Social Dimensions of Food in the Prehistoric Balkans 1789250803, 9781789250800

Table of contents :
Cover
Book Title
Copyright
Contents
Introduction Philipp W. Stockhammer, Bogdan Athanassov and Maria Ivanova
1 ‘Herd’ mentality: László Bartosiewicz and Clive Bonsall
2 Neolithic taboos in Anatolia and southeast Europe: Nerissa Russell
3 Eating out: Food and social context in the Early Neolithic of Greece: Kostas Kotsakis
4 Breath of change: Food and pottery in the course of the Neolithic in northern Greece: Dushka Urem-Kotsou
5 Carcasses, ceramics, and cooking at Makriyalos I: Towards an integrated approach to human diet and commensality in Late Neolithic northern Greece: Valasia Isaakidou and Paul Halstead
6 Painted pottery and culinary practices: Use-alteration analysis of painted pottery from the site of Starčevo-Grad: Olga Bajčev
7 Feasting during the Early Neolithic of the central Balkans: The fauna from Blagotin, Serbia: Haskel J. Greenfield and Tina L. Jongsma-Greenfield
8 Of pits and bones: A ritual pit at the late Neolithic site of Sarnevo in Bulgarian Thrace: Krum Bacvarov and John Gorczyk
9 Foraging and food production strategies during the Early Neolithic in the Balkans-Carpathian area. The site of Bucova Pusta in Romanian Banat: Raiko Krauss, Bea De Cupere and Elena Marinova
10 ‘No quern, no food’? Milling technology and the spread of farming in southeast Europe: Maria Ivanova
11 Prehistoric agricultural toolkits in diachronic perspective: A case study from Bulgaria: Maria Gurova
12 Social dimensions of salt in the later prehistory of the eastern Balkans: Vassil Nikolov
13 Salt in European prehistory: Social and economic considerations: Anthony Harding
14 Plant-based food at Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age Drama, southeast Bulgaria: Continuity and innovations: Ralf Gleser and Elena Marinova
15 Food, status, and power: Animal production and consumption practices during the Carpathian Basin Bronze Age: Amy Nicodemus
16 Plant food from the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age hilltop site Kush Kaya, Eastern Rhodope Mountains, Bulgaria: Insights on the cooking practices: Hristo Popov, Elena Marinova, Ivanka Hristova and Stanislav Iliev
17 Food supply and disposal of food remains at Late Bronze and Early Iron Age Ada Tepe: Bioarchaeological aspects of food production, processing and consumption: Krassimir Nikov, Elena Marinova, Bea De Cupere, Ivanka Hristova, Yana Dimitrova, Stanislav Iliev and Hristo Popov
18 Hunting together: Social aspects of hunting at a 13th–12th century BC fortified site in southwestern Bulgaria: John Gorczyk, Bogdan Athanassov and Philipp W. Stockhammer
19 Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies in Aegean and Balkan prehistory: Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

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Social Dimensions of Food in the Prehistoric Balkans

Social Dimensions of Food in the Prehistoric Balkans

Edited by

Maria Ivanova, Bogdan Athanassov, Vanya Petrova, Desislava Takorova and Philipp W. Stockhammer

Oxford & Philadelphia

Published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by OXBOW BOOKS The Old Music Hall, 106–108 Cowley Road, Oxford OX4 1JE and in the United States by OXBOW BOOKS 1950 Lawrence Road, Havertown, PA 19083 © Oxbow Books and the individual contributors 2018 Hardback Edition: ISBN 978-1-78925-080-0 Digital Edition: ISBN 978-1-78925-081-7 (epub) A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Control Number: 2018951276

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Contents

Introduction: Social dimensions of food ...........................................................................vii Philipp W. Stockhammer, Bogdan Athanassov and Maria Ivanova 1

‘Herd’ mentality ............................................................................................................... 1 László Bartosiewicz and Clive Bonsall

2

Neolithic taboos in Anatolia and southeast Europe ................................................14 Nerissa Russell

3

Eating out: Food and social context in the Early Neolithic of Greece ..................31 Kostas Kotsakis

4

Breath of change: Food and pottery in the course of the Neolithic in northern Greece ........................................................................................................47 Dushka Urem-Kotsou

5

Carcasses, ceramics, and cooking at Makriyalos I: Towards an integrated approach to human diet and commensality in Late Neolithic northern Greece ...........................................................................................66 Valasia Isaakidou and Paul Halstead

6

Painted pottery and culinary practices: Use-alteration analysis of painted pottery from the site of Starčevo-Grad ..................................................86 Olga Bajčev

7

Feasting during the Early Neolithic of the central Balkans: The fauna from Blagotin, Serbia ...............................................................................109 Haskel J. Greenfield and Tina L. Jongsma-Greenfield

8

Of pits and bones: A ritual pit at the late Neolithic site of Sarnevo in Bulgarian Thrace .....................................................................................................141 Krum Bacvarov and John Gorczyk

9

Foraging and food production strategies during the Early Neolithic in the Balkans-Carpathian area. The site of Bucova Pusta in Romanian Banat .........................................................................157 Raiko Krauss, Bea De Cupere and Elena Marinova

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Contents

10 ‘No quern, no food’? Milling technology and the spread of farming in southeast Europe.................................................................................173 Maria Ivanova 11 Prehistoric agricultural toolkits in diachronic perspective: A case study from Bulgaria ........................................................................................190 Maria Gurova 12 Social dimensions of salt in the later prehistory of the eastern Balkans ..........215 Vassil Nikolov 13 Salt in European prehistory: Social and economic considerations .....................221 Anthony Harding 14 Plant-based food at Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age Drama, southeast Bulgaria: Continuity and innovations ....................................................230 Ralf Gleser and Elena Marinova 15 Food, status, and power: Animal production and consumption practices during the Carpathian Basin Bronze Age ...............................................248 Amy Nicodemus 16 Plant food from the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age hilltop site Kush Kaya, Eastern Rhodope Mountains, Bulgaria: Insights on the cooking practices .......263 Hristo Popov, Elena Marinova, Ivanka Hristova and Stanislav Iliev 17 Food supply and disposal of food remains at Late Bronze and Early Iron Age Ada Tepe: Bioarchaeological aspects of food production, processing and consumption ...............................................................278 Krassimir Nikov, Elena Marinova, Bea De Cupere, Ivanka Hristova, Yana Dimitrova, Stanislav Iliev and Hristo Popov 18 Hunting together: Social aspects of hunting at a 13th–12th century BC fortified site in southwestern Bulgaria ..............................................................300 John Gorczyk, Bogdan Athanassov and Philipp W. Stockhammer 19 Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies in Aegean and Balkan prehistory .......................................................320 Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Introduction: Social dimensions of food Philipp W. Stockhammer, Bogdan Athanassov and Maria Ivanova

What shall we eat? This basic question guides our everyday life when buying food, choosing cooking recipes, or sitting in a restaurant in front of the menu. Without any doubt, this question has successfully been resolved since the beginning of human existence, although the availability of food sometimes gave a quick answer to the question. In this introduction to the volume, we wish to very briefly reflect on approaches within archaeology as well as in Food Studies that have been applied in answering this question, for past and present humankind. We wish to further stimulate the integration of past and present studies on food so that both disciplines – archaeology and Food Studies – can profit from each other. The case studies presented in this volume should service as an inspiration in this respect. Our region of focus, the Balkans, has played a crucial role in the dissemination and translation of food practices from the Mediterranean, the Near East, and the Eurasian Steppes towards Central Europe, and vice versa, and is, therefore, essential for a deep historical perspective on Asian and European food practices. However, the available archaeological data has hardly been published in such a way that it could find the interest of the thriving discipline of Food Studies. Moreover, Balkan archaeology could benefit a lot from a novel perspective on food practices in prehistory, as we argue below. In the end, it is our aim to move away from traditional approaches to food, which see the Balkans as either a ‘bridge’ between the Orient and Europe or as a ‘buffer’ consisting of hostile entities lacking inter-regional cooperation (cf. Tringham 2000 for an overview). We want to implement a transcultural archaeology that integrates an archaeology of the senses, practice-oriented approaches, and cutting-edge scientific techniques. In our view, Food Studies can also benefit from Balkan prehistory. This area offers a unique geographical setting with alternating environments (ranging

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from Mediterranean via mountainous to steppe-like environments at rather short distances), heterogeneous research traditions, and cultural milieus, as well as an interesting mosaic of appropriation and rejection of food and related practices guided by the strong identity politics of territorial entities. Therefore, we hope that this volume inspires and entangles both of the above: Food Studies and the prehistoric archaeology of the Balkans.

Archaeological approaches to the study of food The topic of food has been at the centre of archaeological interest for a long time. In our understanding, it comprises all processes and practices of production and consumption of edible and drinkable substances by human beings. The central role of food-related practices for human development has already been of central importance for Vere Gordon Childe (2003 [1936]) in his definition of the Neolithic Revolution, as he took the change of subsistence strategies as a basis for defining the new epoch. Due to the notion that human past existence was a permanent struggle for survival, archaeological research has often focused on food from a functionalist perspective. In this line of thought, the consumption of food was generally reduced to the consumption of calories without taking a multisensorial perception of food into consideration. Human caloric requirements could easily be calculated for the present day and were understood as a timeless constant. Moreover, it was assumed that current calorific values of particular types of food are also valid for the past. These reference numbers, therefore, enabled an easy approach to the study of prehistoric food production and consumption. Following these approaches, past subsistence strategies were mostly seen through the lens of the meat output of herding strategies as well as the nutritional value of crops and their suitability to the respective climatic and soil condition. Subsistence strategies were mostly linked to the notion of maximum nutritional output. We would like to call this functionalist line of thought the ‘calorific approach’ to past consumption. It flourished in the Golden Age of processual archaeology (cf. Twiss 2007, 4–5 for an overview) and has remained popular until the present day – probably due to the fact that present-day people in the ‘western hemisphere’ are used to thinking about calorific values and calculating calories in their daily lives – so why not also calculate them for the past? Moreover, modern agrarian strategies are optimised for soil and climatic conditions in order to achieve maximum output – so why should humans have behaved differently in the past? Last but not least, calorific values and requirements have provided relatively safe grounds for further argumentation and comprehensive statistical calculations. The main challenges encountered in this approach are mostly due to two rather problematic presuppositions: firstly, past humans are reduced to rational decision makers who only thought about calories; secondly, present-day scholars project modern knowledge of soil climatic conditions as well as our concepts of nutrition and nutritional value into the past and suppose their timeless validity.

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At least since the 1980s, postmodern thinking has become more and more influential not only in Food Studies. Thus, voices became louder and finally dominant, which emphasized that food and food related practices could obtain a broad range of functions and meanings. This attitude became very prominent in one of the major publications of this period: Jack Goody’s book Cooking, Cuisine and Class. A Study in Comparative Sociology from 1982. There he defines eating as ‘a way of placing oneself in relation to others’ (Goody 1982, 37). Food and food related practices were now seen as means of symbolic communication in order to express individual or group identities. Food as a symbolic marker of identity has since then been of major interest within the field of Food Studies, which started being institutionalised in the late 20th century at universities worldwide (cf. Hamada et al. 2015). In this line of thought, anthropologists have been trying either to identify and understand the particular food practices of a given group of actors with a joint identity or – in contrast – to relate a certain way of food production or consumption to a particular kind of human identity. Since the advent of postmodernity, semiotic perspectives on food have also been very popular in prehistoric archaeology (Furholt and Stockhammer 2008) – also with regard to the interpretation of past foodways (Twiss 2007). It has been possible to identify local or regional patterns of food production and consumption, which were then explained as the expression of local or regional identities and as means of creating ethnic groups and related boundaries. This understanding of food as a means of sending messages in a conscious and/or unconscious way may be called the ‘semiotic approach’ to food in archaeology. For many archaeologists, food seemed to be one of the last stable grounds upon which to identify ethnic groups in the archaeological record. A very prominent example of this approach is found in the discussion about the pork-eating Philistines versus the pork-rejecting Israelite population at the Southern Levant in the Early Iron Age (Bunimovitz and Lederman 2008, 25). However, archaeological studies on food have mostly not been able to shed light on individual practices of food preparation (e.g. practices of cooking and spicing) or individual diets. This problem has been partially solved by the third, most recent perspective on food in archaeology, which one could call the ‘scientific approach’ (cf. Stockhammer 2016). This approach has gained more and more momentum since the 1990s, with the rise of scientific analyses that have enabled us to shed a completely new light on past culinary practices. The analyses of stable isotopes in bone material and of organic residues – especially different fats – in vessels have been established for more than a decade now (e.g. Heron and Evershed 1993; Evershed et al. 2008; Cramp and Evershed 2015). More recent analytical approaches are focusing on food remains in human dental calculus (Warinner et al. 2014; Warinner, Speller and Collins 2014). These studies were able to determine individual practices of consumption far beyond what had previously been conceivable. Defining three different approaches in archaeology towards food consumption naturally runs the risk of oversimplifying archaeology’s broad and dynamic perspective on food. Nevertheless, we are convinced that this rather simplified picture

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helps to better understand the potentials and problems of current archaeological approaches to food. In our view, archaeologists could furthermore profit by integrating insights from the thriving young discipline of Food Studies, which has become established in its own right just in the last decades and is considered to be a nexus between approaches to the study of food from formerly separated fields like anthropology, history, life sciences, and economy.

Approaches of the current field of Food Studies We have already mentioned that both the calorific approach and the semiotic approach in archaeology went hand in hand with contemporaneous perspectives in cultural and social sciences. However, the very vibrant and successful scientific approach does not find an equivalent in the current field of Food Studies. This discipline is much more related to current discussions in the cultural and social sciences. Moreover, Food Studies are still marked by their heterogeneity with regard to the scientific background of the scholars, the institutional background, and the array of approaches (Hamada et al. 2015). Nevertheless, there are two more or less recent approaches that might also be particularly attractive for archaeologists. The first approach emphasises culinary practices as dynamic processes, while stating that intercultural encounter is at the base of these processes, and could, therefore, be called the ‘transcultural approach’ in Food Studies. A transcultural approach aims to overcome a notion of culturally defined food practices within a territorial frame and emphasises that (food) cultures are invariably constituted by interaction, entanglement, and reconfiguration (e.g. Juneja and Falser 2013; Stockhammer and Forberg 2017). With regard to Food Studies, such a perspective argues against the existence of timeless and stable, national cuisines. Food was one of the first topics to be taken into account by early Globalization Studies, already in the late 1980s. Therefore, the topic played a crucial role in a field of research, which has meanwhile transformed into one of the crucial elements of Transcultural Studies. At first, food cultures seemed to be a hallmark of globalisation. It was assumed that globalisation would lead to a world-wide homogenisation of culinary practices and globalisation has consequently also been called ‘McDonaldization’ (Ritzer 1993). Then it became clear that globalisation leads to ever new heterogeneities and hybrids which result from the transformative dynamics of processes of appropriation triggered by encounters with foreign objects and practices. Again, Food Studies played a major role in this discussion, e.g. when Ayse Çaglar wrote in her article McDöner about the invention of the so-called Döner Kebab (Çaglar 1995). She could show that, in contrast to public opinion in Germany, Döner Kebab is not an ancient Turkish dish, but was invented in 1975 by a Turkish snack bar for German customers at the Bahnhof Zoo in Berlin. Çaglar pointed out the fact that even this kind of transcultural dish is immediately appropriated by particular identity groups and furnished with a new

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narrative in order to be used for self-identification and othering. Very similar results were already gained by Daniel Miller in his research on Coca Cola on the island of Trinidad, which he published in his most influential article Coca-Cola: A black sweet drink from Trinidad (Miller 1998). This interplay between food and globalisation is currently in the focus of several projects investigating the creation of narratives with regard to the origin, authenticity, and purity of food. The British anthropologist Harry West was asked by the association of the Portuguese slow-food industry to clarify, from a scientific perspective, how to best produce authentic Portuguese cheese and red wine (West 2011). West was not able to answer this question, but brought to light highly interesting processes of constructing narratives of authenticity and purity by the producers. Similar appropriations can be observed also in the Balkans, where particular dishes are considered hallmarks of traditional national Greek, Bulgarian, Serbian, or Romanian cuisine, even if they originated in Turkey and sometimes even bear their original Turkish name. To sum up: the ‘Transcultural Approach’ in Food Studies tries to avoid all notions of essentialism and emphasises local, individual culinary practices and their dynamics. Another prominent and promising line of thought in current Food Studies may be called the ‘Material Approach’, as it places its focus on the materiality of food. Following the approaches of Bruno Latour, Jane Bennett, and similar symmetric perspectives in current social sciences, food is perceived as an independent and powerful actor side by side with human actors (Latour 2007; Bennett 2010). In this line of thought, the focus was placed on human interaction with food beyond functional, nutritional, and semiotic perspectives. In 2013, Emma-Jayne Abbots and Anna Lavis stated in their edited volume Why We Eat, How We Eat: Contemporary Encounters Between Foods and Bodies: ‘In the act of placing food in the mouth, landscapes, people, objects and imaginings not only juxtapose with and fold into another, but are also reconstituted and reordered’ (Abbots and Lavis 2013, 5). Central to the discussion is, therefore, a holistic perception of food, integrating all senses. Smelling, feeling, tasting, and touching food becomes crucial in this approach. Being only a means of survival in the functionalist approaches of the postwar decades, food is considered an experience in contemporary research.

Entangling different approaches In our view, the archaeologists’ contribution to current Food Studies should be twofold: archaeology’s first contribution would be the addition of a long-term diachronic perspective to Food Studies, which have been rather dominated by a synchronous perspective. Accordingly, many phenomena are considered to be the outcome of the globalised postmodern world, whereas their deep history is not acknowledged. This is possibly also due to the fact that Bruno Latour’s Actor-Network-Theory, which is inspiring many current studies, only thinks synchronously (Latour 2007). Neglecting time as a relevant factor in the context of food and culinary practices, however,

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creates a major obstacle – both on the large and the small scale. A broad diachronic perspective is a prerequisite for understanding the genesis of transcultural phenomena and their historic depth. Hybrid food is not only the result of recent globalisation. Intercultural encounters and transcultural entanglement have always existed and exerted a major influence on the creation and transformation of culinary practices. The short diachronic perspective is necessary, as no other material object changes so dynamically through time as does food, while at the same time being so powerful. Its materiality as well as its substance can change very fast – food may become inedible or even poisonous after a few hours – or very slowly, when a desired flavour develops only after a long period of time. Food and time are inseparably interwoven. As we archaeologists are specialists in the diachronic approach, Food Studies could profit enormously from adding a deep historic perspective. Archaeology’s second contribution refers to the role of objects used to produce and consume food. Even if the materiality of food plays an important role in current approaches within Food Studies, the respective objects used to consume food have not been taken into consideration enough. Although a network approach is often explicitly taken as a basis for further reflections, objects used for the production and consumption of food – like knives, cups, plates, or bowls – are not included in these analyses, even though Norbert Elias has already argued for their prominent role in what he called the process of civilization (Elias 1939). However, these silent objects exert a major influence on how food is consumed, what can be consumed, and how the social act of eating and drinking is performed. These kinds of objects are most prominent in the archaeological record and in our research. They are sophistically analysed with regard to their possible functions and connected practices. If you really want to shed light on culinary practices in all their dimensions, these important mediators between food and mankind must be integrated into the analysis. We archaeologists are specialists for the material side of human existence and, therefore, we have the particular competence to make a major contribution to Food Studies. Not only do Food Studies stand to learn a lot from archaeology, but we archaeologists could also profit from discussing our archaeological evidence with input from Food Studies. First of all, Food Studies present a rich number of case studies which are valuable as a reminder, or as a good model, of how oversimplified interpretations are to be avoided. They show us that, in most cases, ‘rational’ thinking plays a much less important role in the process of decision making about what to produce and consume than is regularly assumed by archaeologists. Climatic conditions, soil, nutrition, or output are often less important than food taboos, individual taste, and shifting ideas in society about what is consumable and what is not. However, these important factors are much more difficult to take into consideration than are climatic conditions, soil quality, and calorific value, which can be calculated much more easily from a modern-day perspective. Secondly, Food Studies show us just how dynamic culinary practices are, and – at the same time – how easily (in this case: culinary) practices are traditionalised and

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essentialised by societies. Shifts in local culinary practices may, thus, inform us about processes of essentialising local culinary practices. We may think of sudden and sharp decreases in the consumption of certain foods or the standardisation of food production and consumption. Still, at this moment, Food Studies are quite far from supplying us with methodological approaches that can easily be transferred to the archaeological record. Nevertheless, they are eye-opening – for the interpretation of the record and for the necessity of further, interdisciplinary cooperation. We archaeologists have to consider the various aspects of food contrary to the shifting research paradigms of cultural anthropology. Functionalist and symbolic as well as scientific, transcultural, and actor-oriented approaches have to be integrated without falling back into simplistic or essentialist interpretations. We have to remember our strength, namely the diachronic perspective – in connection with the unique conjunction of large scale and small scale contextual analyses. No other field has such a wide range of methods available in order to approach the immediate materiality of food and its related objects. This is particularly due to the fact that archaeology most intensively integrates analytical methods from both the humanities and a broad range of scientific disciplines.

The volume The chapters in this book offer a wealth of perspectives on the prehistory of food, employing novel approaches to traditional fields of archaeological research such as architecture, lithic and pottery studies, palaeobotanical and faunal analysis, and physical anthropology. A number of contributions exploit a recent change of perspective in zooarchaeological research from reconstructing herd management to exploring the cultural and ritual dimensions of the human-animal relationship. In their chapter, Bartosiewicz and Bonsall draw attention to the obvious but often neglected fact that over ninety percent of archaeozoologists’ work revolves around the identification, analysis, and interpretation of leftovers of meat consumed under various circumstances, i.e. around ‘dead stock’ rather than livestock. Several other chapters closely follow these lines of thought. Drawing on ethnographic insights, Russell examines how food taboos aimed at animals can be inferred from prehistoric faunal assemblages, emphasising the essential importance of paying close attention to body part representation and minor taxa. Two further chapters use depositional context as a starting point to explore the ritual dimensions of meat consumption. Greenfield and Jongsma-Greenfield interpret a concentration of animal bones in a pit with unusual location, deposit type, and nature of contents, as the result of a feasting episode associated with the foundation of a ritual structure. A different ritual scenario is reflected in the pit deposits presented by Bacvarov and Gorczyk, where the nature of meat food refuse shows how people employed repetitive conspicuous deposition to extend the social value of food beyond consumption.

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Several chapters are dedicated to the prominent role of commensality in social life. Kotsakis draws attention to the social context of food consumption, arguing that the replacement of pit dwellings by solid aboveground houses observed at neolithic sites reflects a major shift from public food-sharing to hospitality inside the house – a change with far-reaching social consequences. In her chapter, Bajčev employs use-alteration analysis to pottery in order to test and reject the assumption that painted ware was a luxury intended for display and serving; in fact, painted vessels were used in various activities involved in food processing, including storage and preparation. Urem-Kotsou further elaborates on pottery as a source of information on food practices, using the morphology and style of ceramic vessels to infer gradual changes in cooking and consumption in the course of the Neolithic period in northern Greece, while Isaakidou and Halstead integrate the ceramic data with several further lines of macroscopic, microscopic, and isotopic evidence to reveal a wealth of complex commensal practices at different social scales. A prominent symbolic and social medium, food indisputably also has a major ecological dimension. The chapter by Krauss, De Cupere, and Marinova brings the environmental aspect into the discussion of prehistoric foodways, arguing on the basis of new archaeological, zooarchaeological, and archaeobotanical data from Romanian Banat for environmental adjustments in subsistence practices with the dispersal of farmers, crops, and livestock across the Balkans. In a similar vein, Ivanova explores how grinding tool morphology may reflect changes in the exploitation of cereals, and considers the possibility of using grinding tool assemblages to infer adjustments made to farming practices across environmental zones in the Balkans. Lithic tools are also central to the chapter of Gurova, whose long-term approach makes clear how changes in the shapes and uses of agricultural tools correlate with continuities and shifts in food practices. A number of contributions deal with the employment of food in the negotiation of social status and wealth. For example, Nikolov interprets salt trade as central to the so called ‘Varna phenomenon’ of exceptionally rich burials. The relationship between salt production and wealth is central also in Harding’s chapter, which deals with the various scales of salt production and use: from a household-level produced commodity, as was usually the case in Bronze Age Europe, to a source for the accumulation of wealth and prestige, as seen in the Hallstatt Early Iron Age burials in the Austrian Alps. Harding’s reference to written and ethnographic sources gives a glimpse of various symbolic connotations of salt, which unfortunately remain invisible in the archaeological record. The links between food and social status in the Bronze Age are the topic of the chapter by Nicodemus, observing that a considerable change in the animal husbandry practiced in the tell site of Pecica in the 19th century BC coincided with population growth, differentiation between on- and off-tell households, the appearance of public architecture, and with feasting deposits. The author sees these processes as an indication of the creation of regional hierarchies and political and economic centralisation.

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The dynamism of culinary practices has a central place in Gleser and Marinova’s chapter, who approach the study of continuity and innovations in the Eastern Balkan Copper and Early Bronze Ages through the prism of faunal and botanical evidence. New bioarchaeological evidence is also presented in the review of Popov and colleagues on the Late Bronze Age (LBA) and Early Iron Age (EIA) settlement Kush Kaya in the Rhodope mountains. The mountains of the Rhodope, which, on a geographical map, appear as a barrier between the Mediterranean and the Balkan inland, unravel as a quite fruitful space for the transcultural study of food choices. Further novel research is presented in the chapter from Nikov and colleagues, offering the first archaeobotanical and archaeozoological study of a metal-mining site in southeast Europe. Mediterranean plants such as figs and melon in Ada Tepe show that food and gold might have been traded over the same exchange networks. A quite intriguing avenue of investigation is related to the question of innovation – in both metallurgy and food practices. While, in Ada Tepe, only a minor amount of the consumed fauna consisted of wild animals, the LBA fortified settlement of Bresto in the Western Rhodope mountains yielded high numbers of red deer bones. Gorczyk, Athanassov, and Stockhammer reject the possibility that increased hunting was related to the practice of resource buffering in difficult times and prefer to see hunting and the joint processing of hunted meat as a communal activity by which the inhabitants of Bresto maintained social solidarity at a time when the pull toward hierarchisation was strong. Finally, Rosenstock and Scheibner’s study of human prehistoric adult body height highlights different trends in the Aegean and Balkans during the Mesolithic, Neolithic, Copper, and Bronze Ages. Insofar as human height is not only influenced by food (especially protein content), but also by other processes such as the migration of genes, the authors’ discussion takes into consideration a plethora of processes, such as population dispersal from the Near East in the Neolithic or migration of people from the Pontic steppes in the Bronze Age.

Acknowledgements This book originated from a conference held at the Heidelberg Academy of Sciences in May of 2015. We gratefully acknowledge the financial and logistical support of the Heidelberg Academy for the organisation of this meeting. The editing and publication of the present volume would not have been possible without the generous subsidy granted by the Heidelberg Academy. We are deeply indebted to all colleagues who reviewed the book chapters for their constructive critique, and in particular to Professor Joseph Maran for his continuous support from the very conception of the idea for this volume to the finished book. Nicolas Jansens is thanked for language editing and Julie Gardiner for editorial support. The research of Philipp Stockhammer on social dimensions of food is part of his ERC Starting Grant project ‘FoodTransforms: Transformations of food in the Eastern Mediterranean Late Bronze Age’ (ERC-2015-StG 678901-FoodTransforms) funded by the European Research Council.

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References Abbots, E. and Lavis, A. (2013) Contours of eating: Mapping the terrain of body/food encounters. In E. Abbots and A. Lavis (eds.) Why We Eat, How We Eat: Contemporary Encounters between Foods and Bodies, 1-12. Farnham, Ashgate. Bennett, J. (2010) Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham, Duke University Press. Bunimovitz, S. and Lederman, Z. (2008) A border case: Beth-Shemesh and the rise of ancient Israel. In L. L. Grabbe (ed.), Israel in Transition: From Late Bronze II to Iron IIa (c. 1250–850 B.C.E.). Vol. 1. The Archaeology. European Seminar in Historical Methodology 7, 21–31. New York; London, T&T Clark. Çaglar, A. (1995) McDöner: Döner Kebab and the social positioning struggle of German Turks. In J. Costa (ed.) Marketing in a Multicultural World. Ethnicity, Nationalism, and Cultural Identity, 209–230. Thousand Oaks, Sage Publications. Childe, V. G. (2003) Man Makes Himself. With a new foreword by Mark Edmonds. Nottingham, Spokesman. Cramp, L. J. and Evershed, R. P. (2015) Reading the residues: The use of chromatographic and mass spectrometric techniques for reconstructing the role of kitchen and other domestic vessels in Roman Antiquity. In M. Spataro and A. Villing (eds.) Ceramics, Cuisine and Culture: The Archaeology and Science of Kitchen Pottery in the Ancient Mediterranean World, 125–40. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Elias, N. (1939) Über den Prozess der Zivilisation. Soziogenetische und psychogenetische Untersuchungen. Basel, Haus zum Falken. Evershed, R. P. et al. (2008) Earliest date for milk use in the Near East and southeastern Europe linked to cattle herding. Nature 455, 528–531. Furholt, M. and Stockhammer, P. W. (2008) Wenn stumme Dinge sprechen sollen: Gedanken zu semiotischen Ansätzen in der Prähistorischen Archäologie. In M. Butter, R. Grundmann and C. Sanchez (eds.) Zeichen der Zeit: Interdisziplinäre Perspektiven zur Semiotik, 59–71. Frankfurt am Main, Lang. Goody, J. (1982) Cooking, cuisine and class: A study in comparative sociology. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Hamada, S., Wilk, R., Logan, A., Minard, S. and Trubek, A. (2015) The future of Food Studies. Food, Culture & Society 18 (1), 167–186. Heron, C. and Evershed, R. P. (1993) The analysis of organic residues and the study of pottery use. In M. B. Schiffer (ed.) Archaeological Method and Theory 5, 247–284. Tucson, University of Arizona Press. Juneja, M. and Falser, M. (2013) Kulturerbe – Denkmalpflege: Transkulturell. Eine Einleitung. In M. Falser (ed.) Kulturerbe und Denkmalpflege Transkulturell: Grenzgänge zwischen Theorie und Praxis. Architekturen 12, 15–32. Bielefeld, Transcript. Latour, B. (2007) Eine neue Soziologie für eine neue Gesellschaft. Einführung in die Akteur-Netzwerk-Theorie. Frankfurt am Main, Suhrkamp. Miller, D. (1998) Coca-Cola: A black sweet drink from Trinidad. In D. Miller (ed.), Material Cultures: Why Some Things Matter, 169–188. London, UCL Press. Ritzer, G. (1993) The McDonaldization of Society: An Investigation Into the Changing Character of Contemporary Social Life. Thousand Oaks, Pine Forge Press. Stockhammer, P. W. (2016) Past food for thought: The potential of archaeology. Gastronomica: The Journal of Critical Food Studies 16 (3), 91–101. Stockhammer, P. W. and Forberg, C. (2017) The transformative power of the copy: An interdisciplinary and transcultural approach: Introduction. In C. Forberg and P. W. Stockhammer (eds.) The Transformative Power of the Copy: A Transcultural and Interdisciplinary Approach. Heidelberg Studies on Transculturality 2, 1–17. Heidelberg, Heidelberg University Publishing. Tringham, R. (2000) Southeastern Europe in the transition to agriculture in Europe: Bridge, buffer, or mosaic. In T. D. Price (ed.) Europe’s First Farmers, 19–56. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

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Twiss, K. C. (2007) We are what we eat. In K. C. Twiss (ed.) The Archaeology of Food and Identity, 1–15. Carbondale, Center for Archaeological Investigations, Southern Illinois University. Warinner, C., Hendy, J., Speller, C., Cappellini, E., Fischer, R., Trachsel, C., Arneborg, J., Lynnerup, N., Craig, O. E., Swallow, D. M., Fotakis, A., Christensen, R. J., Olsen, J. V., Liebert, A., Montalva, N., Fiddyment, S., Charlton, S., Mackie, M., Canci, A., Bouwman, A., Rühli, F., Gilbert, M. T. P. and Collins M. J. (2014) Direct evidence of milk consumption from ancient human dental calculus. Scientific Reports 4. https://doi.org/10.1038/srep07104 (Accessed 4th December, 2014). Warinner, C., Speller, C. and Collins, M. J. (2014) A New Era in Paleomicrobiology: Prospects for Ancient Dental Calculus as a Long-Term Record of the Human Oral Microbiome. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society B 370. http://dx.doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2013.0376. West, H. G. (2011) Thinking like a cheese: Towards an ecological understanding of the reproduction of knowledge in contemporary artisan cheesemaking. In R. Ellen, S. J. Lycett and S. E. Johns (eds.), Understanding Cultural Transmission in Anthropology: A Critical Synthesis, 320–345. Oxford, Berghahn Books.

Chapter 1 ‘Herd’ mentality László Bartosiewicz and Clive Bonsall

Introduction Identifying animal remains and interpreting their potential meanings has been indispensable in reconstructing the socio-cultural dimensions of prehistoric life. Archaeozoology was born when Japetus Steenstrup, a member of a multidisciplinary research team, realised that shell banks along the Danish coast were not natural deposits, but ‘kitchen middens’ (køkkenmøddinger) accumulated by prehistoric human activity (Forchhammer et al. 1851–1856). Animal remains thus attained cultural meaning. Køkkenmødding, an internationally used technical term at the time (e.g. Wyman 1868; Steenstrup 1886) was an accurate definition long before the architectural concept of kitchen developed, as it expressed the primary aspect of such archaeological deposits: consumption. At the same time, studying later prehistoric animal remains from pile dwellings, Rütimeyer (1861) titled his pioneering study Die Fauna der Pfahlbauten der Schweiz. In doing so, he inadvertently introduced the far broader term ‘fauna’ into archaeozoology. Being suggestive of an all-encompassing capacity, this term has had a potential for over-interpretation only recognised well over a century later (Thomas 1996, 2). Modern archaeozoology, emerging after World War II across Europe, continued as an applied discipline. Issues of domestication and the mediation of domesticates through demic diffusion dominated the agenda. Natural scientists, such as palaeontologists and veterinary anatomists were commissioned to identify animal bones from cultural contexts, i.e. archaeological sites, many of them eventually becoming full-time specialists in this area. They typically produced zoological chapters appended to site reports not particularly integrated within the archaeological discussion. There was a strong emphasis on the biological reconstruction of prehistoric animals that these professionals were best trained to carry out. References to food were seldom made.

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By the 1960s, proponents of processual archaeology (formerly ‘New Archaeology’) began integrating this valuable information with bona fide archaeological observations in two ways: environmental archaeology treated animal remains among ecofacts (Schiffer 1987) as indicators of past environments, while economic archaeology attempted to include zoological ‘modules’ into complex subsistence models (Higgs 1972). From the viewpoint of post-Palaeolithic archaeology, it is noteworthy that both approaches considered domestic animals within a broad context. In much the same way as biostratigraphy in palaeontology has relied on the fauna reflecting long term climate change, environmental interpretations of domestic animal remains generally disregarded the capacity for animal adaptation as well as the arbitrary movement of domesticates by humans (Bartosiewicz 2013a). Archaeologists of economic orientation targeted herd management as a tenet in reconstructing the emergence of productive economies. What both schools of thought failed to emphasise was that over ninety percent of the archaeozoologists’ work revolves around the identification, analysis, and interpretation of food remains, leftovers of meat consumed under various circumstances and on various occasions. A minority of finds tend to be considered ‘ritual’ on the basis of patterns contradicting mundane utilisation for food (e.g. animal burials) or are recognised as the by-product of various stages in craft activity, such as bone manufacturing or tanning.

Indirect reconstructions of meat consumption Following domestication, most meat undeniably originated from herds and its consumption correlated with the combinations in which animals were husbanded. Notwithstanding this, excavated animal bones tend to represent cumulative primary evidence of simple meals, rather than ‘faunas’ or domestic ‘herds’. A logical leap between production and consumption has rarely been recognised. In contrast to lithic studies, mental re-fitting seems straightforward in the case of animal remains: the individual skeleton is a well-known biological entity in which even tiny identifiable fragments can be safely localised. On this basis, since the 1950s efforts have been made to estimate the minimum number of individuals (MNI) from commingled animal remains. The formula developed by Theodor White (1953) – a palaeontologist by training who closely cooperated with anthropologists in the USA (Lyman 2016) – began as an honest attempt to reconstruct meat consumption in an ethnographic setting. However, when adopted in archaeology, MNI calculations rapidly developed a life of their own. Disregarding the mathematical contradiction inherent in the use of a minimum that does not exclude any value above itself, the calculated numbers were mechanically multiplied with the likewise estimated average body mass of individuals in each animal species in question, dividing the results by the putative per capita meat consumption of humans. The results were then built into mechanistic subsistence

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models based on the optimisation of modes of production. Disregarding variability at each stage of such estimates results in exponentially increasing, uncontrollable cumulative bias. Some such functional models were aimed at estimating the sizes of animal and human populations, site catchment areas, and the like, based on meagre osteological evidence: refuse from meat consumption. While the logic of this reasoning was simple and clear, the equation had far too many unknowns. Moreover, archaeological sites can by no means be considered closed systems in which such calculations would be relevant. Recently, Marciniak (2014, 193) has directed attention to the fundamental difference between living and dead populations, noting that the latter could be used in reconstructing ‘herds’ only in cases of sudden, catastrophic deaths, when all individuals at a given time would be reliably represented in the resulting deposit. The Early Modern Age example of Fort Ligonier in Pennsylvania (Guilday 1970) is well worth considering here. In contrast to prehistoric settlements, this site looked ideal, with a known history and documented numbers of inhabitants. Although Guilday’s analysis did not concern herding itself, the method followed was identical with the reconstruction of prehistoric meat diets through the calculation of the numbers of individuals. There were over 4500 identifiable bones in an assemblage of 40,000 animal remains. Using MNI calculations, the estimated amount of meat consumed at the garrison was 4000 lb (Guilday 1970). Guilday then began dividing this amount by the documented c. 2364 days of occupancy of the garrison and the widely fluctuating numbers of personnel (8 to 4000) within this period. Calculating with a generous 1 lb per diem field ration of meat, Figure 1.1 shows for how many days the total of 4000 lb of meat would have lasted as a function of the number of occupants recorded at known dates during the fort’s written history. The estimated 4000 lb of meat would have covered only a fraction of dietary requirements during the fort’s history. The liquid results led Guilday (1970, 186) to conclude that, ‘calculations such as these are patently ridiculous.’ Instead he tried to direct attention to qualitative aspects of the material, such as the relative importance of various animals in the military diet. In spite of his early warning, similar calculations have persisted, using far Figure 1.1: Potential daily meat supplies covered less controllable prehistoric data where by 4000 lb of meat (1 lb field rations) as a function precise time boundaries or fluctuations of changing occupancy at Fort Ligonier. Dates of in the human population could not even known personnel are shown in italics, 1759 data shaded (raw data: Guilday 1970). be guessed at.

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Secondary products A sophisticated approach to herd management developed with the interpretation of dental ages reflecting kill-off patterns of present-day sheep and goats, as documented by Payne (1973). Systematically slaughtering certain age cohorts is related to the ways herds are exploited: producing renewable resources such as milk, wool, or labour (‘secondary products’; Sherratt 1981) is conducive to longevity in livestock. Killing the young, on the other hand, may have a wide range of motivations, more complex than humans competing for milk with suckling animals, as has sometimes been hypothesised.1 Payne himself also recognised a technical weakness of his models: ‘Unfortunately sheep and goat mandibles cannot at present be reliably distinguished … despite possible differences between man’s use of the two animals at the same site. (The same problem exists if data on epiphyseal fusion are used, as in most cases unfused sheep and goat bones cannot be reliably separated.).’ This problem deserves a brief review of the valuable efforts made to solve it. Early work on the distinction between sheep and goat bones by Cornevin and Lesbre (1891) was followed by studies in the Julius Kühn Sammlung (Jena, Germany) by Boessneck et al. (1964; Boessneck 1969). Prummel and Frisch (1986) tested the same criteria on 13 sheep and four goat skeletons. Clutton-Brock et al. (1990) compared bones of Soay sheep and feral goats. Zeder and Lapham (2010) studied several age cohorts of wild, domestic, and feral caprines from different regions in the world. Among the long bones, distinguishing between distal tibia fragments has remained problematic since an early study by Kratochvíl (1969). Given the key role dental ageing has played in reconstructing herd management, distinguishing between sheep and goat teeth began rather late (Payne 1985; Helmer 2000; Halstead et al. 2002; Balasse and Ambrose 2005). Using 121 mandibles from present-day sheep and goats, Zeder and Pilaar (2010, 237) confirmed that teeth were unreliable in species identification: only third deciduous [pre] molars (already pinpointed by Payne 1985) were of diagnostic value. Aside from the taxonomic aspect, identifying the sex of young animals would be a key to understanding age-related culling. Sexing bone fragments is limited to a few dimorphic characters in sexually mature animals. Even these elements are difficult to tell apart before sexual hormones begin affecting growth in adolescent individuals, the possibility of early castration often further confusing metric differentiation between the bones of females and males (Bartosiewicz et al. 1997). The final methodological contradiction is that, when the relatively small fraction of ageable remains is broken down by conscientiously identified sex and (in the case of caprines) species, sample sizes tend to be drastically reduced. Nevertheless, calculating kill-off patterns has spread like wildfire among faunal analysts hard pressed to produce archaeologically tangible results. Recently, Greenfield (2014) has published a critical review of these problems.

Taphonomy and sample size Taphonomic loss often remains undiscussed in reconstructions of herd management. Ancient human activity, however, further confounds ‘the passage from the biosphere

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into the lithosphere … a result of many interlaced geological and biological phenomena’ (Efremov 1940). The younger the individual slaughtered, the less resistant are its bones, as mineral content increases through maturity. Selective preservation thus stands in the way of realistically estimating ‘herd structure’ in far too many cases. Although teeth are more resistant to most taphonomic agents, small deciduous teeth instrumental in reconstructing age profiles are largely missed when retrieval is limited to hand collection, as has been the case at the overwhelming majority of excavations in the Balkans and adjacent areas. Some of these nagging issues can be partially remedied by studying unusually large series of assemblages in which the law of large numbers somewhat compensates for such methodological shortcomings. In a comprehensive review of Early Neolithic data from our research area, Greenfield (2008) has shown that non-measurable taphonomic effects (including contemporary bias caused by partial recovery and scanty publication) result in a reduced and, thus, potentially non-representative subset of data for the purposes of herd reconstruction. Alternatively, critically biased variables (e.g. underrepresented animals, broad taxonomic categories) can be excluded from comparative studies. Thus, more numerous cases are available for study, but considerable detail is lost (Orton 2012). Meta-analyses of Neolithic archaeozoological data (e.g. Bartosiewicz 2005; Conolly et al. 2011; Bréhard and Bălăşescu 2012; Manning et al. 2013) have not only repeatedly exposed this dilemma, but also directed our attention to the effect of assemblage sizes. This key parameter is either largely ignored or simply conflated between several assemblages of widely varying sizes. The latter solution is less prone to bias, as individual sites contribute according to their actual size. Pooling percentages without consistently paying attention to underlying assemblage sizes, however, can be as misleading as publishing archaeological photographs without a scale. Having, thus, a bird’s eye view on regional details may lead to misinterpretations such as erroneously quoting ‘the evidence of a mixedherding strategy with an emphasis on cattle herding at the Karanovo or StarčevoKörös-Criş sites’ (Manning et al. 2013, 249). Broadly based analyses of, especially, the Körös culture in the Carpathian Basin (Vörös 1980; Bökönyi 1989; 1992; Bartosiewicz 2005) have long shown that the inhabitants of small and dispersed Early Neolithic (6000–5000 cal BC) settlements in this region focused on maintaining their subsistence on sheep and goats that had developed in a very different environment, in southwest Asia and southeast Europe (Whittle 2005, 68). Further south in the Balkans, this preference persists even in the Late Neolithic layers at Karanovo, Bulgaria (Bökönyi and Bartosiewicz 1998; Bartosiewicz 2005, 55, Fig. 6.4). As a rule of thumb, Bökönyi (personal communication to Bartosiewicz) suggested that animal bone assemblages could be considered representative only when they exceed five hundred identifiable bones. However, even smaller samples need to be documented and may carry invaluable information. Quite often, this is the only information available, as was the case in the Early Neolithic cave sites in Dalmatia and several others in the Karst along the Adriatic, where the focus was similarly on

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Figure 1.2: The percentual composition of assemblages as a function of sample size. The number of identifiable specimens (NISP) ≥ 500 threshold is marked by shading. Diagonals in the graphs are used to visualise the inverse relationship between assemblage size and the contribution of game to the diet (2a) and the main trend of increasing caprine contribution to large samples (2b).

exploiting caprines (Bonsall et al. 2013; McClure and Podrug 2016). In Figure 1.2b, these assemblages were combined with Körös culture samples from the Great Hungarian Plain to demonstrate the effect of assemblage size on the relative contribution of caprines to meat diets during the early Neolithisation of Europe. Starčevo assemblages from the Iron Gates region are also shown in Figure 1.2. Bones of birds and fish, however, have not been included, as their skeletal anatomy and fragmentation strongly differ from those of mammals (Bartosiewicz and Gál 2007; Lyman 2015). To ease the mental transformation of herds into diet, a terminological distinction between ‘meals’ and middens was used at the limit of number of identifiable specimens (NISP) ≥ 500. Even if not literally the remains of single meals, small assemblages have the potential of reflecting only occasional meat consumption. After all, the number of bones exceeds one hundred in a single mammalian skeleton, prior to fragmentation. Owing to considerable differences between assemblage sizes encompassing several orders of magnitude, decimal logarithms of NISP were used in Figure 1.2 to aid visual comprehension. Figure 1.2a puts the recurring topos that hunting played a major role in meat provisioning at Early Neolithic sites (Bökönyi 1989; Orton 2012) in perspective: bones from game exceed 50 % almost exclusively in small cave assemblages from the Trieste Karst, also characterised by a minimal contribution of caprine remains (Bonsall et al. 2013, 157). The taxonomic compositions of these assemblages of around two hundred

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identifiable bones are more prone to random bias than the evidence of thousands of animal remains. In addition, when expressed in percentages, rare species attain a disproportionately large share in very small assemblages. Undeniably, however, such deposits may in fact represent rare opportunistic hunting at a time when eating meat from domesticates was far more typical at open-air settlements. Of the latter, only two assemblages stand out in the Great Hungarian Plain. At the unique site of Nosa-Biserna Obala, Serbia, bones of wild ass contributed heavily to the game count (Bökönyi 1984), while Ibrány-Nagyerdő, on the northernmost edge of the Körös culture area, yielded an assemblage of only 113 mammalian bones, including those of game. In addition, there were osteological signs of active fishing at this site in the form of unusually large pike bones (Bartosiewicz 2013a). Most sites in the Iron Gates gorge form a separate cluster, based on the significant contribution of game to diets even in midden-size assemblages, indicative of the more than occasional consumption of wild animals. This falls in line with the very special character of this microregion during the Early Neolithic. Figure 1.2b shows a less clear trend, although middens of statistically more reliable size (NISP ≥ 500) tend to be consistently dominated by the remains of caprines. Analyses of Körös culture sites in Hungary have shown a statistically significant, positive correlation between assemblage size and the percentage of caprine remains (Spearman rank correlation: Rs = 0.596, P = 0.032; Bartosiewicz 2012, 201) and numerous assemblages from open-air sites in Dalmatia (where the warmer and drier environment is better suited to raising both sheep and goats compared to the wetlands of the Great Hungarian Plain) reflect the same trend, as shown in Figure 1.2b. A notable exception from caprine dominance is the group of assemblages representing the broader Iron Gates region. Of these, only the site of MihajlovacKnjepiste stands out, with over 50 % caprine remains, because it is actually located in the Danube floodplain in Serbia, over 40 km downstream from the Iron Gates gorge. Two other Early Neolithic assemblages from the region – the eponymous site of Starčevo, Serbia, some 120 km upriver from the Iron Gates gorge, and Schela Cladovei, 7 km downstream from the gorge – also show slightly higher (15–20 %) contributions of sheep and goat to meat diets than middens located within the gorge.

Alternatives to direct ‘herd reconstruction’ in archaeozoology The unsurprising assertion that primary archaeozoological evidence represents dead stock rather than livestock, and should be approached accordingly, is not discouraging. With herds in the background, interpreting meat consumption today has a fertile interdisciplinary research environment in which a variety of observations can be fine-tuned in combination with traditional osteomorphological information. Dietary stable isotopes show the direct impact of nutrition on the skeleton. While the osseous remains of different vertebrate classes (fish, birds, mammals) are difficult to compare quantitatively to each other, owing to differences in their taphonomic

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properties, the imprint of aquatic and terrestrial resources of meat in human bone collagen is a reliable indicator of main trends in the diet. Although, at this point, relatively coarse-grained distinctions are possible between terrestrial and aquatic sources of meat, these not only correlate with archaeozoological observations, but also offer an opportunity to integrate general information on the effects of plant and animal-based diets. At Schela Cladovei in the Iron Gates gorge, Late Mesolithic and Early Neolithic (Starčevo-Criş culture) occupation was dated to c. 7100–5600 cal BC (Bonsall 2008). Carbon and nitrogen isotopic compositions of Mesolithic human bone collagen resulted in δ13C and δ15N values significantly higher than expected for a terrestrial-based animal and plant diet, indicating that much of the animal protein was derived from aquatic resources (Bonsall et al. 1997; 2000).2 Zoological finds from the 1992 and 1996 excavations showed a massive contribution of fish remains to the assemblage (Bartosiewicz et al. 2001). This research is also related to studying reservoir effects on radiocarbon dating caused by the consumption of aquatic diets, including anadromous great sturgeon. Osteological evidence suggests that these fish were specifically targeted during the Late Mesolithic of the Iron Gates (Bartosiewicz et al. 2008). With the onset of Neolithisation, however, the intake of aquatic food resources declined, but was still significant. The necessity of collating complementary research results between isotopic techniques and hands-on osteology is mutual. Although increasingly refined kill-off models may be indicative of a slight shift in focus toward milk production through the later Neolithic (e.g. Vigne and Helmer 2007), only the direct evidence of milk residue is a reliable indicator of dairying. Remains of bovid milk have now been identified on pottery sherds from the very beginning of the European Neolithic (Craig et al. 2005; Evershed et al. 2008), although chemical distinction between sheep, goat and cattle milk is often unreliable, possibly due to the use of the same vessel for all three. Precise ageing data for domesticates, highly refined in an effort to investigate herd management strategies, will not be wasted, either. They can be profitably used in reconstructing seasonal cycles in Neolithic diets in relation to complementary sources of animal protein (Pike-Tay et al. 2004; Helmer et al. 2005). As for archaeological interpretations, an important social aspect of slaughtering livestock is communal consumption, necessitated by the sheer size of cattle and even pigs, unless large-scale meat preservation can be proven. It is reasonable to assume that, along with meat from large game, beef and pork were routinely consumed by communities above the household level (Halstead 2007). Special cases may indicate prestige expressed through conspicuous communal consumption (Vörös 1987; Russell 1998). These phenomena seem like plausible explanations for stark differences between small, short-lived settlements consisting of clusters of pits of the earliest Neolithic in the Balkans and Carpathian Basin (presented in Fig. 1.2) and long-term settlements in subsequent periods, best represented by tell sites and surrounding settlement, including loci for periodic congregations that may have involved feasting on large stock. The meaning of young animal bone in middens is also significant,

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as, depending on the situation, eating the meat of immature individuals may be considered alternatively a luxury or contingency. Between these extremes, it is also possible that some peoples simply preferred eating tender meat. It must also be remembered that meat from different animal species has very different odours and flavours. As these are largely carried by fat, they will become stronger in older, fattier individuals. Aromas, such as the strong flavour of mutton, were more than likely to have played a role in reinforcing culturally determined tastes rarely ruled by rational considerations (Bartosiewicz 1997). Long-term insistence on subsisting on sheep may be an indication of an acquired taste that persisted among prehistoric immigrant populations. It still remains a question as to what extent our ancestors cared about optimising the sources of their caloric intake in the form of animal protein.

Semantics of ancient meat consumption The realistic reconstruction of herding strategies is stonewalled by talking in terms of individuals and populations while such results are frequently calculated from handfuls of teeth and disarticulated bone fragments, meagre leftovers of meat consumption. Why should we be lost in a jargon pegged down to herding, too frequently having to read between the lines the actual meaning of animal remains from archaeological sites? Focusing on meat consumption and its taphonomic as well as social implications would help directly in answering research questions. The resulting better understanding of the social dimensions of meat in prehistory would also be of help in clarifying more hidden aspects of animal-human relationships beyond issues of diet. While evolving herding strategies became inseparably entangled with social and cultural issues during prehistory, it needs to be recognised that such strategies can only be seen through the strong cultural filter of meat consumption. No major western language is better equipped to articulate this important dilemma than English, increasingly the lingua franca of scholarly communication. With the notable exception of horse, under the influence of Old French, many meat names in English have diverged from the terms denoting the animal itself. The term ‘meal’ used for small assemblages in Figure 1.2 is metaphoric. However, speaking of beef, pork, or mutton instead of cattle, pig, or sheep, when appropriate, would conceptually distance our data – food refuse – from the ‘herds’ that, beginning with the Neolithic, indisputably served as the main source of meat. Whenever possible, careful wording should express this fundamental distinction in scholarly narrative.

Conclusions Production-driven terminology has dominated the discourse in archaeozoology. Relieving ourselves from the pressure of having to envision herds (as suggested by expressions such as ‘animal keeping’, ‘herd management’, and ‘husbandry’), even small numbers of animal remains can be reliably interpreted as food refuse, while

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theoretical reconstructions of ‘management systems’ can only be attempted on the basis of animal bone assemblages numbering at least several thousands of carefully collected identifiable remains. It is these large bodies of data in which numbers can be broken down not only by species and body part, but also by age cohorts, and even the rare sexable bones occur in numbers that can be meaningfully interpreted. Even limiting the discussion of herding to special cases, the one-by-one identification of animal remains retains importance and has new perspectives. However, the main emphasis needs to be shifted from production to consumption directly reflected by the primary evidence of animal remains. In combination with sophisticated laboratory analyses, traditional archaeozoology does provide invaluable information on diet in household archaeology and in the evaluation of complex phenomena such as feasting. This is a historic review of methods, interpretations and arguments, which is by no means a criticism of works in their own time. Ground-breaking efforts to study herd management strategies have contributed to a better knowledge of how the expert analysis of animal bones can aid the solution of major archaeological problems. The picture needs to be continually refined, including the consistent use of a more precise terminology.

Notes 1 The visual and tactile presence of the young is a stimulus in the dam’s milk let-down mechanism, a reflex that has only recently been manipulated in animal breeding. 2 In principle, the regular consumption of animals that subsist on quantities of fish or shellfish (e.g. waterfowl, otter, dog, or domestic pig) could increase δ13C and δ15N values in human bone collagen. The effect of weaning on the isotope signatures of suckling animals in relation to their contribution to the diet is still to be understood.

References Balasse, M. and Ambrose, S. H. (2005) Distinguishing sheep and goats using dental morphology and stable isotopes in C4 grassland environments. Journal of Archaeological Science 32, 691–702. Bartosiewicz, L. (1997) This little piggy went to market … An archaeozoological study of modern meat values. Journal of European Archaeology 5.1, 170–182. Bartosiewicz, L. (2005) Plain talk: Animals, environment and culture in the Neolithic of the Carpathian Basin and adjacent areas. In D. Bailey, A. Whittle, and V. Cummings (eds.) (Un)settling the Neolithic, 51–63. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Bartosiewicz, L. (2012) Mammalian remains from Körös culture sites in Hungary. In A. Anders and Zs. Siklósi (eds.) The First Neolithic Sites in Central/South-East European Transect. Volume III: The Körös Culture in Eastern Hungary. British Archaeological Reports International Series S2334, 195–204. Oxford, British Archaeological Reports. Bartosiewicz, L. (2013a) Traditional archaeozoology and prehistoric environments. In S. Kadrow and P. Włodarczak (eds.) Environment and Subsistence – Forty Years after Janusz Kruk’s “Settlement Studies….” Studien zur Archäologie in Ostmitteleuropa 11, 349–358. Rzeszów, Institute of Archaeology Rzeszów University, and Bonn, Rudolf Habelt. Bartosiewicz, L. (2013b) Early Neolithic fishing in the Middle Tisza region, Hungary. Archaeofauna 22, 133–144.

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Bartosiewicz, L. and Gál, E. (2007) Sample size and taxonomic richness in mammalian and avian bone assemblages from archaeological sites. Archeometriai Műhely 4.1, 37–44. Bartosiewicz, L., van Neer, W., and Lentacker, A. (1997) Draught Cattle: Their Osteological Identification and History. Annalen / Koninklijk Museum voor Midden-Afrika, Zoologische Wetenschappen 281. Tervuren, Koninklijk Museum voor Midden-Afrika. Bartosiewicz, L., Bonsall, C., Boroneanţ, V. and Stallibrass, S. (2001) New data on the prehistoric fauna of the Iron Gates: A case study from Schela Cladovei, Romania. In R. Kertész and J. Makkay (eds.) From the Mesolithic to the Neolithic, 15–21. Budapest, Archaeolingua. Bartosiewicz, L., Bonsall, C. and Şişu, V. (2008) Sturgeon fishing along the Middle and Lower Danube. In C. Bonsall, V. Boroneanţ, and I. Radovanović (eds.) The Iron Gates in Prehistory. New Perspectives. British Archaeological Reports International Series 1893, 39–54. Oxford, Archaeopress. Boessneck, J. (1969) Osteological differences between sheep (Ovis aries Linné) and goat (Capra hircus Linné). In D. R. Brothwell, and E. S. Higgs (eds.) Science in Archaeology: A Comprehensive Survey of Progress and Research, 331–358. London, Thames and Hudson. Boessneck, J., Müller, H.-H. and Teichert, M. (1964) Osteologische Unterscheidungsmerkmale zwischen Schaf (Ovis aries Linné) und Ziege (Capra hircus Linné). Kühn-Archiv 78, 1–129. Bonsall, C. (2008) The Mesolithic of the Iron Gates. In G. Bailey and P. Spikins (eds.) Mesolithic Europe, 238–279. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Bonsall, C., Cook, G. T., Lennon, R., Harkness, D. D., Scott, M., Bartosiewicz, L., McSweeney, K. (2000) Stable isotopes, radiocarbon and the Mesolithic‒Neolithic transition in the Iron Gates. Documenta Praehistorica 27, 119–132. Bonsall, C., Lennon, R., McSweeney, K., Harkness, D., Boroneant, V., Bartosiewicz, L., Payton, R. and Chapman, J. (1997) Mesolithic and early Neolithic in the Iron Gates: A palaeodietary perspective. Journal of European Archaeology 5.1, 50–92. Bonsall, C., Mlekuž, D., Bartosiewicz, L. and Pickard, C. (2013) Early farming adaptations of the northeast Adriatic Karst. In S. Colledge, J. Conolly, K. Dobney, Manning, K. and Shennan, S. (eds.) The Origins and Spread of Domestic Animals in Southwest Asia and Europe, 145–160. Walnut Creek, Left Coast Press. Bökönyi, S. (1984) Die frühneolitische Wirbeltierfauna von Nosa. Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 36, 29–41. Bökönyi, S. (1989) Animal husbandry of the Körös-Starčevo complex: Its origin and development. In S. Bökönyi (ed.) Neolithic of South-Eastern Europe and its Near Eastern Connections. Varia Archaeologica Hungarica 2, 13–16. Budapest, Pytheas. Bökönyi, S. (1992) The Early Neolithic vertebrate fauna of Endrőd 119. In S. Bökönyi (ed.) Cultural and Landscape Changes in South-east Hungary I. Reports on the Gyomaendrőd Project. Archaeolingua Main Series 1, 195–299. Budapest, Archaeolingua. Bökönyi, S. and Bartosiewicz, L. (1998) Tierknochenfunde. In S. Hiller and V. Nikolov (eds.) Karanovo. Die Ausgrabungen im Südsektor 1984–1992, 385–424. Wien, Ferdinand Berger und Söhne. Bréhard, S. and Bălăşescu, A. (2012) What’s behind the tell phenomenon? An archaeozoological approach of Eneolithic sites in Romania. Journal of Archaeological Science 39.10, 3167–3183. Clutton-Brock, J., Dennis-Bryan, K., Armitage, P. L. and Jewell, P. A. (1990) Osteology of Soay sheep. Bulletin of the British Museum (Natural History) 56.1, l–56. Conolly, J., Colledge, S., Dobney, K., Vigne J.-D., Peters J., Stopp B., Manning K. and Shennan S. (2011) Meta-analysis of zooarchaeological data from SW Asia and SE Europe provides insight into the origins and spread of animal husbandry. Journal of Archaeological Science 38, 538–545. Cornevin, C. and Lesbre, F.-X. (1891) Caractères ostéologiques différentiels de la chèvre et du mouton. Bulletin de la Société d’Anthropologie de Lyon, séance du 7 mai 1891, 47–72. Lyon, Imprimerie de Pitrat aîné. Craig, O. E., Chapman, J., Heron, C., Willis, L.H., Bartosiewicz, L., Taylor, G., Whittle, A. and Collins, M. (2005) Did the first farmers of central and eastern Europe produce dairy foods? Antiquity 79, 882–894. Efremov, I. A. (1940) Taphonomy: New branch of paleontology. Pan-American Geologist 74, 81–93.

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Evershed, R. P., Payne, S., Sherratt, A. G., et al. (2008) Earliest date for milk use in the Near East and Southeastern Europe linked to cattle herding. Nature 455, 528–531. Forchhammer, G., Steenstrup, J. and Worsaae, J. (1856) Undersøgelser i geologisk-antikvarisk retning. København, Bianco Luno. Greenfield, H. J. (2008) Faunal assemblages from the Early Neolithic of the central Balkans: Methodological issues in the reconstruction of subsistence and land use. In C. Bonsall, V. Boroneanţ, and I. Radovanović (eds.) The Iron Gates in Prehistory. New Perspectives. British Archaeological Reports International Series 1893, 103–14. Oxford, British Archaeological Reports. Greenfield, H. J. (2014) Introduction. In H. J. Greenfield (ed.) Animal Secondary Products, 1–18. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Guilday, J. (1970) Animal remains from archaeological excavations at Fort Ligonier. In D. Ingersoll, J. E. Yellen, and W. MacDonald (eds.) Experimental Archaeology, 121–132. New York: Columbia University Press. Halstead, P. (2007) Carcasses and commensality: Investigating the social context of meat consumption in Neolithic and Early Bronze Age Greece. In C. Mee and J. Renard (eds.) Cooking up the Past: Food and Culinary Practices in the Neolithic and Bronze Age Aegean, 25–48. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Halstead, P., Collins, P. and Isaakidou, V. (2002) Sorting the sheep from the goats: Morphological distinction between the mandibles and mandibular teeth of adult Ovis and Capra. Journal of Archaeological Science 29, 545–553. Helmer, D. (2000) Discrimination des genres Ovis et Capra, à l’aide des prémolaires inférieures 3 et 4 et interprétation des âges d’abattage: l’exemple de Dikili Tash (Grèce). Anthropozoologica 31, 29–38. Helmer, D., Gourichon, L., Sidi Maamar, H. and Vigne, J.-D. (2005) L’élevage des caprinés néolithiques dans le sud-est de la France: saisonnalité des abattages, relations entre grottes-bergeries et sites de plein air. Anthropozoologica 40, 167–189. Higgs, E. S. (1972) Papers in Economic Prehistory: Studies by Members and Associates of the British Academy Major Research Project in the Early History of Agriculture. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Kratochvíl, Z. (1969) Species criteria on the distal section of the tibia in Ovis ammon f. aries L. and Capra aegagrus f. hircus L. Acta Veterinaria Brno 38, 483–90. Lyman, R. L. (2015) On the variable relationship between NISP and NTAXA in bird remains and in mammal remains. Journal of Archaeological Science 3, 291–296. Lyman, R. L. (2016) Theodore E. White and the Development of Zooarchaeology in North America. Critical Studies in the History of Anthropology. Lincoln, University of Nebraska Press. McClure, S. and Podrug, E. (2016) Villages, landscapes, and early farming in northern Dalmatia. In K. T. Lillios, and M. Chazan (eds.) Fresh Fields and Pastures New: Papers Presented in Honor of Andrew M. T. Moore, 117–144. Leiden, Sidestone Press. Manning, K., Stopp, B., Colledge, S., Downey, S., Conolly, J., Dobney, K. and Shennan, S. (2013) Animal exploitation in the Early Neolithic of the Balkans and Central Europe. In S. Colledge, J. Conolly, K. Dobney, Manning, K. and Shennan, S. (eds.) The Origins and Spread of Domestic Animals in Southwest Asia and Europe, 237–252. Walnut Creek, Left Coast Press. Marciniak, A. (2014) The Secondary Products Revolution, mortality profiles, and practice of zooarchaeology. In H. J. Greenfield (ed.) Animal Secondary Products, 186–205. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Orton, D. (2012) Herding, settlement, and chronology in the Balkan Neolithic. European Journal of Archaeology 15.1, 5–40. Payne, S. (1973) Kill-off patterns in sheep and goats: The mandibles from Aşvan Kale. Anatolian Studies 23, 281–303. Payne, S. (1985) Morphological distinctions between the mandibular teeth of young sheep, Ovis, and goats, Capra. Journal of Archaeological Science 12, 139–147. Pike-Tay, A., Bartosiewicz, L., Gál, E. and Whittle, A. (2004) Body-part representation and seasonality: sheep/goat, bird and fish remains from Early Neolithic Ecsegfalva 23, SE Hungary. Journal of Taphonomy 2.4, 221–246.

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Prummel, W. and Frisch, H.-J. (1986) A guide for the distinction of species, sex, and body side in bones of sheep and goat. Journal of Archaeological Science 13, 567–577. Russell, N. (1998) Cattle as wealth in Neolithic Europe: Where’s the beef? In D. W. Bailey (ed.) The Archaeology of Value: Essays on Prestige and the Processes of Valuation, 42–54. Oxford, Archaeopress. Rütimeyer, L. (1961) Die Fauna der Pfahlbauten der Schweiz. Neue Denkschriften der allgemeinen Schweizerischen Gesellschaft für die Gesammten Naturwissenschaften 19. Bern, Schweizerische Akademie der Naturwissenschaften. Schiffer, M. B. (1987) Formation Processes of the Archaeological Record. Albuquerque, University of New Mexico Press. Sherratt, A. (1981) Plough and pastoralism: aspects of the secondary products revolution. In I. Hodder, G. Isaac and N. Hammond (eds.) Pattern of the Past: Studies in Honour of David Clarke, 261–305. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Steenstrup, J. (1886) Kjøkken-møddinger. Eine gedrängte Darstellung dieser Monumente sehr alter Kulturstadien. Kopenhagen, H. Hagerup. Thomas, K. D. (1996) Zooarchaeology: Past, present and future. World Archaeology 281, 1–4. Vigne, J. D. and Helmer, D. (2007) Was milk a “secondary product” in the Old World Neolithisation process? Its role in the domestication of cattle, sheep and goats. Anthropozoologica 42.2, 9–40. Vörös, I. (1980) Zoological and paleoeconomical investigations on the archaeological material of the Early Neolithic Körös culture. Folia Archaeologica 31, 35–61. Vörös, I. (1987) Bow as weapon of hunting in the Late Neolithic. Communicationes Archaeologicae Hungariae 1987, 25–30. White, T. E. (1953) A method of calculating the dietary percentage of various food animals utilized by aboriginal peoples. American Antiquity 18, 396–98. Whittle, A. (2005) Lived experience in the Early Neolithic of the Great Hungarian Plain. In D. Bailey, A. Whittle and V. Cummings (eds.) (Un)settling the Neolithic, 64–70. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Wyman, J. (1968) An account of some kjœkkenmœddings, or shell-heaps, in Maine and Massachusetts. American Naturalist 1.11, 561–584. Zeder, M. A. and Pilaar, S. (2010) Assessing the reliability of criteria used to identify mandibles and mandibular teeth in sheep, Ovis, and goats, Capra. Journal of Archaeological Science 37, 225–242. Zeder, M. A. and Lapham, H. (2010) Assessing the reliability of criteria used to identify postcranial bones in sheep, Ovis, and goats, Capra. Journal of Archaeological Science 37, 2887–2905.

Chapter 2 Neolithic taboos in Anatolia and southeast Europe Nerissa Russell

Introduction Taboo is a classic topic in anthropology, and the concept of religious and social prohibitions is widespread. Here I focus on food taboos, specifically those aimed at animals. Plant foods can be subject to taboo, but meat is particularly likely to attract prohibitions (Halverson 1976; Ross 1978; Harris 1985). Such prohibitions may proscribe killing an animal, touching it, consuming its meat in general, consuming certain body parts, or consuming it under specific circumstances. It may be forbidden to everyone, or only to certain categories of people, or only for limited periods. Special relationships with spirit helpers or totem animals may make the species in question taboo, although this is not always the case. The force of the prohibition also varies, ranging from strict enforcement to frequently-ignored suggestion. Much ink has been spilt debating the function of food taboos. Some scholars see them as codifications of folk knowledge concerning unsafe foods, or animals that are more valuable alive than as meat, or as conservation measures to maintain game populations (Ross 1978; Harris 1985). Others focus on the symbolic aspects of taboos, which may mark identity for those practicing avoidance, or forbid animals that stand out as anomalous in terms of local classifications (Lévi-Strauss 1963; Leach 1964; Douglas 1966; Tambiah 1969; Taylor 1974). Food taboos have likely served many purposes, so it may not be possible to reduce them to a single function. When meat taboos are selective in their application, they very often target women, and particularly pregnant and nursing women, who presumably have the greatest need for protein and fat. In at least some cases, those animals or body parts most closely associated with men, masculinity, and male honor and purity are forbidden

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to women (Kahn 1986; Parkes 1987; Spielmann 1989; Speth 1990; Brightman 1993; Morris 1998; Zvelebil 2000).

Taboos in the past Zooarchaeology has added nuance to our understanding of some historically documented animal taboos (e.g. Serjeantson 2000), but prehistoric taboos have understandably received less attention than more recent examples (but see e.g. Zvelebil 2000; Thomas 2003; Fiore and Zangrando 2006). Arguments from absence are always challenging. The absence of a taxon might indicate our imperfect understanding of the ancient environment, a limited seasonal assemblage, prehistoric hunting technology unsuited to its capture, etc. Moreover, ethnography suggests that most taboos are partial, applying only to some people, or at some times, or only to some body parts. This kind of subtle patterning will be difficult to identify, but such taboos are likely to shape assemblages. Detecting taboos is important because they often mark social categories. Total taboos on a taxon may mark ethnicity or religion (as with Middle Eastern pig bans, or Hindu sacred cows), while partial taboos tend to mark internal divisions according to gender, age, reproductive status, kinship, etc. (e.g. Lévi-Strauss 1963; Taylor 1974). The ethnographic literature on food taboos is voluminous, illustrating their ubiquity and variety. Politis and Saunders’ (2002) ethnoarchaeological study is particularly useful, as they are attentive to the zooarchaeological signatures of the avoidances they document among the Nukak of the Colombian Amazon. They find that taboos powerfully shape both hunting decisions and faunal assemblages. Crucially, however, even totally forbidden taxa are not absent in the animal bone assemblage; rather, only limited body parts occur, with specific uses. While the Nukak never kill or eat deer or jaguar, they scavenge deer tibiae and jaguar humeri to make flutes for initiations and other liminal ceremonies, and jaguar teeth for necklaces, which are buried with their owners at death. So, small numbers of limited body parts used as artifacts or deposited in special contexts may indicate a tabooed and symbolically important animal, not simply one hunted occasionally far from the settlement. Also, some animals are not eaten by the Nukak but are hunted for feathers or other specific body parts; here we must pay careful attention to the presence or absence of butchery and cooking traces. Still other animals, such as the peccary, are subject to partial taboos, often permitted to men but forbidden to women and children. These animals are processed and eaten on the edge of the camp, with few bones entering the settlement. Animals eaten by everyone are processed and consumed within the households and the remains discarded on site. Thus, spatial distribution is a key indicator for partial taboo. Drawing on these insights, I will explore evidence of Neolithic meat taboos through two case studies from Anatolia and the Balkans.

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Çatalhöyük Çatalhöyük is a large Neolithic site in central Anatolia, occupied from approximately 7100–6000 cal BC. James Mellaart first excavated the site in the 1960s and, since 1993, Ian Hodder has directed a major new project there (Hodder 1996; 2005a, b; 2006a, b; 2007; 2013a, b; 2014; Mellaart 1967). With a population in the low thousands, Çatalhöyük is a tell site formed by superimposed, closely-packed mudbrick houses. Public buildings are lacking, and there is little sign of status differentiation in grave goods and burial treatment, storage capacity, or health. Çatalhöyük is located on an alluvial fan on the Konya Plain, around 15 km from the foothills that lead up to the Taurus Mountains. The landscape around the site included a mosaic of steppe and marshland, with forest along the rivers and in the foothills. There is good evidence that the Çatalhöyük residents exploited all these zones. The faunal assemblage is dominated by caprines (mostly sheep), which form about 70 % of the animal bones in the earlier levels, rising to 80–85 % in later levels. Cattle and equids are the other main taxa. The sheep and goats are overwhelmingly domestic throughout. Aside from dogs, the remaining taxa are wild, although domestic cattle appear in the later levels (Russell et al. 2013). Çatalhöyük also has a large corpus of art (wall paintings, reliefs, figurines, stamp seals, etc.), much of it zoomorphic, and numerous instances of animal parts incorporated into the architecture. I will argue that faunal patterning suggests the operation of total or partial taboos for several taxa.

Leopard Leopards lived until recently in the Taurus Mountains, and probably ranged down onto the Konya Plain in the past (Başkaya and Bilgili 2004). Leopards are prominent in the Çatalhöyük art; counting putative leopard skins, they are the most frequently depicted taxon in the paintings, and also appear in reliefs, figurines, and a stamp seal (Figs. 2.1 and 2.2; Meece 2006; Russell and Meece 2006; Türkcan 2007). However, no leopard bones were identified from Mellaart’s excavations (Perkins 1973; Ducos 1988),

Figure 2.1: Leopard relief, Çatalhöyük (photo by Ian Todd).

Figure 2.2: Leopard stamp seal, Çatalhöyük.

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and with more than a million animal bone specimens recorded from the new project, only a single leopard bone has been found. The exception that proves the rule, this specimen is a perforated third phalanx (claw), found in a burial along with Çatalhöyük’s only plastered human skull. It is, therefore, a carefully selected body part, worked, and in a very particular context. Following Politis and Figure 2.3: Figure with leopard-skin quiver or Saunders, this find strengthens rather loincloth, Çatalhöyük (photo by Ian Todd). than weakens the case for a total taboo on leopards at Çatalhöyük. Paintings show apparent leopard-skin loincloths or quivers (Fig. 2.3), and some figurines wear other possible leopard-skin clothing. If leopard skins were indeed worn at Çatalhöyük, they evidently came to the site with heads and feet trimmed off, in contrast to other animals. However, anthropomorphic figures wearing leopard skins could be referencing ancestors from a primeval time, or spirit beings from a world where the rules are inverted. Similar to the jaguar in South America, the faunal remains and art at Çatalhöyük suggest that the leopard held symbolic power, and that there was a strong taboo on killing it.

Bear and Wild Cat Body part patterning suggests two other candidates for total taboos at Çatalhöyük. Both bears and wild cats are rare in the assemblage, and body parts are limited to heads and feet. The most notable bear find is an articulated hind paw, with cut marks from removing the footpad, recovered from the side room of our Building 24 (Mellaart’s Shrine VII.10; Fig. 2.4). Plaster between the toes suggests it may have been mounted on the wall, perhaps as part of a skin. Additionally, there are a metacarpal fragment from a midden and two teeth (canine and molar) from a fill deposit; another molar from a human and animal bone cluster found beneath a floor on top of which several human skeletons had been deposited; and two further molars from a burial that are part of a cluster of objects, likely once contained in a small bag, suggesting they served as amulets. Some of these are in special contexts, and the others may be redeposited. The body part distribution (loose teeth and feet) is highly restricted, indicating that bear remains may have entered the site only as teeth and skins. There is an intriguing association with human remains in two cases. The symbolic importance of the bear is clearly indicated at Çatalhöyük, in media similar to those depicting leopards. There is one likely wall painting of a bear, and a stamp seal indicates that the splayed figures found in relief on many of the walls and interpreted by Mellaart as the goddess giving

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Figure 2.4: Plan of Çatalhöyük excavation areas.

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birth actually represent bears (Fig. 2.5; Türkcan 2007). The only two stamp seals in animal form recovered so far represent a leopard and a bear, and each seems derived from motifs repeatedly expressed in wall reliefs. There is thus an interesting symbolic equivalency between the two large carnivores, and both may have been taboo to kill – or at least to eat, in the case of the bear. Bear remains entered the site somewhat more often, Figure 2.5: Çatalhöyük bear images: Splayed figure however. Moreover, bear remains and bear representations appear at the site relief (left, photo by Ian Todd); stamp seal (right). at the same time, roughly mid-sequence, in Mellaart Level VII = Hodder Level South M and 4040 G (Russell and Meece 2006; Martin and Meskell 2012; Russell et al. 2013). Wild cats show a similar body part distribution. One distal humerus comes from a possible feasting deposit related to a house closing. Otherwise, all remains are heads and feet, including two articulated front paws, right and left, from a small scoop in the floor of Building 2 (Fig. 2.4), a second phalanx in the lower fill of the building might belong to the same animal, but in this case would have been displaced by an animal burrow, as it is from a later phase. A phalanx and two articulating mandibles were recovered from middens on the edge of the site. A third phalanx was found in another feasting deposit associated with house closing, a carnassial comes from a midden, and a metapodial from a house fill. There are no recognisable representations of wild cats at Çatalhöyük. The body part distribution is certainly restricted, but may simply mean that these animals were taken, occasionally, in the hills and returned to the site only as pelts. However, there is no reason to think that the wild cat would not have been present on the plain near the site. Its treatment contrasts with that of badgers and foxes, which also seem to have been used for their furs but were at least sometimes eaten. Cats may have been considered inedible.

Deer Most body parts of cattle and equids, the main game animals, were brought back to the site. However, deer (nearly all red deer) exhibit a different pattern. Interpretation is complicated by the fact that the earliest levels have been excavated only in areas on the edge of the site, and site-edge areas have not been excavated for later periods. Therefore, it is challenging to distinguish spatial from temporal differences. The two, roughly contemporary, early areas are rather different in nature, however. The KOPAL area (Fig. 2.4) area is probably farther from the early settlement (whose exact

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dimensions are uncertain but clearly smaller than it later became), and its assemblage is dramatically different from the on-site assemblage, with much lower quantities of domestic livestock (sheep and goats) and less fragmentation; it resembles feasting deposits on site. This was likely an area where ceremonies were held for the whole community or a substantial part of it. The Space 181 (Fig. 2.4) dumps that make up Level South G, on the other hand, are probably very close to houses, and are dominated by heavily processed remains of daily meals. Deer, never very common at Çatalhöyük, are more prevalent in the earliest levels, especially in the KOPAL area, and very rare indeed on site, although the numbers are slightly higher in the northern areas. In the early/off-site areas, deer remains are primarily postcranial, while on-site deer postcrania are rare and deer remains are mostly antler (Fig. 2.6). Some of the antler was shed, and much is either worked or appears to have been stored as raw material. Antler aside, all body parts enter the settlement, although in very small quantities. The KOPAL area deer remains tend to be the meaty upper-limb bones, in contrast to those in the other areas. In comparison, while cattle horns are also prized and differentially represented on site, horn core does not dominate cattle assemblages to the extent that antler prevails in on-site deer assemblages, and the bias to upper-limb bones is not evident in the KOPAL area. Meaty deer remains are patchily distributed on-site, mainly in a few concentrations of feasting remains. One interpretation would be that deer, probably not overly common in the area, were hunted out in the vicinity of the settlement soon after it was founded. After these early levels deer were encountered mainly in the hills and other distant areas. They were hunted when found, but most were eaten away from the site and only the antlers and perhaps hides were brought back, along with collected shed antlers. Occasionally deer were killed near enough to be eaten at the settlement, forming the basis of a feast. Another reading would stress the spatial aspects, and posit a partial taboo on deer. In this scenario, venison was forbidden to a subset of the inhabitants: pregnant women or uninitiated boys, for example. Therefore deer were often processed and eaten on the edge of the site by those permitted to do so. But some households or groups that were not so restricted occasionally hosted venison feasts on site.

Boar Boar are surprisingly rare in the Çatalhöyük faunal assemblage, since the abundant marshland with some riverine forest should have been good habitat for them. Earlier sites nearby on the Konya Plain have much higher percentages of boar (Martin et al. 2002; Baird et al. 2012). As with deer, they are substantially more common in the off-site KOPAL area than on site or at its immediate edge. KOPAL boar body parts tend towards the meaty areas, particularly the pelvis and scapula. On site and in the South G dumps on its edge, the skull is notably overrepresented (Fig. 2.7). While it is hard to assess the density of boar near Çatalhöyük in the Neolithic, this may be another case of partial avoidance, with relatively few and selected parts

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A 100% 90% 80% 70% 60%

Lower Limb Upper Limb

Girdle

50%

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40%

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30% 20% 10% 0% KOPAL

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Figure 2.6: Çatalhöyük red deer and cattle body part distributions by level (KOPAL and South. G are earliest; North overlaps with the end of South. H-M and beginning of South. N-T). A. red deer body zones by weight; B. cattle body zones by weight.

Nerissa Russell

22 C 100% 90%

80% 70%

60% Lower Limb

50%

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40%

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30% 20%

10% 0%

Whole Deer

KOPAL

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D 100% 90%

80% 70%

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30% 20% 10%

0% Whole Cow

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Figure 2.6: C. red deer body zones by diagnostic zones; D. cattle body zones by diagnostic zones.

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100% 90%

80% 70%

60% Lower Limb

50%

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Figure 2.7: Çatalhöyük boar body part distributions.

brought into the settlement. Both boar and deer appear in wall paintings and as figurines (Russell and Meece 2006; Martin and Meskell 2012). Boar mandibles were mounted on the walls of some houses, and a skull and mandibles were modified for some form of display (Twiss 2006). If boar were forbidden to some segment of the population, such display would have been a strong assertion of the identity of the other segment. Perhaps this explains why the boar mandibles projecting from walls were covered with plaster at the end of their use lives. Boar’s tusk is worked into pendants, collars, and fishhooks (which are too large for the fish found at the site); these ornaments may also have been identity markers, and seem to cluster in certain buildings (Russell 2006). The boar and deer paintings occur in what may be hunting scenes, and male hunting sodalities have been proposed for Çatalhöyük (Hodder 1987; Wright 2000), which might suggest that these animals would be taboo to women (if anyone). However, Mellaart (1966) excavated a burial of a woman accompanied by three boar mandibles. The sex of the skeleton has been confirmed by recent work (Lori Hager, pers. comm.), but it is hard to assess how closely the mandibles were associated with the skeleton. Assuming they were indeed placed with the woman, a possible boar taboo might mark something other than gender, or this person may have held a special gender status that is not identical with her skeletal sex. The boar/pig taboo applied beyond Çatalhöyük in Neolithic central Anatolia. Not only are boar remains rather limited at most sites except some of the earliest, but a recent meta-analysis shows that Central Anatolians (including the residents of Çatalhöyük) resisted the adoption of domestic pigs until the Late Chalcolithic and in

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many cases until the Bronze Age. Pigs were domesticated early in the Neolithic in eastern Anatolia and skipped over central Anatolia as they spread to western Anatolia and ultimately Europe (Arbuckle 2013; Arbuckle et al. 2014).

Dog Dog bones at Çatalhöyük occasionally show cut marks or breakage indicating consumption, but most dogs were not eaten. Complete or quasi-complete dogs are found with some frequency, not buried but rather disposed of in middens and abandoned houses. Thus dogs appear to have been considered inedible under most circumstances. There is little to indicate that they served as pets, so the taboo may derive from their anomalous status as a domestic carnivore (e.g. Sharp 1976) or from a belief that they are unclean (because they eat feces, for instance).

Birds The bird bones from Çatalhöyük, which are quite uncommon compared to the mammals, are disproportionately wing elements. The meaty parts were rarely brought to the site, although there is some spatial variation in which taxa appear to have been eaten, including coots, grebes, bustards, and crows. Ducks and geese were eaten occasionally, but their wings are overrepresented. Thus, feathers rather than food seem to have been the main target in bird hunting, and the inhabitants did not take full advantage of the abundance of birds available in the marshy environs, particularly during migration. Again, this contrasts with earlier nearby sites (Martin et al. 2002; Baird 2009). They collected large amounts of eggs, however (Sidell and Scudder 2005). This selective use of avian resources suggests taboos on the consumption of most species, perhaps somewhat variable for different people. In particular, the distribution and treatment of herons parallels that of red deer: body parts suggest use for feathers in most areas of the site, but abundant remains of meaty parts occur in the same locations as remains of red deer feasts (Russell, in press).

Stillborn lambs Sheep are the most common taxon at Çatalhöyük, and mutton was the meat of daily meals. However, numerous intact stillborn lambs, many of them from penning deposits, indicate that pre-term lambs (or animals that died of natural causes) were considered inedible.

Opovo Balkan Neolithic people likely also observed animal taboos, but it will require finegrained contextual analysis to detect this. I will draw on my earlier work at Opovo Ugar-Bajbuk, a Vinča culture site in the Vojvodina region of Serbia, to make a few tentative suggestions.

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At Opovo, animal remains come from three main context types: the wattle-anddaub houses, some quite empty but others with considerable material left inside (although animal bone is fairly sparse); a general midden scatter outside the houses that contains most of the remains of daily meals; and the pits, most of which contain rich faunal deposits in their lower levels, including the remains of feasts. Unusually for a Vinča site, the Opovo fauna is about 70 % wild, chiefly red deer and wild boar, with a fair amount of domestic cattle (and a very few aurochsen) and a few domestic pigs, sheep, goats, and dogs, as well as small numbers of other taxa. The low numbers of domestic pigs (3–5 % in the various levels) might suggest an aversion specific to this or a few sites – these proportions are at the low end of the Vinča range (Orton 2008) – and the relative abundance (15–16 % of the fauna) and large size of the wild boar indicate that the local habitat was quite suitable. However, there is no selection of body parts or special treatment, so the lack of enthusiasm for pig-raising probably derives from other causes. Most of the wild carnivores (wild cat, marten, badger, otter, wolf, fox) were used occasionally for their fur and also often eaten or fed to the dogs. The exception is bear, where the only remains are from the paws, and mostly in the houses. As at Çatalhöyük, this indicates that pelts were the only bear remains that reached the site, which is somewhat surprising, as bear probably lived nearby and would have been a rich source of meat and fat. So here, too, we may see a taboo on consumption of a spiritually powerful animal. If bears were eaten, it was off-site and probably by a restricted group. As at many Neolithic sites, dogs at Opovo and elsewhere in the Vinča culture were sometimes eaten but usually not, and more often merely skinned. Some were buried (although, notably, Vinča humans almost never are), and dog heads sometimes get special treatment: as foundation deposits, for instance (Orton 2008). An intact dog skull and mandibles were buried in the foundation fill under a house at Opovo (Fig. 2.8), and another articulated skull and mandibles were placed at the bottom of a pit. Cranial remains in general are over-represented, and usually found in pits; the bodies must often have been disposed of off-site. The only ‘burial’ was a threemonth-old puppy placed intact in a garbage pit, which may have died as a result of swallowing a sharp bone tool fragment, found partly digested in its abdominal area. A button-like ceramic object found above it might be a grave good, but the association is uncertain. This puppy is the best evidence that some dogs may have been pets at Opovo. Most had hard lives that resulted in many injuries, especially blunt trauma to the head, including the dog whose head was buried as a foundation deposit.

Discussion Studying taboos in deep prehistory is difficult, and it is not surprising that the evidence is ambiguous. Nevertheless, there are some suggestive indications, particularly in light of Politis and Saunders’ (2002) work showing that taboos may result not in

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Figure 2.8: Opovo dog head foundation deposit.

total absence but in distinctive body part and spatial patterning. Since food taboos are ubiquitous in contemporary and historically known societies, they were almost certainly operative in prehistoric ones as well. Thus, while other processes could produce much of the patterning, it is at least as likely to result from the action of taboos. At Çatalhöyük there is evidence for three distinct kinds of taboo; two of these may also have operated at Opovo. First, some wild carnivores – almost surely leopard, probably bear, and possibly wild cat – were strongly tabooed for all residents. We find only very small amounts of selected body parts, mainly in special contexts and sometimes modified. It was likely forbidden to kill leopards, but very occasional parts were scavenged or acquired through exchange. Bears and wild cats may have been taboo to eat, but perhaps not to kill, or the taboo may have carried somewhat less force. Interestingly, bears seem likewise to have been taboo at Opovo, and perhaps held a similar spiritual position. Second, deer and boar may have been subject to partial taboos. They were certainly killed and eaten, but in smaller numbers than could have

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been taken, and may have been off-limits for some people or in some circumstances. Third, some animals, perhaps including dogs, many birds, and stillborn lambs, were considered inedible or distasteful and rarely eaten; they may have been famine foods, or eaten as part of specific rituals precisely because this was a transgressive and therefore highly charged act (Whitehead 2000). More or less the same may be true of dogs at Opovo, where there are indications of possibly more-varied roles for dogs (including pet and hunting companion), so that not all dogs were in the same category with respect to treatment and edibility. Since taboos mark identity, what can we learn about the construction of categories of people from the possible taboos at Çatalhöyük and Opovo? The third category of distasteful meats might serve to distinguish Çatalhöyük or Opovo dwellers from other groups that ate those meats, including earlier residents of the region. The total taboos on the leopard and perhaps the bear, on the other hand, are likely tied both to group identity and to myth and religion. Both are represented in reliefs and wall paintings at Çatalhöyük, showing that these animals held special power. The depiction of people wearing leopard skins, while Çatalhöyük residents seem not to have done so, indicates that not killing leopards distinguished the people of Çatalhöyük from some other group, perhaps ancestral or supernatural. The leopard, in particular, is frequently depicted in the Pre-Pottery Neolithic (PPN) of southeast Anatolia and the northern Levant, so the importance given to this animal at Çatalhöyük is part of a regional tradition (Helmer et al. 2004; Peters and Schmidt 2004; Yartah 2005). Clason (1999) notes a probable leopard depiction at PPNB Bouqras in southeast Syria, and the absence of its bones at that site. She also tallies a few leopard bone finds at other PPNB sites (see also von den Driesch and Wodtke 1997). The possible partial taboos on deer, boar, and herons at Çatalhöyük hint at important internal social distinctions. Ethnographically, gender is often marked in this way, usually with greater restrictions on women, but this may not be the case at Çatalhöyük. The occasional on-site venison feasts and the woman buried with boar mandibles suggest that some other division is involved: clans (for whom these might be their totem animals), sodality members, etc. In any case, gender-linked taboos were not extensive enough to produce substantial sex differences in stable isotopes or measures of health (Hodder 2004; Hillson et al. 2013; Pearson et al. 2015). At a site with few other signs of social differentiation, this is a valuable indicator of the presence of internal distinctions. Politis and Saunders’ (2002) excellent study enables the exploration of the workings of prehistoric meat taboos, but we will need to alter the way we typically analyse faunal material. For this purpose, it is essential to analyse animal remains contextually. We need to pay close attention to body part representation (also affected by many other processes) and to special treatment given to particular animals and particular body parts. Finally, almost by definition, we must take seriously the minor taxa in the assemblages. Adequate sample sizes are required for many analytical purposes, but animals that play a very small role in subsistence may be major players symbolically.

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References Arbuckle, B. S. (2013) The late adoption of cattle and pig husbandry in Neolithic Central Turkey. Journal of Archaeological Science 40.4, 1805–1815. Arbuckle, B. S., Kansa, S. W., Kansa, E.C., Orton, D. C., Çakırlar, C., Gourichon, L., Atıcı, A. L., Galik, A., Marciniak, A., Mulville, J., Buitenhuis, H., Carruthers, D., De Cupere, B., Demirergi, G. A., Frame, S., Helmer, D., Martin, L., Peters, J., Pöllath, N., Pawłowska, K., Russell, N., Twiss, K. C. and Würtenberger, D. (2014) Data sharing reveals complexity in the spread of domestic animals westward across Neolithic Turkey. PLoS One 9.6, e99845. Baird, D. (2009) The Boncuklu project: Investigating the beginnings of agriculture, sedentism and herding in central Anatolia. Anatolian Archaeology 15, 9–10. Baird, D., Fairbairn, A. S., Martin, L. and Middleton, C. (2012) The Boncuklu project: The origins of sedentism, cultivation and herding in central Anatolia. In M. Özdoğan, N. Başgelen and P. I. Kuniholm (eds.) The Neolithic in Turkey: New Excavations & New Research 3: Central Turkey, 219–244. Galatasaray, Istanbul, Archaeology & Art Publications. Başkaya, S. and Bilgili, E. (2004) Does the leopard Panthera pardus still exist in the Eastern Karadeniz Mountains of Turkey? Oryx 38.2, 228–232. Brightman, R. A. (1993) Grateful Prey: Rock Cree Human-Animal Relationships. Berkeley, University of California Press. Clason, A. T. (1999) The leopard (?) of Bouqras, south-east Syria. In C. Becker, H. Manhart, J. Peters and J. Schibler (eds.) Historia Animalium ex Ossibus: Festschrift für Angela von den Driesch, 133–140. Rahden, Verlag Marie Leidorf. Douglas, M. (1966) Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution. New York, Praeger. Von den Driesch, A. and Wodtke, U. (1997) The fauna of ‘Ain Ghazal, a major PPN and early PN settlement in central Jordan. In H. G. Gebel, Z. A. Kafafi and G. O. Rollefson, (eds.) The Prehistory of Jordan II: Perspectives from 1997. Studies in Early Near Eastern Production, Subsistence, and Environment 4, 511–556. Berlin, Ex Oriente. Ducos, P. (1988) Archaeozoologie Quantitative - Les Valeurs Numériques Immediates à Çatal Hüyük. Les Cahiers du Quaternaire 12. Paris, Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. Fiore, D. and Zangrando, A. F. J. (2006) Painted fish, eaten fish: Artistic and archaeofaunal representations in Tierra del Fuego, Southern South America. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 25.3, 371–389. Halverson, J. (1976) Animal categories and terms of abuse. Man 11.4, 505–516. Harris, M. (1985) Good to Eat: Riddles of Food and Culture. New York, Simon and Schuster. Helmer, D., Gourichon, L. and Stordeur, D. (2004) À l’aube de la domestication animale: Imaginaire et symbolisme animal dans les premières sociétés néolithiques du nord du Proche-Orient. Anthropozoologica 39, 143–163. Hillson, S., Larsen, C. S., Boz, B., Pilloud, M. A., Sadvari, J. W., Agarwal, S. C., Glencross, B. A., Beauchesne, P., Pearson, J. A., Ruff, C. B., Garofalo, E. M., Hager, L. D. and Haddow, S. D. (2013) The human remains I: Interpreting community structure, health and diet in Neolithic Çatalhöyük. In I. Hodder (ed.) Humans and Landscapes of Çatalhöyük: Reports from the 2000–2008 Seasons. Monumenta Archaeologica 30, 339–396. Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California. Hodder, I. (1987) Contextual archaeology: An interpretation of Çatal Hüyük and a discussion of the origins of agriculture. Bulletin of the Institute of Archaeology (London) 24, 43–56. Hodder, I. (ed.) (1996) On the Surface: Çatalhöyük 1993–95. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Hodder, I. (2004) Women and men at Çatalhöyük. Scientific American 290.1, 76–83. Hodder, I. (ed.) (2005a) Changing Materialities at Çatalhöyük: Reports from the 1995–99 Seasons. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Hodder, I. (ed.) (2005b) Inhabiting Çatalhöyük: Reports from the 1995–99 Seasons. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research.

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Hodder, I. (ed.) (2006a) Çatalhöyük Perspectives: Themes from the 1995–99 Seasons. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Hodder, I. (2006b) The Leopard’s Tale: Revealing the Mysteries of Çatalhöyük. London, Thames & Hudson. Hodder, I. (ed.) (2007) Excavating Çatalhöyük: South, North and KOPAL Area Reports from the 1995–99 Seasons. Cambridge: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Hodder, I. (ed.) (2013a) Humans and Landscapes of Çatalhöyük: Reports from the 2000–2008 Seasons. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California. Hodder, I. (ed.) (2013b) Substantive Technologies at Çatalhöyük: Reports from the 2000–2008 Seasons. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California. Hodder, I. (ed.) (2014) Integrating Çatalhöyük: Themes from the 2000–2008 Seasons. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California. Kahn, M. (1986) Always Hungry, Never Greedy. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Leach, E. R. (1964) Anthropological aspects of language: Animal categories and verbal abuse. In E. H. Lenneberg (ed.) New Directions in the Study of Language, 23–63. Cambridge, MIT Press. Lévi-Strauss, C. (1963) Totemism. Boston, Beacon Press. Martin, L. and Meskell, L. (2012) Animal figurines from Neolithic Çatalhöyük: Figural and faunal perspectives. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 22.3, 401–419. Martin, L., Russell, N. and Carruthers, D. (2002) Animal remains from the central Anatolian Neolithic. In F. Gérard and L. Thissen (eds.) The Neolithic of Central Anatolia: Internal Developments and External Relations during the 9th–6th Millennia cal BC, 193–206. Istanbul, Ege Yayınları. Meece, S. (2006) A bird’s eye view – of a leopard’s spots: The Çatalhöyük ‘map’ and the development of cartographic representation in prehistory. Anatolian Studies 56, 1–16. Mellaart, J. (1966) Chatal Huyuk: The world’s oldest city. The Illustrated London News 248, 26–27. Mellaart, J. (1967) Çatal Hüyük: A Neolithic Town in Anatolia. London, Thames & Hudson. Morris, B. (1998) The Power of Animals: An Ethnography. Oxford, Berg. Orton, D. C. (2008) Beyond hunting and herding: Humans, animals, and the political economy of the Vinča period. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Cambridge. Parkes, P. (1987) Livestock symbolism and pastoral ideology among the Kafirs of the Hindu Kush. Man 22.4, 637–660. Pearson, J. A., Haddow, S. D., Hillson, S. W., Knüsel, C. J., Larsen, C. S., Sadvari, J. W. (2015) Stable carbon and nitrogen isotope analysis and dietary reconstruction through the life course at Neolithic Çatalhöyük, Turkey. Journal of Social Archaeology 15.2, 210–232. Perkins, D., Jr. (1973) The beginnings of animal domestication in the Near East. American Journal of Archaeology 77.3, 279–282. Peters, J. and Schmidt, K. (2004) Animals in the symbolic world of Pre-Pottery Neolithic Göbekli Tepe, south-eastern Turkey: A preliminary assessment. Anthropozoologica 39, 179–218. Politis, G. G., and Saunders, N. J. (2002) Archaeological correlates of ideological activity: Food taboos and spirit-animals in an Amazonian hunter-gatherer society. In P. T. Miracle and N. Milner (eds.) Consuming Passions and Patterns of Consumption, 113–130. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Ross, E. B. (1978) Food taboos, diet, and hunting strategy: The adaptation to animals in Amazon cultural ecology. Current Anthropology 19.1, 1–36. Russell, N. (2006) Çatalhöyük worked bone. In I. Hodder (ed.) Changing Materialities at Çatalhöyük: Reports from the 1995–99 Seasons, McDonald Institute Monographs, 339–367. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Russell, N. (in press) Feathers and talons: Birds at Neolithic Çatalhöyük, Turkey. Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences. Russell, N., and Meece, S. (2006) Animal representations and animal remains at Çatalhöyük. In I. Hodder (ed.) Çatalhöyük Perspectives: Reports from the 1995–99 Seasons, 209–230. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research.

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Russell, N., Twiss, K. C., Orton, D. C. and Demirergi, G. A. (2013) More on the Çatalhöyük mammal remains. In I. Hodder (ed.) Humans and Landscapes of Çatalhöyük: Reports from the 2000–2008 Seasons. Monumenta Archaeologica 30, 213–258. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California. Serjeantson, D. (2000) Good to eat and good to think with: Classifying animals from complex sites. In P. A. Rowley-Conwy (ed.) Animal Bones, Human Societies, 179–189. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Sharp, H. S. (1976) Man: wolf: woman: dog. Arctic Anthropology 13, 25–34. Sidell, E. J. and Scudder, C. (2005) The eggshell from Çatalhoyuk: A pilot study. In I. Hodder (ed.) Inhabiting Çatalhöyük: Reports from the 1995–1999 Seasons, 117–121. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Speth, J. D. (1990) Seasonality, resource stress, and food sharing in so-called ‘egalitarian’ foraging societies. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 9.2, 148–188. Spielmann, K. A. (1989) A review: Dietary restrictions on hunter-gatherer women and the implications for fertility and infant mortality. Human Ecology 17.3, 321–345. Tambiah, S. J. (1969) Animals are good to think and good to prohibit. Ethnology 8.4, 423–459. Taylor, K. I. (1974) Sanumá Fauna: Prohibitions and Classifications. Caracas, Fundación La Salle de Ciencias Naturales. Thomas, J. S. (2003) Thoughts on the ‘repacked’ Neolithic Revolution. Antiquity 77.295, 67–74. Türkcan, A. U. (2007) Is it goddess or bear? The role of Catalhöyük animal seals in Neolithic symbolism. Documenta Praehistorica 34, 257–266. Twiss, K. C. (2006) A modified boar skull from Çatalhöyük. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 342, 1–12. Whitehead, H. (2000) Food Rules: Hunting, Sharing, and Tabooing Game in Papua New Guinea. Ann Arbor, University of Michigan Press. Wright, K. I. (2000) The social origins of cooking and dining in early villages of western Asia. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 66, 89–121. Yartah, T. (2005) Les bâtiments communitaires de Tell’Abr 3 (PPNA, Syrie). Neo-Lithics 1.05, 3–9. Zvelebil, M. (2000) Fat is a feminist issue: On ideology, diet and health in hunter-gatherer societies. In M. Donald and L. M. Hurcombe (eds.) Gender and Material Culture in Archaeological Perspective, 209–221. New York, St. Martin’s Press.

Chapter 3 Eating out: Food and social context in the Early Neolithic of Greece Kostas Kotsakis

Introduction Αs any visitor to a modern Greek town soon discovers, by merely taking note of the number of restaurants, bars, and eateries of all sorts, eating out seems like a particularly pleasant pastime. Apart from entertainment, however, frequent eating out serves, above all, to establish social connections, securing ties with friends and building symmetrical social networks among peers (Herzfeld 1991). Anthropologists and archaeologists have already described in detail the numerous facets and implications of eating together with others and of sharing food (e.g. Wiessner and Schiefenhövel 1996; Counihan 1999; Gosden and Hather 1999; Pappa et al. 2004). Eating with others inside the home is, on the other hand, strongly related to hospitality or family gatherings (Halstead 2012). Hospitality, in particular, introduces a vertical, non-symmetrical relationship between host and guest and establishes reciprocal obligations. In this sense, it works in the opposite direction to that of public consumption, which establishes mostly horizontal ties. This paper examines the archaeological evidence for these two diverging behaviours in the Neolithic, namely eating in public and eating in private, i.e., inside the house. I will argue that this – in every sense – meaningful distinction appeared within a novel sociocultural context. I will also claim that this particular context emerged step-by-step in the Neolithic. Many Neolithic scholars connect the sociocultural environments of food consumption with the function of the household. Byrd, for example, sees a direct association with nuclear families, operative even from the start of Pre-Pottery Neolithic (PPN) in the Southern Levant (Byrd 2000). Asouti and Fuller, on the other hand, discussing the emergence of agriculture in Southwest Asia, recognise practices of communal food consumption involving supra-household entities (Asouti and Fuller 2013). Bogaard et al. (2009) have proposed meat consumption in Çatalhöyük

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as the key focus for public events, while individual households controlled access to crops. These views, taken together, indicate the frozen conflict between the communal and the household unit. Likewise, Hayden argues that public consumption episodes are instrumental in increasing the competition between households leading to domestication (Hayden 2009). One way or another, they all agree that food consumption and its social context was a vital feature of the Neolithic way of life and a powerful leverage of social organisation, which is what we will be discussing in the context of the Greek Neolithic. It is not a big leap to assume that the role of food consumption remained equally significant after the initial stages of domestication and agriculture, as the new way of life went through continuous transformation and adaptation following its dramatic geographical expansion. It is also reasonable to assume that the incorporation of food into various social contexts must have been each time a discrete incident, distinct in its situated complexity. Çatalhöyük, for example, seems to follow its own path, not only in comparison to the much earlier PPN settlements of the Levant but also the neighbouring site of Aşıklı Höyük (Düring and Marciniak 2006; Hodder 2016). Similarly, the first communities in Greece were not just copying the household clusters of Çatalhöyük; their intrinsic ways of dealing with food consumption and its social associations must be examined and understood as a separate and individual phenomenon. It is wiser, in this respect, to avoid the much-disputed definition of the actuality, size, and composition of the household as a universal social entity. I prefer to focus here on the architectural and material culture datasets, which include the actual houses as individual physical objects, and their relation to places of consumption. In any case, households probably varied too widely, particularly in the Neolithic of Greece, to order them under one universal description. Hence, in referring to households, I choose to follow Bourdieu’s proposal, as endorsed by Miller (2005, 6), to move from the study of entities to the study of actual things as defined by the relationship that constitutes them. In the remaining chapter, I will be using the term household only as a convenient shorthand for a domestic group residing inside the house or clusters of houses, in contrast to the community as a whole. It goes without saying that, as far as the argument discussed here goes, it is irrelevant whether the physical entity of the house it to be understood in a one-to-one association with a household or not. Clusters of houses can well be connected into one household as, for example, happened in Middle Neolithic Sesklo B (Kotsakis 2006), or in early Çatalhöyük, while in Aşıklı Höyük, according to Düring and Marciniak (2006), clusters of houses can be ascribed to different neighbourhoods. Overall, in central Anatolia, there does seem to exist a specific process in which the clustered neighbourhood pattern breaks down in favour of individual houses of greater size and productive output (Hodder 2016, 36). It is too early to decide, however, at least in the case of the Greek Neolithic, whether clusters of houses and neighbourhoods were associated with other levels of social organisation. For the needs of the present argument, it is enough to limit our

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observations to the indications of preparation and consumption of food inside those houses or clusters of houses, as opposed to pits, or groups of pits, for that matter. This is, apparently, a ‘bottom-up’ approach; nevertheless, if we need to single out something acting as a constant trait of households in the Near Eastern examples mentioned above, it is the communal vs. the non-communal or ‘individual’ dialectic implied, if not explicitly stated. I consider this built-in tension to be a constitutive relationship of the Near Eastern and the Greek Neolithic, despite the many differences observed between them, with which we will now deal.

Pit-dwellings and houses The absence of rectangular houses in the earliest Neolithic architecture of Greece seems, on the present evidence, to be a general rule. Although, for obvious reasons, the earliest and deepest deposits of the Neolithic tells have not, as yet, been excavated in a large area, the lack of typical house architecture is still remarkable, given the recent finds of the earliest Neolithic in the broader region from recently excavated sites. Sites like Uluçak Höyük on the eastern coast of the Aegean, dated to the first half of the 7th millennium BCE, have produced complex architecture, with rectangular buildings and mud-brick walls, plastered floors, and traces of wall-paintings (Çilingiroğlu et al. 2012, Fig. 37). Other sites in the same region, similarly representing the oldest horizon in the Central Aegean coast of Turkey, notably Ege Gübre (Sağlamtimur 2012) and Yeşılova Höyük (Derin 2012), also preserve substantial architecture with rectangular houses built with stone socles. The earliest levels of Çukuriçi Höyük, dated at 6684+28 cal BC, revealed Complex 24, defined by straight clay walls; they contained a sequence of at least two lime-plastered floors with layers painted bright red and up to three successive hearths (Horejs 2012; Horejs et al. 2015, 297–8, Fig. 3). The description indicates a sophisticated domestic building. By contrast, the earliest phases of Sesklo in Greece, roughly contemporary to, or slightly later than, the coastal Anatolian sites, reveal only pits and ditches cut into the bedrock, some of them representing possible dwellings (Theocharis 1962, 29; Theocharis 1973, 35; Wijnen 1982, 17, Fig. 9). The same picture appears in the deeper levels of Argissa and Achilleion (Milojcic et al. 1962, 6–13, Plan III; Gimbutas et al. 1989, 32–34, Figs. 4.2 and 4.3). At Lerna, clusters of pits were similarly uncovered on the basal layers of the later Early Neolithic but were dismissed as ‘clay-pits’ (Banks 2015, 8–11). Turning further North in Greek Macedonia (Fig. 3.1), Revenia is a site of the Earliest Neolithic where pit-dwellings are the only existing architecture (Μπέσιος and Αδακτύλου 2006). Mavropigi further west is a new pioneer site, where pit-dwellings are also present in its earliest phase, replaced in succeeding periods by rectangular houses. It is interesting in this respect that one pit-dwelling located in the centre was preserved and used throughout the life of the settlement (Karamitrou-Mentessidi et al. 2015). We have the more explicit picture of this architectural form, so far, from of Paliambela Kolindros in Greek Macedonia, where excavations revealed a whole

Figure 3.1: Neolithic sites in northern Greece.

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Paliambela Kolindros

MN ditch

EN/MN ditch

Upper terrace Lower terrace

Not excavated

N Track

Pit dwellings Storage Food preparation Post-hole

Figure 3.2: Schematic plan of the pit-dwellings (lower terrace) and areas of food preparation and consumption (upper terrace) of Early Neolithic Paliambela Kolindros.

compound of pit-dwellings (Fig. 3.2). As we are going to see further down, the entire arrangement offers unique information on the complexity of the earliest architecture in Greece (Halstead and Kotsakis 2006; Papadakou 2010; Maniatis et al. 2013). All three Macedonian sites, recently excavated, date to the earliest Neolithic, before 6600 cal BC (Maniatis et al. 2013). The detailed presentation of the early Early Neolithic (EN) pit-dwellings in Greece is a subject for a different paper, and therefore not my concern here. However, since the argument that follows relies on the assumption that at least some of these pits were dwellings and not ‘refuse’ or ‘clay pits’, a few more points are in order. Large pits, described as dwellings, appear all through the Greek Neolithic: in Greek Macedonia (Kotsos and Urem-Kotsou 2006; Pappa 2008; Kotsos 2014), in Thessaly (Toufexis 2008), and in southern Greece (Chondrogianni 2009). In pit sites excavated almost to their full size, such as Makrygialos I and Revenia (Pappa and Besios 1999; Pappa 2008; Kotsakis 2014; Kotsos 2014), pits must unquestionably represent some form of dwelling. For the rest of the early sites with similar finds, the exclusive presence of pits cannot be

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explained as a mere coincidence, a product of a limited-scale excavation. If overground rectangular houses had existed, they would have stood logically the same chance of being recovered. All evidence up to now, therefore, shows that at least some of these early pits are the remains of dwellings. It also shows that for the initial phase of the Early Neolithic in Greece, there are still no examples of sites that have produced overground rectangular houses, and that the evidence is too overwhelming to plausibly explain their absence as a mere coincidence. We come, therefore, to an inevitable conclusion that, on the present evidence, this architectural form predates the appearance of rectangular houses and their documented domestic activities. On these grounds, the rejection of the existence of pit-dwellings (e.g. Perlès 2001, 184–185) does not seem justifiable anymore. Their presence further North, in the Balkans, as a widespread form of dwelling offers additional support (Bailey 2000). Before closing this controversial subject, a few more remarks are in order about attributes, such as posts, hearths and internal installations, roofing or walling, and other constructional features, which are typically required to designate a pit as a dwelling. This is not the place to discuss in detail all these features, but we need to be cautious of the potential confusion between what consitutes dwelling vs. the domestic mode of living, as they are two different things. Domestic living includes activities such as cooking and eating, heating, making tools and pots, etc. – exactly those social activities which, according to the argument presented here, occur inside the dwelling at a later stage, when the house dominates the archaeological record. One may even argue that it is precisely the potential to include such activities which gave the investment of time and labour required to build a house its worth, in the first place. By contrast, simple dwelling involves only protection from the elements. Posts are not unknown in pit dwellings, but they are not found in rows, as we are accustomed to from houses built with posts. Pit-dwellings are simple, light constructions, they do not need lines of thick posts to support massive superstructures or load-bearing walls and roofs covered with heavy mud. Judging from their size, they could accommodate one or two persons only. All ‘domestic’ activities would have taken place in the open, highly socialised space. Understandably, the archaeological signatures left by a house and a pit-dwelling will be diametrically different. At Paliambela Kolindros, which is the only site so far where micromorphological analysis has been carried out on the sediments from pit-dwellings, the signature observed was entirely compatible with the model of dwelling proposed here (Koromila 2015). The architectural picture shows that rectangular houses replace pit-dwellings later in the Early Neolithic, that is during the last couple of centuries of the 7th millennium BC. Many of these houses start to exhibit unmistakable traces of routines and practices that become even more evident during the subsequent Middle Neolithic (MN) (6000–5400 BC). A sense of order, of everything falling into its proper place, prevails in these houses. The systematic shift is not merely an architectural serendipity, but a whole new perception of space. According to the anthropologist Peter Wilson,

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who has studied the effect of the built environment on human society, space is used ‘as an elementary tool for the making of political structure’ (1988, 62). This would agree, at least to some degree, with Flannery’s old argument (1972) that the shift to this novel artefact, i.e., the house, is related to some fundamental, if not a radical, change in the sociocultural domain. Much factual evidence now supports this early hypothesis – not only because the house regulates and canonises the actual living space, and the entire settlement, for that matter, but also because houses, in many cases, represent a complex sequence of repeated rebuilds on the foundations of their earlier phases (Kotsakis 1999). The anthropologist Peter Wilson was the first to point out that this universal persistence, ‘time anchored in space,’ in his expression, is, in reality, an active material statement of ancestry and lineage stressing permanence and continuity in human-built settlement (Wilson 1988, 57–62). It has been connected to tell settlements in Central Europe and the Balkans (Chapman 1989; 1994), and also considered a very strong factor of the longevity of Neolithic tells in Greece (Kotsakis 1999). In opposition to temporary huts built over pits, which are open to one another’s view, houses hide their residents behind walls, forming an analogue for a new, separate social group – the household: ‘houses represent plans, and […] people recognise an association between particular groups and particular sites, as between the house and the household, the architectural structure of one providing an analogue to the structure of the other’ (Wilson 1988, 60). In the social space of the settlement, the privileged materiality of the house and its explicit continuity in time and space act as a strategy of memory, shaping segments of the social group, creating smaller individual group identities and projecting them to the rest of the community (Kotsakis 2009; 2014, 51). In this sense houses are, so to speak, strong political arguments for a group independence that came to stay. In this respect, the domestic independence of the house is highly significant: it is related to a lived, embodied experience for its resident group and, by inhibiting the surveillance of the neighbours, for the rest of the community, as well. The original solidarity, based on the proverbial one-to-one mutual reciprocity of gatherers and early farmers that used to structure the community (R-community) is challenged and transformed into reciprocity among neighbouring resident groups or households through hospitality (H-community, see Fig. 3.3). As a result, what I will call ‘house ideology’ deregulates and restructures relations within the community as a whole. As the house becomes an object with a central role in the space syntax of the settlement, the ideology emanating from it affects the core structure of the community. In this sense, the presence of the house does indeed signify a radical reshuffling of political regimes and networks of sharing, a reshuffling which disseminates the seeds of economic and ideological independence of the household, and introduces, for the first time, an increasing opposition between household and communal spheres. Architecture, performing on the interface between the private and the public, shoulders this task by producing form variability, such as two-storeyed houses with lofts, more entrances than usual, houses with internal buttresses, or houses with

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Figure 3.3: A tentative model of social relations in Neolithic settlements of Greece.

more elaborate facades. Architecture, thus, literally turns an abstract ideological message into an actual and visible way of embodied life. Interestingly, at about the same time (end of EN to early MN) house models begin to appear in the Neolithic material culture, first as an idealised image of the house itself, then, in the later Neolithic, as a view of its interior and of the actual members of the household. The well-known model from Platia Magoula Zarkou is a prime example of the latter (Gallis 1985). Why Anatolia did not produce anything similar (cf. Hansen 2014) is, in many ways, a fascinating question. A likely answer would be the early appearance of the house and the long-established significant role of the household in Anatolian society.

The social context of food consumption In the introduction of this chapter, I hinted at the importance of the social contexts of food consumption and the power of the messages produced by them. The hypothesis, for instance, that conspicuous consumption in feasting events was the driving force behind the emergence of agriculture (Hayden 2001; 2009) is only one example of the close connection of the circumstances of consumption with socioeconomic change. Regardless of its validity, the feasting hypothesis is in agreement with mainstream research, which, following the long tradition of ethnography, has currently recognised the critical role of food consumption for acquiring social assets, consolidating relations,

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and easing conflict and strife. Consequently, the variability of social contexts in which food is consumed can serve as a useful proxy for tracing the sort of rearrangement of social relations suggested here. What we have to do now is to concentrate on these contexts and look for their archaeological footprints. It is a fact that areas of public consumption recognised in Neolithic sites are not common. Hallan Çemi in Eastern Anatolia is a unique case of a hunter-gatherer protoNeolithic settlement where excavators interpret an open area 15 m in diameter, in the centre of the site, as a feasting ground. Deposits contain fire cracked stones and animal bones, some still articulated, individually decorated stone bowls, and specially sculpted pestles, which have been interpreted as evidence of formalised preparation of food. Evidence for a more wasteful consumption as compared to consumption in domestic contexts further supports a special arrangement. The articulated parts of animals are believed to have been discarded ceremonially and, together with the liberal attitude towards food observed, underline the ritual character of this public, open commensal event (Rosenberg and Redding 2000). The unique material culture implicated adds a distinctive element of conspicuousness, and suggests, if not a straight competition, definitely a covert conflict. We can describe this conflict as one of the core aspects of commensal performances throughout the Neolithic. A few sites in Greece have similar characteristics, but they are of a much later date. The best example is the well-known and extensively discussed site of massive public feasting from the late 6th millennium at Makrygialos (Pappa et al. 2004). Makrygialos is too late to be considered in detail here, although the settlement preserves, in a certain sense, the ancient pattern of habitation in pit-dwellings with the public consumption grounds in the middle. Other early sites with pit-dwellings recently excavated, such as Apsalos in Almopia, Revenia in Pieria, and Yiannitsa near Thessaloniki (Kotsakis 2014), give no conclusive evidence, but an earlier example, going back to the mid-7th millennium, comes from Mavropigi Fylotsairi, in Western Greek Macedonia. Here, again, the early phase I is represented by pits and pit-dwellings, with a large pit right in the centre of the site (Karamitrou-Mentessidi et al. 2015). We have only a preliminary report for this site, so we can only make hypotheses regarding the actual function of the central pit. However, if the arrangement of the much later Makriyalos is any indication, the Mavropigi central pit might have had a similar purpose, related to events of conspicuous public consumption. The difference is that the latter was still carefully maintained and used in the next two phases of the Early Neolithic, when rectangular post-houses, similar to those from the nearby Nea Nikomedeia (Rodden 1965; Wardle 1996), had replaced pit-dwellings. The preservation of this central and large pit throughout Mavropigi indicates the persistence of its particular ceremonial function. It is too early, however, to say whether the messages projected from the events taking place here were resisting or had already incorporated elements of the emergent ‘house ideology’. Such an answer can only be given in the future by a thorough analysis of the archaeological evidence preserved.

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Nea Nikomedeia, on the contrary, although extensively excavated, has revealed no comparable open feature of public food consumption. Similar events could have taken place inside the so-called ‘shrine’, the large building at the centre of the settlement, with the rather unusual finds (Rodden 1965). This central building was larger than average and preserved two reconstruction phases. It was not a ‘public’ place in the sense of the open pits in Makrygialos or Mavropigi, and certainly, I would have thought, not a feature reminiscent of some ancient tradition of communality, rather a feature underlining the dominant role of the house. In Achilleion, on the other hand, excavations revealed a find that, so far, has no parallels: a big fire platform made of plaster, situated in an open space, between houses. It has been dated towards the end of the Early Neolithic period, and was located next to an oven, a yellow plastered floor, and a big pit. Around the platform, on the plastered floor, excavation found some fine painted bowls, querns, and two ‘cult’ vessels with legs, as well as some figurines. The big adjacent pit must have received the pieces of the destroyed objects that participated in the ceremony, and had large quantities of animal bone, broken querns, and many painted sherds at a percentage of more than 60%, far exceeding the on average 14 % frequency of painted pottery in this phase. Half of the painted pottery in this pit was decorated with parallel white lines. Again, only 15% of the painted sherds in this building phase were decorated with this motive. The area was designated by the excavator as a ‘cooking area’ and interpreted as a place of ‘communal activities’ (Gimbutas et al. 1989, 47–50). Undoubtedly, the evidence indicates a special area where public events related to food preparation and consumption were taking place. The high percentage of painted pottery and the possibly ceremonial breakage of vessels and tools for serving, consuming, preparing, and cooking of food indicate a performance involving a highly conspicuous – if not dramatic – element. The significance of publicly cooking is underlined in the elaborate structures and the landscaping activities observed in Paliambela Kolindros. These activities represent the earliest human deposits on the site and are among the earliest few in the Neolithic of Greece. Far from setting up a ‘primitive’, temporary campsite with pits, the first farmers of Paliambela Kolindros shaped the settlement area with a clear concept of order. As the stratigraphy reveals, they first exposed the surface of the natural rock and then shaped it into one high step forming one lower and one upper terrace. Subsequently, they cut larger pits into the lower terrace as dwellings and small ones for cooking and storing in the upper terrace. A track leading from the lower to the upper terrace was cut into the bedrock. No signs of food preparing facilities have been found in the dwellings’ pits, while significant quantities of food and traces of food preparation have been investigated on the upper terraces, in the small pits and carvings cut into the rock. The clear separation of everyday functions in two distinct and marked areas is indeed remarkable, if for no other reason than the effort involved. This sophisticated, open, and accessible installation most likely represents the daily activities of a limited number of individuals, rather than a massive, special ceremony of sharing. I dare to

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suggest that this small-scale, almost mundane manner of food consumption reveals the reciprocity mentality (what I have called here the R-community) of the people living in the Early Neolithic Paliambela Kolindros. The grip of communal sharing was still so strong on the conceptions and daily lives of these early Neolithic farmers that it did not require ideological props, such as an ostentatious redistributive ritual, to naturalise it. A significant change in Paliambela Kolindros is visible at the end of the 7th and beginning of the 6th millennium BC. By this period, the pits had been already abandoned, and rectangular houses had appeared in organised clusters. These houses preserve ample evidence of food preparation and cooking, such as a large central installation, possibly an oven, a mortar fixed on the floor of the house, querns and grinders, inside storage facilities, and quantities of pottery for cooking, serving, and consuming food. Contrary to the earliest phases of the settlement, food consumption was now no longer public and open, but had become controlled, taking place behind closed walls, in the domestic domain. No open area for public food consumption has been identified, so far. The absence of places of open commensality is evident also at Sesklo, the Greek Neolithic site for which we have a clearer picture of space allocation and use. Sesklo during the 6th millennium was exclusively occupied by houses built either as independent buildings or in clusters. The best-preserved houses include facilities for cooking, storing, and consuming food. A well-known example is House 11–12, dated to the final Middle Neolithic, where the spatial proximity of storage and cooking is remarkable. The house stood surrounded by a stone wall separating its residents from the rest (Theocharis 1973). House C, at Sesklo B, has preserved a slab-covered floor defining the cooking area and a cobbled part for the rest of the house. A thermal structure made of smaller slabs was found intact with traces of fire and a cooking pot still on it (Kotsakis 1981). House 14, again at Sesklo B, dates to the same period, i.e., the end of the Middle Neolithic at Sesklo (around 5400 BC), and had a quern in situ, as well as many pots for cooking and serving food. The cobbled yard in front of the house has preserved evidence of crafting activities. House 39, of the same age, has preserved a similar picture. Promachon-Topolnitsa, on the Greek–Bulgarian border, presents another interesting example of a public consumption place in the form of what has been described by the excavators as a ‘community building’ (Koukouli-Chrissanthaki et al. 2007). In reality, this Late Neolithic feature, dated to the end of the 6th millennium, has the form of a giant pit of 12 metres in diameter and several metres deep. The pit had several phases, represented by hearths and floors, occasionally cobbled, with ample evidence for cooking. Bullheads and two clay house models, together with fine, decorated pottery, figurines, and animal bones, were among the many unusual finds discovered in this unique non-domestic construction.

Discussion and conclusions These are, of course, just a few selected examples. Enough evidence, however, is available from other sites as well to permit some level of generalisation. By the Middle

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Neolithic, i.e., by the beginning of the 6th millennium, most settlements had adopted a domestic way of life in rectangular houses, typically independent of each other, but occasionally built in clusters. Often, especially in the tells, which start to appear at this time, some houses are rebuilt several times on the same spot, enhancing the sense of continuity of the resident group, and consequently its augmented sense of individuality through its lineage. Apart from the examples, well-known in the literature, of Sesklo, Otzaki Magoula, Tsangli, Nea Nikomedeia, etc., fine examples of houses rebuilt on the same spot have been discovered by new excavations, such as Koutroulou Magoula (Kyparissi-Apostolika 2006) and Paliambela (Kotsakis and Halstead 2012). Vertical ties gradually replaced the horizontal connections within the community. In these tell sites, central places of communal consumption have not been recognised, so far. The domination of individual houses with their lineages seem to have changed the conditions of consumption from a public and open event to a domestic affair, where hospitality rather than generalised reciprocity was the mechanism for redistribution and maintaining solidarity within the community, what I have called an H-community. No doubt, this change in strategies of cohesion and conflict prevention renegotiated social values concerning food consumption. Witness to these new values is the rise of richly decorated pottery and fine ware of high visibility, which participate in hospitality events. The proliferation of specialised pottery shapes that clearly distinguish the host (big vessels for presenting and offering food) from guest (vessels for private consumption) stand in contrast to the rather monotonous repertoire of shapes and sizes from the Early Neolithic. Cooking pots, which formalise and enrich the food preparation process, now appear, and add another crucial element in this ongoing movement towards social complexity and change (Urem-Kotsou and Kotsakis 2007). The separation of the house from neighbours, or the separation of storage from cooking, as in House 11–12 at Sesklo, created new barriers and regulated access to food preparation and consumption. Public open events of food consumption, sometimes even conspicuous, wasteful consumption, would not have been totally eclipsed, of course. It remains evident in the hundreds of animals consumed in Makriyalos and the over a thousand pots smashed on the feasting grounds afterwards, or in the simpler public events of Achilleion, Promachon-Topolonitsa, and other sites. Current views maintain that meat consumption was heavily charged with social meaning (Halstead 2012; Tzevelekidi 2012). Its distribution and public consumption would have been a medium for re-establishing solidarity of the social group, challenged by the emerging households residing in their individual houses. The actual tools of this attempt, however, bear the mark of the new era. Recall, here, the high percentages of painted pottery connected to public food consumption at Achilleion. As we have seen, already, painted pottery, being closely related to domestic hospitality, brings to the ceremony values and meanings created in the domestic domain. To some extent, therefore, pottery undermines, with its agency, the collective significance of the event. Similarly, at Makriyalos, serving vessels with distinctive stylistic differences connected to specific parts of the settlement brought food to this massive feasting

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event to be consumed by commensal individuals using their pots (Pappa et al. 2004; Urem-Kotsou and Kotsakis 2007, 228). It is very likely that people participating in the event could read through style the presence of these distinct parts and their related households active in the settlement. The case of the Promachon-Topolnitsa pit is somewhat different. As access to the pit was controllable, we can assume that this was permitted only to invited members, performing largely away from the sight of the rest of the community. The communal pit is more akin to the community houses known in settlements of the Near East and Anatolia, possibly also that of Nea Nikomedeia. In this sense, the event itself had already incorporated the logic of hospitality offered inside a house for invited individuals. The two models of houses found on the floors further signify the powerful presence of the ‘house ideology’ and make us think that it had already influenced and changed the meaning of commensality (Koukouli-Chrissanthaki et al. 2007, Fig. 26). Interestingly, the bull skulls depicted hanging from the walls of the house models are repeated as real specimens inside the pit. Similarly, real bull skulls have been found inside the houses of Dikili Tash (Treuil 1998). In conclusion, I will attempt a tentative general appraisal of social developments in the Greek Neolithic. The secession of the household from the collective social body, starting from the late Early Neolithic onwards, created a covert conflict with the ancestral rules of the community, exerting marked pressure on the primaeval collective, reciprocal solidarity. Part of the reciprocity was incorporated into the house itself, taking the form of hospitality, proportionally affecting material culture, mainly pottery. Social ties were eventually rearranged, as indicated by a change in scale of public consumption practices, the eventual domination of houses, and the reorientation of material culture to incorporate new meanings. It is probable that the occasionally larger, even massive, scale of consumption that survived in later periods of the Neolithic reflects an ideological strategy to overcome the strong pressure exercised by the rising new social entity. The case of Makriyalos, in particular, which seems like a settlement where earlier collective forms survived late in the Neolithic, makes us wonder why certain societies remained so resilient to the pressing rearrangement of social ties imposed by the reality around them.

Acknowledgements This paper is based on new research carried out largely within the framework of the project EXPLORING (Exploitation of Resources in the Neolithic Period in Northern Greece. Material Culture and Environment, 2012–2015). The project was co-financed by the European Union (European Social Fund – ESF) and Greek national funds through the Operational Program ‘Education and Lifelong Learning’ of the National Strategic Reference Framework (NSRF) – Research Funding Program: Thales. Investing in knowledge society through the European Social Fund. I am indebted to the numerous colleagues participating in different capacities in the project. I am particularly indebted to the excavators Maria Pappa, Areti Chondrogianni, Anastasia

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Chrysostomou, Anastasia Georgiadou, Manthos Bessios, Stavros Kotsos, Foteini Adaktylou, and Athina Athanassiadou.

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Milojčič, V., Boessneck, J. and Hopf, M. (1962). Das präkeramische Neolithikum sowie die Tier- und Pflanzenreste, Die deutschen Ausgrabungen auf der Argissa-Magula in Thessalien. Bonn, Rudolf Habelt Verlag. Papadakou, T. (2010) Αρχαιότερη Νεολιθική Κεραμική από τα Παλιάμπελα Κολινδρού. Thessaloniki, Department of Archaeology, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. Pappa, M. (2008) Οργάνωση του χώρου και οικιστικά στοιχεία στους νεολιθικούς οικισμούς της Κεντρικής Μακεδονίας. Doctoral thesis, Department of Archaeology, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. Pappa, M. and Besios, M. (1999) The Neolithic settlement at Makriyalos, Northern Greece: Preliminary report on the 1993–1995 excavations. Journal of Field Archaeology 26.2, 177–195. https://ikee.lib.auth.gr/record/106038 (accessed when?) Pappa, M., Halstead, P., Kotsakis, K. and Urem-Kotsou, D. (2004) Evidence for large-scale feasting at Late Neolithic Makriyalos, N Greece. In P. Halstead and J. C. Sheffield (eds.) Food, Cuisine and Society in Prehistoric Greece, 16–44. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Perlès, C. (2001) The Early Neolithic in Greece: The First Farming Communities in Europe. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Rodden, R. J. (1965) An Early Neolithic village in Greece. Scientific American 212.4, 83–91. Rosenberg, M. and Redding, R. W. (2000) Hallan Çemi and early village organization in Eastern Anatolia. In I. Kuijt (ed.) Life in Neolithic Farming Communities. Social Organization, Identity and Differentiation, 39–61. New York, Kluwer Academic, Plenum Publishers. Sağlamtimur, H. (2012) The Neolithic settlement of Ege Gübre. In M. Özdoğan, N. Bașgelen and P. Kuniholm (eds.) The Neolithic in Turkey. New Excavations and New Research, Western Turkey, 197–225. Istanbul, Archaeology and Art Publications. Theocharis, D. R. (1962) Ανασκαφαί εν Σέσκλω. Πρακτικά της εν Αθήναις Αρχαιολογικής Εταιρείας 1962, 24–35. Theocharis, D. R. (1973) Neolithic Greece. Athens, National Bank of Greece. Toufexis, G. (2008) Recent Neolithic research in the eastern Thessalian plain, Greece. In H. Erkanal, H. Hauptmann, V. Şahoğlu and V. Tuncel (eds.) The Aegean in the Neolithic, Chalcolithic and the Early Bronze Age, 569–579. Ankara, Ankara University. Treuil, R. (1998) Un ‘bucrane’ néolithique à Dikili Tash (Macédoine orientale): parallèles et perspectives d’interprétation. Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique 124, 1–25. Tzevelekidi, V. (2012) Dressing for Dinner: Butchery and Bone Deposition at Late Neolithic Toumba Kremastis Koiladas, Northern Greece. British Archaeological Reports International Series 2451. Oxford, Archaeopress. Urem-Kotsou, D. and Kotsakis, K. (2007) Pottery, cuisine and community in the Neolithic of North Greece. In J. Renard and C. Mee (eds.) Cooking up the past: food and culinary practices in the Neolithic and Bronze Age Aegean, 225–246. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Wardle, K. A. (ed.) (1996) Nea Nikomedeia I: The Excavation of an Early Neolithic Village in Northern Greece 1961–1964. Supplementary Volume No. 25. Oxford, The British School at Athens. Wiessner, P. W. and Schiefenhövel, W. (1996) Food and the Status Quest: An Interdisciplinary Perspective. Providence, Berghahn Books. Wijnen, M.-H. J. M. N. (1982) The Early Neolithic I settlement at Sesklo: An Early Farming Community in Thessaly, Greece. Leiden, Universitaire Pers Leiden. Wilson, P. J. (1988) The Domestication of the Human Species. New Haven and London, Yale University Press.

Chapter 4 Breath of change: Food and pottery in the course of the Neolithic in northern Greece Dushka Urem-Kotsou

Introduction It is widely accepted that food and its associated material culture have the potential to define the social identities of individuals and groups, and can, thus, signify a variety of social distinctions or relationships and provide an effective means of uniting and dividing people. Eating and drinking together, whether in an everyday or less mundane context, are essentially social practices that play an active role in the formation of social life. Different kinds, quantities, and degrees of elaboration of food may mark feasts as distinct from daily meals, and may distinguish different types of feasts and other commensal occasions (e.g. Dietler and Hayden 2001; Halstead 2015). Cooking techniques may also distinguish daily from special meals. For example, roasting is often used to prepare meat for feasting events, but more ‘ordinary’ cooking techniques such as boiling and steaming may also have a diacritical role (Hastorf 2015). Therefore, the preparation and consumption of food can have multiple meanings, which are closely related to their general historical and specific social context. Archaeologically, the importance and values associated with these practices may be inferred through the use of related material culture, like pottery, and the context in which remains of food preparation and consumption are found, as a growing body of published research shows (e.g. Parker-Pearson 2003; Halstead and Barrett 2004; Mee and Renard 2007; Aranda Jiménez et al. 2011; Pollock 2015). In this vein, I discuss changes in culinary and consumption practices during the Neolithic in northern Greece as evidenced by ceramic vessels, with the aim of providing insight into social life and its transformations. Culinary practices will be approached through analysis of the typological characteristics of cooking pots (e.g. shape and size), use-alteration traces, and the available data from chemical analysis of organic residues absorbed into vessel walls. The social dimensions of

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Table 4.1: Sites with systematically studied pottery within the Thales project. Sites

Chronological phases

Total no. sherds studied

% studied of total found

Paliambela Kolindros

Early Neolithic (EN), Middle Neolithic (MN)

> 9,600 EN > 17,635 MN

100 EN, ~20 MN

Revenia Korinos

Early Neolithic

> 55,700

~40

Ritini Agios Nikolaos

Early Neolithic/Middle Neolithic*

> 32,000

100

Makriyalos I

Late Neolithic

> 222,000

40

Thermi

Middle and Late Neolithic

> 6,700

~10

Stavroupoli

Middle and Late Neolithic

> 53,000

~20–25

Lete III

Early Neolithic/Middle Neolithic*

> 5,900

100

Mikri Volvi

Early Neolithic/Middle Neolithic*

> 1,725**

~30

Apsalos

Middle Neolithic

> 23,250

~40

Varemenoi Goulon

Early and Middle Neolithic

> 9,300

100

Roditis

Early Neolithic/Middle Neolithic*

> 7,300

100

Toumba Kremastis Koiladas

Late Neolithic

> 44,100

~20–25

*The term Early Neolithic/Middle Neolithic refers to the chronological period between approximately 6000 and 5800 BC, which, according to new data, belongs to the end of the Early and the beginning of the Middle Neolithic (Maniatis 2014; Maniatis et al. 2015); **Mikri Volvi: the number given represents the total number of vessels studied and not the total number of sherds; ~ stands for approximately.

food will be further illuminated by examining consumption practices through the characteristics of tableware and their use in public contexts. Discussion will be based on pottery from Neolithic settlements in central and western Greek Macedonia, most of them recently studied within the Thales project (see Acknowledgements and Table 4.1), which together span from the beginning of the Early Neolithic (EN) to the early Late Neolithic (LN) (i.e. approximately 6500–4900 BC) (Andreou et al. 2001), in both regions. The chronological framework of the Neolithic in northern Greece has recently changed in the light of new radiocarbon dates (Maniatis 2014), which place the beginning of the Neolithic in the middle of the 7th millennium BC or slightly earlier. Settlements of such an early date excavated thus far include Paliambela-Kolindros, Revenia-Korinos, and Axos A in central Macedonia (Urem-Kotsou et al. 2014 and references therein), and Mavropigi-Filotsairi in western Macedonia (KaramitrouMentessidi et al. 2015) (Fig. 4.1). In all cases, the total area of the earliest layers uncovered is quite restricted, while publication of the material, and of pottery in particular, is in some cases very limited or still pending. Available evidence, however,

Figure 4.1: Map of northern Greece showing location of the sites mentioned in the text.

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allows some preliminary observations. Information is more abundant for the later phases of the EN and even more so for the Middle Neolithic (MN) and, particularly, the LN.

Cooking in the Neolithic of northern Greece Culinary practices in the Neolithic of northern Greece have been quite intensively studied in the last decade or so, mainly through the study of archaeobotanical (Valamoti 2004; 2009), zooarchaeological (Halstead and Isaakidou 2011; 2013; Tzevelekidi 2012), and molluscan remains (Veropoulidou 2014), while cooking pots have largely been neglected or have attracted much less attention. Yet, cooking vessels, as a basic tool in the preparation of food, could be a rich source of information on such practices. Apart from providing information on the actual food cooked in pots, through the analysis of organic remains (e.g. Urem-Kotsou 2006; Evershed et al. 2008; Debono Spiteri et al. 2016) or, more recently, of microbotanical remains (García-Granero et al. 2017), cooking pots offer other potential insights. Their shape provides a useful indicator of the cooking techniques used in the preparation of food, while their size may be related to the kind of food cooked in them (e.g. viscous or thin, leafy vegetables or cereals), but also to the number of people sharing this food in the relevant social context (e.g. everyday meals in a domestic context versus feasting) (e.g. Urem-Kotsou 2006; Lis 2008; Halstead and Isaakidou 2011; Lymperaki et al. 2016). Use-alteration traces, such as sooting clouds on external vessel walls produced by fuel, may help to identify cooking pots in pottery assemblages and indicate how the pot was heated. Traces on internal vessel walls, such as carbonised deposits and abrasion, provide further evidence of cooking techniques and the kind of food involved (Urem-Kotsou 2011; Bajčev, this volume). Study of pottery assemblages from northern Greece shows gradual change in the way food was prepared in the earlier phases of the Neolithic, with significant changes taking place in later phases. The earliest ceramic vessels seem to have been used merely for consumption of food and not for cooking, at least in central and western Macedonia, since there is no evidence of their use over fire; sooting clouds formed by fuel are not encountered on external vessel walls, nor are carbonised deposits or any kind of residue associated with food found on internal walls (Urem-Kotsou et al. 2014; Urem-Kotsou et al., 2018). Food could certainly be cooked without placing the pot over fire, by using heated stones (Sassaman 1995; Özbal et al. 2012; 2015), but, in that case, some characteristic traces would be expected on the internal walls of the pot (As et al. 2005, 104; Tomkins 2007; Vuković 2011, 207, Fig. 3). The fact that early pottery was not used for cooking suggests that the way food was prepared in the earliest phases of the Neolithic may have been similar to the pre-pottery period. The first observable changes in culinary practice occur in somewhat later phases of the EN, when small numbers of vessels appear to have been used over fire, although not in all settlements. Strikingly, settlements with evidence for early use of pots

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for cooking are widely scattered and may be some distance apart, while even fairly close neighbours may differ in this respect. For example, in the southern part of the region discussed here (Fig. 4.1), small numbers of vessels used over fire have been identified in the excavated settlements of Nea Nikomedeia (Youni 1996) and Ritini further south, but not in Revenia and Paliambela (Urem-Kotsou et al., 2018). Similarly, in the west of the region discussed, a small number of vessels was used over fire at EN Varemenoi Goulon but not at neighbouring Roditis (Fig. 4.1). Some vessels used for cooking have also been reported at westerly Mavropigi, but in which of the three EN phases they initially occurred is not specified (KaramitrouMentessidi et al. 2015). The evidence from pottery, thus, suggests that, after the earliest phase of the Neolithic, some differences between settlements emerged in how food was prepared. The use of ceramic vessels for cooking introduced a new way of preparing food, implying the creation of new tastes. Following Bourdieu (1984), Mennell (1996), Lupton (1996), and many others, the formation of food and other tastes is never socially neutral, but is always entangled with affiliations to social groups. Novelties in cooking and the development of new tastes may, thus, have been actively involved, consciously or unconsciously, in moulding distinct identities for these communities. It is unclear whether this novelty was related to the introduction of new foodstuff(s), yet to be identified in the archaeological record, or whether ‘old’ ingredients were processed in a new way. That the number of early vessels used for cooking food appears to have been quite small raises the question as to whether they were used in the preparation of food consumed regularly or for particular dishes consumed on special occasions. The shape and size of early cooking pots remain largely unknown due to their high fragmentation, but most must have been deep and closed-shaped vessels, which suggests boiling as the associated cooking technique. EN cooking pots are occasionally decorated with finger or nail impressions, sometimes even on the vessel base, as the example from Ritini in Pieria shows (Fig. 4.2).

Figure 4.2: Base of the Early Neolithic cooking pot with impresso decoration. Burnt residues visible on the vessel’s inner surface (Ritini settlement).

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Figure 4.3: Middle Neolithic cooking pot shapes.

Firm evidence for the regular use of vessels for cooking comes from the early MN, but the heavy predominance of deep closed-shaped vessels of moderate size (Fig. 4.3) implies that the most common dishes so prepared were boiled. Some exceptions are indicated at the sites of Mikri Volvi, Koroneia, and Apsalos (Fig. 4.1), where shallow pans suitable for baking were used, at least occasionally, in the preparation of presumably a different kind of dish from that cooked in deep hole-mouth pots (Kotsos and Urem-Kotsou 2016, Fig. 4, top). Judging from the much more frequent occurrence of shallow pans at Mikri Volvi and Koroneia than at Apsalos,1 food prepared in this type of vessel must have been more favoured in the area of the Langadas basin than further west. MN cooking pots are sometimes decorated with impressed decoration as in the previous period, at least in the area of Pieria (Siamidou 2017; Urem-Kotsou et al. 2018, Fig. 12.a), or with barbotine and other relief ornaments (Fig. 4.4). Significant changes in cooking are observed in the LN. From its earlier phase, LN cuisine was enriched with baked food and with a greater variety of dishes, as indicated by increased variability in shapes and sizes of cooking pots (Figs. 4.5 and 4.6). Deep open-shaped vessels, suitable for the preparation of thicker dishes such as ‘mushy’ and stewed food, and deep close-shaped vessels, suitable for more liquid dishes, are common in all early LN settlements, along with shallow pans of various sizes that must have been used for a variety of foodstuffs. This is supported by use-related

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traces: large shallow pans, in contrast to their smaller counterparts, are rarely found with black zones on their internal walls. As our experimental study shows (Fig. 4.7), these zones, especially if rich in lipids, are normally formed by moist cooking of food and organic residue analysis has indeed not detected any lipid compounds absorbed in the walls of the large shallow pans, contrary to their smaller counterparts (Urem-Kotsou and Kotsakis 2007). There are also quite small cooking pots which could have been used, for example, in the preparation of sauces to accompany other dishes (Fig. 4.5: 4, 6; Fig. 4.6: 7). LN cooking pots in northern Greece usually had flat bases, as in previous periods, but now, for the first time, included vessels with feet (Fig. 4.5: 2; Fig. 4.6: 5). Footed vessels first appeared in the MN, but in tableware and other functional categories rather than in cooking ware (for a review of footed vessels, see Sophronidou and Tsirtsoni 2007). Legs on LN cooking pots could be quite high, suggesting that these pots were designed to be at some distance from fuel, Figure 4.4: Middle Neolithic cooking pots allowing cooking at low temperatures. The with barbotine and other relief decoration co-occurrence of cooking pots with flat (Apsalos settlement). bases, used in direct contact with fuel and thus at higher temperatures, and of footed types implies that food was cooked at different temperatures, which must have been related to the preparation of different types of food and different kinds of dishes (Urem-Kotsou 2011). Based on the available evidence, LN cooking pots in the region discussed here were not decorated. In sum, recent studies of cooking pots from Neolithic settlements in central and western Macedonia show that very early EN pottery was not used for cooking. After this initial phase, some early sites appear to have used small numbers of pots for cooking while other contemporaneous settlements did not. Pottery thus indicates the emergence of differences between early communities in culinary practices. The first clear evidence for systematic use of pots for cooking is encountered in the early MN, but the range of shapes was very limited, implying that the variety of foods prepared in ceramic vessels was also limited. Some settlements, however, exhibit a greater variety of cooking pots and thus cooking techniques, as in the case of Mikri

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Figure 4.5: Cooking vessels from Makriyalos I settlement.

4. Breath of change: Food and pottery in the course of the Neolithic

Figure 4.6: Cooking vessels from Stavroupoli I settlement.

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Figure 4.7: Experimental cooking vessels used for boiling food with use-alteration traces.

Volvi and Koroneia in the Langadas basin and of Apsalos further northwest. Significant changes are observed in the early LN, when increased morphological variability in cooking pots implies greater variety in both cooking techniques and dishes prepared in ceramic vessels. The frequency of cooking pots also gradually increased over time, indicating that cooking in ceramic vessels became a more regular part of culinary practice, particularly in the later phases of the Neolithic. In this context, it may be significant that cooking pots were sometimes decorated in the earlier phases, but that this practice declined in the LN as cooking in ceramic vessels became more commonplace. Additional evidence for similarities and differences in culinary practice and dietary preferences between communities in northern Greece is provided by chemical analysis of organic residues from cooking pots dated to the early LN.

Culinary practice, dietary preferences, and organic residue analysis As we have seen, similar cooking techniques must have been used in the preparation of food cooked in ceramic vessels in the early LN settlements of central and western Macedonia. For example, Dispilio (Sophronidou 2002, Figs. 9, 11, 13), Toumba Kremastis Koiladas (Lymperaki et al. 2015) in western Macedonia, and Stavroupoli (Urem-Kotsou and Gioura 2004; Lymperaki et al. 2016), Makriyalos (Urem-Kotsou 2006), and Paliambela (personal observations) in central Macedonia have a similar range of cooking pot shapes. These include deep open- and closed-shaped vessels with flat bases and, less frequently, on legs, as well as very shallow pans of various sizes (Fig. 4.6: 8). Zooarchaeological (Yiannouli 2002; 2004; Tzevelekidi 2012; Tzevelekidi et al. 2014) and archaeobotanical (Margariti 2002; 2004; Valamoti 2003; 2004) investigations also point to similarities in the diet of the early

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LN inhabitants in these regions. Chemical analysis of food residues, however, indicates that some differences in culinary practices might have existed between the settlements. For example, two contemporary early LN settlements in central Macedonia, Stavroupoli I and Makriyalos I (Fig. 4.1), show a striking similarity in their inventory of cooking pot types (Figs. 4.5 and 4.6). At both sites, all four principal domestic animals are present and overwhelmingly dominant relative to wild. Domestic ruminants are by far the best represented and the evidence for their husbandry is similar at both sites, pointing to a ‘meat’ production strategy, particularly for sheep and probably also for cattle and goats (for which evidence is sparser), although this does not preclude some use of milk, fibre, or labour (Yiannouli 2002; 2004; Tzevelekidi et al. 2014). Chemical analysis of ceramic vessels confirms that the inhabitants of Stavroupoli, in addition to meat, also consumed dairy products, although probably not systematically. Cooking pots and cups with identified compounds of dairy products point to warming and drinking of milk, but a spouted open-shaped cooking pot may indicate that some other dairy products were also produced. At Makriyalos, on the contrary, dairy products were not identified in the pots (Evershed et al. 2008; Kotsakis et al. 2008; Debono Spiteri et al. 2016). This does not preclude consumption of milk and dairy products at Makriyalos, but indicates that pottery was not used in their preparation or consumption. However, stable isotope analysis of human bones from both sites appears to support the results of chemical analysis of pottery. The analysis of human bones shows a relatively high consumption of animal proteins in the diet of Stavroupoli inhabitants. The diet of Makriyalos inhabitants, on the contrary, relied on plant proteins (Triantaphyllou 2015). A further difference between the two settlements concerns the consumption of pork, which seems to have been favoured at Makriyalos (Tzevelekidi et al. 2014) more than Stavroupoli (Yiannouli 2002; 2004). Ongoing chemical analysis of organic remains in cooking pots indicates some differences in culinary and dietary habits also in previous periods of the Neolithic in this region, even between settlements located quite close to each other (Whelton et al. 2017). Further insights into the social dimensions of food emerge from the social context of its consumption, which may be explored through the characteristics of tableware and their use in public contexts.

Tableware and the consumption of food in context In the light of archaeological discussion of the meaning of material culture, stylistic variability in vessels, particularly those used for consumption of food and drink, may be linked to the dynamics of identity negotiation among individuals and social groups. For example, horizontal and vertical social integration or distinctions may be emphasised or masked by variation in the raw materials, decoration, shapes, or size of vessels used in serving and the consumption of food and drink (e.g. Halstead and Barrett 2004).

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As we have seen, early EN vessels were used only for consumption of food. Systematic study of the first pottery in the region shows that early vessels were barely decorated, if at all. Their open shapes and usually medium size suggest they must have been used for sharing food, while their restricted stylistic variability implies that social differences among participants were not stressed in consumption practices (Urem-Kotsou et al. 2014). If early vessels played an active role in mediating social identities and relations, then it seems that pottery played a unifying role within the community. Of course, distinctions between participants in commensal events could have been achieved through the parallel use of vessels made of other materials, like wood, which have not survived in the archaeological record (Tomkins 2007, 185–187). Decorated pottery is regularly present in all late EN settlements, albeit with some regional stylistic variation, and increases in frequency (particularly painted decoration) in the MN (Urem-Kotsou et al. 2014). It is probably not without significance that the majority of pottery in the latter period is still used for food consumption. The number of known settlements increases significantly in the MN and it has been suggested that the increase in decorated, particularly painted, pottery might be related to the role of such vessels in consumption practices and thus in active communication among the increasing population (Kotsakis 2014). It may not be merely fortuitous that the regular appearance of decorated tableware overlaps chronologically with the observed changes in culinary practices. Striking changes in pottery technology, morphology, and overall style are widely observed in the early LN. The majority of innovations occur in vessels for serving and consumption of food and drink. Their colour changes dramatically – dark LN tablewares contrast sharply with their light-coloured MN counterparts.2 Alongside changes in vessel colours, new decorative techniques were applied, mainly to tableware, which further highlight this category of vessels and increase its stylistic complexity. These innovations include channelled and rippled decoration, pattern burnishing, incisions with or without infilling, and a variety of impressed and plastic motifs. Several decoration techniques could be combined on a single vessel, while painting, the decorative technique applied most frequently to earlier Neolithic pottery, was now enriched by a greater variety of raw materials and by changes in the combinations of colours. In addition, drinking sets comprised of amphorae, jugs, and cups became a regular part of the early LN pottery assemblages, suggesting the social importance of drinking in this period (Urem-Kotsou and Kotsakis, forthcoming). Smaller vessels, like cups, are sometimes particularly symbolically charged. Again, it is difficult not to correlate these striking changes in tableware with the significant changes in cooking practices and with the increased variety of cooking techniques and dishes introduced in this period. As extensively discussed elsewhere (Urem-Kotsou 2016), these radical changes in tableware styles must have been related to the active social role of pottery and food consumption especially in public contexts. Public consumption of food is considered an effective field for promoting both horizontal and vertical social integration and

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distinction. In northern Greece, apart from domestic contexts, three examples of public consumption of food, all dated to the early LN, have been uncovered at Makriyalos I in central Macedonia (Pappa et al. 2004), at Promachon-Topolnica in eastern Macedonia (Koukouli-Chryssanthaki et al. 2007), and on the margins of the settlement of Toumba Kremasti-Koilada in western Macedonia (Chondroyanni-Metoki 2008). Although only the Makriyalos case has been fully studied, all three examples seem to differ in character. At Makriyalos, faunal and ceramic evidence points to commensality on a communal or even regional scale characterised by massive, conspicuous consumption of meat from hundreds of animals, probably in the centre of the settlement, judging by the location of the pit in which the remains of feasting were found. This event was, thus, apparently visible to all community members, if not to the entire regional population. In Promachon-Topolnica, commensality also took place within the settlement and involved consumption of meat from several tens of animals (Kazantzis 2014). In this context, however, greater evidence was found for ceremony, most obviously in the form of plastered bucrania, horns, and cattle skulls with askoid vessels frequently found next to them. At Toumba Kremasti, the evidence for possible feasting events comes from outside the settlement where human burials (Chondroyanni-Metoki 2008) and many other forms of structured deposition were found. Each event involved very few domestic animals, but with a greater wealth of evidence for structured deposition than at Makriyalos or Promachon-Topolnica (Tzevelekidi 2012; Tzevelekidi et al. 2014). The excavators of Promachon-Topolnica reported that the majority of pottery in the context of apparently communal commensal character belongs to tableware of exceptional quality, and includes vessels for consumption of both food and drink. Cooking pots are not mentioned, and the details of tableware characteristics remain so far unknown (Koukouli-Chryssanthaki et al. 2007, 57). At Makriyalos, a large number of bowls, amphorae, jugs, and cups were found in the feasting context (Pit 212), along with numerous cooking pots. The latter are of similar size, shape, and style – as is the majority of tableware – to vessels found in domestic contexts, indicating that they were brought by the participants themselves. Tableware and cooking pots alike display remarkable standardisation, which further reinforces the sense of communality. Cups, however, display outstanding variability, which must have highlighted the visibility of individuals or small groups. In addition, more than 100 of them were particularly symbolically charged by the addition of zoomorphic, anthropomorphic and other forms of handles (Pappa et al. 2004; UremKotsou and Kotsakis 2007). The ongoing study of pottery from Toumba Kremasti-Koilada shows the presence of cooking vessels, along with a large amount of tableware, but cups were nearly absent. Numerous serving vessels have been found, many quite large. Tableware vessels are usually decorated, but the decoration is quite subtle, not easily visible, and any variety in motifs could easily pass unnoticed (Silva et al. 2015a; 2015b). The overall impression of Toumba Kremasti-Koilada tableware is uniformity. The study of the

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cooking vessels is still at an early stage, but it seems these are larger, and in some cases much larger, than their Makriyalos counterparts (Lymperaki et al. 2015). These three cases of public commensality appear to be quite different in both scale and character, at least in the case of Makriyalos and Toumba Kremasti-Koilada, for which available data are more abundant. Both of the latter sites clearly exhibit communality, but, in the Makriyalos feasting context, individuals or small groups are emphasised or, at least, clearly visible, judging from the numerous, stylistically individualised cups found. On the contrary, at Toumba Kremasti-Koilada, individuals are rather masked and communality is underlined. Examples of public consumption of food in the Neolithic of northern Greece are still very rare, but the three examples identified so far, all dated to the same period, clearly show the variety to be found in the form of public commensality and the dynamic roles of food and pottery in shaping the social life of LN people in this region.

Concluding remarks In this paper, social dimensions of food were investigated through the examination of ceramic vessels placed in the context of food preparation and consumption. The integrated approach to the preparation and consumption of food in central and western Macedonia indicates diachronic changes in foodways during the Neolithic, but also suggests very local differences, often at the level of the individual settlement, in cooking practices and dietary preferences. Pottery and consumption practices further imply changes in the organisation of Neolithic society, from consumption of food initially playing a unifying role to more complex social arenas in later phases. This broad-brush picture of somewhat linear development in the organisation of Neolithic communities, perhaps inevitable in long-term narratives, has already been observed by other scholars. Analytical study of pottery and food remains, closely contextualised and coupled with large-scale sampling of cooking pots for food residue analysis, indicates greater complexity in the long-term processes of transformation that took place during the Neolithic period in northern Greece.

Acknowledgments I am greatly indebted to my collaborators Anna Papaioannou, Trisevgeni Papadakou, Marianna Lymperaki, Teresa Silva, Gazmend Elezi, Ioanna Siamidou, Eirini Tzemopoulou, and Niki Saridaki, who recorded and photographed the pottery studied within the Thalis Project. They participated also in the experimental part of the project carried out by the author. Kotsos Stavros is thanked for allowing access to the Koroneia pottery. Special thanks to Paul Halstead for valuable comments. This research was partially co-financed by the European Union (European Social Fund – ESF) and by Greek national funds through the Operational Program ‘Education and Lifelong

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Learning’ of the National Strategic Reference Framework (NSRF) – Research Funding Program: ‘Thales. Investing in knowledge society through the European Social Fund.’

Notes 1 Shallow pans make up 16.3 % of the total pottery assemblage at Mikri Volvi, but only 1.3 % at Apsalos. The study of pottery from Koroneia is incomplete, but the similarity with Mikri Volvi is obvious. 2 Gray and black tableware already appeared, usually in small numbers, in some MN settlements in the region, such as Stavroupoli, Apsalos, Dispilio, and Megalo Nisi Galanis (Urem-Kotsou 2016 and the references therein). However, the relative frequency of dark- and light-coloured vessels may have varied between some MN settlements. For example, at Stavroupoli, black/gray vessels prevail over light-coloured ones, while, at Apsalos, black/gray vessels are minority and red-coloured ones make up a good part of the tableware. This phenomenon could be explained by chronological discrepancy, since the prevalence of black/gray pottery is normally taken as evidence of a later date around the beginning of the LN. Based on C14 dates, however, which place both sites at roughly 5800–5500 cal BC (Maniatis 2002; Chrysostomou et al. 2003), the observed difference between ceramics at Apsalos and Stavroupoli cannot be explained solely in chronological terms. At this stage of research, it appears equally likely that the variable frequency of black/gray wares in MN settlements is related to choices made by individual settlements or groups of settlements (for more details, see Kotsos, 2018). Nevertheless, by the beginning of the LN black/gray wares overwhelmingly prevail in all settlements in the region.

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Chapter 5 Carcasses, ceramics, and cooking at Makriyalos I: Towards an integrated approach to human diet and commensality in Late Neolithic northern Greece Valasia Isaakidou and Paul Halstead Introduction While it is now generally accepted that food and drink are, and probably always were, of social/cultural as well as nutritional/biological importance to humans, both aspects are multidimensional and difficult to investigate archaeologically. On the one hand, the biologically essential components of a balanced diet are typically derived from several different food sources of very variable archaeological visibility, while meaningful assessment of nutritional quality demands consideration of variation between individual consumers and also between years and seasons of plenty and scarcity (Dennell 1979). On the other hand, food as a social and symbolic resource may serve to unite or divide people at various scales (from close kin to members of the same tribe or fellow citizens), in various contexts (from daily meals to exceptional feasts), and in various ways (e.g. unusual quantities of food; distinctive ingredients or cooking styles; uniform or diacritical modes of consumption) (e.g. Sherratt 1991; Dietler and Hayden 2001). Given the complexity of this subject, archaeologists draw on multiple categories of surviving evidence and multiple diagnostic tools and, so, are required to straddle several sub-disciplines with contrasting methodological strengths and weaknesses and offering distinctive proxies for past human foodways. Taking a multi-proxy case study from the Neolithic of northern Greece, we explore the potential to gain a richer understanding of past foodways by integrating different sub-disciplines. A first step to this end, addressed in the following section, is to recognise the contrasting formation processes of the different categories of archaeological material available for this case study, the contrasting diagnostic potential of the different analytical tools that these demand, and, thus, the distinctive and selective nature of each proxy dataset.

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Foodways in the Neolithic of northern Greece: Available proxies Discussion of foodways in Neolithic northern Greece has hitherto drawn primarily on three relatively abundant categories of archaeological material: the remains of plant and animal species that were transformed into food or drink; the skeletal remains of human consumers; and the strikingly rich repertoire of ceramic vessels in which food and drink were stored, prepared, and especially consumed. We briefly review the strengths and limitations of each of these categories of material as a source of proxies for past foodways. For the sake of brevity and because what follows is an attempt at an integrative synthesis of published evidence from the Neolithic of northern Greece, we largely draw on studies conducted for this period and in this region, without systematic reference to the broader methodological literature on which these studies have, to varying degrees, been built. The ‘macroscopic’ remains of edible plants (usually charred) and bones/teeth and shells of animals offer the most direct proxies for the types of food and drink consumed in Neolithic northern Greece. Of course, plant remains include both those intended as food (e.g. cereal or pulse grains) and those discarded in preparing the latter for consumption (e.g. cereal chaff; accompanying weed seeds), while bone and shell assemblages include both by-products of (preparation for) consumption (parts discarded before or after cooking) and remains of other activities (e.g. skinning or burial of vertebrates thought unfit to eat; collection of shells for working). In large measure, however, macroscopic analysis of anatomical representation (seeds vs. chaff – Valamoti 2005; meat-poor vs. meat-rich skeletal parts – Tzevelekidi et al. 2014) and processing traces (butchery or burning marks and fragmentation patterns in bones and shells – Halstead 2007; Veropoulidou 2014) differentiates what was intended for consumption from what was not. A strength of these macroscopic proxies is that routine analysis can identify dietary ingredients to taxon and, in the case of some animal remains, to sex and/ or age (and, thus, if timing of birth is known, perhaps season of death). Moreover, macroscopic traces of animal butchery and microscopic traces of plant pounding or grinding and heating (Valamoti et al. 2008) may reveal details of how food was prepared for consumption, while macroscopic (e.g. crop weeds; animal mortality, pathology, speed of dental macrowear – Tzevelekidi 2012, 96–113), microscopic (e.g. animal dental microwear – Mainland and Halstead 2005) and isotopic evidence (e.g. δ13C and δ15N values for both crops and domestic animals – Styring et al. 2015) may reveal aspects of the life history of edible plants and animals. A second strength of these proxies is that they may, under favourable depositional and post-depositional conditions, reveal associations of particular ingredients, preparation methods, or even prior life histories at an intra-site level, for example with contexts representing collective versus domestic scales of commensality (e.g. Tzevelekidi et al. 2014). In principle, therefore, macroscopic plant and animal remains are amenable to multiple analytical techniques that, in combination, can shed contextualised light on food procurement, processing, and consumption.

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A weakness of these macroscopic proxies is that they may provide a very selective record of foodstuffs consumed. Thus, charred plant remains are heavily dominated by foods dried for storage (notably cereal and pulse grains), while those eaten fresh in season tend to be under-represented in the absence of waterlogged preservation (e.g. Valamoti 2009, 28). Equally, traces of butchery, burning, or breakage on bones and shells may directly betray exploitation of meat and marrow, but the principal macroscopic proxy for dairy products is indirect – mortality patterns revealing whether male domestic ruminants were slaughtered young enough to enhance potential availability of milk to humans (Halstead 1998). Moreover, even the macroscopic remnants and by-products of grain and meat/marrow consumption are vulnerable to variable post-depositional survival and recovery during excavation and, although the effects of such processes are broadly predictable and, so, somewhat controllable, survival may – inconveniently – differ between consumption contexts. For example, scavenging dogs might largely destroy the few bones from a domestic meal, but have little impact on occasional large-scale feasting debris, which also might be buried deliberately (and, so, protected from scavenging, trampling, and weathering) because of its volume or the importance of the occasion. On the direct evidence of macroscopic remains, therefore, given such variable and often severe losses, meaningful absolute quantification of foods is normally impossible and, while relative abundance may be estimated approximately for different cereal, large vertebrate, or shellfish taxa, this cannot be attempted between such broad categories. Human skeletal remains offer the most direct proxy for the overall balance and quality of dietary inputs. Stable isotope ratios in human bone offer some (relative rather than absolute) measure of animal protein (δ15N) and seafood (δ13C) intake over several years (Triantaphyllou 2001; Papathanasiou et al. 2013; Papathanasiou 2015), although the former does not distinguish between carcass and dairy products and is also influenced by consumption of pulses (negatively) and manured cereals (positively) and by the relative quality and frequency of plant and animal protein intake (van Klinken et al. 2000; Robbins et al. 2010), while the latter may also reflect consumption of C4 plants (although these do not include crops until after the Neolithic in northern Greece – Valamoti 2016). Dental microwear of teeth sheds light on dietary texture over a shorter timespan before death (as also in the case of domestic animals), but even this proxy probably averages food intake in a range of different consumption contexts. While isotopic and microwear analyses, thus, offer only coarse information on dietary components (Pappa et al. 2013, 83–84), macroscopic data (stature, dental health, pathological conditions) provide the best available measure of dietary impact on human health (e.g. Triantaphyllou 2001). Perhaps the greatest strength of human skeletal remains is that macroscopic, microscopic, and isotopic analyses alike can be directly related (in sharp contrast with macroscopic food remains) to the age, biological sex, and perhaps cultural identity of individual consumers. On the other hand, human skeletal remains are only as representative as the burial record, which in the Neolithic of northern Greece is fairly sparse and may exhibit age- and/or gender-related selectivity (Triantaphyllou 2008).

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Macroscopic analysis of ceramics may identify the size, shape, and decoration of vessels used for at least some storage, cooking, and serving/consumption of foodstuffs, and, thus, shed light on the scale, form, and formality of consumption events (e.g. UremKotsou 2002; Urem-Kotsou and Kotsakis 2007). Particularly in the case of cooking vessels, the analysis of vessel shape, size, and fabric combined with that of use-ware traces (Urem-Kotsou, this volume; Urem-Kotsou et al. 2002; Saridaki et al. 2014; Lymperaki et al. 2016) offers valuable clues to forms of heating (e.g. direct or indirect contact with fire) and culinary methods (e.g. baking or boiling/stewing), but more precise information on contents is sometimes available from chemical analysis of food residues absorbed into the ceramic fabric. Among the latter, lipids attributable to ruminant and non-ruminant adipose fat and to ruminant milk products confirm heating of meat, fat, and/or bones and provide an otherwise elusive direct proxy for milk consumption (e.g. Evershed et al. 2008; Lymperaki et al. 2016; Urem-Kotsou, this volume). Unfortunately, meat cooked without pots, milk consumed fresh or processed in organic vessels, and, for the most part, plant foods have been difficult to detect due to poor preservation (although starch grains and phytoliths in charred food crusts may partly offset this – García-Granero et al. 2017), so cooking-pot residues cannot reveal the relative dietary contributions of carcass vs. dairy products or ruminant vs. non-ruminant meat, let alone animal vs. plant foods. As with macroscopic food remains, variation in the ceramic types associated with different depositional contexts may reveal some of the diversity in scales and forms of consumption, although lipid residues are likely to be palimpsests of multiple food-preparation episodes, some perhaps unrelated to the final context of discard. This brief review of the three principal available proxies for Neolithic foodways in northern Greece emphasises how each in isolation provides a distinctive but also incomplete window onto human diet, such that integration of their complementary perspectives offers both a fuller and a more dependable picture (also Papathanasiou et al. 2013). Even in combination, however, these proxies leave unanswered the very fundamental question of the balance between plant and animal contributions to human diet (see also below), the resolution of which at present requires modelling of the likely relationship between human population and available resources. To this end, we must also consider the evidence for community size from surface and sub-surface investigation of settlements and that for the nature of regional and local cultural landscapes from off- and on-site palaeoenvironmental studies. The remainder of this contribution explores the potential of integrating the available proxies, highlighting – for their heuristic value – apparent contradictions between them. Albeit with selective comparative reference to other sites and periods, discussion focusses on early Late Neolithic (LN) Makriyalos I (MKI), c. 55/5400–5000 BC, in the Pieria region, which, as of yet, offers more relevant datasets than other Neolithic sites in northern Greece (Pappa et al. 2013) and indeed richer multi-proxy evidence than all but a few Neolithic sites in Europe. Since work on all the Makriyalos datasets is ongoing, we attempt to illustrate the potential of integrated analysis rather than to provide a definitive study of MKI foodways.

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Context: Makriyalos I and the Neolithic of northern Greece Two principal types of Neolithic settlement have been widely distinguished in north and central mainland Greece: ‘flat extended’ settlements, with habitation spread over a relatively large area (28 ha in the case of MKI) and perhaps shifting horizontally over time; and more compact settlements (usually of 0.5–2 ha), with dwellings typically rebuilt more or less on their predecessor’s footprint and, so, gradually forming a raised ‘tell’. Examples of both types were enclosed within perimeter ditches, palisades, or walls, but these represented a much larger-scale undertaking at flat-extended settlements (e.g. extending over 2 km at MKI). Recovered dwellings range from round or oval, semi-subterranean ‘huts’ with a light superstructure to rectangular, aboveground ‘houses’ with walls varying from wattle-and-daub to mudbrick construction. Flat-extended sites tended to comprise flimsy huts and compact settlements more substantial houses (Pappa 2008). Labour was thus preferentially invested in perimeter works on flat-extended sites, reinforcing collective rights to enclosed residential and probably cultivated space, but in ‘domestic’ architecture on compact settlements, where repeated re-building in situ arguably represented genealogical claims to house plots and perhaps cultivable land off-site (Kotsakis 1999; 2006; Halstead 2006). At MKI, collective solidarity was apparently reinforced not only by enclosure (the ditch initially being cut in sections, presumably by small work gangs – Pappa and Besios 1999, 181), but also by secondary commingled disposal of the dead (Triantaphyllou 1999) and by commensality. Loci of discard from apparently collective consumption include two borrow pits (Pits 212 and 214), containing very large quantities of ceramic and faunal debris, and the perimeter ditch, while groups of smaller ‘habitation’ pits have plausibly been identified as loci of domestic consumption (Pappa et al. 2013).

Modelling Neolithic subsistence at Makriyalos I and beyond MKI remains of edible plants imply processing or consumption on site of cereals (einkorn, emmer, new-type glume wheat and barley), pulses (lentil and perhaps also bitter vetch, grass pea, and pea), flax (potentially for oil and/or fibre), and fruits (fig, grape, and, more sporadically, blackberry and elderberry). These data are reasonably compatible with the record from Neolithic sites elsewhere in northern Greece (Valamoti 2007a), but the relative abundance of cultivated grains and fruits or of cereals and pulses cannot be assessed directly, not least because preservation of much of the assemblage may be due to use as animal fodder and burning of the resulting dung (Pappa et al. 2013). The large MKI animal bone assemblage is overwhelmingly comprised of domesticates (99 %), as is usual for the Neolithic of Greece. Pig, cattle, and sheep remains outnumber those of goat (Table 5.1a) and, consistent with proximity to the shores of the Thermaic Gulf, shells especially of cockle (Cerastoderma glaucum) are also very abundant (Veropoulidou 2014), albeit representing much smaller quantities of meat than do bones of domestic animals. The ages at death of sheep, cattle, and goats suggest management for carcass

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Table 5.1: Relative contribution, by context, of the four principal animal domesticates to the Makriyalos I faunal assemblage. a. Uncorrected MinAU

b. ‘Corrected’

% MinAU

Highest MinAU

% Highest MinAU

Habitation contexts Cattle

1143

27.8

93

19.4

Pigs

1378

33.6

181

37.8

Sheep*

667

26.6

132

28.5

Goats*

300

12.0

66

14.3

Total

4107

–

479

–

Ditch Cattle

1102

26.9

84

17.4

Pigs

1567

38.2

217

44.9

Sheep*

565

23.9

117

25.3

Goats*

260

11.0

57

12.3

Total

4101

–

483

–

Pit 212 Cattle

3015

28.5

240

19.3

Pigs

3347

31.6

455

36.6

Sheep*

1884

29.2

408

33.8

Goats*

688

10.7

125

10.3

–

1244

–

Total

10,583

Pit 214 Cattle

1168

44.5

107

30.1

Pigs

898

34.2

157

44.1

Sheep*

208

12.0

58

16.7

Goats*

162

9.3

32

9.2

Total

2624

–

356

–

Key: MinAU – minimum numbers of anatomical units (mandible, scapula, proximal humerus, distal humerus, proximal radius, proximal ulna, distal radius, proximal metacarpal, distal metacarpal, pelvis, proximal femur, distal femur, proximal tibia, distal tibia, astragalus, calcaneum, proximal metatarsal, distal metatarsal, phalanx 1, phalanx 2, phalanx 3; discounting pig ‘lateral’ metapodials and phalanges; counting pig MC3+4 and MT3+4 as single bones). Highest MinAU: MinAU of most numerous body part (in practice, mandible or distal humerus), disregarding distinction between left- and right-sided. * Including pro rata re-assignment of specimens identified to sheep/goat.

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rather than dairy products (Tzevelekidi et al. 2014, 429–32, Fig. 8) and the latter have not yet been reported from analysis of lipid residues in ceramics from this site (Evershed et al. 2008), although neither mortality nor lipid data preclude some use of milk from livestock. On available evidence, therefore, meat was procured overwhelmingly from domestic animals and there is no hint that the latter were intensively exploited for milk. Neither archaeobotanical nor faunal evidence sheds direct light on the relative dietary contributions of plant- and animal-based foods, while human skeletal remains, even if typical of consumers at MKI, do not clearly resolve the issue. Dental microwear indicates an abrasive diet, perhaps due to grit from grinding tools (below). Macroscopic analysis of MKI human teeth reveals high dental calculus and low caries, conventionally indicating relatively high animal protein and low carbohydrate intake (Triantaphyllou 2001), respectively. Frequency of carbohydrate intake and the nature of any accompanying foods, however, also influence oral health and some recent populations consuming unrefined foods at widely spaced meals exhibit low caries (Lingström et al. 2000). Isotopic analysis of human bone (Triantaphyllou 2001, 137–138; Styring et al. 2015) indicates that most individuals consumed animal protein (δ15Ν values higher than those of local herbivores), but a few had a purely plant-based or pulse-rich diet (low δ15Ν values), while δ13C values offer no support for a significant marine component (although the dominant shellfish Cerastoderma glaucum, probably gathered from brackish waters (Veropoulidou 2014), might not be detectable regardless of intensity of consumption (cf. Robson et al. 2016; Michener and Kaufman 2007, 256–259). Use of δ15Ν data to model the relative dietary contribution of animal protein gives widely divergent results, depending on the assumptions made, but attempts at greater precision using δ15Ν values of individual aminoacids have suggested contributions of 8–36 % and 41 % for MKI humans, while cautioning that more data are needed for both archaeological and modern cereals (Styring et al. 2015). In sum, relatively direct archaeobotanical, faunal, and human skeletal proxies for MKI human diet indicate that this was overwhelmingly non-marine, despite a coastal location, and included both plant- and animal-based foods, but in uncertain proportions (Fig. 5.1). We explore this last issue indirectly, therefore, modelling diet from the twin constraints of local and regional subsistence needs and resource potential. The size of north Greek Neolithic communities is uncertain, but the size and density of excavated houses on compact sites of up to 2 ha (e.g. at least ten structures of c. 100–120 m2 each at early LN Kleitos I – Ziota 2014; cf. Halstead 1981, 312–313) suggest a few dozen to a few hundred individuals. Similar estimates are even more problematic for flat-extended sites, but their greater overall size is offset by the wider spacing and/ or apparently shorter lifespan of dwellings (e.g. Andreou and Kotsakis 1994, 19–20; Kotsos and Urem-Kotsou 2006; Pappa 2008). Plant remains in animal dung burnt as fuel at MKI do not register summer grazing, possibly reflecting seasonal absence of livestock (Valamoti 2007b), but the latter may simply have been penned elsewhere on site (e.g. on stubble fields) in summer and their dung not collected. Conversely,

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Figure 5.1: δ15N and δ13C values for humans, cattle, sheep, and goats at Makriyalos I (following Triantaphyllou 2001 and Styring et al. 2015).

the ages recorded for young domestic animals suggest slaughter in all seasons (Halstead 2005), favouring the year-round presence of at least some inhabitants. The density of settlements in the landscape is obscured in the Pieria region, where sites have been variously – depending on topographic situation – truncated by erosion or buried by alluviation (Krahtopoulou 2003), but in eastern Thessaly (central Greece), where a particularly rich record of known sites reflects a long history of research and abundance of highly visible, compact tells, archaeologically contemporary Neolithic settlements are often located only 2–3 km apart (Halstead 1984). Closely-spaced villages of several dozen persons or more, some at least apparently resident year-round, would have posed a demanding subsistence challenge. This far outstripped regional potential for gathering-hunting (anyway sparsely represented in available archaeobotanical and faunal data), but was comfortably compatible with subsistence dominated by grain crops. For example, even a community of 300 head (arguably at the upper end of the likely range), consuming 75 tons of grain per year (assuming a heavily grain-based diet) harvested from 100 hectares (with average yields of 750 kg/ha, probably pessimistic for intensive Neolithic cultivation – cf. Bogaard et al. 2013), could be sustained by land within a few hundred metres of home (cf. Isaakidou

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2008, 103, Table 6.2). Conversely, dietary dependence on domestic animals was viable only if the latter were intensively exploited for milk (which is not supported by mortality and ceramic lipid data) and/or kept in huge numbers (which demands a fairly open landscape and some mobility of livestock). North Greek pollen data suggest a Neolithic lowland landscape dominated by deciduous woodland, with little if any unambiguous evidence of clearance. Admittedly, most such studies are coarsely dated and based on large-catchment cores unlikely to detect small-scale deforestation (Kouli 2014), but wood charcoal from Neolithic sites in northern Greece, including ReveniaKorinou and Paliambela-Kolindrou near Makriyalos, gives no indication that human exploitation radically opened up local vegetation (Marinova and Ntinou 2017). The Neolithic landscape was, thus, apparently unfavourable to large-scale pasturing and control of livestock (especially sheep, ill-suited to woodland) and shows no sign of extensive degradation by large-scale herding (Halstead 2000). Several details of MKI animal husbandry offer local support to this view. Table 5.1a presents faunal deadstock data, which overstate the contribution to livestock of sheep and especially pigs, that exhibit younger mortality (and, thus, shorter lifespans), and understate the contribution of goats and cattle, that lived longer (cf. Tzevelekidi et al. 2014, 432, Fig. 8). All four common domesticates were, thus, well represented among MKI livestock. Given that macroscopic archaeobotanical evidence of C4 crops is lacking for the Greek Neolithic and that the C4 weeds common in summer in modern gardens and, in wetter years, stubble fields are, and probably were, too sparse and too shortlived for a major contribution to cattle diet, the high δ13C values of most sampled MKI cattle (Styring et al. 2015, Fig. S3) by default suggest grazing of coastal marshes, for example a few kilometres to the south (Krahtopoulou and Veropoulidou 2017). Conversely, the heavily abrasive diet of many young sheep and goats from MKI (Mainland and Halstead 2005) suggests grazing on very disturbed ground (perhaps freshly cultivated gardens/fields or over-grazed pens), while the isotopic signatures of sheep, falling between humans and goats (Styring et al. 2015, Fig. S3), suggest association with the settlement and its surroundings rather than outlying woodland or wetland. Accordingly, sheep were probably kept nearby and in modest numbers, and, unless sheep are heavily over-represented in the deadstock assemblage (see below), numbers of cattle, pigs, and goats were also modest. By default, therefore, cultivated cereal and pulse grains (perhaps in variable relative proportions, given the range of human δ15N values reported – above) were arguably the MKI dietary staples.

From nutrition to meals and commensality If cereal and/or pulse grains were the dietary staples at MKI and, thus, the basis of daily meals, how were they consumed? Transformation of whole grains to fine (as at EN Kapitan Dimitrievo in neighbouring southern Bulgaria – Valamoti et al. 2008) or coarse groats reduces cooking time and increases digestibility and, if executed with the stone pounding and especially grinding tools found at MKI, will have introduced

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fine stone particles that would plausibly account for the abrasive dental microwear observed in human teeth (Pappa et al. 2013, 81–82). MKI fire installations include hearths and ovens (Pappa et al. 2013, 80), so cereal and pulse grains, whole or ground, may variously have been boiled or baked, perhaps in spherical pots or shallow pans, respectively, but there is no evidence that cooking methods differed between social contexts (Lymperaki et al. 2016; Urem-Kotsou, this volume). MKI ceramic cooking and serving vessels, of modest size like the hearths, ovens, and grindstones, suggest preparation of food for, and its consumption by, groups each comprising a handful of persons and, so, are compatible with household daily meals. At least four lines of evidence, however, suggest that commensality also extended beyond the household. First, at Neolithic settlements across northern Greece, while many hearths and ovens associated closely with dwellings perhaps facilitated ‘private’ household commensality, others were located in open, more public space (e.g. Kalogiropoulou 2014; Lymperaki et al. 2016) and, at early LN Kleitos, several of these were unusually large or well made (Ziota 2014, 324–326). Secondly, most of the animals represented at MKI were too large for rapid consumption by a single household, but the intensity of deliberate bone breakage argues against wastage, the scarcity of filleting traces against drying for storage, and the modest size of cooking pots against large-scale preservation in fat. By default, most carcasses were arguably shared beyond the household while ‘fresh’ (Halstead 2007). Thirdly, two MKI borrow pits (212 and 214) contained prodigious quantities of food preparation and consumption debris (including grinding tools; storage, cooking, and tableware vessels; animal bone and shell) and it seems, from the combined evidence of stratigraphy and ceramic joins, that Pit 212, at least, was filled rapidly. Both pits probably represent collective commensality and Pit 212, given the number (several hundreds) and size (mostly sheep, pigs, and cattle) of animals involved, perhaps regional-scale rather than local provisioning and consumption (Pappa et al. 2004). Fourthly, inter-site stylistic similarities in fine tableware (Urem-Kotsou 2016; this volume) suggest that commensality supported social relationships at a regional as well as local and domestic scale. The range of cooking and tableware forms expanded through the Neolithic, enabling increasingly diverse food preparation and presentation, but vessels of the same types and sizes were deposited in collective (Pits 212 and 214, the perimeter ditch) and domestic contexts at MKI, so, collective commensality was not evidently differentiated from everyday domestic meals by elaboration of staple dishes. If, as argued above, animal carcasses were of secondary nutritional significance at MKI but mostly shared beyond the household, then meat may have contributed to differentiating occasional collective from routine domestic commensality. Indeed, given that most domestic animals in the MKI faunal assemblage could have been slaughtered at a younger age, more compatible with domestic consumption, provisioning of supra-household commensality was perhaps a major goal of livestock rearing. The following section explores MKI meat consumption in more detail.

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The manner and contexts of MKI meat consumption In the MKI perimeter ditch, in Pit 212 and in the smaller habitation contexts, pigs are best represented (32–38 %), followed by cattle (27–29 %) and sheep (24–29 %), and then goats (11–12 %), whereas in Pit 214 cattle (45 %) are most frequent, followed by pigs (34 %) and then sheep (12 %) and goats (9 %) (Table 5.1a). These figures are based on minimum numbers of anatomical units (MinAU – cf. Tzevelekidi 2012, 24–25), avoiding multiple counting of broken specimens and, so, minimising the effects of differential fragmentation between species (below), and also controlling for differences in skeletal structure (e.g., more numerous foot bones in pigs). MKI was excavated under rescue conditions without routine sieving, however, and a fifth of the bones of the common domesticates bear traces of gnawing, so small and fragile bones should be underrepresented due to recovery losses and attrition, respectively. Anatomical representation confirms that, as expected, these factors affected sheep, goats, and pigs more severely than the larger cattle (Tzevelekidi et al. 2014, 426–429, Figs. 2–4). The resulting losses can be corrected to some degree by estimating relative abundance of the common domesticates from the best-represented body part of each (a very basic ‘minimum numbers of individuals’ estimate): on this basis, the proportion of cattle drops to 30 % in Pit 214 and 17–19 % in the remaining contexts, while the proportions of the smaller domesticates rise commensurately (Table 5.1b). Nonetheless, both ‘corrected’ and uncorrected figures may underestimate the contribution of cattle to overall meat consumption at MKI, given their large carcass size (accentuated by high adult mortality). Pit 214 has, in addition to the highest proportion of cattle bones, the oldest mortality pattern for all four principal domesticates, while Pit 212 has the highest proportion of male cattle, and habitation contexts have the youngest cattle mortality. The avoidance of older cattle in the latter may reflect expected smaller-scale commensality, while lack of the otherwise ubiquitous scattered human remains in Pit 212 (Triantaphyllou 1999) hints at a distinctive social/cultural rationale for collective commensality associated at least with this context. Whether for practical or cultural reasons, the species and ages of animals discarded (and presumably consumed nearby) differed between depositional contexts and, since the latter were preserved and excavated to varying degrees, simply summing or averaging their contents may provide a very unrepresentative picture of animal consumption at MKI. Despite differences in the relative frequencies of the animal species consumed, carcass processing exhibits limited contextual variability. First, initial carcass dressing, involving discard elsewhere of many sheep, goat, and pig feet and perhaps some cattle and pig heads (Tzevelekidi et al. 2014, 427–429, Figs. 2–4), contrasts with more intensive and wholesale EN carcass processing at nearby Revenia-Korinou and Paliambela-Kolindrou (Halstead and Isaakidou 2011a). This increased formality of animal consumption would have reinforced the suggested distinction between largely plant-based daily meals and special occasions involving meat. Judging by numbers of observed cut marks (and despite differences in fragmentation favouring

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the opposite outcome), cattle were then butchered more intensively than the smaller pigs, sheep, and goats (Halstead 2007, 37, Table 3.2). Cut marks are rather scarce for all the principal domesticates, however, suggesting limited dismembering or filleting before cooking. It follows that carcasses were mostly cooked on the bone and in rather large sections and, thus, given the modest size of MKI cooking pots, that most meat from cattle and much of that from smaller domesticates was cooked in pits, ovens, or skins or adjacent to open fires. That much cooked meat was then shared beyond the small (household?) groups, implied by cooking and serving vessels of modest size, is likely given the quantities involved, but difficult to demonstrate directly. Such sharing arguably accounts, however, for the extreme rarity of observed left-right pairs of bones from individual cattle, pigs, sheep, or goats, even though a few part-skeletons of dog and restorable ceramic vessels show that at least some deposits were formed rapidly and were not heavily disturbed post-depositionally. Albeit less exhaustively than at EN Revenia-Korinou and Paliambela-Kolindrou, the carcasses of the principal MKI domesticates were also systematically exploited for marrow: most intensively in cattle, but more so in sheep and goats than in pigs – the species with the youngest mortality pattern (Halstead 2007, 37–38, Tables 3.3–3.4). These differences between taxa in the intensity of fragmentation are the opposite of what would be expected from trampling or carnivore attrition and, so, plainly result from deliberate human processing of the largest and most marrow-rich bones. Consistent with this, many foot bones (metapodials) bear more or less clear traces of burning, probably resulting from heating to render the bone more brittle and the marrow easier to remove. Marrow may thus have been removed mechanically from heated bones as a snack (cf. Binford 1978, 145–155), but MKI cooking pots have yielded lipid traces of both ruminant and non-ruminant adipose fat (Urem-Kotsou 2006, Fig. 6.29), implying also heating therein of broken bones and/or meat and/ or stripped fat. The scarcity of dismembering and filleting traces argues against bones being broken in ‘pot-sizing’ of raw joints for cooking (because the resulting carcass sections, especially of cattle, would still have been too large for MKI cooking vessels). Rendering of fat for storage would perhaps, as in the recent past, have favoured use of pigs over ruminants (Halstead and Isaakidou 2011b), but pig bones are the least intensively broken and most frequently gnawed, implying that they were not systematically processed to remove all fat. The addition of broken bones (probably from cooked carcasses) to plant-based dishes as flavouring seems the most parsimonious interpretation of the data. In whatever form animal fats were heated in MKI cooking pots, the δ13C values of C18:0 in absorbed ruminant and non-ruminant fats are very similar (in fact, slightly higher in non-ruminants) and do not register the strong C4/coastal marsh dietary signal of most cattle, which is also not detected in the δ13C values for human remains (Styring et al. 2015). These discrepancies between datasets might be accounted for in various ways.

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Valasia Isaakidou and Paul Halstead 1. The discrepancy between faunal (specifically cattle) and ceramic δ13C would be accounted for if meat and/or bones of pig, sheep, and goat were routinely added to cooking pots, but those of cattle only rarely so. Such differential treatment would not have been for practical reasons of pot-sizing if, as argued above, butchered sections of raw meat of all four common domesticates were often too large, and their broken bare bones normally small enough, to fit in MKI cooking pots. 2. Because fat may have considerably lower δ 13C values than muscle and especially bone collagen of the same animal (e.g. -28 ‰ versus -23 ‰ and -20 ‰, respectively – van Klinken et al. 2000, 47; also Lee-Thorp et al. 1989, 592, Figs. 4–5; González-Martin et al. 1999; Piasentier et al. 2003), the discrepancy between faunal (cattle) and ceramic data sets might be accounted for if fat, rather than lean meat, was heated in cooking pots in the case of cattle. Since MKI ceramic δ13C values are very similar for ruminants and non-ruminants, this scenario demands that lean meat, too (or even instead), was heated in cooking pots in the case of pigs. Cooking of fat rather than lean meat in pots was indeed suggested above, on the basis of faunal butchery and fragmentation patterns, for all four common domesticates, but especially so in the case of cattle. On the other hand, the cattle δ13C values would still be incompatible with those from the human skeletons, unless the meat of cattle was discarded uneaten – which involves considerable ‘special pleading’ and in some cases is perhaps contradicted by filleting marks. 3. The discrepancy between faunal (cattle) and human δ13C would be accounted for if the sampled humans did not eat the sampled animals. This would be the case if the two datasets were of different dates, but both are drawn from a range of MKI contexts, making this unlikely. Alternatively, on-site burial may have been restricted to a subset of the population (not implausible – Triantaphyllou 2008) and this subset might (but with considerable special pleading) have had no access to cattle carcass products. 4. More parsimoniously, the faunal (cattle) and human δ13C data might be reconciled if cattle were consumed very rarely in dramatic episodes of unassimilated carnivorous excess (cf. van Klinken et al. 2000, 51; Milton 2000; Bilsborough and Mann 2006) and, so, made a much smaller contribution to human bone chemistry than to the faunal record. 5. The discrepancies between faunal (cattle) and human δ13C would also be accounted for if, as a result of assemblage formation processes, the recovered and recorded faunal data hugely exaggerate the contribution of cattle to MKI meat consumption. The method of quantification used avoids multiple counting of more intensively broken cattle bones, however, while ‘corrected’ taxonomic abundance figures (Table 5.1b) to at least some degree counter known post-discard survival and recovery biases against pig, sheep, and goat. Moreover, even if ‘corrected’ figures significantly underestimate survival and

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recovery losses, cattle should still, given their large carcass size, have made a substantial if not dominant contribution to meat consumption associated with excavated contexts. Only the deeper sub-surface contexts at MKI survived for investigation, however, so formation processes may have greatly exaggerated the contribution of cattle if their bones were preferentially discarded in excavated deposits. If most meat consumption episodes were small-scale (e.g. hospitality to, or sharing of carcasses with, immediate neighbours or close kin), if they mainly involved just the smaller domesticates, and if they ended in discard on living surfaces or in shallow sub-surface pits, they will be severely underrepresented in the recovered faunal assemblage. This scenario might also account for the discrepancy between faunal and ceramic δ13C, but only (and perhaps implausibly) if sampled MKI cooking pots from sub-surface contexts had a sufficiently long use-life in (previous?) ‘above-ground’ commensal preparations involving pigs, sheep, and goats such that none of them registered the (latest?) cooking of carcass parts from high-δ13C cattle. 6. The discrepancy between faunal (cattle) δ13C values and those of both humans and ceramics might, in principle, be attributable to the variable rates of turnover in different animal tissues (Tieszen et al. 1983; Dalerum and Angerbjörn 2005), with the sampled cattle bone collagen reflecting bovine diet over a much longer period than the muscle and fat (cf. Lobley et al. 2003, 328) that humans are likely to have eaten and perhaps cooked in pots. On this scenario, cattle would have grazed probably distant (see above) C4-rich pastures long enough, or at a young enough age of rapid growth and skeletal turnover, to acquire elevated bone-collagen δ13C. They would subsequently have spent long enough on C3-dominated pasture (perhaps nearer to Makriyalos) for edible muscle and fat to develop lower δ13C values. Incremental analysis of δ13C and δ18O values in teeth (Vaiglova et al. 2018) sheds some light on the temporal rhythm of grazing movements by MKI cattle, but the latter’s widely varying δ13C bone collagen values suggest considerable variability between individuals in some combination of the balance between C3 and C4 plants in the grazed ‘C4 pasture’, the length of time spent grazing it, their age while grazing it, or the time subsequently elapsed until slaughter. In isolation, therefore, this scenario arguably reconciles the faunal with the human as well as ceramic datasets only with excessive special pleading. Of these six hypothetical scenarios, the first (cattle meat/bone not cooked in pots) only ‘explains’ the discrepancy between faunal (cattle) and ceramic δ13C values. The second (pots used for cooking only fat of cattle, but also/instead lean meat of pigs) likewise accounts for only the faunal-ceramic and not the faunal-human bone discrepancy unless, abandoning parsimony, we also assume that human consumers avoided lean meat of cattle. Conversely, only the faunal-human discrepancy is accounted for by the third scenario (sampled humans not consuming cattle), by the fourth (rare beef-

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eating excess), and, likewise, – without some rather special pleading regarding the life-histories of MKI cooking pots – by the fifth (preferential survival of cattle-bearing deposits). The sixth scenario ostensibly accounts equally well for the faunal-ceramic and faunal-human discrepancies in δ13C, but makes some as of yet unsubstantiated and (given uncertain absolute turnover rates of different tissues) loosely defined assumptions about the timetable of grazing movements by cattle and, so, in isolation, does not offer a convincing overall solution. In sum, without special pleading, each of these six scenarios in isolation at best accounts for the discrepancy between faunal and ceramic or between faunal and human data, but not both. For the most part, however, the six scenarios are not mutually exclusive and some are mutually very compatible, suggesting that a combined solution should be sought. Thus, due to the topographic situation of MKI, surface/shallow deposits are indeed largely lost (Scenario 5) and the deeper contexts, because of the size of the task, are more likely to have been dug with collective labour (most obvious in the chain of irregular pits making up the enclosure ditch) and, thus, associated with larger-scale commensality. In the recent past (before electricity and refrigerators reached the Greek countryside), even in village communities of a few thousand head (ten times larger than the upper end of the range usually envisaged for the Neolithic), cattle were rarely slaughtered locally, but were instead normally sold to urban butchers (Halstead 2007). The consumption of cattle at MKI, therefore, even if more or less restricted to infrequent large-scale commensal occasions, is likely to have involved poorly assimilated carnivorous excess (Scenario 4). The discrepancy between faunal and human δ13C values is, thus, accounted for quite parsimoniously. A contrast, at slaughter, between sampled cattle bone of higher δ13C and cattle meat and fat of lower δ13C (Scenario 6) is also plausible and, to a probably variable degree, would help reconcile faunal with ceramic as well as human values. Yet, even if cattle were eaten rarely and their meat tended to a significantly lower δ13C than their bones, it is surprising that the ceramic residues offer no hint of a more C4-rich diet in ruminants than in pigs. Although most pots with lipid traces yielded a mix of ruminant and non-ruminant adipose fat (Urem-Kotsou 2006), it seems unlikely that all these vessels were discarded at a stage in their life-history when any trace of use for cooking beef was obscured by lipids from cooking of smaller domesticates (Scenario 5). Arguably, therefore, we must also invoke some difference between species in methods of preparation for consumption, with cooking pots being avoided (Scenario 1) or used for fat rather than lean meat (Scenario 2) in the case of cattle; both scenarios are compatible with the faunal butchery and fragmentation evidence and both could be attributed to the practicalities of cooking large carcasses or to distinctive cultural value ascribed to rare events of cattle consumption. In any event, variation is implied in meat consumption practices (in form, frequency, context, or participants) that is not apparent from any single category of evidence and that, given the size of cattle carcasses, is probably related to differences between small- and large-scale commensality. Together with

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contextual variation in faunal (species, age, and sex differences), human (lack of mortuary evidence in Pit 212), and perhaps ceramic (variety of drinking vessels in Pit 212 – Urem-Kotsou, this volume) remains in isolation, the discrepancies between δ13C datasets highlight the diversity of MKI commensal practices and, thus, social relations.

Conclusions Archaeologists use diverse material remains and analytical methods to investigate past foodways, but different categories of material are subject to divergent preservation, recovery, and analytical biases, while different sub-disciplines offer distinctive proxies for particular aspects of past foodways. With close attention to these issues, apparent discrepancies between proxies may actually offer complementary insights into past foodways. Here we have explored the complementary perspectives of currently available datasets for LN foodways at northern Greek Makriyalos I, where contradictions between datasets expose otherwise undetected variability in who ate what, how, and when. In particular, the consumption of meat from cattle seems to have taken place in infrequent, large-scale commensal events that are overrepresented in the surviving macroscopic faunal sample and underrepresented in the δ13C values of human skeletal remains. Such variability in the temporal rhythm of consumption patterns complicates the investigation of human diet and nutrition, but offers the ultimate prize of a much richer understanding of its social and cultural dimensions.

Acknowledgments Macroscopic analysis of the Makriyalos faunal remains was undertaken at the invitation of the excavators, Manthos Besios and Maria Pappa, and funded by the British Academy, Arts & Humanities Research Board (UK) and Institute for Aegean Prehistory. Parts of this paper were presented in Thessaloniki in February 2014 for the project ‘Material Culture & Environment: Exploitation of Natural Resources during the Neolithic in N. Greece’ (PI Kostas Kotsakis), partially co-financed by the European Union (European Social Fund – ESF) and Greek national funds through the Operational Program ‘Education and Lifelong Learning’ of the National Strategic Reference Framework (NSRF) – Research Funding Program: ‘Thales. Investing in knowledge society through the European Social Fund.’ Critical comments of an anonymous reviewer have, we hope, improved the final version of this paper.

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Chapter 6 Painted pottery and culinary practices: Use-alteration analysis of painted pottery from the site of Starčevo-Grad Olga Bajčev

Introduction Food practices and their social implications in the Early and Middle Neolithic of the Central Balkans have become an area of interest for recent archaeological inquiry. Although very inspiring, the research in this area is rather problematic for several reasons. The settlements themselves have not been sufficiently investigated. Archaeobotanical and archaeozoological research are still in their early stages (Filipović and Obradović 2013; Stojanović and Bulatović 2013), while stable isotope analyses of human skeletons have been applied only in a few investigations: in Danube Gorge and at the site of Vinča-Belo Brdo (Bonsall et al. 2002; Grupe et al. 2003; Borić et al. 2004; Nehlich et al. 2010). The recent functional analysis of Early Neolithic pottery from Blagotin (Vuković 2006; 2009; 2011) has indicated the potential of this methodology for researching and understanding the Neolithic diet and related issues. In this paper, I wish to discuss the role that painted pottery, in particular, played in the culinary practices of Neolithic people. Painted pottery is generally regarded as being tableware because of its elaborate ornamentation and visual expressiveness (e.g. Henrickson and McDonald 1983; Nieuwenhuyse 2009). In the central Balkans, painted pottery is characteristic of Early and Middle Neolithic Starčevo culture (6200–5400 BC). It holds a prominent position in the study of Neolithic pottery. For a long time, archaeologists in Serbia were mostly focused on defining cultural groups and constructing chronologies and periodisations for archaeological cultures in the area (Garašanin 1979). To this end, painted pottery has been acknowledged as one of the main dating tools (Nikolić 2005, 47–48), which is why it has attracted a lot of scientific interest (Milojčić 1949; Aranđelović-Garašanin 1954; Jovanović 1968; Garašanin 1971; Dimitrijević 1974; Brukner 1997, 243; Tasić 2009). This approach to painted pottery has highly influenced

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the way it has been studied. Archaeologists have mostly been focused on style and typology as chronological markers, while other aspects of painted pottery have not been systematically investigated (painted pottery is analysed in more detail from the perspective of design symmetry and symbolic communication– see Tasić 2003; 2009; Naumov 2010). In Serbian archaeology, painted pottery is generally interpreted as a fine luxury good, different from everyday utilitarian pottery (AranđelovićGarašanin 1954; Tasić 2009, 124). But we still do not have any direct information on how these vessels were actually used. The function of painted vessels has not yet been systematically studied. This paper presents a study designed to test the assumptions that painted pottery was stationary and non-utilitarian, or used only as tableware. Following the objectbiographical approach, I investigated how the biographies of these vessels can inform us about use activities and whether these activities are linked to food practices. The archaeological contexts of painted pottery from sites in the Central Balkans most often do not reflect the use of painted pottery, but rather the way it was discarded. The only way to investigate its actual function was to look at the vessels themselves. Based on this recognition, use-alteration analysis was performed on painted pottery from the site of Starčevo-Grad, Serbia. This case study allowed me to investigate the ‘life-experiences’ of individual vessels and obtain the first direct evidence of how painted vessels were used at this particular site.

Starčevo-Grad: Archaeological background The archaeological site of Starčevo-Grad is located in the vicinity of Pančevo, in South Banat, about 3.5 km from the Danube (Fig. 6.1). The size of the Neolithic settlement is estimated at 11.3 ha (Živković et al. 2011, 7). The site was first excavated by Grbić in 1928 (Grbić 1930), with further excavations done by a joint Serbian-American team in 1931, 1932, 1969, and 1970 (Fewkes et al. 1933). New small-scale excavations and geophysical surveys were carried out in a number of field seasons from 2003 to 2008 (Živković et al. 2011). The archaeological excavations have revealed around 20 pits of different shapes and sizes. Some of them have been interpreted as pit-houses and others as refuse pits (Grbić 1930; Fewkes et al. 1933; Živković et al. 2011). Radiocarbon dating indicates that the settlement was occupied in three different phases between c. 5900 and 5500 BC, with some areas being used successively (Whittle 2002, 81). Scarce archaeozoological and archaeobotanical data provide preliminary insight into the settlement’s subsistence economy and diet. Archaeozoological analysis of material from the old excavations has indicated the prevalence of domestic animals over wild ones. Among domestic animals, the bovine predominated, although the importance of the ovicaprine should not be overlooked. Pigs were present in a very small percentage ( ¼ and 39 % for < ¼ size categories). However, they had much higher numbers of splinters (< 10 % of original size). There is no substantive difference between JA02 and ZM07, except with respect to those bones associated with the infant grave (which had more whole specimens than were found in the rest of the assemblage – 33 % whole). This lower fragmentation rate suggests that the ancient occupants were breaking up the bones from JA02 and ZM07 less than elsewhere and not trying to extract every ounce of nutrition out of the various body parts.

Taxonomic diversity and frequency in Early Neolithic deposits Analysis of the distribution of the different taxa between deposits shows some variation that distinguishes JA02 from the other deposits (Table 7.5). JA02 contains proportionately more caprines (sheep and goats), more domestics and fewer wild than

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Table 7.4: Frequency distribution of bone fragment size by Early Neolithic depositional context (TNF). Size Deposits

Whole

≥ 3/4

≥ 1/2

≥ 1/4

< 1/4

Splinter

Total

%

%

%

%

%

%

TNF

Exterior

4.58

1.86

3.29

7.58

44.64

38.05

699

OB01

5.42

1.57

4.46

12.53

31.33

44.70

830

OB02

0.00

0.00

0.00

18.18

63.64

18.18

11

ZM01

1.23

1.23

8.64

12.35

35.80

40.74

81

ZM02

5.92

1.62

5.03

15.41

47.38

24.63

1908

Capping hor.

5.74

1.28

4.68

21.28

46.81

20.21

470

Low hor.

5.98

1.74

5.15

13.49

47.57

26.08

1438

ZM04

5.38

2.29

5.48

13.64

39.92

33.30

2009

ZM05

3.08

1.54

6.15

27.69

56.92

4.62

65

ZM06

5.17

1.47

5.17

15.12

41.34

31.73

9041

ZM07

5.50

1.32

3.69

10.37

38.54

40.57

17,957

Grave

33.60

1.60

2.40

0.96

14.24

47.20

625

JA02

4.47

1.27

3.84

11.08

38.21

41.09

8246

Upper hor. Grand total

4.49

1.34

3.64

10.37

40.50

39.65

9086

5.38

1.46

4.32

12.22

39.90

36.71

32,601

all other deposits (79 %), and lower pig frequencies (3 %) than in any other context, including the overlying deposits in ZM07. Overall, JA02 also has fewer cattle and small taxa in comparison to the other deposits.

Domestic animal age distribution The age of animals is presented in terms of general mammalian age classes since there were too few mandibular elements that could be identified to a particular taxon. Using generalised age classes allows the incorporation of both post-cranial and cranial elements into the same analysis and makes the samples comparable between taxa. 1. Sheep (Ovis aries) age classes In general, JA02 and ZM07 appear to have the highest frequencies of young domestic sheep (Table 7.6). There are lower percentages of adults (20 % average) within these two deposits than found in the site’s average (24 %). 2. Pig (Sus scrofa dom.) age classes In general, ZM07 has higher frequencies of younger domestic pigs than all of the other deposits (11 % – Table 7.7). It is well below the site’s average (20 %). JA02 also appears

Sus scrofa fer.

Grand total

197

0.00 2.03

Strix aluco

100.00

0.00

0.00

Pisces sp.

0.00

0.00

Lepus europaeus

Ursus arctos

0.00

Corvus frugilegus

Unio pictorum

0.00

4

0.00

Cervus elaphus

Corvus corone/frugilegus

0.00 6.09

Capreolus capreolus

Corvus corone

0.00

Canis lupus

12

0.00

Bos primigenius

8.12 0.00

16

0.51

Aves sp.

Wild

1

Sus scrofa dom.

24.87

3.05

6

49

Ovis/Capra

0.00

Ovis aries

0.00

Capra hircus

63.45

91.88

%

Canis familiaris

125

181

Domestic

Bos taurus

Sum

Taxon

Exterior

220

9

2

20

12

2

8

53

8

50

31

8

70

167

Sum

100.00

0.00

0.00

4.09

0.00

0.00

0.91

0.00

0.00

0.00

9.09

5.45

0.91

3.64

0.00

24.09

3.64

22.73

14.09

3.64

0.00

31.82

75.91

28

3

3

10

2

2

11

25

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

10.71

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

10.71

0.00

35.71

7.14

7.14

0.00

39.29

89.29

%

100.00

Entire Sum

Entire %

ZM01

OB01

163

1

1

16

3

1

1

23

1

21

8

1

109

140

100.00

0.00

0.00

0.61

0.00

0.00

0.61

0.00

0.00

0.00

9.82

1.84

0.00

0.61

0.61

14.11

0.61

12.88

4.91

0.61

0.00

66.87

85.89

%

Capping hor. Sum

ZM02

449

1

8

1

1

22

8

1

2

44

9

69

30

6

291

405

100.00

0.22

0.00

1.78

0.22

0.00

0.22

0.00

0.00

0.00

4.90

1.78

0.00

0.22

0.45

9.80

2.00

15.37

6.68

1.34

0.00

64.81

90.20

%

Lower hor. Sum

Table 7.5: Frequency distribution of taxa by Early Neolithic depositional context (NISP).

619

16

1

4

1

50

12

13

3

100

18

197

42

12

2

248

519

Sum

%

100.00

0.00

0.00

2.58

0.16

0.00

0.65

0.00

0.16

0.00

8.08

1.94

0.00

2.10

0.48

16.16

2.91

31.83

6.79

1.94

0.32

40.06

83.84

Entire

ZM04

128 Haskel J. Greenfield and Tina L. Jongsma-Greenfield

0.00 10.53

Capreolus capreolus

Cervus elaphus

0.00 0.00

0.00 0.00 0.00

Lepus europaeus

Pisces sp. Strix aluco

2475

2

0.00

Ursus arctos 100.00

44

0.00

Grand total

30

0.00

Sus scrofa fer. Unio pictorum

9

1

100.00

0.08

1.78

1.21

0.36

0.04

0.04

0.00

1

0.00

Corvus frugilegus

0.04

3.39

Corvus corone/ frugilegus

1

0.00

84

2.91

0.00

0.53

0.73

11.11

1.09

40.48

12.20

3.47

0.28

31.35

88.89

Corvus corone

19

0.00

Canis lupus

2

13

0.00 72

18

275

0.00

10.53

27

1002

302

86

7

776

2200

ZM06 Entire Sum %

Aves sp. Bos primigenius

2

0.00

Wild

0.00

Sus scrofa dom.

10.53

Ovis aries

Ovis/Capra

0.00

2

0.00

78.95

15

Capra hircus

89.47

17

Canis familiaris

Domestic Bos taurus

Taxon

ZM05 Entire Sum %

40

2

1

1

4

30

6

36

Sum

Grave

Table 7.5

100.00

0.00

5.00

0.00

0.00

2.50

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

2.50

10.00

0.00

75.00

15.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

90.00

%

2172

2

1

2

2

10

36

1

9

63

20

1403

319

82

285

2109

ZM07 JA02 Sum

100.00

0.09

0.05

0.00

0.09

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.09

0.46

1.66

0.00

0.05

0.41

2.90

0.92

64.59

14.69

3.78

0.00

13.12

97.10

%

2322

1

2

13

2

4

42

45

2

7

16

134

31

1007

304

85

6

755

2188

100.00

0.04

0.09

0.56

0.09

0.00

0.17

0.00

0.00

0.00

1.81

1.94

0.09

0.30

0.69

5.77

1.34

43.37

13.09

3.66

0.26

32.52

94.23

Upper hor. Sum %

8704

6

49

81

6

1

21

1

2

3

261

188

4

44

50

717

115

3838

1052

282

15

2685

7987

100.00

0.07

0.56

0.93

0.07

0.01

0.24

0.01

0.02

0.03

3.00

2.16

0.05

0.51

0.57

8.24

1.32

44.09

12.09

3.24

0.17

30.85

91.76

Total NISP %

7. Feasting during the Early Neolithic of the central Balkans 129

3

0

ZM10

0.00

0.00

0.41

3

Upper hor.

0.88

Grand total

2

JA02

ZM07

25.00

0.00

0.68

ZM06

1

0.00

ZM05

Grave

0.00

ZM04

0.00

0.00

ZM02

Lower hor.

0.00

ZM01

0.00

0.00

OB01

Capping hor.

0.00

%

Foetal/Infant

NISP

Exterior

Context

Age classes

6

21

5

10

15

6

NISP

%

2.55

2.89

2.40

4.42

0.00

3.42

2.93

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

Infant

64

170

46

49

95

56

8

4

1

5

1

5

NISP

%

27.23

23.42

22.12

21.68

0.00

21.69

27.32

0.00

26.67

20.00

20.00

20.00

100.00

23.81

0.00

Juvenile

1

6

2

3

5

1

NISP

0.43

0.83

0.96

1.33

0.00

1.14

0.00

0.00

3.33

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

%

Juvenile/subadult

98

354

114

117

2

233

84

14

7

1

8

12

3

NISP

41.70

48.76

54.81

51.77

50.00

53.20

40.98

0.00

46.67

35.00

20.00

32.00

0.00

57.14

60.00

%

Subadult

Table 7.6: Frequency distribution of Ovis aries age classes by depositional context (NISP).

66

172

41

45

1

87

59

1

7

9

3

12

4

2

NISP

%

28.09

23.69

19.71

19.91

25.00

19.86

28.78

100.00

23.33

45.00

60.00

48.00

0.00

19.05

40.00

Adult

235

726

208

226

4

438

205

1

30

20

5

25

1

21

5

NISP

Total

130 Haskel J. Greenfield and Tina L. Jongsma-Greenfield

7. Feasting during the Early Neolithic of the central Balkans

131

Table 7.7: Frequency distribution of Sus scrofa dom. age classes by depositional context (NISP). Age classes

Foetal/ infant

Infant

Juvenile

Juvenile/subadult

Subadult

Adult

Total

Deposits

%

%

%

%

%

%

NISP

Exterior

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

100.00

1

OB01

0.00

0.00

40.00

0.00

40.00

20.00

5

ZM02

0.00

0.00

0.00

16.67

50.00

33.33

6

Capping hor.

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

1

Lower hor.

0.00

0.00

0.00

20.00

40.00

40.00

5

ZM04

0.00

14.29

21.43

14.29

28.57

21.43

14

ZM06

0.00

0.00

30.77

0.00

38.46

30.77

13

ZM07

2.70

2.70

37.84

13.51

32.43

10.81

37

JA02

0.00

0.00

33.33

20.00

40.00

6.67

15

Upper hor.

4.55

4.55

40.91

9.09

27.27

13.64

22

1.32

3.95

30.26

10.53

34.21

19.74

76

0

7.41

25.93

7.41

33.33

25.93

27

Grand total ZM10

to display an even greater preference for young domestic pigs since it contains the fewest adults overall (7 %). 3. Goat (Capra hircus) age classes In contrast to sheep and pigs, there is no observable difference between deposits or from the site average in goat age class frequencies (Table 7.8). There is a similar range of all age classes (particularly adult) between deposits. 4. Cattle (Bos taurus) age classes Similarly, there is no observable difference in domestic cattle age classes between depositional contexts that cannot be attributable to sample size (25–33 % for adults) or differential weathering (Table 7.9).

Wild animal exploitation strategies Wild taxa are present in JA02 in far lower frequencies (2.9 %) than anywhere else on the site (Table 7.5). Wild boar (Sus scrofa fer.) and aurochs (Bos primigenius) are present in very small quantities across the site, in general, but there are no ageable individuals in JA02. Only two species were represented in sizeable samples of ageable elements: red and roe deer.

Haskel J. Greenfield and Tina L. Jongsma-Greenfield

132

Table 7.8: Frequency distribution of Capra hircus age classes by depositional context (NISP). Age classes Context

Infant NISP

Juvenile %

NISP

%

OB01

0.00

1

ZM01

0.00

ZM02

0.00

Capping hor.

NISP

Subadult

Adult

Total

%

NISP

%

NISP

%

NISP

16.67

0.00

2

33.33

3

50.00

6

1

50.00

0.00

1

50.00

0.00

2

2

28.57

0.00

1

14.29

4

57.14

7

0.00

0.00

1

100.00

0.00

1

0.00

Lower hor.

Juvenile/subadult

0.00

2

33.33

0.00

0.00

4

66.67

6

ZM04

1

16.67

1

16.67

0.00

2

33.33

2

33.33

6

ZM06

1

1.61

10

16.13

0.00

20

32.26

31

50.00

62

ZM07

0.00

8

7.69

1

0.96

37

35.58

58

55.77

104

JA02

0.00

4

7.55

1

1.89

21

39.62

27

50.94

53

Upper hor.

0.00

4

7.84

0.00

16

31.37

31

60.78

51

2

1.07

23

12.30

0.53

63

33.69

98

52.41

187

2

2.94

11

16.18

0.00

22

32.35

33

48.53

68

Grand total ZM10

1

1. Roe deer (Capreolus capreolus) age classes A very large variation of roe deer age classes exists between deposits at the site (Table 7.10). Of the entire roe deer corpus, only JA02 was distinguished by an unusual age distribution. It contained far fewer adults than all the other deposits (37 %). There was a clear preference for younger individuals in this feature, as was seen for red deer in Opovo (Russell 1993). 2. Red deer (Cervus elaphus) age classes In contrast to the roe deer ageing patterns, there was no significant difference between deposits in terms of age classes among red deer remains (Table 7.11). This stands in strong contrast to the pattern that was seen at Opovo (Russell 1993).

Comparative studies Until recently and before this conference, few other studies in the region had attempted to unambiguously identify the presence of feasting in the archaeological record of the Balkan Neolithic. Of the early works, the work of Russell (1993) at Late Neolithic Opovo in northern Serbia stands out as the earliest systematic attempt to identify feasting behaviour in early Balkan farming societies. Her careful perusal of the data served to highlight how difficult it is to identify feasting behaviour. In her research, Russell systematically separated and analysed the faunal data from the middens versus those found from within the house and pit deposits. This method allowed for the observation

0.00

0.00

0.05

1

1

JA02

Upper hor.

Grand total

ZM10

0.15

0.00

0.19

ZM06

ZM07

0.00

ZM05

0.00

0.00

ZM04

Lower hor.

ZM02

0.00

0.00

ZM01

Capping hor.

0.00

0.00

OB01

0.00

Exterior

1

Context

%

Foetal/infant

NISP

Age classes

10

15

2

3

5

6

4

NISP

%

1.49

0.82

0.37

1.57

0.68

1.17

0.00

2.56

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

Infant

2

4

2

2

2

NISP

0.30

0.22

0.37

0.00

0.27

0.39

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

%

Infant/juvenile

115

441

163

52

215

89

3

26

58

30

88

8

12

NISP

17.19

24.01

30.24

27.23

29.45

17.35

30.00

16.67

28.02

32.97

29.53

0.00

18.18

15.19

%

Juvenile

40

75

17

6

23

32

8

2

3

5

1

6

NISP

5.98

4.08

3.15

3.14

3.15

6.24

0.00

5.13

0.97

3.30

1.68

0.00

2.27

7.59

%

Juvenile/subadult

288

746

199

83

282

212

6

76

85

29

114

2

26

28

NISP

43.05

40.61

36.92

43.46

38.63

41.33

60.00

48.72

41.06

31.87

38.26

28.57

59.09

35.44

%

Subadult

213

555

156

47

203

171

1

42

62

29

91

5

9

33

%

31.84

30.21

28.94

24.61

27.81

33.33

10.00

26.92

29.95

31.87

30.54

71.43

20.45

41.77

Adult NISP

Table 7.9: Frequency distribution of Bos taurus age classes by Early Neolithic depositional context (NISP).

669

1837

539

191

730

513

10

156

207

91

298

7

44

79

NISP

Total

7. Feasting during the Early Neolithic of the central Balkans 133

134

Haskel J. Greenfield and Tina L. Jongsma-Greenfield

Table 7.10: Frequency distribution of Capreolus capreolus age classes by Early Neolithic depositional context (NISP). Age classes Deposits

Foetal/infant

Juvenile

Juvenile/subadult

Subadult

Adult

Total

%

%

%

%

%

NISP

OB01

0.00

25.00

0.00

25.00

50.00

4

ZM02

0.00

14.29

0.00

0.00

85.71

7

0.00

50.00

0.00

0.00

50.00

2

Capping hor.

0.00

0.00

0.00

0.00

100.00

5

ZM04

Upper hor.

0.00

0.00

0.00

25.00

75.00

8

ZM06

2.38

9.52

7.14

21.43

59.52

42

ZM07

0.00

0.00

6.12

40.82

53.06

49

JA02

0.00

0.00

8.33

54.17

37.50

24

Upper hor.

0.00

0.00

4.00

28.00

68.00

25

0.91

5.45

5.45

29.09

59.09

110

Grand total

Table 7.11: Frequency distribution of Cervus elaphus age classes by Early Neolithic depositional context (NISP). Age classes

Juvenile

Juvenile/subadult

Subadult

Adult

Total

Deposits

%

%

%

%

NISP

Exterior

0.00

0.00

0.00

100.00

8

OB01

0.00

0.00

40.00

60.00

15

ZM01

0.00

0.00

0.00

100.00

3

ZM02

0.00

0.00

34.38

65.63

32

Capping hor.

0.00

0.00

50.00

50.00

14

Lower hor.

0.00

0.00

22.22

77.78

18

ZM04

2.70

0.00

13.51

83.78

37

ZM05

0.00

0.00

100.00

0.00

1

ZM06

7.55

1.89

20.75

69.81

53

ZM07

3.45

0.00

31.03

65.52

29

JA02

0.00

0.00

25.00

75.00

4

Upper hor.

4.00

0.00

32.00

64.00

25

Grand total

3.37

0.56

24.16

71.91

178

ZM10

5.56

1.11

17.78

75.56

90

that red deer may have been of symbolic importance to the inhabitants of Opovo. As with the data from Blagotin, most of the hints about feasting derive from pit deposits, largely because they are spatially distinctive and temporally more secure as an isolated event.

7. Feasting during the Early Neolithic of the central Balkans

135

Similarly, at the Late Neolithic site of Makriyalos, in northern Greece, it is only through an integration of the stratigraphic, ceramic, and faunal data from a special context that there is any evidence for feasting. The remains found within the special context are interpreted as having been deposited by a ‘collective consumption [event] on a massive scale’ (Pappa et al. 2004, 17). The overall settlement organisation and depositional context (pit surrounded by other features, particularly an enclosure wall) is more similar to that of Blagotin. In this case, however, it is difficult to determine if the patterns in their special deposit are different than those found elsewhere on the site, since this type of analysis was not performed at the time. Distinguishing examples of open-air feasting deposits (e.g. middens) is almost impossible since there is usually little to the contextual integrity of the deposit to distinguish it from normal every-day food remains that are disposed of in middens. Identifying middens requires the interdisciplinary coordination between excavators, faunal analysts, and other specialists (Pappa et al. 2004). It is impossible to identify such deposits ‘after-the-fact’, in the lab, without the help of the excavators’ sharp eyes in the field. It is in the field that the first observation of a special deposit needs to be determined and subjected to a detailed analysis during excavation. Only then is it possible to determine if the laboratory analysis supports the field observations and vice versa. As with Blagotin, the investigation of feasting behaviour and associated activities at Opovo and Makriyalos were identifiable only because of the careful and large-scale horizontal excavations in order to uncover community patterns.

Conclusions This article considers the potential for identifying feasting deposits in early foodproducing sites, while utilising data from the Early Neolithic site of Blagotin (Serbia). It is evident that there is an inherent bias against the identification of small regular feasting events in the archaeological record in favour of the larger more occasional events. The bigger the event, the more significant the feast and the more likely it will be recognised archaeologically, since a more obvious behavioural residue is left behind. Further, the scale and frequency of large events generally impacts whether or not residues are dumped in an isolated deposit and hence impacts its archaeological visibility. These are all criteria that enhance or detract from our ability to identify feasts and feasting behaviour. Does the evidence presented suggest evidence for feasting at Blagotin? Many lines of evidence are presented here that point to the presence of feasting at Blagotin, these being: locational (the deposit is at the centre of the site); depositional (it is a discrete, rapidly filled deposit made prior to construction of the central structure); and contextual (it is located beneath a more clearly ritual location and associated with a human infant burial). The distribution patterns suggest there is clear evidence of feasting. The fauna from JA02 are better preserved, which suggests that it was

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deposited as a single short-term event. In addition, they are fragmented to a lesser degree and were cooked less than any other deposit at the settlement. Other indicators that suggest feasting was present can be seen in the disparity in terms of species preference, representation, and age group between this deposit and others – e.g. there are more caprines, more domestics, and a preference for younger animals. It is important to highlight the choice for younger animals (among two of the three species – sheep and pigs) that were exploited principally for their primary products during this period. Goats, which are represented by mostly adult individuals, were already being intensively exploited for their milk during the Neolithic (Greenfield and Arnold 2015). When given the choice to eat young sheep (i.e. lamb) and old goat, the choice is clear. In general, JA02 and ZM07 appear to display the highest frequencies of a preference for young domestic sheep (Table 7.6). It is important to note that it is not any single source of patterning in the data that distinguishes JA02 as a feasting deposit. It is the combination of both the archaeological and faunal data that makes this deposit unique and, hence, possible to identify. Nonetheless, it is important to note that, not only are special (e.g. fine) wares not inordinately associated with this feasting deposit, but that there are few ceramics in general associated with JA02. We learn from the Blagotin experience that one cannot simply analyse the fauna as if it was one large undifferentiated sample, that specialists and traditional archaeologists must work together, and that specialists must be in-field (not isolated in the lab) if we are to recognise and properly analyse such deposits. It is through a comprehensive comparison with the rest of the assemblage that the field identification of the special nature of JA02 as a feasting deposit is supported. Our research suggests that the concentration of faunal remains in the pit (JA02) underlying the central pit house (ZM07) found in an Early Neolithic settlement at Blagotin represents the earliest evidence for feasting in the central Balkans. Given their location within the settlement and the nature of the faunal remains, it is suggested that feasting was an integral part of human behaviour in First Temperate (Early) Neolithic settlements.

Acknowledgements The research described in this article was supported by many institutions, including the University of Manitoba (Dept. of Anthropology, Faculty of Arts, St. Paul’s College and the Near Eastern and Biblical Archaeology Lab), Winnipeg, Canada; the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, Ottawa; the MacDonald Institute for Archaeological Research and St. John’s College of the University of Cambridge; International Research and Exchanges Board, Washington, D.C.; and the University of Belgrade. The research at the site was codirected by the late Svetozar Stanković and Haskel Greenfield. The faunal remains were analysed jointly by Haskel Greenfield and Tina Jongsma-Greenfield. Many of the photographs were taken by Zev Greenfield,

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and we are grateful for his permission for their reproduction. Special thanks must also be given to the people of Blagotin, who extended their hospitality to friends and strangers throughout the difficult years of field work under the embargo in the 1990’s in Serbia. Finally, the authors wish to thank the late Svetozar Stanković, Vladimir Leković, and the many students and colleagues from Serbia and Manitoba who aided in the research both in the field and at home.

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Chapter 8 Of pits and bones: A ritual pit at the late Neolithic site of Sarnevo in Bulgarian Thrace Krum Bacvarov and John Gorczyk

Introduction The site of Sarnevo was excavated over three seasons from 2008–2010, within the framework of a development-based project for the Trakia highway (Bacvarov et al., 2017). The site is what is commonly referred to as a ‘pit field’, a complex of cut features dating to the late Neolithic (5400–5200 cal BC), and the Early and Late Iron Age (1st mill. BC). A female burial and a ditch of the Roman period have also been excavated. As in the case of some other pit fields, it is located near a known prehistoric tell settlement (late 6th–3rd mill. BC). The Neolithic pits contained a large amount of material culture including ceramics, burnt daub, stone artefacts, and animal bones, which the evidence suggests were transported from the nearby settlement. We argue that the recurring nature of the types and combinations of materials included in the pits as well as the processes of structured deposition across the pit field can be defined as a ‘ritual package’ that includes the systematic knowledge preserved in the then inhabitants’ collective memory: knowledge of the specific depositional modes and the deposits themselves, as well as the implicit physical and symbolic links that were created, reaffirmed, or severed. We begin by discussing the archaeology of pits as it relates to the Neolithic of southeast Europe, and then present an outline of the types of features discovered at Sarnevo. We then describe the components of the ‘ritual package’, using Feature 66 as a case study. Like most of the pits at Sarnevo, Feature 66 contains large numbers of animal remains, highlighting the important role that food remains play in the social mechanisms of pit digging and filling.

Site and feature descriptions The site of Sarnevo is situated on the primary terrace of the right bank of the Azmaka Creek in Upper Thrace, approximately 12 km south of the foothills of the Sarnena

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Figure 8.1: Location of the archaeological site of Sarnevo. Above: maps showing the location of the site and the catchment area of the river Sazliyka. Below: aerial photograph of the site after the excavation, view to the east (to the Azmaka Creek, marked by the line of shrubs and trees).

Sredna Gora, part of the Balkan range (Fig. 8.1). An area of approx. 6750 sq. m has been excavated. Remains of four periods of human activity have been registered, including the late Neolithic, the Early and Late Iron Age, and the Roman period. In the late Neolithic Karanovo III-IV period, people from a nearby settlement, Tell Kaleto, used this place to deposit large amounts of material culture into cut features over a period spanning roughly 50 years (Cook et al., 2017). Currently, we cannot rule out simultaneous use of the pit field by more than one community, but Tell Kaleto is the only settlement in the immediate vicinity in the microregion along the Azmaka

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Creek that was occupied in the late Neolithic. Although the possibility of another contemporaneous settlement remains, after intensive surface and geomagnetic surveys of the region (Bacvarov et al. 2016), it seems that Kaleto was the most probable origin of the community that used the pit field at Sarnevo. The inhabitants of the site therefore invested much time and effort into relocating large amounts of heavy materials over a relatively long distance, demonstrating the importance of ritual activity related to structured deposition for this late Neolithic community. In the first millenium BC, this same place was in similar use by local Thracian communities. Finally, a Roman period ritual ditch was dug into the north-central part of the excavated area that contained the articulated remains of both horse and dog sacrifices. Several types of Neolithic cut features have been identified at Sarnevo, which have been tentatively grouped for analysis into three categories. For most features in all three categories, the bottoms and walls of the pits were plastered with unfired clay:

Pit chains These features are complexes of pits that cut into one another or are located next to each other and contain separate deposits. In comparison to the other pit types, these were used over a longer period of time. Individual (inner) pits could represent separate depositional events, but, in the end, the entire complex was sealed with burnt architectural materials (Fig. 8.2).

Figure 8.2: Example of a pit chain (Feature 34) after excavation; view to the southeast. Upper left corner: detail of the same feature, with deposits in inner pits (34D and 34E); view to the east.

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Ramped or stepped pits There are two configurations for this type of pit. The first involves the digging of a deep pit with steeply angled walls, followed by the digging of a second pit, also with steep walls but with a sloping bottom on one side allowing access to the deeper pit. The second variant of this type is represented by two or three cuts intersecting with each other so as to form one or two ‘steps’ giving access to a deeper inner pit. Feature 66 falls into this category of pits (Fig. 8.3A).

Lined pits These pits are smaller (roughly 1 m in diameter and 1 m deep), single cut features that have either bottoms lined with ceramic sherds or walls lined with very large fragments of burnt architectural debris (Fig. 8.3B). It is difficult to identify potential patterns in the spatial organisation of Neolithic pits at Sarnevo. The pits were dug directly into the prehistoric ground surface and rapidly filled. All features were sealed at the end of their use by piling burnt daub on top of the deposit. The pieces of daub from the upper portion of these piles are eroded to some extent, whereas the ones from below are not and show signs of clean edges and sharp breaks, suggesting that the debris that was used to cap each deposit had come from recently burnt structure(s), and was higher than the ground surface during the late Neolithic.

Pits and structured deposition in Neolithic southeast Europe Research on pit features has a long and complicated history in archaeology, recently summarised for the Neolithic of Britain and Ireland by Thomas (2012). Far less attention has been paid to pits and pit complexes from the Neolithic of southeast Europe, despite their common occurrence throughout the research area. John Chapman’s (2000b) discussion of pits was influential in establishing that pit digging and deposition were closely linked to social practices of identity construction, ancestor veneration, and place-making during the Balkan Neolithic and Copper Age. For Chapman, the most important elements of pit use were intentional fragmentation (see also Chapman 2000a) and structured deposition (Richards and Thomas 1984). Both elements operate beyond the dichotomy of domestic–ritual and link aspects of the prehistoric society, including identity, commensality, fertility and rebirth, and ancestor veneration. Following Johanna Brück (1999), Chapman emphasised that studying prehistoric pit use allows us to see how ritual behaviour is interwoven into local and regional practices aimed at producing social meaning or belief. Chapman’s discussion was necessarily limited to settlement sites, since pit fields were not identified as a unique site type until the beginning of the 21st century. They were first identified in Bulgaria in conjunction with the proliferation of large development-based projects throughout the country (salvage archaeology). The first prehistoric site in Bulgaria interpreted as a pit field was Dana bunar 2 at

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Figure 8.3: A. Feature 66: the lowest level of the deposit in the inner pit (the arrow points to a fallow deer antler placed in the bottom of the inner pit). View to the northwest. B. Example of a lined pit (Feature 21), with sherd pavement on the bottom. View to the northeast. C. Feature 13H: sherd paneling and burnt daub sealing of the inner pit mouth. View to the northeast.

Lyubimets (Nikolov et al. 2007). Vassil Nikolov (2011) was the first to provide a general interpretation of this site type, calling it a ‘pit sanctuary’, although the exact definition of ‘sanctuary’ was not clear from his discussion. The identification of pit sites, along with the observation that they are commonly located within walking distance of, or right next to, a known settlement (as at Sarnevo and, notably, at Voden: see Bacvarov et al. 2013), opens the possibility to explore the

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relationship between pit digging and occupation in a larger framework of humanlandscape interaction. Pit sites cover large areas (no single pit field has yet been completely excavated, so the average size is still unknown) and would have been visible from some distance due to the piles of burnt daub used to cap them. The variation in pit size, shape, and composition at Sarnevo demonstrates the multiplicity of forms of prehistoric practice and initially confounded attempts to understand the sites themselves. Nevertheless, they clearly represent a substantial investment of time and labour and were one of several ways in which the late Neolithic inhabitants of Thrace created and maintained places of socio-cultural importance within the landscape. Outside of its original formulation (Richards and Thomas 1984), the term ‘structured deposition’ has no conventional definition, as it has been employed by numerous authors to address a multitude of different phenomena. Essentially, the concept is interpretive, and, as Garrow (2012, 86) has argued, has become an interpretation in and of itself. For the purposes of this text and specifically regarding the late Neolithic pit field at Sarnevo, it is used to signify the deliberate placing of specially selected materials into pits in a certain manner and order, whereby each has a connection to the other. This definition presumes the following general characteristics of the pits: 1. A shape, size, and position that suggest the pits were cut especially for carrying out certain activities within their deepest part (s) resulting in the deliberate deposition of diverse materials. 2. Clay plastering of the walls and/or bottoms of at least the inner pits, which is sometimes followed by panelling the sides or bottoms with burnt daub pieces and/or ceramic sherds. 3. The act of deposition implicates the following elements: a) recurrent types of items: large amounts of ceramic sherds, small grinding stone fragments, and faunal remains; single burnt daub pieces, horns and antlers, and artefacts made from exotic or rare raw materials and/or having other distinctive qualities; imitations; b) deliberate fragmentation, selectivity, and diversity of the deposited items, including deposition of fragments from the same artefact in different pits or of fragments from different artefacts of the same type in the same place (including human and animal bone fragments from different individuals); c) plastering or sealing with sterile clay of the deposits or single items in the inner pits; d) burning; e) deposition having occurred shortly after initial pit cutting; f) sealing of the entire deposit with debris from burnt structure(s). The high recurrence rate and the composition of these elements suggest relative normativity and ritualised action. On the other hand, the ritual nature of the activities directly aimed at pit deposition in no way rules out that they could have been indirectly related to everyday farming or production activities carried out elsewhere

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and at another time. Most probably, structured deposition at Sarnevo represented an initial, intermediate, or final phase in a longer and more comprehensive sequence of activities. Regardless, it should be seen as part of the complex ritual system of the late Neolithic community. Whatever the purpose of these rituals, their multi-faceted nature and labourintensiveness demanded the organised collective effort of large groups – most probably of the entire community. And while the deposition of symbolically rich material culture in pits was obviously aimed at its ‘concealment’, somewhat paradoxically the impetus to conceal was undermined by closing the pits with piles of burnt daub, which would have been visible above the prehistoric land surface. Preserving the knowledge of ritual activities through structured deposition and marking its place in the landscape ensured that it was preserved in the collective memory and participated in the process of creating and maintaining social identity. The totality of these fixed and recurrent material and processual elements of structured deposition at the late Neolithic pit field of Sarnevo can be defined as a ‘ritual package’.

The late Neolithic ‘ritual package’ Certain patterns have emerged from the examination of the deposits from most of the pits at Sarnevo, which, taken together, form what Bacvarov (2017) termed the ‘ritual package’. Elements of this package have been identified at other pit sites in Thrace, but the unique combination of material associations observed in features at Sarnevo is considered to be site-specific. We briefly discuss the general characteristics of this ritual package before moving on to a specific case study (Feature 66). The ceramic assemblages from the pits at Sarnevo contained hundreds of sherds from highly fragmented and (mostly) poorly fired ceramic vessels. The surface treatment of the ceramics was also of low quality. This suggests a local manufacture for short-term use, possibly even specifically for use in pit-filling activities. The high volume of plain sherds made refitting extremely difficult. A single nearly complete vessel was recovered at Sarnevo. Some almost complete vessels had been intentionally broken and arranged near the top of the pit, with artefacts placed directly on top of them. Other vessels had been intentionally broken and then arranged around the mouth of the pit, giving it the general look of a pot (Fig. 8.3C). The pits also contained large numbers of animal bones, which were heavily fragmented and most probably represent food remains. Many of the bones came from cattle and fallow deer, with caprines and pigs also present in large numbers. In addition to the hundreds of fragmented animal remains, some complete and near-complete elements (horn cores and antlers) were selected for structured deposition. Other artefact types were also intentionally fragmented and deposited into the pits, most notably broken grinding stones. It is quite uncommon to find grinding stones broken into so many pieces through use-wear. At Sarnevo (and other pit sites) the features contained pieces of grinding stones that do not show traces of burning. This

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Figure 8.4: Feature 63: fallow deer antler deposited on a burnt daub piece in an inner pit; a grinding stone fragment lies on the palmate portion of the antler.

Figure 8.5: Bone pin broken into six pieces, three of which were deposited at different locations around the walls of Feature 99; photo after restoration.

suggests that they were not broken during the destruction of a structure (such as a house) and were not transported together with the settlement debris. Despite intensive sampling for plant remains, very little material has been recovered, and most of it probably came along with the settlement debris. On the other hand, although the overall number of plant remains is low, there is a high species diversity, which could be suggestive of selective deposition. There are several patterns of structured deposition in common among the features. The most obvious at the time of excavation was the placement of horn cores (cattle) or antlers (fallow deer) at either the tops or bottoms of the pit deposits (Fig. 8.4). In some cases, fragments of broken grinding stones were carefully placed directly onto the element itself, as seen in Figure 8.4. Where these cranial elements were placed at the top of the deposit, they were always the last items deposited before the entire pit was sealed with burnt daub. Refitting artefacts with a unique typology has proven easier and highlighted the importance of fragmentation and deposition at the site. An intricate bone pin in Feature 99 was broken into six pieces (Fig. 8.5); the three biggest fragments were set down at different locations around the walls of the pit and plastered into place, while two very small inner fragments as well as the pin’s point are missing. The walls were then lined with large pieces of burnt daub. A spindle whorl made from the ‘mushroom-knob’ handle of a ceramic jug was fragmented and placed into two different features (65 and 73B). Another example of obviously deliberate fragmentation corresponding to a specific mode of deposition is found in three items from Feature 9 that were discovered together: a large seated female ceramic figurine with the upper part of the cylindrical head and the lower right leg missing alongside a fragment from the upper part of a cylindrical head and a fragment from a right leg of a seated figurine; the latter two finds belong to typologically and stylistically similar but different figurines (similar contexts were identified in three more features). Finally, four pieces of an upper grinding stone – accounting for roughly

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149

one-half of the object – were found in three different features (28B, 89 and 104).

The ritual package in Feature 66 Feature 66 is an irregular, oval-shaped pit roughly 4.6 × 2.7 m in area. It was dug into the virgin soil to a maximum depth of 1.12 m. Its southern bank gradually slopes down to a maximum depth of 0.70 m. A smaller (2.80 × 2.20 m) inner pit, which was also oval-shaped, was dug into the northern end of the feature, and had Figure 8.6: Feature 66: plan (above) and cross-section a maximum depth of 0.50 m (Figs. 8.3A and 8.6). This construction allowed one (below). to access the inner pit from the south, its higher northern wall being rather steep. It therefore belongs to the ramped or stepped type of feature described above. The bottom of the inner pit and probably its walls, as well, were plastered with whitish clay. The same material also covered the inner pit deposit, playing the role of a clay matrix. It seems possible that the various deposited items were successively coated with wet clay, which – together with the ash revealed in the pit fill – could also account for its lighter greyish colouration. The feature was sealed with burnt daub. Its fill, however, included yellow sterile clay, which suggests that it was backfilled soon after its digging. The deposit itself was extremely rich and contained ceramic sherds (428 diagnostic sherds and many more wall fragments, handles or lugs, and pedestal bases), animal bones, complete horn cores and antlers, river shells, snail shells, burnt daub, pieces of a fire installation floor, and an unusually large number of small finds: 18 chippedstone artefacts, 14 grinding-stone fragments, 10 complete or fragmented polished stone tools, 5 chipped sherd discs, 5 fragments from bone artefacts, 3 cult-table fragments, 2 fragments from the same ceramic bracelet, 2 shell pendants, and a ceramic spindlewhorl fragment. An extraordinary pin made of chrysotile (Fig. 8.7) is one of the very few complete items recovered from the site. Immediately below the burnt daub seal, a cattle horn with a piece of the skull still attached was revealed together with animal bones, some of which have been articulated (Fig. 8.8, left). Below it, sealed with a layer of sterile clay, lay an almost complete bowl and a large grinding stone fragment (Fig. 8.8, right). On the bottom of the inner pit were an antler, roughly a half of a bowl, more animal bones, and a large burnt daub piece, all covered with whitish clay (Fig. 8.3A).

Plant remains Seven flotation samples have been taken from Feature 66, with a total volume of 54 litres, containing 43 plant remains (Popova, 2017). Charred wood fragments – oak

150

Krum Bacvarov and John Gorczyk (21), maple (10), and beech (3) – were found throughout the matrix, these most probably having arrived together with the burnt architectural remains, but only single grains of einkorn (8 fragments), lentils (3), millet (1), and rye (1) were identified. There were also two undefinable grain fragments, two fragments of plum stones, and remains from glumes.

Faunal remains

Figure 8.7: Complete pin made of chrysotile. Length 8.1 cm.

2,008 faunal remains were recovered from the fill of Feature 66. While the species profile for the entire site skews toward cattle as the most abundant single taxon, in Feature 66 fallow deer (Dama dama) were just as abundant, accounting for more diagnostic zones (DZ; Watson 1979) than cattle (Table 8.1). The presence of both cattle horn cores and fallow deer antlers in pit deposits at Sarnevo already demonstrates the importance of these species in rituals associated with pit use. Fallow deer seem to have been

Figure 8.8: Feature 66: the upper (left) and second level (right) of the deposit in the inner pit.

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Table 8.1: Faunal remains from Feature 66. Taxon

NISP

%NISP

DZ

%DZ

Cattle Domestic Wild Indet.

179 6 17

30.55 1.02 2.90

60 3 6

28.17 1.41 2.82

Pig Domestic

49

8.36

12.5

5.87

Caprine Sheep Goat Sheep/goat Red deer Fallow deer Roe deer Dog Fox Hare Total Ident.

25 8 83 36 165 10 5 1 2 586

4.27 1.37 14.16 6.14 28.16 1.71 0.85 0.17 0.34

13 4 13.5 15 78 3 2 1 2 213

6.10 1.88 6.34 7.04 36.62 1.41 0.94 0.47 0.94

Unidentifible Small cervid Large cervid Caprine or roe deer Bird

9 4 14 13

1

Ind. Mammal Large (cattle-sized) Medium (pig-sized) Small (sheep/goat-sized) Very small (hare-sized) Microfauna (smaller than rabbit)

284 288 573 14 1

2 2 1

Other Snail Marine shell Indeterminate Total Unident.

2 23 197 1422

8

Total fauna of Feature 66

2008

221

2

particularly important to the inhabitants of the site: they are far more abundant than any other type of deer. Because there are so few total diagnostic zones for Feature 66, it is necessary to examine the relative proportions of body regions rather than individual elements.

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0%

10%

20%

30%

40%

50%

60%

70%

80%

90%

100%

Cattle

Fallow deer

Caprine

Head

Axial

Upper limb

Lower limb

Feet

Figure 8.9: Feature 66 taxa.

Figure 8.9 shows the proportion of body parts for the major domestic mammals with greater than 10 DZ. These were divided into five body zones: head (excluding antler), axial, upper limbs, lower limbs, and feet. The upper limbs are those that are typically associated with the most meat (Russell and Martin 2005, 60). There are clear differences in body zone representation for each taxon. Cattle are represented by a higher percentage of lower limb elements, while caprines and deer are represented by more upper limbs. In the case of the caprines, this disparity is clear (although it may be influenced by taphonomy; cf. Gorczyk 2013), but in Feature 66 it is unique: most of the pits show a higher number of caprine cranial elements relative to other body zones. Pig body zones in Feature 66 also mirror site-wide patterns for pigs: cranial elements predominate. Among these, the most abundant element is the mandible, which often shows evidence of burning or marrow toasting (Gorczyk and Karastoyanova, 2017). The bones in Feature 66 are heavily fragmented. The majority (71.8 %) are nondiagnostic, meaning that they could not be identified beyond size class (e.g. small mammal). The assemblage in Feature 66 exhibits fragmentation patterns similar to those of the remainder of the site: most fragments were less than one-quarter of the original size and, for all mammal size classes (small, medium, and large), the majority of the fragments were either shaft splinters or shaft splinters with partial ends (Figs. 8.10–8.11). The situation is similar to what Outram (2001) described for an assemblage that had been heavily processed for bone grease and marrow. Those few elements that exhibited any signs of butchery showed cut marks characteristic of primary butchery, mostly carcass dismemberment (Binford 1981). Due to the small sample size, analysis of the intensity of carcass processing using butchery marks was not possible for Feature 66.

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2% 15% Epiphysis 6%

Less than 1/4 Between 1/4 and 1/2 46%

11%

Between 1/2 and 3/4 More than 3/4 Complete

20%

Figure 8.10: Feature 66 bone fragmentation.

100% 90% 80% 70%

End+shaft splinter

60%

End only

50%

Cylinder

40%

Shaft splinter

30%

End splinter

20% 10% 0% Sheep sized

Pig sized

Cattle sized

Figure 8.11: Feature 66 fragmentation type.

Other deposits In addition to the fragmented animal remains, there are two deposits that warrant attention. The first is the fallow deer antler placed in the bottom of the inner pit prior to filling. The base of the antler was present, as well as the brow tine and part of the

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column, and was oriented roughly east to west (Fig. 8.3A). Other pits at Sarnevo also contained fallow deer antlers in their basal layers. The second item worthy of attention is the cattle horn core with part of the frontal bone still attached that was placed at the very top of the deposit, just before it was sealed with burnt daub. The skull and horn core were oriented roughly east to west (Fig. 8.8, left) and, again, are a feature seen in other pits as well.

Discussion Two types of faunal deposit have been identified in Feature 66. The first is the large package of highly fragmented animal remains that made up a large part of the pit’s fill. These remains do not seem to have been generated during the activities involved in pit filling, for example, during feasting. Halstead (2007) has suggested that a deposit resulting from one or more commensal events like feasts would result in numerous articulated remains or matched pairs from the same individual. This type of wasteful consumption is often accompanied by evidence for special types of cooking, such as roasting (Russell 2012, 389). Instead, the assemblage in Feature 66 was heavily processed for marrow and bone grease. Other than in the closing level of the deposit, articulations were extremely rare. The cut marks and burning suggest primary butchery and dismemberment and give no clear indication of roasting. Likely this type of deposit represents food refuse from a variety of contexts on the settlement that was transported along with other ‘debris’ to the pit field. The situation at Sarnevo stands in stark contrast to that at Voden, another late Neolithic pit field in Thrace. There, excavators discovered pits that seemed specially dug for depositing feasting remains. These ‘qurban’ pits, named for the religious or civil feasts that take place in parts of the modern-day Balkans and Anatolia, contained large numbers of animal bones that were mostly complete and articulated in large segments. The pits contained little other material culture (Bacvarov et al. 2013). The second type of deposit is represented by carefully arranged cranial elements from both cattle and fallow deer. Their presence reflects the importance of these animals during the late Neolithic. Cattle became increasingly abundant on Bulgarian sites toward the end of the Neolithic and into the Chalcolithic, probably due to their increased social value as exchange items and their expanded role as sources of valuable secondary products such as dairy and traction (e.g. Russell 1998; 2004). Fallow deer seem to have had a special role in the late Neolithic of Thrace, as seen in the sudden and dramatic increase of their remains on late Neolithic sites in the area, a situation not seen in the earlier Neolithic of the region. The exact nature of this new humanfallow deer relationship is being explored elsewhere, but remains of these animals have been found in special deposits in other late Neolithic pit fields and settlements. Food (especially meat) is an important vehicle of social reproduction. Much attention has been devoted to identifying patterns of consumption of animal products (e.g. Miracle and Milner 2002; Twiss 2003; 2007), but the deposits at Sarnevo highlight that the deposition of food remains extends the social life of food beyond the point where we might consider it

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‘inert’ material culture. As with refuse in general, food remains may continue to participate within a larger network of practices aimed at reproducing social life (Hill 1995, 21).

Conclusion Sarnevo is the only pit field in Bulgaria where numerous analyses have been brought together to investigate the prehistoric practices involved in its creation (Bacvarov et al., 2017). It therefore provides a unique opportunity to understand the elements of Neolithic rituals that were integral to creating and maintaining social life. Among the numerous essential components of the ritual package identified at Sarnevo were large amounts of animal remains. The majority of these remains were the result of a variety of consumptive events that took place away from the pit field and were brought there specifically to fill the pits. Through this practice, the social value of food was extended beyond its consumption to deposition (and re-deposition). The identification of features of ritual deposition at Sarnevo serves as a starting point for a larger discussion of ritual practices and their role in shaping later Neolithic society, but much more work is required. For example, the relationship between the pit field and the nearby settlement has yet to be investigated. Other pit fields also need to be studied and compared with Sarnevo to determine if the patterns identified at the latter are present elsewhere in Thrace. This paper demonstrates that an integrated analysis of multiple classes of material culture is necessary to properly characterise depositional practices and their relationship to social life during the Neolithic.

References Bacvarov, K. (2017) Sarnevo: kasnoneolitniyat ritualen paket. In K. Bacvarov, M. Tonkova, and G. Katsarov (eds.) Sarnevo: vkopani strukturi ot kasniya neolit, rannata I kasnata zhelyazna epoha i rimskiya period, Vol. 1: Kasnoneolitnoto yamno pole, 224–33. Sofia, NAIM-BAN. Bacvarov, K., Leshtakov, K., Todorova, N., Petrova, V., Leshtakov, P., Katsarov, G., Ilieva, D., Nikolova, N., Tonkov, N., Vitezović, S., Taneva, S. and Popova, Tz. (2013) Praistoricheski obekt pri s. Voden, obsht. Dimitrovgrad (AM ‘Maritsa,’ LOT 2, km 43+350 do km 43+750). Arheologicheski otkritiya i razkopki prez 2012 g., 62–64. Bacvarov, K., Gleser, R., Komp, R., Becker, V., Tonkov, N., Zidarov, P. and Russeva, V. (2016) Geomagnitno kartirane po techenieto na r. Azmaka pri s. Sarnevo, obsht. Radnevo, i s. Pshenichevo, obsht. Stara Zagora. Arheologicheski otkritiya i razkopki prez 2015 g., 144–148. Bacvarov, K., Tonkova, M. and Katsarov, G. (eds.) (in press) Sarnevo: vkopani strukturi ot kasniya neolit, rannata i kasnata zhelyazna epoha i rimskiya period. Vol. 1: Kasnoneolitnoto yamno pole. Sofia, NAIM-BAN. Binford, L. R. (1981) Bones: Ancient Men and Modern Myths. New York, Academic Press. Brück, J. (1999) Ritual and rationality: Some problems of interpretation in European archaeology. European Journal of Archaeology 2.3, 313–44. Chapman, J. (2000a) Fragmentation in Archaeology: People, Places, and Broken Objects in the Prehistory of South Eastern Europe. London and New York, Routledge. Chapman, J. (2000b). Pit-digging and structured deposition in the Neolithic and Copper Age of Central and Eastern Europe. Prehistoric Society (London, England) 61, 51–67. Cook, G. T., Hamilton, D. and Bonsall, C. (2017) Radiocarbon dates. In K. Bacvarov, M. Tonkova and G. Katsarov (eds.) Sarnevo: vkopani strukturi ot kasniya neolit, rannata i kasnata zhelyazna epoha i rimskiya period, Vol. 1: Kasnoneolitnoto yamno pole, 505–9. Sofia, NAIM–BAN.

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Garrow, D. (2012) Odd deposits and average practice. A critical history of the concept of structured deposition. Archaeological Dialogues 19.2, 85–115. Gorczyk, J. (2013) Communal Consumption at Late Neolithic Sarnevo: The Faunal Evidence from a Pit-Site in South-Central Bulgaria. MA Thesis, Cornell University. Gorczyk, J. and Karastoyanova, N. (2017) Faunal report. In K. Bacvarov, M. Tonkova and G. Katsarov (eds.) Sarnevo: vkopani strukturi ot kasniya neolit, rannata i kasnata zhelyazna epoha i rimskiya period, Vol. 1: Kasnoneolitnoto yamno pole, 511–43. Sofia, NAIM–BAN. Halstead, P. (2007) Carcasses and commensality: Investigating the social context of meat consumption in Neolithic and Early Bronze Age Greece. In C. Mee and J. Renard (eds.) Cooking up the Past: Food and Culinary Practices in the Neolithic and Bronze Age Aegean, 25–48. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Hill, J. D. (1995) Ritual and Rubbish in the Iron Age of Wessex: A Study on the Formation of a Specific Archaeological Record. Oxford, Tempus Reparatum. Leshtakov, P., Dotkova, M., Naydenova, E. and Klasnakov, M. (2007) Arheologichesko prouchvane na kasnoneolitnoto yamno svetilishte Lybimets – Dana bunar 2. Arheologicheski otkritiya i razkopki prez 2006 g., 44–47. Miracle, P. T. and Milner, N. (2002) Consuming Passions and Patterns of Consumption. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Nikolov, V. (2011) A reinterpretation of Neolithic complexes with dug-out features: Pit sanctuaries. Studia Praehistorica 14, 91–119. Nikolov, V., Petrova, V., Anastasova, A., Elenski, E., Andreeva, D., Ignatova, S., Leshtakov, P., Dotkova, M., Naydenova, E. and Klasnakov, M. (2007) Arheologichesko prouchvane na kasnoneolitnoto yamno svetilishte Lybimets – Dana bunar 2. Arheologicheski otkritiya i razkopki prez 2006, 44–47. Outram, A. K. (2001) A new approach to identifying bone marrow and grease exploitation: Why the ‘indeterminate’ fragments should not be ignored.” Journal of Archaeological Science 28.4, 401–10. Popova, Tz. (2017) Arheobotanichen analiz. In K. Bacvarov, M. Tonkova, and G. Katsarov (eds.) Sarnevo: vkopani strukturi ot kasniya neolit, rannata I kasnata zhelyazna epoha i rimskiya period, Vol. 1: Kasnoneolitnoto yamno pole, 545–56. Sofia, NAIM-BAN. Richards, C. and Thomas, J. (1984) Ritual Activity and Structured Deposition in Later Neolithic Wessex. In R. Bradley and J. Gardiner (eds.) Neolithic Studies: A Review of Some Current Research. Reading Studies in Archaeology 1, 189–218. Oxford, British Archaeological Reports. Russell, N. and Martin, L. (2005) Çatalhöyük Mammal Remains. In I. Hodder (ed.) Çatalhöyük Perspectives: Reports from the 1995–99 Seasons, 33–98. London, British Institute at Ankara/Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Russell, N. (1998) Cattle as wealth in Neolithic Europe: Where’s the beef? In D. Bailey (ed.) The Archaeology of Value: Essays on Prestige and the Process of Valuation. BAR International Series 730, 42–54. Oxford, John and Erica Hedges. Russell, N. (2004) Livestock of the early farmers. In P. I. Bogucki and P. J. Crabtree (eds.) Ancient Europe 8000 B. C.-A. D. 1000: Encyclopedia of the Barbarian World, 211–17. New York, Thompson Gale. Russell, N. (2012) Social Zooarchaeology: Humans and Animals in Prehistory. Cambridge and New York, Cambridge University Press. Thomas, J. (2012) Introduction: Beyond the mundane? In H. Anderson-Whymark and J. Thomas (eds.) Regional Perspectives on Neolithic Pit Deposition: Beyond the Mundane, 1–10. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Twiss, K. (2003) They were what they ate: Food and the construction of social identity in the Neolithic of southern Jordan. Ph.D. Thesis, University of California. Twiss, K. (2007) The Archaeology of Food and Identity. Carbondale, IL, Center for Archaeological Investigations, Southern Illinois University Carbondale. Watson, J. P. N. (1979) The estimation of the relative frequencies of mammalian species: Khirokitia 1972. Journal of Archaeological Science 6.2, 127–137.

Chapter 9 Foraging and food production strategies during the Early Neolithic in the Balkans-Carpathian area. The site of Bucova Pusta in Romanian Banat Raiko Krauss, Bea De Cupere and Elena Marinova

Introduction The initial expansion of the Neolithic within southeast Europe took place along a few river valleys in the central Balkans. Although the constrained nature of this expansion was already identified early, the reasons for it remained obscure because, until recently, the earliest Neolithic settlements in the Thracian Plain – one of the later core areas of the Neolithic – could not be detected. This is particularly surprising because of the geographical proximity of the region to the presumed origin of the Balkan Neolithic in western Anatolia. Recent studies of the natural environment suggest that the earliest expansion of the Neolithic within southeast Europe took place along a specific passageway, namely the Sub-Mediterranean-Aegean vegetation zone, which was suitable for the spread of the new economy (Krauss et al. 2017). This was based on agriculture and stock breeding, which had already developed in the eastern Mediterranean by this time. The Neolithic only expanded into the areas north of the Lower Danube, in a secondary stage, after food production strategies had adapted to the conditions of the continental climate of the inner Balkan-Carpathian area. This second Neolithisation movement came to a halt for about 500 years at a line inside the Carpathian Basin, which was defined by Hungarian researchers as the Central European-Balkanic Agro-Ecological Barrier (in short CEB-AEB) (Kertész and Sümegi 2001). Studies on the Early Neolithic settlements along this line show that economic strategies had adapted again to the changing natural conditions. As a result, the Neolithic package was modified and subsistence strategies were adjusted to the environmental constraints of the region. Thanks to these modifications, the Neolithic way of life could be transmitted thereafter into a vast area spanning from the Paris Basin in the west to the Ukrainian steppes in the east and the Baltic Sea in the north. In the current paper, we present the case study of the site of Bucova Pusta

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IV in the middle of the Carpathian Basin, where archaeological, archaeozoological, and archaeobotanical evidence provide new data for the timing and mechanisms of the transition from foraging to farming and herding in an area of crucial interest, so as to better understand the Neolithisation of Central Europe.

Archaeological excavation The site of Bucova Pusta is situated halfway between the town of Sânnicolau Mare (Nagyszentmiklós) and the village of Dudeştii Vechi (also known as Stár Bišnov and, earlier, Óbesenyő) in the westernmost region of Romania, near the border with Hungary and Serbia. Investigation of Early Neolithic settlement has been concentrated on a low hill (Bucova Pusta IV) identified by the Hungarian scholar Kisléghi Nagy Gyula in 1904 (Gáll et al. 2010, 86-f.). The steppe-like and extremely flat landscape is transversed by lesser tributaries of the Tisza river (Fig. 9.1). Due to periodic flooding of the land prior to the river system being regulated by the Austro-Hungarian regime in the 17th–19th century, the Early Neolithic settlement is buried under thick colluvia. However, because of later ground interventions, Early Neolithic finds appear on the present day surface. Research on Bucova Pusta IV began again in 2009 as a collaborative project between the Institute for Prehistory, Early History, and Medieval Archaeology

Figure 9.1: Geomagnetic mapping of Bucova Pusta IV on a Google satellite image.

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Figure 9.2: Position of all excavation trenches (2010–2015) on geomagnetic mapping.

of the University of Tübingen and the Museum of Banat in Timişoara. Since 2012, these investigations have been funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG). The main focus of the research is, on the one hand, to answer questions regarding the Early Neolithic settlement structure and, on the other hand, to create a timeframe for the Post-Neolithic settlement patterns in the area. Thus, by the year 2015 a series of twenty excavation trenches, named in alphabetic order from A to T with a total area of 460 m2 were opened (Fig. 9.2). The excavation process followed, where possible, the natural contours, with profiles along the walls of the trenches. Evaluation was carried out according to Harris’s (1989) principles. Thus, the finds were processed in correspondence to excavation units called features, whereby each feature is numbered

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according to which trench it was uncovered in. Hence, a feature’s designation consists, firstly, of the letter of the trench and, secondly, of a number indicating the order in which it was excavated. So, the label M1 describes the first uncovered feature in section M.

Settlement history The Early Neolithic settlement covers an area of one half to a maximum of three-quarters of a hectare and is organised along an old, now extinct riverbed to the south. Settlement features consist of several pits used primarily for the extraction of building clay, which were secondarily filled with refuse from settlement activities. The old surface has been heavily disturbed by modern agricultural activities and, therefore, no traces of any house structures have been preserved. Most of the pits discovered are too small and too irregular to indicate real houses; only in a few cases may these be interpreted as subterranean structures belonging to dwellings. One settlement pit was used secondarily as a grave pit for a child burial (Fig. 9.3). A peculiarity of the site is the occurrence of large cupola ovens which were not explicitly connected to houses, but rather, apparently, free standing (Fig. 9.4). The ceramic finds can be assigned to the third stage of the Starčevo-Criş culture in Banat. On account of the site’s geographical distance from any source of stone, stone artefacts are extremely rare. Tools and implements, therefore,

Figure 9.3: Bucova Pusta IV, feature S24. Early Neolithic child burial on top of an extended pit filled with burned clay weights.

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Figure 9.4: Bucova Pusta IV, feature K12. Early Neolithic oven with smokestack construction.

must have been made predominantly from organic material. Many burned clay weights hint at the presence of equipment that is not preserved in the archaeological record. The relative date of the Early Neolithic settlement is very well supported by a series of sixteen radiocarbon dates (Table 9.1). The data obtained from three charcoal samples show a characteristic old wood effect. Taking the value of the most recent charcoal date (Poz-51356) the foundation of the site took place after 5780 cal BC (Fig. 9.5). The value of the oldest short-lived sample (seeds: Poz-88722) from the same context gives us a terminus ante quem at 5720 cal BC. If, for a conservative calculation, a very small period of a maximum of ten years after the charcoal date and ten years before the oldest short-lived sample is conjectured, the founding date of the settlement can be assumed at 5750±20 cal BC. Supposing that the child’s grave was put into the ground at the very end of the occupation, the settlement ends around 5590±20 cal BC. In the Late Chalcolithic period, a tumulus was erected upon the north-eastern area of the previous settlement (in trench M). Luckily, the main inhumation of the burial mound was only grazed by an overlying section of the old excavation from Kisléghi and remained otherwise untouched. The grave contained an elderly woman lying on her back with bent knees offset slightly to the left. In the vicinity of the chest were numerous shells of a large terrestrial gastropod (Helix lutescens). To the right of the woman’s head, a shaped piece of red ochre was found. The type of burial and the piece of red ochre suggest that we are dealing with a classic ochre grave, dated

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Table 9.1: List of radiocarbon dates from Bucova Pusta IV. No.

Features

Context

Lab. code

14

C-age BP

STD Material

cal BC 2ϭ

1 2 3 4 5

B9-20/D2 Neolithic pit (dwelling)

Poz-51356 Poz-51354 Poz-58363 Poz-51355 Poz-88722

6890 6750 6730 6920 6840

40 40 35 50 40

charcoal bone (Bos) bone (Bos) charcoal cornelian cherry

5880–5680 5740–5580 5710–5590 5930–5690 5800–5640

6 7 8

G/H1-G10 Neolithic oven

Poz-58612 Poz-58360 Poz-88718

6940 6705 6740

40 35 35

charcoal bone (Bos) einkorn grains

5920–5720 5690–5530 5720–5600

9

G/H 6/9

Neolithic pit

Poz-88717

6770

40

einkorn/emmer chaff & grains

5730–5610

10 11

H8

Neolithic pit

Poz-88721 Poz-58362

6820 6730

40 40

barley grains bone (Bos)

5780–5620 5720–5560

12 13

K12

Neolithic oven

Poz-88719 Poz-88720

6790 6800

40 40

einkorn/emmer chaff einkorn/emmer grains

5740–5620 5750–5630

14

L11

Neolithic pit

Poz-67237

6720

40

bone (Bos)

5710–5550

15 16

S14

Neolithic child burial

Poz-77263 Poz-76963

6700 6665

50 35

bone (Homo) bone (Ovis/Capra)

5710–5510 5650–5530

17

M13

Late Chalcolithic Poz-66988 burial

4190

35

tooth (Homo)

2940–2620

by a radiocarbon sample from the skeleton to 2940–2620 cal BC (Krauß et al. 2016, 298–302). Moreover, in the southern limits of the tumulus, a cremation burial of an infant covered by an urn was salvaged. The vessel is a bowl with an edge curved slightly inwards, which, based on the characteristic incised decoration on its outer surface, can be assigned to the Baden-Coţofeni group in the Banat. The next settlement activities at the Bucova Pusta relate to the time of the Late Bronze/Early Iron Age (LBA/EIA) and the Late Iron Age (LIA). The core areas of these two settlements were located through surveys immediately to the northwest of the Neolithic settlement (LBA/EIA) and some 200 m west of the site (LIA), respectively. The Early Neolithic settlement was only occasionally disturbed by pits from these periods. The north-western part of the Neolithic settlement was significantly disturbed by the medieval graves of an equestrian nomadic population from the Late Awarian Khaganate in the Carpathian Basin.

Archaeozoological research Part of the Bucova Pusta’s faunal assemblage was recovered through hand-collection. No sieving was carried out during the excavations but sediment samples from features of special interest were submitted for flotation; animal remains were additionally retrieved from the residues of the floated soil samples. The analysis of this residue material is

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Figure 9.5: Calibration of AMS-dates from Early Neolithic features at Bucova Pusta IV. The barcode plot in the lower part of the image shows the estimated duration of the ENL settlement.

still underway; a first assessment demonstrates the presence of shell and fish remains. All hand-collected faunal remains were analysed during fieldwork in 2014 and 2015. The faunal specimens were counted and identified in order to establish the representation of animal species, and calculate the species frequency for the most abundant taxa. Detailed data accounting for skeletal element, symmetry, and measurements (following the standards of von den Driesch 1976), as well as data on ageing (for the main domesticates, eruption and wear of teeth following Grant [1982] and ossification and fusion states of long bones), pathologies, sex, and traces were recorded. For the present paper, the faunal remains that are securely dated to the Early Neolithic period will be presented and discussed.

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Table 9.2: Bucova Pusta IV. The Early Neolithic faunal assemblage: list of the represented taxa and the number of their remains. Freshwater bivalves Unio pictorum Unio tumidus Unio sp.

445 309 31

Freshwater gastropods Viviparus acerosus Lymnea stagnalis Planorbarius corneus

1015 156 101

Terrestrial gastropods Helix lutescens Cepaea sp. Cepaea/Bradybaenidae Bradybaenidae (cf. Fruticicola)

92 248 2 4

Fishes Acipenser sp. Silurus glanis Esox lucius Cyprinidae Cyprinus carpio

2 67 74 80 16

Amphibians and reptiles Anura Emys orbicularis

1 11

Birds Cygnus sp. Anas platyrhynchos cf. Anas platyrhynchos cf. Aythya ferina

1 1 1 2

Birds Anatinae Lyrurus tetrix Tetrax tetrax

1 2 1

Mammals Lepus europaeus Cricetus cricetus Spalax/Nannospalax Rodentia Sus scrofa pig/Sus scrofa Capreolus capreolus Cervus elaphus Cervidae Bos primigenius dog goat sheep sheep/goat cattle Total identified

9 6 5 8 15 8 12 17 3 3 3 13 96 683 339 3883

Mollusca indet Pisces indet Aves indet Mammalia indet Total unidentified

44 58 11 2280 2393

Grand total

6276

Not all trenches yielded a similar number of faunal remains; some trenches (especially trenches G, H, L, S, and T) were much richer than others in remains. As the aim of this contribution is to provide further insight into the relationship between animals and the inhabitants of the site during the Early Neolithic, all faunal remains are treated and discussed as one single assemblage. The hand-collected material comprised of almost 6300 specimens, of which 3883 could be specified up to species or taxon (Table 9.2). While most of the mollusk shells could be identified, this was not the case for the vertebrate remains. In general, bones and teeth were quite dark in colour and very fragmented. In addition to the fragmentation, many of these were encrusted with sediment, and some showed traces of burning. The colour of the burnt bones ranged from brown/black to grey or white. As a consequence of this state of conservation (fragmentation and encrustation), bones were often hard to identify to the level of species. The faunal assemblage belongs to two different taphonomic groups, namely the remains of intrusive animals and consumption refuse (Gautier 1987). The freshwater

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bivalves can be considered as consumption refuse. They include the painter’s mussel (Unio pictorum) and the swollen river mussel (U. tumidus). Shell concentrations from freshwater gastropods were found in front of an oven in trench G (feature G7), and in pits in trench S, which render it possible that these snails, in addition to the bivalves, were also exploited as a food resource. The identified species are the great pond snail (Lymnea stagnalis), the great ramshorn (Planorbarius corneus), and the river snail (Viviparus acerosus); all three are indeed edible species. There were also many shells of terrestrial gastropods, including shells of the large edible escargot (Helix lutescens), but especially of the small snail Cepaea. Many of the Cepaea shells are still (brightly) coloured and it is assumed that they represent intrusive animals. Almost all Helix shells no longer display colour bands. While they could be considered to be intrusive, it is likely that they also represent prehistoric food remains. Snails of the genus Helix were collected for consumption at many prehistoric sites (Lubell 2004 with references therein). Only four/five fish taxa have been identified in the hand-collected material. These are sturgeon (Acipenser sp.), wild carp (Cyprinus carpio)/unidentified cyprinids (Cyprinidae), pike (Esox lucius), and catfish (Silurus glanis). Based on the size of the bones, it appears that the captured cyprinids and pikes attained standard lengths (SL) of mainly 20–40 cm; other size classes were poorly represented. In the case of catfish, specimens with a SL of below 1 m could mostly be attributed to the size class of 30–40 cm. Above 1 m of SL, specimens were more or less evenly distributed among the various size classes, ranging from 1 m to 1.70 m. Cyprinids, pike, and catfish are ubiquitous species. Fish remains found at prehistoric sites in Hungary and Romania always include these species (Bălăşescu et al. 2003; Bartosiewicz and Bonsall 2004). A few more taxa have been found among the fish remains from the sieved samples – including roach (Rutilus sp.), common bream (Abramis brama), loaches (Cobitidae), and zander (Stizostedion lucioperca). This material shows that smaller fish, with an SL of 10–20 cm, were also targeted for consumption. It is clear from the retrieved material that not all of the small fish remains, and possibly other small animal remains, are collected if the sediment is not sieved in its entirety and only hand-collection in the trench is carried out. This is a general problem on archaeological sites (cf. De Cupere et al. 1995). The excavations yielded some carapace fragments of the pond turtle (Emys orbicularis). It is assumed that these specimens also formed part of the consumption refuse. In addition, the faunal assemblage included a few bird bones. The identified species are swan (Cygnus sp.), mallard (Anas platyrhynchos), and probably common pochard (Aythya ferina), as well as black grouse (Lyrurus tetrix) and little bustard (Tetrax tetrax). The natural habitat of the latter is open grassland, while the black grouse can be found in and at the edges of forests with a dense vegetation cover for roosting and nesting. The group of mammals includes both wild and domestic species. With the exception of the rodent remains, namely hamster (Cricetus cricetus) and mole-rat (Spalax leucodon), all mammal bones and teeth can be considered to be consumption refuse. A small part of the faunal assemblage (n = 23) has been identified as pig (Sus). Two thirds of these specimens have been attributed with certainty to wild boar (Sus scrofa).

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For the other specimens, it is unclear whether they are from wild or domestic pigs. Considering the lack of clear evidence for the presence of domestic pig and the low number of Sus remains, however, it can be assumed that all the uncertain specimens are from wild boar. Cervid remains include specimens from both roe deer (Capreolus capreolus) and red deer (Cervus elaphus); they are about equally represented with 12 and 17 pieces respectively. In the case of cattle (Bos), three specimens have been identified as aurochs (Bos primigenius) – based on their exceptional size; the other specimens have been labelled as domestic cattle. Cervids are generally found in open, parkland forest, whereas aurochs are supposed to have lived in open grassland and gallery forests. Most of the mammalian remains are from the domesticates sheep and goat. Many pieces could not be identified more precisely than to the level of sheep/goat. Among those that were attributed with certainty, sheep was much more common than goat, namely in a ratio of 9:1. Dental data were used to estimate the slaughter age. Eruption and wear of the mandibular teeth were recorded using the tooth wear stages (TWS) given in Grant (1982) but converted into Payne’s (1973) age classes as given in Hambleton (2001). There were only few observations made for both sheep and goat. Therefore, all data (n = 27) have been considered together. However, considering the strong predominance of sheep versus goat, one can assume that the majority of the specimens actually belong to sheep. The data indicate that most of the animals were slaughtered quite young, mainly at 6–12 months and, to a lesser extent, at 1–2 years (Fig. 9.6). A few animals were slaughtered in adulthood. Such a mortality profile corresponds to the production of tender meat, entailing the culling of most young animals for their meat, while some few individuals are preserved for breeding. Cattle is the second most abundant taxon on the species list. There are only very few recordable cattle mandibles, which posed a problem to determining kill-off strategies used in the cattle herds. There is some indication of the slaughter of both adult animals (M3 worn) and calves (M1 erupting or unworn). Post-cranial data, which consider the fusion stage of epiphyses, are more numerous and demonstrate the slaughter of calves, subadults, and adult animals. Among the late fusing epiphyses (at an age of 3.5–4 years), unfused and fused specimens are present at a ratio of about 2:1. There was, thus, an emphasis 12 upon slaughtering cattle when 10 relatively young, which suggests that they were also most likely 8 reared for their meat. 6 Despite the quite small size of the 4 identified vertebrate assemblage, 2 its nature and characteristics are, 0 together with the shell assemblage, 0-2m 2-6m 6-12m 1-2y 2-3y 3-4y 4-6y 6-8y 6-12y A B C D E F G H I indicative of the exploitation of domestic livestock and natural Figure 9.6: Bucova Pusta IV. Slaughter age of sheep/goat.

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resources in the surroundings of the settlement. Sheep/goat When considering the different Hunted mammals animal groups, it becomes clear Birds that food provisioning of the Fishes inhabitants of Bucova Pusta Freshwater gastropods during the Early Neolithic was Freshwater bivalves based on the breeding of sheep 0 200 400 600 800 1000 1200 1400 Number of identified specimens and goat, with an emphasis on sheep, and, to a lesser extent, Figure 9.7: Bucova Pusta IV. Shares of the various domestic cattle; domestic pigs must have and wild animals in the settlement waste. been very rare or, most probably, even completely absent at this site (Fig. 9.7; Table 9.2). A dominance of sheep and a rare occurrence of pig remains are generally observed in the Körös culture settlements in the southern part of the Great Hungarian Plain, e.g. at the site of Ecsegfalva (Bartosiewicz 2007). On the other hand, cattle appears to be more important at Bucova Pusta than is generally the case in the Körös culture settlements (Bartosiewicz 2007, Fig. 14.1). In addition, cattle were slaughtered at Ecsegfalva at the end of their productive lives (Bartosiewicz 2007), whereas the slaughtering of cattle at Bucova Pusta included relatively young animals, pointing towards a different interest in cattle exploitation at the latter site. Hunting of wild mammals and fowling played a minor role in the subsistence economy of Bucova Pusta, as evidenced, in particular, by the very low number of bird remains. Considering the ecological preferences of these animals, which are all compatible with what might be expected for the Banat plain at the time, they must have been present in the natural environment around the site. The fact that their remains are, nevertheless, low in number shows that the inhabitants of the site were much more involved in herding and breeding sheep and cattle than in hunting wild mammals and birds. People did, however, use aquatic resources to a considerable extent as an addition to their diet, especially mollusks (both gastropods and bivalves), and, most probably, also fish. It is difficult to assess the exact contribution of fish to their diet, due to the collection method during excavation, but fish consumption must have been much more important than assumed from the hand-collected material only. Nevertheless, these finds illustrate the diversity of animal resources exploited by the inhabitants of Bucova Pusta. Cattle

Archaeobotany The archaeobotanical evidence for Bucova Pusta is based on the analysis of charred plant macro remains originating from Early Neolithic features in trenches A, C, G, H, K, L, N, and O, sampled during the excavation seasons of 2013 and 2014. The plant macrofossils were extracted from the cultural deposits through manual flotation using sieves with mesh opening sizes of 2, 1 and 0.5 mm. The laboratory analysis of

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Table 9.3: Bucova Pusta IV. Summarised results of the archaeobotanical analysis (frequency expresses the percentage proportion of samples in which a given plant species occurs). 316 16 11 2.85

Total sample volume (l) Number of samples Number of features Plant remains per litre Plant taxa by ecological groups

Type

Preservation

Absolute no.

frequency %

Riparian/floodplain vegetation Trapa natans

seed/fruit

charred

5

27

Grassland vegetation Stellaria spec. Stipa spec. Stipa spec. Trifolium spec.

seed/fruit seed/fruit awn seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred

1 1 3 1

9 9 9 9

seed/fruit

charred

1

9

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred

2 5 1

9 45 9

Crops Hordeum vulgare undiff. Hordeum vulgare undiff. Triticum dicoccum Triticum monococcum Triticum monococcum Triticum monococcum/dicoccum Triticum monococcum/dicoccum Cerealia indet. Lens culinaris Fabaceae (cultivated)

seed/fruit rachis seed/fruit seed/fruit glume base seed/fruit glume base seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred

20 1 1 15 32 21 85 76 1 2

55 9 9 64 55 64 73 100 9 18

Weeds of cereal fields Bromus spec. Galium spurium Galium cf. spurium Polygonum convolvulus Vicia hirsuta/tetrasperma

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred

4 1 1 4 4

36 9 9 27 27

Deciduous forests/shrubs Cornus mas Corylus avellana Physalis alkekengi Prunus spec.

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred

5 2 6 4

45 18 27 36

Ruderal vegetation Chenopodium cf. rubrum Ruderals/Segetals undiff. Chenopodium album Chenopodium spec. Malva spec.

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Table 9.3 Plant taxa by ecological groups

Type

Preservation

Absolute no.

frequency %

seed/fruit

charred

6

9

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred

3 1 1

36 9 9

seed/fruit

charred

3

18

Deciduous forests/shrubs Quercus spec. Varia Poaceae Polygonum/Rumex Solanaceae Other Indeterminate

the archaeobotanical samples was conducted with the help of a low magnification microscope (stereoscope up to 70×) and a reference collection of modern seeds and fruits available at the Royal Belgian Institute for Natural Sciences. The analysis revealed that, from 20 sampled features, slightly more than a half (n = 11) contained enough plant remains to warrant study (Table 9.3). The remaining samples, coming from trenches A, L, N, and O, yielded so few plant remains that they were not taken into consideration for the purposes of the current paper. The overall preservation of the plant remains was middling to bad, with plant macro remains usually strongly fragmented. This is also evident from the high proportion of cereal grains and chaff from hulled wheats that could not be further identified. An exception is found in the samples from the area of an oven in trench K (feature K12), where the fairly wellpreserved chaff of einkorn and several acorns were found. Generally, the archaeobotanical assemblages are dominated by the remains of chaff from hulled wheat (emmer Triticum dicoccum or einkorn T. monococcum). One hint as to which of these two cereal crops could have been more important for the agricultural economy of the site may be found in the fact that einkorn glume bases are one of the most numerous find categories, while emmer chaff is present only in a single find. Einkorn (grains as well glume bases) occurs in roughly half of the features considered (6 out of 11), while emmer only occurs in one of these (1 out of 11). The finds of hulled wheat chaff reflect the processing of these crops for human consumption. In the final stages before grinding and cooking these cereal crops, the hulls were removed from the grains; this process produces a by-product which, if discarded on a daily basis in a domestic fire, has the chance to become an element of archaeobotanical assemblages (Hillman 1981). A further cereal crop which also occurs quite frequently and in quantity is barley. The grains are not well preserved and, hence, further identification is not possible. The phytholith analyses from the slightly earlier site of Movila lui Deciov at Dudeştii Vechi also indicated the importance of barley in the plant economy of the area from the very beginning of the Neolithic in that region (Moravetz 2003). Another element of Neolithic agriculture in Europe, pulses, is almost absent from the archaeobotanical assemblages of Bucova Pusta. This could be explained by the poor

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preservation at the site, as it generally seems that pulses (especially lentil and pea) played a considerable role in the plant economy of the Starčevo culture (Filipovic 2014). However, the geographically relatively closely situated site of Ecsegfalva, belonging to the Körös culture also revealed an extremely low amount of pulses (one lentil seed in 125 features studied) (Bogaard et al. 2005). This evidence collectively suggests that the pulses more likely were a very minor component of human nutrition in the area at this period. We should, nevertheless, consider the current archaeobotanical results to be only preliminary. The ongoing study of more samples from further features of the Bucova Pusta site will help to estimate the importance of the various crops during the Early Neolithic in Banat from a broader evidential basis. Apart from cultivated plants and their weeds, other ecological groups are represented; and many of these plants reflect the gathering of wild fruits and seeds. The most prominent group of such plants are the fruits of deciduous trees and shrubs belonging to forests and their surroundings. These are cornelian cherry (Cornus mas), plum (Prunus sp.), acorn (Quercus sp.), and elder (Sambucus sp.). Some of the fruits in question, such as acorns, cannot be consumed before additional processing, but, when processed, represent an important source of nutrition (Ayerdi et al. 2016). The remains of acorns found in feature K12 could represent a much bigger portion of acorns that were roasted and ground up; those which were not strongly fragmented remained as refuse and were incorporated into settlement deposits. A further fruit that could be roasted before eating is the water chestnut, which was also found at the site of Ecsegfalva (Bogaard et al. 2005) as well as in several other later sites in the region (see Borojevic 2009). A further plant that was possibly gathered is feather grass, which was identified through awn fragments at Bucova Pusta. Numerous finds of this grass from Southern Poland suggest that it was gathered during the LBK period in Eastern Europe (Bieniek 2002). Considering the diversity of food collected from wild plants, it seems that gathering played a prominent role in the subsistence economy of Bucova Pusta in addition to cereal cultivation.

Neolithic landscape and nutrition in the Banat In contrast to the steppe-like landscape we have today, the situation in the northern Banat in prehistoric times was more diverse. The ancient river beds from the time before the damming of the Mureş river by the Austro-Hungarians are still visible in satellite images. The palaeobotanical studies, in particular, provide further evidence of the former landscape’s different habitats: woodland (Cornus mas, Prunus sp., Quercus sp., Sambucus sp.), wetlands (Trapa natans, Physalis alkekekngi), and open grassland (Stipa sp.). The basis of the diet of the first inhabitants of the Bucova Pusta was undoubtedly a Neolithic one, based on staple crops like einkorn and barley and domesticated animals like sheep, goat, and cattle. Nevertheless, when compared to the Balkans, some differences in the diet of the population are recognisable. For example, pulses do not play a significant role. Apparently, the economy at the north-westernmost extent

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of the oldest European Neolithic had to be adapted to the environmental conditions at the centre of the Carpathian Basin. This could be an explanation as to why not only the hunting of wild animals (albeit of minor importance) and gathering of fruits and plants, but also the frequent use of aquatic resources like wetland plants, fish, edible escargot, and mussels played a role in the local diet. Archaeological research has long been concerned with the question of why the expansion of the Neolithic comes to a halt for 500 years in the middle of the Carpathian Basin at the so-called Central European-Balkanic Agro Ecological Barrier (CEB-AEB). The results of the investigations at Bucova Pusta show that the economy and nutrition strategies of the Neolithic population differ slightly from what is conventionally found in the core areas of the Early Balkan Neolithic. This may have been an adaptation to local environmental conditions, but it is also conceivable that cultural factors may have played a role in the altered menu enjoyed by the Neolithic inhabitants of Bucova Pusta. Hence, the question may now be posed as to whether this is an adaptation of the Neolithic nutritional strategy to local conditions or the survival of a Mesolithic cultural tradition in Neolithic practice in the region. However, far too little is known at present about the Mesolithic in the Banat to render possible a comparison between its diet and that which is usually found in the Neolithic.

Acknowledgements It was a great pleasure to attend the conference in Heidelberg and we would first like to thank the organisers for this great opportunity. The contribution of Bea De Cupere to this paper presents research results of the Interuniversity Attraction Poles Programme – Belgian Science Policy. We would further like to thank the Museum of Banat, especially its representative Dan Ciobotaru for the long-term cooperation during the excavations in the Banat. At the excavations, students from the Eberhard Karls Universität Tübingen, the Universitatea de Vest din Timișoara, and the New Bulgarian University Sofia were involved. Finally, we would like to thank Alex Edmonds for assistance with the English text, which led to considerable refinement of our arguments.

References Ayerdi, M., Echazarreta-Gallego, A., Francisco-Rodríguez, S., Hernández, H. H. and Sarasketa-Gartzia, I. (2016) Acorn cake during the Holocene: experimental reconstruction of its preparation in the western Pyrenees, Iberia. Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 25.5, 443–457. Bălăşescu, A., Udrescu, M., Radu, V. and Popovic, D. (2003) Archéozoologie en Roumanie. Corpus de données. Târgovişte, Editura Cetatea de Scaun. Bartosiewicz, L. (2007) Mammalian bone. In A. Whittle (ed.) The Early Neolithic on the Great Hungarian Plain: Investigations of the Körös Culture site of Ecsegfalva 23, County Békés, vol. 1. Varia Archaeologica Hungarica 21, 287–325. Budapest, Archaeological Institute of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Bartosiewicz, L. and Bonsall, C. (2004) Prehistoric fishing along the Danube. Anteus 27, 253–272. Bieniek, A. (2002) Archaeobotanical analysis of some early Neolithic settlements in the Kujawy region, central Poland, with potential plant gathering activities emphasised. Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 11.1, 33–40.

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Bogaard, A., Bending, J. and Jones, G. (2005) Archaeobotanical evidence for plant husbandry and use. In A. Whittle, D. Hofmann and D. W. Bailey (eds.) Living Well Together? Settlement and Materiality in the Neolithic of South-East and Central Europe, 421–445. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Borojević, K. (2009) Water chestnuts (Trapa natans L.) as controversial plants: Botanical, ethnohistorical and archaeological evidence. In A. Fairbairn and E. Weiss (eds.) From Foragers to Farmers. Papers in the Honour of Gordon C. Hillman, 86–97. Oxford, Oxbow Books. De Cupere, B., Lentacker, A. and Waelkens, A. (1995) Sieving experiments at the Lower Agora and their implications for the interpretation of archaeozoological data from Sagalassos. In M. Waelkens and J. Poblome (eds.) Sagalassos III. Report on the Fourth Excavation Campaign of 1993. Acta Archaeologica Lovaniensia Monographiae 7, 367–377. Filipovic, D. (2014) Southwest Asian founder- and other crops at Neolithic sites in Serbia. Bulgarian e-Journal of Archaeology 4, 195–215. Gáll, E., Ciobotaru, D. and Tănase, D. (2010) Kisléghi Nagy Gyula – Archaeológiai Napló. Szeged, Móra Ferenc Múzeum. Gautier, A. (1987) Taphonomic groups: How and why? ArchaeoZoologia 1.2, 47–52. Grant, A. (2001) The use of tooth wear as a guide to age of domestic ungulates. In B. Wilson, C. Grigson and S. Payne (eds.) Ageing and Sexing Animal Bones from Archaeological Sites. BAR British Series 109, 91–108. Oxford, British Archaeological Reports. Hambleton, E. (2001) A method for converting Grant Mandible Wear Stages to Payne style Wear Stages in sheep, cow and pig. In A. Millard (ed.) Archaeological Sciences ’97. Proceedings of the Conference held at the University of Durham, September 1997. BAR International Series 939, 103–108. Oxford, British Archaeological Reports. Harris, E. C. (1989) Principles of Archaeological Stratigraphy. London, Academic Press. Hillman, G. C. (1981) Reconstructing crop husbandry practices from charred remains of crops. Farming practice in British prehistory. In R. Mercer (ed.) Farming Practice in British Prehistory, 123–162. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Kertész, R. and Sümegi, P. (2001) Theories, critiques and a model: Why did the expansion of the Körös-Starčevo culture stop in the centre of the Carpathian Basin? In R. Kertész and J. Makkay (eds.) From the Mesolithic to the Neolithic, 193–214. Budapest, Archaeolingua. Krauß, R., Schmid, C., Ciobotaru, D. and Slavchev, V. (2016) Varna und die Folgen. Überlegungen zu den Ockergräbern zwischen Karpatenbecken und der nördlichen Ägäis. In M. Bartelheim, B. Horejs and R. Krauß (eds.) Von Baden bis Troia. Ressourcennutzung, Metallurgie und Wissenstransfer. Eine Jubiläumsschrift für Ernst Pernicka, 273–315. Rahden, Verlag Marie Leidorf. Krauss, R., Marinova, E., De Brue, H. and Weninger, B. (2017) The rapid spread of early farming from the Aegean into the Balkans via the Sub-Mediterranean-Aegean Vegetation Zone. Quaternary International, 1–18. doi:10.1016/j.quaint.2017.01.019. Lubell, D. (2004) Prehistoric edible land snails in the circum-Mediterranean: The archaeological evidence. In J.-P. Brugal and J. Desse (eds.) Petits animaux et sociétés humaines. Du complément alimentaire aux ressources utilitaires, 77–98. Antibes, Éditions APDCA. Moravetz, I. (2003) Phytoliths and archaeology: A case study from the Starchevo site of Dudeshtii Vechi, Romania. Patrimonium Banaticum 2, 27–53. Payne, S. (1972) Kill-off pattern in sheep and goats: The mandibles of Aşvan Kale. Anatolian Studies 23, 281–303. von den Driesch, A. (1976) A Guide to the Measurement of Animal Bones from Archaeological Sites. Peabody Museum Bulletin 1. Cambridge, Peabody Museum Press.

Chapter 10 ‘No quern, no food’? Milling technology and the spread of farming in southeast Europe Maria Ivanova

Introduction The earliest farming communities in the Balkans depended upon a selection of crops that were native to southwest Asia. Because the Aegean littoral and the river valleys leading into the interior of the Balkan peninsula are characterised by similar (Mediterranean and sub-Mediterranean) environmental conditions (Krauß et al. 2017), the introduction of cereal farming into the lowland areas of present-day Greece, the Republic of Macedonia, and southern Bulgaria during the later seventh and early sixth millennia BC did not require major adaptations in crops cultivation. In the areas situated further north, however, climatic conditions are different. The current climate in the Balkans demonstrates a south-north gradient. Most significantly annual mean temperature decreases with increasing latitude and distance from the coast, indicating a decrease in the total energy input available to the ecosystem in the more northern regions (Fig. 10.1). Other biologically relevant predictors, such as the lowest temperature of the coldest month or the precipitation values of the driest quarter, reveal similar latitudinal gradients (for climate data see Hijmans et al. 2005). Winters in the Balkans range from mild and rainy in the Aegean littoral to cold and frosty in the Carpathian Basin; summers in the interior are wetter and cooler in comparison to the coastlands. While climatic conditions in the sixth millennium BC might have differed from those currently observed, it appears plausible that a similar latitudinal gradient in climate existed then, as well, and that it influenced the spread of the early farmers’ crop system, which was based on Mediterranean species, native to a warm, semi-arid environment. Researchers have noted that Mediterranean farming spread rapidly into the temperate zone of southeast Europe (Halstead 1989, 24; Bogucki 1996; Whittle et al. 2002; Biagi et al. 2005; Domboróczki 2010; Greenfield et al. 2014, 2; Krauß et al. 2014;

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Figure 10.1: Map of early farming sites in southeastern Europe included in Table 10.3. 1. Franchthi, 2. Achilleion, 3. Servia, 4. Sosandra, 5. Yabalkovo, 6. Stara Zagora, 7. Čavdar, 8. Velesnica, 9. Lepenski Vir, 10. Blagotin, 11. Divostin, 12. Alsónyék, 13. Endröd, 14. Szarvas, 15. Ecsegfalva, 16. Mehtelek (climate data from Hijmans et al. 2005).

Krauß et al. 2017). Halstead (1989) hypothesised that the earliest farmers in the interior of the Balkans compensated for an assumed decrease in the reliability of crop yields by reducing the area sown and by investing in herding and foraging. Yet direct evidence in support of this hypothesis remains scarce and, while there is little doubt that farming practices underwent changes with the spread of plant cultivation into the sub-continental zone, inter-regional variation has rarely been the focus of investigation (but see Colledge and Connolly 2007; Marinova and Valamoti 2014; Kreuz and Marinova 2017; Ivanova et al. 2018). Archaeobotanical assemblages are certainly the most important, but not the sole, source of information on crop husbandry available to archaeologists. Prior research in different parts of the world, for example in southwest Asia, Meso-America and the American Southwest, has demonstrated that the morphology and use-wear of grinding tools may provide important evidence for past subsistence practices (Nelson and Lippmeier 1993; Mauldin 1993; Adams 1999; Dubreuil 2004; 2008; Ebeling and Rowan 2004; Schneider and LaPorta 2008; Wright 2008, 2014; Abadi-Reiss and Schneider 2010; Portillo et al. 2013). A number of ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological studies strongly

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suggest that differences in raw material and the morphology of grinding tools correlate with their intensity of use, with more efficient and specialised tools corresponding to a higher dependence on crops (Horsfall 1979; Hayden 1998; Abadi-Reiss and Schneider 2010). This paper explores how the technology of plant food processing, and grinding tool morphology in particular, may reflect changes in the exploitation of cereals, and considers the possibilities of using grinding tool assemblages to infer adjustments made to farming practices in the sub-continental zone of southeast Europe.

The importance of cereal grinding Hand-mills, which create friction via repetitive back-and-forth movement of a handstone over a passive milling slab, are still being used in several parts of the world. Ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological sources, in particular from Sub-Saharan Africa and Mesoamerica, provide detailed information on the significance and functionality of hand-mills (Hayden 1987; Searcy 2005; Turuk 2007; Hamon and Le Gall 2013; NixonDarcus 2014). Consultants interviewed in northern Ethiopia have stated that handmills ‘are necessary for life’ and that ‘without them we would die’ (Nixon-Darcus 2014, 1). Q’eqchi’ informants in Guatemala consider querns to be as valuable as food, affirming that without them people would be unable to survive. ‘The metate [i.e. the milling slab] is the reason we are alive’ and ‘no metate, no food’ are typical answers to questions about the importance of querns. Grinding tools are regarded as the most valuable possessions of the household, with people stating that these would be the first things to take if they were to leave their house in an emergency (Searcy 2005, 141–142). Several ethnoarchaeological studies describe grinding as the main domestic task, with other everyday activities being scheduled around it (Hamon and Le Gall 2013, 109). In societies that depend on cereals, time investment in grinding may vary from region to region, but it often exceeds three hours daily (Table 10.1). Although cereal grinding may be partially a cultural choice, there are also genuine practical reasons for the cross-culturally attested high labour investment in grinding and the significance ascribed to querns. Starchy foods, such as cereal grains, represent a highly-valued source of energy. Humans digest starch poorly, such that starchy foodstuffs usually need some kind of processing prior to consumption (Katz et al. 1974; Hard et al. 1996; Carmody and Wrangham 2009, 381; Butterworth et al. 2016). Heating cereal grains in water, for example, causes rupture (gelatinisation) of starch molecules and facilitates the breakdown of carbohydrates into glucose in the human digestive tract; labour-intensive grinding is not necessary in this process. Mechanical reduction to fine particles, however, dramatically increases the amount of carbohydrate content from cereals that is actually used by the body by speeding up the intake of glucose into the bloodstream (expressed in the so-called Glycemic Index, GI). Grinding can induce an up to 100 % increase in the rate of glucose absorption, although in practice GI values vary (Table 10.2). In consequence, more energy can be extracted from the same amount of grain, and more people fed, when cereals are ground to flour, an advantage that becomes crucial for groups relying on cereals as a dietary staple.

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Table 10.1: Cross-cultural comparison of ethnographic data on time spent grinding (after Searcy 2005, Table 4.4, and Nixon-Darcus 2014, Table 6.2). Location

Time spent grinding

Start/finish times

Eastern Tigrai, northern Ethiopia

5.44 hours on non-holy midnight or shortly days, or converted = 3 after until early/ hours daily mid– morning

Nixon-Darcus 2014

Lakia’a (Adwa),Tigrai

5 hours on non-holy 3 am until 8 am days, or converted = 3 hours daily

Teklu 2012, 35

Minyanka, Mali

1 hour, 40 minutes to 2.5 hours daily

–

Hamon and Le Gall 2013, 116

Northern Darfur, Sudan

1 hour, 15 minutes daily

–

Schön and Holter 1990, 362

Palestine

2–3 hours daily

midnight until 2 or Dalman 1902, 13 3 am

Palestine

3 hours daily

last hours of night

Guatemala

at least 3 hours daily

–

Horsfall 1987, 348

Q’eqchi’ and K’iche’, Guatemala

4–5 hours daily

–

Searcy 2005, 92

Isthmus Zapotecs, Mexico

6–8 hours daily

–

Chiňas 1973, 41

Teotihuacan, Mexico

6 hours daily

Tzintzuntzan, Michoacán, Mexico

3 hours daily

Zinacantan, Chiapas, Mexico

3–4 hours daily

Tepoztlán, Morelos, Mexico

4–6 hours daily

Average

3.6 hours daily

sunrise onward – 5 am until 8 am –

Source

Broshi 2001, 125

Bauer 1990, 3 Foster 1979, 52 Vogt 1970, 53–54 Lewis 1949

Hand-mill design Given the high value ascribed to hand-mills in ethnographic testimonies, the substantial amount of time dedicated to grinding, and its high energetic gains, hand-mill design can be considered one of the most significant archaeological sources of information on cereal use. Variation in grinding stone design correlates with human energy efficiency in operating the tools, the main factors being slope, surface texture, and active surface area (Horsfall 1979, 61–64). By placing the milling slab on a slope, force employed to increase contact between handstone and milling slab simultaneously promotes the movement of the one across the other, saving the grinder considerable effort (Horsfall 1979, 58–59). Even in the absence of permanent clay stands, we can assume with some certainty that prehistoric hand-mills were used tilted, for example by means of a stone or a wooden support. Regarding surface texture, ethnographic sources attest that it relates to the type of seeds being ground: the edges and interstices of coarse surfaces facilitate the grinding of large-grained cereals with thick outer hulls, while

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Table 10.2: Glycemic index of processed cereal foods. Cereal species

Food product

Bread wheat (Triticum aestivum)

Middle eastern flat bread

97±29

Foster-Powell et al. 2002

Baguette, white, plain

95±5

Foster-Powell et al. 2002

Whole wheat bread

74±2

Atkinson et al. 2008

Barley (Hordeum vulgare)

Other foods

Glycemic index* Reference

Whole kernels, pressure cooked 30 min

44

Foster-Powell et al. 2002

Bulgur, boiled

46

Foster-Powell et al. 2002

Whole meal barley flour bread

70

Foster-Powell et al. 2002

Barley kernels, boiled 25 min

25

International GI Database*

Honey

55±5

Foster-Powell et al. 2002

Yogurt

36±4

Foster-Powell et al. 2002

* http://www.glycemicindex.com

smooth surfaces are suited for small seeds, which would otherwise get trapped in pores in the stone (Huffman 2006, 68; Nixon-Darcus 2014, 215). The interdependence between design and efficiency is most straightforward in the case of active surface area. Numerous studies report a direct relationship between grinding surface area and time spent grinding a particular amount of food (Mauldin 1993; Diehl 1996, 106; Hard et al. 1996). A larger surface produces a larger output per unit of time and thus speeds up the processing of grain. Simultaneously, since larger tools require more effort to operate, all other conditions being equal, energetic costs rise with increasing size (Hard et al. 1996; Nixon-Darcus 2014, 97). It is, therefore, plausible to assume a balance between tool surface area, anticipated amount of the processed foodstuff, and daily consumption (Adams 1993; Mauldin 1993; Hard et al. 1996). Indeed, several ethnoarchaeological studies attest that surface size, like surface texture, correlates with food items: small hand-mills are used for foods that are processed in small amounts, while large tools are used for major staple foods. Horsfall’s (1979, Table 5) study of the metates of Ladino households in the village of San Mateo in Guatemala, for example, showed that metates with an average surface area of 1140 cm2 were used to grind corn, while metates for grinding coffee, salt, herbs, and calcite had an average surface area of about 744 cm2. Similar practices were observed in contemporary Mayan groups in Guatemala, as well as among Minyanka women in the Bani region, southeastern Mali, and the traditional (non-mechanised) rural setting in Tigrai, northern Ethiopia (Searcy 2005, 34–38; Hamon and Le Gall 2013, 114–15; Nixon-Darcus 2014, 73–74). Finally, though normally employed for processing food on a daily basis, hand-mills are versatile tools that can be used for a variety of other purposes, such as grinding clay and temper for ceramic manufacturing, or processing ores and pigments (Horsfall 1979;

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Delgado Raak 2008, 295–296; Stroulia 2010). Ideally, such functions can be differentiated through use-wear analysis. The findings of experimental research and use-wear teach us that reliable associations of tool morphology and function exist only in the local context, within a particular ‘grinding toolkit’ (Dubreuil 2001, 76). While it would be unwise to assume universal associations between particular tool designs and functions, ethnoarchaeological evidence can nevertheless significantly contribute to a better understanding of the physical and cultural constraints of grinding.

Sites and contexts This study includes 316 artefacts from the earliest farming sites in present-day Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia, and Hungary (Table 10.3). The paucity of published data and the ‘anticuration bias’ for large ground-stone tools in museum collections, frequently noted in the literature as obstacles for the study of this artefact category (Hard et al. 1996; Horsfall 1979, 1; Rowan and Ebeling 2008, 2–3; Stroulia 2010, 2), equally apply to the Balkan materials. Although mentioned in excavation reports on Early Neolithic sites in the Balkans, grinding tools such as mortars and hand-mills are rarely published in detail, probably because they are not considered to be sensitive chronological, economic, or cultural indicators. The present study takes as its focus milling slabs (the passive element of the hand-mill, defined as such in the original publication) from published ground stone assemblages dating to the later seventh and the first quarter of the sixth millennia BC; to enlarge the sample, it also considers three unpublished assemblages. One of the most exhaustively published sets of grinding stones originates from the Neolithic layers of Franchthi Cave in the Argolid, southern Greece (Jacobsen and Farrand 1987). Of the 44 artefacts included in the present study, only four are from Early Neolithic (EN) contexts (last quarter of the 7th millennium BC); the remaining were found in mixed Early/Middle Neolithic and Middle Neolithic (MN) contexts (first quarter of the sixth millennium BC) (Runnels 1981; Stroulia 2010). The handmills were manufactured almost exclusively from local sandstone; single specimens of andesite were transported from a distance of c. 10 km (Runnels 1981, 79). Another well-published assemblage of grinding stones originates from the Neolithic site of Servia in Greek Macedonia (Ridley et al. 2000). The present study includes two EN artefacts from the site of Servia-Varytimides and eighteen MN artefacts from house floors and outdoor areas in the five successive building levels of the ‘main’ site of Servia. All artefacts were manufactured of mica schist (Mould et al. 2000, 146–151). While the suitability of mica schist for grinding may be subject to doubts, studies have demonstrated the excellent properties of grinding tools manufactured from some varieties of this material, such as garnet-bearing mica schist (Delgado-Raack et al. 2009). Finally, ground stone assemblages from several sites in the Körös valley in eastern Hungary that have been published in detail (Starnini and Szakmany 1998) were included in the analysis. These tools were found in pits and are very fragmented and heavily worn. With very few exceptions, they are manufactured from sandstone. A small number of published specimens from the sites of Achilleion, Sosandra, Čavdar,

13

1

Hungary

Hungary

Mehtelek

Ecsegfalva 23

Total

2 8

Hungary

Hungary

Endröd 35

Endröd 119

68

2

6

Hungary

Szarvas 23

200

2

5

Hungary

Hungary

Alsonyek

Szarvas 8

1

1

Serbia

1 2

Velesnica

2

9

4

Serbia

1

2

2 97

Serbia

Serbia

Blagotin

2 9

Grivac

Bulgaria

Čavdar

1

33

1

36

Fragments of milling slabs

Lepenski Vir

Bulgaria

Stara Zagora

6

Greece

Bulgaria

Sosandra

Yabalkovo

11

Greece

Greece

Achilleion

Servia

8

Greece

Franchthi

Intact milling slabs

Location

Site

48

48

316

4

1

8

2

6

5

14

1

2

3

10

3

5

178

8

20

3

44

Intact Total handstones

Körös

Körös

Körös

Körös

Körös

Körös

Starčevo

Protostarčevo

Protostarčevo

Protostarčevo

Protostarčevo

Karanovo I

Karanovo II

Karanovo I

EN

EN, MN

EN

EN, MN

Time period

c. 5800–5600

c. 5800–5600

c. 5800–5600

c. 5800–5600

c. 5800–5600

c. 5800–5600

c. 5900–5800

c. 6100–5900

c. 6100–5900

c. 6100–5900

c. 6100–5900

c. 6000–5800

c. 5800–5600

c. 6000–5800

c. 6066–5840

c. 6200–5600

c. 6500–6000

c. 6500–5600

Date range (cal BC)

Reference

Starmini et al. 2007

Starmini 1994

Starmini and Szakmany 1998

Starmini and Szakmany 1998

Starmini and Szakmany 1998

Starmini and Szakmany 1998

unpublished

Antonovic 2003

Antonovic 2008b

Antonovic 2008a

unpublished

Georgiev 1981

Kalchev 2013

unpublished

Georgiadou 2015

Ridley et al. 2000

Gimbutas et al. 1989

Runnels 1981; Stroulia 2010

Table 10.3. Sample of hand mills (milling stones and handstones) from early farming sites in the Balkans.

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Stara Zagora, Velesnica, Lepenski Vir, Grivac, and Ecsegfalva 23 were also considered. The unpublished hand-mills included in the analysis came from the Early Neolithic sites of Yabalkovo, Blagotin, and Alsónyék, dating to the first centuries of the sixth millennium BC (Bánffy et al. 2010; Greenfield et al. 2014; Roodenberg et al. 2014).1 Measurements of length, width, and maximum thickness were taken from publications for 68 intact milling slabs from nine sites, as well as for 48 unpublished handstones from Yabalkovo. In addition, maximum thicknesses of 200 rim fragments of milling slabs have been included to increase the sample for thickness (Table 10.3). Thickness can be reduced through intensive or long use, leading to the characteristic saddle-shaped appearance of exhausted querns. To ensure that the original thickness of the tools was recorded, thickness was measured only on preserved proximal or distal ends, which are the least affected by abrasion (cf. Nixon-Darcus 2014, Fig. 3.1). Surface area was calculated only for complete tools by multiplying the length by the width, arriving at a coarse approximation of use area. The yield of flour was estimated in relation to surface area based on data from ethnographic sources.

Results of morphological analysis Surface area and flour yield The only site providing a sizeable number of identifiable handstones is Yabalkovo. Handstones and milling slabs from Yabalkovo are clearly distinguishable in surface area, such that they can indeed be regarded as belonging to separate categories (Fig. 10.2A). Only a few handstones (n = 7) overlap in size with the smaller milling slabs, and these substantial handstones most likely correspond to fairly large slabs, such as those represented in the right half of the plot. Unfortunately, the other assemblages included here did not contain sufficient numbers of intact handstones to explore the relationship between the active and passive parts of hand-mills. In the entire sample, the areas of the complete milling slabs range between 204 and 1890 cm2, with a mean of 608 cm2 (Fig. 10.2B). Most of the slabs fall between 300 and 800 cm2, while very large slabs of over 1000 cm2 are rare. The smallest specimens come from Ecsegfalva 23 in Hungary. The comparison of the length-to-width ratios shows interesting regional differences that appear to reflect local preferences, the slabs from Greek sites being generally narrower and longer. Additional intact slabs from the Balkans are needed to verify these regional trends. In comparison, surface area from other archaeological and from ethnographic sources show considerable variation (Table 10.4). Most ethnographic hand-mills used by contemporary agricultural groups in Meso-America and Africa are significantly larger, compared to the early farming grinding tools from the Balkans. However, the small surface areas of the neolithic slabs do not necessarily call their efficiency as cereal grinding tools into question – as has been previously posited by Stroulia (2010, 51) – since ethnographic sources and experimental work attest to the utility of such small tools to grind limited quantities of grains (Fullagar and Field 1997, 303–304; Valamoti and Chondrou 2013).

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Figure 10.2: Surface areas and flour yields of grinding slabs. A. Comparison of the thickness/surface area ratios for milling slabs and handstones from Yabalkovo; B. Comparison of length/width ratio and surface area of 60 milling slabs. Shaded areas indicate the estimated maximum daily yield of flour.

Ethnoarchaeological observations of grinding enable a rough estimate of the anticipated flour yield for hand-mills with different surface areas. Nixon-Darcus (2014, 110, Table 6.4) documented in her ethnoarchaeological study that proficient grinders in northern Ethiopia can grind 1 kg of such cereal grains as sorghum, barley, wheat, and maize to flour in 15 minutes using milling slabs that have an average active surface area of 1818 cm2. These values were used to roughly calculate the efficiency of the Neolithic grinding stones in our sample. However, since time and flour yield may vary depending on the surface texture

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Table 10.4: Ethnographic and archaeological data on milling slab surface area and thickness. Location

Mean surface area (cm2)

Median thickness (cm)

Data source

Geleen JKV, Holland (LBK)

360

–

Verbaas and Van Gijn 2007, 194

Almizaraque, Spain (Copper Age)

500

5.5

Risch 2008, table 1

Amarna, Egypt

720*

–

Samuel 2010, 458

Paris Basin/Hainaut (LBK,VSG)

880

–

Hamon 2008, 22

Mezber, North Ethiopia (Pre-Aksumite)

1455

–

Nixon-Darcus 2014, 124

North Sudan (prehistoric)

1457

5.3

Yucatan

900

–

Horsfall 1979, table 6

Chinguwa, Nigeria

996

7

Gronenborn 1995, 55

Archaeological data

Schön & Holter 1988, 157

Ethnographic data

Tukur, Nigeria

1064

15

Minyanka, Mali

1100

10.5

Trotzil Maya, Mexico

1120

–

David 1998, 28 Hamon and Le Gall 2013 Horsfall 1979, table 6

NW Guatemala

1174

–

Horsfall 1979, table 6

American Southwest

1155

–

Horsfall 1979, table 6

Chamula, Mexico

1193

–

Horsfall 1979, table 6

Baja, California

1350

–

Horsfall 1979, table 6

Q’eqchi’, K’iche’, Guatemala

1480

–

Searcy 2005, table 5.3

Northern Darfur, Sudan

1620

12

Schön and Holter 1990, 362

Eastern Tigrai, North Ethiopia

1818

11.5

Nixon-Darcus 2014, 128

*one specimen

of the grinding tools, the size of active area of the handstones, and on the grains being processed, the values estimated below do not represent absolute grinding rates, but are intended to provide a comparison of the relative productivity of different tool sizes. Assuming a daily consumption of 0.5 kg of flour per person (cf. Nixon-Darcus 2014, 191) and an average of five individuals fed per grinder, production of the daily amount of flour with very small slabs of 250 cm2 in size would require about four hours. With a small slab of 500 cm2 in size, a grinder would need roughly two hours to accomplish the same, while with medium slabs of 750 cm2 in size the task would require about 1.5 hours. Alternatively, supposing a maximum daily grinding time of four hours (Table 10.1), the maximum daily yield of flour for slabs with areas of 250–500 cm2 would be 2–4.5 kg, while increasing that area to 750 cm2 would be worthwhile if 7 kg of flour are expected daily (Fig. 10.2B). Milling slabs with significantly larger surface areas, such as those found at some sites in Greece and Bulgaria, reflect even higher anticipated amounts of flour, either to feed larger households, to feed several households sharing

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183

the milling installation, or to produce a surplus of flour.

Thickness The larger sample on thickness provides important evidence for inter-regional differences. The median thickness of the sample is 6 cm. It shows a clear regional pattern in that specimens from Hungary with a median of 3.2 cm lie well below the median for the sample (Fig. 10.3A). Slabs from all Hungarian sites, both from Starčevo sites like Alsónyék in the southwest and from Körös sites such as Szarvas, Endröd and Ecsegfalva in the northeast, comply with this pattern (Fig. 10.3B). Thickness has important implications for the use life, and thus for the overall efficiency of the milling slabs. Thicker and heavier slabs are more durable; thinner tools, in contrast, are less sturdy and more prone to breakage, which probably accounts for the very high fragmentation levels and the rarity of intact milling slabs at Hungarian sites.

Figure 10.3: Variation in thickness of milling slabs: A. variation between regions; B. variation between sites.

Discussion The nature of the archaeological material under investigation and the state of its published documentation place numerous limitations on our study. On the one hand, the long-term storage of large numbers of heavy grinding tools is a challenge that many museum collections are unable or unwilling to cope with. Many grinding stone assemblages are therefore either incompletely represented, poorly documented, or not curated at all. On the other hand, being considered of limited value as chronological or cultural indicators, prehistoric milling stones are rarely published in detail. The

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possibilities for comparison on an inter-regional level are therefore limited, and the conclusions that can be drawn inherently imprecise. Nevertheless, an attempt to interpret this limited dataset can be of value by showing how the careful recording and analysis of these artefacts can potentially contribute to our understanding of past subsistence. The findings of the present study suggest a shift in hand-mill design in the Hungarian Plain, where thinner milling slabs with smaller surface areas predominate. This might be related to raw material scarcity in the plains of the Middle Danube, Tisza, and their tributaries, which consist of alluvial silt and clay sediments. Stone is not found in this region, neither as primary outcrops nor as secondary deposits of gravel in the river courses (Starnini and Szakmany 1998, 279). The next sources of stone for the Neolithic sites in the Körös valley are situated at a distance of roughly 100 km, such that the costs of procurement must have been substantial (Starnini and Szakmany 1998, 318). When tools were used on a regular basis, however, the additional effort of procuring large and durable specimens would have been offset by their longevity and the substantial time and effort saved by using them (Nelson and Lippmeier 1993, 296). Transport over long distances, in particular along water courses, becomes a viable option if tools are important. In an experiment, Schneider and Laporta (2008) demonstrated that up to 180 kg of stone cargo and humans can be transported on a raft in water of less than 50 cm in depth with an average speed of 1.6 km per hour. Archaeological evidence testifies to considerable efforts to procure heavy milling stones in prehistory: grinding stones were brought to the Neolithic site of Çatalhöyük from volcanic outcrops situated about 40 km from the site (Baysal and Wright 2005), and in New South Wales heavy grinding stones were transported over 100 km in prehistory (Nixon-Darcus 2014, 2). Based on estimated transport-to-production cost ratios, Biskowski (2008, 200) considers 60 to 90 km a reasonable limit on the human-born transport of heavy grinding slabs and notes that this range matches ethnographic observations. Thus, while raw material supply was certainly a constraint in the Hungarian plain, it cannot be the only factor responsible for the shift in design to smaller and thinner tools. Notably, even at the site of Alsónyék, which is situated near stone outcrops in the Mecsek Mountains at a distance of only about 30 km, thinner slabs still predominate. To understand changes in hand-mill design, we can consider the range of plants and the tasks for which the grinding tools were fashioned. A wide variety of cereals was grown by the earliest farmers in present-day Greece and Bulgaria, encompassing einkorn, emmer, free-threshing wheat, ‘new type’ glume wheat, and hulled and naked barley (Marinova 2007; Marinova and Valamoti 2014). Early farming sites in Serbia show lower botanical densities but a similar range of cereals, with the possible exception of free-threshing wheat (Filipovic 2014, Table 1a). Charred plant remains retrieved by flotation have been published from only one early site in Hungary, Ecsegfalva 23, and these comprise a range of cereals similar to that in other parts of southeast Europe, i.e. einkorn, emmer, ‘new type’ glume wheat, free-threshing wheat, and hulled and naked barley (Bogaard et al. 2007).

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With archaeobotanical evidence showing a similar range of crops (although in different proportions) across southeast Europe, the relative importance of finely ground cereals in the contemporary diet appears to be the most likely cause for differences in tool design. If one regards four hours of grinding as a reasonable daily maximum, no more than 2 kg of flour could have been produced with the smallest querns of 250 cm2 in size – an amount that would hardly have been sufficient for the subsistence of a family of five persons. In regions where larger querns do not appear on a regular basis, flour was most likely not the daily staple food. More data on surface size, measured on the basis of complete milling slabs, is needed to demonstrate that this was indeed the case among the early farmers in Hungary. Nevertheless, lower anticipated amounts of flour and a decreasing intensity of use appear plausible as explanations for the inferior durability and efficiency of the tools in this region. Thus, the difference in grinding tool morphology between the Hungarian Plain and other parts of southeast Europe may correlate with a decreasing intensity of grinding and loss of technological sophistication. The cultivation of cereals requires high technological investment, coordination, and planning, which pay off when yields are reliable. In the Balkans, hand-mills document an efficient technology for the use of these ‘difficult’ but reliable resources, employed as a means to support stable sedentary communities in a densely settled and intensively exploited landscape. In the Hungarian Plain, in contrast, the nature of grinding tools suggests that cereals were less intensively exploited for their energy content (though this does not imply a decrease in the amount of cereals consumed). Decreasing group size and permanence of occupation, as well as lower population density, possibly reduced the pressure for intensive and efficient exploitation of cereal calorie content and might even have enabled a partial substitution by less ‘difficult’ and less labour-intensive resources such as wild plants and animals – as has been previously suggested by Halstead (1989, 33, 41) – or by milk.

Conclusions This study set out to explore how data on grinding tool morphology may reveal adjustments in cereal use to temperate conditions in southeast Europe. The analysis of metric data suggested differences in the surface area and thickness of milling slabs between the Balkans and the Hungarian plain. In the Balkans, sizes of grinding tools indicate specialisation in cereal processing and an emphasis on efficiency. In the Hungarian plain, investment in durability and efficiency were lower, and the preference for low-performance tools suggests higher flexibility in cereal processing. Since tool design is related to the anticipated yield of flour, it is reasonable to assume that smaller quantities of cereals were consumed as flour in the north. These observations add to our understanding of the initial adaptation of a food system based on Mediterranean crops to temperate continental conditions in the early sixth millennium BC. The grinding stone assemblages provide hints about changes in the intensity of cereal processing with the dispersal of crop husbandry across southeast Europe. Future

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studies should examine these trends with larger and more robust sets of grinding tools, including analyses of use-wear and plant residues. By combining palaeoenvironmental, archaeobotanical, and artefactual data, it might be possible to establish associations between tools, the scale of cereal cultivation and crop growing conditions.

Acknowledgements This work was carried out as part of a larger collaborative project titled ‘Food Cultures: Interdisciplinary studies of early farming, food technology and palaeodiet in Southeastern Europe’ and was funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG Research Grant IV-101/5–1, 2013–2016). I thank Krassimir Leshtakov, Eszter Bánffy and Jasna Vukovic for the kind permission to use unpublished data from Yabalkovo, Alsónyék and Blagotin. Ilija Hadjipetkov generously provided the metrical data for the artefacts from Yabalkovo.

Note 1 Plant microfossil analyses are currently being conducted on all tools from Alsónyék, Ecsegfalva and Blagotin, which are included in the present study, as well as on thirteen tools from Yabalkovo. The preliminary results show a regular presence of plant phytoliths and, less regularly, of cereal starch grains on these tools.

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Biskowski, M. (2008) Maize-grinding tools in prehispanic Central Mexico. In Y. M. Rowan and J. R. Ebeling (eds.) New approaches to old stones, 144–155. London, Equinox. Bogaard, A., Bending, J. and Jones, G. (2007) Archaeobotanical evidence for plant husbandry and use. In A. Whittle (ed.) The Early Neolithic on the Great Hungarian Plain. Investigations of the Körös culture site of Ecsegfalva 23, County Békés. Varia Archaeologica Hungarica, Vol. II, 421–445. Budapest, Archaeological Institute of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Bogucki, P. (1996) The spread of early farming in Europe. American Scientist 84, 242–253. Butterworth, P. J., Ellis, P. R. and Wollstonecroft, M. (2016) Why protein is not enough: The roles of plants and plant processing in delivering the dietary requirements of modern and early Homo. In K. Hardy and L. Kubiak-Martens (eds.) Wild harvest: Plants in the hominin and pre-agrarian human worlds, 31–54. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Carmody, R. N. and Wrangham, R. W. (2009) The energetic significance of cooking. Journal of Human Evolution 57, 379–391. Colledge, S. and Connolly, J. (2007) The neolithisation of the Balkans: A review of the archaeobotanical evidence. In M. Spataro and P. Biagi (eds.) A short walk through the Balkans: the first farmers of the Carpathian Basin and adjacent regions, 25–38. Trieste, Società per la preistoria i protostoria della regione Friuli-Venezia Giuli. David, N. (1998) The ethnoarchaeology and field archaeology of grinding at Sukur, Adamawa State, Nigeria. The African Archaeological Review 15, 13–63. Delgado Raack, S. (2008) Prácticas económicas y gestión social de recursos (macro) líticos en la prehistoria reciente (III-I milenios AC) del Mediterráneo occidental. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. Delgado-Raack, S., Gomez-Gras, D. and Risch, R. (2009) The mechanical properties of macrolithic artifacts: A methodological background for functional analysis. Journal of Archaeological Science 36, 1823–1831. Diehl, M. W. (1996) The intensity of maize processing and production in Upland Mogollon pithouse villages A.D. 200–1000. American Antiquity 61, 102–115. Domboróczki, L. (2010) Neolithisation in northeastern Hungary: Old theories and new perspectives. In D. Gronenborn and J. Petrasch (eds.) Die Neolithisierung Mitteleuropas – The spread of the Neolithic to Central Europe. Internationale Tagung Mainz, 24.–26. Juni 2005, 175–187. Mainz, RGZM. Dubreuil, L. (2001) Functional studies of prehistoric grinding stones: A methodological research. Bulletin du Centre de Recherche Francais de Jerusalem 9, 73–87. Dubreuil, L. (2004) Long-term trends in Natufian subsistence: A use-wear analysis of ground stone tools. Journal of Archaeological Science 31, 1613–1629. Dubreuil, L. (2008) Mortar versus grinding-slabs and the Neolithization process in the Near East. In L. Longo and N. Skakun (eds.) “Prehistoric Technology” 40 years later: Functional Analysis and the Russian Legacy, 169–177. Verona, Museo Civico di Verona and Universita degli Studi di Verona. Ebeling, J. R. and Rowan, Y. M. (2004) The archaeology of the daily grind: ground stone tools and food production in the Southern Levant. Near Eastern Archaeology 67, 108–117. Filipovic, D. (2014) Southwest Asian founder- and other crops at Neolithic sites in Serbia. Bulgarian e-Journal of Archaeology 4.2, 195–215. Foster-Powell, K., Holt, S. and Brand-Miller, H. (2002) International Table of glycemic index and glycemic load values: 2002. American Journal of Clinical Nutrition 76, 5–56. Fullagar, R. and Field, F. (1997) Pleistocene seed-grinding implements from the Australian arid zone. Antiquity 71, 300–307. Georgiadou, A. (2015) The Neolithic House at Sosandra. University Studio Press. Georgiev, G. (1981) Die neolitische Siedlung bei Čavdar, Bezirk Sofia. Izvestia na Arheologicheskia Institut 36, 63–109. Gimbutas, M. (ed.) (1989) Achilleion: A Neolithic settlement in Thessaly, Greece, 6400–5600 BC. Los Angeles, UCLA. Greenfield, H. J., Greenfield, T. L. J. and Jezik, S. (2014) Subsistence and settlement in the Early Neolithic of temperate SE Europe: A view from Blagotin, Serbia. Archaeologia Bulgarica 18, 1–33.

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Nelson, M. C. and Lippmeier, H. (1993) Grinding-tool design as conditioned by land-use pattern. American Antiquity 58, 286–305. Nixon-Darcus, L. A. (2014) The cultural context of food grinding equipment in Northern Ethiopia: An ethnoarchaeological approach. Unpublished thesis, Simon Fraser University. Portillo, M., et al. (2013) Phytolith and use-wear functional evidence for grinding stones from the Near East. In P. C. Anderson, C. Cheval and A. D. Éditions (eds.) Regards croisés sur les outils liés au travail des végétaux. XXXIIIe rencontres internationales d’archéologie et d’histoire d’Antibes, 205–218. Antibes, APDCA. Ridley, C., Wardle, K. A. and Mould, C. A. (2000) Servia I. Anglo-Hellenic rescue excavations 1971–73. British School at Athens Supplementary Volume no. 32. Oxford, The British School at Athens. Roodenberg, J., Leshtakov, K. and Petrova, V. (2014) Yabalkovo, Volume 1. Sofia, Sofia University. Rowan, Y. M. and Ebeling, J. R. (2008) Introduction: The potential of ground stone studies. In Y. M. Rowan and J. R. Ebeling (eds.) New Approaches to Old Stones, 1–15. London, Equinox. Runnels, C. (1981) A diachronic study and economic analysis of millstones from the Argolid, Greece. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Indiana University. Samuel, D. (2010) Experimental grinding and ancient Egyptian flour production. In S. Ikram and A. Dodson (eds.) Beyond the Horizon: Studies in Egyptian Art, Archaeology and History in Honour of Barry J. Kemp, 456–477. Cairo, American University in Cairo Press. Schneider, J. and LaPorta, P. (2008) Geological constraints on ground stone production and consumption in the Southern Levant. In Y. Rowan and J. Ebeling (eds.) New Approaches to Old Stones. Recent Studies of Ground Stone Artifacts, 19–40. London, Equinox. Schön, W. and Holter, U. (1988) Zum Gebrauch von Reib‐ und Mahlsteinen in der Ostsahara. Archäologische Informationen 11, 156‐160. Searcy, M. T. (2005) Mayan metate ethnoarchaeology. Unpublished thesis, Brigham Young University. Starnini, E. and Szakmany, G. (1998) The lithic industry of the Neolithic sites of Szarvas and Endröd (south-eastern Hungary): Techno-typological and archaeometrical aspects. Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 50, 279–342. Stroulia, A. (2010) Flexible Stones: Ground Stone Tools from Franchthi Cave. Fascicle 14, Excavations at Franchthi Cave, Greece. Bloomington/Indianapolis, Indiana University Press. Turuk, J. I. (2007) More grist for the mill: an analysis of the grinding stones recovered from the ancient Maya site of Minanha, Belize. Unpublished thesis, Trent Univesity. Valamoti, S. and Chondrou, D. (2013) Plant food processing and ground stone equipment in prehistoric Greece: An experimental investigation using seeds of einkorn and grass-pea. In P. C. Anderson, C. Cheval and A. Durand (eds.) Regards croisés sur les outils liés au travail des végétaux. 169–189. Antibes, APDCA. Verbaas, A. and van Gijn, A. (2008) Querns and other hard stone tools from Geleen-Janskamperveld. In P. v. d. Velde (ed.) Excavations at Geleen-Janskamperveld 1990/1991, 191–204. Leiden, University of Leiden. Whittle, A., Bartosiewicz, L., Borić, D., Pettit, P. B. and Richards, M. P. (2002) In the beginning: New radiocarbon dates for the Early Neolithic in northern Serbia and south-east Hungary. Antaeus 25, 63–117. Wright, K. (2008) Craft production and the organization of ground stone technologies. In Y. Rowan and J. Ebeling (eds.) New Approaches to Old Stones: Recent studies of Ground Stone Artifacts, 130–143. London, Equinox Publishing. Wright, K. (2014) Domestication and inequality? Households, corporate groups and food processing tools at Neolithic Çatalhöyük. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 33, 1–33.

Chapter 11 Prehistoric agricultural toolkits in diachronic perspective: A case study from Bulgaria Maria Gurova

Introduction The nutrition aspect of prehistoric societies relates directly to agriculture: crop cultivation and animal husbandry, and, related to them, the processing of plants and animal (by)products. The archaeological evidence reveals palaeobotanical and faunal remains, the analysis of which represents an important (if not the main) source of data concerning foodstuffs and consumption. The topic of the social dimensions and connotations of food is broader and interdisciplinary. The explicitly ‘social’ aspects of food can be approached holistically via reliable analytical results and/or via anticipating, conceptualising, and speculating based on the archaeological material and its interpretation. Apart from direct evidence of flint tools use in a wide range of activities – from butchering to harvesting – a challenging and rather indirect way to involve flints (on an interpretative level), associated with food preparation, in the social dimension of prehistoric life is through their ‘ritualisation’. In the words of van Gijn, the process takes place when flints change their biography from serving in everyday life to being reutilised in a ritual context. One of the most commonly used categories of artefacts in such a context is the agricultural flint toolkit (van Gijn 2010; 2014). Recently, all three volumes of the EARTH (Early Agricultural Remnants and Technical Heritage) series (ed. by Anderson and Peña-Chocarro) have been published: Exploring and Explaining Diversity in Agricultural Technology (van Gijn et al. 2014); Plants and People. Choices and Diversity through Time (Chevalier et al. 2015), and Agricultural and Pastoral Landscapes in Pre-Industrial Societies (Retamero et al. 2016). The volumes represent a crucial contribution to pre-industrial agriculture and offer an ideal opportunity to learn more about it from different perspectives via an enormous corpus of information based on archaeological, historical, ethnographical, and experimental sources and datasets.

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The current paper focuses on one of the most reliable and resilient components of the subsistence and household activity of the past: prehistoric agricultural toolkits from Bulgaria, in diachronic and evolutionary perspective, from the Neolithic through the Chalcolithic and into the Bronze Age (Fig. 11.1). The paper contains summarised results of my studies on the functional connotations of Holocene flint assemblages from Bulgaria, neighbouring regions, and the southern Levant, with emphasis on prehistoric agricultural equipment (Gurova 2001a; 2005a; 2006a; 2008b; 2011c; 2013; 2014a-c). Prehistoric toolkits involved in crucial agricultural activities – harvesting and threshing – are presented in chronological order with general statements on the palaeobotanical evidence of cereal crops, as well as on the techno-typological and use-wear analysis of the flint artefacts concerned. The most general chronological framework of the above-mentioned periods is first provided to place in an adequate temporal context the following data and reasoning.

Figure 11.1: Map of Bulgaria showing sites with flint assemblages studied by the author and commented on in the text: 1: Dzhulyunitsa; 2: Slatina-Sofia; 3: Balgarčevo; 4: Kovačevo; 5: Rakitovo; 6: Kapitan Dimitrievo; 7: Yabalkovo; 8: Harmanli; 9: Azmak; 10: Sarnevo; 11: Karanovo; 12: Durankulak; 13: Kosharna; 14: Bazovets; 15: Petko Karavelovo; 16: Ivanovo; 17: Varna; 18: Karnobat; 19: Kozareva Mogila; 20: Burgas; 21: DramaMerdjumekia; 22: Varhari; 23: Vaxevo; 24: Yunatsite; 25: Hotnitsa-Vodopada; 26: Lepitsa; 27: Kamenska Čuka; 28: Ada Tepe; 29: Aul Kaja; 30: Gluhite Kamani; 31: Mihalich; 32: Svilengrad. Legend: triangle: Neolithic sites; circle: Chalcolithic sites; square: Bronze Age sites; star: sites with more than one culture-chronological layer. Figure by M. Gurova.

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The cultural periodisation of the prehistoric periods could be presented in terms of absolute chronology (conventional 14C dating) as follows: • • • •

Neolithic (4 phases): 6300/6200–4900/4850 cal BC Chalcolithic (3 phases): 4900/4850–4100/3800 cal BC Transitional periods: 3850/3750–3200/3150 cal BC Bronze Age (3 phases): 3200/3150–1100/1000 cal BC (Boyadziev 1995, 179).

There are some critical points in this conventional scheme and the main ones relate to the beginning of the Neolithic, the ending of the Copper Age (the Varna culture’s very early ending according to AMS dating, see Higham et al. 2007), and the beginning of the Bronze Age. For our data, presenting the most general relation of the periods will be sufficient: Neolithic – 6th mill. cal BC; Chalcolithic – 5th mill. cal BC; Bronze Age – 4th–2nd mill. cal BC.

Prehistoric sickles From the available data on prehistoric crop inventories in Bulgaria only cereal taxa is considered. This ‘discriminative’ approach towards the other plants, including leguminous and fibre crops, relates to the cognitive limitation of use-wear diagnoses. Among the plant processing observed on artefacts, only the complex of microtraces identified on the archaeological sickle inserts corresponds to what is commonly known and accepted as ‘cereal’ polish. Within the remaining Si-rich polishes (attributable to all plants) only well-developed polishes of Phragmites are sufficiently distinguishable. The problem of reliably identifying various means of plant processing remains unresolved despite some well reported experimental work (Anderson 1999; UngerHamilton 1999). It is plausible, and even practically unavoidable, that leguminous species were harvested for nutritive purposes, but this activity is still difficult to prove by usewear expertise. In this respect, only Cerealia, reliably identified on the artefacts/ sickle inserts, is considered in the context of secure cereal harvesting and subsequent food preparation.

Neolithic: Crops and sickle evidence It has been noted by specialists that, according to the available data of Neolithic crop cultigens and composition, Bulgaria ‘exhibits greater crop diversity than is manifested in Southwest Asia and in the other regions of the Balkans’ (Colledge et al. 2007, 30). Early Neolithic cultigens provide evidence of connections with the Near East crop assemblage (Marinova 2007, 106) and represent an inherent part of the Neolithic package, fully emerged from the earliest Neolithic settlements in Bulgaria.

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According to the abundant data on crop diversity from the very Early Neolithic in Bulgaria, the following species from the Near Eastern crop package are attested: Triticum dicoccum Schübl. (emmer), Triticum monococcum L. (einkorn), Hordeum vulgare L. (hulled barley), Lens culinaris Medik. (lentil), Pisum sativum L. (pea), Vicia ervilia L. (bitter vetch), Cicer arietinum L. (chick pea), and Linum usitatissimum L. (flax) (Marinova and Valamoti 2014, 66). It should be noted here that the leguminous crops or pulses are a very important group of cultivated plants. The most numerous of them – Lens culinaris Medik. (lentil), Pisum sativum L. (pea), Lathyrus sativus/cicera (grass pea), and Vicia ervilia L. (bitter vetch) – persisted in the vegetation from the Neolithic until the Bronze Age (Marinova and Valamoti 2014, 69). For the reason given above and related to the limitations inherent in determining their presence via the use-wear of flint tools, these species will not be further discussed in this paper. Apart from the cereal taxa above, other species have been identified in various Neolithic sites in Bulgaria: Triticum aestivo/durum (bread/durum wheat), Hordeum vulgare L. ssp. nudum (naked barley), Panicum muliacceum L. (millet – in low quantity) (Popova 1995; 2009; 2010; Popova and Marinova 2007). Recently, and gradually, a ‘new glume wheat type’ has been distinguished from among the early wheats. In Bulgaria, its presence is attested in some storage features from Early Neolithic strata of the tell Kapitan Dimitrievo (Marinova and Valamoti 2014, 67). The storage data suggest that the wheats were mixed, either in the field or after harvesting. The dominant cereal crops during the Neolithic were hulled wheats, the ratio of which varies from one region to another. Emmer prevails, for example, mainly in Thracian sites while, in other sites, einkorn prevails (in the sites of the Struma valley, cf. Popova 1995, 200). According to a recent study of early Neolithic samples from north/north-eastern Bulgaria (Dzhulyunitsa, Orlovets, Koprivets, and Samovodene), the most important among the registered cultigens was hulled barley (Marinova and Krauß 2014, 191). Alongside the variety of cereal crops, Neolithic sickle inserts provide strong supporting evidence of well-developed and intensive agricultural practices, in particular, cereal harvesting. As shown by my studies on flint assemblages, at the very beginning of the Early Neolithic – manifested at sites such as Slatina, Yabalkovo, Kapitan Dimitrievo, Azmak, Rakitovo, Kovačevo, and Balgarčevo – and during the whole of the Karanovo I and II periods at the eponymous tell (first half of the 6th mill. BC), sickle inserts were numerous and show morpho-typological variability (Gurova 1997; 2001b; 2002a; 2008a; 2012; 2014d). The sickles representing typological tools – mainly (bi)laterally retouched blades – predominate. In absolute numbers, sickle inserts prevail among the Early Neolithic tools with utilisation traces. Among the sickle inserts, a particular category is represented by those made from ‘Balkan flint’ and belonging to the formal toolkit of the Early Neolithic cultures (Karanovo I and II in Bulgaria) and of the supra-regional complex Karanovo I-Starčevo-Criş-Körös (Gurova 2008c; 2012). The Balkan flint sickle inserts represent a prominent part of the formal toolkit, which has become a diagnostic feature of the

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Figure 11.2: Flint artefacts from the Early Neolithic site of Yabalkovo with sickle inserts (2–5, 7, 9); the working edges are marked by a dotted line; the arrows indicate locations of the photos (× 100) of cereal polishes with variation of micro features. Drawings and photos by M. Gurova.

Early Neolithic culture. They usually exhibit extensive use (obviously preferential) and shiny angular and lateral polishes on the working edges, which were resharpened (sometimes continuously) until being abruptly retouched. Typical examples of sickles with the features mentioned are frequent among assemblages of the sites in south Bulgaria belonging to the Karanovo I cultural alliance – Kovačevo, Slatina, Azmak, and Yabalkovo (Fig. 11.2). In general, during the Neolithic, there is no evidence of a morpho-metrical standardisation of sickle inserts: they consist of virgin and variably

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retouched blades (rarely flakes) 2–5 cm in length and 1–3 cm in width. Almost all pieces have an angular shiny cereal polish (from slightly oblique to diagonal) that indicates the oblique insertion of the flint elements into a curved antler handle, which is the most characteristic feature of the Karanovo type of sickle (Fig. 11.3). Sickle-blades with a parallel lateral polish are extremely rare. The Karanovo type of sickle is widely known as one of the most efficient prehistoric agricultural tools; it has very close parallels at Neolithic Hacılar in southwest Anatolia, and likely had its origin in the Fertile Crescent (for further discussion, see Gurova 2008a). During the Late Neolithic (second half of 6th mill. BC), the same type of sickle seems to have been used despite the changes that occurred in the chipped-stone industry. There was a pronounced trend to microlithisation, leading to changes in the typological repertoire. Although there was a specific techno-typological shift, sickle inserts continued to be the most important category among the tools used. Most of them (particularly at the tell sites exhibiting a noticeable continuity with the preceding Early Neolithic strata) are the same large Balkan flint blades, which persisted as a reminiscent form of the Early Neolithic formal toolkits. Another category of sickle inserts consists of unretouched blade fragments, the ratio of which increases relative to the Early Neolithic sickle toolkits. Typical examples of Late Neolithic assemblages come from the sites of Sarnevo and Harmanli in south Bulgaria (Fig. 11.4) (Gurova 2010a). Neolithic sickles can be reliably identified not only by the typical micro use-wear of their flint inserts, but also on the basis of some complete or fragmented hafts made from Cervus elaphus antler. Fragments of antler handles have been found at the sites of Samovodene, Provadia, and Ovcharovo-Gorata (northern Bulgaria), as well as at the sites of Chavdar, Kovačevo, Sapareva Bania, Stara-Zagora (Okrazhna Bolnitsa), and the tells Karanovo and Kazanlak (south Bulgaria). Unfortunately, some of these important finds remain unpublished.

Chalcolithic: Crops and sickle evidence There seems to have been no significant change in crop composition between the Neolithic and the Chalcolithic. The latest period, however, shows an increase in the wheat spectrum with the sporadic appearance of Triticum spelta and Triticum compactum Host. (club wheat) in Durankulak and Omurtag (Popova 1995, 201; 2010, 25). During the Late Chalcolithic, the importance of free-threshing wheats reached a peak (Marinova and Valamoti 2014, 68). That was presumably a time of separate cultivation and harvesting of cereals (of wheats, at least). The most important cereal crop at most of the sites was einkorn, while, at a few sites in southern Bulgaria, emmer prevailed (ibidem, 67). The Late Chalcolithic finds of Panicum miliaceum (millet) from the Black sea coast of Bulgaria are seen as representing ‘some of the routes of migration of this crop from the steppe area situated north of the Black Sea’ (Marinova and Valamoti 2014, 69).

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Figure 11.3: 1 – Photomicrographs (× 100) of typical cereal polish – artefact from Kovačevo site; 2 – sickles from Tell Karanovo; 3 – sickle inserts from Kovačevo site (the arrows indicate locations of the photos (× 100); 4 – sickle inserts from Yabalkovo site. Photos by M. Gurova.

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Figure 11.4: Late Neolithic flint assemblage from the Late Neolithic site of Harmanli with sickle inserts (2, 5–6) and photomicrographs (× 100) of cereal polish. Drawings and photos by M. Gurova.

Agricultural growth and development continued during the Chalcolithic period (5th mill. cal BC), when, in general, the same Karanovo type of composite sickle was used. They were probably made mainly with wooden hafts, because there are no surviving antler handles from that period. The Chalcolithic period marks a peak in flint knapping techniques and, particularly, in blade production. The craft specialisation of producing big and superblades unavoidably affected the tools’ morphological parameters and typological spectrum. Flint production reached a very high level of performance thanks to the advantages of using high quality raw material of Ludogorie type (Nachev, 2009; Andreeva et al. 2014). There are several important works on Chalcolithic flint assemblages (mainly from northeast Bulgaria) that refer to their techno-typological (Manolakakis 2002; 2005) and functional aspects (Skakun 1993; 1999; 2006; see also Gurova 2007). My study

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comprises assemblages from the following sites: Ivanovo, Kosharna, and Bazovets in northeast Bulgaria; Petko Karavelovo (central-north Bulgaria); Kozareva Mogila and Tell Burgas (southern Black Sea coast); tells Karanovo, Drama-Merdžumekja, Karnobat, Vaxevo (south Bulgaria), and Varhari (Rhodope Mountains); as well as the inventories from the Durankulak and Varna cemeteries. Some of the studies have already been published; other assemblages are still under study (Gurova 2002c; 2005b; 2010b; 2011a–b; 2015). The general observations on sickle inserts can be summarised as follows: they became more standardised in morpho-metrical parameters and were normally added to fragmented regular blades (with or without retouching) as well as to other tool types. Endscrapers on regular blades, retouched and truncated blades, and burins all became dominant in the tool repertoire. The ratio of unretouched blades and typological tools used as sickle inserts is almost 1:1. One of the reasons for this is the specialisation in blade removal, assuring regular blades (with parallel edges, a straight profile, and uniform thickness), which easily could be modified via retouching to form endscrapers or truncations without significant change to the morpho-metrical characteristics. It is worth mentioning that, often, unretouched blades used as sickles were subjected to reutilisation for lateral scraping of hide. This reutilisation created a distinct and diagnostic eroded and opaque aspect on the cereal polish (Gurova 2011a, Fig. 7: 5a; 2011b, Fig. 4: b). On the other hand, many endscrapers and transversally truncated blades were used primarily and uniquely as sickle inserts (Gurova 2015, Fig. 6). Another important observation is that cereal and hide processing reached a balance in contrast with the Neolithic when tools involved in cereal harvesting prevailed over those used in hide treatment (Figs. 11.5–11.7).

Bronze Age: crops and sickle evidence The Bronze Age crop composition comprises the main taxa known from the preceding periods – including Triticum compactum (club wheat) – but also shows some peculiarities. These consist of the appearance of Secale cereale (rye – among samples from Tell Djadovo, see Popova 2010, 41), an increasing importance of Triticum spelta (spelt) and, especially, Panicum miliaceum (millet) cultivation. The prevalence of einkorn is attested again with an increasing quantity of hulled barley (Popova 1995; Marinova and Valamoti 2014, 69). Many of the taxa listed above appear to be more resistant to climatic and environmental changes due to their stronger stems. This fact, as well as the increased growth of weeds (Setaria sp., Polygonum sp., Agroshtema githago, Bromus secalinus, Ajuga sp. Chenopodium type, Carthamus sp., Echinochloa sp., Rumex acetosella, Galium sp., Poa sp., etc.) (Stefanovich and Bankoff 1998; Popova 2010) could be considered an acceptable explanation of the change in the harvesting toolkit and related changes in morphology and mode of use (vide infra). The archaeological evidence of the transition from the Chalcolithic to the Early Bronze Age is scarce and ambiguous. In the 14C chronology, there is a gap between

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Figure 11.5: Flint artefacts from the Chalcolithic site of Karnobat with sickle inserts (5–8) and photomicrographs (× 100) of cereal polish. Drawings and photos by M. Gurova.

the final Chalcolithic and the Early Bronze Age, the duration of which varies from five to almost ten centuries (depending on the context of samples, dates, and their modelling) and called the ‘transitional period’. There is a long-running debate about the transition from the Chalcolithic to the Bronze Age in Southeast Europe. The background of the ‘steppe invasion’ theory (in Bulgarian consideration) has been nuanced with palaeoenvironmental arguments and climatic changes (Todorova 1986, 223–226). More arguments in favour of social tensions, conflicts, and discontinuity recently came from interdisciplinary studies on some settlements, offering sequences from both periods, such as Tell Yunatsite (Boyadzhiev 2014).

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Figure 11.6: Flint artefacts from the Chalcolithic site of Ivanovo with sickle inserts (1–2, 6) and photomicrographs (× 100) of cereal polish; c, d – sickle reused for scraping hide. Drawings and photos by M. Gurova.

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Figure 11.7: Flint artefacts from the Chalcolithic site of Burgas with sickle inserts (1, 9–10) and photomicrographs (× 100) of cereal polish. Drawings and photos by M. Gurova.

From a lithic (chipped-stone assemblages) perspective, the problem is approached by Sirakov and Tsonev, who argue for the obvious similarities and continuity between Chalcolithic and Bronze Age flint technologies. They qualify the Hotnitsa-Hodopada assemblage as being ‘deeply rooted into autochthonous Eneolithic traditions without any external influences’ (Sirakov and Tsonev 1995, 252). I will omit the debate without arguing against the proposition of Bronze Age flint production having inherited the high standards of the preceding period (see also Alexandrov et al. 1998, 23–24). Some studies adequately illustrate the typological repertoire of Bronze Age flint assemblages (see, e.g. Zlateva-Uzunova 2002; 2005). My studies on Bronze Age flint assemblages comprise techno-typological and use-wear analysis of inventories from Bulgaria, southwest and west Anatolia, and the southern Levant. Some of the studies are published: Michalich (Gurova 2001c), Saite (Gurova 2002b), Svilengrad (Gurova 2006b), Tell Yunatsite (Gurova 2014e), and for the Levantine sites, see Gurova 2013; a Troy I–V publication is forthcoming; others were analysed selectively: Kamenska Čuka, Lepitsa, Durankulak (Atanasov et al. 2012); other studies are in progress: Ada Tepe, Aul Kaja, Gluhite Kamani, and Hacılar Büyük Höyük in southwest Anatolia. This research and the accumulated knowledge of the preceding

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prehistoric periods allowed me to define a new agricultural toolkit that appeared in the early phases of the Bronze Age. From the beginning of the Bronze Age (4th mill. cal BC), a shift in sickle morphology and mode of use can be recognised. Traditional sickles were first partially, and later seemingly entirely, replaced by a new and distinctive category of the flint tool repertoire: denticulated blades. Denticulated implements appear sporadically in some assemblages belonging to the late Chalcolithic. During the Bronze Age, they became a characteristic feature of the flint industry and may be conceived as ‘diagnostic tools’ of this period, although blades without retouched edges continued to be used as sickle inserts in the traditional sense, as seen in the assemblages of Michalich and Tell Yunatsite (Gurova 2001c; 2014e). The denticulated retouch is usually unilateral, deep or fine, and uni- or bifacial. Denticulated edges are often combined with lateral abrupt retouching (backed) and transverse truncations, made for accommodation in hafting. The morphology of the implements combined with the prevailing, parallel (lateral) polishes suggests parallel hafting in a straight handle, or, in the case of sufficiently robust items, manual manipulation. The micro-wear patterns of the Bronze Age sickles are identical to those of the preceding periods: smooth and bright with many differently shaped pits and depressions and very often with pronounced linear striations. The polish starts at the teeth of the denticulation and invades the rest of the microtopography of the working edge (Figs. 11.8–11.9). The denticulates have a broader distribution within the BA oikumenae – from the Levant to the TRB in Northwest Europe (Rosen 1997; van Gijn 2010). Many questions arise regarding their origin, distribution patterns, and local adaptations and variations. Based on the similar spectrum of the cereal crops in the Bronze Age at a supra-regional scale, a polycentric and simultaneous technological and stylistic change in the agricultural toolkit can be envisaged. Further stratified archaeological evidence and proper interpretation are needed to resolve the problem of the Bronze Age denticulates being so widely distributed.

Prehistoric tribulum (threshing sledge) The threshing of cereals is a process that takes place after harvesting and aims to separate grains from their stems (to free grains from their glumes in the case of freethreshing species) and, thus, to transform cereals into food and stems, each of them with various uses following processing. Threshing involves a variety of techniques, according to different environmental and social contexts, cultural choices, and traditions. An exhaustive corpus of information about threshing in the past combining archaeological research, ethnographical parallels, and experiments is presented in Chapter 5 of the above mentioned second volume of the EARTH series (van Gijn et al. 2014). The archaeological evidence of threshing sledges (tribula) as agricultural equipment has been the focus of many important publications by Anderson and

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Figure 11.8: Flint artefacts (sickles) from: 1: EBA site of Lepitsa; 2: LBA site of Aul Kaja; photomicrographs (× 100) of cereal polish of the sickles. Drawings and photos by M. Gurova.

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Figure 11.9: Flint artefacts (sickles) from the LBA site of Kamenska Čuka and photomicrographs (× 100) of cereal. Drawings and photos by M. Gurova.

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her team. Traces of prehistoric use of the tribulum have been recognised in the Late Neolithic of the Near East, with more certain evidence coming from the Bronze Age of the northern Levant, and as tribulum inserts Canaanean blades have been identified (Anderson, 1994; 1999; 2003; Anderson et al. 1994; 2004a-b; Chabot 2002; Chabot et al. 2003; 2007). The tribulum problem represents an important part of my interest and ethnoarchaeological study, as well, and most of the data concerning the topic have already been published (see Gurova 2001a; 2011c; 2013; 2014b). At the risk of some unavoidable repetition, a general statement of studies of the tribulum in Bulgarian prehistory is presented below. The threshing sledge has been one of the longest serving agricultural tools, with an extensive (pre-)historically and ethnographically documented spread within the context of the Mediterranean koiné – from the Near East to the Iberian Peninsula. Throughout this vast area, the general form and use of the tribulum was remarkably consistent, but with significant variations. Sledges vary in size and the number and kinds of draft animals used. Bulgaria, a small country known for its traditional agriculture, provides an example of the patchy use of the tribulum (dikania in Bulgarian). These instruments were certainly used until the 1950s, when they were rapidly replaced by industrial machines. Nevertheless, many of these instruments have survived in museum exhibitions and in storage, in authentic rural households, and as decorative and extravagant furniture in various modern interiors (Fig. 11.10). Unfortunately, the flint knapping skills and even the memory of tribulum (teeth) manufacturing has been irreversibly lost. The main centre for threshing sledge manufacture, at least in historic and recent times, was Kriva Reka village, near the large outcrops of Lower Cretaceous flint referred to as Kriva Reka type. The beginning of craft specialisation in this area may date back to Chalcolithic times, when the extraction and use of this type of raw material became common and intensive (Nachev 2009; Andreeva et al. 2014). I was able to interview a woman who is probably one of the last witnesses of tribulum insert production, which played a significant role in villagers’ lives and survival in the past (Andreeva et al. 2014, Fig. 8.5). The first ethnoarchaeological research into the tribulum as an element of traditional agricultural equipment in Bulgaria, Ukraine, and Moldova was done by Skakun in the 1970s and 1980s. She provided a large dataset of experimental and archaeological research on the functional connotations of one of the most technologically advanced industries in northeast Bulgaria and identified a series of tribulum inserts (Skakun 1993; 1994; 1999; 2006; for my comments on some aspects of her studies, see also Gurova 2007 and 2013). Tribulum flints from Bulgaria, both ethnographic and prehistoric, have a distinctive elongated ovoid shape obtained by intentional retouching: lateral, distal transverse, and ventral. It is not always evident whether they were made on blades or elongated flakes. Uni- and bilateral utilisation is attested. Archaeological tribulum inserts can be recognised because of their strong similarity to ethnographic examples in morphology

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Figure 11.10: Ethnographic tribula from: 1 – village Brashlian (Strandzha Mountains) with detailed photo of the flint inserts; 2 – village Arbanassi (V. Tarnovo district) with detailed photo of the flint inserts; 3 – Sofia city (ethno restaurant). Photos by M. Gurova.

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Figure 11.11: Ethnographic tribulum inserts from the Rhodopes Mountains (Shopov collection) and photomicrographs (× 100) of the use-wear features: polish with striations and comet-shaped features (following Gurova 2014b, Fig. 5.21).

and shape, and, especially, in microscopic wear features, because the use-wear complex is very distinctive (Gurova 2001a, Figs. 9–11; Gurova 2011c, Figs. 8.2 and 10). Working edges are strongly bifacially smoothed and rounded. The texture of the polish is rough and opaque, partially abraded, and has many (including comet-shaped) depressions (Fig. 11.11). It should be stressed that careful use-wear and morphological analysis of ethnographic tribulum inserts allows an unambiguous distinction to be made between tribulum and sickle inserts, both having cereal polishes. In Bulgaria, rectangular blade fragments are not attested as tribulum elements. No traces of bitumen as adhesive material for fixing both sickle blades and tribulum inserts have ever been discovered on the archaeological implements from Bulgaria. My approach to the problem of identification of prehistoric tribulum inserts is based on two empirical levels: on the one hand, detailed study of ethnographic implements, and, on the other, comparison and reliable distinction between tribulum

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Figure 11.12: Archaeological tribulum inserts from Drama-Merdžumekja, with photomicrograph (× 100) showing typical use-wear traces (cf. Figure 11.11) (following Gurova 2014b, Fig. 5.23).

and sickle inserts from certain prehistoric contexts. This approach has allowed me to confirm prehistoric artefacts as having been used as tribulum inserts. Some of them, appearing sporadically in Neolithic contexts, have already been published and treated rather as anecdotal implements (Gurova 2001). There is, however, a reliable series of archaeological finds from the excavations of the multilayer tell-type site of Drama-Merdžumekja (Thrace), which sequence belongs to the Chalcolithic period (Karanovo V and VI) and begins c. 4900 cal BC (Boyadžiev 1995; Kutchera et al. 2005; Lichardus et al. 2001). Absolute end dates are not available. The series of artefacts identified as tribulum inserts comprises 12 typological tools, recovered from both Karanovo V and VI layers and different contexts between those layers (Fig. 11.12) (the material is published in detail in a chapter of the EARTH project monograph: Gurova 2014b). The evidence of use of tribulum inserts during protohistory (Bronze Age and Iron Age) and later is still sporadic and does not offer a reliable link to the continuous and evolutionary development of this instrument. Evidence of tribula is virtually missing in

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the archaeological records from the Roman and Byzantine periods (although there are historical written sources about their use). From the Medieval and Ottoman periods, archaeological evidence is available for the use of tribula in funerary contexts – a reflection of an ancient inherited tradition and rituals related to sacred and symbolic aspects of agriculture.

Discussion It is obvious and indisputable that agriculture (crop husbandry) played a crucial role in prehistoric subsistence economy and social life. Moreover, based on the diversification of the cereal taxa and specialisation in the agricultural toolkits for harvesting and threshing, we can affirm the growth and intensification of the economic system. When tribulum equipment was introduced into agricultural activity is a question that mostly concerns the Chalcolithic. There are notable examples of research on the diet of the population in transition from the Mesolithic to the Neolithic (in the neighbouring Iron Gates region), which indicate the increased importance of terrestrial food in subsistence in the period of the recently established agricultural system (e.g. Bonsall 2008; Borić 2011). This evidence could be theoretically extrapolated into later and more-developed stages of the food producing economy (as is the case-study from Bulgaria) and the importance of cereal foods will become obvious. The significance of cereal agriculture in the Bronze Age (without presupposing how the Bronze Age socio-economic system was introduced into Bulgaria) continues to be a crucial factor in our understanding of settlement and social sustainability. A significant example is represented by the Late Bronze Age site of Kamenska Čuka, showing impressive storage facilities and interpreted by its investigators as an exchange ‘emporium’ of goods on the strategic route connecting northern Greece and the Danube basin. About 30 large pithoi have been found there together with victuals (food provisions, including different types of grains) (Stefanovich and Bankoff 1998). There are, however, many questions and issues arising from the prehistoric agricultural background that need to be properly addressed. The evidence of agricultural tools/toolkits is abundant and, overall, satisfactorily documented, and has been carefully analysed. The interpretative limitations come into view when one tries to make a reconstruction of some subsistence activity of a settlement; here one encounters biases in much of the contextual data. There is not, in fact, any entirely excavated and published settlement that has been exhaustively analysed and had its materials fully presented except for the Durankulak cemetery. Landscape and environmental archaeology are virtually missing from our strategic scientific agenda about the Holocene, apart from some good examples of regional palynological/palaeobotanical investigations. A similar deficit of well-argued issues concerns the social dimensions of prehistoric life, activity, and practicality. It is obvious that the labour for harvesting and threshing, and all concomitant activity for food preparation, required a particular social/kinship

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organisation and surpassingly symbolic reutilisation. Our interpretative approach along this trajectory may stop here or go far ahead, but risks encountering the critical point when scientific interpretation meets speculative narrative. The direction of study is a personal choice.

Acknowledgements I should like to express my gratitude to the Heidelberg Academy for the challenging and inspiring conference. I also thank Clive Bonsall for his critical reading of the paper and suggesting improvements to the English.

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Gurova, M. (2007) Н. Н. Скакун. Орудия труда и хозяйство древнеземледельческих племен Юговосточной Европы в эпоху энеолита (по материалам культуры Варна). Санкт-Петербург, 2006, Нестор-История. Археология 1.4, 207–209 (book review in Russian). Gurova, M. (2008a) Праисторическите земеделски сечива – индикатори на неолитизационния процес (Prehistoric agricultural tools – indicators of the Neolithisation). In М. Гюрова (ed.) Праисторически открития в България: Новите предизвикателста, 39–55. София, НАИМБАН (in Bulgarian with English summary). Gurova, M. (2008b). Les assemblages en silex d’Ilipinar. IIe partie: Aspects fonctionnels. In J. Roodenberg and S. A. Roodenberg (eds.) Life and Death in a Prehistoric Settlement in Northwest Anatolia. The Ilipinar Excavations, Vol. 3, 269–314. Leiden, NINO. Gurova, M. (2008c) Towards an understanding of Early Neolithic populations: A flint perspective from Bulgaria. Documenta Praehistorica 35, 111–129. Gurova, M. (2010a) Chipped-stone assemblage from the prehistoric site at Harmanli. Studia Praehistorica 13, 169–195. Gurova, M. (2010b) Connotations fonctionnelles des grandes lames chalcolithiques: Exemple de la Bulgarie. Archaeologia bulgarica 14.2, 1–10. Gurova, M. (2011a) A Late Chalcolithic flint assemblage from the site of Kosharna, Russe District. In S. Mills and P. Mirea (eds.) The Lower Danube in Prehistory: Landscape Changes and Human-Environment Interactions, 179–196. Bucureşti, Editura Renaissance. Gurova, M. (2011b). Chalcolithic flint assemblages: Trajectory to the regional diversity/similarity. In Y. Boyadzhiev and S. Terziiska-Ignatova (eds.) The Golden Fifth Millennium. Thrace and its Neighbour Areas in the Chalcolithic. 275–284. Sofia, NIAM-BAS. Gurova, M. (2011c) Етнографски и археологически дикани: трансрегионална перспектива (Ethnographical and archaeological tribula: trans-regional perspective). Bulgarian e-Journal of Archaeology 1, 1–39 (in Bulgarian with English summary). http://www.be-ja.org (Accessed 15 March, 2016) Gurova, M. (2012) Establishing the identity of Bulgaria’s first farmers – a new perspective. Achaeologia bulgarica 2, 1–26. Gurova, M. (2013) Tribulum inserts in ethnographic and archaeological perspective: case studies from Bulgaria and Israel. Lithic Technology 38.3, 179–201. Gurova, M. (2014a) Cereal polish: Diagnosis, challenge or confusion. In J. Marreiros, N. Bicho, and J. Gibaja (eds.) International Conference on Use-Wear Analysis: Use-Wear 2012, 90–102. Newcastle, Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Gurova, M. (2014b) Prehistoric threshing sledges: A case study from Bulgaria. In А. van Gijn, J. C. Whittaker, and P. C. Anderson (eds.) Exploring and Explaining Diversity in Agricultural Technology. EARTH: 8,000 Years of Resilience and Innovation, Vol. 2, 157–160 (184–188). Oxford, Oxbow Books. Gurova, M. (2014c) Some examples of technological change in prehistoric Bulgaria. In А. van Gijn, J. C. Whittaker, and P. C. Anderson (eds.) Exploring and Explaining Diversity in Agricultural Technology. EARTH: 8,000 Years of Resilience and Innovation, Vol. 2, 342–351 (184–188). Oxford, Oxbow Books. Gurova, M. (2014d) Flint assemblage: Formal toolkit and functional connotation. In J. Roodenberg, K. Leshtakov, and V. Petrova, (eds.) Yabalkovo, Vol. 1, 381–390. Sofia, Ars et Technica Explicatus. Gurova, M. (2014e) Кремневый ансамбль эпохи ранней бронзы телля Юнаците: функциональный анализ. In P. Мунчаев (ed.) Древние культуры Юго-восточной Европы и Западной Азии. Сборник к 90-летию со дня рождения и памяти Н. Я. Мерперта, 212–226. Москва, ИА РАН (in Russian). Gurova, M. (2015) Кремневый инвентарь энеолитического телля в городе Kарнобат (Болгария) (Flint assemblage from the chalcolithic Tell of Karnobat, Bulgaria). In О. Лозовская, В. Лозовский, and E. Гиря (eds.) Следы в истории. К 75-летию Вячеслава Евгеньевича Щелинского, 205–216. Санкт Петербург, РАН-ИИМК (in Russian with English summary).

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Higham, T., Chapman, J., Slavchev, V., Gaydarska, B., Honch, N., Yordanov, Y and Dimitrova, B. (2007) New perspectives on the Varna cemetery (Bulgaria) – AMS dates and social implications. Antiquity 81, 640–654. Kutschera, W., Steier, P., Wild, E. and Hiller, S. (2005) Radiokarbondaten. In S. Hiller and V. Nikolov (eds.) Karanovo 4: Die Ausgrabungen im Nordsüd-Schnitt, 1993–1999, 421–426. Wien, Phoibos Verlag. Lichardus, J., Fol, A., Getov, L., Bertemes, F., Echt, R., Katincarov, R. and Iliev, I. (2001) Изследвания в микрорегиона на с. Драма (Югоизточна България). Обобщение на основните резултати на българо-германските разкопки от 1983 до 1999 г. София, Университетско издателство “Св. Климент Охридски” (in Bulgarian). Manolakakis, L. (2002) Функцията на големите пластини от Варненския некропол (The function of the big blades from Varna cemetery). Археология 3, 5–17 (in Bulgarian with English summary). Manolakakis, L. (2005) Les industries lithiques énéolithiques de Bulgarie. Internationale Arcaologie 88. Rahden, Verlag Marie Leidorf. Marinova, E. (2007) Archaeobotanical data from the Early Neolithic of Bulgaria. In S. Colledge and J. Conolly (eds.) The origins and spread of domestic plants in Southwest Asia and Europe, 93–109. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Marinova, E. and Popova, Tz. (2008) Cicer arietinum (chick pea) in the Neolithic and Chalcolithic of Bulgaria: Implications for cultural contacts with the neighbouring regions? Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 17 (Supplement 1), 73–80. Marinova, E. and Krauß, R. (2014) Archaeobotanical evidence on the Neolithisation of Northeast Bulgaria in the Balkan-Anatolian context: Chronological framework, plant economy and land use. Bulgarian e-Journal of Archaeology 4.2, 179–194. http://www.be-ja.org. (Accessed 11 April, 2016) Marinova, E. and Valamoti, S.-M. (2014) Crop diversity and choice in prehistoric southeastern Europe: Cultural and environmental factors shaping the archaeobotanical record of Northern Greece and Bulgaria. In A. Chevalier, E. Marinova and L. Peña-Chocarro (eds.) Plants and People. Choices and Diversity through Time. EARTH: 8,000 Years of Resilience and Innovation, Vol. 1, 64–74. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Nachev, Ch. (2009) Основните типове флинт в България като суровини за направа на артефакти (The main types of flint for artefact production in Bulgaria). Интердисциплинарни изследвания 20–21, 7–21 (in Bulgarian with English summary). Panayotov, I. (1995) The Bronze age in Bulgaria: Studies and problems. In D. W. Bailey and I. Panayotov (eds.) Prehistory of Bulgaria. Monographs in World Archaeology 22, 243–252. Madison, Wis., Prehistory Press. Popova, T. (1995) Plant remains from Bulgarian prehistory. In D. W. Bailey and I. Panayotov (eds.) Prehistory of Bulgaria. Monographs in World Archaeology 22, 193–207. Madison, Wis., Prehistory Press. Popova, T. (2009) Paleobotanic catalogue of the studied sites and studied remains (debris) in the territory of Bulgaria (1980–2008). Interdisciplinary Studies 20–21, 71–165. Popova, T. (2010) Plant Environment of Man between 6000 and 2000 BC in Bulgaria. BAR International Series 2064. Oxford, Archaeopress. Popova, T. and Marinova, E. (2007) Palaeoethnobotanical data in south-western region of Bulgaria. In H. Todorova, M. Stefanovich and G. Ivanov (eds.) The Struma/Strimon River Valley in Prehistory. In the Steps of James Harvey Gaul, Vol. 2, 517–526. Sofia, Gerda Henkel Stiftung. Ratamero, F., Schjellerup, I. and Davies, A. (2016) Agricultural and Pastoral Landscapes in Pre-Industrial Societies. EARTH: 8,000 Years of Resilience and Innovation, Vol. 3. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Rosen, S. (1997) Lithics After the Stone Age. A Handbook of Stone Tools from the Levant. Walnut Creek, London and New Delhi, Altamira Press. Sirakov, N. and Tsonev, T. (1995) Chipped-stone assemblage of Hotnitsa-Vodopada (Eneolithic/Early Bronze Age transition in northestern Bulgaria) and the problem of the earliest ‘Steppe Invasion’ in Balkans. Préhistoire européenne 7, 241–264.

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Skakun, N. (1993) Agricultural implements in the Neolithic and Eneolithic cultures of Bulgaria. In P. Anderson, S. Beyries, M. Otte and H. Plisson (eds.) Traces et fonctions: les gestes retrouvés. Etudes et Recherches Archéologiques de l’Université de Liège 50.2, 361–368. Liège, Université de Liège. Skakun, N. (1994) Agricultural implements and the problem of spreading of agriculture in Southeastern Europe. Helinium 34.2, 294–305. Skakun, N. (1999) Evolution of agricultural techniques in Eneolithic (Chalcolithic) Bulgaria: Data from use-wear analysis. In P. Anderson (ed.) Prehistory of Agriculture: New Experimental and Ethnographic Approaches, 199–210. Los Angeles, University of California. Skakun, N. (2006) Орудия труда и хозяйство древнеземледельческих племен Юго-восточной Европы в эпоху энеолита (по материалам культуры Варна). Санкт-Петербург, НесторИстория (in Russian). Stefanovich, M. and Bankoff, H. (1998) Kamenska Čuka 1993–1995. Preliminary report. In M. Stefanovich, H. Todorova and H. Hauptman (eds.) In the steps of James Harvey Gaul. James Harvey Gaul – in memoriam, 255–338. Sofia, The James Harvey Gaul Foundation. Todorova, H. (1986) Камено-медната епоха в България (пето хилядолетие преди новата ера) (Chalcolithic period in Bulgaria (V mill. BC)). София, Издателство наука и изкуство (in Bulgarian). Unger-Hamilton, R. (1999) Harvesting wild cereals and other plants: Experimental observations. In P. Anderson (ed.) Prehistory of Agriculture: New Experimental and Ethnographic Approaches, 146–152. Los Angeles, University of California. Van Gijn, A. L. (2010) Flint in Focus. Lithic Biographies in the Neolithic and Bronze Age. Leiden, Sidestone Press. Van Gijn, A. L. (2014) The ritualisation of agricultural tools during the Neolithic and the Early Bronze Age. In А. van Gijn, J. C. Whittaker and P. C. Anderson (eds.) Exploring and Explaining Diversity in Agricultural Technology. EARTH: 8,000 Years of Resilience and Innovation, Vol. 2, 311–318. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Van Gijn, A. L., Whittaker, J. C. and Anderson, P. C. (eds.) (2014) Exploring and Explaining Diversity in Agricultural Technology. EARTH: 8,000 Years of Resilience and Innovation, Vol. 2. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Zlateva-Uzunova (2002) Кремъчни ансамбли от ранната бронзова епоха в района на ‘Марицаизток,’ с.м. Мъдрец и с.м. Гълъбово (Flint assemblages of the EBA in Maritsa-Iztok – Tells Madrets and Galabovo). Годишник на Археологическия институт с музей 2, 120–128 (in Bulgarian with English summary). Zlateva-Uzunova (2005) Кремъчни ансамбли от ранната бронзова епоха в Горнотракийската низина (Flint assemblages of the EBA in the Upper Thracian plain). Годишник на Департамент Археология 6, 39–73 (in Bulgarian).

Chapter 12 Social dimensions of salt in the later prehistory of the eastern Balkans Vassil Nikolov

The Provadia-Solnitsata Archaeological Project was launched in 2005 and, after a couple of excavation seasons, it became clear that the site represents a Neolithic and Chalcolithic salt production centre, which, in the Middle and Late Chalcolithic, consisted of a fortified settlement, a salt production site, a pit sanctuary, and a large cemetery (Fig. 12.1). On the other hand, various academic publications and discussions focused on the Varna cemetery have advanced the opinion that, in the fifth millennium BC, the Varna lakes area accumulated a large number of prestige objects, which are evidence of a highly developed economy and a hierarchical social structure. However, one question has remained unanswered: Why did this happen here, of all places? As a possible solution to this problem, I have lately been arguing that salt production at Provadia-Solnitsata (Fig. 12.2) and the trade with this vital product was the reason for the advanced development of the area (Nikolov 2012). The ‘real’ economy of any Chalcolithic settlement in the eastern Balkans, including Provadia-Solnitsata, will have produced food supply (food as products deriving from agriculture, stock-breeding, hunting, and gathering), objects of utility (clothing, ceramic vessels, etc.), and means of production (tools, and other objects and facilities for the provision of living conditions and for the production of food). What distinguished the ‘real’ economy of Provadia-Solnitsata and the Varna lakes area from that of other parts of the eastern Balkans was, however, specialised salt production (Nikolov 2011; 2012, 14–28). Salt is vital for humans and domestic animals, which determined the necessity and importance of its production. Against the background of the agriculture and stock-breeding in the region, which apparently did not yield any substantial surplus, the existence of huge deposits of rock salt and the resulting brine springs were the foundation for a highly effective, specialised production that changed drastically the profile and the efficacy of the region’s ‘real’ economy. Household production of salt at

Figure 12.1: The prehistoric salt-production and urban center of Provadia-Solnitsata.

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Figure 12.2: Tell Provadia-Solnitsata (with a Thracian tumulus upon it). A view from the east during the excavations in 2008.

the Late Neolithic settlement of Provadia-Solnitsata evolved into an ‘industrial-scale’ production in the Middle and Late Chalcolithic and took place at an off-settlement site. The returns to be had in the trade of salt as a strategic resource in later prehistory became a solid economic foundation for the Provadia community, and salt became the trigger of advanced social and cultural processes in the region. In the first two or three centuries – i.e. the initial phase – of the local Late Neolithic (5500–5200 cal BC), salt was produced at Provadia by the evaporation of brine from the springs in specially made thin-walled ceramic bowls, which were placed in specially made massive dome ovens. This was the earliest use of such salt production technology in Europe, and Provadia-Solnitsata is, for the time being, the earliest salt production centre on the continent. The small capacity of the ovens as well as the disadvantages of a household-based production forced further technological progress for the evaporation of the brine. This occurred in the second phase of the local Late Neolithic (5200–4900 cal BC). The evaporation of brine was now conducted in cut features, with a new type of ceramic containers: thick-walled bowls with two everted ‘ears’ at the rim. These facilities lay outside of the tell settlement, close to the then

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bed of the Provadia river and to a brine spring that does not exist anymore but was still active in the 20th century. The production of salt at Provadia-Solnitsata continued into the Middle (4700–4600 cal BC) and Late (4600–4250 cal BC) Chalcolithic when a large dry-salt production site evolved right next to the settlement. Much larger brine evaporation facilities were invented – deep and wide pits – that held a new type of ceramic containers: very deep, thick-walled open vessels with a considerably higher volume than the ones in the Late Neolithic. In the Chalcolithic, the salt producers at Provadia developed a perfect technology for a much faster and large-scale production that can rightly be labelled as ‘industrial’. For the present, no other Neolithic/Chalcolithic salt production centre has been identified in southeast Europe that employed such highly efficient technologies of salt production, whose basic principles are still in use nowadays. The Late Neolithic salt producers of Provadia-Solnitsata most probably satisfied their own need for the vital substance through direct consumption of unprocessed brine, whereas the dry product was obviously ‘exported’ across the Balkan Range to the south. In the Middle and Late Chalcolithic, salt production reached an ‘industrial’ scale for the first time, and the already significant surplus product could have been realised only through a widespread, long-distance trade. The organisation of trade operations and the redistribution of the respective surplus value suggest the existence of a special group of people with a higher social status within the otherwise still egalitarian society that took over these functions and, thus, not only maintained its power but also expanded it (Nikolov 2010). For the time being, evidence for the yields of the long-distance trade can be found mostly at the Late Chalcolithic Varna cemetery. More or less distant points of origin can be suggested for the majority of the artefacts or raw materials found there. The thousands of copper and gold objects were made locally from imported raw materials. But the biggest question in the consideration of all kinds of trade relations is what goods were exchanged for these imports, what was the reciprocal value of the large amounts of ‘expensive’ raw materials and artefacts that were imported to the Varna lakes area? Due to the lack of direct evidence, researchers have evaded this question for a long time and it has been adequately answered only recently. Salt was the only resource that was vital for both humans and animals, and was available in the Provadia river area – but was missing in Thrace and the neighbouring regions – to be produced in large amounts. Thus, the salt of Provadia-Solnitsata was not only the reason for and the object of active and widespread exchange but undoubtedly also played the role of an exchange equivalent in later prehistory, i.e., it played the role of the first currency (Runge 1995). Specialised salt production, whose surplus was realised through long-distance trade, proved to be the foundation of a ‘prestigious’ economy in the region. The ‘prestigious’ economy included activities and production of objects that served as higher social status markers, represented social hierarchies, and, finally, contributed to further social stratification. This economy didn’t yield material goods but stimulated

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and used the innovative abilities of some community members, developed technological skills and encouraged invention, and created new patterns of behaviour. Markers of personified prestige in society first appeared in the Neolithic, and were usually exotic objects. Due to the complicated processes of raw material extraction and the production of copper and golden artefacts, as well as in achieving their specific colours and lustre, in the Chalcolithic, these objects became generally acknowledged markers of high prestige (Renfrew 1986, 143–156; Masson 1989, 27–28, 56; Avilova 2008, 11–13). There are no gold or copper deposits in the Varna lakes area, nor, in fact, in the whole region between the river Danube and the Balkan Range. But it was right here, along the lower Provadia River, that the Chalcolithic metallurgical centre was established, even though copper ore had to be transported from a long distance away, its point of origin being in the northern parts of Strandzha and Aibunar near Stara Zagora (Dimitrov 2007). The import probably occurred only through exchange for salt from Provadia-Solnitsata. The over 3000 golden objects from the Varna cemetery as well as a number of other Chalcolithic gold finds from the area came from this metallurgical centre. The production of gold and copper objects around the Varna lakes was the second specialised production in the Provadia River area. Salt production at ProvadiaSolnitsata was part of the ‘real’ economy and through its surplus product became the reason for accelerated social stratification processes in the region, whereas the production of metal objects at the Varna metallurgical centre lay at the base of the ‘prestige’ economy, produced markers of prestige, and, thus, encouraged further stratification of the egalitarian society in the lower Provadia River area. No other region in southeast Europe concentrated both of these most important – and causally related – specialised productions of the Chalcolithic. Some authors have reasonably argued that it was here, at the western Black Sea coast, that the European Copper Age began – a new socio-economic period, which directly preceded the evolution of statehood (Lichardus 1991a; 1991b; Govedarica 2009). The economic and social structure of the Middle and Late Chalcolithic in the Provadia River area is evidence of the specific development of this region against the background of the eastern Balkans. For this reason, it is not surprising that the latter – the settlement and production site of Provadia-Solnitsata – differs from all other contemporaneous settlements within this vast area. This is undoubtedly a reason to define Provadia-Solnitsata as a socio-economic unit whose appearance has usually been attributed to later times. I believe that, as a result of the specialised production of salt and the successful long-distance trade with this product, which is vital for both humans and animals, in the second half of the fifth millennium BC, the settlement of Provadia-Solnitsata became a prehistoric urban centre.

Acknowledgements The author thanks Valeska Becker for translating the paper into English and Krum Bacvarov for correcting the final draft.

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References Avilova, L. I. (2008) Metal Blizhnego Vostoka: modeli proizvodstva v eneolite, rannem i srednem bronzovom veke. Moskva, Pamyatniki istoricheskoy myisli. Dimitrov, K. (2007) Mednata metalurgiya po zapadniya bryag na Cherno more (sredata na V – nachaloto na IV hil. pr. Hr.). Avtoreferat na disertatsiya. Sofia, Sofiyski universitet “Sv. Kliment Ohridski.” Govedarica, B. (2009) Zentrum und Peripherie im 5. Jahrtausend v. Chr.: Zur Entstehung und Ausbreitung der europäischen Kupferzeit. In J. Apakidze, B. Govedarica and B. Hänsel (eds.) Der Schwarzmeerraum vom Äneolithikum bis in die Früheisenzeit [5000–500 v. Chr.]. Kommunikationsebenen zwischen Kaukasus und Karpaten. Internationale Fachtagung von Humboldtianern für Humboldtianer im Humboldt-Kolleg in Tiflis/Georgien [17.-20. Mai 2007], 60–73. Rahden, Marie Leidorf. Lichardus, J. (1991a) Die Kupferzeit als historische Epoche. Ein forschungsgeschichtlicher Überblick. In J. Lichardus (ed.) Die Kupferzeit als historische Epoche. Symposium Saarbrücken und Otzenhausen 6.-13.11.1988. Saarbrücker Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 55, 13–34. Bonn, Habelt. Lichardus, J. (1991b) Kupferzeit als historische Epoche. Versuch einer Deutung. In J. Lichardus (ed.) Die Kupferzeit als historische Epoche. Symposium Saarbrücken und Otzenhausen 6.-13.11.1988. Saarbrücker Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 55, 763–800. Bonn, Habelt. Masson, V. M. (1989) Pervyie tsivilizatsii. Leningrad, Nauka. Nikolov, V. (2010) Salt and gold: Provadia-Solnitsata and the Varna Chalcolithic cemetery. Archäologisches Korrespondenzblatt 40.4, 487–501. Nikolov, V. (2011) Provadia-Solnitsata (NE Bulgaria): A salt-producing center of the 6th and 5th millennia BC. In M. Alexianu, O. Weller and R.-G. Curcă (eds.) Archaeology and Anthropology of Salt: A Diachronic Approach. Proceedings of the International Colloquium, 1–5 October 2008 Al. I. Cuza University (Iaşi, Romania). BAR International Series 2198, 59–64. Oxford, Archaeopress. Nikolov, V. (2012) Salt, early complex society, urbanization: Provadia-Solnitsata (5500–4200 BC). In V. Nikolov and K. Bacvarov (eds.) Salt and Gold: The Role of Salt in Prehistoric Europe. Proceedings of the International Symposium (Humboldt-Kolleg) in Provadia, Bulgaria, 30 September – 4 October 2010, 11–65. Provadia and Veliko Tarnovo, Faber. Renfrew, C. (1986) Varna and the emergence of wealth in prehistoric Europe. In A. Appadurai (ed.) The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, 141–168. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Runge, H.-J. (1995) Frühes Zahlungsmittel Salz. Kreditwesen 48, 609–615.

Chapter 13 Salt in European prehistory: Social and economic considerations Anthony Harding

Introduction In a conference volume about food and its social dimensions, a paper about salt has to focus on the bodily ingestion of salt by humans, a rather minor element of the uses of salt, at least as seen from today’s perspective. In the UK, which is probably typical for European countries in this respect, about 30 % of the salt produced is used as rock salt, mainly on roads in winter, and the rest as brine salt in a variety of industrial processes. Only a tiny amount is used for edible consumption, and even that is usually iodised (comparable figures apply to other salt-producing countries). So, salt production in a general sense is rather far from the subject of the Heidelberg meeting. At the same time, there can be little doubt that, in ancient times, salt for use with food represented a bigger proportion of the total consumption than it does today. Even so, it is likely that the most significant use for salt was not as a direct additive to food but as a means of preserving foodstuffs, just as it is in some peasant societies today. In this paper, I will discuss a number of aspects: the use of salt in food, a brief account of recent advances in our understanding of production techniques in antiquity, and finally a discussion of the social and economic importance of salt in ancient times. This will draw partly on recently expressed ideas about the scale of production and the implications for distribution, and partly on assumed connections with other aspects of the economy.

Salt in food It is a commonplace that salt adds ‘savour’ to food and that most people like to have their food salted in some degree; this applies especially to meat, but also to eggs, cheese, vegetables, and other foodstuffs. Today, of course, it is hard to get away from

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salted food, especially pre-prepared food, which is full of the stuff (and is thought to play a large part in the current epidemic of health issues that are said to be saltrelated, such as elevated blood pressure). Many of us find unsalted food bland, but, of course, that is mainly a factor of our cultural conditioning – what we have come to expect. It is perfectly possible to decondition yourself so that you do not need so much. Most of us eat more than the recommended maximum of 6 g a day, while the minimum considered necessary for health is 1.5 g a day (opinions differ over what this figure really is). Whether – as is sometimes stated – you will wither away and even die if you ingest no salt at all over an extended period is far from clear; obviously, we need some experimental data for this – if we can find some volunteers. If you added salt to food in ancient times, in what form would that be? If simply as mined rock salt, it would need to be a) very pure and b) finely ground. While the latter is possible, if not easy to achieve using prehistoric technology; the former is harder, depending on the rock matrix in which the salt is found. A preferable alternative would be salt in crystalline form, derived from the evaporation of brine – whether natural brine from springs, or brine formed by dissolving rock salt in water (as happened at Hallstatt in historical times). It seems to me unlikely that rock salt would have been extracted from the ground and used directly without a lot of processing. There are a very few instances of pieces of rock salt turning up in archaeological situations. The find of 500 g of salt from the Ourania cave near Zakros on Crete is one instance (Kopaka and Chaniotakis 2003); a recent find in a Late Bronze Age context at Lébeny in northwest Hungary is another (Németh 2011; 2013). The only other instance I have come across is from a possible Lausitz culture context in southern Poland (Reyman 1934). It is not surprising that more has not been found, since salt – even rock salt – is highly soluble. The context of the Cretan find was interpreted as special, in other words ‘ritual’; this is perhaps believable, given the likely importance of salt in antiquity and the fact that in this instance the pieces of salt were probably placed in pots in the cave. Ancient people probably ingested more salt indirectly, through its use as a preservative for foodstuffs. Here we are justified in making use of ethnography, since this is a practice one can see frequently at the present day. Romanian colleagues, as well as Olivier Weller, have chronicled these usages in great detail (e.g. Alexianu and Weller 2007; Alexianu et al. 2008; Roman et al. 2014). There are many parts of the salt-bearing territories in Romania (notably Moldavia and Transylvania) where one can see these practices on a daily basis. The frequent occurrence of brine wells, capped by characteristic well heads and huts, are eloquent testimony to the importance of brine, and when you visit them you do not need to wait very long before someone comes along to draw brine into containers to take home. Andrea Chiricescu (2013a; 2013b) and others have described how access to the well is controlled, how the brine is used in the house, and what kitchen equipment complements the outdoor containers in the practice of carrying out the preservation process. I pass over other uses of brine in peasant communities, notably medical and industrial, as they are not relevant to our theme here.

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All this means that we can make guesses about the importance of salt in the ancient diet, without having much in the way of direct evidence for it. For that we have to turn to the abundant evidence for production. And, of course, if salt was being produced, it was being used – and part of that use was for human consumption.

Production It is not necessary to stress how archaeology has long known about at least two methods of salt production in ancient times: mining, above all at Hallstatt, and the evaporation of brine, typically – though not always – through the use of briquetage (general discussion in Harding 2013). The brine in question could come from sea water or from salt springs. These two techniques are well known, though until relatively recently they were more or less restricted to Iron Age and later situations. For mining, ongoing work at Hallstatt has demonstrated both the enormous scale and sophistication of the extraction there, as well as its longer time frame, with several sectors spanning the Bronze Age as well as the Iron Age (Kern et al. 2009). Likewise, continuing work in Lorraine around Marsal and Moyenvic has shown the enormous quantities of debris from a massive production that was based on large furnaces and huge amounts of briquetage at several locations (Olivier 2005; 2010). Estimating the volumes of salt produced is hard, but one can be confident that the production was industrial in scale. From what I said above, it is obvious that not all this salt would have been simply for direct ingestion by adding to food, but rather for the ancillary processes that ancient societies utilised. As well as the briquetage technique for brine evaporation, one should add the use of salt pans and lagoons, as found so commonly around Mediterranean shores, or in salt lakes like the great Tuz Gölü in Anatolia. To these well-known methods can now be added a third, recently uncovered in eastern Europe, though some of the evidence for it was already known about, if not understood. I refer to what my colleague Valeriu Kavruk and I have called the trough technique (Harding and Kavruk 2013, 194 ff.). The results of our fieldwork in Romania up to 2012, notably at the site of Băile Figa in northern Transylvania, were published in 2013, but work has continued at Băile Figa since then, albeit on a relatively small scale; this has added significantly to knowledge – and possibly understanding (Cavruc et al. 2014). The trough technique refers to the use of a wooden trough – of varying length but typically 2–3 m long – formed from a hollowed-out tree trunk (in some ways like a log coffin or log canoe), with a series of perforations in the base. The first trough found at Băile Figa was removed from the salt stream at that location by the local museum geologist (Chintăuan 2005). These holes were plugged by wooden pegs, themselves perforated – and in the best preserved instance the perforations filled with twisted cord or wooden needle-like splinters. Eight radiocarbon dates on troughs from four different sites in Transylvania and Transcarpathian Ukraine all fall in the Bronze Age; we do not know how long they continued in use, or whether they were still being made in later centuries. How these troughs functioned is uncertain, but

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the most likely solution is that proposed in the 1870s by the mining engineer Eduard Preisig (1877), to whom we owe the first account of the discovery of a trough of this sort – long before, in 1817. He proposed that the trough would be filled with fresh water, which would then be allowed to drip slowly onto the surface of the rock salt, forming depressions; by driving wedges into these depressions chunks of rock could be broken off. The rock is indeed very hard, and breaking pieces off just by hitting it with a hammer is not very effective; even modern tools have difficulty. My Romanian colleagues conducted an experimental reconstruction of this technique, and, on the whole, it worked (Buzea 2010; 2013). But that is not all: where there is good evidence, it is clear that the troughs worked in pairs or multiples, as recent excavations have shown beyond doubt (Cavruc et al. 2014, 172, Fig. 1). This throws some doubt onto the traditional explanation, and may suggest that the troughs worked in series, not in parallel, perhaps progressively concentrating brine until it could form crystals that could easily be picked off the apparatus. Whatever the truth of the manufacturing technique, we have argued that the whole process indicates a production scale that can only be called industrial. The volumes produced would have been far in excess of the needs of local communities; in other words, much or most of the salt would have been intended for movement to areas outside the production zone. This has potentially profound implications for society and economy in the Bronze Age, and probably for later periods as well.

Social and economic implications Discussion of production techniques such as these leads us to consider a range of other matters, which can best be presented as a series of questions. Some of them are these: • • • •

•

Who, if anyone, controlled access to the sources? What was the scale of production? Was it large-scale, what one might call industrial, with many people involved, or simply designed to satisfy local needs, involving just a few people from the local community, perhaps on a seasonal basis? If industrial, it must have been intended for distribution to other communities; which communities, how far away, and in what form was the salt transported? Did ‘wealth’ in salt (i.e. free access to and control of sources) lead to wealth in other things? For instance, did those who lived in salt-rich zones use their production to obtain other types of material or goods? For instance, Romanian scholars have long argued that the large bronze hoards of Transylvania are situated where they are because they are close to salt sources; the occupants of the Hallstatt graves are usually supposed to have acquired rich grave-goods as a result of their control of the salt. In investigating these matters, a range of possible aspects need to be taken into consideration. In the case of Transylvania, two issues are immediately apparent. First, metal sources are abundant as well as salt sources. This has obvious

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implications for wealth in bronze, since the copper, at least, was readily available locally. Secondly, nothing is known about the relationship between the major salt sources and the settlement pattern around them – an aspect which might shed light on population density and available manpower for production. If one cannot, at present, make much progress in answering these questions, we can at least look at the way salt and its importance was presented by the ancient authors. For salt in ancient society, we know some things and can reconstruct others. The longest and best-known passage in all the ancient authors, in Pliny’s Natural History Book 31, 73–92, gives us a nice idea of the importance of salt in 1st century AD Rome: To season meats and foods the most useful one melts easily and is rather moist, for it is less bitter, such as that of Attica and Euboea. For preserving meat the more suitable salt is sharp and dry, like that of Megara. A conserve too is made with fragrant additions, which is used as a relish, creating and sharpening an appetite for every kind of food, so that in innumerable seasonings it is the taste of salt that predominates, and it is looked for when we eat garum […] Therefore, by Hercules, a civilized life is impossible without salt, and so necessary is this basic substance that its name is applied metaphorically even to intense mental pleasures. We call them sales (wit); all the humour of life, its supreme joyousness, and relaxation after toil, are expressed by this word more than by any other (Loeb, translation A. D. Godley 1921)

While this relates to the 1st century AD, it is perfectly reasonable – especially when we consider allusions to aspects of salt in early Roman history by Livy – to suppose that salt was already an important part of the economy in the 6th century BC, just as it had been in ancient Mesopotamia, as we know from written records there (Potts 1984). One should note, too, that Pliny refers not just to salt as seasoning, but to its medicinal and conservative properties as well. But he lays the most stress on its impact on the human mind and body – in other words, it was a commodity unlike any other, and one which Romans had to have. When we go back in time, for instance to Iron Age Hallstatt, we come to the welltried hypothesis that it was control of the salt trade that led to the great flourishing of material culture at that site. In other words, in the traditional story, the community at Hallstatt produced the salt, and by controlling its distribution were able to acquire ‘wealth’, which was shown in people’s grave-goods. Is this true, or likely? Up to a point, to use a well-known phrase from Evelyn Waugh’s Scoop. That is to say, many communities in the Early Iron Age had access to wealth; by no means all sat on salt deposits. And how did that control feed into social differentiation, anyway – especially when the cemetery of those involved is 400 m up a mountain? Recent work has shown that those doing the mining were not just adult men, perhaps of lower status than those buried with wealthy grave goods in the cemetery; these buried individuals had muscle attachments and other physical features indicating heavy labour, affecting women and children as well as men (Pany and

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Teschler-Nicola 2007). So, the mining was apparently an activity involving everyone in the community. It was recently shown that the same thing occurred at the variscite mine at Gavà near Barcelona (Borrella et al. 2015). While, so far, only two skeletons have been analysed there, it is striking that the female had the same strong muscle attachments as the male. There was, thus, no gender differentiation in these activities. Besides, how different was Hallstatt from other sites of the Early Iron Age in terms of wealth? It is by no means the only cemetery furnished with weapons and ornaments; and it is a long way from being the most spectacular. Other sites of the Early Iron Age, most notably extremely rich ones like Hochdorf, as well as more modest but still well-furnished cemeteries, show us that access to wealth was a complex matter, by no means always connected with the control of salt. In a similar manner, I have long wondered whether the oft-repeated statement by Romanian scholars – that the huge bronze hoards of Transylvania are directly connected with that province’s richness in salt sources – is not an oversimplification of a complex matter. An analysis has shown that, while in northern Romania there is no apparent association between hoards and salt, when we look at the wider picture, the very large hoards do indeed mostly occur closer to salt than do ‘normal’ hoards, whatever ‘normal’ means in that context (Harding 2013, 97 ff.); the problem is that salt is so abundant in Transylvania that almost any hoard, large or small, is likely to lie close to a salt source. Our work has drawn a blank as far as pinning down a relationship between supply areas and consumer areas in eastern Europe is concerned, both because salt is too soluble to survive and because different sources cannot be distinguished analytically – nor, according to chemists and geologists I have consulted, is this ever likely to be possible. On the other hand, examples from the Early Iron Age do provide some evidence: salt transported inside its briquetage, for instance the ‘half tubes’ of the 7th to 5th centuries BC made from North Sea clay (according to saltwater diatoms contained in it) which were transported some 300 km up the Rhine (Simons 1986), or the very coarse pottery of Nantwich and Droitwich types which spread over some 150 km in the La Tène period (Morris 1985). The find of rock salt from Lebény shows us that salt did travel; in this case, given its location, it is more likely to be Alpine than Carpathian in origin, but who knows what excavations in eastern Hungary might not one day turn up? In this connection, the distribution of sources, showing that there are salt-rich and salt-poor areas, comes into play (e.g. discussion and map in Medeleţ 1995). Present-day Hungary has no salt at all. The Great Plain, with its rich tell sites, must have been supplied from outside, most likely from Transylvania. Lastly, some remarks about salt in historical and ethnographic situations. Bloch, writing in 1963, drew attention to some of the factors involved (Bloch 1963). Tacitus (Annals XIII, 57) tells us how, in AD 55, the Chatti and Hermunduri fought battles over control of a river, perhaps the Werra near Bad Salzungen in southern Thuringia, which was rich in salt. Livy (History XXIX, xxxvii, 3–4) tells us about aspects of the control of salt in the early Roman Republic. Salt was intimately involved in the slave trade

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in Africa in historical times; the salt tax, or gabelle, was one of the hated impositions that, in part, led to the French Revolution; the climax of Mahatma Gandhi’s crusade for emancipation was his role in leading the Salt March in 1930, in protest at the British State’s monopoly on collecting and selling salt. Inevitably, too, given the historical importance of salt, a whole industry arose about collecting, storing, and distributing it, along with the need to protect its installations. One can still see the salt storage warehouses in many places, for example, in Venice or Lübeck. Trading salt had enormous economic and social implications in historic, and no doubt in prehistoric, times. The use of salt for tanning, with implications for military activities, has been discussed by Janine Fries-Knoblach (2010, 281–283). This is most striking at some ancient Near Eastern and Greek sanctuaries, where the hides of countless sacrificial animals formed part of the priests’ share and were salted and tanned at their bidding (Bloch 1970, 22–23). Another fascinating facet, recently pointed out, is the importance of salt for transhumant alpine cheese production as a storable and transportable form of milk and, thus, calories (Reitmaier 2016, 28), which might have helped feed communities specialised in secondary production (e.g. mining), warriors on military campaigns, or tradesmen on long-distance travels. An interesting feature of one part of the Late Bronze Age world was the appearance of briquetage in graves; this is mainly found in eastern Germany. One may speculate that this indicated the grave of a salt-worker; or, as has also been suggested by Albrecht Jockenhövel (2012), it might possibly suggest a connection with funeral feasts, especially as, at more than one site, animal bones have been found along with the sherds of briquetage. Quite how this would work is far from clear, but the suggestion remains an interesting one. His thesis proposes that there were also status factors at work in whether or not a grave might contain briquetage.

Conclusion Salt, as a commodity of great importance in ancient times, has the potential to tell us much about the ancient economy and society, in a variety of contexts. But a few things stand out: • • •

The scale of production on these and other sites in ancient times needs to be specified before we can draw firm conclusions; a start has been made, but much more needs to be done. The wooden installations were labour-intensive to set up, and lasted a long time – possibly centuries –, which indicates the economic importance of production at the sites where they were used. The production using troughs – from the Austrian mines, or from eastern France – using briquetage, was on an industrial scale. The salt produced was moved to other areas, perhaps over long distances.

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By contrast, Bronze Age production using briquetage and solar evaporation would have produced rather small quantities, perhaps just for household purposes. Salt was used to flavour food – of course – but its major use was probably the conservation of perishable food. Its role as a motor in social change depends on a number of assumptions about access to wealth in other goods and materials. While this is likely, it remains to be proven definitively.

Acknowledgements I express grateful thanks to an anonymous referee who suggested several useful additions to the original article, incorporated here more or less verbatim.

References Alexianu, M. and Weller, O. (2007) Recherches ethnoarchéologiques sur le sel: les enquêtes de 2004 et les premiers résultats obtenus dans la zone de Poiana Slatinei à Lunca (dép. Neamţ, Roumanie). In D. Monah, G. Dumitroaia, O. Weller and J. Chapman (eds.) L’exploitation du sel à travers le temps, 299–318. Piatra Neamţ, Editura Constantin Matasă. Alexianu, M., Weller, O. and Brigand, R. (2008) Usages et enjeux actuels autour des sources salées de Moldavie précarpatique, Roumanie. In O. Weller, A. Dufraisse and P. Pétrequin (eds.) Sel, eau et forêt. D’hier à aujourd’hui. Les cahiers de la MSHE Ledoux 12, 49–72. Besançon, Presses universitaires de Franche-Comté. Bloch, M. R. (1963) The social influence of salt. Scientific American 209, 89–98. Bloch, M. (1970) Zur Entwicklung der vom Salz abhängigen Technologien. Saeculum 21, 1–33. Borrella, F., Boscha, J. and Majó, T. (2015) Life and death in the Neolithic variscite mines at Gavà (Barcelona, Spain). Antiquity 89, 72–90. Buzea, D. (2010) Experimentul ‚Troaca’. Angustia 14, 245–256. Buzea, D. (2013) The exploitation of rock salt using wooden troughs. Experiments conducted at Băile Figa in 2008–2010. In A. Harding and V. Kavruk (eds.) Explorations in Salt Archaeology in the Carpathian Zone, 185–192. Budapest, Archaeolingua. Cavruc, V., Buzea, D., Kovács, A. and Zăgreanu, R. (2014) Cercetări arheologice efectuate la Băile Figa în anii 2013–2014. Secţiunea XV. Raport preliminar (Archaeological researches in the Băile Figa site in 2013–2014. Preliminary Report). Angustia 17–18, 151–180. Chintăuan, I. (2005) Pan used for salt extraction from brines. Studii şi Cercetări, Geologie-Geografie 10, 75–78. Chiricescu, A. (2013a) Civilizaţia tradiţională a sării în estul Transilvaniei: raport de cercetare. Sfîntu Gheorghe, Editura Angustia. Chiricescu, A. (2013b) Traditional salt exploitation in Transylvania. In A. Harding and V. Kavruk (eds.) Explorations in Salt Archaeology in the Carpathian Zone, 35–40. Budapest, Archaeolingua. Fries-Knoblach, J. (2010) The impact of salt production on Iron Age Central Europe. In S. Li and L. von Falkenhausen (eds.) Salt Archaeology in China 2. Global Comparative Perspectives. Papers presented at the Workshop ‘The Ancient Salt Industry of the Sichuan Basin in Comparative Perspective’ in Tübingen, June 28–30, 2006, 260–283. Beijing, (n.p). Harding, A. (2013) Salt in Prehistoric Europe. Leiden, Sidestone Press. Harding, A. and Kavruk, V. (2013) Explorations in Salt Archaeology in the Carpathian Zone. Budapest, Archaeolingua.

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Jockenhövel, A. (2012) Bronzezeitliche Sole in Mitteldeutschland: Gewinnung – Distribution – Symbolik. In V. Nikolov and K. Bacvarov (eds.) Salt and Gold: The Role of Salt in Prehistoric Europe, 239–257. Provadia and Veliko Tarnovo, Verlag Faber. Kern, A., Kowarik, K., Rausch, A. W. and Reschreiter, H. (eds.) (2009) Kingdom of Salt. 7000 years of Hallstatt. Veröffentlichungen der Prähistorischen Abteilung 3. Vienna, Naturhistorisches Museum. Kopaka, K. and Chaniotakis, N. (2003) Just taste additive? Bronze Age salt from Zakros, Crete. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 22.1, 53–66. Medeleţ, F. (1995) Über das Salz in Dakien. Archäologie Österreichs 6.2, 53–57. Morris, E. (1985) Prehistoric salt distributions. Two case studies from western Britain. Bulletin of the Board of Celtic Studies 32, 336–379. Németh, T. G. (2011) Adalék a késő bronzkori sóforgalomhoz. Arrabona 49.1, 251–262. Németh, T. G. (2013) Angaben zum spätbronzezeitlichen Salzverkehr. In B. Rezi, R. E. Németh and S. Berecki (eds.) Bronze Age Crafts and Craftsmen in the Carpathian Basin. Proceedings of the International Colloquium from Târgu Mureş 5–7 October 2012, 57–63. Târgu Mureș, Editura MEGA. Olivier, L. (2005) Le «Briquetage de la Seille» (Moselle): bilan d’un programme de cinq années de recherches archéologiques (2001–2005). Antiquités nationales 37, 219–230. Olivier, L. (2010) Nouvelles recherches sur le site de sauniers du premier Age du Fer de Marsal «La Digue» (Moselle). Antiquités nationales 41, 127–160. Pany, D. and Teschler-Nicola, M. (2007) Working in a salt mine: Everyday life for the Hallstatt females? Lunula 15, 89–97. Potts, D. (1984) On salt and salt gathering in ancient Mesopotamia. Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 27.3, 225–271. Preisig, E. (1877) Geschichte des Máramaroser Bergbaues. Oesterreichische Zeitschrift für Berg- und Hüttenwesen 25/28–30, 301–303, 311–313, 321–323, Tafel 12. Reitmaier, T. (2016) Plurimum lactis Alpinis – Urgeschichtliche Milchwirtschaft in den Alpen. AS Archäologie Schweiz 39.3, 24–29. Reyman, T. S. (1934) Badania terenowe na polu “Karasiniec” w Pobiedniku Wielkim pow. Miechów. Materiały prehistoryczne 1, 29–58. Roman, C. C., Tincu, S. and Bucur, E. (2014) Consideraţii etnoarheologice privind exploatarea surselor saline din Ţara Făgăraşului (II) (Ethno-archaeological considerations upon the exploitation of salt sources in Ţara Făgăraşului (II)). Angustia 17–18, 191–198. Simons, A. (1986) Das Rätsel der Halbröhren aus Ton. Salzhandel von der Nordsee bis ins Rheinland. Reisen um 600 v. Chr. Revier und Werk 36.196, 32–33.

Chapter 14 Plant-based food at Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age Drama, southeast Bulgaria: Continuity and innovations Ralf Gleser and Elena Marinova

Introduction Food represents a basic human need and is also an inseparable element of the cultural and technological innovation of human societies throughout prehistory. While numerous studies have focused on the earliest stages of agricultural food production during the Neolithic period in general, much less is known about the subsequent periods. This is particularly true for the region of the Eastern Balkans, an area involved in diverse cultural interactions with the Aegean and the Black Sea region, as well as with Anatolia. Recently obtained archaeobotanical evidence provides the possibility of exploring the plant-based food produced and consumed during the Early/Middle Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age III periods in the microregion of Drama. Although systematic sampling has been conducted at the site, until today, only a short study regarding the botanical remains at Drama has been published (Küster 1989). However, it describes a find of charred cornel cherries (Cornus mas) from a house belonging to the so-called Marica-Karanovo V period and is very relevant for the current paper, as it shows that these fruits had been dried and stored for human consumption. In order to explore the plant-based food of the site, the current study will present the available evidence on prehistoric agricultural production and the associated evidence for its processing and consumption from Drama-‘Merdžumekja’ in a diachronic view. Moreover, the paper aims at discussing possible changes and continuities visible in the archaeobotanical record from Early/Middle Chalcolithic (Karanovo V) and Early Bronze Age III structures, as well as seeking to place this evidence in the broader context of southeast Europe and Anatolia.

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Study area: Environmental conditions As already often described, the settlement area of Drama features a section of five to six kilometres along the lower course of the Kalnica River, which flows eastward into the Tundzha River (Lichardus et al. 2000, 11: Fig. 2; Echt et al. 2011, 22: Fig. 1). The biogeographic setting of this river section may count as very favourable. The climate can be characterised as sub-Mediterranean with a distinct dry period in the summer. The average annual temperature is 12–13.5 °C. The average annual precipitation ranges from 600 to 850 mm. We find here low-growing, two- to threelayered forests dominated by oriental hornbeam (Carpinus orientalis) and downy oak (Quercus pubescens) with the frequent appearance of Mediterranean, Pontic, and other eastern floral elements (Bohn et al. 2003). During Neolithic and Chalcolithic times, the bottom of the river valley likely featured open park-like areas interchanging with wetlands, whereas the slopes, as they still are today, were more densely forested. All in all, the settlement area was rich in natural resources and offered opportunities for agriculture, animal husbandry, gathering, fishing, and hunting all at the same time.

Short excavation history and periodisation of the remains Excavations in the Drama micro-region began in 1983 as a joint Bulgarian-German research project. The excavations were pursued without interruption until 2002 (Lichardus et al. 2000; Lichardus et al. 2003; Echt 2008). At first, work concentrated on the settlement hill ‘Merdžumekja’. Here, in an area of about 13,000 sq. m, several villages built on top of each other and protected by a circular ditch system were unearthed (Fig. 14.1). All in all, the remains of more than 60 houses from the Early/ Middle Chalcolithic (Karanovo V; cf. Fecht 2004; 2016), at least 25 houses from the Late Chalcolithic (Early Karanovo VI), and a small circular ditch with a big building in front of its entrance from the Early Bronze Age III period with a supposed ritual function were excavated and documented. Since 1998, excavations have continued at the southeast slope of the settlement hill (Gleser and Thomas 2012). Here, important insights into the so-called transition period of the fourth millennium were gained and it was ascertained that the settlement hill’s summit had been subject to intensive erosion during which the topmost Chalcolithic settlement layers were lost completely (Gleser and Thomas 2012, 325–331). Furthermore, already at the end of the 1980s, excavations began at the Middle/Late Neolithic site Drama-‘Gerena’ (Karanovo III/IV; cf. Lichardus et al. 2000, 97–113; Vollmann 2004). Between 1991 and 2002, research was carried out, as well, on the plateau of the hill Drama-‘Kajrjaka’. At this location, two Bronze Age burials, parts of an Iron Age cult site, and 56 graves of a Roman period cemetery were excavated in a limited area (Lichardus et al. 2000, 115–166; Echt 2002). Radiocarbon dates reveal that the settlement activity on ‘Merdžumekja’ began around the 48th century cal BC (Gleser 2011). It continued without interruption until the 44th century cal BC, at least. In the course of about 450 years, certainly more than

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Figure 14.1: Plan of the site Merdžumekja. The settlements with fortification ditch of the Chalcolithic on the top and settlement features of the earliest Bronze Age at the southeast slope are highlighted (Drawing: Renate Roling, Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster).

90 houses were built successively in probably eight construction phases. At least ten houses would have been standing at the same time, respectively. Probably around 15 generations lived in the village, one after the other. According to the number of contemporaneous houses, we can calculate a population of 60 to 80 inhabitants living at the same time (Gleser and Thomas 2012, 290–291). All in all, the houses were equipped homogeneously; specialisation has not been perceptible. The ‘famous’ house 244, with a rich inventory of nearly 200 well-preserved pots (Lichardus et al. 2004, 41–47: Fig. 6), seems to represent an exception for Drama. In all houses, grinding stones for the processing of cereals and numerous remains of domestic animals were found, which make up over 90 % of all animal bones (Benecke 2003; 2012). There is no direct evidence for the stabling of animals inside the village. The fields were probably at the slopes

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Figure 14.2: Photograph of the ditch Obj. 009 (upper layers) in sector H 08 during excavation in 1986. Copyright: Drama-Projekt, Lehrstuhl für Vor- und Frühgeschichte der Universität des Saarlandes.

northeast of the village, where the area was safe from inundation und offered good soil conditions (Echt et al. 2011, 28: Fig. 4; 29: Fig. 5). The floodplain of the Kalnica offered manifold opportunities for food economy. Shells and fresh-water fish in the settlement layers prove that also the river Kalnica itself was used intensively as a food source. The settlement on ‘Merdžumekja’ was abandoned in the second half of the 5th millennium cal BC. There are only vague clues regarding the further development of the settlement. The whole fourth millennium, as well as the early 3rd millennium, appear as a ‘dark period’ in the micro-region, lasting more than 1500 years. It is more than likely that remains of settlement activity of that period have been lost due to intensive erosion at the top of the hill. The excavation results on the southeast slope of ‘Merdžumekja’ have to be viewed as a piece of luck, for a small settlement of the Cernavoda III period from the middle of the 4th millennium was found there covered with a thick layer of dark earth containing eroded artefacts from the hill itself (Gleser and Thomas 2012, 330: Fig. IX.2). We interpret this settlement of the earliest Bronze Age as evidence for a change in settlement behaviour. The settlement area was not devoid of people during the fourth millennium. Apparently, a smaller population group employed a mode of settling that was less tightly bound to a permanent location than that of the fifth millennium (Gleser 2016). Only in this way can we explain traditions concerning the mixed agrarian economy, which we noted during the Chalcolithic and the early Bronze Age. New building activity on the settlement hill could be proven again for the middle of the 3rd millennium cal BC. On ‘Merdžumekja’, a circular enclosure with a diameter of nearly 40 m (Obj. 009) and a contemporaneous building were unearthed, which could be dated to the Early Bronze Age III period by the excavators. At different

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places in the filling of the ditch, depositions of pottery vessels, loom weights, spindle whorls, perforated pottery sherds, and other similar objects were found. Packed layers of stones as well as chunks of daub covered the depositions. The vessels have been interpreted as containers for liquids and solid food, which we can now prove with single examples. The circular enclosure has been interpreted as a sanctuary, and there are several parallels for its architectonic concept in Thrace (Bertemes 1997; 2002). The fact that very pure concentrations of seeds were found inside the vessels confirms the hypothesis that it was a sanctuary with food offerings. The depositions of artefacts were found especially in the upper infill of the ditch, which was documented in numerous plans and profiles (Fig. 14.2).

Preservation of the layers and samples Intensive erosion took place at the settlement hill during the millennia, which we are now able to understand and describe much better than did the excavators in the 1980s and 1990s. The remains of the house from the second phase of the Karanovo VI period originally present on ‘Merdžumekja’ were completely eroded. We found remains of them only in the youngest phase of the fortification ditch and in the colluvial soils at the foot of the hill to the southeast. The yet preserved houses of the early Karanovo VI have been influenced very negatively due to the activities of ground-dwelling animals and modern agriculture. As a result, the plant remains of that period are in too poor of a condition to be analysed in detail. The layers of the Karanovo V period further below were much better preserved. The best preservation conditions, however, could be found in the finds and features of the ditch system of the early Bronze Age (Obj. 009), which, in the middle of the third millennium, was dug up to 3 m deep into the Chalcolithic settlement layers, reaching the natural ground. During the excavations (1985–1999), numerous archaeobotanical samples from a limited number of excavation sectors on the top of ‘Merdžumekja’ (sectors E 11, F 09–11, G 09–10, H 09–10, J 10, K 09, L 10; c. 9 % of the excavated area) were collected and stored at the excavation house, the former school of the village of Drama. They were processed with flotation in 2010. From those samples, about 45 belonged to the Early/Middle Chalcolithic period, but only 17 of them contained identifiable plant remains and, thus, yielded information about plant food processing and consumption in the first half of the 5th millennium cal BC. From the Early Bronze Age III period, 18 of 24 available samples contained plant remains. All of them come from different locations in the circular enclosure (Obj. 009). The sample volumes vary on average between 2 and 5 litres, which, according to prevailing archaeobotanical theory, is roughly one-quarter to one-fifth of the required sample volumes (Jacomet and Kreuz 1999, 42) for sites with preservation conditions like those in the study area (i.e., dry soil conditions and charred plant remains). From the Cernavoda III period, no plant remains have been preserved.

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Archaeobotanical evidence Materials and methods Due to the preservation conditions in the study area, the main possibility for conservation of plant remains is through charring. This occurs as a result of human agency: through any contact of the plants with fire and low oxygen concentrations during the existence of the site. Such charred plant remains, when embedded in cultural layers, are resistant to decay in the changing humidity and temperature conditions typical of the sub-continental climate in the study area. During excavation, sediment samples for archaeobotanical analysis were taken mainly from deliberately chosen areas, typically because of high concentrations of plant remains or an interesting context, but also because the excavators considered the samples to be useful for C14-dating. Such locations could be situated, for example, inside a house, a vessel, or a pit, but also in the cultural layer in general. The charred plant remains were extracted from the sediment by means of manual flotation using a sieve with an opening of 0.5 mm. This material was sorted and identified under a low-magnification microscope and classified by its economic and ecological value (Table 14.1). In the current paper, we have given the complete available archaeobotanical dataset, but only the periods from which a sufficiently representative amount of samples is available, namely the Chalcolithic (Karanovo V and VI) and the Early Bronze Age III, will be considered in detail. The four samples from the Late Chalcolithic (Karanovo VI) are given only for comparison and to illustrate a certain continuity in the general tendencies of the plant economy of the site. The concentration of plant remains was calculated per sample (as the sum identified plant remains divided by the sample volume) and then the average of these individual values per period was divided by the total number of samples for the same period. The variation of the concentration per sample is considered, because this is the statistically correct approach to estimating the density of plant remains per period or site (Jacomet and Kreuz 1999).

Plant remains from the Early/Middle Chalcolithic The archaeobotanical assemblages from the Early/Middle Chalcolithic period (MaricaKaranovo V) come from settlement layers, which means they represent, to a great extent, the plant-based food that was stored in the houses and processed and used daily. This is confirmed by the fact that the cereal crops are represented not only by grains (c. 75 % of all the archaeobotanical finds from the Marica-Karanovo V period), but also by a certain proportion of chaff, most probably indicating cleaning of the grains on a daily basis and preparing einkorn and emmer for consumption. The rather high proportion of plant remains that could not be identified further (the group ‘varia & indet.’) also deserves attention. This is an indication of non-optimal preservation of the plant remains and possible reworking of some of them (Fig. 14.3).

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Table 14.1: The results of the archaeobotanical analyses by studied structures (concentration of plant remains based on calculations per sample). Archaeological dating

Karanovo V Karanovo VI

Site type Total no. samples Total sample volume (l) Total no. plant remains plant remains per litre sediment

Tell 17 39.2 2294 107.9

Tell 4 16 232 10.8

Cult area 18 53 690 16.5

276 871 28

21

49 2

Cereal crops Hordeum vulgare undiff. Hordeum vulgare naked Hordeum vulgare hulled cf. Panicum miliaceum Triticum aestivum s.l. Triticum aestivum s.l./durum/ turgidum Triticum aestivum s.l./durum/ turgidum Triticum aestivum s.l./durum/ turgidum Triticum dicoccum Triticum dicoccum Triticum monococcum Triticum monococcum Triticum aest. s.l./dur./turg./ dicoccum Triticum monococcum/dicoccum Triticum monococcum/dicoccum Cerealia indet.

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit rachis seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred charred

rachis

charred

rachis

mineralised

seed/fruit glume base seed/fruit glume base seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred

seed/fruit charred glume base charred seed/fruit charred

Pulses Lathyrus cicera/sativus Lens culinaris Pisum sativum Vicia ervilia Fabaceae (kult.) Fabaceae (kult.)

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred mineralised

Oil/fiber crops Linum usitatissimum Linum usitatissimum Linum spec. Lallemantia iberica Lallemantia cf. iberica

seed/fruit seed/fruit Kapz seed/fruit Br

charred mineralised charred charred charred

Early Bronze Age III

1 7 379 1 1

6 1 117 11 44 19

2

26 112

3 61

6 68

3 2 12 282 7 1

3 5

35

3 1

117 5 27

33 7 1

225 30

5 1 2 41 8

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Table 14.1 Archaeological dating

Karanovo V Karanovo VI

Deciduous Forests/Shrubbery Cornus mas Corylus avellana Physalis alkekengi Prunus spec. Quercus spec. Sambucus nigra Sambucus nigra

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred charred mineralised

Weeds of Cereal Fields Ajuga chamaepitys Ajuga chamaepitys Bromus spec. Galium spurium Galium cf. spurium Galium spec. Papaver rhoeas Polygonum convolvulus Sherardia arvensis Thymelaea passerina Vicia hirsuta/tetrasperma Vicia klein-früchtig

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred mineralised charred charred charred charred mineralised charred charred charred charred charred

Riparian/Floodplain Vegetation Schoenoplectus spec.

seed/fruit

charred

3

Grassland Vegetation Phleum Teucrium cf. chamaedrys Trifolium spec.

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred

2

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred charred mineralised

Ruderals/Segetals undiff. Chenopodium album Chenopodium spec. Chenopodium polyspermum Chenopodium rubrum cf. Convolvulus arvensis Digitaria cf. sanguinalis Urtica dioica Varia Indet.

Early Bronze Age III

3 1 8 1 1 1 9

1

9

5

3 1

17 2

37

1

2

3 2 1 10 2

1 3 20

1 1 5 6 2 6 5

4

1

2 3

3

2

3

1 2 2

16 1 1 1 12 188

1 1 362

17 22

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Figure 14.3: Percentage proportions of the main economic groups of archaeobotanical finds.

The staple crops used at the site are mainly barley, hulled wheat (with a clear dominance of einkorn), and pulses dominated by bitter vetch. The cereal crops found could have been used mainly for preparing porridges, bulgur, or flatbreads. The grinding stones found in all house remains from Drama ‘Merdžumekja’ can definitely be linked to food processing (for example flour-grinding). Moreover, the ovens that were found could potentially have been used for the making of flatbreads. An analysis of the vessels regarding size and wall thickness to create functional classes is still lacking. Many of the Early/Middle Chalcolithic vessels have thin walls and are richly ornamented: they may have been used rather for serving and displaying food than for cooking or storing it. A remarkable find is the occurrence of free-threshing wheat (Fig. 14.4A), the wheat type from which bread leavened by yeast could be made. This kind of wheat contains higher amounts of gluten, which allows it to produce true bread fermentation. Its growing requires more intensive care and better soil conditions, as compared to hulled wheat. Thus, the find of free-threshing wheat carries an important implication about the food habits at the site and indicates distinct, probably elite demands and maybe specific economic or social practices.

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Figure 14.4: Most interesting archaeobotanical finds: A. free-threshing wheat; B. Physalis alkekengi; C. Lallemantia iberica.

At several sites on or near the Black Sea coast during the Chalcolithic and especially during the Middle Chalcolithic, the increasing importance of free-threshing wheat is visible. These include Durankulak (Marinova 2006), Sava (Behre 1978), Provadia (Marinova and Valamoti 2014), Burgaska Mogila (Marinova, unpublished), and Drama (the present paper). There are three more sites with single finds of grains: Ovcharovo (Janushevitch 1980) and the older excavations at Bikovo und Simeonovgrad (Arnaudov 1951). The occurrence of this wheat indicates a high level of economic, technological, and cultural development in this area. It seems remarkable that one of the find-spots of free-threshing wheat – pit 245, with a concentration of at least 360 grains – lies directly southwest of the burned house 244 on the top of the hill ‘Merdžumekja’ (Lichardus et al. 2000, 51: Fig. 19) with a rich inventory of well-preserved and finely decorated pots, and other household artefacts. The pottery from that house seems to date already to the Early Karanovo VI period, but it shows strong middle Chalcolithic (‘Marica IV’) stylistic traditions. It is a question of defining archaeological stages within the Karanovo VI period whether the find in pit 245 belongs already to the Early Karanovo VI or not. The stratigraphic situation on ‘Merdžumekja’ is not as clear as it seemed to the excavators in the 1980s

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and 1990s (cf. Thomas 2016). Those excavators always claimed the existence of a settlement phase on ‘Merdžumekja’ in the Early Karanovo VI, and the radiocarbon dates seem to support that opinion, but, for instance, Petrova (2009) excludes the settlement from the list of sites from that period. The finds of free-threshing wheat from the Bulgarian Black Sea area, including those from Drama (c. 4800–4200 cal BC) seem to mark the starting point of the cultivation of free-threshing wheat in Europe as an ‘international phenomenon’. The Bulgarian sites are older than the finds from middle and northern Europe, which are linked to the Michelsberg culture (c. 4300–3500 cal BC; Kreuz et al. 2014), the Early Funnel Beaker culture (4000–3500 cal BC), and the Swiss Late Neolithic lakeshore sites dating to the end of the 5th to mid-4th millennium (Jacomet 2007). The appearance of free-threshing wheat in Drama and other Bulgarian sites can be explained by a process of diffusion from Anatolia in the early 5th millennium (cf. the map in Jacomet and Kreuz 1999, 272: Abb. 11.19). In the Early/Middle Chalcolithic layers, a variety of wild fruits was found. It seems that plants gathered from the wild also played a significant role. Finds of fruit flesh occurring in roughly one-third of the samples indicate that at least some fruits were dried and stored for a longer period. They were collected from the wild-growing vegetation and obviously contributed to the diet of the Early/Middle Chalcolithic inhabitants of the site. They comprise at least six different plant taxa: cornel, hazel, plum, elder, acorns, Physalis alkekengi, etc. Their diversity is also an indicator for the variety of available habitats used by the people in the surroundings of the site. Most of them belong to the open oak forests or riparian (alluvial) vegetation potentially developed near the site. This practice shows continuity in the gathering traditions known already from the Neolithic sites in Thrace, more specifically in southeast Bulgaria (Marinova 2006). The most frequently occurring gathered plant is the Cornelian cherry (or cornel, Cornus mas). The Cornelian cherry is probably overrepresented to some extent, because, even when there are only very small fragments in the samples, these fragments are easily identifiable. Already during the initial excavation, many of these fruits were found stored in a vessel and their possible conservation and processing was discussed by Küster (1989). The numerous finds of Physalis alkekengi (Fig. 14.4B) suggest that the plant was collected and used for its richness in vitamin C. Finds of this plant in the study region also occur in nearly contemporary layers of Vinča-Belo Brdo (Filipović and Tasić 2012) and Uivar (Fischer and Rösch 2004). It seems that Physalis alkekengi was an important element of the prehistoric food economy, as it was introduced during the Linear Pottery Culture period further into central Europe, from where numerous and frequent finds of the plant are known (Vaihingen, Southern Germany, cf. Boggard 2011; Kückhoven, Western Germany, cf. Knörzer 1995; Brodau, Eastern Germany, cf. Herbig et al. 2012/2013). The plant is also documented in the archaeobotanical record of Late Neolithic settlements at the Federsee in southern Germany (Maier 2004; Hunsicker 2007). The quite frequent finds of gathered plants indicate the use of wild plant resources for their contents of vitamins and minerals, but also their abundance in the surrounding environment. In this respect, it should be mentioned that human

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activities near a site also create habitats favourable for their increase, and this is true also for most of the other gathered plants that have been found.

Plant remains from the Early Bronze Age III From this period, 18 samples in total were considered. They have a volume of just 53 litres in total, but, in spite of this, the samples seem to have rather high concentrations of plant remains: in total c. 690 identifiable items were found. Many of the samples represent concentrations of grains/seeds – that means clean crops, probably ready for consumption. Such concentrations were also found in several of the ‘vessel content’ samples. The flotation residue contained very few wood charcoals and residues of ashes, and this suggests that the seeds were not exposed directly to fire/heating in the vessels, but probably that fire was in their surroundings. Charring experiments have shown that exposure to a temperature of c. 250–280 °C – thus, low-temperature fire – causes charring which allows a good preservation of the seeds (Braadbaard et al. 2004). The archaeobotanical assemblages are dominated by cultivated plants, namely, the group of pulses (leguminous crops), represented mainly by bitter vetch. No free-threshing wheat was found in the Early Bronze Age III archaeobotanical assemblage, probably due to changed food habits, while oil crops are present in a higher proportion. The importance of gathered plants decreases in this period, while nearly no chaff is found. The plant remains show much better preservation than those from the Chalcolithic – also indicated by the low percentage values for the group of not further identifiable plant remains (‘varia & indet’). The most pronounced tendency visible in the Early Bronze Age (EBA) III archaeobotanical assemblages is that they are dominated by bitter vetch and that the importance of oil crops increases. As far as the interpretation of those finds is concerned, we should take into account that they come from a ritual context – and, therefore, probably represent food plants, which might have been prepared or intentionally selected for the ritual. Although their principal composition should be related to the diet, they do not explicitly reflect the proportion of plants prepared and consumed daily, which would be deposited in a settlement context. Remarkable, and rather rare until now, for Bulgaria is the find of Lallemantia (Fig. 14.4C), a crop which is new for the plant economy of the site and of the region. It is an oil crop that was first described in relation to the Bronze Age in Northern Greece – at the sites Mandalo EBA, Archondiko, Assiros LBA – (Jones and Valamoti 2005), Kastanas (determined a year later by Kroll, personal communication), and Southern Bulgaria (Dubene-Sarovka; cf. Marinova and Valamoti 2014). In Drama, its seeds (c. 40 single, recognisable seeds and several fragments of seeds ‘baked’ together, thus forming a non-quantifiable mass) were stored in a bottle (Fig. 14.5) found in sector F11. The bottle (KL 88:0026; cf. Bertemes 1997, Tab. 14.5) was found in the filling of the ditch Obj. 009 (layer a/bc). The find-spot lies directly at the western profile of sector F11, 8.28 m north, at a depth of 3.36 m (cf. Bertemes 1997, 546: List 6). The plant could be considered an indicator for long distance contacts with communities to the east during the Early Bronze Age (Valamoti and Jones 2010). But

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Ralf Gleser and Elena Marinova it also confirms the increasing role of oil crops in the diet of Eastern Mediterranean populations ‒ a tendency typical for the Bronze Age (Marinova and Riehl 2009; Andreou et al. 2013).

The plant food economy of Drama in the broader regional framework Regional context for the Chalcolithic Several sites from the region (Fig. 14.6) – such as Vinča-Belo Brdo (Filipović and Tasić 2012), Uivar (Fischer and Rösch 2004), Pietrele (Hansen et al. 2008), Durankulak (Marinova 2006), Dikili Tash (Valamoti 2015), Troad (Riehl 1999), Figure 14.5: Drawing of the bottle KL 88:0026 in which the seeds of Lallemantia iberica were found. Scale and Ilipinar (Cappers 2001) – provide 1:4. Copyright: Drama-Projekt, Lehrstuhl für Vor- evidence for plant-based food production und Frühgeschichte der Universität des Saarlandes. and consumption contemporary with the Chalcolithic occupation of Drama. Considering the staple crops found at those contemporary, or nearly contemporary, sites in the broader region, it seems that the food economy of Drama bears some affinity to the sites especially on the Black Sea coast, particularly concerning the finds of free-threshing wheat (see the previous section). Leguminous crops (or pulses) play a significant role in the plant economy in most of the comparable sites (except Pietrele; cf. Neef 2008), and, exactly as in Drama, in most cases the bitter vetch is predominant. In the Troad, specifically at Kumtepe IA, for example (late 6th millennium), bitter vetch represents roughly 20 % of all plant remains (Riehl 1999). For all of the considered sites from this time slice and especially with respect to prominent examples from Dikili Tash IIC (4350–4250 cal BC, i.e., slightly later than Drama), the importance of the use of gathered plants is quite clearly visible, which leads some authors to hypothesise about the management of wild fruit stands (Janushevich 1990; Valamoti 2015). Also in this respect, Drama fits well into the food and subsistence strategies for the region, with the numerous finds of cornel, plums, physalis, etc. (see also Küster 1989).

Regional context for the Early Bronze Age III If we compare the archaeobotanical evidence from the Early Bronze Age III at Drama to other more or less contemporary sites (Fig. 14.6) like Yunatsite (Popova and Pavlova 1994), Karanovo (Marinova 2004), Troy (Riehl 1999), Olynthos (Becker and Kroll 2008), or Kastanas (Kroll 1983), we see that the dominating cereal crops for the region ‒

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Figure 14.6: Map indicating the location of the sites considered for regional comparisons of the plant food economy of Drama.

einkorn and barley (hulled) ‒ are the same as at Drama. The reduction of importance of barley noticed at Drama is especially clearly pronounced in contemporary layers of Troy, whereas to the west (Yunatsite, Karanovo, Kastanas, and Olynthos) nearly the opposite tendency is visible. Bitter vetch, as the main leguminous crop in the EBA of Drama, also seems to be one of the main leguminous crops for the broader region considered. The finds of Lallemantia iberica from Drama also fit well into the general tendency for its introduction to the culinary practices of the region already observed mainly in the Early Bronze Age finds from northern Greece, such as in Kastanas, Olynthos, Mandalo, and Archondiko, and from southern Bulgaria, specifically Dabene Sarovka (Marinova and Valamoti 2014, 70–71; Becker and Kroll 2008, 34–36).

Comparison of plant food between the two periods of Drama The preservation of the plant remains in the Early Bronze Age III layers is much better than in the Early/Middle Chalcolithic layers. This relates not only to the find situation described above, but also to the fact that the plant remains from the Early Bronze Age III were deposited over a short time, whereas the Chalcolithic plant remains come

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from settlement layers accumulated over a longer period, which were subsequently partly eroded. However, several of the samples from burned houses, pits, and some vessels provided high concentrations of quite well-preserved cultivated plants ‒ most probably remains of storage. Although, generally, a continuity is visible in the composition of staple food plants (einkorn, barley, and bitter vetch), some new crops, like the oil crop Lallemantia iberica, also appear. Furthermore, the free-threshing wheat grown in the Early/Middle Chalcolithic seems to disappear from the Early Bronze Age III archaeobotanical record. This is probably related to cultural changes and specific new food habits of the Bronze Age inhabitants of the area. Free-threshing wheat is not found any more in the region of Bulgaria until the Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age (Hristova et al. 2016). The near absence of chaff and the reduced number of plants subject to gathering in the Early Bronze Age III should be understood in relation to the difference in context of the deposition of the finds. In the Early Bronze Age III, we are not dealing with settlement layers, but with structures with a ritual character. The high proportion of bitter vetch (Vicia ervilia) in Drama should also be interpreted in relation to this specific context of the finds. Considering such evidence of nearly clean crops – mainly their seeds and grains – we can hypothesise that the plant remains from the Early Bronze Age III layers represent either food or plants ready for food preparation. Therefore, it seems plausible that, in this context, we are dealing with food (in a wider sense of the word) involved in specific ritual actions.

Conclusions Despite the limited archaeobotanical sampling at the excavations at Drama‘Merdžumekja’, extensive and diachronic evidence was collected. This allowed us to reconstruct the past subsistence and diet based on plant food in the area. Both the Early/Middle Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age III food consumption in Drama seem to be comparable to other Bulgarian, but also other southeast European, sites. The botanical remains of the Chalcolithic settlement mirror the daily life of the inhabitants and can be viewed as functional data. The botanical remains from the Early Bronze Age ditch, however, originate from ritual depositions and belong – like grave inventories – to the class of intentional or conceptual data. A long-term continuity of the staple crops is visible despite the ‘Dark Ages’ in the fourth millennium, but this does not explicitly mean a continuation in all of the food practices. In the fifth millennium at Drama, free-threshing wheat is present, probably for ‘elite’ demands, if we keep in mind the find situation in the vicinity of house ruin 244, which connects the food preparation and consumption habits at the site with especially the cultural developments of the Black Sea coast of Bulgaria. This crop disappears in the subsequent period, pointing to an interruption of those traditions. In the Early Bronze Age III layers of the site, the occurrence of Lallemantia iberica indicates new food habits related to a general increase of oil crops in the human diet

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during the Bronze Age. The appearance of Lallemantia indicates long-distance connections and is related to specific food practices and techniques new to the study region.

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Fecht, F. (2016) Merdžumekja – die Karanovo-V-Siedlung. Die Befunde. Drama/Forschungen in einer Mikroregion 2. Bonn, Rudolf Habelt. Filipović, D. and Tasić, N. N. (2012) Vinča-Belo Brdo, a late Neolithic site in Serbia: Consideration of macro-botanical remains as indicators of dietary habits. Balcanica 43, 7–27. Fischer, E. and Rösch, M. (2004) Archäobotanische Untersuchungen. In W. Schier and F. Draşovean Vorbericht über die rumänisch-deutschen Prospektionen und Ausgrabungen in der befestigten Tellsiedlung von Uivar, jud. Timiş, Rumänien (1998–2002). Prähistorische Zeitschrift 79.2, 209–220. Gleser, R. (2011) Radiokarbondaten aus Drama: Stand der Forschungen bis zum Jahre 2010. Studia Praehistorica 14, 177–204. Gleser, R. (2016) Neue siedlungsarchäologische Daten zur frühesten Bronzezeit an der unteren Tundža. In V. Nikolov and W. Schier (eds.) Der Schwarzmeerraum vom Neolithikum bis in die Früheisenzeit (6000–600 v. Chr.): Kulturelle Interferenzen in der Zirkumpontischen Zone und Kontakte mit ihren Nachbargebieten. Prähistorische Archäologie in Südosteuropa 30, 371–389. Rahden, Marie Leidorf. Gleser, R. and Thomas, M. (2012) Merdžumekja-Südosthang. Späte Kupferzeit und früheste Bronzezeit: Ergebnisse siedlungsarchäologischer Forschungen. Drama/Forschungen in einer Mikroregion 1. Bonn, Rudolf Habelt. Hansen, S., Toderaş, M., Reingruber, A., Gatsov, I., Klimscha, F., Nedelcheva, P., Neef, R., Prange, M., Price, T. D., Wahl, J., Weninger, B., Wrobel, H., Wunderlich, J. and Zidarov, P. (2008) Der kupferzeitliche Siedlungshügel Măgura Gorgana bei Pietrele in der Walachei. Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen im Sommer 2007. Eurasia Antiqua 14, 19–100. Herbig, C., Maier, U., Stäuble, H. and Elburg, R. (2012/2013) „Neolithische Füllhörner“. Archäobotanische Untersuchungen in fünf linienbandkeramischen Brunnen in Westsachsen. In C. von Carnap-Bornheim, W. Dörfler, W. Kirleis, Müller, J. and Müller, U. (eds.) Von Sylt bis Kastanas. Festschrift für Helmut Johannes Kroll. Offa 69/70, 265–293. Neumünster, Wachholtz. Hristova, I., Atanassova, J. and Marinova, E. (2016) Plant economy and vegetation of the Iron Age in Bulgaria: Archaeobotanical evidence from pit deposits. Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences, 1–14. Hunsicker, S. (2007) Himbeeren und Wassernüsse – Sammelfrüchte der späten Jungsteinzeit. In R. Baumeister (ed.) Zwischenzeiten – vor 5000 Jahren am Federsee. Begleitband zur Sonderausstellung im Federseemuseum, 38–39. Bad Buchau, Federseemuseum. Jacomet, S. (2007) Neolithic plant economies in the northern Alpine Foreland from 5500–3500 cal BC. In S. Colledge and J. Conolly (eds.) The Origins and Spread of Domestic Plants in Southwest Asia and Europe, 221–225. Walnut Creek, Left Coast Press. Jacomet, S. and Kreuz, A. (1999) Archäobotanik. Aufgaben, Methoden und Ergebnisse vegetations- und agrargeschichtlicher Forschung. Stuttgart, Ulmer. Janushevitch, Z. (1983) Kulturpflanzenfunde in den spätneolithischen Schichten von Ovčarovo. In H. Todorova (ed.) Ovčarovo. Archäologische Untersuchung der prähistorischen Fundstätten in der Region der Dorfes Ovčarovo, Bezirk Târgovište. Fouilles et Recherches, Editions de l’Academie Bulgare de Sciences 8, 106–117. Jones, G. E. M. and Valamoti, S. M. (2005) Lallemantia, an imported or introduced oil plant in Bronze Age northern Greece. Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 14, 571–577. Knörzer, K.-H. (1995) Pflanzenfunde aus dem bandkeramischen Brunnen von Kückhoven bei Erkelenz. Vorbericht. In H. Kroll and R. Pasternak (eds.) Res archaeobotanicae. International Workgroup of Palaeoethnobotany. Proceedings of the 9th Symposium Kiel 1992, 81–86. Kiel, Oetker-Voges. Kreuz, A., Märkle, T., Marinova E., Rösch, M., Schäfer, E., Schamuhn, S. and Zerl, T. (2014) The Late Neolithic Michelsberg culture – just ramparts and ditches? A supraregional comparison of agricultural and environmental data. Prähistorische Zeitschrift 89, 72–115. Kroll, H. (1983) Kastanas. Ausgrabungen in einem Siedlungshügel der Bronze- und Eisenzeit Makedoniens 1975–1979. Die Pflanzenfunde. Prähistorische Archäologie in Südosteuropa 2. Berlin, Volker Spiess. Küster, H. (1989) Ein Fund von Kornelkirschen in Drama. Bericht der Römisch-Germanischen Kommission 70, 119–122.

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Lichardus, J., Fol, A., Getov, L., Bertemes, F., Echt, R., Katincharov, R. and Iliev, I. K. (2000) Forschungen in der Mikroregion Drama (Südostbulgarien). Zusammenfassung der Hauptergebnisse der bulgarischdeutschen Grabung in den Jahren 1983–1999. Bonn, Rudolf Habelt. Lichardus, J., Fol, A., Getov, L., Echt, R, Gleser, R., Katincharov, R., Vollmann, D., Fecht, F. and Iliev, I. K. (2003) Bericht über die bulgarisch-deutschen Ausgrabungen in Drama (1996–2002). Neolithikum – Kupferzeit – Bronzezeit – Eisenzeit – Römerzeit. Bericht der Römisch-Germanischen Kommission 84, 155–222. Lichardus, J., Fol, A., Getov, L., Bertemes, F., Echt, R., Kubiniok, J. and Iliev, I. K (2004) Die bulgarischdeutschen Forschungen in der Mikroregion von Drama (1983–2003). In R. Echt (ed.) Die Thraker. Das Goldene Reich des Orpheus. 23. Juli bis 28. November 2004, Kunst- und Ausstellungshalle der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, 37–58. Mainz, Philipp von Zabern. Maier, U. (2004) Archäobotanische Untersuchungen in jung- und endneolithischen Moorsiedlungen am Federsee. In J. Köninger and H. Schlichtherle (eds.) Ökonomischer und ökologischer Wandel am vorgeschichtlichen Federsee. Archäologische und naturwissenschaftliche Untersuchungen. Hemmenhofener Skripte 5, 71–159. Freiburg i. Br., Janus. Marinova, E. (2004) Archäobotanische Ergebnisse aus der Bronzezeit von Tell Karanovo und ihr regionaler Kontext. Diomedes 3, 53–58. Marinova, E. (2006) Vergleichende paläoethnobotanische Untersuchung zur Vegetationsgeschichte und zur Entwicklung der prähistorischen Landnutzung in Bulgarien. Dissertationes Botanicae 401. Berlin and Stuttgart, J. Cramer. Marinova, E. and Riehl, S. (2009) Carthamus species in the ancient Near East and south-eastern Europe: Archaeobotanical evidence for their distribution and use as a source of oil. Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 18.4, 341–349. Marinova, E. and Valamoti, S. (2014) Crop diversity and choices in the prehistory of SE Europe: The archaeobotanical evidence from Greece and Bulgaria. In A. Chevalier, E. Marinova and L. Peña-Chocarro (eds.) Plants and People: Choices and Diversity Through Time, 64–74. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Petrova, V. (2009) Periodisation and territorial extent of the Karanovo VI culture. In I. Gatsov and J.-L. Guadelli (eds.) Saxa Loquuntur! Collection in Honour of the 65th Anniversary of Nikolay Sirakov, 229–236. Sofia, Avalon. Popova, T. and Pavlova, P. (1994) Paleoethnobotanical study of the Yunatsite, Bronze Age Settlement, Pazardzik District. Annuaire de l’Université de Sofia “St. Kliment Ohridski,” Faculté de Biologie 84, Livre 2 – Botanique, 71–101. Riehl, S. (1999) Bronze Age Environment and Economy in the Troad: The Archaeobotany of Kumtepe and Troy. Tübingen, Mo Vince. Thomas, M. (2016) Die chronologische Stellung der spätkupferzeitlichen Siedlung von DramaMerdžumekja im Vergleich mit anderen Tellsiedlungen in Thrakien. In V. Nikolov and W. Schier (eds.) Der Schwarzmeerraum vom Neolithikum bis in die Früheisenzeit (6000–600 v. Chr.): Kulturelle Interferenzen in der Zirkumpontischen Zone und Kontakte mit ihren Nachbargebieten. Prähistorische Archäologie in Südosteuropa 30, 225–242. Rahden, Marie Leidorf. Valamoti, S. (2015) Harvesting the ‘wild’? Exploring the context of fruit and nut exploitation at Neolithic Dikili Tash, with special reference to wine. Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 24.1, 35–46. Valamoti, S.-M. and Jones, G. (2010) Bronze and oil: A possible link between the introduction of tin and Lallemantia to northern Greece. The Annual of the British School at Athens 105, 83–96. Vollmann, D. (2004) Die neolithischen Häuser von Drama-Gerena. In V. Nikolov, K. Băčvarov and P. Kalchev (eds.) Prehistoric Thrace. Proceedings of the International Symposium in Stara Zagora 30.09. – 04.10.2003, 269–277. Sofia and Stara Zagora, Institute of Archaeology with Museum – BAS, Regional Museum of History.

Chapter 15 Food, status, and power: Animal production and consumption practices during the Carpathian Basin Bronze Age Amy Nicodemus

Introduction Food is deeply embedded within cultural practices and ideologies. Not only is it essential for physical sustenance, but it also plays an active role in creating and maintaining social identities. Food can be used to bring people together, reinforcing group membership and solidarity, or it can be used to demarcate or accentuate status divisions. As such, foodways have the potential to reveal a great deal about how societies are organised and how they change over time. The European Bronze Age was one such transformational period. In many parts of the continent, including southeastern Europe, more complexly organised societies emerged. As regional hierarchies developed, social inequalities became increasingly pronounced and institutionalised. These social and political changes were predicated on new economies that promoted heightened asymmetries between elite rulers and commoners. Much attention has been paid to the production and regional exchange of high value goods, especially metalwork. However, other aspects of Bronze Age economies, including those related to food, also have much to tell us about the widespread changes occurring at that time. The most visible changes in foodways relate to increasing differentiation between what was being eaten by members of different social groups, particularly between higher and lower status households. But these divergent consumption practices also required more fundamental changes in how food was being produced and distributed. This goes beyond simply providing day-to-day meals. The ability to control key aspects of the food chain also is a means for wealth generation, including the ability to support elite institutions and personnel, as well as for exchange at the local and regional level. Furthermore, it allows elites to finance special events like feasting, where food is used to display and reinforce disparities in status, wealth, and power.

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The site of Pecica-Şanţul Mare, Romania, exemplifies how foodways can be manipulated by elites, in this case as part of a broader economic restructuring that supported the community’s rise to a regional centre from c. 2000–1700 cal BC. This paper takes a two-fold approach. First, large-scale organisational shifts in the ways that food was being produced, distributed, and consumed are examined. This includes the implementation of more specialised or intensive production practices and the creation of novel means for elites to mobilise these resources. Second, a detailed look is taken at how Pecica’s elites used feasting for both communicating and enhancing inequalities. In this study, a particular focus is placed on animal economies.

Animal economies in complex societies Great strides have been made in recent decades concerning the role of animal economies in complex societies, particularly for status-related consumption practices (Crabtree 1990; Gumerman 1997; Ervynck et al. 2003; Jackson and Scott 2003; Kirch and O’Day 2003; van der Veen 2003; deFrance 2009; Redding 2010). In short, elites have disproportionate access to high-value and luxury foodstuffs. What makes food valuable is culturally specific, but there are a number of common features. For meat, these tend to relate to quantity (body size), quality (taste, tenderness, fat content, etc.), and procurement costs (expensive animal maintenance, difficult to obtain or prepare, rare, dangerous, wasteful, etc.). For livestock, this correlates with largebodied species that reproduce and mature more slowly and have higher upkeep costs (land/pasture, fodder, shelter, labour, etc.). It also favours off-take of younger animals with more tender meat and preferential consumption of high meat-bearing elements, such as those from the upper limbs and trunk (Binford 1978; Outram and Rowley-Conwy 1998). Importantly, the development of such asymmetric consumption patterns necessitates changes in underlying production and distribution systems. These sectors of animal economies have received far less attention, although there are notable exceptions, particularly for ancient states (Gamble 1982; Zeder 1991; Redding 1992; Crabtree 1996; Halstead 2001; 2003; Atici 2005; Thurston 2006; deFrance 2009; Arbuckle 2012). On the production side, livestock management systems may shift emphasis away from the small-scale, risk-adverse practices that typify household-level production towards those maximising the production of particular animals or their products. This can result in more-intensive husbandry practices that increase the overall scale of production and/or more-specialised systems focused on a narrower range of goods. This can be seen archaeologically through changes in the relative frequency of livestock species, especially in significant increases in high-value or costly taxa. This is generally paralleled by alterations in off-take patterns that reflect the heightened production of a particular animal product (Payne 1973; Greenfield 2005; Vigne and Helmer 2007).

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Such changes in production practices are often coupled with an increased use of indirect distribution systems, those in which goods are channelled from the producer to the consumer via third party channels. This includes the implementation of levy/ tribute/taxation systems that mobilise resources centrally, some of which may be redistributed via elite-sponsored provisioning systems. In indirect procurement systems, there is increased emphasis on distribution efficiency. This results in lower diversity in both species representation and culling demography (Zeder 1991). A narrower age-range is seen in livestock off-take, centred on animals that are reaching maximum body size (prime-aged) to maximise the amount of meat per animal without incurring additional costs for their maintenance/growth. In addition, if animals need to be moved over significant distances, species that easily move on the hoof are preferred (Redding 1992). In addition to these more systemic changes in animal economies, new ways may develop in which animals are used to display and reinforce social standing, namely through feasting. Feasting foods tend to mirror elite preferences in general, although prepared in far greater quantities (deFrance 2009). In feasting that is ritualised, there may be cultural-specific taxon preferences as well. More generally, food preparation, serving, and consumption tend to be more formalised, elaborate, and spatially segregated (Hayden 2001). The remains of feasts are often disposed of specially, either in particular refuse areas or, often, as ritual or commemorative deposits. Feasting deposits can be identified by the nature of the animal remains, specifically as a concentration of high-value meats with atypical composition, sometimes in associated with other feasting paraphernalia. Ritual deposits of specific animal parts may also occur, which can be identified archaeologically as ‘associated bone groups’ (Hill 1995). These may be articulated or semi-articulated animal portions, or disarticulated remains that were deposited in association (Morris 2010). While such remains can result from non-ritual events, ritual deposits can be differentiated through their highly structured form and the inclusion of a specific subset of animal remains that are culturally important.

Pecica-Şanţul Mare and the Carpathian Basin Bronze Age During the Bronze Age, the Carpathian Basin, along with many other parts of Europe, saw the emergence of more complex socio-political formations. While they were by no means universal, in many areas regional polities emerged with heightened levels of institutionalised inequality and more centralised administrative systems. Large, typically fortified, settlements became seats of social, economic, and political power. The tell of Pecica-Şanţul Mare (Arad County, Romania) was one such centre in the Lower Mureş valley (Fig. 15.1). The settlement was a major fortified site belonging to the Mureş (Maros/Moriš) culture, an Early-Middle Bronze Age complex centred on the Mureş-Tisza confluence in Hungary, extending to adjacent regions of Serbia and Romania. Pecica has had a long history of excavations, being the focus of study

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Figure 15.1: Map of the Carpathian Basin and Pecica-Şanţul Mare.

since the late 1800s (Dömötör 1901; Roska 1912; Popescu 1944; Crişan 1978; Dörner 1978; Hügel et al. 2012), helping to define the regional Bronze Age. From 2005–2016, systematic excavations were conducted both on the central tell and in the peripheral settlement (Fig. 15.2) by a research consortium between the University of Michigan, Complexul Muzeal Arad, and the Muzeul Banatului (O’Shea et al. 2005; 2006; 2011). This work has allowed us to document the development of a Bronze Age centre in exceptional detail. Pecica is strategically situated on the edge of a Pleistocene terrace overlooking the broad floodplain of the Mureş River. The Bronze Age settlement was established just after 2000 BC, overlying a Middle Copper Age Hunyadihalom occupation (Table 15.1). This Initial Period (c. 1950–1920 cal BC) settlement is striking in that it shows signs of being a centre from its inception at the end of the Early Bronze Age, differing qualitatively from contemporary Mureş settlements downriver. As the easternmost major Mureş settlement, Pecica appears to have been intentionally founded to be an economic hub, controlling trade of mineral resources moving along the Mureş River and producing exportable prestige goods. Such items were being made on a significant

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Figure 15.2: Plan map of Pecica-Şanţul Mare and excavation areas.

scale, including metals and composite ornaments, which were used to mark status and authority in mortuary ritual (O’Shea 1996). Within a generation, the settlement’s layout was entirely restructured. The dense Initial Period houses were burned and levelled, and new houses were constructed orientated parallel to the long axis of the tell, a pattern which was maintained for the duration of the occupation. This event likely corresponds to the construction of its principal fortification ditches. Concurrently, a large open plaza area was established, around which houses were situated, a feature that has not been identified in other Mureş Culture settlements. It is during the Florescent Period (c. 1875–1680 cal BC) that Pecica-Şanţul Mare reached its zenith. The population grew and its occupation expanded beyond the principal fortification ditch, likely, in part, through settlement nucleation; at this time, the neighbouring tell of Semlac-Livada lui Onea was abandoned. There were striking socioeconomic differences between on- and off-tell households, indicating significant inequality between the central elites and the peripheral villagers. A massive platform,

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Early Bronze Age

Site period

Site phase

Date (cal BC)

Early Florescent Late period period period

Middle Bronze Age

Table 15.1: Bronze Age chronology at Pecica-Şanţul Mare. 1

1615–1545

2

1680–1615

3

1765–1680

4

1820–1765

Initial period

5a

1875–1820

5b

1900–1875

6

1920–1900

7

1950–1920

comprised of quarried site deposits burned at industrial temperatures, was constructed over the former plaza area. To date, this type of public architecture is unique in the region and represents major investments in labour and resources. Concurrently, the production of prestige goods peaked, particularly for skilled metalwork. Over the next century and a half, Pecica’s regional influence began to wane. Its population decreased and the peripheral settlement was lost. On the tell, the formal settlement layout was abandoned, and for the first time in roughly 250 years, the plaza area was built over by scattered houses. Access to imported goods sharply declined, and, along with it, the local manufacture of exportable goods. By c. 1550 cal BC, the Bronze Age occupation at Pecica was abandoned entirely, just as abruptly as it had started.

Food, status, and power at Pecica-Şanţul Mare Pecica-Şanţul Mare underwent a striking rise and fall over the course of its roughly 400 years of Bronze Age occupation. This is seen perhaps most clearly in its population size, settlement layout, and various economic measures reflecting trade and local crafting. But these are all part of a broader suite of organisational changes that supported more-complex polities. Examination of subsistence systems, in this case the animal economy, shows in greater detail how local elites were able to gain increasing control over key aspects of the food chain to 1) generate wealth to finance themselves and their institutions and 2) use the display of food, including ritualised feasting, as a means to reinforce inequalities.

Production, distribution, and consumption Pecica-Şanţul Mare, from its foundation, was an economic centre for regional trade and prestige good manufacture. Nonetheless, in the Initial and Early Periods, there were not qualitative differences in the animal economies between Pecica and its neighbours (Nicodemus 2014). As at other Mureş communities, livestock husbandry

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Table 15.2: Taxon representation, Early through Late Periods (%NISP). Early period

Flor. period

Late period

NISP

3874

8444

7243

% fauna by class Mammal Mollusc Fish Bird Reptile

93.2 5.6 1.2 0.0 0.0

89.3 9.9 0.7 0.1 0.0

84.8 13.4 1.6 0.0 0.1

% domestic vs. wild Domestic mammal Wild mammal

92.4 7.6

87.3 12.7

80.3 19.7

% Livestock Caprine (sheep/goat) Pig Cattle Horse

52.4 28.8 15.9 2.9

34.6 27.1 18.4 19.9

43.4 31.5 19.8 5.4

practices resembled the typical small-scale, household-level production that places emphasis on risk-minimisation. The full spectrum of Bronze Age livestock was utilised, although there was a notable preference for less-costly small-bodied livestock such as sheep and pigs (Table 15.2). Cattle were kept in smaller numbers and horses were uncommon. Risk-buffering strategies are apparent in livestock demography. Off-take practices reflect management systems that balance the production of diverse animal products. This is seen in both the high diversity in age-at-death as well as general delayed culling (Fig. 15.3), particularly for livestock that provide valuable secondary products such as fibre, dairy, or labour. Most caprines (78 % sheep versus goats) were consumed after reaching physical maturity, with substantial numbers maintained well past this point for their fibre. While age classes are not as precise for cattle, there is a similar pattern of primary off-take of old animals, especially those nearing the end of their use-life for dairy and traction. Pigs, although yielding no secondary products, also show delayed culling, favouring animals that had reached full body size. For all species, there is little evidence for significant consumption of very young animals. It is in the Florescent Period, when Pecica reached its apex, that the animal economy was substantially restructured. Most notably, there was a massive increase in horses at the expense of caprines. Horses shifted from being a relatively minor component in the Initial and Early Periods (< 5 %) to comprising nearly 30 % of the livestock in the mid-Florescent Period (Fig. 15.4). This prevalence of horses is extremely rare at Middle Bronze Age sites in the Carpathian Basin, where they generally make up less than 5 % of the livestock, if present at all (Nicodemus 2014). Furthermore, mortality













Figure 15.3: Livestock mortality profiles by period.





 


 










 




















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% livestock NISP

profiles indicate the presence of a local breeding population at Pecica, dominated by very young animals and old individuals (see also Fig. 15.8). This shift is underscored when comparing what was being consumed by groups living on the tell to that of those living in the peripheral village (Fig. 15.5). The offtell population clearly had limited access to high-quality foodstuffs. This is seen in the strong under-representation of large-bodied livestock, especially horses, whose remains were represented primarily by low meat quality elements. In addition, there was the greater use of low-ranked wild resources, especially cyprinid fish and freshwater mussels (Unio spp.). In short, the massive increase in horses was limited to, and driven by, elite demands for this animal. During the Florescent Period, changes are seen not just in which species were being consumed; similarly dramatic alterations are visible in livestock mortality patterns, reflecting a fundamental restructuring of animal management practices. For all species, there was a shift towards earlier off-take, indicative of more-intensive and/or -specialised high-quality meat production. The majority of pigs were consumed before reaching 1.5 years of age, including many animals less than six months old. Most 30% cattle were culled in their prime rather 25% than in old age. But perhaps the most 20% striking difference is seen in the caprines. 15% Off-take was strongly focused on two age classes, one representing prime10% aged animals approaching full body size 5% (16–24 months old) and the other of very 0% 6b 6a 5b 5a 4 P 3 2 1 Phase 7 young animals less than six months of Early Florescent Late age. This pattern not only fits the more Figure 15.4: Horses as a percentage of livestock by generalised shift towards high-quality phase (% NISP). meat over secondary products; the very

Figure 15.5: Taxon representation in on- and off-tell contexts (Florescent Period, Phases 3–4), faunal class and livestock frequencies (% NISP).

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narrow range of ages represented, as well as the strong prime-aged peak, implies an indirect distribution system, as this mortality profile does not reflect a viable living-herd structure. This highly specialised off-take pattern suggests centralised mobilisation of caprines via some form of levy or tributary system to support elites and their institutions, including the potential for provisioning. Given the sharp increase in prime-aged animal consumption across all species, this may also have occurred to some degree for other livestock as well. In the Late Period, the collapse seen in other economic sectors was paralleled in the animal economy. While some aspects remained in place from the Florescent Period, others, especially those most closely associated with luxury foods and centralised management, became attenuated or disappeared entirely. The relative frequency of various livestock species returned to Early Period figures, as horses dropped out as a major component. Culling profiles show increased diversity in age at offtake and greater proportions of older animals for species with secondary products. The intensive production of high-quality meat waned in favour of more-balanced production strategies. In addition, there is no suggestion of any significant degree of indirect distribution or centralised resource mobilisation.

Ritualised feasting The advent of ritualised feasting at Pecica-Şanţul Mare warrants special consideration. During the Florescent Period, unusual bone deposits were created that bear all of the classic hallmarks of feasting remains, namely special 1) deposit context and structure, 2) taphonomy, 3) species composition, 4) element representation, and 5) demography. Thus far, these features are unique to Pecica-Şanţul Mare and underscore qualitative differences in settlement function/activities, as compared to neighbouring communities at this time. Not only do these feasting deposits demonstrate new ways in which food was used by local elites to reinforce social inequalities, but the specific nature of these feasts is intimately linked with the suite of more-systemic changes in foodways occurring at that time. In the narrow open area between the houses and the platform, there is a series of small pits filled with tightly-packed, vertically-oriented animal bones (Figs. 15.6 and 15.7). At least 13 of these features were encountered in the main excavation block, 10 of which belong to the Phase 4 occupation when the number of horses on site reached its peak. In contrast to general site refuse, bones from these features are very well preserved. While most food refuse bones are highly fragmented from marrow extraction, trampling, and carnivore ravaging, the bones from these deposits were carefully placed, either whole or as very large segments of bone with minimal alteration. Meat-removal cut marks and occasional scorching indicate that these bones are food waste (Nicodemus and Lemke 2014). Some bones also display minor weathering and gnaw marks on one end, suggesting that portions of the bones were visible above ground for some period of time.

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Figure 15.6: Plan map of bone deposits, Phase 4 (Florescent Period), Block 1.

The majority of bones are from valuable large-bodied species (71 %), primarily horses and secondarily cattle, which occur at much greater frequencies than in contemporary household refuse (cattle: 29 % versus 17 %, horses: 49 % versus 24 % of livestock representation). Furthermore, bones from the meatiest parts of the animals, primarily axial and upper limb elements, comprise 85 % of the bone deposits, as compared to 62 % elsewhere. Lastly, demographic assessment demonstrates that only a narrow subset of animals was being consumed for these events, especially in the case of horses. The horses were almost exclusively prime-aged females, those aged between five to ten years. This strongly contrasts with the demography of horses in the general refuse, which reflects a typical breeding population (Fig. 15.8). It is apparent that the most valuable members of

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Figure 15.7: Florescent Period bone deposits.

the herd were being consumed at these events. These young female horses 70% were physically and sexually mature, 60% already would have been trained, and 50% bone 40% were still young enough to be in peak deposits 30% other physical condition. Given the scale contexts 20% and importance of horse husbandry at 10% 0% Pecica at this time, the removal of these 0-5 5-10 10-20 20+ Age in years animals would have been costly and a Figure 15.8: Horse age classes (% MNI), Florescent highly visible statement of wealth. The animal remains from these Period, general site refuse versus feasting deposits. special deposits are clear examples of conspicuous consumption. The particular species, age of the animals, and meat cuts all represent very high-quality foods that were being prepared for these events, differing significantly from what was being eaten on a day-to-day basis, even for local elites. The slaughter, preparation, and consumption of these animals would have been part of a public performance, and, given the location of these features, probably occurred on the platform, hosted by the elite households living around it. This display would have included bringing these large animals to the top of the tell, sacrificing them, preparing large joints of meat, communally consuming them in a public area, then collecting a portion of the refuse and specially depositing it into memorial pits. It is unclear what segment of the population were actually able to participate in the feast itself, but given the %MNI

80%

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amount of meat represented by the animal remains in individual features, a large number of people could have been fed. Further, the venue for these periodic events likely would have been visible to the entire population, making these into formidable displays of wealth, status, and power for the hosts.

Conclusion In hierarchical societies, those characterised by institutionalised social inequality and political centralisation, food production, distribution, and consumption practices are affected by new demands from elites and their administrative institutions. As documented at Pecica-Şanţul Mare, animal husbandry practices shifted away from generalised, small-scale, and risk-averse systems to those increasingly focused on the production of high-value animals and their products. This results in not only a movement towards more intensive production of high-value species, especially horses, but also towards more specialised husbandry practices that seek to maximise the production of a particular set of goods, in this case, high-quality meat. This can be readily seen in the taxon representation and demographic profiles of animal remains from both producing and consuming groups. This differentiation was heightened when more formalised systems of indirect distribution were implemented, including centralised resource mobilisation and provisioning systems. At Pecica, this is seen most clearly in caprines, where a highlystructured off-take of juvenile and especially prime-aged animals channelled quality meat to the tell inhabitants. Elite mobilisation of animals and their products would have been an important means for wealth generation, including providing surplus animals for export, as well as provisioning elites and their administrative institutions with high-quality foodstuffs. But perhaps the most striking development is the advent of large-scale horse breeding and consumption during the Florescent Period. Horses were the most valuable livestock of the Bronze Age, being central to rapid transportation of people, light goods, and information, in addition to their use in warfare. It should be noted that it is during this phase that chariotry technologies were adopted by Pecica’s elite. To date, three 4-spoked chariot wheel models have been recovered from Florescent Period contexts. The dramatic increase in horses at this time is likely to be related to the early adoption of this complex new technology and its implication for new forms of warfare. Horses also became central to elite display strategies at Pecica, not only in their day-to-day use, but also as food. Elites living on the tell consumed large numbers of horses while the peripheral population had little access to them. Furthermore, horses were also central to ritualised feasting events in which conspicuous consumption is evident. These feasts were a powerful means for local elites to demonstrate their wealth to participants and on-lookers, reinforcing and enhancing the strong social asymmetries evident at this time.

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Acknowledgements This project would not have been possible without the generous support of the Complexul Muzeal Arad, Muzeul Banatului, and the village of Semlac. I would also like to thank all of the students who worked with us over the years on excavations and in the lab. This research was funded by the National Science Foundation (BSC 1264315 and 1039380).

References Arbuckle, B. S. (2012) Pastoralism, provisioning, and power at Bronze Age Acemhöyük, Turkey. American Anthropologist 114, 452–476. Atici, A. L. (2005) Centralized or decentralized: The mode of pastoral economy at Early Bronze Age Kaman-Kalehöyük. Anatolian Archaeological Studies 14, 119–127. Binford, L. R. (1978) Nunamiut Ethnoarchaeology. New York, Academic Press. Crabtree, P. J. (1990) Zooarchaeology and complex societies: Some uses of faunal analysis for the study of trade, social status, and ethnicity. Archaeological Method and Theory 2, 155–205. Crabtree, P. J. (1996) Production and consumption in an early complex society: Animal use in Middle Saxon East Anglia. World Archaeology 28.1, 58–75. Crişan, I. H. (1978) Ziridava: Săpăturile de la “Şanţul Mare” din anii 1960, 1961, 1962, 1964. Arad, Comitetul de Cultură şi Educaţie Socialistă al Judeţului Arad. DeFrance, S. (2009) Zooarchaeology in complex societies: Political economy, status, and ideology. Journal of Archaeological Research 17, 105–168. Dömötör, L. (1901) Jelentés a pécskai illetve német-peregi ásatásokról. Archaeologiai Értesitõ XXI, 328. Dörner, E. (1978) Istoricul cercetărilor. In I. H. Crişan (ed.) Ziridava: Săpăturile de la “Şanţul Mare” din anii 1960, 1961, 1962, 1964, 16–22. Arad, Comitetul de Cultură şi Educaţie Socialistă al Judeţului Arad. Ervynck, A., van Neer, W., Hüster-Plogmann, H. and Schibler, J. (2003) Beyond affluence: The zooarchaeology of luxury. World Archaeology 34, 428–441. Gamble, C. (1982) Animal husbandry, population and urbanisation. In C. Renfrew and M. Wagstaff (eds.) An Island Polity: The Archaeology of Exploitation in Melos, 161–171. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Greenfield, H. J. (2005) A reconsideration of the Secondary Products Revolution. 20 years of research in the Central Balkans. In J. Mulville and A. K. Outram (eds.) The Zooarchaeology of Milk and Fats, 14–31. Oxford, Oxbow Press. Gumerman, G. (1997) Food and complex societies. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 4, 105–138. Halstead, P. (2001) Mycenaean wheat, flax and sheep: Palatial intervention in farming and its implications for rural society. In S. Voutsaki and J. Killen (eds.) Economy and Politics in the Mycenaean Palace States, 38–50. Cambridge, Cambridge Philological Society. Halstead, P. (2003) Texts and bones: Contrasting Linear B and archaeozoological evidence for animal exploitation in Mycenaean southern Greece. In E. Kotjabopoulou, Y. Hamilakis, P. Halstead, Gamble, C. and Elefanti, P. (eds.) Zooarchaeology in Greece: Recent Advances, 257–261. London, British School at Athens. Hayden, B. (2001) Fabulous feasts: A prolegomenon to the importance of feasting. In M. Dietler and B. Hayden (eds.) Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, 23–64. Washington, D. C., Smithsonian Institution Press. Hill, J. D. (1995) Ritual and Rubbish in the Iron Age of Wessex: A study on the formation of a specific archaeological record, BAR British Series 242. Oxford, Tempus Reparatum.

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Hügel, P., Hurezan, G. P., Mărginean, F. and Sava, V. (2012) One and a half century of archaeology on the Lower Mureş. Ziridava 26.1, 7–34. Jackson, H. E. and Scott, S. L. (2003) Patterns of elite faunal utilization at Moundville, Alabama. American Antiquity 68.3, 552–572. Kirch, P. and O’Day, S. J. (2003) New archaeological insights into food and status: A case study from pre-contact Hawaii. World Archaeology 34.3, 484–497. Morris, J. (2010) Associated bone groups: Beyond the Iron Age. In J. Morris and J. M. Maltby (eds.) Integrating Social and Environmental Archaeologies: Reconsidering Deposition, BAR International Series 2077, 12–23. Oxford, British Archaeological Reports. Nicodemus, A. (2014) Bronze Age Economies of the Carpathian Basin: Trade, Craft Production, and AgroPastoral Intensification. Ann Arbor, University of Michigan, Department of Anthropology. Nicodemus, A. and Lemke, A. (2014) From the Bronze to Iron Age: Diachronic Faunal Investigations at Pecica Şanţul Mare, Romania. Paper presented at the 79th Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology. Austin, TX. O’Shea, J. (1996) Villagers of the Maros: A Portrait of an Early Bronze Age Society. New York, Plenum Press. O’Shea, J., Barker, A. W., Motta, L. and Szentmiklosi, A. (2011) Archaeological Investigations at Pecica “Şanţul Mare” 2006–2009. Analele Banatului 18, 67–74. O’Shea, J., Barker, A. W., Nicodemus, A., Sherwood, S. and Szentmiklosi, A. (2006) Archaeological investigations at Pecica Şanţul Mare: The 2006 campaign. Analele Banatului 14, 211–228. O’Shea, J., Barker, A. W., Sherwood, S. and Szentmiklosi, A. (2005) New archaeological investigations at Pecica Şanţul Mare. Analele Banatului 12–13, 81–109. Outram, A. K. and Rowley-Conwy, P. (1998) Meat and marrow utility indices for horse (Equus). Journal of Archaeological Science 25, 839–849. Payne, S. (1973) Kill-off patterns in sheep and goats: The Mandibles from Asvan Kale. Anatolian Studies 23, 281–303. Popescu, D. (1944) Die frühe und mittlere Bronzezeit in Siebenbürgen. Bucharest, Biblioteca Muzeului National de Antichitati din Bucureşti Redding, R. W. (1992) Egyptian Old Kingdom patterns of animal use and the value of faunal data in modeling socioeconomic systems. Paléorient 18.2, 99–107. Redding, R. W. (2010) Status and diet at the Workers’ Town, Giza, Egypt. In D. Campana, P. J. Crabtree, S. deFrance, J. Lev-Tov and A. M. Choyke (eds.) Anthropological Approaches to Zooarchaeology: Colonialism, Complexity and Animal Transformations, 65–75. Oxford, Oxbow Books. Roska, M. (1912) Ásatás a pécska–szemláki határbam levő Nagy Sáczon. Dolgozatok 3, 1–73. Thurston, T. (2006) The barren and the fertile: Central and local intensification strategies across variable landscapes. In J. Marcus and C. Stanish (eds.) Agricultural Strategies, 131–161. Los Angeles, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California. Van der Veen, M. (2003) When is food a luxury? World Archaeology 34.3, 405–427. Vigne, J.-D. and Helmer, D. (2007) Was milk a “secondary product” in the old world Neolithization process? Its role in the domestication of cattle, sheep and goats. Anthropozoologica 42, 9–40. Zeder, M. A. (1991) Feeding cities: Specialized animal economy in the Ancient Near East. Washington, D. C., Smithsonian Institution Press.

Chapter 16 Plant food from the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age hilltop site Kush Kaya, Eastern Rhodope Mountains, Bulgaria: Insights on the cooking practices Hristo Popov, Elena Marinova, Ivanka Hristova and Stanislav Iliev Introduction Excavations at the hilltop site of Kush Kaya, situated in the Eastern Rhodope mountains, have provided rich and diverse information on settlement structures in the region during the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age. Moreover, abundant information on the subsistence economy and the food consumed by the inhabitants of the settlement has been obtained from finds uncovered in the cultural layers of Kush Kaya. The remains of a possible millet-barley porridge, found in situ in one of the Late Bronze Age dwellings, are of special interest. Finds of this kind are quite rarely preserved and recovered during excavations, and are very valuable, as they represent direct evidence on food preparation practices. In addition, the complete archaeobotanical evidence collected from the site will be discussed. The resulting synthesised evidence will be useful for drawing a picture of the plant-based economy and the food of Ancient Thrace from the second half of the 2nd millennium to the beginning of the 1st millennium BC.

Natural settings The hilltop settlement of Kush Kaya is located in southeast Bulgaria (Fig. 16.1) on the periphery of the southern slopes of the Eastern Rhodope ridge, called ‘Gorata’, situated c. 4 km to the north-west of the village Valche Pole. The hill has a conical shape and is dominated by two rock massifs of volcanic origin (tuff), which surround the saddle-shaped ridge of the hill to the north (Fig. 16.1: top left). The hill of Kush Kaya is encircled by higher mountain ridges to the west and east, and to the north it merges with the above-mentioned ridge of ‘Gorata’. The only natural opening of the hill towards the valley of the Middle Arda River is on its southern and southwestern

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Figure 16.1: Map of the study area. Photograph in the upper left corner giving the view of the hill of Kush Kaya; photograph in the lower left corner giving an overview of the dwelling No. 1 floor, sector I. Situation in situ with discovered vessels and porridge.

side. These topographic conditions allowed the settlement’s inhabitants to control and immediately access the plains at the foothills, as well as the semi-mountainous and mountainous areas to the north, west, and east. Those features also favour diversity in the economy of the site, whereby agricultural activities could be conducted in the plain to the south of the site while, on the other side, animal husbandry and hunting were possible – activities that would have targeted mainly the wooded hilly and mountain areas in the surroundings.

Archaeological background The archaeological excavations of Kush Kaya took place in the period of 2005–2007 (Popov 2009). The remains of buildings belonging to several periods of inhabitation have been uncovered in two sectors (І and ІІ). The structures found in sector I date to the Late Bronze Age. Both relative and absolute (Fig. 16.2) dating attribute them to the period between the 15th and the beginning of the 12th century BC (Popov 2016). Sector II contains remains that are dated to various periods of inhabitation, namely the Late Bronze Age, the Early Iron Age, and the Roman Imperial period. In chronological terms, human occupation continued between the 15th and 10th century BC, with several stages belonging to the middle and late phases of the Bronze Age and the initial and developed phases of the Early Iron Age. In spite of single artefacts from the Hellenistic period having

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Figure 16.2: Radiocarbon ages from dwelling No. 1, sector I, and its stratigraphic horizon.

been found, up till now, no evidence for habitation of the hill during this period has been uncovered. The hill was again inhabited during the 1st to 3rd century AD. Based on the most recent analyses of the site’s stratigraphy, pottery assemblages, and radiocarbon dates, it is possible to distinguish three Late Bronze Age building horizons in sector I. Three well preserved Late Bronze Age houses have been unearthed here. In sector II, the materials from the Late Bronze Age may be attributed to a minimum of two building horizons, while one well-preserved house has also been found. The Late Bronze Age houses were each built on a stone pedestal, above which a superimposed construction of posts and wattle and daub walls was put together. This manner of construction is well visible at dwelling No. 3. The dwellings have one or two chambers, each with a surface area between 20–25 and 50 m². Two of the dwellings (No. 1 and No. 3, sector I) belonging to this period were destroyed by fire. During the Late Bronze Age, habitation was concentrated upon the higher terraces of the northern face of the hill’s ridge. Excavation has revealed a small settlement with good natural defence potential. Indeed, there is no evidence for an additional fortification system built by the inhabitants. The houses of the settlement were arranged in three to four rows. The spatial distribution of the structures as well as the materials from the first phase of the Early Iron Age are similar to those of the Late Bronze Age found northwards, on the higher parts of the hill. The second phase of the Early Iron Age inhabitation of Kush Kaya (the second half of the 11th till the beginnig/first half of the 10th century BC.) is the phase best represented at the site. This is related to the fact that it was the most intensive occupation period of Kush Kaya. Indeed, observations at the territory of the site show that, during this time, the territory of the settlement increased considerably in size. The inhabited area was not limited to the higher, fortified parts of the hill, but covered also the slope, spreading from east to south-west. The artefacts from this period

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are numerous and have been found throughout almost the entire territory of the site (both in its fortified and unfortified areas). During this period, a fortification was built enclosing the ridge of the hill and connecting the two big rock massifs. Parts of the fortification were found in sector III. The remains of light constructions of wood and wattle and daub have been found together with fire-places and floor levels in sector II. Based on the high number of ceramic stamps, used for pottery decoration, and ovens found in this part of the sector, the remains of the buildings may be interpreted as having belonged to workshops for pottery production. According to the current stage of processing of our excavation data, there is disagreement between the relative and absolute datings of the upper chronological limit of the Early Iron Age occupation at Kush Kaya. If we consider only the relative dating based on the ceramic inventory, then the second phase of the Early Iron Age at Kush Kaya should continue at least until the 8th century BC. At the same time, the large series of radiocarbon dated animal bones recovered from the site do not show Early Iron Age dates later than the 10th century BC. This variance of c. 150–200 years has been observed also at other archaeological sites during the last years, and solving it is one of the main challenges to archaeologists dealing with the Late Bronze to Early Iron Age transition in southeast Europe. However, if one considers the complete absence of early pottery produced on a wheel in the layers belonging to the Early Iron Age and the site’s proximity to the Maritsa valley (the main exchange route in southern Thrace), it seems plausible that, during the 7th and 6th century BC, the hill was not inhabited and that the chronological line of Kush Kaya during the Early Iron Age was interrupted, at the latest, during the 8th century BC. Another possibility for solving the problem with respect to the chronological discrepancies for the 9th to 8th century BC might be the application of a statistical evaluation and Bayesian modelling of the available dating results (the modelling of the evidence of radiocarbon dates from Kush Kaya by B. Wenninger, R. Jung and H. Popov is still in progress). To conclude, at the current stage of the study of Kush Kaya, it has become clear that human occupation lasted nearly 6 centuries, covering both the Late Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age (Popov 2009; 2016). This fact fits well with the general picture on human occupation of the Eastern Rhodope mountains during these two periods. This observation is also confirmed by the excavation at the site of Vishegrad, containing both Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age materials (Dremsisova-Nelchinova 1984), and surveys targeting the intensity and density of the settlement networks in the region (see Kulov 1991 and references therein). Recent research carried out in the last 15 years has enlarged the evidence and added new details with respect to the periods under consideration (Popov 2006, 57–62; Dimitrova 2011, 73; 2015, 31–64; Nehrizov and Tsvetkova 2011, 176–178; Bozhinova 2012, 53–54, 56–59; Nehrizov and Tsvetkova 2012, 127–129; Bozhinova et al. 2013, 67–80; Popov et al. 2016). In spite of the different character and nature of the various sites, the increasingly detailed stratigraphic and chronological information now available from numerous sites indicate continuous settlement activities, which, in many cases, cover considerable time spans, starting from the second half of the 2nd

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and extending through the first half of the 1st millennium BC. This increasing amount of empirical information also makes it possible to advance, in a more reliable way, our knowledge on the subsistence economy and environment of those sites.

Archaeobotanical materials Soil samples for archaeobotanical analysis have been systematically taken from the dwellings and cultural layers and floated manually. The plant remains considered in the current paper were collected during two excavation campaigns (2006 and 2007) and obtained from 12 flotation samples with a total volume of 120 l (Table 16.1). In addition, charred food remains were found in situ, within a Late Bronze Age vessel, and collected by hand while excavating. The majority of the plant remains were examined and identified with a low magnification microscope (up to 30×), while the Late Bronze Age food remains were analysed using a reflected light microscope and a Scanning Electron Microscope (SEM). The flotation samples yielded c. 700 identifiable seed or fruit remains, most of which were well preserved. The identified specimens provide a general impression of the staple crops that were used at the site: five cereal crops (einkorn, emmer, free threshing wheat, barley, and millet); two pulses (lentil and grass pea); four taxa belonging to gathered wild fruits (cornel, raspberry, elder, grape pip); and one vegetable (common beet), as well as 18 possible weed or ruderal taxa. The cereal crops are the best represented throughout the studied contexts (Table 16.1). Millet was the dominant cereal crop during the Late Bronze Age (LBA), accounting for almost 35 % of all identified botanical remains. Other cereal crops common during this period are hulled wheats and hulled barley. The two hulled wheat species were almost equally important, though with a slight prevalence registered for emmer. Einkorn and emmer are typical of the prehistoric period in the region, as well as in the Near East and Europe generally. In terms of their purpose in food preparation, hulled wheat, barley, and millet were used mainly for the preparation of porridges and flatbreads. They all are quite resistant to unfavourable climatic conditions, but not so high-yielding as free threshing wheat, a crop that became more important in later periods (Iron and Roman Age). Pulses were far less common: only a few specimens of lentil and grass pea have been found (Table 16.1). There has been one single find of the common beet and, although that is insufficient to arrive at any conclusions about the use of this plant, we know that it was present either as a weed or a useful plant during that period. Plants gathered in the wild also formed part of the LBA diet. Fruit remains indicate the use of wild plant resources; most common are the remains of the Cornelian cherry. There is one find of grape pip, which, considering the period in question, may have originated from cultivated grapes, though this is not possible to determine. Weeds and possible weeds are present in low numbers. The most common, namely Agrostemma githago L., Lolium sp., Galium spurium L., and Polygonum convolvulus (L.) Dum., typically grow together with winter cereal crops.

lentil grass pea unidentified pulses

Lens culinaris Medik. Lathyrus sativus/cicera L. Fabaceae

Cerealia

unidentified cereal crops

Pulses

Triticum monococcum L. Tr. monococcum L. Tr. dicoccum Shrank. Tr. dicoccum Shrank. Tr. Monococcum/dicoccum Tr. monococcum/dicoccum Tr. aestivum/durum L. Triticum sp. L. Hordeum vulgare L. Hordeum vulgare var. vulgare L. Panicum miliaceum L.

einkorn einkorn (chaff) emmer emmer (chaff) hulled wheat hulled wheat (chaff) free threshing wheat wheat barley hulled barley millet

Cereal crops/age

Dwelling 1, near hearth, Sect I, sq. D-3-4 1

1

27 16

2

1 2 3 1 9 4

LBA

Sect. І, sq. E-4 1 2

4

5 2

3

1

LBA

Sect I, sq. D-3, dwelling, hearth LBA

1

1

15

16 26

16

2

15

50

4

2

11

7

14

Sect. І, sq. В-3, under daub fragments LBA

Sect. II, sq. А-3, dwelling

LBA

2 1 6

30

7 6 43 96

22 3 30 1 11 7

Total number for LBA

Table 16.1: Results of the archaeobotanical analysis – flotation samples.

3

7

78 12 3

2

EIA

Sect. ІІ, sq. С-3

Sect. II, sq. В-3, under clay floor 4

20

3

2

EIA

Sect. II, sq. С-3, pit 1, dwelling 2

1

3

EIA

Sect. II, sq. С-2-3, stone concentration 2

11

2 2

1

EIA

Sect. II, sq.С-3, dwelling, NE part 1

3

6

3

2

2

1

EIA

Sect. II, sq. В-2, S part 1

2 11

EIA

Sect. II, sq. В-3, N profile 2

2 122

EIA

Total number for EIA 1

3

14

83 14 8 4 178

8 2

1

268 Hristo Popov, Elena Marinova, Ivanka Hristova and Stanislav Iliev

Beta vulgaris L.

Vegetables common beet

false cleaver field gromwell tufted grasses, ryegrass mallow

common corn-cockle wild oat wild buckwheat brome grasses fat-hen

Malva sp. Polycnemum arvense L.

Agrostemma githago L. Avena sp. Bilderdykia convolvulus (L.) Dum. Bromus sp. Chenopodium album L. Chenopodium hybridum L. Galium spurium L. Lithospermum arvense L. Lolium sp.

Weeds and potential weeds

Cornus mas L. Rubus idaeus L. Sambucus sp. Vitis vinifera L.

cornel raspberry elder grapevine

Gathered plant

Dwelling 1, near hearth, Sect I, sq. D-3-4 2

2 1 1

2

LBA

Sect. І, sq. E-4 1

2

LBA

LBA

Sect I, sq. D-3, dwelling, hearth

Table 16.1 Sect. І, sq. В-3, under daub fragments Sect. II, sq. А-3, dwelling

2

1 1

6 1 1

1

3

1

1

6 1 3 1 4 1 3 1 5

1

1

1

1

3

LBA

Total number for LBA

1

LBA

Sect. ІІ, sq. С-3

Sect. II, sq. В-3, under clay floor Sect. II, sq. С-3, pit 1, dwelling

Sect. II, sq. С-2-3, stone concentration 1

1

EIA

Sect. II, sq.С-3, dwelling, NE part EIA

EIA 1 1

3

1

1

5

2

1 1

EIA

Sect. II, sq. В-2, S part

1

EIA

Sect. II, sq. В-3, N profile

1

EIA

Total number for EIA

1

1

EIA

16. Plant food from the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age 269

sunflower family deadnettle family grasses unidentified bread/gruel

Others

clover vetches

sorrels, docks rough/green bristle-grass bittersweet medusahead spurge flax

Asteraceae Lamiaceae Poaceae Indet

Rumex sp. Setaria verticillata/viridis (L.) Beauv. Solanum cf. dulcamara L. Taeniatherum sp. Thymelaea passerina (L.) Coss et Germ. Trifolium sp. Vicia sp.

Weeds and potential weeds

Dwelling 1, near hearth, Sect I, sq. D-3-4 1

2

LBA

Sect. І, sq. E-4 1

1 1

LBA

Sect I, sq. D-3, dwelling, hearth LBA

Sect. І, sq. В-3, under daub fragments 2 7 х

LBA

Sect. II, sq. А-3, dwelling 4

1

LBA

Total number for LBA 1 2 11

1

1

1 3

11

1

1

4

EIA

Sect. ІІ, sq. С-3 1 5

1

EIA

Sect. II, sq. С-3, pit 1, dwelling 1

EIA

Table 16.1 : Results of the archaeobotanical analysis – flotation samples. (Continued)

Sect. II, sq. В-3, under clay floor

Sect. II, sq. С-2-3, stone concentration 2 2

EIA

Sect. II, sq.С-3, dwelling, NE part 3 2

1

EIA

Sect. II, sq. В-2, S part 1

EIA

Sect. II, sq. В-3, N profile 1 6

1

EIA

Total number for EIA 18 17

1

1

1 1 1

4

EIA

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Figure 16.3: Percentage proportions of the main plant groups (based on the data provided in Table 16.1).

Therefore, these plants can be considered an indication for the use of cereal crops that were sown mainly in late autumn. During the Early Iron Age (EIA), millet remained important among the cereal crops. The greatest difference to the LBA crops was that, now, hulled wheat and barley were almost absent, while free threshing wheat became almost as prominent as millet (Fig. 16.3). Free threshing wheat is more productive and highly nutritious. Being very rich in gluten, its flour can be used for making leaven bread. Therefore, its increased presence might be related to a change in culinary practices (Megaloudi 2004, 155). Further, in comparison to hulled wheat, the cultivation of free threshing wheat requires a higher input of labour and might reflect more intensive agricultural practices and even an increased population density; once harvested, however, its processing is easier and faster than that of other prehistoric cereal crops (Nesbitt 1995, 74). Lentil is the only pulse found, while elder (Sambucus sp.) and raspberry (Rubus idaeus L.) are the only gathered wild plants. The range of weeds and possible weeds identified in the EIA samples is very similar to that of the LBA samples: most frequent here are Lolium sp., Rumex sp., and Galium spurium. Overall, it seems that the plant economy of the Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age layers studied at the site was, to a great extent, characterised by continuity. However, the introduction of free threshing wheat, which almost replaced hulled wheat (einkorn) during the Early Iron Age, points to agricultural innovation, a possible intensification

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of agricultural practices, and, considering the fact that bread leavened with yeasts could have been produced from the free threshing wheat, changes in cooking practices.

In situ finds of Late Bronze Age food remains Inside dwelling No. 1, sector I, a concentration of pottery was found. This closed archaeological complex was preserved due to a fire, which affected the western part of dwelling No. 1 as well as the complete dwelling No. 3, situated to its west. In one of the vessels, a crust of charred plant matter was observed (Fig. 16.4: A). It was found in a partly preserved, deep vessel, which was covered by a jug fragment reused as a lid. The context in which the vessels were found (Fig. 16.1: bottom left) indicate that they were positioned in order to hold liquid or semi-liquid food that had to be kept and consumed warm. Fragments of clay spoons, found in dwelling No. 1 and No. 3, suggest that this type of food was consumed by the inhabitants of the site on a daily basis. Radiocarbon dates from the charred crust (Fig. 16.2: SUERC 64248) as well as other radiocarbon dates from the same building horizon to which dwelling No. 1 belongs attribute the find and its context to the period from the second half of the 14th to the beginning of the 13th century BC. Therefore, these food remains belong to the end of the second phase of the Late Bronze Age inhabitation of Kush Kaya. The crust has a porous texture, which may be perceived with the naked eye. In addition, some complete specimens as well as fragments of cereal grains have been identified. When studying the surface of the charred mass under microscope, one is struck by the homogeneity of the porous matter, which is already discernible under a low magnification microscope (Fig. 16.4: B) and seen even more clearly under SEM (Fig. 16.5: A). This homogenous, porous texture can possibly be explained by the mixture having been wet prior to charring. Further, the charred porous mass contained grain fragments of millet and barley (Fig. 16.4: C). Less frequent but well recognisable are linseeds (Fig. 16.4: D). They seem to represent a minor component of the millet-barley mixture. Along with those that were fragmented, also complete grains and seeds were found, and it was possible to isolate them from the charred matter (Fig. 16.4: E, F, G). Under a SEM, not only bigger (Fig. 16.5: B) and smaller fragments of millet (Fig. 16.5: C) are visible, but also some chaff remains (Fig. 16.5: D) and partially disintegrated starchy layers (Fig. 16.5: E), which could be associated with millet. The starch grains seem to be partially dissolved and altered. This could be the result of thermal impact before or during the fire in the building. Further studies are needed to explore these possibilities and to determine if the starch grains were subjected only to cooking or also to fermentation. However, the small grain and chaff fragments of millet indicate that some processing related to pounding or grinding took place prior to the charring. This processing of the grains must have been done in order to make them more palatable and suitable for preparing a porridge, gruel, or other meal. Similar to the millet grains, also the barley remains indicate that they were partly fragmented or subject to grinding before becoming charred. This is

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Figure 16.4: Microphotographs of the finds of porridge: A. food remains found in situ inside a vessel from dwelling No. 1, sector I; B. close view of the surface of the food remains; C. fragment of the food remains with embedded grains of barley (white arrow) and millet (black arrow); D. fragment of the food remains with embedded linseeds (grey arrow); E. intact preserved barley grain from the food remains in three views; F. intact preserved millet grain taken from the food remains; G. intact preserved linseed taken from the food remains.

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Figure 16.5: Microstructure of the cereal food under SEM: A. overview of the porous matter; B. and C. millet fragments embedded in the charred mass; D. surface of millet chaff; E. starch layer of millet grain; F. aleurone layer (indicated with white arrow); G. longitudinal cells of the barley pericarp; H. transversal cells of the barley pericarp; I. seed surface of fragmented linseed.

attested by a variety of barley pericarp fragments, some still associated with multilayered aleurone (Fig. 16.5: F), which is typical for barley (Körber-Grohne and Piening 1980). In some cases, fragments with different pericarp layers, namely longitudinal (Fig. 16.5: G) and transverse (Fig. 16.5: H) cells, could be identified. Finally, linseed was found; there were some completely preserved seeds and also fragments, which are easily recognisable by their distinctive surface (Fig. 16.5: I). It is possible that linseed was added to the mixture for its high content of oil, which would increase the nutritional value of the porridge. Closer observation of all available fragments of the charred mass and their surfaces (including surfaces of fraction) has indicated that the dominant component is millet, followed by barley, which, estimated according to the visible remains,

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comprises approximately one-third of the charred mass. Linseed seems to be a minor component of the charred mass, but it is very difficult to quantify its contribution to the mixture due to the frequent fragmentation of the seeds. Linseeds are generally under-represented among charred material at archaeological sites. Indeed, due to their high oil content, they are easily destroyed in contact with fire. In sum, a more precise quantification of the components of the mixture is relatively difficult, not only because of the low preservation chances of linseed, but also because the larger grains of barley, as compared to those of millet, can fragment strongly and become unrecognisable after cooking and subsequent charring. Considering all of the above-listed observations, it seems that the charred mass, dominated by millet, does not represent just a millet storage, with some contamination, that was charred during the destruction of the building by fire. The porous texture can be considered a consequence of boiling, while the small ground grain fragments and the presence of oil-rich seeds clearly indicate that the charred mass represents a cereal meal, most probably a porridge or coarse gruel. Another possibility could be that the millet was used as the basis of a fermented drink of the type of braga (or boza), which was made traditionally across a huge area of Europe, stretching from Poland to the Balkans, and even eastwards to Siberia. It was made by soaking millet in water, then subjecting the mixture to heat and fermentation for c. 24 hours, after which it resulted in a ‘porridge’ (Hornsey 2003). This interpretation cannot be excluded, although the presence of barley and linseeds are more suggestive of their being components of a porridge or stew. Further analyses of the starch grains (Samuel 2006) of millet preserved in the charred mass could shed more light upon this question.

Interpretation of the Late Bronze Age food remains from Kush Kaya in a broader context The archaeobotanical record of Kush Kaya with its domination of millet fits well into the regional patterns already known for such study regions as southern Bulgaria (Popova 2009) and northern Greece (Valamoti 2016). According to a recent review of the Bronze Age archaeobotanical finds in Europe (Stika and Heiss 2013), the transformation of millets from minor to major (or even main) crops took place during the transition from the Middle to the Late Bronze Age. The find of the charred crust, resembling a porridge, at Kush Kaya has only one parallel so far, that is, at the Late Bronze Age site of Stillfried in Lower Austria (Kohler-Schneider 2001). At this site, archaeobotanical analyses have shown a mixture of millet, barley, and rye-brome, a weed species that was probably tolerated, and therefore not removed, because of its nutritional value. Experimental cooking and charring of porridge has proven that interpretation of the archaeological remains as being the result of cooking a porridge is very plausible. The composition of the find from Kush Kaya corresponds very well to the one described for Stillfried by Kohler-Schneider (2001); also, on a microscopic level, the observation of ground grains (see the previous section) is very similar for

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both sites (Fig. 16.5). During the Late Bronze Age and the Iron Age, porridges and stews composed of millet and barley with the addition of pulses or oil-rich seeds were wide-spread within western and northern Europe (Katz and Weaver 2003).

Conclusions The food remains found at the site of Kush Kaya provide an example of the composition of a meal prepared at the site in the Late Bronze Age from the staple crops of the region. The addition of oil-rich seeds (linseed) to the cereal-based porridge indicates also a significant tendency for the Bronze Age, that is, the increasing importance of oil crops in the human diet. Comparative analysis of the plant remains from the Late Bronze and the Early Iron Age allows the possibility of studying the changes that occurred and the continuity maintained with respect to plant food production and consumption in the study area during the two periods. The findings presented here provide a good opportunity for further, more-detailed analyses and contribute to raising the awareness of such finds within the archaeological record. Once combined with biochemical and residue analyses, the results of the current study will allow for a profound understanding of food preparation techniques within the study period.

Acknowledgements This study was part of the FWO/BAS project No. VS.051.15N ‘Subsistence economy and land use during the Late Bronze Age, Iron Age and Roman Period (1600 BC–400 AD) in today’s southeastern Bulgaria: bio-archaeological perspectives.’ The second author is also grateful to Julien Cillis for motivated technical support provided in the taking of SEM images of the ancient food remains at the Royal Belgian Institute for Natural Sciences. The authors are also grateful to Bea De Cupere for helpful comments on an earlier version of the manuscript.

References Bozhinova, E. (2012) Thrace between east and west: The Early Iron Age cultures in Thrace. In A. Çilingiroğlu and A. Sagona (eds.) Anatolian Iron Ages 7. Proceedings of the Seventh Anatolian Iron Ages Colloquium Held at Edirne, 19–24 April 2010. Ancient Near Eastern Studies Suppl. 39, 51–71. Leuven, Peeters. Bozhinova, E., Mommsen, H. and Jung, R. (2013) Dragojna – eine spätbronzezeitliche Höhensiedlung in den bulgarischen Rhodopen mit importierter mykenischer Keramik. In Mitteilungen des deutschen archäologischen Institutes, Athenische Abteilung 125, 2010, 45–97. Darmstadt and Mainz, Philipp von Zabern. Dimitrova, Y. (2011) Rodopi mountain between Thrace and Aegea region: Some elements of a border culture of Early Iron Age in southern Bulgaria. Anodos. Studies of the Ancient World 10/2010, 71–84. Dimitrova, Y. (2015) Културно развитие на Родопите през ранната желязна епоха (по археологически данни) [Cultural development of the Rhodopes during the Early Iron Age (based on archaeological evidence)]. Unpublished thesis, National Archaeological Institute with Museum – Bulgarian Academy of Sciences.

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Dremsizova-Nelchinova, Tz. (1984) Тракийската крепост край с. Вишеград, Кърджалийско [The Thracian fortress near the village Vishegrad, Kаrdzhali district]. Thracia 6, 104–133. Hornsey, I. S. (2003) A History of Beer and Brewing. Cambridge, Royal Society of Chemistry. Katz, S. H. and Weaver, W. W. (2003) Encyclopedia of Food and Culture. New York, Charles Scribner’s Sons. Körber-Grohne, U. and Piening, U. (1980) Microstructures of the surfaces of carbonized and noncarbonized grains of cereals as observed in scanning electron and light microscopes as an additional aid in determining prehistoric findings. Flora 170, 189–228. Kohler-Schneider, M. (2001) Verkohlte Kultur- und Wildpflanzenreste aus Stillfried an der March als Spiegel spätbronzezeitlicher Landwirtschaft im Weinviertel, Niederösterreich. Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Kreuz, A. and Boenke, N. (2003) Hirsebrei, Feigen und … – Landwirtschaft, Umwelt und Ernährung im Bad Nauheimer Raum. In B. Kull (ed.) Sole und Salz schreiben Geschichte, 249–255. Mainz, Philipp von Zabern. Kulov, G. (1991) Тракийската култура през бронзовата и ранножелязната епоха по средното течение на р. Арда и нейните притоци [The Thracian culture during the Bronze and Early Iron Age along the middle Arda and its tributaries]. Bulletin des Musées de la Bulgarie du Sud 17, 73–86. Megaloudi, F. (2004) Agriculture in Mainland Greece at the Protogeometric period. A view from the archaeobotanical remains. Eyλimenh 5, 151–160. Nehrizov, G. and Tsvetkova, J. (2011) Скален комплекс ‘Глухите камъни’ [Rock niches cult complex ‘Gluhite kamani’]. Arheologicheski otkritiya i razkopki prez 2010 g., 176–179. Nehrizov, G. and Tsvetkova, J. (2012) Скален комплекс ‘Глухите камъни’ [Rock niches cult complex ‘Gluhitekamani’], Arheologicheski otkritiya i razkopki prez 2011 g., 127–130. Nesbitt, M. (1995). Plants and people in ancient Anatolia. Biblical Archaeologist 58.2, 68–81. Popov, H. (2006) Селищен обект Куш Кая в контекста на обитаването през ранната желязна епоха в района на Средна Арда, Източни Родопи [The site Kush Kaya in the context of the settlement occupation of the region of Middle Arda during the Early Iron Age]. In Zh. Mihaylova, M. Nikolaeva, T. A. Vasileva and Ts. Tsvetanov (eds.) Sbornik Esennicheteniya Sboryanovo, Vol. 4: Selishten model v Severoiztochna Bulgaria, 47–65. Varna, Slavena. Popov, H. (2009) Куш Кая. Характеристики на обитаването през късната бронзова и ранната желязна епоха [Kush Kaya. Characteristics of the settlement during the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age]. Arheologiya 2009, 1–2, 21–39. Popov, H. (2016) Kush Kaya. On the absolute chronology of the Late Bronze Age in southern Thrace. In K. Bacvarov and R. Glezer (eds.) Southeast Europe and Anatolia in prehistory. Essays in honor of Vassil Nikolov on his 65th anniversary. Universitätsforschungen zur prähistorishen Archäologie 293, 429–438. Bonn, Dr Rudolf Habelt. Popov, H., Nikov, K. and Jockenhövel, A. (2015) Ada Tepe (Krumovgrad, Bulgarien) – ein neu entdecktes spätbronzezeitliches Goldbergwerk im balkanisch-ägäischen Kommunikationsnetz. In G. von Bülow (ed.) Kontaktzone Balkan. Beiträge des internationalen Kolloquiums ‘Die Donau-BalkanRegion als Kontaktzone zwischen Ost-West und Nord-Süd’ vom 16–18 Mai 2012 in Frankfurt a. M. Kolloquien zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte 20, 45–62. Bonn, Dr Rudolf Habelt. Popova, Tz. (2009) Paleobotanic catalogue of sites and studied vegetal remains (debris) in the territory of Bulgaria (1980–2008). Interdisciplinary studies 20–21, 71–166. Samuel, D. (2006) Modified starch. In R. Torrence and H. Barton (eds.) Ancient Starch Research, 205–216. Walnut Creek, Left Coast Press. Stika, H.-P. and Heiss, A. G. (2013) Plant cultivation in the Bronze Age. In H. Fokkens and A. Harding (eds.) The Oxford Handbook of the European Bronze Age, 340–361. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Valamoti, S. M. (2016) Millet, the late comer: On the tracks of Panicum miliaceum in prehistoric Greece. Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences 8.1, 51–63.

Chapter 17 Food supply and disposal of food remains at Late Bronze and Early Iron Age Ada Tepe: Bioarchaeological aspects of food production, processing and consumption Krassimir Nikov, Elena Marinova, Bea De Cupere, Ivanka Hristova, Yana Dimitrova, Stanislav Iliev and Hristo Popov Introduction The site of Ada Tepe, situated in the Eastern Rhodope Mountains (south Bulgaria), represents a unique gold mining and settlement complex occupied from the Late Bronze Age to the Early Iron Age. Apart from extensive mining activities, the excavations of the site also revealed settlement layers comprising not only archaeological artefacts but also diverse evidence on the food supply of the ancient gold mining complex. Archaeobotanical and archaeozoological studies of sites related to ancient metallurgy are quite common for western and central Europe (see, e.g. Heiss and Oeggl 2008; Oeggl and Schwarz 2012; Boenke 2015; Hüster-Plogmann et al. 2015), but very rare or absent for southeastern Europe and particularly Bulgaria. The site of Ada Tepe provides a good opportunity to undertake bioarchaeological studies, and can serve as an example with respect to the subsistence economy of such sites for the region. Cultural and technological innovations related to metallurgy can also have induced innovations in agricultural practices and, consequently, changes in the food storage, processing of food, and consumption practices of ancient peoples. In this paper, we will discuss food subsistence based on the available archaeological and bioarchaeological evidence from Ada Tepe. Archaeobotanical studies on the material from the settlement structures on top of the hill provide a diachronic view of the plant food used at the site. More particularly, in the cultural layers of the settlements, traces of cereal crops, pulses, fruits, and wild plants gathered and used by the inhabitants of the site have been found. Collecting information on the plant subsistence of these people also provides information on their connections and contacts with adjacent regions, especially in the case of finds related to which cultivated plants were introduced. Similarly, animal remains collected at this site

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have been studied in order to obtain information on the animal part of the diet and to reconstruct animal exploitation. Most of the animal food in the diet was obtained from domesticates; their relative significance in the diet will be compared to that of other contemporaneous sites within the same region.

The environment The site of Ada Tepe is located in the Eastern Rhodope Mountains, on a hill (c. 495 m asl) with the same name, near the town of Krumovgrad (Fig. 17.1). The climate in the area has a sub-continental to sub-Mediterranean transitional character with frost in winter. The average annual temperature is 10–12 °C and the average annual precipitation is 590–650 mm. The natural vegetation consists of thermophyllous mixed deciduous broad-leaved forests, dominated by oriental hornbeam (Carpinus orientalis), downy oak (Quercus pubescens), and sub-Mediterranean elements. However, today’s vegetation is strongly influenced by human activities, such as agriculture and herding, so that few patches of undisturbed woodland can be observed in the area. Old traditions of animal husbandry are still preserved in the region and strongly contribute to the

Figure 17.1: View of the site of Ada Tepe.

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shaping of the landscape and the existence of secondary plant communities with shrubby physiognomy.

General archaeological settings The archaeological investigation of the site took place in two stages. Both of them were conducted as rescue excavations and were funded by Dundee Precious Metals, a private mining company, and its subsidiaries. The first excavations were directed by Dr Georgi Nehrizov and his team from 2001 to 2006 (Nehrizov and Mikov 2002; Nehrizov 2003; 2006). The excavated structures at the central part of the hilltop were interpreted as a sanctuary that existed from the end of the Late Bronze Age through the Early Iron Age until the last phases of Late Hellenistic times (end of the 1st millennium BC). The second stage of the rescue excavations relates to the identification of archaeological structures, connected with old minig activities, situated on a wide area on the slopes; this started in 2005 (Popov and Iliev 2006). Several years later, during an archaeometallurgical survey and with the opening of some test trenches conducted within the framework of the Bulgarian-German project ‘Eisen und Gold – Auf den Spuren der Metallurgie des Alten Thrakien’ and funded by the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation (2008–2011), the archaeological structures on the hill were identified as a large gold mining complex (Popov et al. 2011; Popov and Jockenhövel 2011; Popov et al. 2015). The importance of the site and the large size of the areas related to ancient mining activities, both on the top and on the slopes of Ada Tepe, led to the realization of a large-scale rescue archaeological research project (Fig. 17.2), funded by Dundee Precious Metals. Fieldwork (including systematic sampling of contexts for archaeobotanical and archaeozoological materials) was carried out in the period of 2010–2015 and provided a huge quantity of archaeological materials and artefacts, the processing of which is still ongoing. The lay-out of the site and its development through time can briefly be summarised as follows. Ores, rich in gold and silver, in the higher parts of Ada Tepe were the main reason for human occupation of the hill during the Late Bronze Age. The exploitation of the hydrothermal quartz veins at the very top and in the higher parts of the eastern slopes started around the middle of the 2nd millennium BC, more precisely in the early 15th century BC. Along with the structures directly related to ore mining (open cast mining structures, waste heaps, working places for ore-preparation, etc.), the study of the archaeological complex of Ada Tepe revealed also settlement structures. The latter were situated on different parts of the hill top and included dwellings, fortification structures, and solitary huts or sheds, located adjacent to the ore mining and processing sectors. The first habitation zone was established on the north-eastern slope of the hill. This area was exposed to erosion and, due to pine afforestation in the 1960s, the soil is characterised by high acidity. These factors are likely the cause for the poor preservation of the faunal remains (see below). However, it was still possible to isolate charred wood fragments from materials used for construction and as fuel, which were submitted for radiocarbon dating (Popov et al. 2017).

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Figure 17.2: Topographic map of the site of Ada Tepe, with indication of the activity areas.

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Figure 17.3: Late Bronze Age vessels found in situ at Ada Tepe.

Figure 17.4: Remains of Late Bronze Age houses at Ada Tepe.

Several decades later, following the exhaustion of the richest parts of the hydrothermal veins around the end of the 15th to early 14th century BC, habitation moved to the top of Ada Tepe. As a result of the earlier mining activities, a broad and relatively flat area had been gradually built. Occupation layers at this place reveal several construction horizons, representing different phases of habitation. The village spread over an area of more than 10,000 sq. m (1 ha) during the Late Bronze Age period, though with a varying intensity of occupation. Between the 15th

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and the end of the 12th or beginning of the 11th century BC, the layout and internal organisation of the settlement underwent several changes. A fortress wall – a twosided construction with a thickness at the base of c. 2.60 m – was built at the very top during the 13th century BC. The area protected by the wall was densely built, while the areas outside the enclosure were occupied by buildings with more space between them. Single and double-roomed buildings, separated by small courtyards and passageways, were located on the northern, western, and southern slopes, outside the fortified area. The highest concentration of materials connected with habitation on top of the hill corresponds to the last stages of the Late Bronze Age (13th to 11th century BC) (Figs. 17.3 and 17.4). The Early Iron Age occupation at Ada Tepe lasted from the first half of the 11th century BC to the beginning of the 9th century BC. The Iron Age layers cover the Late Bronze Age structures and, at this stage of the site’s research, it is difficult to say whether occupation continued uninterrupted from the Late Bronze Age to the Early Iron Age or if a short hiatus existed between these two periods. It has, though, been established with certainty that the size of the settlement markedly decreased, being several times smaller during the Early Iron Age compared to its size during the Late Bronze Age. Stratigraphically, the Early Iron Age occupation differs substantially from that evidenced by the Late Bronze Age layers. In several instances, the former is characterised by the presence of so-called pottery carpets or concentrations of pottery fragments, without clear structures or architectural remains. Furthermore, during the excavations within the habitation zone on the top of Ada Tepe and in the sectors related to the mining activities on the slopes of the hill, it became clear that mining activities stopped at the end of the Late Bronze Age and were completely absent during the Early Iron Age. Тhe differences in the main activities and, thus, also in the economy of the site between the Late Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age suggest that, in the latter period, the site’s inhabitants were of a different origin. Bioarchaeological materials have been collected and/or sampled from throughout the whole stratigraphic sequence of cultural layers and contexts from the various periods. All archaeobotanical and archaeozoological assemblages described in this paper originate from the habitation zone on the hill top and are dated to the time span between the late 15th and the beginning of the 9th century BC. Considering the fact that human activities, for a significant part of that period, were related to a specific type of economy raises questions about the system of food supply of the people working and living here.

Archaeological evidence on food practices Late Bronze Age ceramics The ceramic assemblages of Ada Tepe (Fig. 17.5) provide a large amount of direct and indirect evidence on the preparation, consumption, and storage of food and

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Figure 17.5: Overview of Late Bronze Age pottery shapes.

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food products. Due to the fact that Ada Tepe is the only site in Thrace studied on such a scale, these data are essential for the understanding of diet and eating habits during the Late Bronze Age. At the same time, it should be taken into account that at least part of the vessel forms and their large numbers are linked to the character of the settlement and reflect the specialised activities associated with gold extraction. This specialisation or the presence of certain activities can then also be the logical explanation for differences that may occur in comparison with contemporaneous ceramic complexes from other regions in Thrace (Nehrizov 1995; Leshtakov 2006; Dimitrova 2014; Nikov 2016). As mentioned above, the identified typological groups of vessels suggest a variety of activities, all connected with the preparation and consumption of food. Within most of the Late Bronze Age typological groups, vessels of different sizes exist. This creates the impression of a considerable variety in the form repertoire, which, in turn, can be used as an indirect indication for different food processing practices, as can the presence of vessels with similar volume but different shape. This is observed in the case of vessels for storing liquids and/or liquid food (storage vessels, amphoralike vessels, double vessels) and especially drinking vessels (cups, kantharoi) and jugs. The large percentage share of the two latter groups of vessels points towards the nature of the consumed liquid, possibly a porridge or stew-like food. And, in this connection, the clay spoons which have been found in various Late Bronze Age dwellings should be mentioned. Contemporaneous parallels have been found at other sites in the eastern and western Rhodope Mountains (Popov 2009; Bayryakov 2010; Popov et al., this volume). Another specific characteristic of the Late Bronze pottery assemblage of Ada Tepe is the lack of bowls, which are typically used for consuming liquid meals. Instead, several other forms that can be used for the same purpose are present. This rather reflects the local form repertoire than it is a result of the cooking practices applied. Moreover, the large storage containers (often with volumes of 50 litres and more) cannot be interpreted unambiguously in terms of food related practices. Some of them were possibly also used during the gold extraction activities, e.g. for storing fluid or water, cooling, washing, etc.

Early Iron Age ceramics Unlike the stratigraphic observations, which were not informative about the continuity or discontinuity of the transition between the Late Bronze Age (LBA) and the Early Iron Age (EIA), the ceramic assemblages of Ada Tepe give the impression of a rather smooth change (Fig. 17.6). This is expressed by a gradual modification and also a decrease in the number of typological vessel groups. Taking into account the sharp reduction of the settlement’s size and the differences in economy between the two periods (i.e., the disappearing of the gold exploitation), it is plausible to suggest that this would be reflected in changes in diet and cooking practices. However, these could also be simply related to new developments in settlement structure leading

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Figure 17.6: Overview of Early Iron Age pottery shapes.

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to the adaptation of a new ceramic repertoire and food processing techniques. The Early Iron Age assemblages comprise, again, different sizes within each typological group, although the variation is lower compared to the size variation within the Late Bronze Age typological groups. In addition, the Early Iron Age ceramic repertoire is characterised by the absence of bowls with an inward curved rim, which otherwise are typical for Thrace (Dimitrova 2015, 248–249). There are also no other ceramic forms that can be considered to have taken over the function of the bowls as was the case for the Late Bronze Age assemblages. This might be an additional indication of changes in the diet and subsistence of the inhabitants of Ada Tepe. One hypothesis considers that the lack of bowls in the pottery repertoire of Ada Tepe from the transitional period between the LBA and the beginning of EIA is an indication of the site having been a sanctuary. The high percentage of cups is probably connected with the activities of sacrifices and libation (Nehrizov 2005). However, it should be noted that, aside from the cups, there are yet many pottery forms, such as storage vessels, pithoi, jugs, jars, or larger amphorae-like vessels. We assume that there should be other reasons for the lack of or low percentage of bowls in the pottery repertoire.

Bioarchaeological evidence of food practices Archaeobotanical evidence Within this paper, the plant macroremains collected from the settlement structures will be described, and, more specifically, the seeds and fruits, as they are the most informative on the diet. The industrial waste fills (i.e., from the mining and metallurgical activities) mainly produced wood fragments, and these will be discussed elsewhere. The charred plant remains come from sediment samples (each with a volume of 6 to 10 litres) that were systematically taken from the settlement structures. Samples were taken especially from contexts that were well dated and showed minor or no disturbances. The archaeobotanical samples were manually floated and plant remains were captured on a sieve with a mesh of 0.5 mm aperture size. This method allows collecting even the smallest plant remains, which can provide diverse archaeobotanical information. The plant remains were analysed and identified under microscope with a magnification of 10× up to 70×. Part of the charred plant remains, showing special characteristics, was studied using a scanning electron microscope (SEM). These plant materials are of special interest, because they are possibly the remains of food preparation or wood used in the metallurgical processes. The archaeobotanical analyses are still on-going, but preliminary results already give a general idea of the cultivated and wild plant resources used by the inhabitants of the site. More than 200 archaeobotanical samples, with a total volume of 956 litres, were taken during the excavation campaigns, of which, until now, 107 samples have been studied. Nearly half (n = 58) of the studied samples contain no identifiable

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plant remains. This can be due to several factors. First, the site is partially situated on a slope and cultural layers are, therefore, vulnerable to erosion. Secondly, in the recent past (the 1950s and 1960s) the slope was afforested, which partly destroyed the archaeological layers. Finally, the site was also exposed to mining works with heavy machines, which further contributed to the damage of the cultural layers. Only 49 samples (i.e., c. 400 litres of floated sediment) contain enough identifiable plant remains in order to achieve reliable conclusions on the plant economy (Table 17.1). Two of them yielded concentrations of cultivated plants. The results of the first are presented in Table 17.1 and labelled as ‘mass finds’. The second concentration is not further discussed, as it is dated to the Late Iron Age and, therefore, beyond the chronological scope of the paper. Staple crops – cereals and pulses The main components of the archaeobotanical assemblages are cereal crops and the weeds that grow together with them in the field (Fig. 17.7). The cereal crop most abundantly found in the LBA assemblages is barley (Hordeum vulgare L.), with minor contributions of hulled wheat (mainly einkorn), free threshing wheat, and millet (Panicum miliaceum L.). The cereal crops within the Early Iron Age assemblages are the same, but with a larger proportion of wheat (both hulled and free threshing) (Fig. 17.7). Most of the cereal crops, such as hulled wheat, barley, and millet, are usually used for porridges or the like. Free threshing wheat, on the other hand, is, due to its gluten content, also suitable for making leavened bread. Although cultivation of this cereal crop is more labour intensive, its processing is easier and faster than that of the hulled wheats. The presence of free threshing wheat in the LBA layers and its considerably increasing importance in the EIA layers should be mentioned in this respect and, especially, because it is not very popular among the cultivated cereal crops in the region for the LBA and EIA periods (Hristova et al. 2017). The use of free threshing wheat at Ada Tepe, especially during the Early Iron Age, could therefore point towards contact with and influences from neighbouring regions like the Near East and the Aegean, where it was one of the main cultivated crops during the periods under consideration (Riehl and Nesbitt 2003, 305–306; Megaloudi 2004, 155; 2006, 35, 77–79). Indeed, one can assume that gold exploitation, the main economic activity of the settlement, led to more extensive trade and closer contacts with other regions, which, in turn, brought innovations to the people of Ada Tepe in different aspects of everyday life, including food products. Another interesting observation is that no chaff remains and nearly no small seeds of weeds which are usually removed during the cleaning of the cereals were found among the macrobotanical remains. On the contrary, the larger seeds that remain together with the cereal grains were identified. Such a composition suggests that the cereal crops were brought to the site in a clean state, ready to be prepared into food. Leguminous crops are comparatively rare finds at the site. The most common one is bitter vetch (Vicia ervilia L.), but also pea (Pisum

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Table 17.1: Results of the archaeobotanical analyses by period in absolute values of plant remains found per period. Where assignment to one of the two periods is not possible, samples are categorised under LBA/EIA. Common samples

Mass find

Archaeological dating

LBA

LBA/EIA

EIA

LBA/EIA

Total features studied

19

8

10

1

Total samples studied

27

9

11

1

230.6

64

85.5

8

Total identified plant remains

356

405

435

166

Average concentration per litre

5.92

7.1

4.97

20.75

51 8 11 14 1 2 3

6 1 20 8

2 19 1 37 1 3 27 8 1 2 6 27

Total sample volume (l)

type remain Cereal crops seed/fruit Hordeum vulgare undiff. seed/fruit H.vulgare Spelzgerste seed/fruit Panicum miliaceum Triticum aestivum s.l./durum/turgidum seed/fruit rachis T. aestivum s.l./durum/ turgidum seed/fruit T. dicoccum seed/fruit T. monococcum glume base T. monococcum seed/fruit T. monococcum/dicoccum glume base T. monococcum/dicoccum seed/fruit Triticum spec. seed/fruit Cerealia indet.

preservation charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred

Pulses Lathyrus sativus Lens culinaris Pisum sativum Vicia ervilia Fabaceae (kult.)

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred

Weeds of cereal fields Agrostemma githago Ajuga chamaepitys Galium spurium Galium cf. spurium Galium spec. Lathyrus hirsutus Lolium temulentum Lolium cf. temulentum Lolium spec. Polycnemum arvense Polygonum convolvulus Vicia hirsuta/tetrasperma

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred mineralised charred charred charred mineralised charred charred charred charred charred charred

6 5 4 51

1 36 4 5 6

108 3

2 22

1 2 5 12

18 3

1 10 3

7

32

1 1 1 4

2 1

11 18 4 2

28 8 2 7 4

47 13 4

15

1

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Table 17.1: Results of the archaeobotanical analyses by period in absolute values of plant remains found per period. Where assignment to one of the two periods is not possible, samples are categorised under LBA/EIA. (Continued) Common samples Archaeological dating Ruderals/segetals Aegilops Aegilops Bromus sterilis/tectorum Chenopodium hybridum Chenopodium spec. Rumex spec. Setaria verticillata/viridis

type remain seed/fruit glume base seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

preservation charred charred charred charred charred charred charred

Garden/imported plants Cucumis melo Ficus carica Vitis vinifera Vitis vinifera

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred mineralised charred mineralised

Grassland/open vegetation Ajuga cf. genevensis cf. Dactylis Festuca/Lolium cf. Fragaria vesca Portulaca oleracea Potentilla spec. Taeniatherum sp. Teucrium Trifolium spec. Viola spec.

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred mineralised

Deciduous forests/shrubs Carpinus betulus Cornus mas Corylus avellana Prunus spec. Quercus spec. Rubus idaeus Rubus caesius/fruticosus Rubus caesius/fruticosus Sambucus spec. Sambucus spec. Vitex agnus-castus

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred charred charred charred charred mineralised charred mineralised charred mineralised charred

Wetlands Cyperaceae Cyperaceae Bolboschoenus

seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit

charred mineralised mineralised

LBA

1 1 3 2 3

1 26 6

LBA/EIA

Mass find

EIA

LBA/EIA

3 2 3 1

3

2 1

10 2 1

1 1 2 2 1 1 1 1 111

1 155

1 2 170

1 7

1 1 1

1 3 16

103

1 123 4

4 2 4

1 1 3 1 2 1

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Table 17.1 Common samples Archaeological dating

LBA

Varia Apiaceae Chenopodiaceae cf. Euphorbia Fabaceae Hordeum spec. Lamiaceae Poaceae Poaceae

type remain seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit seed/fruit veget. Part

preservation charred charred charred charred charred charred charred charred

1 1 7 1 1 1 4

Other Indeterminata Indeterminata Indeterminata

seed/fruit fruit pulp seed/fruit

charred charred mineralised

2 428

LBA/EIA

Mass find

EIA

1

LBA/EIA 1

1 1 1

1

2 4

965

Figure 17.7: Overview of the archaeobotanical results – plant remains as proportions by different economic groups (based on the data given in Table 17.1).

sativum L.) and grass pea (Lathyrus sativus/cicera L.) occur as single finds. Both bitter vetch and grass pea seeds are toxic to humans, but the poisonous substance can be removed by soaking and boiling the seeds in water. When soaked in water, pulses lose their seed husk and shape, and become unidentifiable. If pulses were prepared this

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Figure 17.8: Cereal food remains (possibly porridge or bread) from the Early Iron Age Ada Tepe (square G12). A. overview of charred food fragment; B. detailed view of the porous area of the fragment with some cell structures in the lower left corner; C. overview of transverse cell layer of wheat (Triticum sp.) pericarp; D. detailed view of transverse cell layer.

way at Ada Tepe, it might be the reason why they were not found more frequently in the archaeobotanical samples. Processing of cereals and/or pulses for food is evidenced by the presence of a few samples with cereal pericarp fragments, which represent the remains of porridge or bread and, thus, directly correspond to food (Fig. 17.8). Vegetables Among the plant remains was a melon seed (Cucumis melo L.), found in a LBA structure. This is a cultivated plant, which originates from the sub-tropical regions of Africa. It was introduced from Egypt to the eastern Mediterranean during the Bronze Age and became common, spread as a garden crop, during the Roman period throughout the Mediterranean region (Zohary et al. 2012). Up to the Middle Ages, not the now

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common sweet, but the vegetable varieties of the melon were preferably grown. Most probably, this was also the case with the find from Ada Tepe. Fruits – cultivated and gathered Remains of fruits (both cultivated and gathered from the wild) are frequently identified in the archaeobotanical samples; fruits are even the best represented plant group at the site and include, among others, grapevine, cornelian cherry, fig, strawberry, and raspberry. It is possible that figs and grapes were stored as dried food, which could be easily transported. Fig is a plant that doesn’t belong to the natural vegetation of the area, but is already found in the archaeobotanical records from Bulgaria from the Early Neolithic onwards (see Popova 2009 and references therein). The evidence from Ada Tepe suggests that figs were consumed in the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age. Yet, based on these finds, it is impossible to say if its cultivation was introduced in the region and cultivated locally or if figs, rich in sugar and with a long shelf life, were imported from areas further to the south, along the Aegean coast. Most of the fruit remains, found at Ada Tepe, are mineralised. The seeds of fig, strawberry, raspberry, and vine pips are often ingested. When found in archaeological contexts, it is often related to cesspits, sewage systems, or, generally, any kind of deposition of faeces, etc., and this can explain the presence of so many mineralised fruit remains.

Archaeozoological evidence The faunal remains discussed in this paper were excavated during the field campaigns 2009–2015. They were exclusively collected from the settlement structures on the top of the hill; the waste heaps and other features related to the exploitation of the ores were completely void of animal bones and teeth. The material was collected by hand in the excavation trenches and studied in the storehouse of the archaeological base, at Krumovgrad. The animal remains were identified, as far as possible, up to the species or taxon level. The identifications are listed in Table 17.2. The aim of the archaeozoological analysis is to document food procurement strategies and possible changes throughout the considered periods. Table 17.2 indicates the number of available faunal remains by period. Many contexts could not be dated with certainty and are assigned to the category LBA/EIA. They have also been included in the summarising table, as are the undated contexts. A total number of 2892 animal bones have been studied. In general, the animal remains from Ada Tepe are highly fragmented and badly preserved, most probably due to the acidic soil condition. As a consequence, it was impossible to identify a large part of the bone assemblage: only 38 % of the faunal remains were brought to the species or taxon level. In addition, there are many tooth fragments among the identified animal remains – more precisely flakes of the enamel part of the teeth.

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Table 17.2: Results of the archaeozoological analyses – the number of identified specimens (NISP) per taxon. LBA

LBA/EIA

1

4 1

EIA

Undated 1

Testudo sp. – tortoise Lepus europaeus – hare Cervus elaphus – red deer Cervus elaphus/Dama dama – red deer/fallow deer Horse Donkey Horse/donkey Pig Goat Sheep Goat/sheep Cattle

5 36 7 10 265 252

2 4 24 5 3 135 180

3 1 2 29 51

1 24 36

Total identified Total unidentified

583 1030

359 522

87 151

66 94

Grand total

1613

881

238

160

1 1 7

4

This substance is the most resistant to degradation in the soil. As far as possible, skeletal measurements were taken according to the methods described by von den Driesch (1976). Information on age at death was obtained using the eruption and wear of the teeth (Grant 1982) and the epiphyseal fusion of the long bones, but is also very limited. The list of identified animal species is quite short. There were only a few bones of wild mammals; these included the proximal end of an ulna from a hare (Lepus europaeus), a fragment of a calcaneus of a red deer (Cervus elaphus), and a small fragment of antler, which could belong to either a red or fallow deer (Dama dama). Among the domesticates are sheep (Ovis ammon f. aries), goat (Capra aegagrus f. hircus), cattle (Bos primigenius f. taurus), pig (Sus scrofa f. domestica), horse (Equus ferus f. caballus), and donkey (Equus africanus f. asinus); no dog remains have been detected so far among the animal remains. With the exception of the equids, the remains of all these animals can be considered consumption refuse. As such, it is clear from the numbers in Table 17.2 that game was only occasionally used as a source of food. The main source of meat for the inhabitants of Ada Tepe were domesticates. The relative proportions of sheep/goat, cattle, and pig are shown in Figure 17.9. During the Late Bronze Age, sheep/goat and cattle are almost as important, representing 50 % and 44 %, respectively; the share of pig is very small and only accounts for 6 %. During the Early Iron Age, cattle becomes more prominent, up to 59 %, and the proportion of pig even smaller (3 %). This observation should be interpreted with care. Indeed, the analysis of diachronic changes is partially hampered by the small size

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of the samples, in particular of the Early Iron Age samples. Data from contemporaneous assemblages from the site of Kush Kaya – located within the same region – indicate the opposite: the relative importance of cattle decreases from the Late Bronze Age to the Early Iron Age, while the share of sheep/goat increases. Also, the percentage of pig remains is Figure 17.9: Composition of livestock by period. higher at the latter site (De Cupere and Ninov, unpublished data). Data on slaughter age are not numerous for the faunal remains of Ada Tepe and will only be discussed here for the Late Bronze Age and not for the Early Iron Age. In the case of the cattle, dental remains mostly point towards the slaughter of adult animals, with a third molar already well worn. Also, the post-cranial elements show mostly fused articular ends, indicating (sub) adult animals. However, among the tooth flakes or molars of cattle that could not be placed more precisely, several specimens are from young individuals: these teeth are only slightly worn or even unworn. It is possible that the bones from the young (or sub-adult) animals did not survive in the soil and that this phenomenon causes a bias in the interpretation of the slaughter data. Dental data of sheep and goat are even less numerous and provide little information, while the post-cranial bones are mostly from adults, but also some young animals were observed. Finally, the remains of pigs appear to be mainly of adult individuals. The faunal material of Ada Tepe gives the general impression that mostly adult or older individuals were consumed during the Late Bronze Age by the inhabitants of the site. These finds might represent animals that first served other purposes (milking, wool, breeding, etc.) before being slaughtered.

Conclusions Despite the fact that the preservation of the plant remains was not always optimal, it was possible to obtain good and representative information on the plants that were used and processed for food. Also, the faunal remains allowed light to be shed on which species were exploited for consumption. Most information was, however, obtained for the Late Bronze Age. This is not very surprising considering the much smaller size of the settlement and lower occupation density during the Early Iron Age. Although there are differences in settlement size and economy from the Late Bronze Age to the Early Iron Age, large similarities were observed for both periods in the plant spectrum used as food, especially as far as the staple crops are concerned. The main cereal crops found at the site are einkorn and barley. Both are quite typical

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not only for the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age in Bulgaria, but also in northern Greece and the northern parts of the Aegean region. Most of the cereal crops could have been used for the preparation of porridges or flatbread. The significant increase of free-threshing wheat in the Early Iron Age layers combined with the possible leavened bread remains points towards the introduction of new baking techniques and suggests a possible shift in food processing practices. Further analysis of the porridge or bread residues found at the sites will help to throw light on the question as to which of the possible techniques was applied more commonly. It should also be linked with the information on the ceramic inventory of the excavated buildings and evaluated in terms of food preparation and consumption. Apart from cereals, finds of fruits (cultivated and such gathered from the surroundings) are quite frequent in the archaeobotanical samples and include cornelian cherry, grape, fig, etc. The fruits of fig and vine could represent dry food storage, which are easily transported. For the Late Bronze Age, there is also evidence for fruits and vegetables (fig, melon) with a Mediterranean origin. The presence of these ‘exotic’ plant remains at Ada Tepe, and their absence in other contemporaneous sites in the region, can be used as an indicator for trade contacts and economic activities of the Late Bronze Age miners of Ada Tepe with other sites in the Aegean region, where these plants are common in the diet. However, this hypothesis can be questioned due to the limited number of sites on which archaeobotanical samples were able to be systematically collected and processed by flotation. Increasing data sets and a full quantification of archaeobotanical finds might refute this assumption. In the future, these data can be combined with other research results (e.g. based on pottery and archaeometrical provenance analysis of metal objects), which can evidence long distance trade contacts. The animal remains also show a diachronic shift in both herding practices and meat consumption. While sheep/goat and cattle were almost equally important during the Late Bronze Age, cattle become more abundant in the Early Iron Age. This observation is the opposite of those made at other sites within the same region. The cause for such regional differences has yet to be examined. It is well possible that they are related to the specific economic activities, i.e., gold mining, of the site of Ada Tepe. The meat supply of the mine workers had to be guaranteed and relied on the herding of animals. Hunting, which is dependent on the availability of game and, therefore, more unpredictable, must have been of minor importance and might explain the absence of wild animal remains. Future research is going to establish whether the settlements at Ada Tepe (especially those related to gold mining) were permanently or seasonally inhabited. Regardless which of the two hypotheses is correct, it is clear that the open-air gold mining was most probably carried out during the warmer seasons and less likely in winter, due to climatic conditions. This would then largely overlap with the seasons during which also the main agricultural activities, such as crop growing, took place. It seems very unlikely that the persons who were active in the mines were, at the same time, involved in the production and storing activities of food, which was needed for a whole year. The amount of work involved in and the timing of the exploitation of

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the mine suggests a social and economic organisation in which the people who were involved in the mining activities were provisioned and supplied by others. The supply of goods must have included not only food, but also water (including for technological needs), clothes, tools, etc. Many of these products, but hardly the full range, could have been provided by women and adolescents. Instead, it seems more likely that only a certain part of the community was specialised to allow for provisioning, which would ensure the optimal functioning of the gold mining activities. It is plausible to assume that the specialisation of different social groups is reflected in their diet. And surely some of the specific artefacts (such as the ceramic repertoire) and eventually the archaeobotanical and archaeozoological finds should be interpreted in the light of the special function of the site during the Late Bronze Age.

Acknowledgements This paper presents research results of the collaboration project FWO/BAS (ref. no.: VS.051.15N) and of the Interuniversity Attraction Poles Program – Belgian Science Policy. The authors also greatly acknowledge the financial support received from Dundee Precious Metals for the excavation of Ada Tepe, which also made possible the study of the materials considered here. The work of Ivanka Hristova was carried out within the framework of the ERC funded project PLANTCULT (Grant agreement No. 682529).

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Popov, H., and Jokenhövel, A. (2011) At the northern borders of the Mycenaen world: Thracian gold mining from the Late Bronze and Early Iron Age at Ada Tepe in the Eastern Rhodopes. Anodos. Studies of the Ancient World 10/2010, 265–282. Popov, H., Jockehnövel, A., Tsintsov, Z. and Iliev, S. (2011) Montanarchäologische Forschungen in den Ostrhodopen. In V. Nikolov, K. Bacvarov and H. Popov (eds.) Interdisziplinäre Forschungen zum Kulturerbe auf der Balkanhalbinsel, 253–290. Sofia, Humboldt-Union in Bulgarien. Popov, H., Koleva, M., Andonova, A., Dimitrova, J. and Vălčev, I. (2017) Das Goldbergwerk auf dem Ada Tepe. Zu Topografie, Stratigrafie, Chronologie und Interpretation des Nordareals. Archaeologia Austriaca 101, 161–204. Popov, H., Marinova, E., Hristova, I. and Iliev, S. (this volume) Plant food from the Late Bronze and Iron Age hilltop site Kush Kaya, Eastern Rhodope Mountains, Bulgaria: Insights on the cooking practices. Popov, H., Nikov, K. and Jockenhövel, A. (2015) Ada Tepe (Krumovgrad, Bulgarien) – ein neu entdecktes spätbronzezeitliches Goldbergwerk im balkanisch-ägäischen Kommunikationsnetz. In G. Sommer von Bülow (ed.) Kontaktzone Balkan. Beiträge des internationalen Kolloquiums ‘Die DonauBalkan – region als Kontaktzone zwischen Ost-West und Nord-Süd’ vom 16–18 Mai 2012 in Frankfurt a. M. Kolloquien zur Vor- und Frühgeschichte Band 20, 45–62. Bonn, Dr. Rudolf Habelt. Popova, T. (2009) Palaeobotanic catalogue of sites and studied vegetal remains (debris) in the territory of Bulgaria (1980–2008). Interdisciplinary Studies 20–21, 71–166. Riehl, S. and Nesbitt, M. (2003) Crops and cultivation in the Iron Age Near East: Change or continuity? In B. Fischer, H. Genz H and J. E. Köroğlu (eds.) Identifying Changes – The Transition from Bronze to Iron Ages in Anatolia and its Neighbouring Regions. Proceedings of the International Workshop, Istanbul, November 8–9, 2002, 301–312. Istanbul, Phoibos. von den Driesch, A. (1976) A Guide to the Measurement of Animal Bones from Archaeological Sites. Peabody Museum Bulletin 1. Boston, Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology. Zohary, D., Hopf, M. and Weiss, E. (eds.) (2012) Domestication of Plants in the Old World. The Origin of Cultivated Plants in West Asia, Europe and the Mediterranean Basin. Oxford, Oxford University Press.

Chapter 18 Hunting together: Social aspects of hunting at a 13th–12th century BC fortified site in southwestern Bulgaria John Gorczyk, Bogdan Athanassov and Philipp W. Stockhammer Introduction The 13th–11th century BC fortified settlement of Bresto, located in the mountains of southwestern Bulgaria, has yielded a high percentage of wild animal remains, indicating that hunting was an important activity for the site’s inhabitants. While the exploitation of wild animals generally decreases in the European Bronze Age (Harding 2000, 136), there are impressive instances of intensive hunting. Explanations for the continued importance of hunting alongside agro-pastoral activities typically invoke the need for ‘buffer resources’ (Hesse 1986) against periodic shortfalls. Alternatively, instances of hunting have been interpreted as an elite prestige activity with important ideological connotations (e.g. Harris and Hamilakis 2011). However, elite hunting does not generally lead to a considerably higher percentage of wild animal remains in the archaeozoological record, exactly because it is restricted to fewer (elite) members of the community and not broader social groups. We examine the evidence at Bresto in light of the currently common modes of explanation and offer a third way that might better reflect the social dynamics of the settlement. We argue that hunting and the joint processing of hunted game was also a means by which the inhabitants of Bresto maintained social solidarity at a time when the pull toward hierarchisation was strong. We frame our discussion of hunting in the context of the overall system of animal management at Bresto, which was otherwise dominated by the husbandry of domestic bovids, especially sheep and cattle.

Hunting in the Bronze Age During the European Bronze Age, the development and intensification of agriculture and stock-breeding usually went hand in hand with a marked decrease in the economic

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role of hunting (Harding 2000, 136; Bartosiewicz 2013). However, in some instances, hunting remained an important activity marked by fluctuations in the intensity and characteristics of hunting practices. Despite this fact, many archaeological studies of the social importance of wild animals deal with the initial shift from economies based solely on hunting and gathering to ones founded on agro-pastoral resources (e.g. Flannery 1986; Ingold 1980; Price and Gebauer 1995). Far fewer studies deal with hunting as a continuing practice alongside animal and crop husbandry. Those that do typically approach wild resources in one of two ways: either as important subsistence resources for small-scale farmers (e.g. Hesse 1986; Halstead and O’Shea 1989) or as important symbolic resources for local elites, who use hunting to establish and maintain status and identity (e.g. Hamilakis 2003; Harris and Hamilakis 2011; Franks 2012). Both arguments will be briefly outlined here. Economic or subsistence-based explanations for hunting view it as a means to obtain much-needed animal protein in times of resource scarcity, usually in response to environmental pressures such as climate fluctuations or drought. In such cases, farmers may choose to exploit new wild resources or intensify less-frequently exploited taxa (Hesse 1986, 83). On the other hand, incorporating animal husbandry into agricultural systems provides a powerful risk buffering strategy (O’Shea 1989, 58), which should make it less likely that farmers will hunt. But as numerous authors have remarked, herders may be extremely reluctant to kill off live animal resources and may turn instead to hunting to as a source of meat and raw materials that is independent of live animal wealth (Ingold 1980; Hesse 1986; Clutton-Brock 1989). In cases where wild meat may substitute for domestic, herders with access to game can refrain from culling their domestic herds, allowing them to accumulate wealth and status ‘on the hoof ’. However, this seems rather an exception and hunting is usually not tied to dietary needs and subsistence in these societies (Russell 2012, 165). If hunting was aimed primarily at buffering risk, one might expect a faunal profile with high numbers of wild animal remains, as well as body element profiles showing complete or nearly complete exploitation of carcasses. This would include heavily processing them for fat sources such as marrow or bone grease — arguably more important sources of calories (Outram 2001). Age profiles would be more opportunistic. An alternative explanation for hunting may involve its association with elite activities, whereby hunting and wild animals were symbolically associated with certain political and religious symbols, as, e.g., in the Late Bronze Age Aegean. Already Mary Helms (1992, 189; 1993; cf. also Ingold 2000) pointed to the perception of time and space in traditional societies and the respective association of hunting with specialists who are able to manage distant, powerful, and potentially dangerous spaces. Elites may often restrict the practice of hunting to preserve the symbolic potency of their own exploits. Following these ideas, Yannis Hamilakis (2003, 240) interprets hunting in the Aegean Bronze Age as a performative act. Through hunting, elites effect an intervention into symbolically charged areas, returning with proof of their exploits. His argument is based on scenes of hunting and wild animals depicted

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in Cretan palatial frescoes and other works and valuable artefacts such as rhyta and other luxury vessels (Harris and Hamilakis 2011, 103–105). The two most frequently represented wild animals in the Cretan context are fallow deer (Dama dama) and agrimi (Capra aegagrus hircus). Both animals were introduced to Crete during the Neolithic, but by the Bronze Age had established ‘wild’ populations that forced people to travel in order to hunt them. In the Cretan palatial contexts wild animals seem to be important to both individual status building (bull hunting and leaping scenes; cf. Marinatos 1989) as well as religious or ceremonial activities (scenes of wild animal sacrifice). In mainland Mycenaean contexts, hunting lions, boars, and deer should be considered an eminent activity of the aristocracy. This is indicated by the early Mycenaean depiction of the lion hunt on the inlaid daggers from the shaft graves of Mycenae and on the grave stelae on top of the shaft graves (Karo 1930, 95: Fig. 27; Pl. VII, XCIV) as well as the depiction of hunting wild boar and deer on palatial frescoes in Tiryns and Pylos (Rodenwaldt 1912, Pl. 13). Scenes of Mycenaean warriors wearing boar-tusk helmets and joining battle with enemies provide a direct link between the ideologies of hunting and warfare (Athanassov et al. 2016). The symbolic importance of wild animals seems to far outpace their importance as subsistence resources, as evidenced by the paucity of their remains in the zooarchaeological record. For instance, despite the abundance of lion-hunting iconography, the total number of lion bones excavated from all Mycenaean or Late Bronze Age sites in the Aegean is fewer than 20. One humerus is reported from Tiryns. A further eleven lion bones were identified in layers 13 to 8 in Kastanas (c. 12th to 8th century BC) in northern Greece; they represent five different individuals (Becker 1986, 167–173). There is no doubt that lions still existed in 2nd millennium Greece, although it is impossible to estimate their numbers. The previous discussion indicates that material correlates for elite hunting are hunting imagery, the presence of dangerous wild animals such as aurochs, lions, or boar, and a disparity between the types of animals represented and those recovered during excavation. The remains of those hunts are oftentimes mobilised to reinforce status distinctions through feasting, and their spatial distribution on archaeological sites may also be restricted (cf. Stockhammer 2008, 295–297). Set against the backdrop of the wider European Bronze Age, increased hunting seems the exception rather than the rule. In reviewing zooarchaeological evidence from across Europe from the 3rd to the 1st millennium BC, László Bartosiewicz (2013) noted a general decline in the proportions of wild fauna over time. Although this decline is usually attributed to several large-scale processes during this time (including the intensification of agro-pastoral regimes, population increases, and the growing social importance of domestic animals), he was careful to note that the pattern of decline was highly variable depending on the region in question. Therefore, in order to evaluate the social contexts of hunting for the Late Bronze Age (LBA) community at Bresto, it is necessary to examine the system of animal management in its regional setting, to elucidate the local environmental and social contexts of hunting in order

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to understand its role alongside agro-pastoral activities. In the following section, we examine the data for animal management at Bresto, which was characterised by a mixed system of agriculture, animal husbandry, and hunting.

The archaeological evidence from Bresto The site of Bresto is located in the mountainous region of southwestern Bulgaria on a hill slope within the bend of the river Iztok, which flows into the Mesta river c. 2 km downwards (Fig. 18.1). Situated c. 757 m asl and surrounded by mountains, the site was excavated from 2012 to 2017. Before excavation, it had been heavily destroyed by several agents: large-scale erosion removed the sediments from the upper parts of the hill and people from the local village of Banya report that most of the village’s houses were constructed with stones from Bresto. During the last three decades, looters have dug numerous large pits; moreover, most of the lower part of the site, together with large sections of the LBA fortification and terrace walls were bulldozed when gravel was quarried from the river in the late 1990s and early 2000s. The site’s history of preservation has seen a severe reduction in the number of stratified layers with meaningful animal bone material. The present discussion is limited to our evidence from intact contexts. Seven radiocarbon dates (Athanassov et al. 2016, 469: Tab. 1) demonstrate that the settlement was most probably founded in the early or mid-13th century BC. Its first architectural phase was marked by comprehensive building activities, especially the large-scale terracing with stone walls. The terrace walls were founded on the bedrock after removing the soil, and the terrace platforms were enlarged as bedrock was spalled away to create flat building spaces on the steep slope. Such an extensive terracing of a complete hill slope is still unknown from any earlier settlement of the 2nd millennium BC in southwestern Bulgaria. Together with the technique for wall construction, i.e., angular offsets within the wall, this manner of construction points to the appropriation of knowledge from the Aegean. The knowledge of Central Macedonian mud brick terraces (Andreou and Kotsakis 1999) was apparently enriched with the tradition of massive stone architecture with dry-stone masonry, as represented in the two-story building at Kamenska Chuka in the basin of Blagoevgrad (Stefanovich and Bankoff 1998). It is still not clear why this innovation happened in the basin of Razlog, which is geographically more isolated than the basin of Gotse Delchev further south in the valley of Mesta/Nestos or the basins of Blagoevgrad or Sandanski in the valley of Struma/Strymon. So far, only one house has been excavated in Bresto from the first phase of the settlement. Therefore, any further thought about the number and density of houses on the slope remains completely speculative. We assume that single or several houses were built on the terraces up the hill giving space to possibly ten to 15 families. Moreover, it seems plausible that animals were not kept in larger numbers (if at all) on the slope within the settlement. We were not able to macroscopically identify

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Figure 18.1: Bresto (A), seen from the west, surrounded at south, west and northwest by the river Iztok (B), which flows in to the Mesta/Nestos (C).

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remains of animal pens, layers of animal dung, or isolated coprolites. It is possible that the settlement on the slope was connected with additional hamlets outside the fortification (and closer to possible fields for agriculture, which are at least c. 500 m away from the site), which participated in agricultural and stock-breeding activities. In our view, Bresto is not an isolated settlement in a remote mountain valley, but had a specific role within the local network of hamlets and small settlements. The construction of Bresto as the joint activity of inhabitants of various other places would also explain how the necessary manpower was brought together to unearth and terrace the slope and build houses and impressive terrace walls immediately afterwards. So far, we have no indication for the existence of status differentiation in the archaeological record in phase 1 of the site. We rather assume that the impressive architecture was produced by – and in the process of – a local community marked by collaboration and a lack of strong hierarchies. At a later stage of phase 1, the settlement seems to have witnessed new challenges: access to the settlement was restricted when a narrow ramp leading to the first terrace was blocked with stones in order to enlarge the terrace. Moreover, a house was constructed in front of the terrace in the area in front of the former ramp. These changes of the settlement structure could be explained by a growing number of inhabitants. At the end of phase 1, the house was destroyed in a severe conflagration, resulting in the preservation of rich floor deposits in the part of the building that we were able to excavate (i.e. the northeastern part). Above all else, the finding of half-worked and finished boar tusk lamellas indicate the production of such lamellas for boar tusk helmets by the inhabitants of the building. The south-western part of the building remains unexcavated under the massive fortification wall of phase 2 of the LBA settlement. Based on our series of radiocarbon dates and typological observation on the pottery from this house, the aforementioned destruction of phase 1 of Bresto by a massive fire took place in the 12th century BC.1 The destruction did not lead to the abandonment of the settlement. On the contrary, the debris was levelled and the space of the lowest terrace was enlarged by accumulating sediments in front of the lowest terrace wall of phase 1 and by building an impressive 1.80 m wide fortification wall (= wall 1; cf. Fig. 18.2) in front of it. Moreover, they created a new entrance situation marked by a gateway between the tongue-shaped end of wall 1 and an adjacent part of the older terrace wall, which seems to have been remodelled to serve as a fortification. The strength and ability of the local community to rebuild the site indicates a functioning social system. Bresto continued to flourish during phase 2, where at least one large apsidal building approximately 7 m in length was erected on the lowest terrace together with other buildings whose ground plan cannot be reconstructed due to later destructions. In the late 12th or first half of the 11th century, Bresto witnessed again a fierce destruction by fire. This time, the remaining inhabitants chose to not rebuild their settlement and probably split apart. This might indicate that the community had already witnessed internal tensions before the final destruction, which then only set a terminal blow to a social system sliding into a

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Figure 18.2: above: Fortification wall, phase 2 (width 0.80 m). Photo taken in 2014; below: Aerial view of the fortification wall from phase 2, photographed at the end of the 2016 campaign. The wall is now covered by a protective layer of stones.

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crisis. So far, no graves have been identified in the vicinity of Bresto. The evidence from neighbouring areas is ambivalent, since the flat necropolises of the Struma valley like Sandanski (Alexandrov et al. 2007) and Faia Petra (Valla 2007) do not show the concentration of wealth in single distinctive graves. On the other hand, swords and other bronze objects from tumuli and the Rhodope mountains such as Perustitsa (Kilian-Dirlmeier 1993, 50; Bozhinova et al. 2010, 81), Pavelsko (Kilian-Dirlmeier 1993, 97), or Lilovo (Borislavov 2008) point to the existence of warriors with sophisticated Aegean-like weaponry from the middle of the 2nd millennium BC (Jung 2017). The production of boar tusk lamellas in Bresto could be seen as a further indication for the existence of warriors, if the lamellas were not to be produced to be exchanged with the Aegean, where boar tusk helmets played an important role in the representation of (successful) warriors (Athanassov et al. 2016). Sophisticated architecture and boar tusk lamellas in Bresto might indicate an enforced pull towards hierarchisation and stratification in the Western Rhodope, with warriors having access to status and/or luxurious weapons. This social change could have gained a further momentum in the 12th century BC as the evidence of phase 2 at Bresto with its outstanding fortification wall seems to suggest.

Faunal evidence from the Late Bronze Age layers in Bresto The restricted number of layers which could clearly be attributed either to phase 1 or phase 2 have a strong limiting impact on the evaluation of the faunal evidence from Bresto. Therefore, we have decided to discuss the animal remains from contexts of both Late Bronze Age phases together for the analysis within this chapter. Combining datasets from different temporal layers is never ideal, but there are two reasons why it might not present a large problem here. First, the two phases were both short-lived and relatively close to one another in time. We suspect at this point that the phase 2 occupants were the same people who had occupied the site in phase 1 and that they came back shortly after the fire to rebuild. Second, since the sample size from phase 2 is so much larger than that of phase 1, we would largely be seeing phase 2 patterns regardless of whether we split or lumped the materials together. During phase 1 and 2 at Bresto, hunting took place against a backdrop of animal husbandry that was focused mostly on domesticated caprines, pigs, and cattle. Among these, caprines (mostly sheep) were particularly important to the economy at the site (Fig. 18.3). Age profiles for caprines needed to be assessed on postcranial fusion since only 8 mandibles were complete enough to assign a more exact age. The postcranial data suggest a focus on slaughtering juveniles along with some adults (Fig. 18.4). Although the sample size is small, this seems to be the case for those sheep mandibles that could be aged. Most likely, caprines provided the majority of the daily consumption of meat and secondary products. The cattle at Bresto are of a remarkably small size, close to the short-horned breed present in the Rhodopes today. Small cattle size in other areas of Europe during the Iron Age has been argued to correspond to

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Figure 18.3: Proportions of major domestic taxa at Bresto.

Figure 18.4: Ovis/capra postcranial age classes.

a shift to smaller breeds who were able to produce milk with a lower intake of graze or fodder (Serjeantson 2011, 96). It is possible that cattle at Bresto were mostly kept for secondary products like traction and milk production. The agricultural potential of the Razlog Valley is limited by its elevation, shorter summers, later harvest times, and soil regimes, i.e., cinnomonic forest dominated with diluvial sands and pockets of alluvial soils. It was an ideal place for animal husbandry, however, with both upland and lowland pastures for summer and winter grazing, and also provided excellent habitats for pigs and deer. The results from a pilot stable isotopic study suggested uniformity in the utilisation of these different pastures (Fig. 18.5). Caprine, cattle, and pig δ13C values fall within a very restricted range, between –21 and –20 ppm, suggesting a relatively intensive and possibly mixed herding strategy, where all three species were herded together in isotopically similar locations. Despite the heavy reliance on domesticated animals, hunting continued as an important activity at the site. 25 % of the faunal assemblage was wild and indicates a still heavily-forested area. Importantly, the remains of wild animals are found in all excavation units in relatively even numbers: with the exception of red deer antlers (see below), there is no restriction in the spatial distribution of wild animal remains throughout the site. Most of the hunted animals are deer: mostly red deer (Cervus elaphus), with small amounts of roe (Capreolus capreolus) and fallow (Dama dama) deer. Yet the taxonomic diversity at the site is high and the assemblage includes wild boar, bear, and small mammals such as hares, wildcats, martens, badgers, and beavers. For numerous reasons, red deer seem to be the most important wild species for the inhabitants of Bresto. They make up nearly 15 % of the entire faunal assemblage and 61 % of all the wild species (Fig. 18.6). Here we discuss the proportional representation of deer remains, as well as their age profiles and the intensity of carcass processing.

Body part profiles The small sample size requires that element representation be shown using larger ‘body zone’ groupings (head, axial, upper and lower limb, and foot). The proportion of upper limb bones for red deer is higher compared to other domestic and wild

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Figure 18.5: Isotopic ratios for major domestic taxa and some wild pigs.

species (Fig. 18.7) and is much higher than expected if entire carcasses were brought to the site (Fig. 18.8). Most likely deer carcasses were initially processed in the field and select body parts were brought home. Figure 18.8 does not include antler fragments, which are typically left out of initial body part calculations, since not all deer carry antlers. Figure 18.9 shows element proportions for deer with Figure 18.6: Proportions of hunted game. antlers factored back in. Like the upper limb bones, antlers are overrepresented as compared to their abundance in whole skeletons. As we discuss below, this is not simply a taphonomic pattern.

Age profiles Few deer mandibles were complete enough to assess age from teeth, so deer age classes were assessed based on epiphyseal fusion of postcranial remains (Fig. 18.10).

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Figure 18.7: Element representation for major food mammals.

Figure 18.8: Element representation for red deer, antler excluded from the cranial category.

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Figure 18.9: Element representation for red deer with antler included.

In sharp contrast with the caprines, the majority of the deer remains at Bresto come from adult individuals, with a small group of juveniles also present. This may suggest that the hunters at Bresto were intentionally targeting prime-aged individuals, the implications of which will be discussed below. Figure 18.10: Red deer postcranial age classes %NISP.

Carcass processing

Once they were brought to the site, red deer carcasses were more heavily processed than those of the smaller domestic animals such as sheep and pigs. This high degree of fragmentation was also seen in the cattle remains. Most of the breakage was predepositional, so this cannot be wholly attributed to higher fragmentation rates of larger bones. Instead, it might reflect a strategy of more intensely processing large-bodied carcasses in order to extract bone marrow and grease (Fig. 18.11).

Cranial elements and bone pins The overrepresentation of antlers is due to curation rather than taphonomy, as there is clear evidence for the production of decorative pins carved from antler and also boar tusk lamellas at Bresto (Athanassov et al. 2016, 469–470). Some of these finds were relocated by later looters’ activities, but nevertheless were all found within a rather limited area within squares K59 and K60. We interpret the following faunal

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Figure 18.11: Long bone fragmentation of major food mammals.

data as part of rubbish thrown down from the lowest terrace to the area immediately outside the settlement. Therefore, we are not able to localise the places of production within the settlement. So far, eight pins with onion-shaped heads as well as further fragments of bone and antler showing traces of working have been recovered (Fig. 18.12–14). Most of the pins broke in antiquity – probably during their production – and all belong to the same type, known mainly from Central Greek Macedonia (Hochstetter 1987, 73: Pl. 15.12).2 They were all produced from red deer antler. A large fragment of the skull of a very large male red deer with massive cut marks aimed at removing the antler from the skull was recovered in the same area as the antler pins. Several deep chop marks on the pedicle of the specimen indicate failed attempts to remove the antler from the skull. Eventually they got it right, and the base of the antler also shows deep chop marks where it was successfully removed (Fig. 18.13).3 Another large antler piece (possibly from the same specimen) was recovered in this area, also with indications in the form of chop marks that it had been broken down into smaller pieces for working (Fig. 18.14). Both specimens, together with the presence of pins

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Figure 18.12: Antler pins from Bresto (photo: Ph. W. Watson).

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Figure 18.13: Red deer frontal bone and attached antler base, showing deep chop marks below the pedicle.

Figure 18.14: Large fragment of red deer antler, showing chop marks intended to break the fragment into pieces.

broken during manufacture, suggest that these artefacts were manufactured on-site, rather than imported. Other than these two pieces, it was generally not possible to assess the sex of the red deer remains. The production of antler pins in Bresto might indeed explain why red deer antler and cranial elements are so abundant at the site, but it cannot fully explain the observed body part profiles.4 Upper limb portions, which contain some of the ‘meatiest’ bits of the carcass, are also present in large numbers. These bones were heavily fragmented, most likely to remove marrow and bone grease. Therefore, in addition to their importance as a source of raw materials, red deer may also have provided an important source of food for the inhabitants of Bresto. Along with cattle, they were likely consumed less frequently than caprines, but their bones were processed more heavily than the smaller-bodied animals. Carcass processing would have been a multi-staged affair, employing an operational chain that began at the time of the kill (or before), proceeding through various stages: primary butchery, transport, secondary butchery, distribution, cooking, tanning, and much more (Miracle and Milner 2002). A considerable rise in the number of wild animal bones in the 12th century BC was also recorded in Kastanas, a tell site located 150 km to the southwest. The evidence is worth referencing because the multi-layered occupation of Kastanas provides the opportunity to trace changes over longer time spans. Moreover, this is one of the few published LBA faunal datasets in the broader area. In layer 14a (12th century BC), the number of hunted animals rises abruptly and the amount of consumed fallow deer and red deer reaches 23 %, compared to less than 10 % in the previous layer 14b (Becker 1986, 249: Fig. 85, 250: Fig. 86, 251: Fig. 87, 252: Fig. 88, 254: Fig. 89). This change coincides with a drop in the number of cattle from over 30 % in layer 14b to less than 20 % in 14a. A considerable decrease of caprines followed in the late 12th century BC, one level later, dropping from between 20 and 30 % in level 14a to less than 10 % in level 13.5 At

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this time, wild animals are represented by more than 50 % of the faunal evidence from the tell site (Becker 1986, 291). Similar to Bresto, hunters bringing game to Kastanas were intentionally targeting predominantly prime-aged specimens (Becker 1986, 260: Fig. 91). This speaks against hunting as a risk-buffering tactic. Furthermore, the first appearance of hunted animal species such as lion, brown bear, wolf, and aurochs in level 13 (late 12th century BC) at Kastanas (Becker 1986, 151, 168, 261) shows that hunters were not pressed by a need to feed their families, but had other motivations. Hunting bear (Ursus arctos), for example, required expeditions outside the flat plain of Axios to deciduous and pine forests at higher elevations (Becker 1986, 150). Beyond hunting dangerous predatory animals, which brings little biomass relative to the time invested in killing them, faunal analysis from 12th century BC Kastanas shows that the bones of fallow deer (Becker 1986, 278) and wild boar (Becker 1986, 280) were heavily fragmented. Moreover, the 12th century BC is marked by an increase in the size of domestic animals (cattle and sheep) after a drop in the previous levels (Becker 1986, 35: Table 8 for cattle; 56: Fig. 15). Cornelia Becker does not offer an explanation for the abrupt rise of the amount of hunted animals in 12th century BC Kastanas. The extremely rich evidence she published has several important implications for the evaluation of the Bresto fauna. There is no definite evidence for economic difficulties or environmental stress.6 Furthermore, it demonstrates that the high number of hunted animals in Bresto is not an isolated phenomenon, but happened also in the lower flat part of the valley of Axios, which was a completely different environment compared to that of Bresto and the Upper Mesta. Most probably, the shift to intensive hunting happened in the north earlier than in the south, since, in Bresto, it is documented already in the 13th century BC, whereas, in Kastanas, it comes with level 14a, dated to the 12th century BC (LH IIIC early; cf. Jung 2002). The reason for the change in Kastanas goes beyond the scope of this paper. It is nevertheless probable that increased interest in hunting spread from north to south, and was incorporated and appropriated in different social and economic practices.

Discussion After considering some of the faunal evidence at Bresto, we can return to the explanations of hunting discussed earlier.

Was hunting at Bresto a strategy to buffer against shortfalls of agricultural resources? Several lines of evidence suggest that it was not. First, there is no evidence of environmental degradation such as deforestation or drought (Dreibrodt, pers. comm.). Archaeobotanical evidence as well as the faunal profile shows that the vicinity of the site was still forested. Upland pastures were readily available for grazing domestic animals, and there is no evidence that these animals were an unreliable source of animal products. Second, the element and age profiles do not match what we might

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expect for a risk-buffering strategy. The inhabitants of Bresto targeted deer in a nonopportunistic manner, preferring large, prime-aged individuals, probably males. They also brought meatier upper limb elements back to the site at higher rates, leaving other nutritious parts of the carcass in the field.

Was hunting at Bresto an integral part of the political economy of an ‘elite’? There is even less evidence to support this scenario, because of the high ratio of wild to domestic animals (25:75 %) and the even distribution of their remains throughout the site. It is generally accepted that, whatever an ‘elite’ might be, it always refers to a small part of the society that is characterised by their particular access to resources such as information, trade networks, raw materials, etc. Hunting at Bresto could not be an elite occupation, since it seems to have been a widespread practice in which many of the site’s inhabitants took part. We see no evidence for a spatial restriction in the distribution of wild animal remains that would indicate differential access to wild animal meat, e.g., in the form of specific feasting deposits. However, this argument requires refinement, given the rather limited number of clearly stratified and undisturbed layers. Of course, it would be a mistake to interpret hunting behaviour in terms either of subsistence needs or as a means of elite identity construction. Hunters typically ‘balance multiple and often conflicting goals’ (Russell 2012, 175). At Bresto, we prefer to view hunting, in these terms, as important for the material resources it provided as well as the social mechanisms enacted through it. At Bresto, hunting, especially of red deer, brought food and raw materials into the community. The high proportion of valuable upper body elements suggests that acquiring meat was a primary motivation for hunting, but the high degree of fragmentation and the lack of any deposits with articulated or semi-articulated remains (i.e., animal bone groups; see Morris 2011) makes it hard to argue for feasting, although communal consumption of some sort seems likely. The evenness of the distribution of red deer remains throughout the site suggests that access to red deer meat was not restricted to a privileged few. At the same time, hunting provided local craftspeople with the raw materials to produce body adornments like antler pins and boar tusk lamella.

Was hunting a communal activity? Beyond supplying the inhabitants with food and other raw materials, we consider hunting at Bresto to have been an integral part of communal practices, which were created by the site’s inhabitants and shaped the community at the same time. Hunting and its attendant activities (butchery, food preparation, cooking, tanning, and artefact manufacture) most likely drew in the larger community, cutting across divisions of age, gender, and status. The age profile for red deer suggests that hunts were organised with a specific goal in mind: targeting prime-aged (most likely male) individuals. In addition to providing meat and raw materials, hunting prime-aged

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individuals was probably also about prestige that accrued to successful hunters (Russell 2012, 161). Although we cannot say for sure who exactly did the hunting at Bresto, men are primarily the hunters in most societies (ibid.). We assume that a considerable part of the (probably adult male) inhabitants of Bresto regularly went out to hunt in the surrounding woods, spending time together for several days. In our view, hunting was not an individual, but a communal practice – as one person would not at all have been able to carry the relevant parts of the slain animal back to the settlement. Hunting required and reinforced collaboration between members of the community and thereby seems to have had an important impact on the creation and maintenance of a stable social system. As with the large-scale building activities – terracing and fortification – Late Bronze Age hunting helped to avoid the emergence of social tensions by emphasising collaboration and joint communal goals. During the 12th or 11th century BC, however, communal hunting and building increasingly lost their ability to prevent the emergence of more stable status positions and associated tensions within the local society. When Bresto was destroyed for the second time, the community dissolved and the site was never rebuilt.

Notes 1 Although we have chosen a large number of short-lived organic samples from the destruction of phase 1 for radiocarbon dating, the plateau of the calibration curve in the 12th and 11th centuries hinders a more exact placement of the destruction of phase 1 (cf. Athanassov et al. 2016, 469: Tab. 1). 2 We express our gratitude to Dr Magda Pieniążek, who provided us with information on North Aegean pins. 3 The skull was radiocarbon dated (BR14_03_K60_385_Deer): the animal died with utmost probability (2 sigma) between 1383 and 1212 cal BC (Athanassov et al. 2016, 469–470). 4 It is noteworthy that in Kastanas the number of worked antler is the smallest in the time from the 12–11th century BC, as compared to earlier stages of the Late Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age (Becker 1986, 108). 5 This decrease cannot be a result of sampling, because Level 13 provided one of the widest excavated surfaces with 131 m2 and 6264 animal bones recorded (Becker 1986, 239: Plate 103). 6 The only hint of environmental stress could be the decrease of the size of the sweet-water mollusk unio crassus in layer 13 (Becker 1986, 234). It is, however, difficult to interpret it, because of the general shift from the consumption of the predominantly marine mollusk cardium glaucum in layer 14b to unio in 14a (Becker 1986, 222, 223: Fig. 78).

References Alexandrov, St., Petkov, V. and Ivanov, G. (2007) The Late Bronze Age necropolis in the town of Sandanski, Southeast Bulgaria. In H. Todorova, M. Stefanovich and G. Ivanov (eds.) The Struma/ Strymon River Valley in Prehistory. Proceedings of the Intern. Symp. Strymon Praehistoricus (2004), 373–388. Sofia and Düsseldorf, Gerda-Henkel-Stiftung. Andreou, St. and Kotsakis, K. (1999) Στ. Ανδρέου, Κ. Κωτσάκης. Μυκηναϊκή παρουσία; Μυκηναϊκή περιφέρια. Η Τούμπα της Θεσσαλονίκης, μια θέση της εποχής του χαλκού στην Μακεδονία. In Φρούσσου Ελ. (ed.) Η περιφέρεια του μυκηναϊκού κόσμου, Α’ Διεθνές Διεπιστημονικό Συμπόσιο, Λαμία Σεπτ. 1994, 107–116. Athens, Υπουργείο Πολιτισμού.

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Athanassov, B., Gorczyk, J., Kulov, I. and Stockhammer, P. (2016) Eine Eberzahnlamelle aus der spätbronzezeitlichen Siedlung von Bresto. In K. Bacvarov and R. Gleser (eds.) Southeast Europe and Anatolia in Prehistory. Essays in Honor of Vassil Nikolov on His 65th Anniversary. Universitätsforschungen zur Prähistorischen Archäologie 293, 465–474. Bonn, Habelt. Bartosiewicz, L. (2013) Animals in Bronze Age Europe. In H. Fokkens and A. Harding (eds.) The Oxford Handbook of the European Bronze Age, 1st ed. Oxford, Oxford University Press. http:// www.oxfordhandbooks.com/view/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199572861.001.0001/oxfordhb9780199572861-e-18?rskey=cvIHqc&result=9 (Accessed September, 2016). Becker, C. (1986) Kastanas. Die Tierknochenfunde. Prähistorische Archäologie in Südosteuropa 5. Berlin, Volker Spiess. Borislavov, B. (2008) A Thracian tumular necropolis in Devin, Smolian region. American Journal of Archaeology 12, 143–170. Bozhinova, E., Jung, R. and Mommsen, H. (2010) Dragojna. Eine spätbronzezeitliche Höhensiedlung in den bulgarischen Rhodopen mit importierter mykenischen Keramik. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Athenische Abteilung 125, 45–97. Clutton-Brock, J. (ed.) (1989) The Walking Larder: Patterns of Domestication, Pastoralism, and Predation. One World Archaeology 2. London and Boston, Unwin Hyman. Flannery, K. (ed.) (1986) Guilá Naquitz: Archaic Foraging and Early Agriculture in Oaxaca, Mexico. Orlando, Academic Press. Franks, H. M. (2012). Hunters, Heroes, Kings: The Frieze of Tomb II at Vergina. Princeton, American School of Classical Studies at Athens. http://newcatalog.library.cornell.edu/catalog/7731760 (Accessed September, 2016). Halstead, P. and O’Shea, J. M. (1989) Bad Year Economics: Cultural Responses to Risk and Uncertainty. Cambridge and New York, Cambridge University Press. Hamilakis, Y. (2003) The sacred geography of hunting: Wild animals, social power and gender in early farming societies. British School at Athens Studies 9, 239–47. Harding, A. (2000) European Societies in the Bronze Age. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Harris, K. and Hamilakis, Y. (2011) The social zooarchaeology of feasting: The evidence from the ‘ritual’ deposit at Nopigeia-Drapanias. Proceedings of the 10th International Cretological Congress 1, 199–218. Chania, Chryssostomos. Helms, M. W. (1992) Political lords and political ideology in southeastern chiefdoms: Comments and observations. In A. W. Barker and T. R. Pauketat (eds.) Lords of the Southeast: Social Inequality and the Native Elites of Southeastern North America. Archaeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association 5, 185–194. Washington, D.C., American Anthropological Association. Helms, M. W. (1993) Craft and the Kingly Ideal. Art, Trade and Power. Austin, University of Texas Press. Hesse, B. (1986) Buffer resources and animal domestication in prehistoric northern Chile. ArchæoZoologia Melanges, 73–85. Hochstetter, A. (1987) Kastanas. Die Kleinfunde. Prähistorische Archäologie in Südosteuropa 6. Berlin, Volker Spiess. Ingold, T. (1980) Hunters, Pastoralists, and Ranchers: Reindeer Economies and Their Transformations. Cambridge and New York, Cambridge University Press. Ingold, T. (2000) The Perception of the Environment. Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. London and New York, Routledge. Jung, R. (2002) Kastanas. Die Drehscheibenkeramik der Schichten 19 bis 11. Prähistorische Archäologie in Südosteuropa 18. Berlin, Volker Spiess. Jung, R. (2017) Krieger und Waffen auf dem Zentral- und Ostbalkan. In S. Haag, Chr. Popov, B. Horejs, et al. (eds.) Das erste Gold. Ada Tepe: das älteste Goldbergwerk Europas, 69–73. Wien, KHMMuseumsverband. Kilian-Dirlmeier, I. (1993) Die Schwerter in Griechenland (außerhalb der Peloponnes), Bulgarien und Albanien. Prähistorische Bronzefunde Abteilung IV, Vol. 12. Stuttgart, Franz Steiner.

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Marinatos, N. (1989) The Minoan harem: The role of eminent women and the Knossos frescoes. Dialogues d’histoire ancienne 15.2, 33–62. Miller, D. (1982) Structures and strategies: An aspect of the relationship between social hierarchy and cultural change. In I. Hodder (ed.) Symbolic and Structural Archaeology, 89–98. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Miracle, P. and Milner, N. (2002) Consuming Passions and Patterns of Consumption. Cambridge, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Morris, J. (2011) Investigating Animal Burials. Rituals, Mundane and Beyond. BAR British Series 535. Oxford, Archaeopress. O’Shea, J. M. (1989) The role of wild resources in small-scale agricultural systems: Tales from the Lakes and the Plains. In P. Halstead and J. M. O’Shea (eds.) Bad Year Economics: Cultural Responses to Risk and Uncertainty, 57–67. Cambridge and New York, Cambridge University Press. Outram, A. K. (2001) A new approach to identifying bone marrow and grease exploitation: Why the ‘indeterminate’ fragments should not be ignored. Journal of Archaeological Science 28.4, 401–10. Price, T. D. and Gebauer, A. B. (eds.) (1995) Last Hunters, First Farmers: New Perspectives on the Prehistoric Transition to Agriculture. Santa Fe, N.M., School of American Research Press, distributed by the University of Washington Press. Rodenwaldt, G. (1912) Tiryns. Die Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen des Instituts, Vol. 2: Die Fresken des Palastes. Athens, Eleutheroudakis & Barth. Russell, N. (2012) Social Zooarchaeology: Humans and Animals in Prehistory. Cambridge and New York, Cambridge University Press. Serjeantson, D. (2011) Review of Animal Remains from the Neolithic and Early Bronze Age of Southern Britain (4000 BC – 1500 BC). Research Department Report Series 29. London, English Heritage. Stefanovich, M. and Bankoff, H. A. (1998) Kamenska Čuka 1993–1995. Preliminary report. In M. Stefanovich, H. Todorova and H. Hauptmann (eds.) James Harvey Gaul. In Memoriam. In The Steps of James Harvey Gaul, Vol. 1, 255–338. Sofia, The James Harvey Gaul Foundation. Stockhammer, P. W. (2008) Kontinuität und Wandel – Die Keramik der Nachpalastzeit aus der Unterstadt von Tiryns. Heidelberg, Universität Heidelberg. Valla, M. (2007) A Late Bronze Age cemetery in Faia Petra, east of the Middle Strymon valley. In H. Todorova, M. Stefanovich and G. Ivanov (eds.) The Struma/Strymon River Valley in Prehistory. Proceedings of the International Symposium Strymon Praehistoricus (2004), 359–372. Sofia and Düsseldorf, Gerda-Henkel-Stiftung.

Chapter 19 Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies in Aegean and Balkan prehistory Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Introduction Anthropometric studies in prehistoric southeastern Europe and beyond In 1946, physical anthropologist John Lawrence Angel (for a biography, see Buikstra and Prevedorou 2012) found that estimated stature for a sample of prehistoric and historic skeletons from Greece increased over time. Moreover, Angel noted that this process went parallel with an improvement in dietary habits from those of Neolithic ‘inefficient hoe-farmers supplementing their cereal diet with fish and flesh of wild as well as domestic animals, to those of the plough-using, wine-drinking, beef- and cheese-eating Homeric heroes’ (Angel 1946). Four decades later, Angel (1984) elaborated on this study using a different stature estimation method, a finer chronological resolution, as well as a larger sample also including western Turkey. It should be kept in mind, though, that the Paleolithic and Mesolithic data Angel used was drawn from a larger region including Eurasia, the Near East, and Africa, and cannot be directly compared to the Aegean Neolithic and later data. The study revealed a decline from the Paleolithic through the Mesolithic and Early Neolithic, and into the Late Neolithic that was only counteracted in the Bronze Age (Fig. 19.1). This development broadly corresponds with the temporal trajectories of other anthropometric and pathological indicators as well as bone Sr and Ca ratios and zinc content as the biogeochemical nutritional proxies available in the 1980s (Angel 1984). Angel’s study was published as a chapter in George Armelagos and Mark Nathan Cohen’s seminal volume Paleopathology at the Origins of Agriculture (Cohen and Armelagos 1984), alongside three similar chapters on western Europe and the Near East (Meiklejohn et al. 1984; Smith and Bar-Yosef 1984; Rathbun 1984). Hence, research on the Aegean and the Balkans was the first to set the stage for attempts

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Figure 19.1: Mean stature for Neolithic and later periods after Angel (1984). Stature was reconstructed according to the Trotter and Gleser formulas, although it is unknown whether the 1952 or 1958, Whites or Negro formulas were used. Paleolithic and Mesolithic data were omitted as they were obtained from a much larger region than the Aegean, and the values for ‘Middle Bronze Age Kings,’ i.e., upper-class burials, were plotted separately outside the curve.

in the 1940s to utilise stature as a proxy for the nutritional welfare of prehistoric populations. In the 1980s, along with research from two other regions, it contributed to the emergence of the notion still prevailing today: that the Neolithic was a period of chronic malnutrition and, consequently, stunted stature (e.g. Larsen 1995). The idea to use stature as a proxy for net nutrition, and protein intake in particular, was based on James Tanner’s research into subadult growth (Tanner and Whitehouse 1966), and was later introduced into the field of Economic History by John Komlos (1989), thus constituting a timely topic when Cohen and Armelagos’ volume was published. Mainstream research in the 1980s was less interested in genetic determination of human traits than in environmental factors (Bentley et al. 2008), while history and prehistory were generally perceived as times of population immobility as a reaction to the migrationist narratives of the first half of the 20th century (Hakenbeck 2008). The assumption of a stable gene pool throughout the postglacial millennia up to the modern era allowed treating human genetic makeup, and hence the genetic component of stature, as a fixed and constant value at least in a regional perspective. Since Angel’s analyses, various similar investigations into

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Figure 19.2: Median and 1st and 3rd quartile of stature for Mesolithic and later periods in northern southeastern and central Europe after MacIntosh et al. (2016). Stature was reconstructed according to the Ruff et al. (2012) method, partially with the ‘Southern’ and partially with the ‘Northern’ formulas. * and ** denote significance levels of < 0.05 and < 0.01, respectively.

the long-term trends of human stature in southeastern Europe and adjacent regions have been conducted. They all noted declining stature through the Neolithic followed by an increase after c. 3000 BC in Anatolia (e.g. Güleç 1989; Koca Özer et al. 2011), central Europe (e.g. Jaeger et al. 1998; Siegmund 2010; Piontek and Vančata 2012) and southeastern-central Europe (MacIntosh et al. 2016; Fig. 19.2). Like Angel, they all interpreted this pattern as a consequence of the Neolithic lifestyle characterised by a high workload and an insufficient protein-energy supply in the diet, which was only counteracted by agricultural extensification during later prehistory. However, as anticipated by Albert J. Ammermann and Luigi Cavalli-Sforza (1984), advances in genetic and archaeogenetic research during the last decades have led to

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an increased awareness of the hereditary aspects of human growth in both Economic History (Blum 2013) and Prehistoric Physical Anthropology (Mathieson et al. 2015). Here, especially our currently fast-growing knowledge about large-scale migration events such as the spread of the Neolithic out of its Near Eastern homeland and into Europe (Fernández et al. 2014; Hofmanová et al. 2016), or the expansion of the Yamnaya to Corded Ware complexes (Haak et al. 2015) has led to considerable reservations regarding the question of whether anthropometric data such as long bone lengths and stature can still serve as a proxy for nutrition at all. This is especially true for regions with a supposedly very dynamic population history such as southeastern Europe, a key region in the transmission of the Neolithic between Near East and central Europe. Simultaneously, the geochemical proxies used by Angel (1984) have been largely abandoned, whereas the stable isotopes δ15N and δ13C have been established as indicators for the diet and nutrition of prehistoric populations. Here, the amount of data has grown into dimensions that allow for statistically relevant samples (Scheibner 2016). Unlike stature data, stable isotope data is thought to be largely independent of individual-specific genetic traits. Hence, as a more direct proxy, stable isotopes further contributed to the marginalisation of anthropometric approaches to food and nutrition in prehistory. However, stable isotope data not only reflect nutritional intake, but also altered metabolic conditions within the consumed plant and animal species and within the consuming humans. For instance, high δ15N values may be caused not only by a diet high in trophic level and hence rich in animal products, but also by the consumption of manured plants (Bogaard et al. 2007; Bogaard et al. 2013) and even by phases of extreme malnutrition (Neuberger et al. 2013). Considering the Janus-faced nature of stable isotopes, adult height has the potential to serve as an important control for the overall nutritional status (Hujić 2016) by providing a clue with regard to the basic question in food studies: was there enough (nutritious) food at all? Hence, this paper aims to review anthropometric and stable isotope research on prehistoric southeastern Europe from a synoptic perspective. The study covers sites dating up to c. 1000 BC. The Aegean subsample comprises western Anatolia W of approx. 30° eastern longitude (WGS 84), i.e., roughly W of a line between İzmit and Antalya, as well as Turkish Thrace and Greece. The Balkan subsample was broadly defined to include some eastern and central European areas to fully cover the extent of the Starčevo culture as the Early Neolithic of the region. It hence consists of the modern territories of Bulgaria, Romania, Moldova, Macedonia, Albania, Kosovo, Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, and Hungary. No data was available from the southeastern European part of Ukraine W of approx. 30° eastern longitude.

Archaeological and archaeogenetic background The Neolithic spread intermittently in western Turkey and southeastern Europe in the mode of Secondary Neolithisation (Schier 2009) from its centre of Primary Neolithisation in the Near East. Here, western Anatolia and Greece were the first regions to become Neolithic through influences from either central Anatolia or the Northern Levant

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towards the middle of the 7th millennium (Rosenstock 2014; Horejs et al. 2015; Reingruber 2015). By the early to middle 6th millennium, ties to central Anatolia became more visible with the so-called ‘Early Chalcolithic’ in western Anatolia, the Early Neolithic of the Marmara region and Thrace, and maybe even in the Sesklo period in Greece (Brami and Heyd 2011). Moreover, during this time, the Neolithic was carried into most parts of the Balkans by the Starčevo-Körös-Criş complex. The 5th millennium is largely viewed in current research as a phase of internal transformation of the regional Neolithic into specific Copper Age traits. The archaeological record in western Anatolia is largely elusive at this stage (Vandam 2015), while, in Greece and the Balkans, Dimini-, Vinča- and Varna-related cultures developed almost a proto-urban character (Bailey 2000). Likely rooted in the 5th millennium, western Anatolia and Greece shared a common Maritime Early Bronze Age culture with contacts to the emerging urbanity in the Near East by the 3rd millennium (Çalış-Sazçı 2006), which then transformed into the states of the 2nd millennium Late Bronze Age of the Aegean. The Balkans, however, experienced a decline in settlement visibility commonly related to influences from Eurasia and interpreted as increased mobility and pastoralism (Bailey 2000; Kaiser and Winger 2015). In a recent study, Mathieson et al. (2015) presented first insights into the temporal depth of the distribution of stature-related genes in Europe and the Near East. According to the data, prehistoric populations in the Mediterranean such as the Iberian Peninsula, were subject to selection for shorter stature, whereas Northern populations in Scandinavia and Eurasia experienced selection for taller stature in comparison to early Holocene hunter-gatherers of the Old World. Considering the very dynamic migration history of southeastern Europe, it is likely that height-related genes also migrated in and out of the region. The Neolithic was introduced onto the Greek peninsula by people who were the genetic ancestors to both the Anatolian Neolithic and the Balkan Neolithic people, and they possibly originated in the Levant (Mathieson et al. 2017), whereas the remainder of the Neolithic population of southeastern Europe is derived from Neolithic western Anatolians (Hofmanová et al. 2016). Following a period characterised by a certain amount of admixture with local hunter-gatherers, southeastern Europe was in later prehistory affected by the influx of genomes from Eurasia during the Yamnaya period (Haak et al. 2015; Mathieson et al. 2017). Consequently, we should expect the immigration of genes determining shorter stature during the Neolithisation of southeastern Europe and the immigration of genes determining taller stature from around 3000 BC onwards.

Biographic relationship between juvenile to adult stable isotope ratios and adult stature It should be kept in mind that the two proxies used here, adult stature and juvenile to adult stable isotope ratio, do not entirely represent the same period of time and life stage in an individual’s nutritional biography. Adult stature is the cumulative result of the nutritional situation from the in utero-stage to the fusion of the last epiphyses,

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Figure 19.3: Infantile and prepubertal growth spurts in females and males (after Tanner et al. 1966) with developmental age (after Knußmann 1988 and Cunningham et al. 2016) and the periods covered by various sample materials usually implemented in stable isotope analyses (teeth development after Moorrees et al. 1963).

i.e., of the infans I to juvenile age stages. Longitudinal growth is fastest in utero, but does not vary much among populations and individuals (Villar et al. 2014). After birth, growth varies more between individuals than before, but is still comparatively fast. In modern populations, it decelerates significantly after the 2nd year of life, i.e., during later infans I and infans II, and is accelerated again in early juveniles during the prepubertal growth spurt around age 12 for girls and around age 14 in boys (Fig. 19.3).

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Hence, adult height is mainly determined by these two growth spurt episodes (Tanner et al. 1966). There is evidence that similar temporal-patterning of growth existed also in prehistory (Welte and Wahl 2010). A considerable part, if not all, of infans I growth takes place within the – culturally and individually very variable – period of nursing with or without supplementary food. By the infans-II-stage, however, children are fully weaned and receive transitional food or already adult food (Tsutaya and Yoneda 2013). The stable isotope values in our sample are mainly derived from adult and juvenile ribs or third molars (see below). The stable isotope values taken from the ribs represent the last years before death, and those from the last permanent molar M3 represent the juvenile age (Fig. 19.3). Assuming that diet was grossly the same for juveniles and adults (age stages defined according to Cunningham et al. 2016), the biographical time reflected by the proxies for adult diet and for adult stature is the juvenile stage, which facilitates the comparison between the two.

Adult stature in the prehistoric Aegean and Balkans Stature estimation from skeletal remains Historic anthropometric research can draw on living stature data from, for example, conscripts’ lists. In prehistory, however, the number of skeletal finds allowing for direct corpse length measurement or reconstruction using the Fully (1956) method is quite small (Formicola 1993; Ruff et al. 2012). Consequently, long bone lengths or body heights estimated from long bone lengths are the only universally available proxies for stature. Although internationally accepted norms for long bone measurements such as those offered in Martin (1928) allow for direct comparison, directly using long bone measurements as a proxy for growth can severely limit the available database: usually not all long bones are preserved well enough in the individual skeletons. Therefore, stature estimates are admittedly a derivative proxy, but they represent the only feasible way to allow for a large sample integrating all available long bones. However, stature estimation is still widely dependent on the individual researcher’s choice of the formulas to be used. Here, Angel’s writings themselves are good examples, as he used the Pearson (1899) formula first (Angel 1946) and then switched to the Trotter and Gleser (1952) formulas (Angel 1984). Since such formulas were mainly developed for forensic purposes, a multitude of different sets has been developed for several human populations and social strata. Of them, only a handful are regularly implemented for prehistoric material (for an overview, see, e.g. Rösing 1988; Siegmund 2010; 2012). Besides the Pearson (1899) sets based on corpses from the Lyon poorhouse and the formulas derived from corpses of 20th century ‘American Whites and Negroes’1 by Trotter and Gleser (1952; 1977; cf. Jantz et al. 1994), these are: Breitinger’s (1937) and Bach’s (1965) formulas derived from German living males and females, respectively, as well as those of Olivier et al. (1978) derived from French military material. Only in recent decades have formulas derived from archaeological material based on skeletons complete enough to allow for the reconstruction of stature using the Fully (1956)

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method been developed. These are the sets by Formicola and Franceschi (1996) and Ruff et al. (2012) for European, as well as Raxter et al. (2008) for Egyptian, skeletal finds. Which formula is chosen for a skeletal sample is, in the first place, guided by the available long bone measurements. For instance, most femur formulas require F1, so F2, required by the Olivier et al. (1978) formulas, is often not measured at all. Hence, either F1 must be converted into F2 using conversion constants as published by, e.g. Rösing (1988), consequently introducing another statistical error, or another formula set based on F1 must be used. Moreover, formula selection is frequently influenced by considerations such as good ‘fitting’ or assumptions of genetic continuity, which is why the Breitinger (1937) and Bach (1965) formulas are often viewed as the sets of choice for Iron age and Medieval Central European skeletal samples, for example. The same is true for the selection of the individual long bones to be included in the estimations. Here, either the arithmetic mean of the estimates from all available long bones per individual (Pearson 1899) or the strict preference of certain combinations or single long bones (Trotter and Gleser 1952) are required, or detailed instructions regarding this issue are not given at all (Breitinger 1937; Bach 1965; Olivier et al. 1978; Formicola and Francheschi 1996; Raxter 2008; Ruff et al. 2012). Often, anthropological practice handles these issues quite arbitrarily (Siegmund 2010), although statistics can provide ways to apply empirical principles (Groß et al. in prep). In any case, it should be kept in mind that estimated statures are virtual figures and cannot be directly compared to living stature or stature estimated with a different formula set, but only within one mode of measurement or estimation.

Long bone length data in southeast Europe The preliminary study presented here is based on a sample of 761 datasets from 777 individuals from the study area and time described above. The data was extracted from a regularly updated database collection of published prehistoric anthropometric data that also incorporates updated versions of two pre-existing databases hosted at Mainz University (Schwidetzky and Creel 1971; Perscheid 1974) and Geneva University (Bertato et al. 2003) that were left unmaintained over the last decades (Rosenstock et al., in prep-a). The sample (Table 19.1) comprises individuals of adult or older age with a probable or secure sex determination on the usual five-fold scale (Sjøvold 1988) and at least one known long bone length out of the set of femur, tibia, humerus, and radius as the bones required for the targeted stature estimation formulas (see below). With the exception of Nea Nikomedeia, where only aggregated means of bone lengths from a number of individuals was published, data was available from individual skeletal entries. As usual in archaeological samples, for yet unknown reasons, but likely not rooted in a bias of the anthropological sexing methods used (Kemkes-Grottentaler 1997; Groß 2016, 306), there are more male (407) than female (363) datasets in the sample. The Aegean yielded 181 datasets that are scattered throughout the Marmara region, the Troad, the Greek mainland, the western Aegean islands, and Crete, with

Greece

Turkey

Athens Agora

Babaköy

EBA/Troy II

LH III/Myc

F Neo

Hungary

Serbia

Hungary

Ecsegfalfa 23

Csongrád-Kettöshalom

Divostin

Hungary

Cernavoda A2 Highway

Deszk-Olajkút

Hungary

Romania

Budakalász -3300

-3160

-2000

-3500

-2600

-1400

-4500

-2100

-2000

-3300

-5000

Lower date range

E/M Neo Körös or Alföld Linear Pottery?

E Neo/Starčevo

E Neo/Körös

-5800

-6000

-6000

Eneo/Bodrogkeresztúr -4100

EBA

LCA/Baden

E/MBA/Hatvan Ottomany & Maros

Greece

Athens Agora

MBA/MH III

MBA/MH

Hungary

Greece

Asine

Battonya

Greece

Argos

L Eneo/Baden Culture

EBA/Yamnaya/ Pit-Grave

Hungary

Alsónémedi

L & F Neo

Date (relative)

Balmazúváros-Árkusmajor Hungary (Hortobágy)-Kettoshalom

Greece

Country

Alepotrypa Cave

Site

-5700

-5800

-5500

-3800

-2500

-2900

-1500

-2000

-2300

-1000

-3200

-1700

-1550

-3000

-3200

Upper date range

1

1

2

13

8

1

1

2

25

N females

154.1

155.8

151.1

152.9

150.5

153.8

150.7

152.7

150.8

1

1

18

10

1

1

1

1

9

9

5

178.6

175.1

162.6

164.4

168.7

164.8

161.3

164.8

162.1

161.7

166.1

Stature N Stature estimate males estimate (Pearson (Pearson 1899) cm, 1899) cm, females males

Table 19.1: Sites and references of the anthropometric sample used in this study.

Guba et al. 2007 Bronk Ramsey et al. 2007

Zoffmann 1988 Borić 2009

Lipták 1975

Marcsik 1971

Simalcsik/Simalcsik 2013

Köhler 2009

Szalai 1999

Marcsik 1979

Angel 1941 Angel 1951

Angel 1945

Angel 1945

Fürst 1930

Charles 1958

Nemeskéri 1951

Papathanasiou 2001

References

328 Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Turkey

Greece

Turkey

Turkey

Romania

Serbia

Turkey

Hungary

Greece

Serbia

Turkey

Turkey

Heraion of Argos

Hisarlık/Troy

Hisarlık/Troy

Holboca-Iaşi

Hrtkovci-Gomolava

Ilıpınar

Kétégyháza

Kephala (Cyclades)

Kočićevo

Kumtepe

Kumtepe

Hajdučka Vodenica

Hanaytepe, Hanai Tepe

Hungary

Serbia

Egyek-Tag

Hungary

Country

Egyek-Dorogmai út 289

Site

L Chal/Kumtepe B

Pottery Neo/ Kumtepe A

M Neo/Sopot

F Neo/Attica-Kephala

Yamnaya/Pit-Grave

Pottery Neo

ECA/M Neo/ Vinča-Pločnik

MBA/L Monteoru

M/LBA

EBA

LH

EBA

Meso/Neo Trans/ Proto-Starčevo

LBA

LBA

Date (relative)

-3500

-5000

-5212

-3300

-3500

-6000

-5000

-1700

-2000

-2600

-1700

-3000

-6500

-1350

-1350

Lower date range

Table 19.1

-3000

-4500

-5020

-3200

-2000

-5900

-4200

-1500

-1200

-2300

-1100

-2000

-6000

-1000

-1000

Upper date range

2

1

1

6

1

1

1

1

N females

154.9

154.7

158.0

149.7

154.3

149.4

143.8

154.9

1

3

1

3

2

1

2

3

2

160.5

164.0

163.2

162.3

159.4

167.0

155.4

171.7

169.7

Stature N Stature estimate males estimate (Pearson (Pearson 1899) cm, 1899) cm, females males

Angel 1951 Senyürek 1949

Angel 1951 Senyürek 1949

Radović 2014

Angel 1977

Marcsik 1979

Alpaslan Roodenberg 2008

Zoffmann 1972/1973

Necrasov/Cristescu 1973

Angel 1951

Angel 1951

Fürst 1930

Angel 1951

Roksandić 1999 Borić/Miracle 2004

Szathmáry 1981

Szathmáry 1981

References

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies 329

Serbia

Serbia

Greece

Greece

Greece

Greece

Greece

Greece

Greece

Greece

Lepenski Vir

Lepenski Vir

Lerna

Lerna

Lerna

Lerna

Lerna

Lerna

Lerna

Lerna

Măgura Gorgana (Pietrele) Romania

Serbia

Serbia

Greece

Country

Lepenski Vir

Lepenski Vir

Lefkandi

Site

Eneo/Gumelnitza

MBA/MH III

MBA/M H II

MBA/MH II–III

MBA/MH

MBA/MH I

MBA/MH I–II

Early L Neo

E Neo

M Neo/Starčevo

E Neo/Starčevo

Meso–Neo Trans/ Protostarčevo

E Meso

LBA/LH IIIc

Date (relative)

-4450

-1800

-1950

-1950

-2000

-2100

-2100

-5500

-6500

-5500

-6000

-6500

-9200

-1200

Lower date range

-4250

-1700

-1800

-1700

-1550

-1950

-1800

-5000

-6000

-5000

-5500

-6000

-7200

-1050

Upper date range

4

4

8

1

2

14

2

1

3

1

4

1

N females

154.7

150.3

150.7

147.6

148.1

150.5

152.3

146.4

151.3

160.2

154.5

146.7

1

4

8

11

9

10

1

1

3

1

165.9

161.1

159.2

161.3

163.2

162.7

166.1

160.3

170.8

162.8

Stature N Stature estimate males estimate (Pearson (Pearson 1899) cm, 1899) cm, females males

Table 19.1: Sites and references of the anthropometric sample used in this study. (Continued)

Hansen et al. 2008

Angel 1971

Angel 1971

Angel 1971

Angel 1971

Angel 1971

Angel 1971

Angel 1971

Angel 1971

Mikić 1981 Roksandić 1999 Bonsall et al. 2015

Mikić 1981 Roksandić 1999 Bonsall et al. 2015

Mikić 1981 Schidetzky 1973 Roksandić 1999

Mikić 1981 Roksandić 1999 Bonsall et al. 2015

Musgrave/Popham 1991

References

330 Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Hungary

Hungary

Serbia

Greece

Greece

Greece

Greece

Hungary

Serbia

Serbia

Serbia

Greece

Miskolc – Hillebrand Cave

Mokrin I

Mykenai Kalkoni

Mykene

Mykene

Nea Nikomedeia

Pári-Altacker

Padina

Padina

Padina

Roussolakkos 1 (Palaikastro/Crete)

Country

Miskolc – Büdöspest Cave 1

Site

EBA/E Minoan IIA

Meso–Neo Trans/E Starčevo

L Meso

E Meso

L Neo/Lengyel II

E Neo

LBA/LH I

MBA/MH/Shaft Graves

LH

EBA/Maros

M Neo/Linear Pottery (Tiszadob Group)

M Neo/Linear Pottery (Tiszadob Group)

Date (relative)

-2900

-6300

-6650

-8750

-4700

-6500

-1600

-1700

-1600

-2550

-5900

-6300

-8200

-4400

-6000

-1500

-1600

-1400

-1807

-4900

-5300 -2086

-4900

Upper date range

-5300

Lower date range

Table 19.1

2

2

2

2

9

1

40

1

1

N females

153.7

156.1

169.0

152.1

151.4

153.8

152.0

157.1

148.9

5

3

1

3

9

2

12

1

49

158.8

172.6

175.3

160.2

162.2

169.3

165.9

162.1

164.6

Stature N Stature estimate males estimate (Pearson (Pearson 1899) cm, 1899) cm, females males

Charles 1965 MacGillivray/ Driessen 1990

Živanović 1975 Roksandić 1999 Borić/Miracle 2004

Roksandić 1999 Borić/Miracle 2004

Roksandić 1999 Borić/Miracle 2004

Kiszely 1975 ZalaiGaal 1999

Angel 1973

Angel 1973b

Angel 1973b

Fürst 1930

Farkas/Lipták 1971 O’Shea 1996

Szathmáry 1984 Csengeri 2014

Szathmáry 1984 Csengeri 2014

References

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies 331

Greece

Romania

Moldova

Romania

Hungary

Bulgaria

Greece

Romania

Hungary

Serbia

Sârata-Monteoru

Sakarovka I

Sultana-Malu Roşu

Tápé

Tell Yunatsite (Ploskata mogila)

Thorikos

Traian

Vésztő

Vajska-Baba Sivačka

Country

Roussolakkos 2 (Palaikastro/Crete)

Site

M Copper Age/ Bodrogkeresztur B/ Hunyadihalom

L Neo/Theiss

E Copper Age/ Cucuteni A/Ariusd

MH II

L Chal/Karanovo VI/ Krivodol

MBA/Tumulus

E Eneo/KGK VI

(E) Neo/Mariupol Stage B

Early MBA/Monteoru

EBA/E Minoan IIA

Date (relative)

-4000

-4750

-4500

-1950

-4200

-1500

-4500

-5500

-1700

-2900

Lower date range

-3800

-4500

-4200

-1800

-4000

-1300

-4000

-4000

-1500

-2550

Upper date range

3

2

1

10

99

3

1

27

4

N females

152.2

151.7

145.5

152.4

153.4

150.4

157.9

153.9

152.3

3

1

8

111

1

5

26

1

165.4

157.7

163.2

164.1

163.2

166.4

163.9

162.1

Stature N Stature estimate males estimate (Pearson (Pearson 1899) cm, 1899) cm, females males

Table 19.1: Sites and references of the anthropometric sample used in this study. (Continued)

Farkas 1972 Horváth 2004 Brummack/ Diaconescu 2014

Farkas 1974

Necrasov/ Nicolaesco-Plopsor 1957 Necrasov/ Nicolaesco-Plopsor 1959

Angel 1945

Zäuner 2006 Boyadzhiev 2015

Farkas/Lipták 1975

Ion/Soficaru 2008 Lazar et al. 2008

Kruts et al. 2003 Larina/Dergacev 2003 Telegin et al. 2002

Maximilian 1962

Charles 1965 MacGillivray/ Driessen 1990

References

332 Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

M Neo/lföld Linear Pottery LN/E Eneo/Lengyel

Hungary

Croatia

Croatia

Serbia

Serbia

Croatia

Croatia

Hungary

Hungary

Hungary

Villánykövesd

Vinkovci

Vinkovci

Vlasac

Vlasac

Vučedol

Vučedol, Vineyard Streim

Zaránk

Zengővárkony

Zsaka-Vizesi “Gehöft”

M Neo/Linear Pottery (Esztar Group)

EBA/Vučedol

L Neo/Copper Age/ Vucedol

Meso–Neo Trans

Meso/’pre-contact’

E Neo/Starčevo

E Neo/Starčevo

L Neo/E Eneo Lengyel

Montenegro EBA

Velika Gruda

E Neo/Starčevo

Date (relative)

Serbia

Country

Velesnica

Site

-5380

-5000

-5500

-3000

-3000

-6500

-8200

-6100

-6100

-5000

-2800

-6200

Lower date range

Table 19.1

-5200

-4100

-4900

-2500

-2350

-6000

-6500

-5500

-5500

-4100

-2700

-5900

Upper date range

1

15

3

1

3

12

2

2

4

3

N females

159.0

149.6

154.6

155.2

158.1

158.0

147.0

154.3

150.7

154.4

14

1

1

4

12

3

7

1

162.0

171.6

156.4

168.7

169.5

166.1

163.1

171.7

Stature N Stature estimate males estimate (Pearson (Pearson 1899) cm, 1899) cm, females males

Szathmáry 1984 Horváth/Draşovean 2013

Zoffmann 1974

Szathmáry 1984 Szathmáry 1979

Hincak et al. 2007

Zoffmann 1975

Nemeskeri/ Szathmary 1978 Roksandić 1999 Borić et al. 2008

Nemeskeri/ Szathmary 1978 Roksandić 1999 Borić et al. 2008

Hincak et al. 2007

Hincak et al. 2007

Zoffmann 1971

Bossi 1996 Primas 1996

Roksandić 2008

References

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies 333

334

Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Figure 19.4: Temporal and spatial distribution of the anthropometric sample used in this study; colours denote absolute dates in millennia, size of the circle and circle sectors denote size of the sample per site (for details see Table 19.1). Data and conception: Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner, Cartography: Julia Ebert.

a focus on the Peloponnese (Fig. 19.4). The Balkans, in contrast, yielded much more data, with 529 datasets. Here, the Western Balkans show only rare data, and almost no data at all is available from the Eastern Balkans despite the existence of large cemeteries such as Durankulak or Varna, as bone preservation was often very poor

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies

335

(Krauß et al. 2014, 372). Most of the data comes from North of the Danube, notably from the Iron Gates Region and the Middle Danube catchment. Measurements from the Mesolithic are not known at all for the Aegean; in southeast Europe, only sites in the Iron Gates region around Lepenski Vir yielded Mesolithic and Neolithic transitional measurements. The Early Neolithic in Greece in the 2nd half of the 7th millennium is attested by the site of Nea Nikomedeia, whereas, in the 6th millennium, evidence is limited to Ilıpınar and Lerna. In the 5th and 4th millennia, more measurements are known as a reflection of the appearance of large cemeteries in the wake of the Copper Age of southeast Europe. While only patchy evidence exists for the 3rd millennium, a few large sites like Lerna and Mokrin have caused the 2nd millennium to yield almost three times as many observations as did the previous millennia. With their large numbers of skeletons and related information on grave dimensions and grave goods, they enable researchers to compare stature with social and material status (e.g. Bösel 2008; Windler et al. 2013) as in, for example, Gemeinlebarn F (Teschler-Nicola 1989; Martin et al., in prep).

Operationalisation of long bone lengths and stature Given the patchy distribution of data in space and time, an additional fragmentation of the data into single bones appeared unadvisable. Hence, estimated stature was chosen to integrate the various bones preserved for the individual skeletons into one proxy. The estimation method was selected according to pragmatic considerations. Because the tibia measurement T1a required for the Formicola and Francheschi (1996), Raxter et al. (2008), and Ruff et al. (2012) formulas was only infrequently found in the database, these formulas developed on prehistoric material were not used. Among the formulas based on modern material, the Pearson (1899) and the Trotter and Gleser (1952) ‘Negro’ formula sets are deemed the most reliable for prehistoric material (Siegmund 2010, 24: Table 19.2), but as the Trotter and Gleser (1952) formula set is afflicted by a measurement error of the tibia (Jantz et al. 1994), the Pearson (1899) formula appears to be the best option. According to Pearson, the Eminentia intercondyloidea (or spine of the tibia) is to be excluded when taking the measurement Tx ‘from plane of upper surfaces (margins) to tip of internal malleolus’ (Pearson 1899, 196). With a dimension somewhere between T1 (lateral condylo-malleolar length) and T1b (medial condylo-malleolar Table 19.2: Correction constants for conversion of long bone length measurements used for this study according to Pearson (1899, 196f) and Rösing (1988, 589, 595: Tab. 81). Measurement

Female

Male

F2

F1 = F2 + 3.3 mm

F1 = F2 + 3.2 mm

T1a

T1 = T1a – 8.7 mm

T1 = T1a – 9.6 mm

T1b

T1 = T1b + 2.5 mm

T1 = T1b + 2.4 mm

R1b

R1 = R1b + 1.9 mm

R1 = R1b + 1.9 mm

H2

H1 = H2

H1 = H2

Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

336

Table 19.3: Formulas by Pearson (1899) for the estimation of stature from dry long bones. Long bone measurement(s)

Female

Male

F1

S = 72.844 + 1.945 F1

S = 81.306 + 1.880 F1

H1

S = 71.475 + 2.754 H1

S = 70.641 + 2.894 H1

Tx

S = 74.774 + 2.352 Tx

S = 78.664 + 2.376 Tx

R1

S = 81.224 + 3.343 R1

S = 85.925 + 3.271 R1

F1 and Tx

S = 69.154 + 1.126 (F1 + Tx)

S = 71.272 + 1.159 (F1 + Tx)

F1 and Tx

S = 69.561 + 1.117 F1 + 1.125 Tx

S = 71.443 + 1.220 F1 + 1.080 Tx

H1 and R1

S = 69.911 + 1.628 (H1 + R1)

S = 66.855 + 1.730 (H1 + R1)

H1 and R1

S = 70.542 + 2.582 H1 + 0.281 R1

S = 69.788 + 2.769 H1 + 0.195 R1

F1 and H1

S = 67.435 + 1.339 F + 1.027 H1

S = 68.397 + 1.030 F1 + 1.557 H1

F1, Tx, H1, and R1

S = 67.409 + 0.782 F1 + 1.120 Tx + 1.059 S = 67.049 + 0.913 F1 + 0.600 Tx + 1.225 H1 – 0.711 R1 H1 – 0.187 R1

length), which are themselves only a few mm apart (Rösing 1988, 595, Tab. 81; Klein, Goldewijk, and Jacobs 2013), Tx is, in practice, approximated by both T1 and T1b (e.g. Wurm and Leimeister 1986; Rösing 1988, 597; Formicola 1993, 353; Siegmund 2010, 6, cf. 32; Kozak 1996). As T1 is more frequent in our dataset, T1b was converted into T1 to minimise errors. Likewise, T1a was converted into T1, F2 into F1, H2 into H1, and R1b into R1 using the arithmetic means of the differences (Table 19.2) observed by Pearson (1899) and Rösing (1988). Differences between the left and right sides of the body only exist in the upper limbs due to left- or right-handedness, were deemed too small and unsystematic to be of importance (Trotter and Gleser 1952, 512; Rösing 1988, 589; Siegmund 2012, 28; cf. Pearson 1899), and were therefore not accounted for. Rather, the means from left- and right-side measurements were used if available or calculable. Strictly following Pearson’s (1899) procedure as recommended by Siegmund (2012; cf. Moore and Ross 2013, 158), a stature estimation was produced for each of the bones and combinations thereof offered by Pearson (1899; Table 19.3) and then the arithmetic mean of all results was used as the final estimation.

Trends in stature in southeast Europe Figure 19.5 shows the temporal trends in female and male stature estimates for the Aegean and the Balkans. In the Aegean (Fig. 19.5A), the estimated statures published for the Mesolithic individuals from Franchthi, with an unknown underlying estimation method, is the only information available so far (Angel 1969; Angel in Jacobsen et al. 1973). Their statures of less than 140 cm for females and less than 160 cm for males, however, are remarkably short, but not entirely outside the confidence intervals for the subsequent Early Neolithic. Reliable curves are obtained starting only in the 7th millennium, when the Neolithic reached the region, and run flatly for males and

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies

337

Figure 19.5: A. Temporal trend of mean female (1) and male (0) stature estimates and their 95 % confidence intervals according to Pearson (1899) in the Aegean. Mean values obtained using an unknown estimation method from Mesolithic 9th millennium Franchthi by Angel (1969) plotted separately as points. B. Temporal trend of mean female (1) and male (0) stature estimates and their 95 % confidence intervals according to Pearson (1899) in the Balkans.

338

Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

females throughout prehistory, the mean being approx. 163 cm for males and 151 cm for females. This finding is entirely different from what Angel (1984) concluded from his data (Fig. 19.1), but it must be kept in mind that neither confidence intervals nor significances were provided by Angel, and the low male stature in its Late Neolithic sample might just be a result of the small number of only six individuals. In the Balkans (Fig. 19.5B), in contrast, both sexes show a generally declining trend of stature estimates until the 5th millennium, and, after that, a slightly significant stature increase is visible only in the female sample between the 4th and 3rd millennia and counteracted again in the 2nd millennium. Mean stature estimates of the 9th and 8th millennia from the Mesolithic of the Iron Gates region are as tall as 172 cm for males and 158 cm for females, whereas 5th millennium mean stature estimates from a greater variety of sites are as low as 163 cm and 151 cm, respectively. For males, t-tests for independent samples revealed highly significant p-values for cut-offs set pre-7th vs. 7th millennium and later, pre-6th vs. 6th millennium and later, and pre-5th vs. 5th millennium, as well as a significant value for the 6th vs. the 5th millennium. For females, p-values were highly significant for cut-offs set pre-7th vs. 7th millennium and later and pre-6th vs. 6th millennium and later. Moreover, a slight rise between the 4th and the 3rd and a slight decline between the 3rd and 2nd millennia were also significant. The similar downward trend between Mesolithic and Neolithic stature in a central and southeastern European sample has been causally connected to Neolithisation starting with the establishment of the Starčevo-Criş culture, at the turn of the 7th and 6th millennia (MacIntosh et al. 2016). However, it is important to note that male stature at the Iron Gates sites already shows a downward trend before the end of the 7th millennium, the mean male height estimate being approx. 172 cm and 170 cm in the 9th and 8th millennia, respectively, although the difference is not statistically significant.

Stable isotopes in the prehistoric Aegean and Balkans Stable isotopes from skeletal remains Ratios of nitrogen (15N and 14N or δ15N) and carbon (13C and 12C or δ13C) stable isotopes derived from collagen are well-established dietary and nutritional proxies. Provided that isotope values of food sources are also available, they reflect fractionation processes of dietary protein within the metabolism of organisms and along the food chain (Sealy 2001; Scheibner 2016, 49–55). If derived from teeth, they represent dietary and nutritional conditions during the formation of the sampled material: the first permanent molar M1, for instance, largely represents early infancy. Here, time resolution depends on collagen preservation and on how much and with which precision the material was collected, in current practice ranging from whole teeth sampled with a long formation time such as, e.g., the first premolar P1 for the 6th millennium (e.g. Bickle and Whittle 2013) to yearly incremental sampling in historical teeth (Beaumont and Montgomery 2016). If derived from bone, they represent the last years before the death of an individual.

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies

339

Δ15N has been established as a proxy for the trophic level of an individual and, hence, the degree of animal protein consumption. With each trophic level, it increases by presumably about 2–5 ‰ (Hedges and Reynard 2007). As a result, values between 6 and 9 ‰ are to be expected in humans with a mixed plant- and animal-based terrestrial diet, while consumers of fresh-water and marine fish show δ15N values of up to 15–20 ‰ due to the longer trophic chains in aquatic animals (Eriksson 2013). However, cereal seeds consumed by humans might have higher δ15N values than the stems and leaves consumed by herbivores (McClure et al. 2011), and manuring increases the δ15N in cereals even more (Bogaard et al. 2007; Fraser et al. 2011). Hence, especially in developed farming systems, even a largely plant-based diet could still produce elevated δ15N values. Moreover, pulses fixate airborne nitrogen and, thus, have markedly lower δ15N values of only up to 2.5 ‰ even if manured (Fraser et al. 2011), hence, low human δ15N values do not necessarily mean a protein deficit, as pulses are relatively rich in protein. Breastfed children present a special case in the food chain with values that are approx. 2–3 ‰ higher than those of their mothers, as maternal tissue protein is metabolised in human lactation leading to isotope-enriched milk (Fuller et al. 2006). Δ13C is similarly enriched in carnivore and marine animals, but only in much smaller steps of 0.5–1 ‰ (Eriksson 2013). The entirely different carbon baselines in fresh water habitats, however, cause fresh water fish and mammals to have much lower δ13C values than marine animals (Katzenberg 2008). Probably as a reaction to light intensity or recycling of CO2, δ13C values tend to be lower in both heavily forested areas (the so-called canopy effect) and in lowlands (Bonafini et al. 2013). Additionally, δ13C discriminates between two different paths of photosynthesis in so-called C3plants vs. C4-plants and, therefore, gives qualitative hints regarding the main plant component in the diet (Pollard and Heron 2008). Besides these external effects, the protein balance within an organism – which, however, is not yet fully understood – might also modify stable isotope ratios. Phases of protein malnutrition appear to be regularly associated with elevated δ15N values in studies on various animal species, and mobilisation of body tissue for energy production is the most likely reason for this (Reitsema 2013). Studies targeting the question of whether the growth period with its intensive tissue synthetisation leads to higher or lower δ15N values have so far yielded ambiguous results. Most of them, however, tend towards lower δ15N, commonly explained by an absent enrichment of nitrogen in the tissues as dietary protein is directly routed to tissue build-up (WatersRist and Katzenberg 2010; Reitsema 2013; cf. Roth and Hobson 2000). Notably, Fuller et al. (2004) detected lower δ15N values in human mothers during pregnancy – another situation of intensive tissue formation. Preliminary evidence on stable isotope values of lactating mothers have been shown to be lowered rather than raised (McKerracher et al. 2016). It is, however, questionable if the time resolution that archaeological samples taken without incremental sampling can provide is fine enough to detect such short-term metabolic changes.

340

Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Operationalisation of stable isotope data Stable isotope data for this study was extracted from the database collected by Scheibner (2016) with some additions. Skeletons with known age of infans I or II were excluded to avoid the effects of breastfeeding (see above), and values from ribs were preferred over dentine samples for the same reasons. If only dentine samples were available, data on the last permanent molar M3 was used. Data with a C: N-ratio outside the tolerance range of 2.9–3.6 as well as implausible values were rejected, and if several data pertaining to the same life stage were available for an individual, data was averaged (Scheibner 2016, 55–56). Therefore, the dataset mainly contains information on nutrition after the growth period, includes some information on juvenile nutrition, and may only occasionally cover infans I or II information.

Stable isotope data in southeast Europe In total, 992 individual adult stable isotope entries from 81 sites were retrieved from the study area and time covered (Table 19.4). Data distribution (Fig. 19.6) shows clusters in Crete and mainland Greece with Aktopraklık being the only site with stable isotope data, so far, in western Anatolia. In Greece, which has been quite thoroughly studied isotopically over the last years, the temporal emphasis lies on Neolithic and Bronze Age diets, while stable isotope data is not available for the Mesolithic. Combined with another cluster in Eastern Thrace with emphasis on the Neolithic and Copper Age at Durankulak and Varna (Honch et al. 2006), the N of southeastern Europe ranging from the Iron Gates to the Pannonian Plain and the Adriatic coast yielded 458 individual entries. Here, the Iron Gates Mesolithic-Neolithic transitional sites have been studied intensively (Borić et al. 2004), and temporal coverage is even throughout the Neolithic, Copper, and Bronze Ages. With the exception of the Danube Gorges and a few more sites, the isotope sample overlaps almost nowhere with the long bone sample (Fig. 19.4). It has to be noted, though, that there are a number of sites studied for isotopes such as Aktopraklık (Alpaslan Roodenberg 2008; 2011a; 2011b) or Xirolimni (Papathanasiou 2011) where only body height estimations were published, so more unpublished long bone data is theoretically available. Moreover, there is a remarkably high proportion of individuals with isotope data, but undetermined age and sex. Although this situation may, in part, be a result of the fact that, in many cases, the skeletal material was not preserved well enough or that the main objective for δ13C measurements was 14C dating issues,2 it underlines the need for anthropological analyses in order to contextualise the data measured. Specifically for our study, the high number of sex- and age-undetermined individuals prevents the samples from being large enough to assess sex-specific stable isotope information or to control possible metabolic disturbance effects caused by pregnant and lactating women (s.a.), i.e., effects that are specific to juvenile or adult female data. Where known, sex distribution is almost equal, with a slight deficit in females, similar to the long bone data.

Croatia

Bulgaria

Bulgaria

Bulgaria

Croatia

Benkovski K 2, b5 CG 82

Boyanovo 14 (sk. 1) CG 56

Boyanovo 4 CG 60

Crno Vrlo

Greece

Asine gesamt

Belišće St Valpovo

Greece

Armenoi

Romania

Greece

Almyri

Hungary

Greece

Alepotrypa Cave

Balatonszárszó-Kis –erdei-dűlő

Serbia

Ajmana Burial 7

Baile Herculane

Slowenia S Neo (Lengyel)

Ajdovska Jama

F Neo

M BZ

F BZ (Yamnaya)

F BZ

F-S Neo

M Neo (F LBK)

S Neo/F BZ

M BZ (MH)

S BZ (SM III B1)

S BZ

S Neo

F Neo

S BZ (SH)

Greece

Aghia Triada

Relative date

Country

Sites

6000

2800

2887

2890

6000

5300

3987

1700

1340

1500

5000

6075

4450

1550

Lower (cal BC)

5500

2000

2677

2640

3800

5000

3800

1550

1250

1100

3200

5715

4050

1060

Upper (cal BC)

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Gerling 2015

Gerling 2015

Gerling 2015

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Reynard and Hedges 2008; Oross 2010

Bronk Ramsey et al. 2009

Ingvarsson-Sundström et al. 2009

Richards and Hedges 1999; 2008

Petroutsa and Manolis 2010

Papathanasiou 2001; 2003; 2011

Bonsall et al. 2015; Borić and Price 2013

Bonsall et al. 2007; Ogrinc and Budja 2005; Ogrinc 1999

Petroutsa and Manolis 2010

Reference

1

1

4

3

4

5

1

12

39

1

1

4

3

4

5

0

12

39

34

15

15 34

2

12

70

2

12

70

N N individuals individuals analysed analysed 13 15 C N δ13C

-20.1

-17.20

-17.02

-18.26

-20.67

-19.73

-20.30

-19.36

-19.77

-19.17

-20.01

-20.00

-20.88

-19.91

Table 19.4: Juvenile to adult stable isotope data used for this study based on Scheibner (2016) with some corrections and additions.

9.6

9.70

10.55

9.66

10.12

9.85

9.17

7.80

9.31

7.51

10.25

7.67

7.21

δ15N

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies 341

Country

Hungary

Hungary

Bulgaria

Hungary

Hungary

Hungary

Hungary

Hungary

Hungary

Greece

Hungary

Greece

Serbia

Serbia

Croatia

Hungary

Sites

Deszk

Deszk

Durankulak ges

Ecsegfalva

Endrőd Varnyai-tanya

Esztergályhorváti

Esztergályhorváti

Esztergályhorváti

Esztergályhorváti

Franchthi Cave

FüzesabonyGubakút

Gerani

Golokut-Vizić

Gomolava I

Grapĉeva

H.-Kotacpart

F BZ

S Neo

S Neo (Vinča D)

F Neo

Chal

M Neo (LBK)

S Neo-Chal

S Neo/F Chal (Lengyel)

M/S Neo

S Neo

S Neo/Chal (Lengyel)

F Neo

F Neo (Körös)

Chal

F Neo

M Neo

Relative date

2040

5400

4824

5620

5470

5300

4777

5205

5042

5205

5630

5319

5000

6001

5320

Lower (cal BC)

1760

3800

4498

5460

4990

3200

4371

4615

4555

4377

5470

5065

4500

5780

5030

Upper (cal BC)

Whittle et al. 2002

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Borić 2009

Whittle et al. 2002

Richards and Hedges 1999c; 2008

Bickle and Whittle 2013

Papathanasiou 2001; 2003; 2011

Bronk Ramsey et al. 1999

Bronk Ramsey et al. 1999

Bronk Ramsey et al. 1999

Bronk Ramsey et al. 1999

Whittle et al. 2002

Pearson and Hedges 2007

Honch et al. 2006; Honch et al. 2013

Whittle et al. 2002

Whittle et al. 2002

Reference

1

3

4

2

2

9

9

1

3

3

7

1

1

81

1

1

1

3

4

2

2

9

9

0

0

0

0

1

1

81

1

1

N N individuals individuals analysed analysed 13 15 C N

-19.10

-19.5

-19.75

-19.95

-19.74

-19.96

-18.72

-21.50

-18.70

-19.93

-19.62

-19.80

-20.00

-18.96

-19.90

-19.10

δ13C

Table 19.4: Juvenile to adult stable isotope data used for this study based on Scheibner (2016) with some corrections and additions. (Continued)

10.60

8.43

10.83

8.65

8.36

10.36

9.03

8.70

11.80

9.37

8.70

9.40

δ15N

342 Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Greece

Greece

Greece

Greece

Croatia

Greece

Greece

Hungary

Greece

Greece

Kalamaki

Kalamaki

Kalamaki

Kalamaki total

Kargadur

Kavos, Keros

Kephala

Kisköre-Gát

Korinos

Kouveleiki

S Neo

S BZ

S Neo (Tisza)

S Neo

F BZ

M Neo

F-S BZ (F-SH III)

F BZ (FH)

F-S BZ (F-SH)

S BZ (SH)

S BZ (SH III)

Greece

Kalamaki

S Meso

S Meso

Serbia

Hajdučka Vodenica 8

S Meso

Romania

Serbia

Hajdučka Vodenica 11-15

F Chal

F Chal (Tiszapolgár)

Icoana

Hungary

HajdúböszörményFicsori-tó

S Neo (Tisza; Proto-Tiszapolgár)

Hungary

H.-Kotacpart

Relative date

Hódmezővásárhely- Hungary Gorzsa

Country

Sites

5300

1500

4893

5300

2900

5500

3000

3000

3000

1550

1500

6355

4893

7080

6500

4455

4460

Lower (cal BC)

3200

1100

4497

3200

2050

5000

1060

2700

1060

1060

1060

5920

4497

6690

6090

4079

4240

Upper (cal BC)

Papathanasiou 2001; 2003; 2011

Triantaphyllou 2001

Giblin 2011

Papathanasiou 2001; 2003; 2011

Hedges et al. 1992

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Richards and Vika 2008

Richards and Vika 2008

Richards and Vika 2008

Richards and Vika 2008

Richards and Vika 2008

Bonsall et al. 2015

Giblin 2011

Borić and Miracle 2004; Borić et al. 2004

Borić and Miracle 2004; Borić et al. 2004

Giblin 2011

Whittle et al. 2002

Reference

Table 19.4

2

4

7

5

3

1

32

10

9

7

5

2

9

1

3

8

1

2

4

7

5

0

1

32

10

9

7

5

2

9

1

3

8

1

N N individuals individuals analysed analysed 13 15 C N

-19.83

-19.19

-19.86

-19.09

-18.70

-20.00

-19.33

-19.56

-18.96

-19.36

-19.72

-19.40

-19.57

-18.60

-17.96

-19.93

-19.50

δ13C

8.08

8.74

11.01

9.17

9.90

8.21

7.82

8.43

8.21

7.98

16.00

11.01

16.00

15.83

9.95

9.30

δ15N

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies 343

Country

Serbia

Serbia

Serbia

Serbia

Serbia

Serbia

Hungary

Greece

Greece

Hungary

Sites

Lepenski Vir

Lepenski Vir

Lepenski Vir

Lepenski Vir

Lepenski Vir

Lepenski Vir

Magyarhomorog

Makrigialos

Makrigialos

Maroslele-Pana

F Neo

S Neo (I)

F BZ

M Chal (Bodrogkeresztúr)

M Neo

F Meso

Chal (Sălcuța)

Trans/F Neo (Starčevo-KörösCriş)

Trans/F Neo (Starčevo-KörösCriş)?

F Neo (Starčevo)

Relative date

5920

5300

3100

4037

5983

8400

4236

6406

6300

6230

Lower (cal BC)

5720

4500

2200

3523

5483

7600

3974

5797

5500

5470

Upper (cal BC)

Whittle et al. 2002

Triantaphyllou 2001

Triantaphyllou 2001

Giblin 2011

Grupe et al. 2003; Bonsall et al. 2000; Bonsall et al. 2004; Borić et al. 2004; Borić and Dimitrijević 2007; Bonsall et al. 2008

Grupe et al. 2003; Bonsall et al. 2000; Bonsall et al. 2004; Borić et al. 2004; Bonsall et al. 2008

Bonsall et al. 2008

Grupe et al. 2003; Bonsall et al. 2000; Bonsall et al. 2004; Borić et al. 2004; Bonsall et al. 2008

Grupe et al. 2003; Bonsall et al. 2000; Bonsall et al. 2004; Borić et al. 2004

Grupe et al. 2003; Bonsall et al. 2000; Bonsall et al. 2004; Borić et al. 2004

Reference

4

22

5

9

4

22

5

9

7

5

5

7

1

25

25

1

3

22

3

22

N N individuals individuals analysed analysed 13 15 C N

-20.57

-19.45

-19.74

-19.94

-19.29

-19.05

-19.50

-19.19

-20.20

-19.70

δ13C

Table 19.4: Juvenile to adult stable isotope data used for this study based on Scheibner (2016) with some corrections and additions. (Continued)

9.37

6.78

7.26

11.28

11.38

14.81

10.60

13.79

13.59

13.23

δ15N

344 Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Greece

Greece

Mycenae, Monastiraki

Perachora

Greece

Mycenae, Loupouno

Serbia

Greece

Mycenae, Batsorachi

Padina

Greece

Mycenae Grave Circle B

Serbia

Greece

Midea

Padina

Hungary

MezőkövesdMocsolyás

Croatia

Croatia

Metaljka

Bulgaria

Hungary

Maroslele-Pana

Ovchartsi OV 6, gr. 9

Hungary

Maroslele-Pana

Osijek-Filipovica

Country

Sites

F BZ (FH)

F Meso

Trans/F Neo (Starčevo-KörösCriş)

F BZ

S Neo

S BZ (SH I-SH III)

S BZ (SH I-SH III)

S BZ (SH I-SH III)

M-S BZ (MH-SH I)

M BZ

M Neo (ALP)

Chal

S Meso

S Chal

Relative date

2800

9360

6470

3017

4500

1550

1550

1550

2100

2100

5630

4100

6690

3350

Lower (cal BC)

2100

7960

6230

2894

4100

1060

1060

1060

1500

1530

5470

2200

6460

3010

Upper (cal BC)

Petroutsa et al. 2007

Borić and Miracle 2004; Borić et al. 2004; Honch et al. 2012

Borić and Miracle 2004; Borić et al. 2004; Honch et al. 2012

Gerling 2015

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Richards and Hedges 2008

Richards and Hedges 2008

Richards and Hedges 2008

Richards and Hedges 1999; 2008

Hedges et al. 1993

Bickle and Whittle 2013

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Whittle et al. 2002

Whittle et al. 2002

Reference

Table 19.4

19

3

1

1

1

1

3

7

9

2

4

3

1

1

19

3

1

1

1

1

3

7

9

0

4

3

1

1

N N individuals individuals analysed analysed 13 15 C N

-19.23

-18.93

-17.90

-19.00

-20.50

-19.60

-19.17

-19.37

-19.43

-20.90

-19.67

-18.73

-22.40

-19.10

δ13C

9.05

13.60

15.50

12.00

10.10

6.50

8.97

7.87

8.59

10.62

8.8

11.50

10.80

δ15N

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies 345

Greece

Hungary

Greece

Greece

Szarvas 23

Tharrounia

Theben

Starčevo-Grad

Sykia

Serbia

Spathes

F-MBZ

S Neo

F Neo

S BZ (SH IIIC1)

F Neo

S BZ (SH)

S BZ (SH)

Greece

Greece

Spaliaréïka

F BZ

Smyadovo 26 CG 50 Bulgaria

S Meso

Chal

Romania

Schela Cladovei

S BZ

S Neo

Meso

Neo

S Neo

M BZ (MH)

M Neo (ALP)

S Neo (Csőszhalom)

F Neo

Relative date

Smyadovo 18 CG 48 Bulgaria

Croatia

Greece

Croatia

Pupićina

Rymnio

Croatia

Pupićina

Radovanci

Greece

Hungary

Greece

Hungary

Polgár-Csőszhalom

Polgár-Ferenci-hát 033/42

Proskynas

Serbia

Perlez-Batka C

Proskynas

Country

Sites

3000

5300

5840

1200

5780

1500

1550

3093

3500

7300

1500

4500

10000

6000

4500

2100

5300

4942

6160

Lower (cal BC)

1550

3200

5630

1170

5460

1100

1060

2920

3000

6500

1100

4100

7500

4100

3200

1550

5070

4374

6140

Upper (cal BC)

Vika 2011

Papathanasiou 2001; 2003; 2011

Whittle et al. 2002

Richards and Vika 2008

Whittle et al. 2002

Triantaphyllou 2001

Richards and Vika 2008

Gerling 2015

Gerling 2015

Bonsall et al. 2000; 2004; Honch et al. 2012; Cook et al. 2001; Borić et al. 2004

Triantaphyllou 2001

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Papathanasiou et al. 2009

Papathanasiou et al. 2009

Bickle and Whittle 2013

Giblin 2011

Whittle et al. 2002

Reference

12

20

1

6

2

5

8

1

9

7

4

1

2

3

3

3

38

8

1

12

20

1

6

2

5

8

1

9

7

4

1

2

3

3

3

38

8

1

N N individuals individuals analysed analysed 13 15 C N

-19.56

-19.99

-20.10

-19.35

-20.20

-18.54

-20.06

-20.00

-20.26

-19.55

-17.64

-20.20

-19.15

-20.13

-19.47

-20.15

-19.97

-20.21

-19.90

δ13C

Table 19.4: Juvenile to adult stable isotope data used for this study based on Scheibner (2016) with some corrections and additions. (Continued)

8.64

8.04

8.10

8.28

9.30

7.64

8.28

9.00

8.98

15.44

8.61

9.30

10.5

8.93

7.96

7.03

10.30

10.65

9.20

δ15N

346 Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Hungary

Serbia

Serbia

Vésztő-Mágor

Vinča-Belo Brdo Pit Z

Vlasac

Hungary

Croatia

Vela Luka-Vela Spilja

Vésztő-Bikeri

Bulgaria

Varna

Croatia

Serbia

Topole-Bač

Velika Pećina VP-1

Serbia

Topole-Bač

Croatia

Hungary

TiszapolgárBasatanya (Period II)

Serbia

Hungary

TiszapolgárBasatanya (Period I)

Velesnica Burial 2C

Greece

Theopetra

Vela Spilja Lošinj

Country

Sites

S Meso

M Neo (Starčevo)

S Neo (Tisza)

S Neo (Tisza)

S Neo/Chal

F Neo

Neo

Meso

Chal

F Neo

S Meso

M Chal (Bodrogkeresztúr)

F Chal (Tiszapolgár Per. I)

S Neo

Relative date

7600

5476

4893

4893

2877

6080

6000

10000

4700

6170

7310

6500

5304

4497

4497

2581

5920

4100

7500

4200

6130

7220

3523

4079

4455

4037

3200

Upper (cal BC)

5300

Lower (cal BC)

Grupe et al. 2003; Borić et al. 2004

Borić 2009

Giblin 2011

Giblin 2011

Smith et al. 1999

Bonsall et al. 2015

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Honch et al. 2006; Honch et al. 2012

Whittle et al. 2002

Whittle et al. 2002

Giblin 2011

Giblin 2011

Papathanasiou 2001; 2003; 2011

Reference

Table 19.4

14

1

19

1

1

3

1

2

55

1

1

10

9

13

14

1

19

1

1

3

1

2

55

1

1

10

9

13

N N individuals individuals analysed analysed 13 15 C N

-19.46

-19.70

-20.42

-20.16

-21.30

-19.30

-18.9

-18.75

-19.28

-19.70

-19.90

-20.01

-20.06

-19.83

δ13C

14.28

13.60

11.19

11.03

8.04

11.00

12

8.75

10.00

8.80

8.60

10.90

10.38

7.39

δ15N

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies 347

Greece

Zeli

Croatia

Vuĉedol

Croatia

Greece

Voudeni

Greece

Serbia

Vlasac

Xirolimni

Serbia

Vlasac

Vukovar-Gimnazija

Country

Sites

S BZ (SH IIIA2 – FSH IIIC)

F Neo

F Neo

Chal

S BZ (SH IIB-SHIIIA)

F Meso

F-S Meso

Relative date

1350

6000 1060

5500

2703

1400

1450 3077

7600

6500

Upper (cal BC)

9000

9000

Lower (cal BC)

Petroutsa and Manolis 2010

Papathanasiou 2011

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Lightfoot et al. 2011

Petroutsa et al. 2009

Grupe et al. 2003; Borić et al. 2004

Grupe et al. 2003; Borić et al. 2004

Reference

20

14

5

8

24

15

6

20

14

5

8

24

15

6

N N individuals individuals analysed analysed 13 15 C N

-19.71

-19.76

-19.86

-20.41

-20.05

-19.36

-19.45

δ13C

Table 19.4: Juvenile to adult stable isotope data used for this study based on Scheibner (2016) with some corrections and additions. (Continued)

8.44

8.68

10.72

10.15

8.30

14.21

14.28

δ15N

348 Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

19. Where Angel feared not to tread: Anthropometric approaches to food studies

349

Figure 19.6: Temporal and spatial distribution of the juvenile and grown-up human stable isotope sample used in this study; colours denote absolute dates in millennia, size of the circle and circle sectors denote size of the sample per site (for details see Table 19.4). Data and conception: Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner, Cartography: Julia Ebert.

350

Eva Rosenstock and Alisa Scheibner

Figure 19.7: A. Temporal trend of mean juvenile to grown-up human stable isotope ratios and their 95 % confidence intervals (δ15N and δ13C) in the Aegean. B. Temporal trend of mean juvenile to grown-up human stable isotope ratios and their 95 % confidence intervals (δ15N and δ13C) in the Balkans.

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Trends in stable isotope data in southeast Europe Figure 19.7 shows the trends in stable isotope data in the Aegean and the Balkans. In the Aegean (Fig. 19.7A), δ15N ranges around approx. 8.5 ‰ and δ13C around approx. –19.5 ‰ and remains stable from the 7th to the 2nd millennium, with only a slight drop in δ15N from approx. 9 ‰ to 8 ‰ accompanied by a considerable rise in δ13C of about 1 ‰ between the 6th and the 5th millennia. A subsequent trend in increasing δ13C ends with a decline of mean δ13C in the 2nd millennium. T-tests for independent samples were highly significant for δ15N and δ13C between the 6th and the 5th millennium and for δ13C between the 3rd and the 2nd millennium, whereas cut-offs were significant for both δ15N and δ13C if set at the transition from the 7th to the 6th and the 6th to the 5th millennia. The rise in δ13C between the 6th and the 5th millennium can likely be explained by the higher proportion of coastal sites in the post-6th millennium sample, as the 7th and 6th millennia are mainly represented by Xirolimni and Aktopraklık. Hence, declining δ15N after the 6th millennium suggests that a lowered animal protein intake and maybe the introduction of millet, a C4 plant, in the 3rd millennium and its avoidance in the 2nd millennium (Valamoti 2016) together with a less marine-based subsistence was responsible for the change in δ13C between the 3rd and the 2nd millennium. Overall, the trend suggests a stable diet with protein mainly originating from C3 plants and from terrestrial animals throughout the Aegean Neolithic, Chalcolithic, and Bronze Age (Scheibner 2016, 244f). Exceptions are represented by the Neolithic individuals of Franchthi and Kephala, which show enrichment in carbon values, possibly due to the consumption of millet (Papathanasiou 2003, 321). For the Neolithic, generally low nitrogen values in all sites studied suggest a diet with only a small contribution of animal protein and a large contribution of plant protein (Papathanasiou 2003). In Late Neolithic Makrigialos and the Alepotrypa cave, even more depleted δ15N values have been observed, indicating a dominant consumption of pulses (Triantaphyllou 2001, 138). In the Bronze Age, a heavy reliance on terrestrial foods, namely C3 plants with a varying amount of protein from meat and probably dairy products, is evident. There is no clear indication that larger amounts of marine foods were consumed (Ingvarsson-Sundström et al. 2009, 10). However, analyses indicate that animal products were starting to account for a larger part of the human diet in the Bronze Age in comparison to the Neolithic (Ingvarsson-Sundström et al. 2009; Petroutsa and Manolis 2010; Richards and Vika 2008; Vika 2011). Moreover, neither δ15N nor δ13C show significant differences between the two sexes. In the Balkan sample (Fig. 19.7B), δ15N is considerably higher than it is in the Aegean, ranging around approx. 11 ‰, whereas δ13C is around –19.3 ‰. Moreover, in contrast to the stable diachronic picture in the Aegean, δ15N and δ13C in the Balkans drop from averages of approx. 14 ‰ and –19 ‰ to 10 ‰ and –20 ‰, respectively, between the 7th and the 6th millennium, i.e., during the transition to the Neolithic c. 6000 BC. In accordance with recent observations that the Early Neolithic Starčevo

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culture might not be as Neolithic as previously thought (Greenfield et al. 2014), δ15N continues to decline until the 4th millennium to approx. 8 ‰ and recovers to approx. 10 ‰ again in the 3rd millennium. δ13C, after an initial drop around 6000 BC, shows alternating peaks. T-tests for independent samples are highly significant for the changes in δ15N and δ13C until the 5th millennium and significant between the 5th and the 4th millennium. In addition, the increase in δ15N between the 4th and the 3rd millennium is highly significant. Cut-offs were significant for δ15N until 5000 BC, but not for δ13C. With the Iron Gates Mesolithic sites forming the majority of the pre6th millennium sample, their diet largely relying on piscivorous fish (or even dogs) is likely the cause for the elevated δ15N and δ13C values (Borić et al. 2004). Hence, the lowered stable isotope values after c. 6000 BC represent a preponderance of terrestrial sites after Neolithisation. While the high δ13C values in the 5th millennium may be attributed to the dominance of coastal sites (Durankulak, Varna), a trend towards a lower proportion of animal products can be derived from the data up to the 4th millennium. After c. 3000 BC, δ15N values increase again and can be interpreted as a recovery of the proportion of animal products in the diet. It should be noted that, while male and female stable isotopes show no significant differences until the 7th millennium, δ15N is approx. 0.5 ‰ higher than in males (p < 0.05) post-6000 BC and maybe indicate sex-specific diets.

Conclusions Genetics, adult nutrition, and stature in southeastern Europe The stable stature trends in the Aegean catchment are well in line with the isotope values signalling no major changes in diet. Stable stature from the seventh millennium onwards is in line with an eventual immigration of people bringing the Neolithic via the sea route from the Near East, possibly the Levant (Fernández et al. 2014; Horejs et al. 2015) in the 7th millennium, i.e., before a reliable stature record sets in. If we assume the extremely short stature from Mesolithic Franchthi is representative for the Aegean and – as Angel (1969) suspected – the result of poor health conditions brought about by poor nutrition, the adoption of the Neolithic can be interpreted as an increase in welfare for this region visible as a stature increase. If we assume the Franchthi data reflects a genetic background of Aegean Mesolithic people selected towards small stature, the mean Aegean Neolithic stature of approx. 163 cm for males and 151 cm for females would also be plausible as the result of genetic mixing of short local Mesolithic people with taller Near Eastern people: PPN B males and females of the Levant contemporary to the Aegean Mesolithic had an average body height of c. 167 cm and 156 cm, respectively (Rosenstock in d’Anna et al. 2015; Rosenstock et al. 2015). The admixture of shorter Aegean ancestry (Hofmanová et al. 2016; Mathieson et al. 2017) by further migration of the Neolithic could plausibly have contributed to the decline in mean stature in the Balkans after 6000 BC in addition to the clear declining stable isotope signal for a more terrestrial and plant-based diet. But stature

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in the Balkans already declined during the Mesolithic, matching a stature trend observed by Formicola and Giannecchini (1999) on western European Late Paleolithic and Mesolithic skeletons. As the Balkan stable isotope data do not show a change up to the 7th millennium, this is probably the result of an adaptive effect. There is anthropometric (Formicola and Giannecchini 1999; Rosenstock et al. 2015; Groß 2016; Rosenstock et al., in prep-b) and paleogenetic (Mathieson et al. 2015) evidence for shorter stature in western Europe and the Western Mediterranean, but taller stature in Eurasian populations during the Holocene. The Iron Gates population is not closely related to either macroregion (Mathieson et al. 2017), there is, however, no information yet on the stature genetics in southeastern Europe. This pre-existing downward trend for stature might have blurred any eventual dietary effects and the effects of an admixture of shorter Neolithic people from the turn of the 6th millennium onwards attested at the Iron Gates sites (Mathieson et al. 2017). It is still noteworthy, though, that a significant drop in stature is visible only through the 6th and the 5th millennia. With the background knowledge that huntergatherer genomes survived well into the Early Neolithic as demonstrated by mid-6th millennium Malak Preslavets (Criş to Dudeşti culture; Bacvarov 2013; Mathieson et al. 2017), it appears likely that the 5th millennium is the time when the Neolithic genetic proportion was highest. The missing impact of a still decreasing proportion of animal protein in the diet as evidenced from the stable isotope data in the 4th millennium could well be a combined result of the recurrence of genetically taller hunter-gatherer ancestry in southeastern Europe (Mathieson et al. 2017). It is interesting that the nutritional impact of Neolithic lifestyle is apparently a sexdifferentiated phenomenon, with, on the one hand, Neolithic stable isotopes showing the impact approx. one millennium earlier in males than in females. On the other hand, Neolithic females either received a diet slightly higher in protein than males or experienced some degree of catabolism due to malnutrition. As the consumption of milk products of at least sheep and goat, if not also cattle, is highly biased towards females in many traditional agro-pastoral and pastoral societies (Tangka et al. 2000), milk products, as an additional protein source, could be one possible explanation. However, a metabolic reason, such as catabolism due to malnourishment, high workload and pregnancies, cannot be ruled out. δ13C, however, expected to be higher with additional milk protein or lower with catabolism, shows no significant differences in comparison to males. Judging from the non-significant Balkan stature data in later prehistory, the admixture of Yamnaya-related genes from the Pontic Steppe determining tall stature (Mathieson et al. 2015; 2017) is likely limited, hence confirming a less migrationist scenario for the origins of the Pit Grave culture in the Balkans (Kaiser and Winger 2015). In Central and Northern Europe, in contrast, the 3rd millennium shows a marked stature increase well in line with current notions about the role of the Yamanya and Corded Ware connections (Piontek and Vančata 2012; Rosenstock et al. 2015; Groß 2016; MacIntosh et al. 2016; Heyd 2017; Rosenstock et al., in prep-b). Moreover, Balkan

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stable isotope data changes significantly only in the 3rd millennium, rendering the idea of increased animal protein by means of more pastoralism in the 4th millennium questionable (see also Giblin and Yerkes 2016).

In Angel’s footsteps Broadly speaking, the temporal variation in stable isotopes δ15N and δ13C, on the one hand, and in stature, on the other hand, match for the two region studies here. While the impact of Neolithisation in the Aegean is not assessable from the patchy data, analyses on the skeletal material of Franchthi being a major desideratum, the data points to a stable diet and stature during the Neolithic, Chalcolithic, and Bronze Age in the Aegean. This is in apparent contradiction to Angel’s (1946; 1984) findings based on mere mean values without considering confidence intervals and significances, but it shows that his initial concept of an anthropometric history based on explaining stature changes by a number of dietary proxies was a feasible one. In the Balkans, where Mesolithic data is available but mainly stemming from a single region in the Iron Gates region characterised by a unique economy heavily relying on limnic resources, declining trophic levels, and decreasing stature during the Mesolithic and Neolithic and a slight recovery of both proxies during the Aeneolithic and Bronze Age can be noted. This is in line with a previous study partially also covering the Balkans (MacIntosh et al. 2016). However, the stature decline starts well before Neolithisation, suggesting that pre-existing adaptive processes underlie possible environmental effects and possible effects of the immigration of genes determining shorter stature from the Near East and the Aegean (Hofmanová et al. 2016; Mathieson et al. 2017). The stature recovery in later prehistory is only significant for female stature, but highlights the need to control for immigrating genes determining taller stature from Eurasia (Mathieson et al. 2015; 2017). Before control for migrating stature genes is accomplished, declining and rising stature curves cannot reliably be interpreted as diet-related stunting and recovery, so, until then, we cannot decide for sure if the stable isotope record signals food and especially protein scarcity for the Balkan Neolithic or not. The anthropometric and isotopic data published so far is very patchy, hence Bayesian modelling also integrating surrounding data is a viable approach to get a more comprehensive picture (for anthropometry Rosenstock et al. 2015; Groß 2016; Rosenstock et al., in prep.-b); still, regional curves as presented here are needed as a control of such models. Connecting proxies by simply comparing curves, however, is not sufficient to establish causal relationships between them. Appropriate connecting of the almost exclusive datasets of stable isotopes and stature (Figs. 19.4, 19.6) as well as additional proxies such as, e.g., proximity to the sea, height above sea-level, animal stable isotope data, zooarchaeological data, or lipid remains (Scheibner 2016), however, are a tricky matter. They must be solved by either individual assignment or algorithms before approaches such as Multiple Linear Regression Analyses (Rosenstock

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2014; 2015) can be implemented. These issues, however, deserve separate papers in the footsteps of John Lawrence Angel.

Acknowledgements This study forms part of research conducted within the framework of the EmmyNoether Research Group ‘LiVES’ funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG), Grant No. RO4148/1–1, PI Rosenstock. We thank the organisers of the conference ‘Social Dimensions of Food in the Prehistory of the Eastern Balkans and Neighbouring Areas’ for offering us the possibility to publish it in this volume, as the paper also forms the background necessary to contextualise the data presented in our original talk on ‘Body Height, Burial Depths and Grave Goods in Later Southeastern European Prehistory: A Comparison of Proxies for Nutritional, Social and Material Status’ to be published elsewhere (Martin et al., in prep). We are indebted to Winfried Henke and Jocelyn Desideri for providing access to the Mainz and Geneva collections of anthropometric data. Moreover, we owe thanks to our team colleagues: Marcus Groß and Alisa Hujić provided various comments; Andreas Hicketier gave counsel on the statistical parts, and Julia Ebert and Robert Martin collected and updated the underlying anthropometric data. Finally, yet importantly, Julia Ebert was an invaluable help in dealing with the data and formatting and proofreading the text.

Notes 1 Although we understand such a label is problematic from both a biological and sociological perspective, we continue to use it here – but in inverted commas – to allow for an unambiguous identification of the formulas discussed and used. 2 As a caveat, δ13C values from accelerator mass spectrometry (AMS) isotope determinations may not be comparable to values from isotope-ratio mass spectrometry (IRMS). δ13C AMS determinations in our sample are, however, not large enough to significantly bias the results.

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