at a time essentially contemporary with the stela’s dedicatory date of 9.2.18.0.0 (?) (A.D. 493). Reconsideration of ceramic dating of construction events underscores the uncertainty of erection location, in that the final platform now seems to postdate the stela dedication by more than a century. Wherever it was located, the monument likely continued to be known and its setting accessible long after the platform and structure had ceased to be maintained, and after construction of Str. 3C-13, about 40 m southwest of Str. 3C-14. This continued access is implied by archaeological evidence for continued visitation (Chapter 4 and Part 2), by seemingly respectful placement of subsequent constructions in the vicinity (Chapters 4 and 7), and by the importance of the stela’s imagery and style as a referent of Quiriguá sculptures erected nearly three centuries later (Looper 1995a, 2003). Mon. 27 was a plain round slab of the same blue-gray schist as Mon. 26, and was still in place atop Pl. 3C-1-1st when found and first recorded (Ashmore 1980b; Sharer 1990:74–75). Arguably contemporary with Mon. 26, Mon. 27 was 1.10–1.14 m in diameter and 0.08 m thick, but was totally shattered by vandals in 1979. Archaeological excavations found no cache underneath, but the stone slab was associated with an area of burning (Pr. D. 9) on the final platform surface. Mon. 28 was discovered during the 1978 field season,

protruding from the base of the east slope of ditch ME-16, just south of Str. 1B-30 (Sharer et al. 1983:44 and Figure 7.4a; Sharer 1990:75). A rounded D-shaped slab of fine-grained sandstone, Mon. 28 is 0.94–1.02 m across and 0.18 m thick. Illicit probes below the slab had revealed no underlying cache. Both Mons. 29 and 30 are small, blue-gray schist pedestal sculptures, 0.52 and 1.12 m long, respectively (Sharer 1990:75– 76). Mon. 29 was found loose in ditch MC-9 in late 1977, and recovered by Enrique Monterroso for IDAEH. Based on Monterroso’s account, the small sculpture was probably found within grid 1C, but could have come from that part of MC-9 within grid 3C. Mon. 30 was recovered under similar circumstances a year later, from ditch M-27 in grid 3C. Both show a stylized human or monkey with clenched or schematized hands clasped to the breasts (Sharer 1990:Figures 48, 49). Mon. 30 has a large perforation through the center (“abdominal” area) of the sculpture. Where these two sculptures were originally erected is unknown. Blue-gray schist was the material used for all other well-dated Early Classic monuments at Quiriguá, and general provenience similarly suggests an Early Classic date for these two. Stylistic comparisons with monuments elsewhere, however, find closest parallels in Preclassic pedestal sculptures of the Guatemalan highlands (e.g., Miles 1965:250; Ricketson 1936:Figure 4; Sharer and Sedat 1973:Figure 6; Sharer and Sedat 1987:Figures 18.8, 18.9, 18.31; Tejeda 1947:121; compare the Middle Preclassic modeled pottery vessel illustrated by Site Periphery Settlement Sample

51

Healy 1974:Figure 4d, from the Cuyamel caves in northeast Honduras). Note that of the six sculptures found within the Floodplain Periphery, three came from grid 3C and a fourth from either 3C or 1C. Furthermore, these four monuments were all probably Early Classic (or earlier?) in age, while Mons. 19 (grid 7A) and 28 (grid 1B) were erected during Late Classic times. The implications of these spatial and chronological distributions, as well as of monuments in the Wider Periphery, are addressed in Chapters 4 and 6.

Architectural Assemblages Although individual features, not necessarily architectural, are the basic elements of all settlement archaeology, there is also widespread acceptance that architectural groups and associated open areas are fundamental to human organization of space, behavior, and meaning (e.g., Ashmore and Wilk 1988; Hall 1966; Lawrence and Low 1990; Rapoport 1982; Yaeger and Canuto 2000). Table 3.10 lists the 59 structure groupings defined for the Site Core and Floodplain Periphery; similar designations are given for Wider Periphery sites, especially those 11 with multiple architectural groups. The defining criteria for the groups are mutual proximity and shared orientation to generally a single court or plaza, such that constituent structures in a defined group appear to relate more to each other than to structures outside the group. No nearest-neighbor analyses or other formal statistics were applied, however; the groupings remain impressionistic and heuristic. Table 3.11 presents an inventory of specific form classes recognized among the architectural assemblages. Some of these categories or variants on them were used to stratify the surface survey sample for excavation (Chapter 2; Sharer et al. 1979); others were developed or applied later, for specific analytic purposes. While all three classifications were generated from form characteristics, their social implications are discussed in this and subsequent chapters, especially Chapters 5 through 7. One of the three classifications is the set of categories defined by the 1977 seminar on lowland Maya settlement patterns (Ashmore 1981b), in which units are distinguished principally by the number of constituent courts or plazas. The second classification follows more qualitative distinctions, based on distinctive arrangements of structures, usually around a plaza or court. Neither exhaustively partitions the available data on Maya architectural assemblages; they are cross-cutting classifications, the first providing a spatial-organizational hierarchy of heuristic analytical units (cf. Clarke 1972, 1977; Trigger 1968; Ashmore 1981b), and the second, a recognition of regularly recurring multi-feature arrangements at Quiriguá, akin to the Plaza Plan series at Tikal (Becker 1971, 1982, 2003, 2004; Jones 1969; Rice and Puleston 1981). The third classification described here draws principally from the hierarchical typology developed by Willey and Leventhal (1979) in their seminal work on Copán settlement, and then applied by Sanders, Webster, and their colleagues in the second phase of the Proyecto Arqueológico Copán (PAC II; Sanders 52

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

1986a, 1990). As explained below, the classification as applied here also considers a related typology adopted by the Proyecto Arqueológico La Entrada (PLE; Nakamura 1987; Nakamura et al. 1991). The criteria for distinguishing classes within this adapted scheme combine structure size with complexity of mound grouping (including the presence or absence of such traits as masonry, vaulting, and sculpture). Schortman’s (1993) site classification complements the foregoing with remains from within the Lower Motagua Valley.

Site Unit Hierarchy The first set of assemblages is that defined by participants in the 1977 School of American Research seminar on lowland Maya settlement patterns, and the terms and their definition are discussed at some length elsewhere (Ashmore 1981b:47– 54). Empirically, they tend to apply to domestic aggregates and relatively small structures, either within or apart from a larger or more complex center, but (with the exception of “minimum residential unit”) the form definitions do not presume size or functional constraints (cf. ibid.; Sanders 1981). Following Table 3.11, the first category is isolated structures. While such were noted at Quiriguá, their isolation may be more apparent than real, due to destruction of neighboring structures or limits on sampling. Their potential interpretive importance, however, has been highlighted by recent analyses invoking a developmental-cycle model for ancient Maya households, in which differing proportions of isolated structures—when inferred to be dwellings—are taken to imply contrasting patterns and histories of household growth (e.g., Haviland 1988; Robin 1999; Tourtellot 1988a, 1988b; Yaeger 2000a). The 1977 seminar defined one subcategory of isolated structures, the minimum residential unit (MRU), consisting of “a single structure (ground plan unspecified) with circumambient space, and the provision therein of at least 20 m2 of roofed space” (Ashmore 1981b:47). Even in 1977, however, the term was thought somewhat unsatisfying in its a priori functional label, akin to the oft-criticized term “housemound.” Since then, it has also become increasingly clear that residences (or other settlement features) need not be attached to mounds (e.g., Ashmore and Wilk 1988; Pyburn 1989; Wilk and Wilhite 1991; see Chapter 1). Moreover, the specification of a size threshold reifies what are really impressionistic heuristics, and structures in the Maya southeast tend individually to be smaller than at Maya sites farther north (e.g., Fash 1983a:274; Leventhal 1979:108; 1981:203). The subcategory is therefore dropped here, although the more neutral recognition of “isolated structure” units remains. An informal group consists of several structures, usually six or fewer, at a single location but bounding no central ambient space; it is empirically delimited by constituent structures being closer to each other than to other structures or groups. Conversely, a patio group is several structures, usually six or fewer, sharing a single central ambient space called a patio. The patio group represents the same concept usually implied by the traditional term plazuela, coined by Thompson (1931); other

Table 3.10 Structure Groups in the Quiriguá Site Periphery Floodplain Periphery (N=59) Designation

Constituent Features

1A-1 Strs. 1A-3 through 1A-10, Plaza 1A-1, Pls. 1A-1 through 1A-3 (Great Plaza) 1A-2 Strs. 1A-1, 1A-2 1A-3 Strs. 1A-12, 1A-15, Pl. 1A-4 1A-4 Strs. 1A-19, 1A-20 1A-5 Strs. 1A-13, 1A-14, Well 1A-1 1A-6 Strs. 1A-22, 1A-23, Pl. 1A-5 1A-7 Strs. 1A-25 through 1A-27 1A-8 Strs. 1A-28, 1A-29 1B-1 Strs. 1B-1 through 1B-7, 1B-17 through 1B-21, 1A-11 (Acropolis and Ballcourt Plaza) 1B-2 Strs. 1B-14 through 1B-16 (East Group) 1B-3 Strs. 1B-8 through 1B-10 (part of South Group) 1B-4 Strs. 1B-11 through 1B-13 (part of South Group) 1B-5 Strs. 1B-22, 1B-23 1C-1 Strs. 1C-8, 1C-9, Pvmt. 1C-3, Well 1C-2 1C-2 Strs. 1C-10, 1C-11 1C-3 Strs. 1C-14 through 1C-16 1C-4 Strs. 1C-2 through 1C-4 1C-5 D. F. 1C-2, 1C-5, Well 1C-1 1D-1 Strs. 1D-1, 1D-2, D. F. 1D-1 1E-1 Strs. 1E-1, 1E-2 1E-2 Strs. 1E-3, 1E-4 2A-1 Strs. 2A-1 through 2A-3 2A-2 Strs. 2A-4, 2A-5 2A-3 Strs. 2A-7, D. F. 2A-1 2B-1 Strs. 2B-1, 2B-2 2B-2 Strs. 2B-4, 2B-5 2B-3 Strs. 2B-7 through 2B-9 2C-1 Strs. 2C-1 through 2C-4 3C-1 Strs. 3C-1, 3C-2, Pvmt. 3C-2 3C-2 Strs. 3C-4 through 3C-6, D. F. 3C-1 3C-3 Strs. 3C-7, 3C-12 3C-4 Strs. 3C-9, 3C-10 3C-5 Strs. 3C-27 through 3C-29 3C-6 Strs. 3C-20 through 3C-22 3C-7 Str. 3C-14, Pl. 3C-1, (Str. 3C-13?) 3C-8 Strs. 3C-17, 3C-18, Pl. 3C-2 3C-9 Strs. 3C-15, 3C-16 3C-10 Str. 3C-11, Pvmt. 3C-4, Well 3C-1 3C-11 Strs. 3C-32 through 3C-34 3C-12 Str. 3C-26, Pvmt. 3C-5, D. F. 3C-3 3C-13 Strs. 3C-8, 3C-31 3E-1 Strs. 3E-1, 3E-2, Pl. 3E-1 3E-2 Strs. 3E-4, 3E-5 3E-3 Pvmt. 3E-1, D. F. 3E-2 4E-1 Str. 4E-1, Pvmt. 4E-1 5A-1 Strs. 5A-1, 5A-2 5A-2 Strs. 5A-3, 5A-4 5C-1 Strs. 5C-6, 5C-7 5C-2 D. F. 5C-2, 5C-3 5E-1 Strs. 5E-1, 5E-2, Pl. 5E-1 7A-1 Strs. 7A-1 through 7A-3, 7C-1, Pl. 7A-1 (Group B) 7C-1 Strs. 7C-2, 7C-3 7C-2 Str. 7C-4, Pvmt. 7C-2 7C-3 Strs. 7C-5, 7C-6 7C-4 Strs. 7C-7, 7C-8 9C-1 Strs. 9C-2, 9C-3 13B-1 Strs. 13B-1 through 13B-3

13B-2 Str. 13B-6, Pvmt. 13B-1 13B-3 Str. 13B-7, Pvmt. 13B-2

Wider Periphery (N=51) Designation

Constituent Features

002-1 Strs. 002-1, 002-2, Pls. 002-1, 002-2 011-1 Strs. 011-1 through 011-3 011-2 Strs. 011-4 through 011-6 013-1 Strs. 013-1 through 013-4 013-2 Strs. 013-5, 013-6 015-1 Strs. 015-1 through 015-6 015-2 Strs. 015-7, 015-8 016-1 Strs. 016-1, 016-2 017-1 Strs. 017-1, 017-2 018-1 Strs. 018-1, 018-2 (possible ballcourt) 022-1 Strs. 022-1, 022-2 (possible ballcourt) 023-1 Strs. 023-1 through 023-7 024-1 Strs. 024-3, 024-4, 024-6 through 024-8 024-2 Strs. 024-9, 024-12, 024-13 024-3 Strs. 024-10, 024-11 024-4 Strs. 024-15 through 024-17 024-5 Strs. 024-23, 024-24, 024-26, 024-28, 024-29 024-6 Strs. 024-30 through 024-32 031-1 Strs. 031-1, 031-2 039-1 Strs. 039-3 through 039-7 039-2 Strs. 039-8 through 039-11 044-1 Strs. 044-1 through 044-3 057-1 Strs. 057-1 through 057-3 057-2 Strs. 057-4 through 057-6 058-1 Strs. 058-1, 058-2 059-1 Strs. 059-1 through 059-5 083-1 Strs. 083-1 through 083-3 (or through 083-5) 084-1 Strs. 084-1 through 084-3 084-2 Strs. 084-4 through 084-6 085-1 Strs. 085-1 through 085-2 (or through 085-3) 086-1 Strs. 086-1 through 086-4 087-1 Strs. 087-1 through 087-4 089-1 Strs. 089-1 through 089-6a 089-2 Strs. 089-3, 089-10 through 089-13b 089-3 Strs. 089-6 through 089-10 090-1 Strs. 090-1, 090-2 (possible ballcourt) 092-1 Strs. 092-1 through 092-4, 092-13, 092-14 092-2 Strs. 092-5 through 092-8 092-3 Strs. 092-9 through 092-12 093-1 Strs. 093-1 through 093-4 094-1 Strs. 094-1 through 094-4 096-1 Strs. 096-1 through 096-4 097-1 Strs. 097-1 through 097-4 (questionable) 098-1 Strs. 098-1, 098-2 (ballcourt) 098-2 Strs. 098-3 through 098-8 099-1 Strs. 099-1 through 099-4 099-2 Strs. 099-5 through 099-7 107-1 Strs. 107-1, 107-2 110-1 Strs. 110-1 through 110-3 117-1 Strs. 117-1 through 117-4 118-1 Strs. 118-1, 118-2 Notes:

a Str. 089-3 is part of both Groups 089-1 and 089-2; 089-6 may be part of Group 089-3, additionally or instead of Group 089-1. b Str. 089-10 may pertain to either or both of Groups 089-2 and 089-3.

Table 3.11 Typology of Architectural Assemblages

a

2. homogeneous patio cluster: aggregate of patio groups with no apparent differentiation Site Unit Hierarchy among groups; 3. structure-focused patio cluster: aggregate Minimum residential unit (MRU) of patio groups with at least one “special purpose structure” (cf. Hammond 1975b: Informal group formal cluster, figure 3); Patio group 4. group-focused patio cluster: one or more patio groups with a surrounding cluster of Informal cluster other structures and/or groups. Variants: Homogeneous patio cluster (a) surrounding units are single structures (e.g., Dzibilchaltún; cf. Hammond 1975b:41, Structure-focused patio cluster formal cluster); (b) surrounding units are Group-focused patio cluster patio groups (e.g., Tikal); (c) surrounding units are patio groups and single structures Specialized Group Forms: Quiriguá Patternsb (e.g., Copán). The absolute numbers of structures within QP 1: Ballcourt these clusters are much less important than is QP 2: Patio group with square-plan structure on the east (equivalent the presence of more than one patio space or its to Tikal Plaza Plan 2) equivalent (cf. Haviland 1963:515ff). All except the informal cluster are formally equivalent to QP 3: Quadrangle Haviland’s “multiplaza residential unit,” but QP 4: Triad group without here presuming residential function (see Haviland 1985a, n.d.). A yet unresolved problem QP 5: Structure-focused patio group is that of criteria for recognizing “special-purpose” QP 6: Four-stairwayed structure and platform (“radial pyramid”) or “focal” structures, especially from surface data alone, for neither sheer size nor central position QP 7: Single-pyramid group is, itself, a necessary or sufficient criterion (cf. Str. 4E-31 in the cluster comprising Tikal Groups 4F-1 Notes: and 4F-2; Haviland 1985a). a Checklist of terms only; definitions appear in text. In the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery, allub Secondary designations for Quiriguá Patterns represent alternative or informal vial masking and the nature of the ditch exposures hamper full recognition and delimitation of descriptive labels. structure clustering. For this reason, no clusters have been formally defined for the Floodplain Periphery, although some probably exist in areas approximate equivalents are the patio units of Seibal (Toursuch as those around Groups 3C-2 or 1A-7 and their neighbors. tellot 1970, 1988a, 1988b) and single-plaza residential units of These potential clusters do seem to focus or orient arrangeTikal (Haviland n.d.). Terminological disputes, concerning, for ment of smaller constructions, the object of focus being one or example, the size connotations of “plaza,” were the impetus for more larger constructions. In the Wider Periphery, there are creation of the suggested alternatives of 1977. The term “patio clearer examples of focused clusters (e.g., Loci 024, 089). But group” is used in this report, and is the only use of “patio”; throughout the Quiriguá Site Periphery, it is difficult to know project-accepted terms of “plaza” and “court” take precedence whether the object of focus is a structure or a group. In the for referring to bounded exterior space (see Table 3.1). Wider Periphery, some examples seem clear (e.g., Loc. 059 as a Patio groups in the Quiriguá Site Periphery were included group-focused cluster), but many are not (e.g., poorly preserved within the 1976 rubric of “regularly arranged groups” (Sharer et Loc. 092; ambiguous Loci 057 and 089, which may be either al. 1979:55). In seeking examples of these groups at Quiriguá, it group- or structure-focused), and the total sample is small. In is often easier to infer or affirm a patio group than to state that the floodplain sample, ambiguity stems from a usual lack of such is absent. That is, lack of evidence for a central patiodata on total cluster configurations, plus minimal and uneven space does not confirm its absence; even superficially irregular excavation data on individual structures (e.g., Group 3C-2). groups such as Group 3C-1 or Group 039-2 appeared, upon Similarly, the presence of informal or homogeneous clusters excavation, to orient toward a central plaza. Those groups cannot be detected with certainty in the floodplain sample. from Table 3.10 thought to represent patio groups are tallied While there is thus too little information to make detailed in Table 3.12. The other four seminar-derived terms are defined as follows comparative conclusions concerning settlement clustering in the manner defined in the 1977 seminar, it appears justifiable (Ashmore 1981b:51): to propose (1) that focused clusters do exist at Quiriguá, and 1. informal cluster: an aggregate of individual structures with (2) as discussed further in Chapter 5, that they resemble those no apparent patio organization; more than six structures seen at Copán (e.g., Group 9N-8: Webster, Fash, and Abrams usually involved; 54

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

Table 3.12 Possible Patio Groups in the Quiriguá Site Periphery Floodplain Periphery (N=40)

Wider Periphery (N≤33)

Group 1A-3 Group 1A-4 Group 1A-5 Group 1A-6 Group 1A-7 Group 1A-8 Group 1B-1 Group 1B-2 Group 1B-3 Group 1B-4 Group 1B-5 Group 1C-1 Group 1C-2 Group 1C-3 Group 1E-1 Group 1E-2 Group 2A-1 Group 2A-2 Group 2B-1 Group 2B-2 Group 2B-3 Group 2C-1 Group 3C-1 Group 3C-2 Group 3C-4 Group 3C-5 Group 3C-6 Group 3C-8 Group 3C-9 Group 3E-1 Group 5A-1 Group 5A-2 Group 5C-1 Group 5E-1 Group 7A-1 Group 7C-1 Group 7C-3 Group 7C-4 Group 9C-1 Group 13B-1

Group 011-2 Group 013-1 Group 013-2 Group 015-1 Group 015-2 Group 016-1 (?) Group 017-1 (?) Group 018-1 (or possible ballcourt) Group 022-1 (or possible ballcourt) Group 023-1 Group 024-1 Group 024-2 Group 024-5 (?) Group 024-6 (?) Group 039-1 Group 039-2 Group 057-1 Group 058-1 Group 059-1 (?) Group 083-1 (?) Group 084-1 Group 086-1 Group 087-1 Group 089-1 Group 089-2 Group 089-3 Group 092-1 (?) Group 092-2 (?) Group 093-1 Group 094-1 Group 096-1 Group 110-1 Group 117-1

1986; Willey 1981), Playitas (e.g., Group I: Schortman 1993) and other sites of the southeast (e.g., Gualjoquito: Ashmore 1987a; Schortman and Urban 1987) more than those at either Tikal or other sites farther north. The closest analogues at Tikal would seem to be groups or clusters such as Group 6F-15,

Groups 7D-7, 7D-8, and 7D-9 (together), or Groups 6E-14 and 6E-15 (see Becker 1982 for Tikal structure-group correspondences), but these do not give the same visual sense of cohesion or “inward-lookingness” as do the cited clusters in the southeast. The cited lack of detailed data at Quiriguá, however, and the presence of some Petén affinities in other realms (including architectural plans; see below and Chapter 4) caution against overstating what is primarily an impressionistic observation. Nevertheless, the inferences involved are potentially important for addressing issues of social organization and spatial order. The latter includes, particularly, the vernacular cultural tendencies Schortman (1980, 1984) refers to as “proxemics,” important for looking into local forms of social integration (e.g., Ashmore et al. 2004) and potentially the cultural affiliations or “ethnic identity” of the local populace (e.g., Ashmore 1986; Kniffen 1965; Schortman 1980, 1989). The next organizational level above the cluster raises the formally and socially complex topic of whole settlement centers. The structure of Maya centers, as seen through the Quiriguá data, is the topic of the synthesis and interpretation in Chapters 4 through 8.

Quiriguá Patterns Elaborations or specializations of the foregoing categories are certainly known from Maya sites, and some attempts have been made to systematize analysis of these architectural assemblages. Examples include isolation of particular types, such as “E Groups” (Ruppert 1940) or twin-pyramid groups (Jones 1969), or triad groups (Ashmore 1986:41–42, 1989:279; Sharer 1994:111ff; Matheny 1986:23–24; Pendergast 1981; Freidel and Schele 1988), as well as discussions defining sets of distinctive arrangements, such as the “plaza plan” series at Tikal (Becker 1971, 2003, 2004; Rice and Puleston 1981) or George Andrews’ (1975) types of Maya structure groups. By the late 1970s, then, it already seemed clear that the Maya had developed several recurring patterns of architectural arrangement, each with differing degrees of use throughout the Maya area. The reasons for such regularity were less clear at the time, but several models are proposed here, and elaborated in Chapters 6 and 7 (see also Ashmore 1986, 1989, 1991a, 1998, n.d.b). The utility of recognizing recurring formal patterns has lain in both research design and interpretation. That is, the apparent repetition of particular architectural arrangements within Tikal prompted shaping the project’s master research design to explore the significance of the distinct arrangements with respect to age, function, and meaning (e.g., Becker 1971; Jones 1969; Shook and Coe 1961). Interpretively, arrangements recognized at Tikal and elsewhere, as cited above, have formed a basis for modeling intrasettlement social diversity, political strategy, “ethnic” affiliation, and ritual practice (e.g., Ashmore 1989; Ashmore and Sabloff 2002, 2003; Becker 1971, 2003; Ringle 1999; Schortman 1980, 1986). Despite these kinds of utility, however, the aggregate list of Tikal “Plaza Plans” or other patterns, at single sites or across the Maya region, should be considered no more than heuristics for prompting further study; they cannot be assumed to comprise functionally or Site Periphery Settlement Sample

55

socially equivalent units, or a full partitioning of architectural complexes. Whereas Tikal Plaza Plan (PP) 1, for example, is clearly understood as a kind of ritual arena—the twin pyramid group—Tikal PP2 is a distinctive form of residential compound. One is civic in orientation and monumental in scale, while the other is domestic or private and relatively smaller in scale. It is important to recognize, then, that these and other patterns are mutually “equivalent” only as recognized classes of variation in formal arrangement. They embody no inherent or a priori inference of mutual comparability except insofar as each defines a “template” for framing some kind of activity. Precisely because the pattern or template is—by definition—repetitive, however, it does potentially mark locations for activities that were likewise repetitive in form and content. Excavations in multiple examples of a type or pattern establish whether that potential is borne out, and if so, what activities and actors were involved. Evidence of seven patterns—in the sense of templates— has been identified within the Quiriguá Site Periphery, and these are described below (see also summary in Sharer 1988). For convenience, they are labeled in a numbered series of “Quiriguá Patterns” (QP), a term intended as parallel to the Tikal Plaza Plan (PP) series. Because of the limits on the Quiriguá data, the patterns’ constituent elements cannot always be exhaustively specified. Also, pattern descriptions are static, and Quiriguá data currently preclude discrimination of transformation between patterns (e.g., an instance of QP 5 becoming QP 3). Even with these qualifications in mind, however, delineation of the QP series and the distribution of individual patterns have proven useful in suggesting hypotheses about the structure, determinants, and social implications of Quiriguá settlement. The first pattern, the ballcourt (QP 1), is probably the most easily recognized. Ballcourts and the aboriginal ballgame in Mesoamerica have been studied at a number of sites and from a variety of perspectives (e.g., Acosta and Moedano K. 1946; Stromsvik 1952; A. L. Smith 1955, 1961; Miller and Houston 1987; Scarborough and Wilcox 1991; Taladoire 1981). The courts are recognized by the existence of two structures or platforms, rectangular in plan with long axes parallel, which jointly define a playing alley as the elongated space between them, plus the space at either end of this lane. The inner sides of the two structures usually have a sloping bench, which is an integral part of the playing surface, and various portions of the playing alley or benches may have rings or other markers that were significant features during play. Ends of the playing alley may be open or closed, the closed form giving the alley a plan resembling a capital “I”; the occurrence of the latter plan has been cited as a Terminal Classic/Postclassic horizon-marker (e.g., Baudez and Becquelin 1973; A. L. Smith 1955, 1961) in the Maya southeast. Because of their architectural unity, ballcourts are often labeled as single structures, even though they may appear, before excavation, as two discrete but parallel mounds. Two ballcourts have been identified at Quiriguá in the Site Core, and both are Late Classic in date (Strs. 1B-7 and 1B-Sub. 4; Jones et al. 1983:Figures 1, 2). Five candidates for ballcourts have been potentially identified in the Quiriguá Site Periphery, two of which are in the Floodplain Periphery (Groups 3C-4, 3C-8) and three in the Wider Periphery (Loci 018, 090, 098). 56

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

Since none of the Site Periphery candidates have been excavated, their identification as ballcourts must remain tentative. The prime criterion for making even a tentative typological assignment in all six cases is surface plan (two rectangular mounds with long axes parallel). In all cases except Loc. 098, the candidates are quite close to otherwise imposing remains (Strs. 3C-5, 3C-14, Loc. 016, and 092, respectively). That is, they seem to occur in “appropriate” places, although this “evidence” must be used with care, or risk circular reasoning. In the fifth instance, the relatively isolated Loc. 098, the identification seems much more secure, for vestiges of endzone walls could still be traced on the surface during surveys. The only Early Classic candidate, Group 3C-8, is formally the weakest nominee, but available evidence on form and locational context is at least consistent with interpretation as a ballcourt (see Str. 3C-18 in Part 2). The second pattern recognized at Quiriguá is the “Plaza Plan 2” configuration studied at Tikal by Marshall Becker (1971), and here called QP 2. The pattern consists of a patio group with rectangular structures bounding north, west and south sides of the central court and a square structure on the east. At Tikal, the eastern structure was often smaller than its neighbors in plan dimensions but greater in substructure height. Excavation revealed that all eastern structures in such groups had ritual functions, serving as oratorios or “household shrines” for the patio-group residences (compare McAnany 1998; McAnany et al. 1999). All instances recognized at Tikal were Late Classic in age; Tourtellot (1988a) identifies a comparable pattern in Late Preclassic settlement remains at Seibal (compare Ringle 1999). Becker himself (1972) suggested that the Quiriguá Acropolis seemed to follow the same arrangement, and this proposition was partially validated by Arlen Chase’s excavations at Str. 1B-6 in 1977 (Jones et al. 1983). (This burial and its location are discussed further in Chapters 4 and 7.) Another candidate for an instance of QP 2 is Loc. 089 in the Wider Periphery, the pattern occurring potentially in both Groups 089-1 and 089-2. The relevant eastern structures could not be probed in the time available for excavation, however. Lack of observable examples of this pattern in the Quiriguá Floodplain Periphery may be due simply to the alluvium problem and the related preponderance of cross-sectional over plan data in the ditchbased settlement sample. Another possibility, however, is that the occurrence of Tikal Plaza Plan 2 is an index of strength or kind of ties with Tikal or northeast Petén groups; this idea is explored in Chapter 7 (see also Ashmore 1986:48). Other Tikal plaza plans are not clearly documented at Quiriguá, in either Site Core or Site Periphery, although both PP 1 (twin-pyramid groups; Jones 1969) and PP 4 (Becker 1971:198–200, 238, Fig. 10) are discussed in Chapter 7, in connection with Str. 3C-14 and Pl. 3C-1 (see also QP 6, below). PP 3 (Becker 1971:198,238, Fig. 10), however, may be related to the “quadrangle” arrangement of the lower Motagua valley. The third distinctive Quiriguá Pattern (QP 3) is that referred to as the “quadrangle.” The term was applied in 1976 to a formal type newly recognized in the Quiriguá Site Periphery program, and identified as well in both the Site Core and the lower Motagua valley at large (Schortman 1993). When first defined for the Quiriguá Site Periphery Program (Sharer et

al. 1979:55), we were not yet familiar with architect George Andrews’ Maya Cities, in which he uses the same word to label a slightly different and rather more elaborate formal concept (Andrews 1975:63–64), citing as examples the “Nunnery” at Uxmal and Group 4E-14 at Tikal. In the Quiriguá site periphery research, quadrangles were defined fairly simply, as “like [patio groups] but…bounded on at least three sides and…larger in all dimensions, with access to the central court more restricted than in the smaller groups. That is, the court is closed on two or more corners” (Sharer et al. 1979:55–56). In practice, “larger in all dimensions” meant structures at least 20 m long and central courts at least 15 m across one dimension. Structure height was not a deciding factor; most structures were less than 3 m in height, in both pre-excavation appearance and post-excavation dimensions. Superstructure architecture was not always readily evident from surface appearance, so characteristics concerning rooms and their orientations could not enter into the definition. Quadrangles were identified at Loci 059, 089, and 092 in the Wider Periphery; Group 3C-2 in the Floodplain Periphery; Group 1B-1 (the Acropolis) in the Site Core; and subsequently at Comanche Farm (Stromsvik 1936), Playitas (Nowak 1973; Schortman 1984, 1993), Las Quebradas (ibid.), and Choco (ibid.) in the lower Motagua valley beyond the Site Periphery (see Fig. 1.3). Other potential examples of QP 3 in the floodplain center are Groups 1A-3, 1A-5, 1B-2, 1B-4, 1B-5, and 13B1, with full expression of the quadrangle form perhaps simply obscured by locally deep alluvium. Excavations in 1977 were designed to test three wellpreserved quadrangles (Loci 089, 092, and Group 3C-2) to expose more of their form, to see if they were indeed regular in plan and whether closure of the court corners was part of the original plan. These tests were intended to serve both the Site Periphery Program and, as background, the Valley Program, then just getting underway. In the Site Periphery, quadrangle corner closure was found to be deliberate, but not part of earliest construction at the site—that is, gaps between structures had been filled by subsequent construction. The quadrangle tentatively identified at the badly eroded Loc. 092 appeared to be different from the others in construction form and articulation. Whether or not it served a similar function is a question treated in Chapter 7. All quadrangle enclosures are integral to larger complexes. Within the Quiriguá Site Core and Periphery, they are interior (“private”) spaces linked by at least one of the structures (e.g., Strs. 3C-5, 1B-5, 089-3; possibly 092-6), apparently the tallest, to an adjacent, more open or “public” space. Such pairing has been argued to represent a basic, functionally complementary pairing in Maya centers, but does not appear to hold for quadrangles elsewhere in the lower Motagua valley, as discussed below and by Schortman (1993; for such pairs in Maya site plans, see Chapter 7 and Coggins 1967; Hammond 1981; Jones et al. 1983:8–9). Schortman (1980, 1984, 1986, 1993) asserts that quadrangle complexes were an indigenous settlement pattern found in lower Motagua settlement centers other than Quiriguá. In his view, the quadrangle template is one architectural hallmark of the local material cultural complex that contrasts mark

edly with the set of artifacts and features usually identified as diagnostic of Classic lowland Maya traditions. Comparable quadrangles have subsequently been identified in the next drainages north and south of the lower Motagua valley, respectively the southeast portion of the Lake Izabal basin (Orozco and Bronson 1991) and the Florida valley in Honduras (e.g., Inomata 1987; Schortman and Nakamura 1991). As argued elsewhere (Ashmore 1986, 1989) and below, I now believe the quadrangles of the Quiriguá core and periphery reflect combinations of Maya and non-Maya traditions of civic planning. These and related ideas are explored further in later chapters, especially Chapter 7. Another assemblage (QP 4) identified in the Quiriguá site periphery seems to be a variant of Andrews’ (1975:56–59) “temple group.” It is here referred to informally as a triad group. Arrangements called triad groups are common at many other Maya sites to the north, especially in the Late Preclassic (e.g., Freidel and Schele 1988; Schele and Freidel 1990; Sharer 1994; Taube 1998) at such sites as Lamanai (Pendergast 1981), Cerros (Freidel 1986), and El Mirador (Matheny 1986). Possibly related variants are known from more southerly monumental sites of that age or earlier, including Chalchuapa (Sharer 1978b) and Yarumela (Dixon 1989:261 and Figure 3). At Quiriguá, the triad group is defined by an elongated plaza, bounded on the west, north and east. The directional positions are crucial here, whereas they are not so in the Preclassic examples cited. In a Quiriguá triad group, the northern structure, at one end of the long axis of the plaza, has the highest summit elevation in the group. Probable examples of this pattern include Wider Periphery Loci 011 (Morley’s Group C), 057, and 089 (Group 089-2), and Floodplain Periphery Group 7A-1. In the small sample available, the south end of the court may be bounded (n=3) or open (n=1), and if so bounded, by a patio group or quadrangle group. Stone monuments are associated with two putative cases (Loc. 011, Group 7A-1), but for both, the monuments’ inclusion may postdate original group plans (see Chapter 4). First recognized locally at Loc. 011, the layout may be preserved in the other mentioned groups, and perhaps even the Great Plaza of the Site Core (but see QP 5 below). Note again that in three of the four Quiriguá quadrangle groups, the northern structure is also the highest. Elsewhere in the Maya lowlands, north is similarly given a prominent position in Classic-period triadic arrangements (e.g., within the Cross Group at Palenque and the North Acropolis at Tikal), and Coggins (1980:729–31) has argued that north represents the heavens rather than geographic north. Sites in the lower Motagua valley at large show neither this triad pattern nor an axial preference for north (Schortman 1993). The inferred significance of this northerly emphasis is discussed at length in later chapters, as is the articulation of triad (QP 4) and quadrangle groups (QP 3) in the Quiriguá periphery and their implications for determinants of Quiriguá settlement (see also Ashmore 1989, 1991a, n.d.b). Quiriguá Pattern 5, here labeled a “structure-focused patio group,” is similar to QP 4 in having a relatively large, elevated structure, usually on the north. QP 5, however, has only one flanking structure, oriented at a right angle to the first. Examples are tentatively identified in the Wider Periphery at Loc. Site Periphery Settlement Sample

57

023, and at Floodplain Periphery Groups 2C-1, 3C-9, 3E-1, and 5E-1. Among them, the lower flanking structure bounds the east side in four cases, and the west in two. Group 1B-5 in the Floodplain Periphery may be another example, if it is not an instance of QP 3. Group 1E-2 and Str. 1C-17 may represent other, severely damaged cases of QP 5. Even the Great Plaza (Group 1A-1) of the Site Core might be a large version of QP 5—assuming, among other things, that there were no structures bounding the west side of the Great Plaza. The orientation of Group 5E-1 seems more askew from cardinal directions than that in the other groups. Groups 3E-1 and 5E-1 have basal platforms under the whole group; the others may or may not. Note that Groups 2C-1 and 3C-9 incorporate rare examples of masonry superstructures, the implications of which are considered in Chapters 4 and 6. The probable construction date of most QP 5 candidates is in the last periods of the Quiriguá occupation sequence (see Chapter 4), while QP 4 may be much earlier, in at least one case. Although QP 4 triads could, in some cases, have grown from what were originally QP 5 groups, there is no direct evidence of such a developmental history in the limited excavations of any relevant groups. Quiriguá Pattern 6 has only one representative—Group 3C-7—and perhaps should not be given a separate “template” designation. As argued in conjunction with Str. 3C-14 in Part 2, however, the form of structure and platform does seem potentially allied with radial configurations expressed at Tikal, Uaxactún, Copán, Altar de Sacrificios, Seibal, Kaminaljuyú, and elsewhere (see also Looper 2003). Candidates for comparison are given in Table 7.2 and include instances of Tikal Plaza Plans 1 and 3 (the latter perhaps also represented in some Kaminaljuyú groups), Uaxactún’s Str. E-VII and Copán’s Str. 10L-4. Because of both severe postabandonment damage to Pl. 3C-1 and the infeasibility of clearing the platform’s surviving surface completely, the total plan of “QP 6” is unknown. Inclusion in the series of defined plans or patterns, however, serves to tag the assemblage as plausibly representing a distinctive template. At present the plan can be identified only tentatively as a four-stairwayed structure atop a raised open platform and associated with stone monuments. Quiriguá Pattern 7 could conceivably be a variant of QP 5, for it too involves paired structures, contrastive in height and situated at right angles to each other. In QP 5, however, both structures are rectangular in plan, whereas the taller structure of QP 7 is square and thus might be termed a pyramid. QP 7 is thus considered a single-pyramid group. Stairs occur on only one side of the pyramid. The two representatives of this pattern are Group 1B-3 (in Morley’s South Group) in the Site Core and Loc. 002 (Morley’s Group A) in the Wider Periphery. QP 7 has intriguing similarities to the “temple-long structure-altar” complex John Fox describes for the Quiché and their ancestors (Fox 1987:24–26,49), and these are explored in Chapters 4–7.

Copán, La Entrada, and Lower Motagua Valley Site Types Project- or region-specific Maya settlement typologies usually involve hierarchies of categories based on size and number of 58

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

mounds in groups and clusters (e.g., Bullard 1960; Hammond 1975b; Hasemann 1987; Tourtellot 1988a). The most common intent is to derive a provisional model for ancient social organization (e.g., Bullard 1964). The unit hierarchy described earlier in this chapter was an attempt to transcend the specific typologies to create a broader, pan-Maya classification. Although useful, this generalized categorization glosses over empirically demonstrable interregional variation, and as Haviland (1981) argued eloquently for Tikal Group 7F-1, category labels cannot capture unique details of individual compounds. The general hierarchy was applied at Quiriguá, however, in part because the nature of that settlement sample precluded development of the kinds of analytic typologies derived in other regions with more complete coverage, and unhampered by the oddities of the ditch survey for Quiriguá’s northern floodplain. Because of abundant research in the Maya Southeast since the end of the Quiriguá Project (see Chapter 1), a wide variety of nearby analogues have become available for comparison. Schortman’s (1993) analysis of sites in the Lower Motagua Valley is critical. And although amply documented ancient historical connections make Copán settlement clearly relevant as comparison for modeling Quiriguá, I draw here as well on settlement analyses in another nearby region whose Late Classic ties with the lower Motagua valley are now quite clear. The latter is the contiguous pair of valleys, La Venta and Florida, investigated by Seiichi Nakamura and his colleagues as the Proyecto Arqueológico La Entrada (PLE). Applying to Quiriguá the combination of established Copán and PLE settlement typologies suggests insights about Quiriguá that are useful for analyses of occupation history of the Quiriguá Site Periphery as a whole (Chapter 4), and for consideration of social, economic and political organization in the eighth century (Chapters 5 and 6). Beginning with Copán, Gordon Willey and Richard Leventhal (1979) drew on their research in the bottomlands east of the Principal Group, establishing a typology for Copán settlement. Their four types of sites seemed to structure observed variation well within what is now called the Sepulturas sector of the Copán valley. All four types were plausibly residential compounds, although the authors deliberately eschewed such functional attribution from survey data alone (Willey and Leventhal 1979:81; Fash 1983a:III,33). Two criteria allowed them to distinguish among site types—individual size of mounds, and complexity of the mound groupings within a site (Willey and Leventhal 1979:81). The resultant types are defined as follows, with “CV” being their designation for Copán Valley sites in the survey (Willey and Leventhal 1979:82–83, with figure references omitted): Type 1 units are at the small end of the size and complexity scale. These number, as a rule, from three to five mounds around quite small plazas or courts. Such mounds are from .25 to 1.25 meters in height. Their general constructional makeup is earth fill and small- to medium-sized, undressed stone rubble. Type 2 units may have one or two plazas, and surrounding mounds number up to six or eight. Maximum height of such mounds is 2.50 to 3.00 meters. There is more surface stone on

these sites than is the case with Type 1; most of it is undressed, but there are some instances of dressed blocks. The one site we have excavated, CV-20 [now known as Group 9M-27; Fash 1983a: III, 60], belongs to this Type 2 class, and excavations revealed both uncut and cut stone. Type 3 units have mounds as high as 4.75 meters. Dressed stone is much more in evidence on their surfaces than in Type 2 units. Plaza arrangements and numbers of mounds are not, however, much different than in those of Type 2. Type 4 units are by far the largest ones in the entire 1.25square-kilometer mapped sector. Mound heights may be as much as 10 meters. There are only three sites of this type, CV14, CV-36, and CV-68 [now respectively Groups 9M-19, 9N-8, and 8N-11], and all are very complex groupings with multiple plazas. CV-36, the largest of all and probably the largest ruin in the Copan pocket, except for the main ceremonial center, has five major plazas and over forty mounds. These Type 4 sites are covered with large stones, both rough and dressed, and among the latter are probable vault stones. In the process of mapping, Willey, Leventhal, and their successors noted repeatedly the unusually “agglutinated” nature of settlement, wherein “a single interconnected ‘group’ of mounds [might] contain upwards of five constituent plaza or patio units, and other subsidiary platforms, as well” (Fash 1983a:III,31; compare Leventhal 1979, 1981; Willey 1981).

When William Sanders and David Webster initiated the second phase of the Proyecto Arqueológico Copán (PAC II), they not only adopted (and adapted) Willey and Leventhal’s site typology, they formally proposed that the types reflected differences in social and economic standing of residents in the compounds, and then used the types to structure PAC II excavation sampling (e.g., Sanders 1986a, 1989, Webster 1999). But inasmuch as Willey and Leventhal’s survey focused on a portion of what is now called Copán’s “urban core,” those authors had encountered relatively elaborate compounds, even among the seemingly “simple” Type 1 sites. For that reason, archaeologists of PAC I (Baudez 1983) had already modified the site typology to recognize additional kinds of units at the small end, especially isolated mounds (e.g., Fash 1983a:III; Fash and Long 1983), and PAC II included survey of outlying “rural” pockets of the Copán valley and the very small sites they contained (e.g., Freter 1988; Gonlin 1994; Webster and Gonlin 1988). Working northeast of the Copán valley system, the Proyecto Arqueológico La Entrada (PLE) derived a settlement typology very similar to the one used at Copán. The divisions between recognized types of architectural sites differ slightly, and an additional category covers artifact scatters. They also include a category of “special sites,” embracing natural features (e.g., caves) and unusual locations. Applying to Quiriguá the PLE categories together with the Copán types allows comparison of Quiriguá with two distinct but neighboring regions, and collectively spans a wider range of remains than using the Copán typology alone. The types are defined as follows (Nakamura 1987:132–33, again omitting figure references): Category I Sites: Surface scatter of artifacts without visible structures.



Category II Sites: Isolated structure and/or structure groups with platforms less than 2m high. In these groups, some have central courtyards and others do not. It is supposed that these sites were residential units of commoners. Category III Sites: These sites are defined by the following characteristics: (1) the highest structure in the mound group is approximately 2 to 3.5m high; (2) almost all sites are arranged around a central courtyard; (3) the size of each site is larger than the former categories, but the size of the principal structure is much smaller than platforms in Category IV; (4) sites of this category have fragments of stucco floors, polychrome sherds and cut stones and it is supposed that a powerful person of a rank higher than commoner lived at this type of site. Category IV Sites: These sites are defined by the following characteristics: (1) the maximum height of structures is approximately 3.5 to 6m; (2) the common presence of one monumental court plaza unit with small mounds dispersed around it; (3) generally simple intrasite settlement patterns; (4) in comparison with Category III sites, the size[s] of the principal structures are very large. Category V Sites: These units, by far the largest ones in the entire area of investigation, are defined as “Regional Centers” by the following characteristics: (1) the largest of structures may be as high as 12m; (2) there are always various monumental court/plaza groups; (3) the site occupies a very extensive zone and has a complex settlement pattern within it; (4) at some sites, the characteristic cultural elements of the Classic period such as stelae, hieroglyphs, vault stones, carved stones, ballcourt etc. are present. Category VI Sites: These are special function sites such as cemeteries, caves and hill top sites, etc. [These were re-named “Categoría Especial” in final report, and are labeled “E” here.] (Nakamura et al. 1991:14)

The third site typology in the region is closest to Quiriguá, but strikingly different in site form. Schortman (1993:208– 13) sought a means to rank sites specifically for purposes of examining hierarchical interaction within the Lower Motagua Valley (LMV) in the period ca. A.D. 700–850. Drawing on site size and inferred function, he defined seven site classes, the largest being Class I, and the smallest, Class VII. He also infers an effective hinterland of control or influence for each site in each class. Class I: Quiriguá is the only member of this class (189 structures in PTS 3/2; area: 107,792 m2; hinterland: 161.3 km2). He infers its having provided a scale of economic, administrative, public ceremonial services uniquely developed within the LMV. Class II: Las Quebradas and Playitas each have 190–285 structures in an area of 26,610 m 2; hinterlands are estimated at 110–120 km2. He also places Loc. 092 (Morjá) in this class, although the number of structures and area are not fully known; he estimates the hinterland at 59.3–63.89 km2 (Schortman 1993:210). Class II sites are characterized as well by “location adjacent to routes leading out of the valley” (ibid.:209). Class III: These sites are not adjacent to the kinds of routes cited for Class II. They include Choco and Quebrada Grande, Site Periphery Settlement Sample

59

Table 3.13 Structure Groups at Quiriguá Fitted to Copán and PLE Typologies Group Op

PTS Strs

Pz Mht Msnry

CU

PLE

Constituents

1A-1 2,5,9,17 3/2? 8 1 >10 Y 4 5 Strs. 1A-3 through 1A-10, Plaza 1A-1, Pls. 1A-1 through 1A-3 1A-2

2

3/2?

2

1?

-

Y

3

4 Strs. 1A-1, 1A-2

1A-3

8M

3

2

1

1.0

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-12, 1A-15, Pl. 1A-4

1A-4

—

4/2

2

1

0.3 N

1

2 Strs. 1A-19, 1A-20

1A-5

8M

3/2

2

1

1.0

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-13, 1A-14, Well 1A-1

1A-6

(18A)

3

2

1

0.6

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-22, 1A-23, Pl. 1A-5

1A-7

—

3

3

1

0.9

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-25, 1A-26, 1A-27

1A-8

(18A)

3

2

1

0.9

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-28, 1A-29

1B-1 4,6,16 4/2 13 2 >10 Y 4 5 Strs. 1B-1 through 1B-7, 1B-17 through 1B-21, 1A-11 (= Acropolis and Ballcourt Plaza) 1B-2

15

3/2(?)

3

1

>1.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 1B-14, 1B-15, 1B-16 (= East Group)

1B-3

7

3/2

3

1

>5

Y

4

4 Strs. 1B-8, 1B-9, 1B-10 (= South Group, north)

1B-4

7

3/2

3

1

1.5

(?)

1–2

2 Strs. 1B-11, 1B-12, 1B-13 (= South Group, south)

1B-5

(18A)

3

2

1

>5

Y

4

4 Strs. 1B-22, 1B-23

1C-1

18C

3

2

1

0.6 N

1

2 Strs. 1C-8, 1C-9, Pvmt. 1C-3, Well 1C-2

1C-2

(18A)

3

2

1

0.6 N

1

2 Strs. 1C-10, 1C-11

1C-3

18F

3

3

1

0.5

1

2 Strs. 1C-14, 1C-15, 1C-16

1C-4

18E

3

3

1

0.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 1C-2, 1C-3, 1C-4

1C-5

18Q,13K

3/2

2?

?

?

Y?

—

— D. F. 1C-2, 1C-5, Well 1C-1

Y

Y

1D-1

—

2

2–3?

1

?

—

— Strs. 1D-1, 1D-2, D. F. 1D-1

1E-1

(18A)

5/3

2

1

≥0.4 N

1

2 Strs. 1E-1, 1E-2

1E-2

—

3/2

2

1

0.8 N

1

2 Strs. 1E-3, 1E-4

2A-1

(18/A)

4/3

3

1

1.0

1

2 Strs. 2A-1, 2A-2, 2A-3

2A-2

—

4/3

2

1

0.7 N

1

2 Strs. 2A-4, 2A-5

2A-3

(18/A)

3/2

2?

1

1.0 N

1

2 Str. 2A-7, D. F. 2A-1

2B-1

(18/A)

3

2

1

0.8

Y

1

2 Strs. 2B-1, 2B-2

2B-2

(18/A)

3

2

1

1.1

Y

1

2 Strs. 2B-4, 2B-5

2B-3

(18/A)

3

3

1

0.5

Y?

1

2 Strs. 2B-7, 2B-8, 2B-9

2C-1

8L

3/2

4

1

3.4

Y

3

3 Strs. 2C-1 through 2C-4

3C-1

13N

4/3

2

1?

1.0

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-1, 3C-2, Pvmt. 3C-2

3C-2

13I

3

3–4

1

2.8

Y

2

3 Strs. 3C-4, 3C-5, 3C-6, D. F. 3C-1

Y?

with 49–84 structures in areas from 14,222 to 23,098 m2 in extent; hinterlands are estimated at 57.9–68.6 km2. Class IV: These sites possess a single quadrangle or monumental plaza, or 2 adjacent ones (with total area cited; Schortman 1993:211). Members of this class have 21–110 structures, in areas ranging from 3922 to 11,250 m2; hinterlands are estimated as 14.6–22.3 km2. Sites he assigns to this class include Comanche Farm, Juyama, Playitas II, and Wider Periphery Loci 059 (Chapulco) and 089 (Jubuco). Class V: Sites in this class are characterized as having two small quadrangles or one quadrangle together with a monumental plaza unit. The three sites assigned to this class (Mojanales, Bobos, Arapahoe Viejo) each has 7–36 structures in areas 60

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

ranging from 3790 to 11,185 m2 in extent. Only for Arapahoe Viejo does Schortman estimate a hinterland size (17.2 km2). Class VI: These sites have no large court complexes but do have monumental structures arranged in one or more small plaza groups, surrounded in turn by various smaller structures (Schortman 1993:213). Total structures observed range from 20 to 81. LMV sites he assigns to this class are Juan de Paz, Oneida, and possibly Cruce de Morales, Finca America, Puente Virginia, and Monterrey. He also places Wider Periphery Loci 023/024 (jointly comprising the site of Vega Grande) in Class VI. Class VII: These are small sites (2–11 structures) with no more than one large structure, and include Los Cerritos, La Coroza, Los Limones, Los Vitales, Loc. 234, and Cristina

Table 3.13 cont’d. Group Op

PTS Strs

Pz Mht Msnry

CU

PLE

Constituents

3C-3

13I

3/2

2

1?

0.8?

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-7, 3C-12

3C-4

—

3/2

2

1

0.75

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-9, 3C-10

3C-5

18I

3

3

1

0.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-27, 3C-28, 3C-29

3C-6

18H,18A

3

3

1

0.5 N

1

2 Strs. 3C-20, 3C-21, 3C-22

3C-7

19R,19S

5/2

1

1

1.9?

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-14, Pl. 3C-1, (Str. 3C-13)

3C-8

19M/13N

5/4

2

1

0.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-17, 3C-18, Pl. 3C-2

3C-9

8P

4/3

2

1

2.5

Y

2

3 Strs. 3C-15, 3C-16

3C-10

18B

3

1

1

0.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-11, Pvmt. 3C-4, Well 3C-1

3C-11

18K

3

3

1

0.3

Y?

1

2 Strs. 3C-32 through 3C-34

3C-12

18J

3

2?

1

0.2

Y

1

2 Str. 3C-26, Pvmt. 3C-5, D. F. 3C-3

3C-13

(18/A)

3/2

2

1

0.4 N

1

2 Strs. 3C-8, 3C-31

3E-1

13M

3/2

2

1

>2.3

Y

2

3 Strs. 3E-1, 3E-2, Pl. 3E-1

3E-2

19Q

4

2

1

0.4 N

1

2 Strs. 3E-4, 3E-5

3E-3

19Q,19M

4

>1?

1

0.2? N

1

2

Pvmt. 3E-1, D. F. 3E-2

4E-1

(18/A)

3/2

>1?

1

0.4 N

1

2 Str. 4E-1, Pvmt. 4E-1

5A-1

19Q

3/2

2

1

0.4 N

1

2 Strs. 5A-1, 5A-2

5A-2

19Q

3/2

2

1

1.2

Y

1

2 Strs. 5A-3, 5A-4

5C-1

19Q

4/3

2

1

0.9 N

1

2 Strs. 5C-6, 5C-7 2 D. F. 5C-2, 5C-3

5C-2

—

4/2

2?

1

0.2 N

1

5E-1

—

3/2

2

1

2.5

Y

2

3 Strs. 5E-1, 5E-2, Pl. 5E-1

7A-1

11H

4/2

4

1

>2.0

Y

2

3 Strs. 7A-1, 7A-2, 7A-3, 7C-1, Pl. 7A-1 (= Group B)

7C-1

19M

4/2

2

1

1.5 N

1

2 Strs. 7C-2, 7C-3

7C-2 7C-3 7C-4 9C-1 13B-1 13B-2 13B-3

— 19Q 19Q 19M 19Q — —

4/2 3 3 2 3/2 3/2 3/2

>1? 2 2 2 3 >1? >1?

1 1 1 1 1 1 1

0.3 N 1.7 Y 0.6 N 0.4 N 1.5 Y 0.2 N 0.3 N?

1 1 1 1 1 1 1

2 Str. 7C-4, Pvmt. 7C-2 2 Strs. 7C-5, 7C-6 2 Strs. 7C-7, 7C-8 2 Strs. 9C-2, 9C-3 2 Strs. 13B-1, 13B-2, 13B-3 2 Str. 13B-6, Pvmt. 13B-1 2 Str. 13B-7, Pvmt. 13B-2

Notes: 59 groups defined. Key to column labels: Group (structure group label); Op (Project operation label); PTS (Periphery Time Span); Strs (Structures); Pz (Plazas); MHt (Maximum structure height); CU (rank in Copán typology); PLE (rank in Proyecto La Entrada typology); Msnry (Masonry present? yes or no); Constituents (Construction features in the group)

“and various small loci in the Quiriguá Wider Periphery” (Schortman 1993:213). Applying the foregoing three typologies jointly to Quiriguá data yields interesting, if interpretively problematic results. The problems stem from the same traits that precluded development of a comparable Quiriguá-based typology in the first place: the sharp limits on coverage in the Wider Periphery, for both survey and excavation; the frequent severity of site damage by plowing and other land-modification activities in the Wider Periphery; and the extremely limited, archaeologically uncontrolled nature of settlement exposures in most of the Floodplain Periphery. Survey-based type assignments for PLE and Copán sites were always subject to modification, of course, should subsequent

excavation yield evidence of greater (or lesser) mound height or group complexity (e.g., Fash 1983a:III, 10,13,60; Fash and Sharer 1991). For Quiriguá, however, that inherent uncertainty is magnified substantially because the data are so constrained by the factors just cited. Nevertheless, some comparison seems warranted to address the question of how Quiriguá settlement relates in form and distribution to that in neighboring polities and regions. Application of the two external typologies to Quiriguá Site Core and Floodplain Periphery data is summarized in Tables 3.13 (ordered by Group number) and 3.14 (ordered by type). Tables 3.15 and 3.16 apply the Copán, PLE, and LMV types to Quiriguá Wider Periphery data, the first ordered by locus number and the second, by type. Site Periphery Settlement Sample

61

Table 3.14 Structure Groups at Quiriguá Ranked by Copán and PLE Site Types Group

PTS Strs

Pz MHt Msnry

CU

PLE

Constituents

Copán Type 4/PLE Category 5 8 1 >10 Y 4 5 Strs. 1A-3 through 1A-10, Plaza 1A-1, Pls. 1A-1 1A-1 3/2? through 1A-3 1B-1 4/2 13 2 >10 Y 4 5 Strs. 1B-1 through 1B-7, 1B-17 through 1B-21, 1A-11 (= Acropolis and Ballcourt Plaza) 1B-3

3/2

3

1

>5

Y

4

4 Strs. 1B-8, 1B-9, 1B-10 (= South Group, north)

1B-5

3

2

1

>5

Y

4

4 Strs. 1B-22, 1B-23

Copán Type 3/PLE Category 4 1A-2

3/2?

2

1?

-

Y

3

4 Strs. 1A-1, 1A-2

2C-1

3/2

4

1

3.4

Y

3

3 Strs. 2C-1 through 2C-4

Copán Type 2/PLE Category 3 3C-2

3

3–4

1

2.8

Y

2

3 Strs. 3C-4, 3C-5, 3C-6, D. F. 3C-1

3C-9

4/3

2

1

2.5

Y

2

3 Strs. 3C-15, 3C-16

3E-1

3/2

2

1

>2.3

Y

2

3 Strs. 3E-1, 3E-2, Pl. 3E-1

5E-1

3/2

2

1

2.5

Y

2

3 Strs. 5E-1, 5E-2, Pl. 5E-1

7A-1

4/2

4

1

>2.0

Y

2

3 Strs. 7A-1, 7A-2, 7A-3, 7C-1, Pl. 7A-1 (= Group B)

Copán Type 1/PLE Category 2 1A-3

3

2

1

1.0

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-12, 1A-15, Pl. 1A-4

1A-4

4/2

2

1

0.3 N

1

2 Strs. 1A-19, 1A-20

1A-5

3/2

2

1

1.0

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-13, 1A-14, Well 1A-1

1A-6

3

2

1

0.6

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-22, 1A-23, Pl. 1A-5

1A-7

3

3

1

0.9

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-25, 1A-26, 1A-27

1A-8

3

2

1

0.9

Y

1

2 Strs. 1A-28, 1A-29

1B-2

3/2?

3

1

>1.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 1B-14, 1B-15, 1B-16 (= East Group)

1B-4

3/2

3

1

1.5

(?)

1

2 Strs. 1B-11, 1B-12, 1B-13 (= South Group, south)

1C-1

3

2

1

0.6 N

1

2 Strs. 1C-8, 1C-9, Pvmt. 1C-3, Well 1C-2

1C-2

3

2

1

0.6 N

1

2 Strs. 1C-10, 1C-11

1C-3

3

3

1

0.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 1C-14, 1C-15, 1C-16

1C-4

3

3

1

0.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 1C-2, 1C-3, 1C-4

1C-5

3/2

2?

?

?

Y?

—

— D. F. 1C-2, 1C-5, Well 1C-1

1D-1

2

2–3?

1

?

Y

—

— Strs. 1D-1, 1D-2, D. F. 1D-1

1E-1

5/3

2

1

≥0.4 N

1

2 Strs. 1E-1, 1E-2

1E-2

3/2

2

1

0.8 N

1

2 Strs. 1E-3, 1E-4

2A-1

4/3

3

1

1.0

1

2 Strs. 2A-1, 2A-2, 2A-3

Y?

Within the Site Periphery as a whole, the distribution of sites by type size suggests a social pyramid, as do distributions in the Copán, PLE, and many other samples: the smaller sites are most numerous, and plausibly represent domestic compounds for the bulk of the populace within and beyond the center. Compounds and architecture at the upper end of the continua are quite distinct from one region to another, however. For example, the 24.6-km2 Copán pocket yielded 863 groups or isolated mounds, 14 of them Type 4 sites. That translates to 62

Settlement Archaeology at Quiriguá, Guatemala

roughly one Type 4 site per 1.8 km2 and one per 62 “sites,” although the distribution is certainly not “even.” As indicated in Table 3.13, Quiriguá’s 96-km2 survey beyond the Site Core turned up only four possible rough equivalents (one per 24 km2), one among the 59 groups defined in the Floodplain Periphery (at Str. 1B-22; 1 in 59) and three among the 63 sites distributed across the Wider Periphery (057, 091, 123; one for each 21 sites). Moreover, those in the Wider Periphery are probably principally ritual complexes rather than residential compounds (see

Table 3.14 cont’d. Group

PTS Strs

Pz MHt Msnry

CU

PLE

Constituents

2A-2

4/3

2

1

0.7 N

1

2 Strs. 2A-4, 2A-5

2A-3

3/2

2?

1

1.0 N

1

2 Str. 2A-7, D. F. 2A-1

2B-1

3

2

1

0.8

Y

1

2 Strs. 2B-1, 2B-2

2B-2

3

2

1

1.1

Y

1

2 Strs. 2B-4, 2B-5

2B-3

3

3

1

0.5

Y?

1

2 Strs. 2B-7, 2B-8, 2B-9

3C-1

4/3

2

1?

1.0

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-1, 3C-2, Pvmt. 3C-2

3C-3

3/2

2

1?

0.8?

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-7, 3C-12

3C-4

3/2

2

1

0.75

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-9, 3C-10

3C-5

3

3

1

0.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-27, 3C-28, 3C-29

3C-6

3

3

1

0.5 N

1

2 Strs. 3C-20, 3C-21, 3C-22

3C-7

5/2

1

1

1.9?

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-14, Pl. 3C-1, (Str. 3C-13)

3C-8

5/4

2

1

0.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-17, 3C-18, Pl. 3C-2

3C-10

3

1

1

0.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 3C-11, Pvmt. 3C-4, Well 3C-1

3C-11

3

3

1

0.3

Y?

1

2 Strs. 3C-32 through 3C-34 2 Str. 3C-26, Pvmt. 3C-5, D. F. 3C-3

3C-12

3

2?

1

0.2

Y

1

3C-13

3/2

2

1

0.4 N

1

2 Strs. 3C-8, 3C-31

3E-2

4

2

1

0.4 N

1

2 Strs. 3E-4, 3E-5

3E-3

4

>1?

1

0.2? N

1

2

Pvmt. 3E-1, D. F. 3E-2

4E-1

3/2

>1?

1

0.4 N

1

2 Str. 4E-1, Pvmt. 4E-1

5A-1

3/2

2

1

0.4 N

1

2 Strs. 5A-1, 5A-2

5A-2

3/2

2

1

1.2

Y

1

2 Strs. 5A-3, 5A-4

5C-1

4/3

2

1

0.9 N

1

2 Strs. 5C-6, 5C-7

5C-2

4/2

2?

1

0.2 N

1

2 D. F. 5C-2, 5C-3

7C-1

4/2

2

1

1.5 N

1

2 Strs. 7C-2, 7C-3

7C-2

4/2

>1?

1

0.3 N

1

2 Str. 7C-4, Pvmt. 7C-2

7C-3

3

2

1

1.7

Y

1

2 Strs. 7C-5, 7C-6

7C-4

3

2

1

0.6 N

1

2 Strs. 7C-7, 7C-8

9C-1

2

2

1

0.4 N

1

2 Strs. 9C-2, 9C-3

13B-1

3/2

3

1

1.5

Y

1

2 Strs. 13B-1, 13B-2, 13B-3

13B-2

3/2

>1?

1

0.2 N

1

2 Str. 13B-6, Pvmt. 13B-1

13B-3

3/2

>1?

1

0.3 N?

1

2 Str. 13B-7, Pvmt. 13B-2

Note: 59 groups defined. Key to column labels: Group (structure group label); PTS (Periphery Time Span); Strs (Structures); Pz (Plazas); MHt (Maximum structure height); CU (rank in Copán typology); PLE (rank in Proyecto La Entrada typology); Msnry (Masonry present? yes or no); Constituents (Construction features in the group)

below and Chapters 6 and 7). In the 150 km2 examined by PLE archaeologists, 8 sites of equivalent scale—their Category 5— were discovered among the 350 architectural sites recorded (1 per 18.75 km2 and per 44 sites; Nakamura 1991a:2, 1991b:5). Because of contrasting survey coverage and because many factors are doubtless responsible for the proportional differences just indicated, I would place little interpretive weight on the differences, except to suggest that they highlight the higher degree of population density at Copán (Chapter 5).

As explored in Chapter 6, Quiriguá’s most likely functional counterparts to Copán’s Type 4 sites—as elite residential foci for neighborhoods, barrios, or other community divisions (e.g., Ashmore 1988; Fash 1983a:I; 1983b)—are of a size and complexity commensurate with Copán Type 3 or even 2. Epigraphic and stylistic data identify Quiriguá as a province of Copán for most of its Classic-period existence, and perhaps one of the divisions represented on the façade of Copán’s eighth-century council house or popol na (e.g., Fash et al. 1992; Site Periphery Settlement Sample

63

Table 3.15 Sites in the Quiriguá Wider Periphery Fitted to Copán, PLE, and LMV Typologies Loc Op

PTS Strs

001 002 011 013 015 016 017 018 019 021 022 023 024 030 039 040 041 042 043 044 057 058 059 083 084 085 086 087 089 090 091 092 093 094 095 096 097 098 099 107 110 117 118 122 123

— 5/3 5/2 3 5/2 3? 3/2? 3/2? 3/2? 3/2? — 3 3 — 4/3 — — — — — 5/3? — 3 — — — 4/2 3 3/2 — 3/2 4/3 3/2 — — — — 3/2 3/2? — — — — 6/3 3/2?

— 10K 10J 8B 8N, Q 8F 8E 8K 8J — — 8H 8I 1C, 8R 12B 12C 12D 12E 12F 12G 12S 12T 12U 12V 12W — 12X 12Y 14C — — 14D 14E — — — — 14F 14B 10B 10E — — — —

1 2 6 6 8 2 2 2 1 1 2 7 33 ≥2 11 — 1 1 1 3 6–8 2 ≥5 ≥3 6 2–3 4 4 13 2 1 12 5 ≥4 ≥1 4 2–4 8 7 2 3 4 2 5–6 2

Pz MHt Msnry — 2 2 ≥2 2 1? 1? 1 0 0 1 1 ≥7 — ≥3 — — — — — 2 1 ≥2 1 2 1 1 1 ≥3 1 1 ≥3 2 1 — 1 1 2 3? 1 1 1 1 1 1

0.5 N 4.5 Y 3.0 Y 1.0 Y 2.0 N 2.5 Y 0.3 Y 1.0 Y 1.0 Y 2.5 Y 1.5 N 2.0 N 3.6 N 0.3 N 2.5 N 10.0 N