Studies in Aegean Art and Culture: A New York Aegean Bronze Age Colloquium in Memory of Ellen N. Davis [Illustrated] 9781931534864, 9781623034115, 1931534861

Table of contents :
Figure 1.1. Silver kantharos from Gournia House Tomb I, south room (HM 201). Courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture.
Figure 1.2. Ceramic kantharos from Isle of Christ, Malia (HM 7822). Courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture.
Figure 1.3. Ceramic kantharos from Pseira, Town Square pottery dump (Betancourt and Davaras, eds., 1999, fig. 22:BR 111).
Figure 1.4. Ceramic kantharos from Palaikastro (HM 3307). Photo J. Weingarten.
Figure 1.5. Ceramic polychrome kantharoi from Gournia House Tomb I, north room (HM 3621, 3622). Courtesy Philip P. Betancourt (1985, 102, fig. 75).
Figure 1.6. Three types of kantharoi from Level Ib at Kültepe(Kulakog˘lu and Kangal, eds., 2011, 197, cat. nos. 67–69).
Figure 1.7. Pedestalled kantharoi from Kültepe Level Ib: (a) Emre 1998, pl. I.1; (b) Emre 1998, pl. II.2; (c) Emre 1998, pl. II.1; (d) Emre 1998, pl. II.3.
Figure 1.8. Ceramic kantharos from Kültepe Level Ib, tomb (Emre 1998, fig. 27).
Figure 1.9. Ceramic kantharos from Alaca Höyük (Kos¸ ay and Akok 1947, pl. 37:c).
Figure 1.10. Serpentine kantharos possibly from Kato Syme. Oxford, Ashmolean Museum, AM AE 218. Courtesy Ashmolean Museum.
Figure 2.1. Vapheio Ccups: (a) “Peaceful” cup; (b) “Violent” cup. Photos courtesy Athens National Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture.
Figure 2.2. E. Gilliéron Père’s drawings of the Vapheio Cups (Evans 1921–1935, III, fig. 123).
Figure 2.3. Plan and section of the Vapheio Tholos (Tsountas 1889, 137–138).
Figure 2.4. View showing the dromos of Vapheio Tholos aligned with Mt. Taygetos (Banou and Hitchcock 2011, fig. 8). Courtesy E. Banou and L. Hitchcock.
Figure 2.5. Finds from the Vapheio Tholos. Adapted from Tsountas 1889, pls. 7, 8.
Figure 2.6. Ceramic goblet from the Vapheio Tholos (Banou and Hitchcock 2011, fig. 9). Courtesy E. Banou and L. Hitchcock.
Figure 2.7. Early Helladic II gold sauceboat, said to be from the Peloponnese. Private collection.
Figure 2.8. Twin-spouted gold sauceboat from Troy (Schliemann 1875, pl. XVI).
Figure 2.9. Depa amphikypella from Troy (Schliemann 1884, figs. 78, 79).
Figure 3.1. Gold sword, Persinari, Romania, mid-16th century B.C.E. Photo courtesy Stefan Alexandrov and the National Museum, Bucharest, Rumania.
Figure 3.2. “Type 2” bronze sword with gold hilt, Grave Delta, Grave Circle B, Mycenae, mid-16th century B.C.E., Athens National Museum, inv. no. 8710. Courtesy of the National Archaeological Museum, Athens, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeo
Figure 4.1. Scrapers from the cemetery of Petras, all made of copper or copper alloy: (a) ME 05-500, (b) ME 05-781, (c) ME 05-771, (d) ME 05-759, (e) ME 06-10, (f) ME 06-54; drawings D. Faulmann. Scraper from Naxos (g) with a wire for suspension still in
Figure 4.2. Metal circular pendants from the cemetery of Petras: (a) ME 09-170, (b) ME 06-122; drawings D. Faulmann. Circular artifacts of the type called “ring idols” from various sites, made from different materials: (c) Peristeria Salaminas, silver, di
Figure 5.1. Early Cycladic figurine of a pregnant woman. Naxos Museum 167. Photo courtesy of the Greek Ministry of Culture.
Figure 5.2. Fragments of a Middle Cycladic jar with men in awkward horizontal positions (drowned?). Akrotiri, Thera, inv. no. 11675. Courtesy of the Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.
Figure 5.3. Miniature wall-painting from the West House, Akrotiri, Thera (detail), showing men and women in daily life activities and shipwreck. Akrotiri, Thera, inv. no. 5820.vi. Courtesy of the Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society
Figure 6.1. Ellen Davis, Christos Doumas, and Andreas Vlachopoulos, Thera Fresco Workroom, August 2006. Photo M. Hamaoui, courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.
Figure 6.2. The “Blue Spirals” wall-painting, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 3, north wall. Photo A. Eleftherakis, courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.
Figure 6.3. Tentative reconstruction of the arrangement of the wall-paintings of Xeste 3 (the building seen from northwest). Model M. Wallner
Figure 6.4. Reconstruction drawing of Xeste 3, Akrotiri, second floor: (a) Room 3; (b) corridor leading to Room 3. Drawings N. Sepetzoglou.
Figure 6.5. Reconstruction drawing of the “Red Spirals” wall-painting, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 3, south wall. Drawing N. Sepetzoglou.
Figure 6.6. Relief Lozenge wall-painting with purple and blue rosettes, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 9, north wall: (a) photo; (b) detail; (c) reconstruction drawing. Photos A. Voliotis, courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological
Figure 6.7. Relief Lozenge wall-painting with grey and blue rosettes, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 9: (a) photo; (b) reconstruction drawing. Museum of Prehistoric Thera. Photo courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, the Archaeological Societ
Figure 6.8. Reconstruction drawing of the rosettes from the Relief Lozenge wall-paintings. Drawing N. Sepetzoglou.
Figure 6.9. Reconstruction drawing of the “Blue Spirals” wall-painting, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 3, north wall. Drawing N. Sepetzoglou.
Figure 6.10. Pithos lid with rosettes from Sphoungaras, Crete. Drawing N. Sepetzoglou, after Hall 1912, fig. 39.
Figure 7.1. The “Saffron Gatherers” Fresco, Knossos. Courtesy P.P. Betancourt.
Figure 7.2. MM III pottery with landscape scenes: (a) Kommos (C 2376), Herakleion Archaeological Museum; (b) Knossos (Betancourt 1985, pl. 12 I), Ashmolean Museum; (c) Phaistos (F. 4491), Herakleion Archaeological Museum; (d) Phaistos (F. 5599), Herakleio
Figure 7.3. Reconstruction of a boat, the sea, a building, and male figures, Hagia Eirene (Morgan 2013, fig. 1). Courtesy L. Morgan.
Figure 7.4. Reconstruction of a stream with plants, a female figure, and a building, Hagia Eirene (Morgan 2005, ed., fig. 1.17). Courtesy L. Morgan.
Figure 7.5. Detail of the “Miniature Landscape Frieze,” West House, Akrotiri. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.
Figure 7.6. The North Wall Frieze, West House, Akrotiri. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.
Figure 7.7. Detail of the “Departure Town,” West House, Akrotiri. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.
Figure 7.8. Detail of the “Flotilla” and the “Arrival Town,” West House, Akrotiri. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.
Figure 7.9. Fragment from a Miniature Landscape Fresco, Epano Zakros. Photo E. Shank, courtesy L. Platon.
Figure 7.10. Miniature Landscape Frieze, Tel Kabri. Reconstruction by Wolf-Dietrich Niemeier and Barbara Niemeier with an added new fragment (Cline, Yasur-Landau, and Goshen 2011, fig. 7). Courtesy E. Cline, A.Yasur-Landau, and N. Goshen.
Figure 8.1. Faience statuettes from Knossos: front views of HM 64, HM 63, and HM 65. Courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture; photo of HM 64, Ch. Papanikolopoulos, courtesy INSTAP-SCEC.
Figure 8.2. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 65: (a) back view drawing (after Evans 1902–1903, 79, fig. 57; 1921–1935, I, fig. 361); (b) side view (Evans 1921–1935, I, fig. 360:a); (c) three-quarter view (photo courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum,
Figure 8.3. Four views of the snake of HM 65 (details of Figs. 8.1, 8.2). Not to scale.
Figure 8.4. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63: front, side, and back view drawings. Note the labelled apron border (A) and snake (B). After Evans 1902–1903, 76, fig. 55; 1921–1935, I, frontispiece, fig. 359. Not to scale.
Figure 8.5. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63: front and back view drawings with restorations erased by B. Jones. Spotted snake indicated by label B. After Evans 1902–1903, 76, fig. 55; 1921–1935, IV, 176b, fig. 139. Not to scale.
Figure 8.6. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63: front and back view drawings with snakes colored and skirt and apron deleted. Adapted by B. Jones after Evans 1902–1903, 76, fig. 55; 1921–1935, I, frontispiece, fig. 359. Not to scale.
Figure 8.7. Reconstruction A, faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. Drawing adapted by B. Jones after Evans 1921–1935, I, frontispiece. Photo courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture. Not to scale.
Figure 8.8. Reconstruction B, faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. Drawing adapted by B. Jones after Evans 1921–1935, I, frontispiece. Photo courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture. Not to scale
Figure 8.9. Terracotta figurine from Piskokephalo, HM 16446 (Jones 2012, pl. XLVI.1:a–c). Not to scale.
Figure 8.10. Reconstruction C, faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. Drawing adapted by B. Jones after Evans 1921–1935, I, frontispiece. Photo courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture. Not to scale.
Figure 8.11. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 64: (a) front, (b) back, and (c, d) side views. Photos Ch. Papanikolopoulos, courtesy INSTAP-SCEC, and Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture.
Figure 8.12. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 64: front and back view drawings adapted by B. Jones after Evans 1921–1935, I, 523, fig. 382. Not to scale.
Figure 8.13. Faience left arm from Knossos, HM 66: (a) top end, (b) front, (c) side, and (d) back. Photos Ch. Papanikolopoulos, courtesy INSTAP-SCEC and Herakleion Archaeological Museum.
Figure 8.14. Digital reconstructions of upper parts of faience statuette from Knossos, HM 64, front (a), back (b), and side (c) views by C. Mao and B. Jones. Photos C. Papanikolopoulos, courtesy INSTAP-SCEC and Herakleion Archaeological Museum.
Figure 8.15. Faience dress plaque from Knossos, HM 58a. Courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture.
Figure 9.1. Gold ring from Pylos, ANM 7985 (CMS I, no. 292): (a) photo; (b) detail cast; (c) drawing. Photos courtesy CMS and Greek Ministry of Culture; drawing courtesy CMS. Not to scale.
Figure 9.2. “Chieftain Cup,” HM 341: (a) side A; (b) side B. Photos courtesy Alison Frantz Archives, American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Not to scale.
Figure 9.3. Sealing HMs 52: (a) photo courtesy CMS and the Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture; (b) reconstruction drawing of sealing HMs 52 and HMs 53, drawing R.B. Koehl and P. Karsay. Not to scale.
Figure 9.4. HMs 76: (a) black and white photo courtesy CMS and Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture; (b) color photo by M. Anastasiadou courtesy CMS and Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Greek Ministry of Culture; (c) reconstruction
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Studies in Aegean Art and Culture A New York Aegean Bronze Age Colloquium in Memory of Ellen N. Davis

Ellen N. Davis at Hagia Eirene, Kea, August, 2006. Photo by Andreas G. Vlachopoulos.

Studies in Aegean Art and Culture A New York Aegean Bronze Age Colloquium in Memory of Ellen N. Davis

edited by

Robert B. Koehl

Published by INSTAP Academic Press Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 2016

Design and Production INSTAP Academic Press, Philadelphia, PA

Cover: Vapheio Cups. Photo courtesy of the National Archaeological Museum of Athens, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: New York Aegean Bronze Age Colloquium in Memory of Ellen N. Davis    (2014 : Hunter College), author. | Davis, Ellen N., 1937-2013, dedicatee.    | Koehl, Robert B., editor. Title: Studies in Aegean art and culture : a New York Aegean Bronze Age    Colloquium in Memory of Ellen N. Davis / edited by Robert B. Koehl. Description: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania : INSTAP Academic Press, 2016. |    Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: LCCN 2016033378 (print) | LCCN 2016033544 (ebook) | ISBN    9781931534864 (pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781623034115 (ebook) | ISBN    9781623034115 (pdf) Subjects: LCSH: Art, Aegean--Congresses. | Civilization, Aegean--Congresses. Classification: LCC N5475 .N49 2014 (print) | LCC N5475 (ebook) | DDC    709.39/1--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016033378

Copyright © 2016 INSTAP Academic Press Philadelphia, Pennsylvania All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

List of Figures in the Text. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii Preface and Acknowledgements.. xi Bibliography of Ellen N. Davis. ................................................ xv List of Abbreviations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii 1. The Silver Kantharos from Gournia Revisited Judith Weingarten. ........................... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 2. Helladic Pairs of Cups Malcolm H. Wiener. .......................... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 3. For Ellen Davis: Transylvanian Gold? Günter Kopcke. ............................... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 4. Cycladic and More Northerly Connections in the Metal Objects from Petras Cemetery Philip P. Betancourt, Susan C. Ferrence, and James D. Muhly. . . . . . 35 5. The Human Condition as Reflected in Early Aegean Art Christos Doumas. ......................................................... 47

6. Purple Rosettes/Πορφυροί ρόδακες: New Data on Polychromy and Perception in the Thera Wall Paintings Andreas G. Vlachopoulos. ................... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 7. Depictions of Water in Aegean Miniature-Style Wall Paintings Elizabeth B. Shank. ..........................................................77 8. The Three Minoan “Snake Goddesses” Bernice R. Jones. ............................. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 9. Beyond the “Chieftain Cup”: More Images Relating to Minoan Male “Rites of Passage” Robert B. Koehl. .............................. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 10. The Ideology of the Ruler in Mycenaean Prehistory: Twenty Years after the Missing Ruler Thomas G. Palaima. ......................... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133

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List of Figures in the Text

Frontispiece. Ellen N. Davis at Hagia Eirene, Kea, August 2006. . . . . . . . . ii Figure 1.1. Silver kantharos from Gournia House Tomb I, south room (HM 201). ............................................ 2 Figure 1.2. Ceramic kantharos from Isle of Christ, Malia (HM 7882). . . . 2 Figure 1.3. Ceramic kantharos from Pseira, Town Square pottery dump. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Figure 1.4. Ceramic kantharos from Palaikastro (HM 3307). ............. 3 Figure 1.5. Ceramic polychrome kantharoi from Gournia House Tomb I, north room (HM 3621, HM 3622). ................... 4 Figure 1.6. Three types of kantharoi from Level Ib at Kültepe. ......... 4 Figure 1.7. Pedestalled kantharoi from Kültepe Level Ib. ................. 5 Figure 1.8. Ceramic kantharos from Kültepe Level Ib, tomb. ............ 5 Figure 1.9. Ceramic kantharos from Alaca Höyük. ........................ 6 Figure 1.10. Serpentine kantharos possibly from Kato Syme. . . . . . . . . . . . . 8

Figure 2.1. Vapheio Cups: (a) “Peaceful” cup; (b) “Violent” cup. ...... 12 Figure 2.2. E. Gilliéron Père’s drawings of the Vapheio Cups. . . . . . . . . . . 13 Figure 2.3. Plan and section of the Vapheio Tholos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Figure 2.4. View showing the dromos of the Vapheio Tholos aligned with Mt. Taygetos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Figure 2.5. Finds from the Vapheio Tholos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 Figure 2.6. Ceramic goblet from the Vapheio Tholos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Figure 2.7. Early Helladic II gold sauceboat, said to be from the Peloponnese. ........................ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Figure 2.8. Twin-spouted gold sauceboat from Troy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Figure 2.9. Depa amphikypella from Troy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 Figure 3.1. Gold sword, Persinari, Romania, mid-16th century b.c.e.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Figure 3.2. “Type 2” bronze sword with gold hilt, Grave Delta, Grave Circle B, Mycenae, mid-16th century b.c.e.. . . . . . . . . . . 28 Figure 4.1. Scrapers from the cemetery of Petras, all made of copper or copper alloy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Figure 4.2. Metal circular pendants from the cemetery of Petras. ...... 40 Figure 5.1. Early Cycladic figurine of a pregnant woman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Figure 5.2. Fragments of a Middle Cycladic jar with men in awkward horizontal positions (drowned?). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Figure 5.3. Miniature wall painting from the West House, Akrotiri, Thera (detail), showing men and women in daily life activities and shipwreck. ......................................... 51 Figure 6.1. Ellen Davis, Christos Doumas, and Andreas Vlachopoulos, Thera Fresco Workroom, August 2006. .... 60 Figure 6.2. The Blue Spirals wall painting, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 3, north wall. ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61

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Figure 6.3. Tentative reconstruction of the arrangement of the wall paintings of Xeste 3. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 Figure 6.4. Reconstruction drawing of Xeste 3, Akrotiri, second floor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .62 Figure 6.5. Reconstruction drawing of the “Red Spirals” wall painting, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 3, south wall. ........................................................ 63 Figure 6.6. Relief Lozenges fresco with purple and blue rosettes, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 9, north wall. . . . . . . . . . . 65 Figure 6.7. Relief Lozenges fresco with gray and blue rosettes, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 9. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Figure 6.8. Reconstruction drawing of the rosettes from the Relief Lozenges fresco. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 Figure 6.9. Reconstruction drawing of the “Blue Spirals” wall painting, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 3, north wall............................ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 Figure 6.10. Pithos lid with rosettes from Sphoungaras, Crete. ...........70 Figure 7.1. The Saffron Gatherers fresco, Knossos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 Figure 7.2. Middle Minoan III pottery with landscape scenes. . . . . . . . . 79 Figure 7.3. Reconstruction of a boat, the sea, a building, and male figures, Hagia Eirene. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 Figure 7.4. Reconstruction of a stream with plants, a female figure, and a building, Hagia Eirene. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 Figure 7.5. Detail of the Miniature Landscape frieze, from the east wall of room 5, West House, Akrotiri. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 Figure 7.6. The north wall frieze, from room 5, West House, Akrotiri. ........................................... 83 Figure 7.7. Detail of the Departure Town, south wall, Flotilla frieze, room 5, West House, Akrotiri. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 Figure 7.8. Detail of the Flotilla and the Arrival Town, south wall Flotilla frieze, room 5, West House, Akrotiri. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85

L IST OF FI GURES I N THE TEXT

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Figure 7.9. Fragment from a miniature landscape fresco, Epano Zakros. ...................... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 Figure 7.10. Miniature landscape frieze, Tel Kabri. ........................ 88 Figure 8.1. Faience statuettes from Knossos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94 Figure 8.2. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 65. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 Figure 8.3. Four views of the snake of HM 65. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 Figure 8.4. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Figure 8.5. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 Figure 8.6. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. .................... 101 Figure 8.7. Reconstruction A, faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. ............................................... 102 Figure 8.8. Reconstruction B, faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. ............................................... 103 Figure 8.9. Terracotta figurine from Piskokephalo, HM 16446. . . . . . . 104 Figure 8.10. Reconstruction C, faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Figure 8.11. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 64. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106 Figure 8.12. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 64. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106 Figure 8.13. Faience left arm from Knossos, HM 66. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107 Figure 8.14. Digital reconstructions of upper parts of faience statuette from Knossos, HM 64. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108 Figure 8.15. Faience dress plaque from Knossos, HM 58a. .............. 108 Figure 9.1. Gold ring from Pylos, ANM 7985. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114 Figure 9.2. “Chieftain Cup,” HM 341. ......... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .115 Figure 9.3. Sealing HMs 52 and reconstruction drawing of sealings HMs 52 and HMs 53. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118 Figure 9.4. Sealing HMs 76. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123

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Preface and Acknowledgments

With the passing of Ellen N. Davis on July 15, 2013, just a few weeks shy of her 75th birthday, the community of Aegean scholars lost one of its most valued and beloved members. As the news quickly spread, I immediately began to receive suggestions about how best to honor her memory along with requests from her many friends and colleagues to be included in whatever was decided. Since Ellen was a member of the New York Aegean Bronze Age Colloquium from its founding in the fall of 1978, along with Günter Kopcke, Malcolm Wiener, and the late Clairève Grandjouan, it seemed most appropriate to dedicate a special session to her memory. And so, on September 13, 2014, a group of us gathered at Hunter College’s Roosevelt House and presented papers, which are published in this volume with the addition of one by her dear friend Christos Doumas. Ellen Nancy Davis was born July 20, 1937, in Baltimore, Maryland. After her graduation from high school and following a short-lived marriage to her English teacher, Ellen enrolled at St. John’s College in Annapolis where she honed her intellectual skills through their renowned and rigorous “great books” program. Thriving in this environment, and sure of her love of ancient art, she entered graduate school at New York University’s Institute of Fine Arts, where she was quickly taken under the wing of her adored mentor, Peter von Blanckenhagen. Like many of us, visits to Greece sparked her love for the Bronze Age, which led to her 1973 doctoral dissertation on the Vapheio Cups and Aegean gold and silver ware published in the Garland Outstanding Dissertations in the Fine Arts series

(Davis 1977). After receiving her Ph.D., Ellen became a full-time faculty member of Queens College, City University of New York, where she taught in the Art History Department until her retirement in 2000. Even with her earliest studies, Ellen’s approach was trailblazing, merging art history with technical analyses to differentiate Minoan from Mycenaean manufacture (Davis 1974, 1976, 1977). Indeed, it was always a great learning experience to stroll through the Athens National and Herakleion Archaeological Museums with Ellen, and see the great works of Aegean craftsmanship through her keenly observant eyes. I vividly recall her pointing to the frieze of plaster relief “snail shell” spirals that ran along the top of the wall in the Zakros gallery in Herakleion, and extolling how the love of three-dimensionality was uniquely Minoan; or to the small silver jug from Zakros with gold embellishments as an example of the Minoan penchant for color contrasts in metal ware, and indeed, the Minoan love of color, in general, especially as expressed in their frescoes. Ellen loved nature in all its forms, and art, especially painting (Davis 1990a). Thus, when the Onassis Cultural Center brought the exhibition of Minoan art, “From the Land of the Labyrinth,” to New York in 2008, it was particularly thrilling to stand with Ellen before the Partridge fresco, as she pointed out the exquisite brush strokes, shading, and highlighting on the feathers (as in Davis 2007). Not only a famous ailurophile, but a passionate bird watcher, Ellen had a particular affection for that painting, as she did for the Spring fresco from Akrotiri, with its playful (or aggressive) swallows. Indeed, using the classic Morellian method of attribution analysis, she convincingly identified the individual hands and reconstructed the structure of the workshop that painted the landscapes in the Spring fresco in an article that merits greater recognition than it has hitherto received (Davis 2000b). Alongside Ellen’s contributions to the study of Aegean precious metal vessels and wall painting, stand her break-through articles on Aegean iconography, notably her studies on the miniature ship fresco from Akrotiri (Davis 1983b), on representations of aging in the Akrotiri frescoes (Davis 1986; revised in Davis 2000b, 868–871), on the miniature frescoes from Knossos and the function of the central courts (Davis 1987), and on ruler imagery, or the lack thereof (Davis 1995). Ellen even weighed in on the still-debated date of the Theran eruption by introducing the “Ahmose” stele into the discussion, thereby supporting the traditional synchronism of Late Minoan IA with the beginning of the 18th Dynasty (Davis 1990b). Other ideas went unpublished, such as her belief that the marine scenes painted inside Late Minoan III sarcophagi were residual references to earlier practices of burial at sea. xii

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All of the papers in this volume in some way build on, or were influenced or inspired by Ellen’s work in several of the areas touched on above. In Chapter 1, Judith Weingarten revisits Ellen’s study of the silver kantharos from Gournia and demonstrates that a re-dating of Minoan contexts, from Middle Minoan IB to Middle Minoan IIA, resolves issues that had previously vexed Davis, thereby supporting her belief that the Cretan lobed rimmed kantharos derived from Anatolian prototypes. In Chapter 2, Malcolm Wiener argues a Late Helladic IIIA:1 date for the burial context of the Vapheio Cups, and he looks into the history and cultural significance of the pairing of precious metal Aegean drinking vessels. In Chapter 3, Günter Kopcke defends Ellen’s belief that Mycenaean gold came from Transylvanian sources, but also emphasizes the importance of Egypt in the acquisition of this metal, specifically for Crete. In Chapter 4, Philip P. Betancourt, Susan Ferrence, and James D. Muhly look to the north of Crete to explain the presence of certain types of metal objects found in Early and Middle Minoan burials from the Petras cemetery. In Chapter 5, Christos Doumas spans Cycladic prehistory in his investigation of the human experience in its many manifestations, observing how the changing roles of women and men are reflected in Cycladic art and iconography. Ellen’s interest in the pigments used in Aegean wall painting is reflected in Chapter 6, by Andreas G. Vlachopoulos, who examines the purple rosettes from Xeste 3, Thera, and the illusions created by the juxtaposition of colors. In Chapter 7, Elizabeth B. Shank analyzes the various ways that water was depicted in Aegean miniature frescoes, including a remarkable three-dimensional rendering from Epano Zakros. In Chapter 8, Bernice Jones deconstructs Evans’s restorations of the two famous Snake Goddess statuettes based on her studies of Minoan women’s garments, and reconstructs a third statuette from her examination of some hitherto largely overlooked fragments. In Chapter 9, Robert B. Koehl finds a homoerotic component in his interpretation of the male initiation rites he thinks are referenced in the imagery on a gold ring from Pylos and two sealings from Zakros. Finally, in Chapter 10, Thomas G. Palaima explores the etymology and ideology of Mycenaean Greek words associated with kingship— wanaks, megaron, skēptron, and thronos—and suggests that they derive from a non Indo-European, pre-Greek speaking population. When discussions for a memorial colloquium began to coalesce, with the expectation that the papers would be published, Larissa Bonfante, Professor Emerita of Classics at New York University, volunteered to aid me in the task of editing. Though not an Aegean scholar, but a world-renowned Etruscologist (and close friend of Ellen), it seemed to me that someone from outside the “Bronze Age Mafia” would ensure they could be appreciated by PR E FAC E AN D ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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a wider audience of archaeological scholars. Working with Larissa on this volume has made my task easier, and I am grateful for all of her time and efforts. I am also grateful to the two anonymous reviewers of the papers for this volume, for their valuable insights, additions, and corrections, and to the INSTAP Academic Press for undertaking its publication. Finally, I would like to express my deep gratitude to Hunter College President Jennifer J. Raab for allowing us to hold the colloquium in the beautifully restored Roosevelt House Public Policy Institute at Hunter College and for sponsoring a fine luncheon for all the speakers and attendees. I am also grateful to the Institute of Aegean Prehistory (INSTAP) and the M.H. Wiener Foundation for their financial support, without which the colloquium honoring Ellen would surely not have been the memorable occasion that it was. Robert B. Koehl New York City, NY November 2015

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Bibliography of Ellen N. Davis

Davis, E.N. 1973. The Vapheio Cups and Aegean Gold and Silver Ware, Ph.D. diss., New York University. . 1974. “The Vapheio Cups: One Minoan and One Mycenaean?” ArtB 56, pp. 472–487. . 1976. “Metal Inlaying in Minoan and Mycenaean Art,” TUAS 1, pp. 3–6. . 1977. The Vapheio Cups and Aegean Gold and Silver Ware (Outstanding Dissertations in the Fine Arts), New York. , ed. 1977. Symposium on the Dark Ages in Greece. Sponsored by The Archaeological Institute of America, New York Society and Hunter College, City University of New York, April 30, 1977, New York. . 1979. “The Silver Kantharos from Gournia,” TUAS 4, pp. 34–45. . 1983a. “The Gold of the Shaft Graves: The Transylvanian Connection,” TUAS 8, pp. 32–38. . 1983b. “The Iconography of the Ship Fresco from Thera,” in Ancient Greek Art and Iconography (Wisconsin Studies in Classics), W.G. Moon, ed., Madison, pp. 3–14. . 1986. “Youth and Age in the Thera Frescoes,” AJA 90, pp. 399–406.

. 1987. “The Knossos Miniature Frescoes and the Function of the Central Courts,” in The Function of the Minoan Palaces. Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 10–16 June, 1984 (ActaAth 4°, 35), R. Hägg and N. Marinatos, eds., Stockholm, pp. 157–161. . 1990a. “The Cycladic Style of the Thera Frescoes,” in Thera and the Aegean World III. Proceedings of the Third International Congress, Santorini, Greece, 3–9 September 1989. Vol. I: Archaeology, D.A. Hardy, Ch. Doumas, J.A. Sakellarakis, and P.M. Warren, eds., London, pp. 214–228. . 1990b. “A Storm in Egypt during the Reign of Ahmose,” in Thera and the Aegean World III. Proceedings of the Third International Congress, Santorini, Greece, 3–9 September 1989. Vol. III: Chronology, D.A. Hardy and A.C. Renfrew, eds., London, pp. 232–235. . 1995. “Art and Politics in the Aegean: The Missing Ruler,” in The Role of the Ruler in the Prehistoric Aegean. Proceedings of a Panel Discussion Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America, New Orleans, Louisiana, 28 December 1992, with Additions (Aegaeum 11), P. Rehak, ed., Liège, pp. 11–20. . 2000a. “The Egyptian Influence on Minoan Figure Painting,” in Κρήτη-Αίγυπτος: Πολιτισμικοί δεσμοί τριών χιλιετιών. Μελέτες, A. Karetsou, M. Andreadaki-Vlasaki, and N. Papadakis, eds., Athens, pp. 64–70. . 2000b. “The Organization of the Theran Artists,” in The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium, Petros M. Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas, 30 August–4 September 1997, S. Sherratt, ed., Athens, pp. 859–872. . 2007. “Brush Work,” in Krinoi kai Limenes. Studies in Honor of Joseph and Maria Shaw (Prehistory Monographs 22), P.P. Betancourt, M.C. Nelson, and H. Williams, eds., Philadelphia, pp. 145–150.

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List of Abbreviations

AM Ashmolean Museum ANM Athens National Archaeo logical Museum inventory number cm centimeter(s) CMS Corpus der minoischen und mykenischen Siegel d. diameter dim. dimensions EC Early Cycladic EH Early Helladic EM Early Minoan FN Final Neolithic h. height HM Herakleion Archaeological Museum inventory number HMs Heraklion Archaeological Museum sealing

HT Hagia Triada IE Indo-European inv. no. inventory number INSTAP- Institute for Aegean SCEC Prehistory Study Center for East Crete LC Late Cycladic LH Late Helladic LM Late Minoan m meters MM Middle Minoan Myc. Mycenaean th. thickness XRF X-ray fluorescence w. width

1

The Silver Kantharos from Gournia Revisited JUDITH WEINGARTEN

One of Ellen Davis’s very first papers (1979) examined the silver kantharos from Gournia, which even today—more than 100 years after its discovery—remains the only physical example of a vase in precious metal from the Old Palace Period (Fig. 1.1). Davis made three important points: (1) the lobed-rim two-handled cup was not a Minoan type; (2) the form was inspired by Anatolian metal kantharoi known from their ceramic imitations in the Old Assyrian Trading Colony period; and (3) the Anatolian originals would have been made in the 19th century b.c.e. (cf. Warren and Hankey 1989, 131), even though no metal prototypes had actually been found. I read Ellen’s paper just as I was starting my own postgraduate work and gave her full marks for citing “foreign influences” at a time when artistic borrowing was decidedly out of fashion. Now fashions have changed, and this volume offers an opportunity to revisit her arguments. So it is with great pleasure and bittersweet sorrow that I contribute some recent evidence as an offering to her memory. The silver kantharos (a deep drinking cup with high handles) is notable not only for its metal but also for its very specific vase shape: a flaring body with carinated shoulder and highly distinctive rim usually stretched into four convex lobes, with two vertical strap handles attached at the center of opposing lobes. The shape is quickly imitated in clay, often down to its rivet heads. Some ceramic copies are very close in shape, while others

display a rather free variation of the type (Soles 1992, 10). Among the former are examples from Malia (Fig. 1.2), Myrtos Pyrgos (Cadogan 1978, 74, fig. 12 [no. P1632]; Dimopoulou-Rethemiotaki 2005, 224), Pseira (Fig. 1.3), Petras (Tsipopoulou and Hallager 2010, 139–141, fig. 29 [no. P38]), and Alatzomouri-Pefka (Betancourt, Brogan, and Apostolakou 2016). One of the numerous cups from Myrtos Pyrgos (Cadogan 1978, fig. 12 [no. P1632]), and one from the Isle of Christ, Malia (see Fig. 1.2; van Effenterre and van Effenterre 1963, 109, no. [=HM] 7882, pl. XLIV:7882), virtually are exact replicas of the silver vase. Somewhat less close is a squatter kantharos from Palaikastro decorated with a running spiral (Fig. 1.4). Freer variations, with low bowl and high upper wall, include four

Figure 1.1. Silver kantharos from Gournia House Tomb I, south room (HM 201). Courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports.

Figure 1.2. Ceramic kantharos from Isle of Christ, Malia (HM 7882). Courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports.

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Figure 1.3. Ceramic kantharos from Pseira, Town Square pottery dump (Betancourt and Davaras, eds., 1999, fig. 22:BR 111).

Figure 1.4. Ceramic kantharos from Palaikastro (HM 3307). Photo J. Weingarten.

examples also from Gournia and another from Zakros (Davis 1979, 36– 37; Soles 1992, 10). The silver kantharos itself was found in the south room of Gournia House Tomb I, while two elaborate polychrome ceramic kantharoi of the freer type came from the north room of the same tomb (Fig. 1.5). The tomb was originally dated to Middle Minoan (MM) IA but, by the time Davis was writing, pottery from both MM IA and MM IB had been published (Soles 1973, 23–30, figs. 51–58). The Gournia silver vase clearly resembles a vessel common in central Anatolia (Fig. 1.6). As Davis remarked, “Such a close correspondence of such a distinctive vessel cannot be fortuitous” (Davis 1979, 38). Since two-handled cups were not popular with the Minoans, nor were there any signs of development in the direction of the lobed kantharos on Crete, she argued that the origin of the Gournia cup was to be found in Anatolia, though she did not exclude the possibility that it was a locally made, close imitation of the foreign type (Davis 1979, 39–41). Christina Clarke (2013, 10), too, sees it as “quite unlike any other [metal vessel] in the Minoan THE SILVE R K ANTHAR OS F ROM GOURNI A REV I SI TED

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tradition.” Lobed kantharoi were not only more numerous in Anatolia, but the type was more consistent and longer-lived there than on Crete (Davis 1979, 39; Reeves 2003, 149–150). One might stress, too, the relative abundance of metal vessels in 2nd millennium Anatolia, especially in the second half of the period when metal drinking and pouring vessels first appeared (Reeves 2003, 138, 145–146; cf. Clarke 2013, no. 10, the only non-utilitarian bronze vessel from MM Crete). Although no close metal examples of these kantharoi have been discovered even today, the sharp carination and high-swung handles of the ceramic vases strongly suggest that they are nonetheless replicas of metal vases. While the metal prototypes continue to elude us, the excavation data that has accumulated since Davis wrote reinforces her perception that the vessels were much more at home in Anatolia. Exact numbers are uncertain, but there are probably little more than two dozen reasonably close variations on Crete, all from the east of the island. Compare 41 examples

Figure 1.5. Ceramic polychrome kantharoi from Gournia House Tomb I, north room (HM 3621, HM 3622). Courtesy Philip P. Betancourt (1985, 102, fig. 75).

Figure 1.6. Three types of kantharoi from Level Ib at Kültepe (Kulakog˘lu and Kangal, eds., 2010, 197, cat. nos. 67–69).

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from just the Turkish excavations in Kültepe, plus numerous finds from Karahöyük (one of the most characteristic vessels in palatial building L, Level I—the location of the great quantity of sealings), seven from Acemhöyük, and additional examples from Alişar, Alaca Höyük, Boğazköy, Inandiktepe, and reputedly Bozkar near Zincirli (Mellink 1964, 153; Emre 1966, 108–109; 1998, 1–2). Specific features are also very common on other central-Anatolian Middle Bronze vases, especially carinated bodies, two handles on cups, and spouts on cups and pouring vessels formed as lobes of the rim (Davis 1979, 39). The main point of difference between the Minoan and Anatolian kantharoi is the base (Fig. 1.7). The Anatolian cup is usually perched on tall, even spindly pedestal feet, rather top-heavy in appearance, and designed to be held rather than freestanding. They also tend to be larger than the Minoan cups, and some have strainers fitted into one of the lobes, suggesting that these examples were meant to be used for pouring rather than drinking. At least one specimen from Kültepe (Fig. 1.8), however, though substantially larger and sieved, lacks the usual pedestal and has a profile close to that of the Minoan cup; close, too, is another “un-pedestalled” example from Alaca Höyük (Fig. 1.9). Davis also argued that the influence of a foreign prototype was indicated by the consistency with which the Middle Minoan ceramic vessels repeat the shape (Davis 1979, 38). While that may not be self-evident,

a

b

c

d

Figure 1.7. Pedestalled kantharoi from Kültepe Level Ib: (a) Emre 1998, pl. I.1; (b) Emre 1998, pl. II.2; (c) Emre 1998, pl. II.1; (d) Emre 1998, pl. II.3.

Figure 1.8. Ceramic kantharos from Kültepe Level Ib, tomb (Emre 1998, fig. 27).

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Figure 1.9. Ceramic kantharos from Alaca Höyük (Kos¸ ay and Akok 1947, pl. 37:c).

some examples almost exactly duplicate foreign features and proportions. For example, the cup from the Isle of Christ is so close to the Gournia kantharos that the potter may well have copied directly from the original (Figs. 1.1, 1.2). Once covered with a thick black slip inside and out, it surely recalled the appearance of tarnished silver, thus imitating both the form and color of the silver vase. Among the many kantharoi found in the pottery deposits at Myrtos Pyrgos, one unusual example, P1632 (Cadogan 1978, fig. 12; Dimopoulou-Rethemiotaki 2005, 224), also closely replicates this shape, and it, too, is covered with a glossy dark wash on the outside. Inside was a stack of 11 miniature lobed cups, each spotted with dark paint but otherwise plain. The recent find from Alatzomouri-Pefka shows traces of a dark red slip inside and out, which might hint at a copper original. At Kültepe, the majority of kantharoi are covered with red slip, which is plausibly explained as imitating copper. Davis’s main difficulty in confirming the Anatolian link was chronological. Jeffrey Soles, in his dissertation on the Gournia house tombs, dated the pottery in Tomb I to MM IA/IB (Soles 1973, 23–30). The dating of the Isle of Christ kantharos, nearly identical in size and shape to the silver vase, seemingly confirmed a MM I date (van Effenterre and van Effenterre 1963, 109). Yet the proposed prototype did not appear in Anatolia until Kültepe Karum Level Ib—and, still today, there is none in Anatolia of earlier date. Level Ib is dated on historical grounds to ca. 1833–1719 b.c.e. in the middle chronology (Veenhof 2010) or ca. 1800–1725 b.c.e. in the modified middle chronology (Barjamovic 2008, 96). How can you borrow an object that does not yet exist? The dilemma is resolved when more recent pottery classifications are taken into consideration. At Gournia, final study of the material led Soles to extend the tomb’s life into MM IB/II, thus into the fully developed period of the first palaces (Soles 1992, 8–9). At Malia, kantharoi from the Isle of Christ were published at a time when MM II was still considered by many to be just a palatial style and “MM IB” was often used to 6

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designate “Protopalatial.” In today’s terms, the pottery could very well be MM II according to van Effenterre (1980, 241, fig. 336), but it is still uncertain whether it dates to the earlier or the later part of the period (Poursat and Knappett 2005, 193–194; pers. comm., C. Knappett, 2014). In fact, no kantharos from any closely dated context can be shown to be earlier than MM II (pers. comm., P.P. Betancourt, 2014). The kantharoi from Myrtos Pyrgos, including P1632 (discussed above), come from deposits of level Pyrgos III pottery, that is, contemporary with MM IIB at Quartier Mu, Malia. Two kantharoi were found in Quartier Mu itself (Poursat and Knappett 2005, 73, nos. 808, 809). Similarly, the new kantharoi from Alatzomouri-Pefka (as yet unpublished) and from Petras are from secure MM IIB contexts. Hence, Philip Betancourt placed the kantharos group as a whole in MM II, perhaps even as late as MM IIB (Betancourt 1985, 101–102; pers. comm., 2014). Aegean absolute dates are not yet very reliable, but whether MM II ended ca. 1750 (Manning 2010, 22, table 2.2) or ca. 1700/1650 b.c.e. (Warren and Hankey 1989, 169), there is probably now sufficient overlap with Kültepe Level Ib to remove the chronological difficulty that had worried Davis (1979, 40–41). If the silver kantharos and its ceramic imitations originated in MM IIA, the time lag between the Gournia cup and central Anatolia kantharoi is much reduced; if in MM IIB, the gap is eliminated and the order Davis sought is restored. What of their purpose, then? The great majority of kantharoi at Kültepe were discovered in houses in the lower town, one on the city mound, and seven (17%) in graves where they had presumably been placed as burial gifts. At Acemhöyük, two were found in houses and two in cremation graves. The Alişar kantharos is from a tomb and those from Boğazköy and Alaca Höyük from houses (Emre 1966, 108–109; 1998, 10). The many kantharoi in palatial building L at Karahöyük remain unpublished, so while details of their contexts are unknown, we can say that they came from an elite building. Most kantharoi on Crete were found either in mixed pottery deposits, perhaps connected with elite buildings (e.g., Myrtos Pyrgos, Zakros, and the pottery dump near the “Town Square” at Pseira), or in tombs (Gournia House Tomb 1, the Isle of Christ). The kantharos from Petras was discovered in the Archive Room of the “Palace,” and that from Alatzomouri-Pefka in the purple-dye workshop area. These very different contexts make it difficult to accept that kantharoi were primarily connected with funerary rituals, as argued by Massimo Cultraro (2006, 117–118). Rather, they seem at least as much at home in public contexts. No one doubts that the lobed kantharoi ultimately had a cult purpose, even if no one can say quite what that was (Davis 1979, 41; Emre 1998, T HE SILVE R K ANTHAR OS F ROM GOURNI A REV I SI TED

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Figure 1.10. Serpentine kantharos possibly from Kato Syme. Oxford, Ashmolean Museum, AM AE 218. Courtesy Ashmolean Museum.

10; Cultraro 2006, 117–118). Perhaps a broader function is suggested by two improbable stone replicas of the Gournia silver vase, carved in blotchy dark serpentine (Fig. 1.10). Davis (1979, 38) was not impressed by their workmanship (“not entirely happy results”). I would be less dismissive— it cannot have been easy carving—and, besides, one was reputed to have been found in Kato Syme (Warren 1969, 39–40 [P 219: “exact parallel in silver from Gournia”]). This raises the possibility of its having had a specific role that made the object a suitable offering. The kantharos from the purple-dye workshop at Alatzomouri-Pefka was found in situ together with a large number of offering stands and a rhyton (Betancourt, Brogan, and Apostolakou 2016) as part of a whole ritual kit. Ritual practices often accompanied the transformation of one material into another—in this case, the astonishing conversion of smelly dead mollusks into royal purple. The larger Anatolian lobed vessel could have served a number of drinkers with a fermented beverage, either wine, beer, or a combination (Cultraro 2006, 117–118), poured through the sieved lobe. The Minoan vessel is a smaller drinking cup typically with two usable spouts: two people could sip the beverage it contained, as they turned it, one after the other. In light of the context of the kantharos from the purple-dye workshop, one is reminded that craftsmen’s guilds often required initiation (the Ἰδαῖοι Δάκτυλοι leap to mind)—a thought that Ellen would have enjoyed, and then quite rightly dismissed. Of one thing, however, we are sure. As she said (1979, 38): “The prototype made a very strong impression, and it must have had a special status.”

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Acknowledgments I warmly thank Philip Betancourt, Carl Knappett, Gerald Cadogan, and Colin Macdonald for bringing me up-to-date on current classifications of MM pottery assemblages with kantharoi. Any errors, of course, are mine alone. I am also tremendously grateful to Vili Apostolakou, Thomas Brogan, and Philip Betancourt for their kindness in allowing me to mention the unpublished kantharos from the Alatzomouri-Pefka dyeing workshop.

References Barjamovic, G. 2008. “The Geography of Trade: Assyrian Colonies in Anatolia c. 1975–1725 b.c. and the Study of Early Interregional Networks of Exchange,” in Anatolia and the Jazira during the Old Assyrian Period (Old Assyrian Archives Studies 3), J.G. Dercksen, ed., Leiden, pp. 87–100. Betancourt, P.P. 1985. The History of Minoan Pottery, Princeton. Betancourt, P.P., T.M. Brogan, and V. Apostolakou. 2016. “Rituals at Pefka,” in Metaphysis: Ritual, Myth and Symbolism in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 15th International Aegean Conference, Vienna, Institute for Oriental and European Archaeology, Aegean and Anatolia Department, Austrian Academy of Sciences and Institute of Classical Archaeology, University of Vienna, 22–25 April 2014 (Aegaeum 39), E. Alram-Stern, F. Blakolmer, S. Deger-Jalkotzy, R. Laffineur, and J. Weilhartner, eds., Leuven and Liège, pp. 329–332. Betancourt, P.P., and C. Davaras, eds. 1999. Pseira IV: Minoan Buildings in Areas B, C, D, and F (University Museum Monograph 105), Philadelphia. Cadogan, G. 1978. “Pyrgos, Crete, 1970–7,” AR 1977–1978, pp. 70–84. Clarke, C.F. 2013. The Manufacture of Minoan Metal Vessels: Theory and Practice (SIMA-PB 178), Uppsala. Cultraro, M. 2006. “La Coppa del Principe: Per una riconsiderazione del tipo del kantharos in ambito minoico,” in Πεπραγμένα Θ' Διεθνοῦς Κρητολογικοῦ Συνεδρίου A' (3), Herakleion, pp. 109–129. Davis, E.N. 1979. “The Silver Kantharos from Gournia,” TUAS 4, pp. 34–45. Dimopoulou-Rethemiotaki, N. 2005. The Archaeological Museum of Heraklion, Athens.

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Emre, K. 1966. “The Pottery from Acemhöyük,” Anatolia 10, pp. 99–153. . 1998. “Kantharoi from Kültepe/Kanish,” in Essays on Ancient Anatolia in the Second Millennium b.c., T. Mikasa, ed., Wiesbaden, pp. 1–24. Koşay, H.Z., and M. Akok. 1947. “The Pottery of Alaca Höyük,” AJA 51, pp. 152–157. Kulakoğlu, F., and S. Kangal, eds. 2010. Anatolia’s Prologue: Kultepe, Kanesh, Karum. Assyrians in Istanbul, Istanbul. Manning, S.W. 2010. “Chronology and Terminology,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean (ca. 3000–1000 bc), E.H. Cline, ed., Oxford, pp. 11–28. Mellink, M.J. 1964. “Archaeology in Asia Minor,” AJA 68, pp. 149–166. Poursat, J.-C., and C. Knappett. 2005. Le Quartier Mu IV: Fouilles exécutées à Mallia. La Poterie du Minoen Moyen II: Production et utilisation (ÉtCrét 33), Paris. Reeves, L.C. 2003. Aegean and Anatolian Bronze Age Metal Vessels: A Social Perspective, Ph.D. diss., University of London. Soles, J.S. 1973. The Gournia House Tombs, Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania. . 1992. The Prepalatial Cemeteries at Mochlos and Gournia and the House Tombs of Bronze Age Crete (Hesperia Suppl. 24), Princeton. Tsipopoulou, M., and E. Hallager. 2010. The Hieroglyphic Archive at Petras, Siteia (Monographs of the Danish Institute at Athens 9), Athens. van Effenterre, H. 1980. Le Palais de Mallia et la cite minoenne 1 (Incunabula graeca 76), Rome. van Effenterre, H., and M. van Effenterre. 1963. Fouilles exécutées à Mallia: Étude du site et exploration des nécropoles, deuxième fascicule (ÉtCrét 13), Paris. Veenhof, K.R. 2010. “Old Assyrian Chronology and Ancient Kanesh,” in Kulakoğlu and Kangal, eds., 2011, pp. 30–38. Warren, P. 1969. Minoan Stone Vases (Cambridge Classical Studies), Cambridge. Warren, P., and V. Hankey. 1989. Aegean Bronze Age Chronology, Bristol.

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J U DI T H W E I N GART E N

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Helladic Pairs of Cups MALCOLM H. WIENER

This paper seeks to extend Ellen Davis’s important and insightful analysis of the Vapheio Cups, two masterpieces of Late Bronze Age Aegean art. The relation of the Vapheio Tholos tomb to the nearby site of Paliopyrgi and to the recently discovered Mycenaean palace at Hagios Vasileios, the date of the deposit, the role of Laconia in the Mycenaean world, and aspects of the interaction between Minoan Crete and Mycenaean Greece are discussed. Finally, the role and significance of pairs of cups starting in the Early Helladic (EH) and continuing through the Late Helladic (LH) period is considered. The Vapheio Cups, made of gold and displayed as a centerpiece of the Mycenaean Room in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens (Figs. 2.1, 2.2) are rightly regarded as masterpieces of Aegean Bronze Age art. Found in the major Mycenaean tholos tomb at Vapheio (Fig. 2.3) near Sparta, the Vapheio Cups were the subject of Ellen Davis’s dissertation and her first important publications (Davis 1973, 1974). I can still recall vividly the initial public presentation of her conclusions at the Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America in San Francisco in 1969. A senior colleague seated next to me, noting the title of the talk “The Vapheio Cups: One Minoan and One Mycenaean?” turned toward me and said, “This is going to be pure surrealism,” to which I nodded in agreement. When Ellen had concluded twenty minutes later, we were both convinced that she was essentially correct, and had made an important

and original contribution to our knowledge of Minoan-Mycenaean interactions. Ellen Davis’s summary conclusion was that the cup showing the bulls at peace was a Minoan product (Fig. 2.1:a), but that the companion cup of the same size showing the violent capture of a bull was made by a Mycenaean goldsmith (Fig. 2.1:b).

a

b Figure 2.1. Vapheio Cups: (a) “Peaceful” cup; (b) “Violent” cup. Courtesy National Archaeological Museum of Athens, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports.

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Figure 2.2. E. Gilliéron Père’s drawings of the Vapheio Cups (Evans 1921–1935, III, fig. 123).

Ellen analyzed differences in intention, style, and surface treatment between the cups, and in particular noted that the handles of the respective cups had been attached in different ways, one typical of Minoan manufacture and the other Mycenaean. Ellen in her subsequent revised dissertation, The Vapheio Cups and Aegean Gold and Silver Ware (1977, 3), was careful to note that she had been preceded in her views as early as 1894 by Perrot, whose opinion was seconded by Müller in 1915, but that subsequent opinion had tended in the opposite direction, ascribing both cups to a single artist (Perrot and Chipiez 1894, 784–794; Müller 1915, 329; contra Simon 1966). Found in the Vapheio Tholos along with the magnificent gold cups were two simpler silver cups, also analyzed by Davis as a Minoan original and a Mycenaean mate (Davis 1977, 257–260). My paper seeks to incorporate Ellen Davis’s acute analysis into our understanding of Minoan-Mycenaean relations, the role of Laconia in the Late Bronze Age, and the function of prehistoric hosting and toasting. The Vapheio Tholos was excavated over 125 years ago in 1888 by the distinguished Greek archaeologist Christos Tsountas (1889). The entrance dromos of the tomb is the longest known from the LH II period at 29.80 m (followed by the Aegisthus and Lion tombs at Mycenae at 22 m; see Papadimitriou 2011, 476). The construction is an early example of ashlar HELLADI C PAI RS OF CUPS

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technique and the use of conglomerate (Banou and Hitchcock 2011, 6–8). The dromos is oriented toward Mt. Taygetos, the highest peak in the Peloponnese, often snow-capped even in summer (Fig. 2.4). The main chamber of the tholos had been looted, but the tomb robbers missed 13 or 14 Minoan sealstones, and a wide array of beads and other adornments in gold, silver, and semi-precious stones, plus fragments of ivory (Younger 1973; Banou and Hitchcock 2011) originating in the Near East or Egypt, but with a likely first destination in Crete. Truly remarkable were the contents of an undisturbed cist beneath the floor of the tholos, presumably reburied from an earlier burial in the main chamber (Fig. 2.5). The cist contained not only the gold and silver cups, but also amber from the Baltic region, a major supply of weapons including a bronze sword, nine knives and daggers, two spears, two axes, a notable number of metal vessels, lead discs conforming to the Minoan weight system, and 28 or 29 Minoan sealstones, some of the highest quality, including three Late Minoan (LM) I seals showing a ruler and/or high priest with symbols of authority, causing Boulotis to conclude that “the illustrious deceased at Vapheio relied largely on Creto-Knossian models for the symbolic expression of his dual authority” (Boulotis 2008, 51; see also Rehak 1994). Kilian-Dirlmeier concluded that the contents of the cist indicate that the deceased was simultaneously a person of high military rank, a participant in the administrative process who was also involved in trade, and a leading figure in cult rituals (Kilian-Dirlmeier 1987; see also Wright 1995, 65– 68). Indeed, the magnificence and nature of the Vapheio Tholos tomb and

Figure 2.3. Plan and section of the Vapheio Tholos. After Tsountas 1889, 137–138.

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Figure 2.4. View showing the dromos of the Vapheio Tholos aligned with Mt. Taygetos (Banou and Hitchcock 2011, fig. 8). Courtesy E. Banou and L. Hitchcock.

Figure 2.5. Finds from the Vapheio Tholos. After Tsountas 1889, pls. 7, 8.

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its contents suggest that it was intended to commemorate a ruling warrior chief and his lineage. In the Shaft Graves at Mycenae too, all of the richly furnished male interments are accompanied by a complete weapon set consisting of a long sword, dagger, and spear (Kilian-Dirlmeier 1988, 163). In this regard, it may be noted that the Mycenaean Linear B term for ruler, wanax, does not seem to be Indo-European; Palaima proposes a possible Minoan origin, suggesting inter alia a plausible derivation from the Linear A word unaka which appears on Minoan ritual vessels (Palaima 1995; this vol., Ch. 10; Driessen 2002, 2 n. 5). With regard to the wealth displayed in the burial, it is worth noting that Laconia contained resources of stone and limited amounts of gold, which were absent both in Crete and the Argolid (see Kopcke, this vol., Ch. 3). Knossos imported large amounts of lapis Lacedaemonius or green porphyry, whose main source was likely at Krokeai (Huxley 1988, 67), approximately a third of the way between the port of Gytheion on the south coast of Laconia and the Vapheio tomb with its adjacent habitation sites. Alluvial gold is present in the Eurotas River near Sparta not far from Vapheio (Huxley 1988, 66, citing Stos-Gale and Gale 1984, 61). With regard to other potential Laconian metal resources, reports of the possible presence and use of copper deposits (Huxley 1988, 66, citing Stos-Gale and Gale 1984, 61; Chapin et al. 2014) have subsequently been described as unsound (Stos and Gale 2006). The geological formation of the Peloponnese in general is considered unpromising with regard to the presence of copper (J. Muhly, pers. comm., 9 September 2014). The dating of the cist burial rests largely on the presence of a single decorated Mycenaean goblet (Fig. 2.6), which has been described as transitional between LH IIA and LH IIB (Banou and Hitchcock 2011, 11, citing also Mountjoy 1999, 258, fig. 84:34). The goblet is to a certain extent one of a kind, however, and should the date of forming be somewhat later as the decoration may suggest, or should the goblet have been used for a considerable period before its deposition in the cist, then the initial burial may have been somewhat closer in date to the earliest burials in LM IIIA Sellopoulo Tomb 4 at Knossos in Crete, as suggested by the very close similarity of some of the respective grave goods (Banou and Hitchcock 2011, 12–13). Sellopoulo Tomb 4 is believed to be a burial place of Mycenaean warriors, descendants of those who participated in the Mycenaean conquest of Crete at the beginning of LM II/LH IIB (Popham, Catling, and Catling 1974; Wiener 2015). The Sellopoulo tomb contained three burials, all with LM IIIA:1 pottery plus one LH IIIA:1 jug. The latest burial was accompanied by an Egyptian scarab of Amenophis III, pharaoh from 1390 to 1349 b.c.e., with a cartouche interpreted 16

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Figure 2.6. Ceramic goblet from the Vapheio Tholos (Banou and Hitchcock 2011, fig. 9). Courtesy E. Banou and L. Hitchcock.

as commemorating the Sed festival held in the 30th year of his reign (Brandl, Bunimovitz, and Lederman 2013, 88). It seems probable that the last person interred in Sellopoulo Tomb 4 was buried between ca. 1360 and ca. 1355 b.c.e. The other burials in the Sellopoulo tomb may have taken place earlier in LM IIIA:1, but probably still at least a generation after the Vapheio cist burial, assuming the date proposed on the basis of the single Mycenaean goblet from the Vapheio Tomb is correct. The southern coast of Laconia is the closest part of the mainland to Crete, with the harbor of Kastri on the island of Kythera between Crete and Laconia serving as a convenient port of call. In LM I, Kythera is Minoan in all respects, including pottery that is almost indistinguishable from that of Knossos in Central Crete. In LM IB/LH IIA Mycenaean pottery appears on Kythera beside fine vases from Crete, along with an LM IB silver cup, a silver bowl, and a Minoan-style gold bead (Huxley 1988, 67–68). At the beginning of LM II/LH IIB near (or not long before) the time of the Vapheio burial, Kastri on Kythera suffers a complete destruction and apparent abandonment, followed by a partial reoccupation in LH III with Mycenaean mainland parallels. The close similarity of tomb type and grave goods between Sellopoulo Tomb 4 at Knossos and the Vapheio Tholos provides support for the hypothesis that the “Minoan” Vapheio gold cup was brought to Laconia as booty from the conquest of Crete, or was created by a Minoan master goldsmith resident, voluntarily or otherwise, in Laconia (cf. Zaccagnini 1983). HELLADI C PAI RS OF CUPS

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Let us return to the differences in the workmanship between the two gold cups from the Vapheio Tholos. With regard to the central issue of the dissimilarities in the repoussé work that created the main scenes, Ellen noted (Davis 1977, 3; following Perrot and Chipiez 1894, 784–794, and Müller 1915, 329) that on the “quiet cup,” the relief is deeper and all the edges and surfaces are smoothed to erase the impressions of tooling. She concluded that its maker was Minoan in contrast to that of the “violent cup,” where the incisions are superficial and the relief is less distinctly separated from the ground, with both incisions and relief retaining many tool marks, and hence likely made by a Mycenaean metalworker (Davis 1977, 3). Of course there are a number of possible alternative explanations for the differences; for example, both motifs may be Minoan (as maintained by Blakolmer 2012, 92–93) but executed by artists differing in skill, or a Minoan goldsmith may have moved to Laconia and started a workshop that trained local artisans, or the violent cup believed by Davis to be Mycenaean may have been needed for the burial while still unfinished. Any suggestion that the nature of the depiction itself indicates that the violent cup is likely to be a mainland product is unsound. Scenes of violence involving bulls were part of the Minoan repertoire, as shown for example by the monumental plaster relief of the charging bull atop the west bastion of the North Entrance Passage to the palace of Knossos, now dated to LM IA or possibly MM IIIB (Macdonald 2002, 43); the gored bull-leaper on the “Boxer Rhyton” (Koehl 2006, 164–165, fig. 29 [II.2, 2b], pl. 41 [detail, zone II]); the fallen figures on frescoes of bull leaping in the palace at Knossos (Bietak, Marinatos, and Palivou 2007, figs. 108, 112, 115); and numerous images on Minoan seals. The important and generally acknowledged difference noted by Ellen Davis between the handles of the two cups, with the “quiet cup” handle attached in the Minoan manner and the “violent cup” handle in the Mycenaean, is surely significant, however, in distinguishing the origins of the magnificent gold cups from the Vapheio Tholos. Major new evidence regarding contacts between Minoan Crete and Mycenaean Laconia has been provided by the ongoing excavations in the Mycenaean palace at Hagios Vasileios, located on a hilltop 4.5 km to the south and slightly east of the hilltop where the Vapheio Tholos stands. In the Bronze Age, the Vapheio tomb could have been in direct line of sight from the palace. In addition to major architecture including pillars and columns, fresco fragments of high quality with Minoan motifs are present. Recently, 19 Minoan Type A swords (plus two other swords) were found carefully preserved in a ritual context ca. 200 years later in date than the date of manufacture of the swords (for a preliminary account, see Cavanagh 2011, 18

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23; A. Vasilogamvrou, pers. comm., 10 January 2015, for which I am most grateful). Perhaps the swords were acquired after the Mycenaean conquest of Crete, at or about the same time as the acquisition of the Minoan Vapheio Cup, and are similarly indicative of the desire of Mycenaean rulers to possess impressive, symbolically significant Minoan objects. The Eurotas River valley was extremely fertile and in LH IIB contained three more known sites significant in terms of size and architecture— Paliopyrgi just to the south of the Vapheio Tholos and on the same hilltop ridge, the Menelaion 7 km to the northeast, and Vouno Panagias 4.5 km to the southeast—any of which (and Paliopyrgi in particular, given its large size and proximity) might have been the residence of the Vapheio lord and of his lineage, who may have been represented by other burials on the floor of the tomb above the cist, which were disturbed by later tomb robbers. Paliopyrgi, moreover, is a site with a long history and evidence of occupation in the Early Helladic period. Of the 125 sherds in the British School at Athens archive collected by Waterhouse and Hope Simpson and studied by Hitchcock, Chapin, and Banou, 59 came from EH hospitality vessels such as bowls and sauceboats (Banou and Hitchcock 2011, 14), a subject considered in further detail below. Hagios Vasileios, however, was in all likelihood the administrative and ritual center of the realm by LH IIIA:1 at the latest. None of the other sites is close to its size in the LH III period, nor do any of the other sites develop into an extensive palace with evidence of administration in the form of Linear B tablets. One of the Linear B tablets found in a destruction level at the end of LH IIIA:2, ca. 1300 b.c.e., lists 500 or more swords or daggers, or alternatively scabbards for swords or daggers (Aravantinos and Vasilogamvrou 2012, 45–49). Moreover, Hagios Vasileios shows signs of continuous occupation extending back to the end of the Middle Helladic period. But why did the Vapheio ruler desire mainland mates to his Minoan prizes, the great gold cup and the silver cup mentioned earlier? Here the long history of Helladic pairs of drinking vessels is surely relevant. The earliest gold vessels known from the Helladic world are a pair of Early Helladic II drinking vessels of the type called “sauceboats” (from the French saucier), reportedly found near Heraea in Arcadia, close to the border of Elis in the Peloponnese (Childe 1924). One of this pair of gold vessels was acquired by the Musée du Louvre in Paris in 1887. The other, published in 1969 by Professor Saul S. Weinberg when it was in the collection of the Israel Museum, was subsequently sold for the benefit of the Museum (Weinberg 1969) and was recently on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (Fig. 2.7). In 1995 the Louvre kindly consented to the examination of both vessels by the Objects Conservation HELLADI C PAI RS OF CUPS

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Figure 2.7. Early Helladic II gold sauceboat, said to be from the Peloponnese. Private collection.

Department of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was then noted that both vessels had been ritually killed by the removal of a triangular-shaped piece of gold from the left side of each, which was subsequently restored (Conservator Emeritus Richard Stone, Metropolitan Museum of Art, pers. comm., 11 June 2009, for which I am most grateful). It is appropriate to recall that Ellen Davis discussed the technique of fabrication of these gold vessels as well in her book The Vaphio Cups and Aegean Gold and Silver Ware (1977, 59–61; see also Nakou 1999, 292–293). The “sauceboat” shape is of course well known in terracotta versions, with large numbers reported from both EH and Early Cycladic sites. It may appear first in the Cyclades, but by EH II the shape is a hallmark of potters on the mainland where, according to Wiencke, sauceboats frequently occur in pairs (Wiencke 2000, 590–592). The very few examples found on Crete are probably imports. The form of the gold pair is typical of Caskey type II from Lerna III. Perhaps the very light color of many of the clay specimens was meant to imitate gold. The surviving pair of gold sauceboats is highly likely to be representative of others no longer extant, whose gold was reused. With regard to drinking vessels in the following Early Bronze/EH III period, Rutter (2008, 469–470) has suggested that what we are seeing at Lerna IV and elsewhere in the EH III northern Peloponnese is the regional adaptation of a ceremonial drinking kit most recently derived from the Cyclades, but originally coming from Western Anatolia. In Anatolia, the smaller forms of this kit—that is, the cups—were 20

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sometimes produced in metal, usually silver or gold, as emblems of status. In the Cyclades, marble appears to have been substituted for metal.

Rutter (2008, 468–469) also noted that the evidence for a relatively small number of drinkers may make sense of another feature of the EH III contexts at Lerna containing this drinking paraphernalia—the extensive “twinning” of vessel forms in such deposits. Could it be that the number of drinkers was in fact just two—say, host and guest—and that each participant in the ceremony was provided with an optional, but sometimes substantial number of other vessel types in the celebration of whatever social ritual was involved?

Robert Koehl, the editor of this memorial volume, has kindly reminded me of the celebrated twin-spouted gold sauceboat found by Schliemann at Troy (Fig. 2.8), with the suggestion that the two spouts were intended for use by host and guest (Tolstikov and Treister 1996, 32–35). As restored, one spout is significantly larger than the other. If this was originally the case, then perhaps the vessel was made for use in a ceremony involving a male and female. The notable thickness of the gold vessel from Troy compared to the extremely thin sheets of gold of the Helladic pair of sauceboats may be a reflection of Troy II’s greater size, complexity, wealth, and access to gold relative to any known Early Helladic site at the time. One may also wonder whether that famous vessel, the depas amphikypellon, a tall elongated jar with two very large vertical handles (Fig. 2.9) that appeared in Anatolia and Greece ca. 2500–2200 b.c.e., was not intended for simultaneous use by host and guest, each drinking through straws in the manner depicted on Near Eastern seals (for discussion and references to drinking tubes, see Koehl 1995, 63, esp. n. 31). Pairs of vessels continue to appear in MH contexts, where they have been interpreted as evidence of drinking ceremonies (Nordquist 2002, 119). Nordquist (1999) has collected many examples. She observes that pairs of vessels with single burials must signal the deceased’s ceremonial role, inasmuch as a single vessel would be sufficient for utilitarian purposes. Nordquist further notes that vessel pairs have been found with female burials, indicative of women’s role in the entertainment of guests. Some LH deposits also contain pairs of clay vessels (Wright 1996, 295–303). Clearly, the tradition of xenia and of host-guest relationships and duties was deeply rooted in the Aegean world. There exists considerable literature concerning the importance of establishing such relationships for rulers or paramount chiefs in early emergent societies in order to secure access to raw materials and products not available locally, forge alliances, and/or acquire an aura of contact with exotic, perhaps quasi-mystical, HELLADI C PAI RS OF CUPS

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Figure 2.8. Twin-spouted gold sauceboat from Troy. After Schliemann 1875, pl. XVI.

Figure 2.9. Depa amphikypella from Troy. After Schliemann 1884, figs. 78, 79.

places (Granovetter 1985; Helms 1988, 1993). It is in this context that we may imagine a host handing an honored guest a gold drinking vessel, whether an Early Helladic II sauceboat or a Late Helladic II Vapheio Cup, one of the pair so brilliantly analyzed by Ellen Davis.

Acknowledgments I am grateful to George Huxley and Jeremy Rutter for helpful comments; and to Jayne Warner, Erin Hayes, Jason Earle, Rebecca Hahn, and Catriona Hughes for research assistance and editorial advice. 22

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Mountjoy, P.A. 1999. Regional Mycenaean Decorated Pottery, Rahden. Müller, K. 1915. “Frühmykenische Reliefs aus Kreta und vom griechischen Festland,” JdI 30, 242–336. Nakou, G. 1999. The End of the Early Bronze Age in the Aegean: Material Culture and History, Ph.D. diss., University of Oxford. Nordquist, G.C. 1999. “Pairing of Pots in the Middle Helladic Period,” in Meletemata. Studies in Aegean Archaeology Presented to Malcolm H. Wiener as He Enters His 65th Year (Aegaeum 20), P.P. Betancourt, V. Karageorghis, R. Laffineur, and W.-D. Niemeier, eds., Liège, pp. 569–573. . 2002. “Pots, Prestige and People: Symbolic Action in Middle Helladic Burials,” OpAth 27, pp. 119–135. Palaima, T.G. 1995. “The Nature of the Mycenaean Wanax: Non-Indo-European Origins and Priestly Functions,” in The Role of the Ruler in the Prehistoric Aegean. Proceedings of a Panel Discussion Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America, New Orleans, Louisiana, 28 December 1992 (Aegaeum 11), P. Rehak, ed., Liège, pp. 119–139. Papadimitriou, N. 2011. “‘Passing away’ or ‘Passing through’? Changing Funerary Attitudes in the Peloponnese at the MBA/LBA Transition,” in Honouring the Dead in the Peloponnese. Proceedings of the Conference Held in Sparta, 23–25 April 2009 (Centre for Spartan and Peloponnesian Studies Online Publication 2), H. Cavanagh, W. Cavanagh, and J. Roy, eds., Nottingham, pp. 467–491. Perrot, G., and C. Chipiez. 1894. Histoire de l’Art dans l’antiquité 6: La Grèce primitive, l’art mycénien, Paris. Popham, M.R., E.A. Catling, and H.W. Catling. 1974. “Sellopoulo Tombs 3 and 4, Two Late Minoan Graves near Knossos,” BSA 69, pp. 195–257. Rehak, P. 1994. “The Aegean ‘Priest’ on CMS I.223,” Kadmos 33, pp. 76–84. Rutter, J.B. 2008. “The Anatolian Roots of Early Helladic III Drinking Behavior,” in The Aegean in the Neolithic, Chalcolithic and the Early Bronze Age. Proceedings of the International Symposium, October 13th–19th 1997, Urla-İzmir (Turkey), H. Erkanal, H. Hauptmann, V. Şahoğlu, and R. Tuncel, eds., Ankara, pp. 461–481. Schliemann, H. 1875. Troy and Its Remains: A Narrative of Researches and Discoveries Made on the Site of Ilium, and in the Trojan Plain, New York. . 1884. Troja: Results of the Latest Researches and Discoveries on the Site of Homer’s Troy, New York.

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Simon, E. 1966. “Toreutica,” in Enciclopedia dell’Arte Antica 7, R. Bianchi Bandinelli and G. Becatti, eds., Rome, pp. 919–948. Stos, Z.A., and N.H. Gale. 2006. “Lead Isotope and Chemical Analyses of Slags from Chrysokamino,” in The Chrysokamino Metallurgy Workshop and Its Territory (Hesperia Suppl. 36), P.P. Betancourt, ed., Princeton, pp. 299–319. Stos-Gale, Z.A., and N.H. Gale. 1984. “The Minoan Thalassocracy and the Aegean Metal Trade,” in The Minoan Thalassocracy: Myth and Reality. Proceedings of the Third International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 31 May–5 June 1982 (ActaAth 4°, 32), R. Hägg and N. Marinatos, eds., Stockholm, pp. 59–64. Tolstikov, V., and M. Treister. 1996. The Gold of Troy: Searching for Homer's Fabled City, New York. Tsountas, C. 1889. “Έρευναι εν τη Λακωνική και ο τάφος του Βαφειού,” ArchEph 7, pp. 129–172. Weinberg, S.S. 1969. “A Gold Sauceboat in the Israel Museum,” AntK 12, pp. 3–8. Wiencke, M.H. 2000. Lerna: A Preclassical Site in the Argolid IV. Part 1: The Architecture, Stratification, and Pottery of Lerna III, Princeton. Wiener, M.H. 2015. “The Mycenaean Conquest of Minoan Crete,” in The Great Islands. Studies of Crete and Cyprus Presented to Gerald Cadogan, C.F. Macdonald, E. Hatzaki, and S. Andreou, eds., Athens, pp. 131–142. Wright, J.C. 1995. “From Chief to King in Mycenaean Society,” in The Role of the Ruler in the Prehistoric Aegean. Proceedings of a Panel Discussion Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America, New Orleans, Louisiana, 28 December 1992 (Aegaeum 11), P. Rehak, ed., Liège, pp. 63–80. . 1996. “Empty Cups and Empty Jugs: The Social Role of Wine in Minoan and Mycenaean Societies,” in The Origins and Ancient History of Wine (Food and Nutrition in History and Anthropology 11), P.E. McGovern, S.J. Fleming, and S.H. Katz, eds., Amsterdam, pp. 287–309. Younger, J.G. 1973. “The Vapheio Gems: A Reconsideration of the Find-Spots,” AJA 77, pp. 338–340. Zaccagnini, C. 1983. “Patterns of Mobility among Ancient Near Eastern Craftsmen,” JNES 42, pp. 245–264.

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3

For Ellen Davis: Transylvanian Gold? GÜ N T ER KOP C K E

At the eighth Temple University Aegean Symposium, held in 1983, Ellen Davis read the paper entitled “The Gold of the Shaft Graves: The Transylvanian Connection” (Davis 1983). Her view at the time was well received and much discussed. Maria Gimbutas characterized and classified the key item as follows: “The Persinari Treasure, found in 1956 near Targoviste [Romania], [contains] a massive gold dagger or sword over 30 cm long, [whose] . . . broken hilt has a projecting hand guard, with omega shaped base. . . . Among the Mycenaean swords and daggers there is a long sword having a golden hilt from Grave Delta of the Grave Circle B at Mycenae. The shape of the hand guard shows a stylistic relationship to that of the Persinari sword” (Gimbutas 1965, 55–56; see also Burda 1979, 65, no. 10; Hänsel 1982, 8–10; Oanţă-Marghitu, ed., 2013, 211, no. 25.1). The similarities between the hilts of the Persinari sword and “type 2” Mycenaean swords are indeed striking, as even a severe critic of such ideas has conceded (Figs. 3.1, 3.2; Harding 1984, 159). The sword as well as nine gold “halberds” from the same context, no doubt ingots, suggest local production in the 16th–15th centuries b.c.e. on a quasi-industrial scale. There was a glut of gold around at this time in and near the Carpathians (Gimbutas 1965, 56; see esp. Valci Tran: Pingel 1982; Muhly 1983). Ellen thought that the demand for fine Aegean bronze, raw and finished, may have resulted in highly favorable terms of exchange (Davis 1983, 34; see also Vulpe

1982, 325); her idea was not so new. Hänsel had already suggested that Balkan traffic for gold was probable, stating (1977, 89): The . . . objects from Persinari are imitations of real weapons . . . and show that their owners commanded abundant resources of gold. A Mycenaean sword, reproduced in gold, means that Mycenaean weapons were familiar, and so were men who would carry such weapons. A copy like this signals much closer contacts than an occasional import might. One can readily think that Transylvanian gold reached Mycenae. (author’s translation)

Ellen sought to further explain and support what Hänsel had outlined, bringing to bear results of her dissertation (Davis 1977).

Figure 3.1. Gold sword, Persinari, Romania, mid-16th century b.c.e. Courtesy S. Alexandrov and the National Museum, Bucharest, Romania.

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Figure 3.2. “Type 2” bronze sword with gold hilt, Grave Delta, Grave Circle B, Mycenae, mid-16th century b.c.e., National Archaeological Museum of Athens, inv. no. 8710. Courtesy National Archaeological Museum of Athens, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeological Receipts Fund. Photo G. Patrikianos.

As a first step, Ellen sought to disqualify Crete as the source for shaftgrave gold. Her reason was that little gold was found on the island and that much of what there was showed but sparing use, signaling shortage. For instance, she mentioned delicate sheathing, which is clearly impractical and prohibitive of use. Along the same lines, Robert Koehl observed that while mainland signets are large and massive, Cretan signets are surprisingly small and lightly constructed, with hollow bezels (R.B. Koehl, pers. comm., 2014). According to Ellen, Cretans economized. Yet shaft-grave gold had to have come from elsewhere. That relatively little gold has been found on the island is not surprising if one accepts that Mycenaean Greeks invaded Crete, destroyed nearly all there was, and certainly looted (Wiener 2015; this vol., Ch. 2; contra Manning 1994, 247). Quite naturally, gold would disappear. As for shortage on Crete and economizing, there is Cretan gold in the shaft graves, some of impressive weight. Why think, as Ellen does, of Cretan artisans working on the mainland, for mainland clients (Davis 1983, 33)? Speaking of Mycenae, can the coarseness of masks and stelai be reconciled to this idea? Why question Cretan provenience of what in design and workmanship is Cretan? There are vessels, according to Ellen by style and other criteria Cretan, which she described as “raised from thick” or even “extremely thick” plate, arguing against shortage (e.g., Davis 1977, 204, 220, nos. 82, 84). One such work of heavy gold should be added, the wonderful lion-head rhyton, which some have argued is mainland in style and manufacture (Davis 1977, 179, no. 62; Koehl 2006, 121– 122, no. 328); the best parallels, however, suggest that it is Theran or very close to Theran, and thus part of the Cretan realm (Marinatos 1972, pl. 80; see also Marinatos 1976, pl. 57; Koehl 2006, 123, nos. 333, 334). But even if nothing was found on the island, or only such trifles as Ellen mentions, her view hardly is plausible. The island at the time simply was too prosperous, too powerful and well connected to have us believe in want of any kind. As Andrew and Susan Sherratt write, “the absence of surviving precious metal vessels from Crete . . . is no indication of the absence of such items from palatial tables” (Sherratt and Sherratt 1991, 360). Robert Koehl helpfully reminded me of the depictions of precious Cretan metalwork taken by Cretan emissaries to Egypt, which seem to testify as much to the presence of gold on Crete as to Egypt as its source. The evidence in all respects seems more ambiguous than Ellen allowed. Returning to Crete and the shaft graves, one may even think of gift-giving, sending gold from Crete back to the mainland where it originated (if Ellen is right). What was sent back, however, was value-added gold—finished products—worth bullion in return.

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All this holds up only if one accepts, with Ellen, that Mycenae was the node of enterprise, the main link between Crete and gold-rich Carpathians. But Mycenae in Late Helladic I? Barely visible above ground? Emily Vermeule exasperated, imagined “warriors living behind a stockade . . . in a small town which provided shelter though not permanent comfort or luxury” (Vermeule 1964, 107). Nor can archaeologists helpfully amplify this picture of LH I Mycenae (Shelton 2010, 59). Only with some difficulty can one envisage Cretan artisans of the highest caliber working in such surroundings. Yet Mycenae was important, important enough to receive gifts, rich gifts, to judge by the nature of some of them. As Voutsaki states (2010, 94, 96): While there are Shaft Graves and tumuli in use in other cemeteries, no site can be compared to Mycenae in terms of elaboration of graves and wealth. . . . This implies that Mycenae, or rather a social group at Mycenae, has managed to penetrate, or perhaps initiate, networks of gift exchange and diplomatic alliances with elites outside the mainland.

Ellen (and Hänsel) named such an ally—Transylvania—and what it was about—gold. As a result of Mycenae’s ties to Transylvania, its economy and hence political influence (or power) took off, leaving others behind. Was it because of an alliance of some kind that Crete was helpful? As for the Carpathian-Mycenae nexus, the Persinari ingot led to Ellen’s idea of seeing the two linked. Mycenaeans went, exchanged or bartered, returned reaping “windfalls,” and delivered them back to Crete (Davis 1983, 34). One imagines that all this happened under the eyes and with the protection of “big men,” or chieftains, who controlled traffic to get what they wanted. Only in passing did Ellen refer to contacts with Central Europe farther to the north and northeast. Perhaps surprisingly, she did not take note of Vermeule’s Semple Lectures of 1973, where much of this was discussed. For Vermeule (1975, 22): Whether we regard the people buried in the Shaft Graves as newcomers, Indo-Europeans from the north or northeast, or as a special elite group among those who had already entered Greece at the beginning of the second millennium b.c.e, it is clear that they are non-Mediterranean people with certain preferences in art which we behold in the process of modification.

Evidence of “northern nomad art” abounds, she maintained (Vermeule 1975, 23), and recent work has now brought the Steppes and the Eurasian Corridor into play (Kristiansen and Larsson 2005, 170–179; Cunliffe 2011, 221–226). Specific motifs have been linked to regions far outside of Greece,

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along with the introduction of the horse and chariot (David 1997; 2002; Penner 1998, 109–80; Maran and Van de Moortel 2014 [my thanks to R.B. Koehl for this reference]). All of this goes to say that to Mycenaean Greeks, the Balkans were hardly an unknown. Rather, there is good reason to believe that there was much contact to and fro from south to north, from north to south. There were channels by which news of Transylvanian gold would have travelled fast, and presumably just as fast, Mycenaean Greeks found ways to profit. Crete was involved, as Ellen imagines, as an active bystander. High level give-and-take developed, based, as usual, on the practice of gift giving. Again, contra Ellen, with respect to gold we will remember that Egypt was surely significant. Just the tomb of Senmut, with its realistic depictions of precious metal, presumably Minoan-made objects, can suggest such a role as Robert Koehl reminded me (Dorman 1991). Gift exchange is possibly the best way to explain how fine Cretan works also got to Mycenae and ended up in the shaft graves. The grave finds, however, do not represent the full quantity and wider nature of such gift exchanges. But to judge from the quality, we can at least surmise that palatial workshops were involved in their manufacture. Alternatively, it is worth considering that some if not all of the precious objects from the shaft graves were acquired through violence. Considering the remarkably high quality and pristine condition of these objects, with even the most fragile being well preserved, might they not have been looted? Unfortunately, the archaeological record does not preserve evidence for land attacks, seaborne raids, or even ransom. If the gold lion or lioness from the shaft graves, however, was indeed made on Thera, as suggested above, it might show that Thera was also a target of Mycenae’s aggressions. At this point, we simply cannot prove with certainty the origin of the shaft-grave gold, though there is much to favor Ellen’s view. Even if the finished products came via gift exchange with Crete, with British tin and Baltic amber well within reach at the time (Maran 2004), surely Carpathian gold was part of this network.

Acknowledgments My gratitude to Kimberly Hannah, Michael Hughes, and George Cintron for helping, patiently and expeditiously. Also to Maria Iosifescu for the reference to Burda (1979) and to Morena Stefanova and Stefan Alexandrov for Figure 3.1. I thank Robert Koehl for conversations and corrections.

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References Burda, S. 1979. Tezaure de aur din România, Bucharest. Cunliffe, B. 2011. Europe between the Oceans: Themes and Variations. 9000 bc –ad 1000, New Haven. David, W. 1997. “Altbronzezeitliche Beinobjekte des Karpatenbeckens mit Spiralwirbel- oder Wellenbandornament und ihre Parallelen auf der Peloponnes und in Anatolien in frühmykenischer Zeit,” in The Thracian World at the Crossroads of Civilizations I. Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Thracology, Constanța, Mangalia, Tulcea, 20–26 May 1996, P. Roman, ed., Bucharest, pp. 247–305. . 2002. Studien zu Ornamentik und Datierung der bronzezeitlichen Depotfundgruppe Hajdúsámson-Apa-Ighiel-Zajta 1 (Bibliotheka Musei Apulensis 18), Karlsburg. Davis, E. 1977. The Vapheio Cups and Aegean Gold and Silver Ware (Outstanding Dissertations in the Fine Arts), New York. . 1983. “The Gold of the Shaft Graves: The Transylvanian Connection,” TUAS 8, pp. 32–38. Dorman, P.F. 1991. The Tombs of Senenmut: The Architecture and Deocoration of Tombs 71 and 353, New York. Gimbutas, M. 1965. Bronze Age Cultures in Central and Eastern Europe, The Hague. Hänsel, B. 1977. “Zur historischen Bedeutung der Theisszone um das 16. Jahrhundert v. Chr.,” Jahresbericht des Instituts fur Vorgeschichte der Universitat Frankfurt A. M., pp. 87–100. . 1982. “Südosteuropa zwischen 1600 und 1000 v. Chr.,” in Südosteuropa zwischen 1600 und 1000 v. Chr. (Prähistorische Archäologie in Südosteuropa 1), B. Hänsel, ed., Berlin, pp. 1–34. Harding, A.F. 1984. The Mycenaeans and Europe, London. Koehl, R.B. 2006. Aegean Bronze Age Rhyta (Prehistory Monographs 19), Philadelphia. Kristiansen, K., and T.B. Larsson. 2005. The Rise of Bronze Age Society: Travels, Transmissions and Transformations, Cambridge. Manning, S.W. 1994. “The Emergence of Divergence: Development and Decline on Bronze Age Crete and the Cyclades,” in Development and Decline in the Mediterranean Bronze Age (Sheffield Archaeological Monographs 8), C. Mathers and S. Stoddart, eds., Sheffield, pp. 221–270.

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Maran, J. 2004. “Wessex und Mykene: Zur Deutung des Bernsteins in der Schachtgräberzeit Südgriechenlands,” in Zwischen Karpaten und Ägäis: Neolithikum und ältere Bronzezeit. Gedenkschrift für Viera Němejcová-Pavúková, B. Hänsel and E. Studeníková, eds., Rahden, pp. 47–65. Maran, J., and A. Van de Moortel. 2014. “A Horse-Bridle Piece With CarpathoDanubian Connections from Late Helladic I Mitrou and the Emergence of a Warlike Elite in Greece during the Shaft Grave Period,” AJA 118, pp. 529–548. Marinatos, S. 1972. Excavations at Thera V, Athens. . 1976. Excavations at Thera VII, Athens. Muhly, J. 1983. “Gold Analysis and Sources of Gold in the Bronze Age,” TUAS 8, pp. 1–14. Oanţă-Marghitu, R., ed. 2013. Aurul şi argintul antic al României: Catalog de expoziţie. Muzeul Național de Istorie a României, Bucharest. Penner, S. 1998. Schliemanns Schachtgräberrund und der europäische Nordosten. Studien zur Herkunft der frühmykenischen Streitwagenausstattung, Bonn. Pingel, V. 1982. “Zum Schatzfund von Valcitran in Nordbulgarien,” in Südosteuropa zwischen 1600 and 1000 v. Chr., B. Hänsel, ed., Berlin, pp. 173–184. Shelton, K.S. 2010. “Living and Dying in and around Middle Helladic Mycenae,” in Mesohelladika: The Greek Mainland in the Middle Bronze Age (BCH Suppl. 52), A. Philippa-Touchais, G. Touchais, S. Voutsaki, and J. Wright, eds., Athens, pp. 57–65. Sherratt, A., and S. Sherratt. 1991. “From Luxuries to Commodities: The Nature of Mediterranean Bronze Age Trading Systems,” in Bronze Age Trade in the Mediterranean. Papers Presented at the Conference Held at Rewley House, Oxford, in December 1989 (SIMA 90), N.H. Gale, ed., Jonsered, pp. 351–386. Vermeule, E.T. 1964. Greece in the Bronze Age, Chicago. . 1975. The Art of the Shaft Graves of Mycenae: Delivered April 30 and May 1, 1973, the University of Cincinnati (Lectures in Memory of Louise Taft Semple 3°, 1), Norman. Voutsaki, S. 2010. “From the Kinship Economy to the Palatial Economy: The Argolid in the Second Millennium bc,” in Political Economies of the Aegean Bronze Age. Papers from the Langford Conference, Florida State University, Tallahassee, 22–24 February 2007, D.J. Pullen, ed., Oxford, pp. 86–105 Vulpe, A. 1982. “Beitrag zu den bronzezeitlichen Kulturbeziehungen zwischen Rumänien und Griechenland,” in Südosteuropa zwischen 1600 und 1000 v. Chr., B. Hänsel, ed., Berlin, pp. 321–326.

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Wiener, M.H. 2015. “The Mycenaean Conquest of Minoan Crete,” in The Great Islands. Studies of Crete and Cyprus Presented to Gerald Cadogan, C.F. Macdonald, E. Hatzaki, and S. Andreou, eds., Athens, pp. 131–142.

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4

Cycladic and More Northerly Connections in the Metal Objects from Petras Cemetery P H I L I P P. B E T A N C O U R T , S U S A N C . F E R R E N C E , A N D J A M E S D . M U H LY

Ellen Davis specialized in Cretan metals, and she was keenly interested in Minoan interconnections with the regions north of Crete. We would like to honor her with a study on metallurgical connections with the north from an earlier period than that of her seminal book (Davis 1977), with the suggestion that the northern connections of Minoan metallurgy began at an early period. The archaeological site of Petras is located at the eastern end of Crete, near the modern city of Siteia (Tsipopoulou 2002, 2007, 2012a, 2012c). The cemetery site is located on a hill between the coast and the later palace and its associated small city. The lower parts of over 13 house tombs can be seen across the cemetery, which contains both rock shelters and house tombs. It is being excavated under the direction of Metaxia Tsipopoulou, and we are grateful to her for inviting us to study and publish the metallurgical discoveries from this important site. The dates of use for the single rock shelter that has been excavated ranges from Early Minoan (EM) I to Late Minoan (LM) I, with a pause in use during much of the Middle Bronze Age. The house tombs were being constructed by EM II, and they went out of use in Middle Minoan (MM) IB or MM IIA. Most of the burials were secondary, and the tombs include many rooms filled with disarticulated bones as well as the artifacts that were deposited when

the bodies were first interred elsewhere. The objects all come from mixed contexts. As a result, many objects from the Petras Cemetery can only be dated stylistically. Among the Early Bronze Age objects are several pieces with connections to the Cycladic islands, the Greek mainland, and regions north of Greece including Bulgaria. It is important to document the northern connections of the Early Bronze Age metallurgy at the settlement of Petras, located in northeastern Crete, because interaction with the Cyclades in this period has already been demonstrated with pottery and marble figurines from the site (Tsipopoulou 2012b). Because Petras was founded at one of the finest harbors in East Crete, seafaring and trade must have been a major concern. Metals are rare in the geology of Crete, and they would have been especially important in the exchange networks. It was surely the good harbor that encouraged newcomers to settle at Petras on a hill overlooking the coast in the Final Neolithic period, and they remained there until EM I (Papadatos 2007, 2008). The town was moved closer to the harbor in EM II, but the local cemetery continued to be used, and house tombs constructed above ground were now added to the local burial tradition. By MM IIA, Petras had a palace and a thriving economy, functioning as the administrative center for the entire region (Tsipopoulou 2007). Any discussion of Early Minoan trade in metals must begin with the materials themselves. We have known for a long time that Crete is very poor in metal deposits, and almost all of the raw materials for metallurgy must have come from elsewhere (Muhly 2007, 2008). That the EM and MM I copper came mostly from the north has been demonstrated by lead isotope analysis of both finished objects and the copper ores used at Chrysokamino for copper smelting (Gale et al. 1985; Stos and Gale 2006). Most of the silver is probably also from the northern Aegean where many finds occur (Gale and Stos-Gale 1989; Stos-Gale 1989, 1993), and cupellation at an early period has been demonstrated (Kakavogianni, Douni, and Nezeri 2008). Gold is another matter, and given the scarcity of gold in the Early Cycladic period, the issue is still open. It is worth noting that none of the gold objects from the Petras Cemetery can be clearly associated with a northern class of artifact. Several artifacts from the Petras Cemetery belong to northern types. They include objects of both copper and silver in several classes including both tools and jewelry. The items with northern connections are all small, and they can be regarded as personal possessions.

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Scrapers or Pendants Several examples of a scraper or pendant with a rolled end come from the site (Fig. 4.1:a–f). The shape consists of a flat piece of copper with one end wider than the other. The narrow end was rolled to form a cylinder that could either accommodate a handle or could be used to suspend the artifact like a pendant. The wider end was hammered to create a flat blade. Branigan cataloged 13 examples of these objects (Branigan 1974, 176–177, scraper type VI). The shape clearly began in the Cyclades where Early Cycladic examples come from Syros, Amorgos, and Naxos (Papathanasopoulos 1981, 117). Examples from Chalandriani on Syros can be placed in EC II (Fig. 4.1:g), but some of the Cretan pieces are no earlier than MM I. Petras provides a good date because the pieces from House Tomb 2 can be placed in MM I–IIA by their architectural context. The use is uncertain. Branigan regarded the rolled end as a system for suspension, as shown in Figure 4.1:g (where the suspension wire survives), and he suggested a use in cosmetic kits (Branigan 1974, 32–33). The examples from Petras are too dull to use for shaving. The rolled end of one of the pieces (Fig. 4.1:d) was anchored in a split within its wooden handle, so not all of the examples were suspended like the piece from Chalandriani (Fig. 4.1:g). The implement always had a straight blade that was too flimsy for chopping and not as well suited to slicing as blades with slightly curved cutting edges, suggesting that if it was used as a tool, it was most likely used for scraping at a right angle to the straight edge. Scraping would have been useful for a variety of domestic activities including a few ways to prepare food, and for pastoralists a major need for such an implement was in scraping the inside of hides to remove the flesh and prepare the skin for making leather. Scraping tools are essential for pastoralist societies who engage in leather work. The chipped stone industry at Petras mostly used prismatic blades and microliths (D’Annibale 2008; Dierckx 2012), and few scrapers were large enough for scraping hides. The copper tools could have filled this need admirably. Catalog of Scrapers or Pendants from the Petras Cemetery ME 05-500 (Fig. 4.1:a). Pendant or scraper, almost complete; missing small fragments from edge; broken into five pieces. H. 4.8 cm; restored w. ca. 3.0 cm at wide end to 2.0 cm at narrow end. Arsenical copper. Sheet of metal; one end rolled. Comments: from House Tomb 2, room 3, unit 10-139. Date: MM I–IIA.

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ME 05-781 (Fig. 4.1:b). Pendant or scraper, almost complete; missing several chips and fragments from the edges; crushed almost flat. H. 4.4 cm; w. 3.3 cm at wide end to 2.7 cm at narrow end. Arsenical copper. Sheet of metal; one end rolled. Comments: from House Tomb 2, room 3, unit 16-233. Date: MM I–IIA. ME 05-771 (Fig. 4.1:c). Pendant or scraper, complete. H. 5.4 cm; w. 2.8 cm at wide end to 2.2 cm at narrow end. Arsenical copper. Sheet of metal; one end rolled. Comments: from House Tomb 2, room 3, unit 14-229. Date: MM I–IIA. ME 05-759 (Fig. 4.1:d). Pendant or scraper, complete except for small fragments missing from cutting edge. H. 4.6 cm; w. 5.1 cm at wide end to 2.5 cm at narrow end. Arsenical copper. Sheet of metal; one end rolled and bent. The right angle bend and straight end of the rolled end suggests that the handle was split,

a

b

c

d

e

f

g

Figure 4.1. Scrapers from the cemetery of Petras, all made of copper or copper alloy: (a) ME 05-500, (b) ME 05-781, (c) ME 05-771, (d) ME 05-759, (e) ME 06-10, (f) ME 0654. Scraper from Naxos (g) with a wire for suspension still in place. Scale 1:2. Drawings (a–f) D. Faulmann; (g) after Papathanasopoulos 1987, fig. 119.

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and the sheet was bent so that it wrapped around and also between the two split ends to prevent the metal blade from twisting on a handle during use. Comments: from House Tomb 2, room 3, unit 14-229. Date: MM I–IIA. ME 06-10 (Fig. 4.1:e). Pendant or scraper, complete. H. 6.5 cm; w. 2.7 cm at wide end to 2 cm at narrow end. Arsenical copper. Sheet of metal; one end rolled. Comments: from the rock shelter, unit 1-02-3. Date: EM II–MM II. ME 06-54 (Fig. 4.1:f). Pendant or scraper, fragments. End of piece 2.6 x 2.5 cm; w. at narrow end 1.3 x 1.3 cm. Arsenical copper. Two fragments preserved, restored in drawing; center section missing. Sheet of metal; one end rolled. Comments: from the rock shelter, unit 1-12-13. Date: EM II–MM II.

Ring Pendants Among the many pendants found in the tombs at Petras are two circular examples of ring pendants of a type often called a “Ring Idol” (Fig. 4.2:a, b). They come from the rock shelter, a tomb whose earliest material is FN to EM I. Both pieces are made of a distinctive alloy of silver and arsenical copper, and they are cast as solid objects consisting of a circular ring with a pierced knob at the top. The knob is pierced in line with the flat dimension of the ring, as is usual (but not universal) for pendants. The pendants belong to a class of object with a very long history and a wide geographic distribution across Greece, Anatolia, the Balkans, and adjacent areas (Fig. 4.2:c–g; Mehofer 2014). In the Aegean, “Ring Idols” are known from the Neolithic to the Early Bronze Age (Dimakopoulou 1998). Both the origin and the meaning are uncertain, but an interesting suggestion proposes a derivation from rings made of seashells (Gheorghiu 2011). Rings made of Glycimerus and Spondylus shells are known from the Chalcolithic cultures of the northern Balkans, and their shape, with a perforation in the enlarged part of the shell (the valve), suggests that the metal rings may have originated as skeuomorphs derived from the shell images. As with the metal objects, the meaning of the shell rings is uncertain, but their presence in burials suggests a ritual association. Several examples of ring pendants are previously recorded from Crete. A Neolithic example from a tomb near Amnissos has a small central hole and the addition of eyes and breasts, providing evidence for the view that the rings symbolize the female form (Vasilakis 1996, 152, fig. 18:19, pl. 69). Cretan rings also survive from Hagios Onouphrios and Livari Skiadi (Vasilakis 1996, 152–153, pl. 67; Papadatos and Sofianou 2015, 101, nos. J1–J3, fig. 46:J1–J3, pl. 33:J1–J3). The class is widely dispersed across southeastern Europe, and Figure 4.2:c–g illustrates some of the range of this artifact. Not all examples are pierced for suspension, indicating

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a meaning aside from a use as jewelry. Gold is a common material, but stone and clay are used in addition to silver and copper. Three examples from Livari Skiadi and two from Petras have been determined by X-ray fluorescence (XRF) to be alloys of silver and copper (Papadatos and Sofianou 2015, 101, 135–136, nos. J1–J3; Giumlia-Mair et al., forthcoming). A reference to a deity or some other ceremonial significance seems assured by the richness of the materials used for most examples.

a

c

b

e

h

f (1:2)

d (1:2)

g

i

Figure 4.2. Metal circular pendants from the cemetery of Petras: (a) ME 09-170, (b) ME 06-122. Circular artifacts of the type called “Ring Idols” from various sites, made from different materials: (c) Peristeria Salaminas, silver, d. 1.7 cm; (d) Aravisso Giannitson, gold, h. 5.8 cm; (e) Theopetra Trikalon Cave, gold, h. 3.4 cm; (f) Dispelio Kastorias, stone, h. 5 cm; (g) Kitsou Laviou Cave, stone, h. 2.1 cm. Anchor pendants: (h) cemetery of Petras, ME 06-217; (i) Servia. Scale 1:1 except where otherwise noted. Drawings (a, b) D. Faulmann, (c–i) P. Betancourt.

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Catalog of Ring Pendants from the Petras Cemetery ME 09-170 (Fig. 4.2:a). Ring pendant, complete. Max. dim. 1 cm; outer d. of ring 0.8 cm. Alloy of arsenical copper and silver. Circular ring with attached knob that is pierced horizontally. Comments: from the rock shelter, unit 14-13. Date: EM I–II. ME 06-122 (Fig. 4.2:b). Ring pendant, complete. Max. dim. 2.2 cm; outer d. of ring 1.7 cm. Alloy of silver and arsenical copper. Circular ring with attached knob that is pierced horizontally. Comments: from the rock shelter, unit 3-7-24. Date: EM I–II.

Anchor Pendant One of the metal pendants from Petras was made of the distinctive alloy as mentioned above. It can be associated with a class of objects of unknown meaning that have been called anchors (Fig. 4.2:h). The shape consists of a pierced vertical rod with two opposed raised appendages (called flukes) at the base, creating a form that is similar to a modern anchor. The shape bears no resemblance to ancient anchors. Many examples of the class exist, including examples from Krasi and Livari Skiadi in Crete (Vasilakis 1996, 155, fig. 18:25; Papadatos and Sofianou 2015, 102, 135, nos. J4, J5). They occur over a broad region from the northern Balkans to Anatolia and across Greece to Italy (Bouzek 1985, 29 n. 30). Most examples are made of clay. Carrington Smith (2000) listed over 40 individual sites with the class. The earliest anchors are from Early Bronze I, and the latest examples are from the first part of the Middle Bronze Age. One example is shown in Figure 4.2:i. None of the many suggestions for the meaning of the anchor shape can be demonstrated with unquestionable evidence. Catalog of Anchor Pendant from the Petras Cemetery ME 06-217 (Fig. 4.2:h). Anchor pendant, intact. Max. w. 3.95 cm; h. 2.5 cm; d. of vertical rod 0.9 x 1.2 cm; d. of top 0.3 x 0.2 cm; thickness of flukes 0.15 cm, with a few thickened areas. Cast alloy of arsenical copper and silver. Pair of opposed flukes at the base of a vertical stand with a circular top; hole in top. Comments: from the rock shelter, unit 4-7-39. Date: EM I–III.

Beads Silver beads are found in enough numbers at Petras to indicate strands of this class, and over 40 beads have been cataloged so far. The soil from the site is extensively processed with a water separation machine (water

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sieving), and each year the residue sorting discovers additional examples of small silver beads. Because both the rock shelter and the house tombs were used for secondary deposits of human bones that were originally interred elsewhere, it is natural that beads from necklaces are scattered. Two classes of simple silver beads are present, small disks with a central hole and strips that were bent to form circular beads. Besides Petras, silver beads from Crete are also known from the cemeteries at Gournes (Galanaki 2006; Galanaki, Bassiakos, and Perdikatsis 2011) and Hagia Photia (unpublished). A Cycladic connection for this class of artifact is indicated by the discovery of a similar necklace from the Louros cemetery of Naxos. All three of the Minoan sites with evidence for strands of silver beads (Petras, Hagia Photia, and Gournes) also have EM IB pottery in the Cycladic Style, including spherical pyxides and other shapes with good Cycladic parallels. The date of the pottery is the Kampos Phase in the Cyclades, which is equivalent to EM IB in Crete. All the known examples come from cemetery contexts.

Discussion Several objects from the Petras Cemetery have parallels from the Cyclades, the Greek peninsula, and the northern Balkans. They suggest a diverse pattern of influences that arrived in East Crete over a long period of time from many original places. No single point can be recognized as a primary place of origin for the antecedents of these objects, and they were most likely all manufactured in Crete itself. The best explanation for these foreign influences is that they resulted from a general pattern of interconnections created by ideas spreading from one region to another over a complex network of sea travel. In addition to the aspects of metallurgical technology and style from Petras that are clearly related to the Cyclades and elsewhere, several other aspects of the metal finds consist of objects whose form is too simple for certain parallels. Items like chisels, needles, fish hooks, and awls are present at many sites across the Aegean, and their shapes are so simple that local or regional relations cannot be traced. The relations discussed in this study suggest that influences may have traveled to Petras from the north in other items as well. For a proper conclusion, the information from metallurgy must be added to other evidence from the site. We know that Cycladic connections were already present in EM IB because examples of Cycladic Style pottery are present in the rock shelter’s early period (Tsipopoulou 2012b). 42

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The pyxides and other ceramic shapes from this class can be closely compared with the Cycladic styles at nearby Hagia Photia (Davaras and Betancourt 2004, 2012). Both Kampos Group pottery from EM IB and Cycladic marble figurines from EM II have also been found at Petras (Tsipopoulou 2012b). Obsidian adds to the picture as well. Petras was obviously receiving goods that were being manufactured in the Cyclades as well as items of Cycladic style originating in Crete. The nearby site of Hagia Photia, which had a much stronger Cycladic presence (Davaras and Betancourt 2004, 2012), must have played a role in this interconnection. The metal objects from Petras help confirm the foreign links for this important Cretan region, but it is important to keep in mind the differences in the northern aspects of the finds from Petras and Hagia Photia. At Hagia Photia, the tomb architecture and the burial customs are Cycladic, while at Petras they are Cretan. Petras must have been a major gateway for goods and services that entered Crete from the north, but unlike Hagia Photia the nature of the settlement is Cretan, not foreign. The northern items at Petras are present at a local Minoan site. It is also worth noting that the Cycladic cemetery at Hagia Photia was mostly deserted after the period of the Kampos Group, and only a few objects from the Keros-Syros phase or the Kastri phase are present there. Petras continued to thrive into EM II (the period for the Cycladic figurines), and it continued to have northern connections. If Hagia Photia was the gateway for northern connections in EM IB, it was replaced by Petras in EM II.

References Bouzek, J. 1985. The Aegean, Anatolia and Europe: Cultural Interrelations in the Second Millennium b.c. (SIMA 29), Göteborg. Branigan, K. 1974. Aegean Metalwork of the Early and Middle Bronze Age (Oxford Monographs on Classical Archaeology), Oxford. Carrington Smith, J. 2000. “The Small Finds: Clay Spinning and Weaving Implements. Anchors,” in Servia 1: Anglo-Hellenic Rescue Excavations 1971– 73 (BSA Suppl. 32), C. Ridley, K.A. Wardle, and C.A. Mould, London, pp. 248–264 D’Annibale, C. 2008. “Obsidian in Transition: The Technological Reorganization of the Obsidian Industry from Petras Kephala (Siteia) between Final Neolithic IV and Early Minoan I,” in Escaping the Labyrinth: The Cretan Neolithic in Context (Sheffield Studies in Aegean Archaeology 8), V. Isaakidou and P. Tomkins, eds., Oxford, pp. 191–200.

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Davaras, C., and P.P. Betancourt. 2004. The Hagia Photia Cemetery I: The Tomb Groups and Architecture (Prehistory Monographs 14), Philadelphia. . 2012. The Hagia Photia Cemetery II: The Pottery (Prehistory Monographs 34), Philadelphia. Davis, E. 1977. The Vapheio Cups and Aegean Gold and Silver Ware (Outstanding Dissertations in the Fine Arts), New York. Dierckx, H.M.C. 2012. “Size Does Matter: The Significance of Obsidian Microliths and Querns at the Petras Cemetery,” in Tsipopoulou, ed., 2012, pp. 171–177. Dimakopoulou, K. 1998. Κοσμήματα της Eλληνικής προϊστορίας: O vεολιθικός θησαυρός, Athens. Galanaki, K. 2006. “Πρωτομινωικό ταφικό σύνολο στην πρώην Αμερικανική Βάση Γουρνών Πεδιάδος,” in Πεπραγμένα Θ' Διεθνούς Κρητολογικού Συνεδρίου A' (2), Herakleion, pp. 227–241. Galanaki, C., Y. Bassiakos, and V. Perdikatsis. 2011. “Silver and Bronze Artifacts from the EM I Necropolis at Gournes, Pediada,” in Metallurgy: Understanding How, Learning Why. Studies in Honor of James D. Muhly (Prehistory Monographs 29), P.P. Betancourt and S.C. Ferrence, eds., Philadelphia, pp. 79–90. Gale, N.H., A. Papastamataki, Z.A. Stos-Gale, and K. Leonis. 1985. “Copper Sources and Copper Metallurgy in the Aegean Bronze Age,” in Furnaces and Smelting Technology in Antiquity (BMOP 48), P.T. Craddock and M.J. Hughes, eds., London, pp. 81–93. Gale, N.H., and Z.A. Stos-Gale. 1989. “Some Aspects of Early Cycladic Copper Metallurgy,” in Mineria y metalurgia en las antiguas civilizaciones Mediterraneas y Europeas. Coloquio Internacional Asociado, Madrid, 24–28 octobre 1985, C. Domergue, ed., Madrid, pp. 21–37. Gheorghiu, D. 2011. “Insignia of Exotica: Skeuomorphs of Mediterranean Shells in Chalcolithic South Eastern Europe,” in Exotica in the Prehistoric Mediterranean, A. Vianello, ed., Oxford, pp. 13–25. Giumlia-Mair, A., P.P. Betancourt, S.C. Ferrence, and J.D. Muhly. Forthcoming. “Special Silver Alloys from the Prepalatial Cemetery of Petras, Crete,” in Proceedings of the 2nd International Petras Symposium: The Pre- and Protopalatial Cemetery in Context, Danish Institute at Athens, February 14–15, 2015, M. Tsipopoulou, ed., Athens. Kakavogianni, O., K. Douni, and F. Nezeri. 2008. “Silver Metallurgical Finds Dating from the End of the Final Neolithic Period until the Middle Bronze Age in the Area of Mesogeia,” in Aegean Metallurgy in the Bronze Age. Proceedings of an International Symposium Held at the University of Crete,

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Rethymnon, Greece, on November 19–21, 2004, I. Tzachili, ed., Athens, pp. 45–57. Mehofer, M. 2014. “Metallurgy during the Chalcolithic and the Beginning of the Early Bronze Age in Western Anatolia,” in Western Anatolia before Troy: Proto-Urbanisation in the 4th Millennium bc? Proceedings of the International Symposium Held at the Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien, Vienna, Austria, 21–24 November, 2012 (Oriental and European Archaeology 1), B. Horejs and M. Mehofer, eds., Vienna, pp. 463–490. Muhly, J.D. 2007. “The First Use of Metal on Minoan Crete,” in Metals and Mines: Studies in Archaeometallurgy, S. La Niece, D. Hook, and P. Craddock, eds., London, pp. 97–102. . 2008. “Ayia Photia and the Cycladic Element in Early Minoan Metallurgy,” in Aegean Metallurgy in the Bronze Age. Proceedings of an International Symposium Held at the University of Crete, Rethymnon, Greece, on November 19–21, 2004, I. Tzachili, ed., Athens, pp. 69–74. Papadatos, Y. 2007. “The Beginning of Metallurgy in Crete: New Evidence from the FN–EM I Settlement at Kephala-Petras, Siteia,” in Metallurgy in the Early Bronze Age Aegean (Sheffield Studies in Aegean Archaeology 7), P.M. Day and R.C.P. Doonan, eds., pp. 154–167. . 2008. “The Neolithic–Early Bronze Age Transition in Crete: New Evidence from the Settlement at Petras Kephala, Siteia,” in Escaping the Labyrinth: The Cretan Neolithic in Context (Sheffield Studies in Aegean Archaeology 8), V. Isaakidou and P. Tomkins, eds., Oxford, pp. 261–275. Papadatos, Y., and C. Sofianou. 2015. Livari Skiadi: A Minoan Cemetery in Southeast Crete. I: Excavation and Finds (Prehistory Monographs 50), Philadelphia. Papathanasopoulos, G. 1981. Νεολιθικά: Κυκλαδικά, Athens. Stos-Gale, Z.A. 1989. “Cycladic Copper Metallurgy,” in Old World Archaeometallurgy. Proceedings of the International Symposium “Old World Archaeometallurgy,” Heidelberg 1987 (Der Anschnitt Beiheft 7), A. Hauptman, E. Pernicka, and G.A. Wagner, eds., Bochum, pp. 279–292. . 1993. “The Origin of Metal Used for Making Weapons in Early and Middle Minoan Crete,” in Trade and Exchange in Prehistoric Europe (Oxbow Monograph 33), C. Scarre and F. Healy, eds., Oxford, pp. 115–129. Stos, Z.A., and N. Gale. 2006. “Lead Isotope and Chemical Analysis of Slags from Chrysokamino,” in The Chrysokamino Metallurgy Workshop and Its Territory (Hesperia Suppl. 36), by P.P. Betancourt, Princeton, pp. 299–319. Tsipopoulou, M. 2002. “Petras, Siteia: The Palace, the Town, the Hinterland and the Protopalatial Background,” in Monuments of Minos: Rethinking the

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Minoan Palaces. Proceedings of the International Workshop “Crete of the Hundred Palaces?” Held at the Université Catholique de Louvain, Louvainla-Neuve, 14–15 December 2001 (Aegaeum 23), J. Driessen, I. Schoep, and R. Laffineur, eds., Liège, pp. 133–144. . 2007. “The Central Court of the Palace at Petras,” in Krinoi kai Limenes. Studies in Honor of Joseph and Maria Shaw (Prehistory Monographs 22), P.P. Betancourt, M.C. Nelson, and H. Williams, eds., Philadelphia, pp. 49–59. . 2012a. “Introduction: 25 Years of Excavations and Studies at Petras,” in Tsipopoulou, ed., 2012, pp. 45–66. . 2012b. “Kampos Group Pottery from the Cemetery at Petras, Siteia,” in Philistor. Studies in Honor of Costis Davaras (Prehistory Monographs 36), E. Mantzourani and P.P. Betancourt, eds. Philadelphia, pp. 213–222. . 2012c. “The Prepalatial–Early Protopalatial Cemetery at Petras, Siteia: A Diachronic Symbol of Social Coherence,” in Tsipopoulou, ed., 2012, pp. 117–129. Tsipopoulou, M., ed. 2012. Petras, Siteia: 25 Years of Excavations and Studies. Acts of a Two-Day Conference Held at the Danish Institute at Athens, 9–10 October 2010 (Monographs of the Danish Institute at Athens 16), Athens. Vasilakis, A.S. 1996. Ο χρυσός και ο άργρος στην Κρήτη κατά την πρώιμη περίοδο του χαλκού, Herakleion.

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The Human Condition as Reflected in Early Aegean Art CHRISTOS DOUMAS

Representational art in the prehistoric Aegean has a long history and among its subjects the human figure always occupied a prominent place. Indeed, the earliest representation of the human figure in Aegean art dates back to Neolithic times, in the form of figurines. Of the several thousand examples known so far, more than two-thirds are modelled in clay, a large number are carved in marble, and a few occur in various stones or shell (Ucko 1968, 318; Chourmouziadis 1974, 74; Gallis and Orphanidou 1996, 57). According to the excavation data, these figurines were popular among the early farming communities living in the fertile plains of mainland Greece, from where it seems the genre was transferred to the Cyclades (Weinberg 1951; Renfrew 1966; Sampson 1997, 8), although van Effenterre thought that Cycladic art had “neither a veritable precedent nor a durable prolongation” (van Effenterre 1986, 94). Whatever was the use and significance of the Neolithic figurines for the members of those communities (Ucko 1968, 409–414; Barber 1984, 10; Gallis and Orphanidou 1996, 59–60), it is indisputable that the overwhelming majority of them depict females (Ucko 1968, 316; Chourmouziadis 1974, 61). This tradition continued on the Cycladic islands during the Early Bronze Age (third millennium b.c.e.), where white marble was used for representations of the human figure (Barber 1984, 11; Getz-Preziosi 1987, 9; Doumas 2000b, 40). Here again, out of several hundred pieces known so far, no more than 5% depict males (Getz-Preziosi 1980, 5; 1985, 24–26; 1987,

9; Barber 1984, 13). Sculpture in the Cyclades, at least in non-perishable media, was abandoned before the end of the third millennium b.c.e. This does not mean that people ceased to express their aspirations and beliefs through visual media. Indeed, during the Middle Bronze Age, in the first three centuries of the second millennium b.c.e., as soon as pictorial themes were introduced in vase painting, the human figure reappeared, becoming more and more popular over time. It is notable, however, that in this period the female figure is absent from the Cycladic vase-painters’ repertoire (Papagiannopoulou 2008, 253; Nikolakopoulou 2010; Doumas 2013b, 19). In the Late Bronze Age, when lime plaster was introduced for coating walls in both public and domestic architecture, the human figure continued to be a prominent subject in mural painting, but now both sexes are represented equally (Davis 1986; Doumas 1987; 1992, 22–26; 2013b, 20– 21; Kopcke 1999; Morgan 2000); concurrently it all but disappears from vase-painting iconography (Doumas 2013b, 20–21). As material cultural remains of prehistoric Aegean social systems, these works of art—whether two-dimensional or three-dimensional—constitute “an arrangement of information elements,” or a language (Leach 1973, 762– 763), the “decipherment” of which may help us to better understand the societies that created them (Fischer 1963, 12–15; Cardew 1978, 15; Dark 1978). It has been argued that “primitive agriculture, invented by women, remained for a very long time essentially a woman’s task” (Walker and de Laet 1981, 106). Women in early farming communities were important not only for their role as procreators and housekeepers, but also as producers involved in various economic activities, as weavers, potters, and so forth. (Jenkins 1985, 112). The frequent representation of the female figure in Neolithic imagery could therefore perhaps be understood as a means of acknowledging the social status of women. Perhaps a similar meaning was transmitted through the Early Cycladic (EC) figurines, the vast majority of which, as has already been pointed out, represent females, in some rare cases pregnant or after giving birth (Fig. 5.1; Doumas 1968, 84; Getz-Preziosi 1985, 24), while the male figures constitute a small specialized group of “occupational” figures, specifically musicians, cup-bearers, and hunter/warriors (Doumas 1968, 86–87; Getz-Preziosi 1980). Perhaps through these male figurines Cycladic society expressed its appreciation of the individuals who performed these actions for the benefit of the community. Whatever the interpretations proposed so far, the fact is that almost all EC figures were grave goods that accompanied the dead along with other objects considered as personal belongings (Doumas 1968, 88–94). 48

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It is interesting that the decline in the output of marble figurines started before the end of the EC II period, when a dramatic change in the economy of the Cyclades was underway, and it brought in its wake a radical change in the settlement pattern in the islands (Doumas 2014, 120–121). Intensification of mining and metallurgy in the western Cyclades (Bassiakos and Philaniotou 2007) implies not only the involvement of a segment of the male population with these activities, rather than with farming, but also with the deforestation of these islands (Doumas 2014, 124). Moreover, Cycladic craftsmen responded to the ever-increasing demand for metal in Crete by establishing metallurgical workshops there, where fuel was more abundant (Betancourt 2006; Betancourt and Muhly 2007). This transfer of activities demanded the construction of sturdier ships to carry cargoes of ores, and it was perhaps this achievement that made the Cycladic islanders masters of the Aegean Sea, as seems to be emphasized by the frequent depictions of Cycladic-type ships (Tsountas 1899, 90; Doumas 1965; 1967; Wedde 2000; Petrakos 2012, figs. 68, 71). Intensification of maritime activities took even more men away from the land, accelerating and consolidating changes in the settlement pattern in the Cyclades. People gradually abandoned the villages that were dispersed in the hinterland and gravitated to the coast, where they concentrated in settlements that soon developed into harbor towns (Doumas 2014, 124–126). Concomitant with this process of site nucleation and urbanization, and well documented in the archaeological record, was a more systematic or specialized division of Figure 5.1. Early Cycladic figurine of a pregnant woman. Naxos Museum 167. Courtesy Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports.

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labor—for example, metallurgists, shipwrights, seafarers—which brought new organizational structures. Thus, the last couple of centuries of the third millennium b.c.e. witnessed the transition of Cycladic society from rural to urban life, characteristic of the Middle Bronze Age. For proto-urban Middle Cycladic society, pictorial vase painting apparently became the principal means of communicating messages through art, as the evidence from Akrotiri on Thera indicates (Papagiannopoulou 2008; Nikolakopoulou 2010). The human figure, a rare and isolated motif at first, became progressively more popular, and by the end of the period, in the 17th century b.c.e., it played a key role in narrative scenes (Fig. 5.2; Doumas 2013a, 44–51; 2013b, 17–19; 2014, 131). Striking, however, is the absence of the female figure from the entire pictorial repertoire of Middle Cycladic vase painting (Doumas 2013b, 19). This does not necessarily imply a change in the social status of women, but it could be seen as enhancing the importance of predominantly male activities. Shipping and maritime trade undoubtedly improved the standard of living for the island communities, but not without cost. Seafaring required long absences of men engaged in the voyages, which were not without hazards, such as shipwrecks. The scene with male bodies in awkward poses on the fragment of a jar decorated in the matt-painted style (Fig. 5.2; Doumas 2013b, 19) could be seen as the precursor of the shipwreck scene depicted on the Miniature Frieze from the West House (Fig. 5.3; Doumas 1992, 47, fig. 26; Morgan 1988, 156–165, pls. A, C). Such scenes are eloquent expressions of Aegean society’s respect for the human condition.

0

3 cm

Figure 5.2. Fragments of a Middle Cycladic jar with men in awkward horizontal positions (drowned?). Akrotiri, Thera, inv. no. 11675. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.

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The port-cities of the Late Bronze Age, epitomized by the site at Akrotiri, were home to affluent communities with a “bourgeois” mentality, as attested by the impressive mansions with their rich household equipment, exquisite pieces of furniture, and monumental wall paintings. Although vase painting continued to produce high-quality creations on an almost industrial scale, the absence of the human figure from its thematic repertoire is conspicuous. In mural art, however, the human figure was accorded a prominent position. The large white surfaces of lime plaster on the walls seem to have been a challenge for the wealthy citizens to emulate one another in promoting their social status through this monumental art (Doumas 2005), while the painters too vied with one another in displaying their skill, talent, and ingenuity. At the same time, the walls were ideal places to elevate the status of man by distancing him from the trivialities of daily life. In narrative scenes that relate to the education or initiation of both boys and girls, families may have been expressing pride in their offspring, in whose hands was entrusted the future of their society (Davis 1986; Doumas 1987, 2000a; see also Koehl, Ch. 9, this vol.). Scenes in which women are shown bringing water from the fountain or involved in economic activities such as gathering saffron, or participating in ritual performances (Doumas 1992, 48, 129–131, figs. 28, 100–108, 116), are indicative of women’s place

Figure 5.3. Miniature wall painting from the north wall of Room 5, West House, Akrotiri, Thera (detail), showing men and women in daily life activities and shipwreck. Akrotiri, Thera, inv. no. 5820.vi. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.

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in society. The same applies to the men: warriors, sailors, herdsmen, hunters, beast tamers, and initiators/instructors all have their place in the thematic repertoire (Doumas 1992, 48–49, 130, figs. 26–29, 35–48, 109–115; forthcoming). As Ellen Davis pointed out, the Theran artists, with their preference for painting against a white ground, “were able to concentrate on the figures, which were for them the most important elements of the paintings” (Davis 1990, 220). One could add to this observation that in this genre, by treating the human figures equally, irrespective of age category and gender, the artists conveyed a particular esteem for the human condition, a characteristic of Late Cycladic society. Most interpretations of the Neolithic and the EC figurines that connect them with religion, either as divinities, cult objects, nymphs and heroes, or amulets, or with beliefs about afterlife as servants of the dead (e.g., concubines or ushabtis; Zervos 1957, 44; Gimbutas 1974, 157; Thimme 1975, 13– 17), seem to be fanciful 20th-century c.e. constructs by their proponents (as per Fleming 1969; Bailey 1994, 322–323; Goodison and Morris 1998b, 9; Tringham and Conkey 1998, 23–26; Thomas and Wedde 2001, 5). Indeed, the archaeological contexts from which these artifacts have been recovered advocates rather for a wide range of interpretations (Doumas 1968, 91; 1976, 33–34; 1994, 508–509; 2002, 41; Ucko 1968, 417–419; Chourmouziadis 1974, 203; Barber 1984; Tringham and Conkey 1998, 40). Regardless of their symbolism and meaning, anthropomorphic figurines are tangible manifestations of the anthropocentrism of Aegean civilization in which even divinities, from the moment they can be identified as such through their attributes, are always represented in human form. Among the earliest examples of an undisputed figure of a goddess is the imposing female figure painted on the great Saffron Gatherers mural from Akrotiri, Thera. Represented on a much larger scale than the rest of the female figures participating in the scene, and seated on an elevated tripartite platform, flanked by a monkey and a griffin, she receives an offering of crocus stamens (Marinatos 1984, 61; Doumas 1992, 130–131, pls. 118–130; Goodison and Morris 1998a, 126; Gesell 2000, 953; Morgan 2000, 934–935). Referring to the representation of the gods and goddesses of classical Greece in human form, Coldstream has also emphasized that “a Minoan goddess may dwell in a tree, in a pillar, or in a shapeless lump of stone; she may fly down to her shrine in the form of a dove; but when shown in her own person she, too, is anthropomorphic” (Coldstream 1977, 3). The gods of the ancient Greeks were portrayed as humans and attributed human qualities. Moreover, as Thornton phrases it, “the tragic stage 52

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frequently presented gods who were morally inferior to suffering mortals. Such public questioning of the gods and their powers was unthinkable in Egypt or Israel or Babylon” (Thornton 2000, 147). Even the most imposing ancient Greek temples “are not colossal like Egyptian buildings. One feels that they were built by human beings, and for human beings. In fact, there was no divine ruler over the Greeks who could or would have forced a whole people to slave for him” (Gombrich 1996, 75). Obviously, Protagoras’ maxim that “man is the measure of all things” seems to encapsulate the Aegean world’s enduring perception of the human condition.

Acknowledgments I am grateful for the invitation to contribute to this volume dedicated to the loving memory of Ellen Davis, a sincere friend and colleague, from whose scholarly work I have benefitted greatly. I am also appreciative of the comments made by the anonymous readers of this chapter.

References Bailey, D.W. 1994. “Reading Prehistoric Figurines as Individuals,” WorldArch 25, pp. 322–331. Barber, R.L.N. 1984. “Early Cycladic Marble Figures: Some Thoughts on Function,” in Cycladica: Studies in Memory of N.P. Goulandris. Proceedings of the Seventh British Museum Classical Colloquium, June 1983, J.L. Fitton, ed., London, pp. 10–14. Bassiakos, Y., and O. Philaniotou. 2007. “Early Copper Production on Kythnos: Archaeological Evidence and Analytical Approaches to the Reproduction of Metallurgical Process,” in Metallurgy in the Early Bronze Age Aegean (Sheffield Studies in Aegean Archaeology 7), P.M. Day and R.C.P. Doonan, eds., Sheffield, pp. 19–56. Betancourt, P.P. 2006. The Chrysokamino Metallurgy Workshop and Its Territory (Hesperia Suppl. 36), Princeton. Betancourt, P.P., and J.D. Muhly. 2007. “The Crucibles from the Aghia Photia Cemetery,” in Metallurgy in the Early Bronze Age Aegean (Sheffield Studies in Aegean Archaeology 7), P.M. Day and R.C.P. Doonan, eds., Sheffield, pp. 146–153. Cardew, M. 1978. “Design and Meaning in Preliterate Art,” in Art in Society: Studies in Style, Culture and Aesthetics, M. Greenhalg and V. Megaw, eds., London, pp. 15–20.

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Coldstream, N.J. 1977. Deities in Aegean Art before and after the Dark Age (Bedford College Inaugural Lecture), London. Chourmouziadis, G.C. 1974. Τα vεολιθικά ειδώλια της Θεσσαλίας, Athens. Dark, P.J.C. 1978. “What is Art for Anthropologists?” in Art in Society: Studies in Style, Culture and Aesthetics, M. Greenhalg and V. Megaw, eds., London, pp. 31–50. Davis, E.N. 1986. “Youth and Age in the Thera Frescoes,” AJA 90, pp. 399–406. . 1990. “The Cycladic Style of the Thera Frescoes,” in Thera and the Aegean World III. Proceedings of the Third International Congress, Santorini, Greece, 3–9 September 1989. Vol. I: Archaeology, D.A. Hardy, Ch.G. Doumas, J.A. Sakellarakis, and P.M. Warren, eds., London, pp. 214–228. Doumas, C.G. 1965. “Κορφὴ τ’ Ἀρωνιοῦ,” ArchDelt 20 (A′) [1966], pp. 41–64. . 1967. “Le incisioni rupestri di Nasso nelle Cicladi,” Bollettino del Centro Camuno di Studi Preistorici 3, pp. 111–132. . 1968. The N.P. Goulandris Collection of Early Cycladic Art, Athens. . 1976. “Les idoles Cycladiques,” Archeologia 100, pp. 26–34. . 1987. “Η Ξεστή 3 και οι κυανοκέφαλοι της Θήρας,” in EΙΛΑΠΊΝΗ. Tόμος τιμητικὸς γιὰ τὸν καθηγητὴ Nικόλαο Πλάτωνα, L. Kastrinaki, G. Orphanou, and N. Giannadakis, eds., Herakleion, pp. 151–159. . 1992. The Wall-Paintings of Thera, Athens. . 1994. “The Aegean during the Neolithic,” in History of Humanity I: Prehistory and the Beginnings of Civilization, S.J. De Laet, ed., London, pp. 501–510. . 2000a. “Age and Gender in the Theran Wall Paintings,” in Sherratt, ed., 2000, pp. 971–981. . 2000b. Early Cycladic Culture: The N.P. Goulandris Collection, Athens. . 2002. Silent Witnesses: Early Cycladic Art of the Third Millennium bc, New York. . 2005. “La répartition topographique des fresques dans les bâtiments d’Akrotiri à Théra” in Κρησ Tεχνιτησ: L’Artisan Crétois. Recueil d’articles en l’honneur de Jean-Claude Poursat, publié à l’occasion des 40 ans de la découverte du Quartier Mu (Aegaeum 26), I. Bradfer-Burdet, B. Detournay, and R. Laffineur, eds., Liège, pp. 73–81. . 2013a. “From Representational to Narrative Art in the Early Bronze Age Cyclades,” in Amilla: The Quest for Excellence. Studies Presented to Guenter 54

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Kopcke in Celebration of His 75th Birthday (Prehistory Monographs 43), R.B. Koehl, ed., Philadelphia, pp. 41–54. . 2013b. “The Human Figure at the Mercy of the Paintbrush,” in Paintbrushes: Wall-Painting and Vase-Painting of the 2nd Millennium bc in Dialogue. Akrotiri, Thera, 24–26 May 2016: Summaries, A.G. Vlachopoulos, ed., Athens, pp. 14–21. . 2014. “Searching for Bronze Age Society in the Cyclades,” in “Recent Developments in the Long-Term History and Archaeology of Greece,” J.L. Bintliff, ed., special issue, Pharos 20 (1), pp. 115–143. . Forthcoming. “Συντήρηση και μελέτη μνημείων Ακρωτηρίου Θήρας,” Prakt. Fischer, E. 1963. The Necessity of Art: A Marxist Approach (Pelican Books A632), trans. A. Bostock, Baltimore. Fleming, A. 1969. “The Myth of the Mother Goddess,” WorldArch 1, pp. 247–261. Gallis, K., and L. Orphanidou. 1996. Figurines of Neolithic Thessaly, Athens. Gesell, C.G. 2000. “Blood on the Horns of Consecration?” in Sherratt, ed., 2000, pp. 947–957. Getz-Preziosi, P. 1980. “The Male Figure in Early Cycladic Sculpture,” Metropolitan Museum Journal 15, pp. 5–33. . 1985. Early Cycladic Sculpture: An Introduction, Malibu. . 1987. Sculptors of the Cyclades: Individual and Tradition in the Third Millennium b.c., Ann Arbor. Gimbutas, M. 1974. The Gods and Goddesses of Old Europe: 7000–3500 Myths, Legends, and Cult Images, Berkeley.

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Gombrich, E.H. 1996. The Story of Art, 16th ed., London. Goodison, L., and C. Morris. 1998a. “Beyond the Great Mother,” in Goodison and Morris, eds., 1998, pp. 113–132. . 1998b. “Exploring Female Divinity: From Modern Myths to Ancient Evidence,” in Goodison and Morris, eds., 1998, pp. 6–21. Goodison, L., and C. Morris, eds. 1998. Ancient Goddesses: The Myths and the Evidence (Wisconsin Studies in Classics), Madison. Jenkins, J.D. 1985. “The Ambiguity of Greek Textiles,” Arethusa 18, pp. 109–132. Kopcke, G. 1999. “Akrotiri: West House. Some Reflections,” in Meletamata: Studies in Aegean Archaeology Presented to Malcolm H. Wiener as He Enters

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His 65th Year (Aegaeum 20), P.P. Betancourt, V. Karageorghis, R. Laffineur, and W.-D. Niemeier, eds., Liège, pp. 445–455. Leach, E. 1973. “Concluding Address,” in The Explanation of Culture Change: Models in Prehistory, C. Renfrew, ed., London, pp. 761–771. Marinatos, N. 1984. Art and Religion in Thera: Reconstructing a Bronze Age Society, Athens. Morgan, L. 1988. The Miniature Wall Paintings of Thera: A Study in Aegean Culture and Iconography (Cambridge Classical Studies), Cambridge. . 2000. “Form and Meaning in Figurative Painting,” in Sherratt, ed., 2000, pp. 925–946. Nikolakopoulou, I. 2010. “Middle Cycladic Iconography: A Social Context for ‘A New Chapter in Aegean Art,’” in Cretan Offerings. Studies in Honour of Peter Warren (BSA Studies 18), O. Krzyszkowska, ed., London, pp. 213–222. Papagiannopoulou, A. 2008. “Μεσοκυκλαδική εικονιστική παράδοση ως πρόδρομος των τοιχογραφιών,” in Ακρωτήρι Θήρας: Τριάντα xρόνια έρευνας, C. Doumas, ed., Athens, pp. 239–260. Petrakos, V. 2012. “Bαθύ Αστυπάλαιας,” Ergon, Athens, pp. 69–78. Renfrew, C. 1966. “The Fat Lady of Saliagos,” Antiquity 40, pp. 218–219. Sampson, A. 1997. Μύκονος: Ο νεολιθικός οικισμός της Φτελιάς και η προϊστορική κατοίκηση στο νησί, Athens. Sherratt, S., ed. 2000. The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium, Petros Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas, 30 August–4 September 1997, Athens. Thimme, J. 1975. “Ein monumentales Kykladenidol in Karlsruhe: Zur Typologie und Deutung der Idole,” Jahrbuchder Staatlicher Kunstsammlungen in Bade-Wurtenberg 12, pp. 7–20. Thomas, C.G., and M. Wedde. 2001. “Desperately Seeking Potnia,” in Potnia: Deities and Religion in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 8th International Aegean Conference, Göteborg, Göteborg University, 12–15 April 2000 (Aegaeum 22), R. Laffineur and R. Hägg, eds., Liège, pp. 3–14. Thornton, B. 2000. Greek Ways: How the Greeks Created Western Civilization, New York. Tringham, R., and M. Conkey. 1998. “Rethinking Figurines: A Critical View from Archaeology of Gimbutas, the ‘Goddess’ and Popular Culture,” in Goodison and Morris, eds., 1998, pp. 22–45. Tsountas, Ch. 1899. “Κυκλαδικά II,” ArchEph 38, pp. 73–134.

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Ucko, P.J. 1968. Anthropomorphic Figurines of Predynastic Egypt and Neolithic Crete, with Comparative Material from the Prehistoric Near East and Mainland Greece (Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland Occasional Paper 24), London. van Effenterre, H. 1986. Les Égéens: Aux origines de la Grèce, Chypre, Cyclades, Crète et Mycènes, Paris. Walker, R.S., and S.J. de Laet. 1981. “Man and the Bull,” Diogenes 29, pp. 104–132. Wedde, M. 2000. Towards a Hermeneutics of Aegean Bronze Age Ship Imagery (Peleus 6), Mannheim. Weinberg, S.S. 1951. “Neolithic Figurines and Aegean Interrelations,” AJA 55, pp. 121–133. Zervos, C. 1957. L’Art des Cyclades: Du début à la fin de l’âge du bronze, 2500– 1100 avant notre ère, Paris.

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6

Purple Rosettes/Πορφυροί ρόδακες: New Data on Polychromy and Perception in the Thera Wall Paintings A N DR E A S G . V L AC HOP OU L O S

It was in the Laboratory for the Conservation of Wall Paintings that we welcomed Ellen for the last time at Akrotiri in 2006—and there she found herself in front of the biggest mural composition she had ever faced (Fig. 6.1). These murals, which depict enormous symmetrical spirals forming “sacral ivy leaves” (Fig. 6.2), were being put together at a feverish pace on the work tables. They have since proven to belong to a spectacular third story in Xeste 3, densely covered in wall paintings (Fig. 6.3; Doumas 2008b, 7–10, figs. 1–4; Vlachopoulos 2008a, figs. 41.47–50; Marinatos 2013, fig. 1; Sepetzoglou 2013). By 2006, the wall paintings of Xeste 3 had enjoyed 32 years of uninterrupted conservation, continuously revealing new iconographic surprises, which have received an appropriately copious amount of scholarly attention (e.g., Marinatos 1974; 1976; 1984; Doumas 1992, 126–175, figs. 92– 137; Vlachopoulos 2003; 2008a; 2010; Vlachopoulos and Zorzos 2014). Largely building on Ellen Davis’s seminal 1986 study, most scholars would agree that the Xeste 3 paintings refer to female and male rites of passage (Fig. 6.4; also Davis 2000, 868–871). In addition to their wealth of iconographic information, these splendid murals are of interest for their use of colors, an observation not immediately apparent on account of the frequent repetition of the four stereotypical

colors—yellow, red, blue, and black—for both figural and schematic compositions. Until recent discoveries, the colors pink, green, and purple were rare or novel in Theran wall painting. In this paper, we consider the raw materials used for these three colors, a subject of great interest to Ellen and one that she and I discussed on many happy occasions at Akrotiri and in New York. The colors pink and green were approached with keen interest, as their occurrence verified what we had previously suspected: that the painters deliberately selected certain colors, and that their rarity or absence from the Theran palette was not due to the artists’ technical deficiencies (Vlachopoulos 2003, 524–525; Vlachopoulos and Sotiropoulou 2012, 260). Macroscopic observations confirmed that the pink was diluted red, and X-ray fluorescence (XRF) analyses documented that green was achieved by mixing Egyptian blue with yellow ochre (Pantazis et al. 2003; on Egyptian blue, see Vlachopoulos and Sotiropoulou 2012; Devetzi 2009–2010, 48–49, figs. 26–28). Purple had been identified earlier in the Xeste 3 wall painting of the Potnia, and it had become evident that the petals of the dozens of crocuses in the background, as well as details in the garments of the crocus gatherers, especially in their belts, were rendered in this

Figure 6.1. Ellen Davis, Christos Doumas, and Andreas Vlachopoulos, Thera Fresco Workroom, August 2006. Photo M. Hamaoui, courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.

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Figure 6.2. The Blue Spirals wall painting, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 3, north wall (5.10 m wide x 3.08 m high). Photo A. Eleftherakis, courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.

Figure 6.3. Tentative reconstruction of the arrangement of the wall paintings of Xeste 3 (the building seen from northwest). Model M. Wallner.

deep purple hue (Fig. 6.4; Vlachopoulos 2003, 525, figs. 22, 23). It was also known that this colorant, in all probability, was purple dye (porphyra), since a small spherical lump of it mixed with lime was found in the excavations (Aloupi, Karydas, and Paradellis 2000, 20–21, fig. 3; Devetzi 2009–2010, 49–51, fig. 30; on display in the Museum of Prehistoric Thera in Fira). A specific method of analysis for this colorant, however, had not yet been developed. PURPLE ROSETTES: POLYCHROMY AND PERCEPTION IN THE THERA WALL PAINTINGS

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a

b Figure 6.4. Reconstruction drawing of Xeste 3, Akrotiri, second floor: (a) Room 3; (b) corridor leading to Room 3. Drawings N. Sepetzoglou.

Our suspicions regarding the colorant for purple were verified in 2001– 2002, when the wall paintings of the Women along the Corridor (Fig. 6.4:b) were carefully cleaned. A minute plaster sample with the color was sufficient for the physicist S. Sotiropoulou to identify the organic colorant for purple (porphyra) as an extract from the homonymous mollusk 62

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(Chryssikopoulou and Sotiropoulou 2003; Chryssikopoulou 2005; Sotiropoulou 2005; Devetzi 2009–2010, 49–51, fig. 30). Previous experience with the color allowed us to discern with the naked eye the purple borders and radiating bands of their bodices and other details of their richly adorned garments, even where the color was almost entirely lost (Vlachopoulos 2003). It also verified the color of certain stripes on the skirt of the Wounded Lady in the adyton, as well as the identification and appearance of the necklace of amethyst beads held by the figure coming up behind her (Doumas 1992, figs. 100, 101, 104, 105). Until then, the use of purple had also escaped detection in the wall paintings of the spirals that decorated the east section of the third floor of Xeste 3 (corresponding to Rooms 3 and 4 of the second floor; Vlachopoulos 2008a, 454, fig. 41.51). Previously, it was observed that Egyptian blue was used extensively to outline the spirals and paint the background of the symmetrical, rosette-filled lozenges on the north wall in a space above Room 3 (Vlachopoulos and Sotiropoulou 2012, 251–252, figs. 1:a, b, 2:a, b). This effectively created a color balance and design harmony that visually strengthened this enormous mural (measuring 5.10 m wide x 3.08 m high) and the thematically identical friezes, restored above the polythyra, which can be assigned to this huge space (Vlachopoulos 2008a, 454, figs. 41.47–41.51; 2010, 186, fig. 15; Marinatos 2013, figs. 1, 2, 5, 6). On the opposite south wall, in the space corresponding to Room 4, the large, identical red spirals, without any frieze above them, displayed a drastically reduced use of Egyptian blue (Fig. 6.5; Sepetzoglou 2013, 146, fig. 2; Vlachopoulos and Sotiropoulou 2012, 252).

Figure 6.5. Reconstruction drawing of the “Red Spirals” wall-painting, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 3, south wall. Drawing N. Sepetzoglou.

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Studying these large repeating compositions in their architectural context soon led to the conclusion that the mural depicting symmetrical groups of four similar 16-petal rosettes framed inside elegant, curvilinear relief lozenges, which had earlier been restored, also derived from the same narrative (Fig. 6.6:a; Marinatos 1976, 27, pl. 41b; Doumas 1992, 131, figs. 136, 137; Vlachopoulos 2008a, 454, fig. 41.46:a). Though the architectural remains are poor, its location along the north wall is secured by the discovery of a large fragment, measuring 2.52 m wide x 1.91 m high, above Room 9, on the floor below (Vlachopoulos 2008a, 454). A fragment from a second similar mural, restored in 1999, has been exhibited in the Museum of Prehistoric Thera since 2000 (Fig. 6.7:a; Doumas, Marthari, and Televantou 2000, 36, fig. 32; Vlachopoulos 2008a, 454, fig. 41.46:b). Measuring 1.46 x 0.85 m, the mural preserves part of its left border, but is missing much of its original dimensions, as indicated by the fragments that have been identified and partly conserved in the Wall Painting Laboratory of the Akrotiri Excavation. The wide distribution of fragments from similar relief lozenge compositions in areas farther to the south of the Square of the House of the Benches shows that these kinds of murals probably decorated even larger surfaces (Michailidou 2001, 344, 360; Vlachopoulos 2010, 186 n. 24). The recovery of stone bases from pier-and-door partitions (polythyra) in the area south of the Relief Lozenges fresco (Rooms 9-10 and 12-13, or 13-14 of the lower floors; Palyvou 1999, 352; Michailidou 2001, 343, 360, fig. 269), makes the arrangement of the west sector of this space probably analogous to the “spirals compartment” of the east wing of the third floor (Fig. 6.2; Vlachopoulos 2010, 185; 2016). Except for a few gaps, the Relief Lozenges fresco has been fully restored, allowing for a secure reconstruction of its original appearance (Fig. 6.6:b). The upper edge consists of two narrow bands: a solid black band and a light blue on black “dentate” one. Immediately below, as if hanging from these bands, is a zone of eight complete relief lozenges and two half relief lozenges at each end. With double rounded, undulating, hexafoil contours outlined in black, the complete lozenges enclose four rosettes of 16 petals, symmetrically arranged in each concave area. The lozenges are separated by gold painted double rings while simultaneously interlocking to form three rows; thus the inner row of lozenges is enclosed by the two outer ones. The rosettes of the outer rows of lozenges and the two half lozenges at the ends are outlined in black and painted light blue. This blue colorant has been identified as good quality Egyptian blue (Vlachopoulos and Sotiropoulou 2012, 252). However, the rosettes inside the two enclosed 64

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a

b Figure 6.6. Relief Lozenges fresco with purple and blue rosettes, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 9, north wall: (a) photo; (b) reconstruction. Photo A. Voliotis, courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens; drawing N. Sepetzoglou.

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lozenges are a different color, which today appears as gray. Indeed, on close inspection, it is clear that they are composed of two concentric rows of petals. As would be expected, their circular cores are light blue, to complement the coloring of the surrounding rosettes, following a basic principle of complementary coloring that characterizes the aniconic decoration of the entire third story of Xeste 3. The recent study of the Relief Lozenges mural confirmed an earlier hypothesis: that the original color of the outer row of petals on the rosettes inside the two enclosed lozenges was purple, whereas the inner row of petals is reserved white, outlined in black. While a few traces of purple had been discerned previously, it is now clear that this is the case. The effect of the juxtaposition of these particular colors only becomes truly apparent in an artist’s reconstruction (Fig. 6.6:b), which clearly stimulates an entirely different visual experience than do the paintings as preserved. The purple color suddenly becomes the catalyzing visual factor and, for that matter, the basis of the mural’s artistic success and originality (on the optical properties specific to the color purple, see Livingstone 2002, 30–31). The wavy relief lozenges are projected against a homogeneous deep red field. As the artist’s reconstruction shows, the lozenges appear to expand and contract while the rosettes pulsate and “breathe,” illusions created by repetitive patterns and the juxtaposition and alternation of the colors purple and blue (for a neurobiological explanation of these optical phenomena, see Livingstone 2002, 145–147, 171–176). The effect is analogous to the psychotropic sense of movement experienced by the viewer of the gigantic spirals painted in the adjacent space (cf. Figs. 6.2 and 6.9, below; Sepetzoglou 2013; Vlachopoulos 2016, pl. CXVI; see also Livingstone 2002, 153–163). However, while the spirals create the sensation of a two-dimensional torsional movement, the rosettes create a three-dimensional illusion, framed within an actual three-dimensional plaster relief. It is surely not coincidental that similar undulating lozenges are also used to depict sea water in contemporary small-scale art (Vermeule 1964, pl. 14; Marinatos 1976, 27, pl. 41:a, b; Morgan 1988, 35, pls. 192, 194; Sakellariou 1981; Shank, this vol.). But what about the partly restored companion mural (Fig. 6.7:a)? It was found in the same space on the upper floor and depicts an identical theme, though it is still too early to tell whether it adjoined the bigger one in the northwest corner of Room 9. However, the resemblance in style, composition, and scale to the larger mural suggests that both were created simultaneously. What distinguishes them is their color palette. As the artist’s reconstruction makes clear, while on the larger mural the centers of the rosettes on the exterior lozenge rows are purple, on the smaller mural they are black (Fig. 6.7:b). Furthermore, while on the larger mural the outer 66

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a

b

Figure 6.7. Relief Lozenges fresco with gray and blue rosettes, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 9: (a) photo; (b) reconstruction drawing. Museum of Prehistoric Thera. Photo courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, the Archaeological Society of Athens; drawing N. Sepetzoglou.

leaves of the rosettes on the enclosed lozenges are purple, on the smaller mural they are pale grayish-blue, which is in contrast to the Egyptian blue leaves of the rosettes on the exterior lozenges. The lighter grayish-blue color probably contained riebeckite, a mineral favored by the Theran workshops (Vlachopoulos and Sotiropoulou 2012, 246–248, 250, 259, fig. 8:a, b). This produces a milder, grayish tone than the bright, clear Egyptian blue (Doumas 2008c, 130–131, fig. 93:b; Devetzi 2009–2010, 43–55, fig. 17). Thus, these rosettes create a symmetrically balanced chromatic contrast that differs in intensity, not to mention quality and sensory effect, from that of the purple rosettes (Fig. 6.8). While the rosettes on this mural do not appear to breathe, like those on the larger, companion mural, this painting is illusionistic. Besides the undulating shape of its lozenges, which, like those on the adjacent larger mural, seem to suggest water, the exterior rows of lozenges are connected here too by gold-colored double rings, which appear to fasten tightly around the white relief bands as if they were fabric drapes. As noted above, the larger mural seems to hang pendant from the upper “dentate” band, suggesting that these murals, with their repetitive motifs, were inspired by large-scale PURPLE ROSETTES: POLYCHROMY AND PERCEPTION IN THE THERA WALL PAINTINGS

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embroidered wall hangings or carpets. Interestingly, the motif of painted rings tightening a continuous wavy band occurs on an earlier wall painting fragment, also from Xeste 3, discovered in the mortar fill behind the wall painting of the “Potnia” (Doumas 1992, fig. 150; 2003, fig. 21; Vlachopoulos, forthcoming). Thus the illusionistic effects of this painting interact on several simultaneous levels. Its subject matter creates the illusion of both water and fabric. And although it is applied onto a two-dimensional space, it creates the illusion of volume or depth—a three-dimensionality—through the repetition of its pattern and chromatic manipulation of the rosettes. Indeed, it is surely not coincidental that the artists who created this mural deliberately enclosed the rosettes within an actual three-dimensional frame. Noteworthy, too, is the fact that the Relief Lozenges fresco is one of the few examples of the plaster relief technique known from Thera, though not the earliest (Vlachopoulos, forthcoming), and one of the only ones discovered outside of Crete, where most examples occur at Knossos (Kaiser 1976; Blakolmer 2006; Kriga 2013). The Relief Lozenges fresco can also be linked on several levels to the wall paintings of enormous heart-shaped (“sacral ivy”) spirals with which this discussion began (Figs. 6.2, 6.9; Marinatos 2013, fig. 1). It is easy to overlook, amidst their dizzying visual swirl, that like the Relief Lozenges, they too seem to have been inspired by textiles or ribbons. This is revealed by the series of symmetrical mirror images of small gold-colored

Figure 6.8. Reconstruction drawing of the rosettes from the Relief Lozenges fresco. Drawing N. Sepetzoglou.

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Figure 6.9. Reconstruction drawing of the “Blue Spirals” wall painting, Xeste 3, Akrotiri, third floor, Room 3, north wall. Drawing N. Sepetzoglou.

lunate rings that join the pairs of horizontal sacral ivy on the upper frieze, and the tops of the large vertical spiral-form sacral ivy with their curled extensions on the lower frieze. Furthermore, the blue lozenge-shaped interiors of these spirals are filled with a centrally placed rosette, echoing the rosette-filled lozenges of the nearby relief fresco. And, of course, this too is an illusionistic painting, though here the illusion of movement is two-dimensional and torsional. In this paper I have focused on how the deliberate choice of colors and the use of color contrast by Theran artists enhanced the illusionistic aspects of the rosette motif in the Relief Lozenges fresco from Xeste 3. Thus color, as much as motif, makes a crucial contribution to blurring the borders between the real and the imaginary in these paintings. Furthermore, the extensive use of the rare organic purple pigment throughout Xeste 3, and of Egyptian blue, particularly on the enormous blue spirals, testifies to the commitment to high quality that was invested in the wall paintings chosen to decorate this unique building, and underscores the importance of its iconographic program relating to the community’s ritual and festive activities. Perhaps it is also worth considering here the possible symbolic value of the rosette motif in Aegean art, to gain even deeper insights into these paintings. At Akrotiri the four-petaled rosette occurs as a decorative motif PURPLE ROSETTES: POLYCHROMY AND PERCEPTION IN THE THERA WALL PAINTINGS

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of Middle Cycladic pottery, as on the large polychrome pithos with griffins (Boulotis 2005, 56, fig. 37), the Ganymede jug (Doumas 2008a, 30, fig. 39:a, b; Nikolakopoulou 2010, 217, fig. 21.3:a, b, d), and the Lilies jug (Vlachopoulos 2013). The multi-petaled rosette is well documented in the iconography of the Neopalatial era. Eight rosettes, each consisting of 12 pointed petals, decorate the clay lid of a Middle Minoan (MM) III/Late Minoan (LM) IA pithos from Sphoungaras, spreading out on either side around the central handle (Fig. 6.10; Hall 1912, 67, fig. 39). The monochrome undulating background around the periphery of the lid on which the rosettes expand provides a remarkable ceramic parallel to the Theran mural, and demonstrates the popularity of a mural composition that balances linear symmetry and polychromy. At Akrotiri, still another color-contrasting version of blue and purple 16-petaled rosettes, identical to those in Xeste 3, decorated a space of Compartment Delta (Vlachopoulos forthcoming), while blue and yellow similar rosettes decorated some spaces of Building Gamma (Marinatos 1970, 63, pl. 59.2; Vlachopoulos forthcoming). In the early Late Bronze Age, the rosette with the double row of pointed petals also develops into a familiar motif in miniature art. Good parallels for the rosettes on the Akrotiri murals occur in the gold foil cutouts from Tholos Tomb 1 at Peristeria, Messenia (Vlachopoulos and Georma 2012, 38, pl. XIV:f), in the decoration of two faience lids from Xeste 3 (Marinatos 1976, 31–32, pl. 55:b; Doumas 1990, 234, pl. 146b; 2008a, 131, fig. 93:c, d; Vlachopoulos 2008b, fig. 278:a, b), and on a bronze scale’s weight of one talent also from Akrotiri (Marinatos 1976, 32, pl. 55c; Michailidou 2008, 133, fig. III.2). The same motif decorates an alabaster lid (Marinatos 1972, 32, pl. 72:a) and the lid of a clay pyxis (Marinatos 1976, 30, pl.

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Figure 6.10. Pithos lid with rosettes from Sphoungaras, Crete. Drawing N. Sepetzoglou, after Hall 1912, fig. 39.

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52:a), also from Akrotiri, proving that one criterion for choosing this motif was certainly the fact that it was a purely symmetrical, radiating motif, well suited to decorate circular surfaces. The pointed petals of the rosettes may link this Aegean motif with the art of Mesopotamia and the Levant, where petal bowls have been found (Caubet 2008, 420, 423–424, figs. 275–277; Vlachopoulos 2008b, 424). Of possible Minoan manufacture is a faience ovoid rhyton with petaloid interior found in the Ishtar Temple at Ashur (Koehl 2006, 105, no. 213, fig. 9:213, pl. 17:213). Marinatos described the rosette on the larger faience lid from Xeste 3 as “the calyx of a nymphaea (water-lily) or a similar flower” (Marinatos 1976, 31–32). The association of this plant with water seems to correspond to the iconography of the Relief Lozenges fresco, whose clusters of blue and purple rosettes, enclosed in undulating lozenge frames that may signify water, may have been conceived as nymphaeae blossoms, floating on the water’s surface. It is also possible, however, that this motif recalls or reproduces the blue Egyptian lotus, one of the most popular and significant motifs of Egyptian iconography. Nymphaea caerulea are very frequently depicted in Egyptian art, mostly in connection with scenes of dancing and spiritual or magical rites, such as the rite of passage into the afterlife (Brunner-Traut 1980; Harer 2001). The blue lotus held an extremely significant place in Egyptian mythology, and was identified with the solar deities, or the sun itself (Tiradritti, ed., 1999, 230), because of the particular connection the blooming of this flower has to the sun—it opens with the light of the sun and closes with darkness at night, sinking into the water, thus acquiring a conceptual association for the Egyptians that was related to rebirth and the sun. If the similarity of the Aegean rosette and the Egyptian blue lotus implies an Egyptian-Aegean iconographic interconnection, and the multi-petaled rosettes of the Xeste 3 murals of the third floor are meant as pictorial counterparts of the sun or some other celestial body, then both the spiral compositions and the relief lozenges might also be interpreted as subjects of cosmological reference, in a complementary relationship with the anthropocentric iconography of the lower two floors of the building (Vlachopoulos 2016, pl. CXV:b). Marinatos was the first to suggest that the rosette in the Aegean was a solar motif and might function as an aniconic symbol of a major Aegean divinity, her Solar Goddess (Marinatos 2010, 161–166). Whether a similar interpretation pertains to the Xeste 3 rosettes must remain open (Marinatos 2013). Indeed, a more multivalent and nuanced interpretation would see the rosette as both a geometric motif, encapsulated into identical decorative clusters differentiated by color variations, and a module of cosmological or celestial PURPLE ROSETTES: POLYCHROMY AND PERCEPTION IN THE THERA WALL PAINTINGS

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iconography (for an iconographic study of the spirals, see Vlachopoulos 2016, 378–382). It is also worth recalling that the large dimensions of the walls for which the murals were intended facilitated the artistic transformation of the rosette theme into an easily repeatable textile pattern embellishing an imaginary wall hanging. That the illusionistic paintings of this floor were thought of as integral to the overall design and program of the wall paintings is suggested by their spatial distribution: the spirals and the relief rosettes expand symmetrically in space on either side of the staircase by which the third floor was accessed (Fig. 6.3; Vlachopoulos 2008a, fig. 41.51). Indeed, it is probably not by chance that these two valuable colorants were most lavishly applied to the paintings of the north wall, above the paintings of the Adorants on ground and first floors, and of the Potnia on the second floor, all of which seem to depict the culminating images of their respective floors. However, the implications of this observation merit investigation that is well beyond the scope of this paper.

Acknowledgments The project of documentation, restoration, and study of the Xeste 3 wall paintings has been greatly assisted by the Institute of Aegean Prehistory, which I deeply thank for its continuous assistance and support. I owe the images of Figures 6.4, 6.5, 6.6:b, and 6.7–6.10 to the painter Nikos Sepetzoglou, who also has been closely involved in the reconstruction of the spirals friezes from Xeste 3, discussed above, and in the study of their color patterns and theory (Sepetzoglou 2013). The editor is grateful to Hallie Cohen for the reference to Livingstone (2002).

References Aloupi, E., A.G. Karydas, and T. Paradellis. 2000. “Pigment Analysis of Wall Paintings and Ceramics from Greece and Cyprus: The Optimum Use of X-Ray Spectrometry on Specific Archaeological Issues,” X-Ray Spectometry 29, pp. 18–24. Blakolmer, F. 2006. “The Minoan Stucco Relief: A Palatial Art Form in Context,” in Πεπραγμένα Θ΄ Διεθνοῦς Κρητολογικοῦ Συνεδρίου A' (3), Herakleion, pp. 9–25. Boulotis, C. 2005. “Aspects of Religious Expression at Akrotiri,” ΑΛΣ 3, pp. 20–75. Brunner-Traut, E. 1980. “Lotos,” in Lexikon der Ägyptologie III, W. Helk and E. Otto, eds., Wiesbaden, cols. 1091–1096. 72

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Caubet, A. 2008. “Vitreous Materials,” in Beyond Babylon: Art, Trade, and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium b.c., J. Aruz, K. Benzel, and J.M. Evans, eds., New York, pp. 419–424. Chryssikopoulou, E. 2005. “Use of Murex Purple in the Wall Paintings at Akrotiri, Thera,” ΑΛΣ 3, pp. 77–80. Chryssikopoulou, E., and S. Sotiropoulou. 2003. “Το ιώδες στη παλέτα του Θηραίου Ζωγράφου,” in Αργοναύτης. Τιμητικός τόμος για τον καθηγητή Χρίστου Γ. Ντούμα από τους μαθητές του στο Πανεπιστήμιο Αθηνών (1980–2000), A. Vlachopoulos and K. Birtacha, eds., Athens, pp. 490–504. Davis, E.N. 1986. “Youth and Age in the Thera Frescoes,” AJA 90, pp. 399–406. . 2000. “The Organization of the Theran Artists,” in The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium, Petros M. Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas, 30 August–4 September 1997, S. Sherratt, ed., Athens, pp. 859–872. Devetzi, A. 2009–2010. “Πίσω από την τέχνη: Τα χρώματα στο Ακρωτήρι Θήρας,” ΑΛΣ 7, pp. 30–74. Doumas, Ch. 1990. “Ανασκαφή Ακρωτηρίου Θήρας,” Prakt 145 [1993], pp. 224–235. . 1992. The Wall-Paintings of Thera, Athens. . 2003. “Bringing to Life a Dead City at Akrotiri on the Island of Thera,” ΑΛΣ 1, pp. 43–61. . 2008a. The Early History of the Aegean in the Light of the Recent Finds from Akrotiri, Thera, Athens. . 2008b. “Οι εργασίες στο Ακρωτήρι κατά το 2008,” ΑΛΣ 6, pp. 7–25. . 2008c. “Ανασκαφή Ακρωτηρίου Θήρας,” Prakt 163 [2010], pp. 127–131. Doumas, Ch., M. Marthari, and Ch. Televantou. 2000. Museum of Prehistoric Thera: Brief Guide, Athens. Hall, E. 1912. Excavations in Eastern Crete: Sphoungaras (University of Pennsylvania, The University Museum Anthropological Publications 3 [2]), Phil­a­delphia. Harer, W.B. 2001. “Lotus,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, vol. 2, D.B. Redford, ed., Oxford, pp. 304–305. Kaiser, B. 1976. Untersuchungen zum minoischen Relief (Habelts Dissertationsdrucke: Reihe Klassiche Archäologie 7), Bonn.

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Koehl, R. 2006. Aegean Bronze Age Rhyta (Prehistory Monographs 19), Phil­a­dephia. Kriga, D. 2013. “Applied Pottery Decoration and Relief Wall Paintings in Crete and Thera,” in Vlachopoulos, ed., 2013, pp. 54–59. Livingstone, M. 2002. Vision and Art: The Biology of Seeing, New York. Marinatos, N. 1984. Art and Religion in Thera: Reconstructing a Bronze Age Society, Athens. . 2010. Minoan Kingship and the Solar Goddess: A Near Eastern Koine, Urbana. . 2013. “Spirals and Solar Symbols in Minoan and Egyptian Art,” in Vlachopoulos, ed., 2013, pp. 32–35. Marinatos, S. 1970. Excavations at Thera III: The 1969 Season, Athens. . 1972. Excavations at Thera V: The 1971 Season, Athens. . 1974. Excavations at Thera VI: The 1972 Season, Athens. . 1976. Excavations at Thera VII: The 1973 Season, Athens. Michailidou, A. 2001. Ακρωτήρι Θήρας: Η μελέτη των ορόφων στα κτήρια του οικισμού, Athens. . 2008. Weight and Value in Pre-Coinage Societies (Meletemata 42), Athens. Morgan, L. 1988. The Miniature Wall Paintings of Thera: A Study in Aegean Culture and Iconography (Cambridge Classical Studies), Cambridge. Nikolakopoulou, I. 2010. “Middle Cycladic Iconography: A Social Context for ‘A New Chapter in Aegean Art,’” in Cretan Offerings. Studies in Honour of Peter Warren (BSA Studies 18), O. Krzyszkowska, ed., London, pp. 213–222. Palyvou, C. 1999. Ακρωτήρι Θήρας: Η οικοδομική τεχνική, Athens. Pantazis, T., A. Karydas, Ch. Doumas, A. Vlachopoulos, P. Nomikos, and M. Dinsmore. 2003. “X-Ray Florescence Analysis of a Gold Ibex and Other Artifacts from Akrotiri,” in Metron: Measuring the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 9th International Aegean Conference, Yale University, New Haven, Yale University, 18–21 April 2002 (Aegaeum 24), K. Polinger Foster and R. Laffineur, eds., Liège, pp. 155–160. Sakellariou, A. 1981. “Ἡ κρητικὴ καταγωγὴ ἑνὸς μυκηναϊκοῦ εἰκονογραφικοῦ κύκλου,” in Πεπραγμένα του Δ' Διεθνοῦς Κρητολογικοῦ Συνεδρίου A' (2), Athens, pp. 532–538.

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Septezoglou, N. 2013. “The Role and Significance of Colour in the Large Wall Painting Compositions of Spirals from Xeste 3 at Akrotiri,” in Vlachopoulos, ed., 2013, pp. 146–151. Sotiropoulou, S. 2005. “La pourpre dans l’art cycladique: Identification du pigment dans les peintures murales d’Akrotiri (Théra, Grèce),” in Conchiglie e archeologia. Contributi scientifici in occasione della mostra “Dentro la Conchigli” (Preistoria Alpina 40 [1]), M.A. Borrello, ed., pp. 167–176. Tiradritti, F., ed. 1999. Egyptian Treasures from the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, New York. Vermeule, E. 1964. Greece in the Bronze Age, Chicago. Vlachopoulos, A. 2003. “‘Βίρα-Μάϊνα:’ Το χρονικό της συντήρησης μίας τοιχογραφίας από το Ακρωτηρί,” in Αργοναύτης. Τιμητικός τόμος για τον καθηγητή Χρίστου Γ. Ντούμα από τους μαθητές του στο Πανεπιστήμιο Αθηνών (1980–2000), A. Vlachopoulos and K. Birtacha, eds., Athens, pp. 505–526. . 2008a. “The Wall Paintings from the Xeste 3 Building at Akrotiri, Thera: Towards an Interpretation of Its Iconographic Programme,” in Ορίζων/ Horizon. A Colloquium on the Prehistory of the Cyclades (McDonald Institute Monographs), N. Brodie, J. Doole, G. Gavalas, and C. Renfrew, eds., Cambridge, pp. 451–465. . 2008b. “Entry nos. 278a, b,” in Beyond Babylon: Art, Trade and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium b.c., J. Aruz, K. Benzel, and J.M. Evans, eds., New York, pp. 424–425. . 2010. “L’espace rituel revisité: Architecture et iconographie dans la Xestè 3 d’Akrotiri, Théra,” in Espace civil, espace religieux en Egéé durant la période mycénienne: Approches épigraphique, linguistique et archéologique. Actes des journées d’archéologie et de philologie mycéniennes tenues à la Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée, Jean Pouilloux les 1er février 2006 et 1er mars 2007 (Travaux de la Maison de l’Orient et de la Méditerranée 54), I. Boehm and S. Müller Celka, eds., Lyon, pp. 173–198. . 2013. “From Vase Painting to Wall Painting: The Lilies Jug from Akrotiri, Thera,” in Amilla: The Quest for Excellence. Studies Presented to Guenter Kopcke in Celebration of His 75th Birthday (Prehistory Monographs 43), R.B. Koehl, ed., Philadelphia, pp. 55–75. . 2016. “Images of Physis or Perceptions of Metaphysis? Some Thoughts on the Iconography of the Xeste 3 Building at Akrotiri, Thera,” in Metaphysis: Ritual, Myth and Symbolism in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 15th International Aegean Conference, Vienna, Institute for Oriental

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and European Archaeology, Aegean and Anatolian Department, Austrian Academy of Sciences and Institute of Classical Archaeology, University of Vienna, 22–25 April 2014 (Aegaeum 39), E. Alram-Stern, F. Blakolmer, S. Deger-Jalkotzy, R. Laffineur, and J. Weilhartner, eds., Leuven, pp. 375–385. . Forthcoming. “H διασπορά των τοιχογραφιών στον οικισμό του Ακρωτηρίου Θήρας: Τα δεδομένα μετά από τις πρόσφατες ανασκαφές,” in Aκρωτήρι Θήρας 1967–2007: Σαράντα χρόνια έρευνας, Αρχαιολογική Εταιρεία, 15–16 Δεκεμβρίου 2007, C. Doumas, ed., Athens. Vlachopoulos, A., ed. 2013. Paintbrushes: Wall-Paintings and Vase-Painting of the 2nd Millennium bc in Dialogue. Akrotiri, Thera, 24–26 May 2013: Summaries, Athens. Vlachopoulos, A., and F. Georma. 2012. “Jewellery and Adornment at Akrotiri, Thera: The Evidence from the Wall Paintings and the Finds,” in Kosmos: Jewellery, Adornment and Textiles in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 13th International Aegean Conference, University of Copenhagen, Danish National Research Foundation’s Centre for Textile Research, 21–26 April 2010 (Aegaeum 33), M.-L. Nosch and R. Laffineur, eds., Liège, pp. 35–42. Vlachopoulos, A., and S. Sotiropoulou. 2012. “The Blue Colour on the Akrotiri Wall-Paintings: From the Palette of the Theran Painter to the Laboratory Analysis,” in Recent Research and Perspectives on the Late Bronze Age Eastern Mediterranean (Talanta 44) [2013], A. Papadopoulos, ed., Amsterdam, pp. 245–272. Vlachopoulos, A., and L. Zorzos. 2014. “Physis and Techne on Thera: Reconstructing Bronze Age Environment and Land-use Based on New Evidence from Phytoliths and the Akrotiri Wall-Paintings,” in Physis: L’environnement naturel et la relation homme-milieu dans le monde égéen protohistorique. Actes de la 14e Rencontre égéenne internationale, Paris, Institut National d’Histoire de l’Art (INHA), 11–14 décembre 2012 (Aegaeum 37), G. Touchais, R. Laffineur, and F. Rougement, eds., Leuven, pp. 183–197.

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Depictions of Water in Aegean Miniature-Style Wall Paintings ELIZABETH B. SHANK

Ellen Davis was a member of my dissertation committee, and her advice and encouragement proved invaluable. Because I was studying the griffin wall paintings from Knossos, she invited me to visit her at Kea and generously shared “her” Kean griffin and beautiful reconstruction, as well as her beloved frescoes of animals, which, sadly, she did not live to publish. This paper is dedicated to Ellen and her love of miniature wall paintings (Davis 1987). Since the era of Sir Arthur Evans, Minoan wall paintings have both fascinated and frustrated Aegean Bronze Age scholars. Their dating remains problematic and, in the absence of written sources, their meanings remain subjects for debate, their interpretations based largely on modern iconographic studies. This paper will focus on one particular class of Minoan wall paintings, the miniature style, whose human figures are generally shown at an average height of 9 cm (for surveys of Minoan miniature paintings, see Hood 1978, 62–65; Immerwahr 1990, 63–75). Rather than interpret their imagery (e.g., Davis 1987), this study will examine one element that may be present in several of these paintings but has hitherto been largely overlooked: water. While we know that water literally surrounded the peoples of the Aegean Bronze Age, its appearance in miniature-style wall paintings is deliberate and selective. As we shall also see, Minoan and Theran artists employed various conventions to depict water.

Currently, the earliest known Minoan miniature wall paintings are fragments from Knossos dated by Evans to Middle Minoan (MM) IIIB, but by Cameron, Hood, and Immerwahr to MM IIIB/Late Minoan (LM) IA, with some fragments as late as LM IB (Evans 1921–1935, I, 555, fig. 7.430; Cameron 1975, 690, 695–697, fig. 7.6.10; Immerwahr 1990, 63–64, 172– 174, 177, 179; Hood 2005, 58–59). The pieces derive from four locations: the Ivory Deposit, the area of the XIIIth Magazine, the North-West Fresco Heap, and the Central Court below the later West Facade (Hood 2005, 45– 81). While many depict landscape elements, none depict water. Landscapes generally first appear in MM IIIA, the likely date for the Knossos Saffron Gatherers fresco (Fig. 7.1; Evans 1921–1935, I, 265–266, pl. IV). With its contrived setting of potted crocus plants in a rocky landscape inhabited by blue monkeys, this wall painting illustrates what we have come to understand as hallmarks of the Minoan style: a rich background color, in this case red, stylized rockwork patterns that surround the scene, and added white for details such as the crocuses and the speckled decoration on their pots. All of these details create a flat scene that is filled with color. Middle Minoan III pottery from Kommos, Knossos, and Phaistos shows similar landscape elements (Fig. 7.2:a–d; Shank 2001, 71–79). Plants, including crocuses, nearly identical to those on the Saffron Gatherers fresco, spring from groundlines, which can be flat (Fig. 7.2:c, d) or rolling (Fig. 7.2:a, b). In some cases, as on the piriform pithoid jar from Kommos (Fig. 7.2:a) and the amphora from Knossos (Fig. 7.2:b), this wavy groundline may actually depict water, specifically a river, with plants and palm trees growing along its banks. Rockwork and plants may also be depicted as descending elements, indicating that vase painters

Figure 7.1. The Saffron Gatherers fresco, Knossos. Courtesy P.P. Betancourt.

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a

b

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Figure 7.2. Middle Minoan III pottery with landscape scenes: (a) Kommos (C 2376), Herakleion Archaeological Museum; (b) Knossos (Betancourt 1985, pl. 12:I), Ashmolean Museum; (c) Phaistos (F. 4491), Herakleion Archaeological Museum; (d) Phaistos (F. 5599), Herakleion Archaeological Museum; Shank 2001, fig. 1.

were also experimenting with creating a “closed” environment, or one that is defined by lower, middle, and upper zones, a feature that will become apparent in later wall paintings. Around the same time, or slightly later, in MM III/LM I, seals begin to show river scenes with water, animals, and river plants growing from their banks (Krzyszkowska 2005, figs. 258–261). On two seals from Knossos (Krzyszkowska 2005, figs. 258, 261), water is depicted in small, parallel curving segments, which help to convey a sense of movement. On these two seals, the water serves as a type of groundline upon which DE P I C T I O NS O F WATE R IN AE GE AN MINIATUR E-STYLE WALL PAI NTI NGS

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geese and nautili respectively sit. When water is part of a floral landscape (Krzyszkowska 2005, fig. 259), the plant’s stem, in this case a flowering papyrus, becomes the groundline, with the water depicted below as short, parallel, diagonal marks, and a pair of geese above. The earliest miniature Aegean wall paintings on which water can positively be identified are friezes from Hagia Eirene, Kea, and Akrotiri, Thera, dated to LM/Late Cycladic (LC) I. The fragments from Hagia Eirene, which belong to a large room in the Northeast Bastion of the town, depict landscapes, boats in the sea by a town, and activities on the shore (Abramowitz-Coleman 1970; 1973; Abramowitz 1980; Morgan 1990; 1998; Morgan, ed., 2005, 31, figs. 1.17, 1.18, pl. 15.2:1). Some fragments may depict the actual view visible from the windows of the bastion overlooking the harbor, whose boats are decorated with dolphins and festive bunting and appear to bob on the water (Fig. 7.3). Indeed, small, non-joining fresco

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Figure 7.3. Reconstruction of a boat, the sea, a building, and male figures, Hagia Eirene (Morgan 2013, fig. 1). Courtesy L. Morgan.

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fragments positioned near one boat have added white paint on the blue sea, presumably to show sea-foam or the white-capped crests of waves. In either case, the movement of water is deliberately rendered. On the shore, at least one large building rises from the groundline. Men walk along the coast; some carry cauldrons. While its theme of a group event, including men transporting large vessels, has parallels with the miniature paintings from the inland site of Tylissos (Shaw 1972, fig. 13), at the coastal site of Hagia Eirene the setting also includes images of water. A different scene (Fig. 7.4) depicts a river that flows by a building made of ashlar masonry, with windows and some type of domes or vaults on its roof (Morgan 1990, 254). According to Morgan, the frieze’s lush landscape also contains streams and marshes, splashes of water, and a large portion of blue sea (Morgan 1990, 254–255; 2013, fig. 1; Morgan, ed., 2005, 31–32, fig. 1.18). Here, the river’s water is depicted as either a solid or translucent

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Figure 7.4. Reconstruction of a stream with plants, a female figure, and a building, Hagia Eirene (Morgan 2005, ed., fig. 1.17). Courtesy L. Morgan.

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blue color; perhaps the latter suggests a more shallow depth. Plants grow from the upper edge of the river in cavalier perspective, while splotches of dark paint on the river may signify plants growing beneath its surface. Contemporary or slightly later in date are the well-known miniature wall paintings from Room 5 of the West House at Akrotiri, with its three surviving friezes that run along the tops of the north, east, and south walls (Morgan Brown 1978; Warren 1979; Davis 1983; Marinatos 1985; Morgan 1988, 143–164; Doumas 1992, figs. 26–43; Strasser 2010). The Miniature Landscape frieze (Fig. 7.5) is assigned to the east wall, and it depicts a rich landscape with a river and a variety of plants and animals. The river is shown from an aerial perspective, painted solid blue and outlined with black. The roots of plants are painted as back-to-back J-shaped hooks in the water (Walberg 1976, 66; Shank 2003, 59, 88). The banks of the river are painted yellow, with reddish-orange circles, plant motifs, and rocks adding further detail. In the lower portion, a simplified small river or stream is shown with a red and black outline. The restored portion of the north wall frieze is often divided into themes with descriptive names such as the Meeting or Assembly on the Hill, the Shipwreck Scene, and the Pastoral Scene (Figs. 7.6–7.8; Doumas 1992, 46–49, figs. 26–48). In contrast to the Miniature Landscape frieze, from the east wall of the room, the imagery seems based around human actions (see Doumas, Ch. 5, this vol.). Of the three scenes, only the Shipwreck Scene preserves an unambiguous depiction of water, although Robert Koehl, the editor of this volume, suggests that the downward strokes of blue pigment that begin at the top of the hill in the Meeting or Assembly on the Hill represent falling water (Fig. 7.6, left; Doumas 1992, fig. 7.27; R. Koehl, pers. comm., 2015). The Shipwreck Scene (Fig. 7.6, bottom right) depicts an overhead view of the sea, with a rocky coastline painted blue and outlined in black, perhaps to represent rocks underwater. Male figures tumble through the water by the ship, but here the background sea is left pale. This manner of indicating the sea conforms to Davis’s Cycladic Style, in which the artists choose to paint people, animals, and objects against a white background (Davis 1990, 221–222). The restored south wall frieze depicts water, towns, and the surrounding landscape. The sea-water of the so-called Departure Town is painted in washes varying from light to medium blue (Fig. 7.7). A river, shown in cavalier perspective, appears to flow down from a mountain and surrounds the town. As on the river of the Miniature Landscape fresco, thin washes of blue paint are used to build up color, and its banks are outlined with black and red. So-called J-hooks, placed back-to-back, are again 82

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Figure 7.5. Detail of the Miniature Landscape frieze, from the east wall of room 5, West House, Akrotiri. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.

Figure 7.6. The north wall frieze, from room 5, West House, Akrotiri. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.

used to depict the roots of plants in the river, while plants also grow along its edge, rendered with less detail than those on the Miniature Landscape fresco. In the Flotilla and Arrival Town from the south wall frieze, the sea water is painted in washes of blue, with some areas appearing lighter DE P I C T I O NS O F WATE R IN AE GE AN MINIATUR E-STYLE WALL PAI NTI NGS

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Figure 7.7. Detail of the Departure Town, south wall, Flotilla frieze, room 5, West House, Akrotiri. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.

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Figure 7.8. Detail of the Flotilla and the Arrival Town, south wall Flotilla frieze, room 5, West House, Akrotiri. Courtesy Archive of the Akrotiri Excavations, Archaeological Society of Athens.

or darker than others, perhaps to indicate the water’s varying depths (Fig. 7.8). Perhaps the latest miniature-style painting with a depiction of water appears on a fragment from Room A of the LM IB Villa at Epano Zakros (Fig. 7.9; Platon 1967, 162–168; 1985, 70–74; Platon 2002, 153–154). The fragment, which preserves an upper edge, measures 12.3 cm in height and 6.6 cm in width. Its top half preserves a bluish-green plant motif painted with thin black lines against a deep red background. Below is a partially preserved narrow black band that separates this upper zone from a lower one. While the lower zone is painted blue-gray, its surface is treated in a hitherto undocumented technique. Prior to painting, and while the plaster was still wet, it was pulled up by the fingertips into irregular ridges. This unique manner of rendering the sea, in three-dimensional relief, suggests the height and movement of the waves. Further enhancing the effect are short, black lines painted in the lower portions of the waves, or their troughs. While we have already seen in the Hagia Eirene frieze that white was added to suggest sea-foam or the caps of waves, this artist took this two-dimensional rendering of water even further by adding three-dimensionality to the surface of the plaster itself, thus enhancing the illusion of water in motion. Cretan or Theran/Cycladic miniature-style wall paintings have also been identified outside of the Aegean based on stylistic and thematic similarities to their Aegean counterparts. In the context of depictions of water, the fragments of painted plaster discovered at Tel Kabri, in Israel, add important information. Several thousand fragments of painted plaster were found in the Middle Bronze II palace by Kempinski and Niemeier (Niemeier 1991, 1995a, 1995b; Kempinski and Niemeier, eds., 1992; Kempinski and Niemeier 1993a, 1993b; Niemeier and Niemeier 2000). The fragments had been reused as packing material between Ceremonial Hall 611 and Room 740. More fragments were found in the renewed excavations near the northern wall of the palace, and in a stone foundation fill near this wall (Cline and Yasur-Landau 2007, Figure 7.9. Fragment from a miniature 158; Cline, Yasur-Laundau, and Goshen 2011, landscape fresco, 245–248). Epano Zakros. PhoThe miniature-style fragments from the to E. Shank, courtesy L. Platon. stone foundation are thought to be related to the 86

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earlier fragments found by Kempinski and Niemeier (Cline, Yasur-Landau, and Goshen 2011, 248). Their subject, with people sitting atop buildings in a town (Niemeier and Niemeier 2000, fig. 7.11) and small boats floating on the sea, bear a striking resemblance to the Flotilla fresco from the south wall of room 5 in the West House at Akrotiri (Doumas 1992, figs. 35–48). A miniature landscape frieze (Fig. 7.10) has been reconstructed with knob-like protuberances to depict the seashore, with water shown as a gray net pattern (Cline, Yasur-Landau, and Goshen 2011, 249–250, fig. 7.6). The rocky landscape by the sea also appears to be located close to a river, similar to the depiction of the river surrounding the Departure Town scene in the West House frieze. These fragments and many others are still under examination, and we await a more complete reconstruction that will quite possibly show further ties between the Tel Kabri and Akrotiri miniature paintings. What is striking is the use of the net pattern in a wall painting to indicate water. The net pattern is familiar as a convention for water in other media from the Aegean, such as the Master Impression sealing from Chania (CMS V, no. 604; Hallager 1985) and the silver Siege Rhyton from Mycenae (Sakellariou 1975; see also Vlachopoulos, Ch. 6, this vol.). The Tel Kabri fragments demonstrate that fresco artists also chose to use this convention in their depictions of water. Furthermore, using an Aegean convention for rendering water here would support the proposition that the artists at Kabri were from the Aegean or Aegean-trained (on the organization of fresco artists, see Davis 2000a, 69–70; 2000b; for the ethnicity of the artists at Kabri, see Niemeier 1991; Niemeier and Niemeier 2000). We can therefore now identify at least six conventions used to depict water in miniature frescoes by Aegean or Aegean-trained artists: 1. solid blue paint (e.g., in several fragments from Hagia Eirene); 2. layers of thin blue washes to build up color for deeper water, or areas with very little color to indicate shallow water (e.g., on the north and south wall friezes from the West House at Akrotiri); 3. the translucency of the water, created by the depiction of “J-hooks” to show plant roots growing from a stream, or black sinuous lines representing underwater plants (e.g., on the West House miniature landscape frieze at Akrotiri); 4. added white to show seafoam or the movement of waves (at Hagia Eirene); 5. a neutral background with gray or black lines in a net pattern to describe a pattern of water (at Tel Kabri); and

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6. manipulation of wet plaster to create the illusion of waves, with peaks and troughs, similar to Barbotine Ware (Betancourt 1985, 83–85, pl. 7:a–e); dark paint is added to the troughs of the waves, further enhancing the sense of movement of the water (e.g., on the fragment from Epano Zakros). These different conventions illustrate how Aegean artists strove to capture on a miniature scale some of the aspects of the ever-changing appearance and reality of the water that surrounded them, and the varied beauty of water in all its manifestations. A future study will focus on the conventions used for water in larger-scale Aegean wall paintings. For now, we have greater knowledge of the techniques used by miniature-style painters for rendering water, and possibly a more nuanced understanding of Aegean perceptions of water and the different iconographic roles that water played in Aegean art.

Acknowledgments I am grateful to Philip Betancourt, Eric Cline, Assaf Yasur-Landau, Nurith Goshen, Christos Doumas, and Lyvia Morgan for permission to use their images and reconstructions. I am also grateful to Lefteris Platon for allowing me to study and publish the fresco from Epano Zakros. I would like to thank Robert Koehl both for the invitation to take part in the

Figure 7.10. Miniature landscape frieze, Tel Kabri. Reconstruction by W.-D Niemeier and B. Niemeier with an added new fragment (Cline, Yasur-Landau, and Goshen 2011, fig. 7). Courtesy E. Cline, A. Yasur-Landau, and N. Goshen.

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memorial colloquium for Ellen Davis and for his expert help and guidance with my paper. I take full responsibility for any errors.

References Abramowitz-Coleman, K. 1970. A Study of the Painted Wall Plaster Fragments from the Bronze Age Site of Ayia Irini in the Island of Keos, Ph.D. diss., Columbia University. . 1973. “Frescoes from Ayia Irini, Part I,” Hesperia 42, pp. 284–300. Abramovitz, K. 1980. “Frescoes from Ayia Irini, Parts II–IV,” Hesperia 49, pp. 57–85. Betancourt, P.P. 1985. The History of Minoan Pottery, Princeton. Cameron, M.A.S. 1975. A General Study of Minoan Frescoes with Particular Reference to Unpublished Wall Paintings from Knossos, Ph.D. diss., University of Newcastle. Cline, E., and A. Yasur-Landau. 2007. “Poetry in Motion: Canaanite Rulership and Minoan Narrative Art at Tel Kabri,” in Epos: Reconsidering Greek Epic and Aegean Bronze Age Archaeology. Proceedings of the 11th International Aegean Conference, Los Angeles, UCLA, The J. Paul Getty Villa, 20–23 April 2006 (Aegaeum 28), S. Morris and R. Laffineur, eds., Liège, pp. 157–166. Cline, E., A. Yasur-Landau, and N. Goshen. 2011. “New Fragments of Aegean-Style Painted Plaster from Tel Kabri, Israel,” AJA 115, pp. 245–261. CMS V = Pini, I., ed. 1975. Kleinere griechische Sammlungen (CMS V), Berlin. Davis, E. 1983. “The Iconography of the Ship Fresco from Thera,” in Ancient Greek Art and Iconography (Wisconsin Studies in Classics), W.G. Moon, ed., Madison, pp. 3–14. . 1987. “The Knossos Miniature Frescoes and the Function of the Central Courts,” in The Function of the Minoan Palaces. Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium at the Swedish Institute in Athens, 10–16 June, 1984 (ActaAth 4˚, 35), R. Hägg and N. Marinatos, eds., Stockholm, pp. 157–161. . 1990. “The Cycladic Style of the Thera Frescoes,” in Thera and the Aegean World III. Proceedings of the Third International Congress, Santorini, Greece, 3–9 September 1989. Vol. 1: Archaeology, D.A. Hardy, Ch.G. Doumas, J.A. Sakellarakis, and P.M. Warren, eds., London, pp. 214–228. 2000a. “The Egyptian Influence on Minoan Figure Painting,” in ΚρήτηΑίγυπτος: Πολιτισμικοί δεσμοί τριών χιλιετιών. Μελέτες, A. Karetsou, M. Andreadaki-Vlasaki, and N. Papadakis, eds., Athens, pp. 64–70.

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. 2000b. “The Organization of the Theran Artists,” in The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium, Petros M. Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas, 30 August–4 September 1997, S. Sherratt, ed., Athens, pp. 859–872. Doumas, Ch. 1992. The Wall Paintings of Thera, Athens. Evans, A.J. 1921–1935. The Palace of Minos at Knossos I–IV, London. Hallager, E. 1985. The Master Impression: A Clay Sealing from the Greek-Swedish Excavations at Kastelli, Khania (SIMA 69), Göteborg. Hood, M.S.F. 1978. The Arts in Prehistoric Greece, Harmondsworth. . 2005. “Dating the Knossos Frescoes,” in 2005, ed., London, pp. 45–81. Immerwahr, S.A. 1990. Aegean Painting in the Bronze Age, University Park. Kempinski, A., and W.-D. Niemeier. 1993a. “Tel Kabri, 1992,” IEJ 43, pp. 181–184. . 1993b. “Tel Kabri, 1993,” IEJ 43, p. 256–259. Kempinski, A., and W.-D. Niemeier, eds. 1992. Excavations at Kabri 6: Preliminary Report of 1991 Season, Tel Aviv. Krzyszkowska, O. 2005. Aegean Seals: An Introduction (BICS Suppl. 85), London. Marinatos, N. 1985. “The Miniature Fresco in the Shrine of the West House at Akrotiri,” in Πεπραγμένα του Ε' Διεθνοῦς Κρητολογικοῦ Συνεδρίου A', Herakleion, pp. 206–215. Morgan, L. 1988. The Miniature Wall Paintings of Thera: A Study in Aegean Culture and Iconography (Cambridge Classical Studies), Cambridge. . 1990. “Island Iconography: Thera, Kea, Milos,” in Thera and the Aegean World III. Proceedings of the Third International Congress, Santorini, Greece, 3–9 September 1989. Vol. 1: Archaeology, D.A. Hardy, C.G. Doumas, J.A. Sakellarakis, and P.M. Warren, eds., London, pp. 252–266. . 1998. “The Wall Paintings of the North-East Bastion at Ayia Irini, Kea,” in Kea-Kythnos: History and Archaeology. Proceedings of an International Symposium, Kea-Kythnos, 22–25 June 1994 (Meletemata 27), L.G. Mendoni and A. Mazarakis Ainian, eds., Athens, pp. 201–210. . 2013. “Inspiration and Innovation: The Creation of Wall Paintings in the Absence of a Pictorial Pottery Tradition at Ayia Irini, Kea,” in Paintbrushes: Wall-Paintings and Vase-Painting of the 2nd Millennium bc in Dialogue. Akrotiri, Thera, 24–26 May 2013: Summaries, A. Vlachopoulos, ed., Athens, pp. 110–115. Morgan, L., ed., 2005. Aegean Wall Painting: A Tribute to Mark Cameron (BSA Studies 13), London. 90

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Morgan Brown, L. 1978. “The Ship Procession in the Miniature Fresco,” in Thera and the Aegean World I. Papers Presented at the Second International Scientific Congress, Santorini, Greece, August 1978, Ch. Doumas, ed., London, pp. 629–644. Niemeier, W.-D. 1991. “Minoan Artisans Travelling Overseas: The Alalakh Frescoes and the Painted Floor at Tel Kabri (Western Galilee),” in Thalassa: L’égée préhistorique et la mer. Actes de la troisième Rencontre égéenne inernationale de l’Université de Liège, Station de recherches sous-marines et océanographiques (StaReSO), Calvi, Corse, 23–25 avril 1990 (Aegaeum 7), R. Laffineur and L. Basch, eds., Liège, pp. 189–201. . 1995a. “Tel Kabri: Aegean Fresco Paintings in a Canaanite Palace,” in Recent Excavations in Israel: A View to the West. Reports on Kabri, Nami, Miqne-Ekron, Dor, and Ashkelon (Archaeological Institute of America Colloquia and Conference Papers 1), S. Gitin, ed., Dubuque, pp. 1–15. . 1995b. “Mycenaean Seminar 1993–95: Minoans and Hyksos. Aegean Frescoes in the Levant,” BICS 40, pp. 258–260. Niemeier, B., and W.-D. Niemeier. 2000. “Aegean Frescoes in Syria-Palestine: Alalakh and Tel Kabri,” in The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium, Petros Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas, 30 August–4 September 1997. Vol. II, S. Sherratt, ed., Athens, pp. 763–802. Platon, L. 2002. “The Political and Cultural Influence of the Zakros Palace on nearby Sites and in a Wider Context,” in Monuments of Minos: Rethinking the Minoan Palaces. Proceedings of the International Workshop “Crete of the Hundred Palaces?” Held at the Université Catholique de Louvain, Louvainla-Neuve, 14–15 December 2001 (Aegaeum 23), J. Driessen, I. Schoep, and R. Laffineur, eds., Liège, pp. 145–156. Platon, N. 1967. “Ἀνασκαφαὶ Zάκρου,” Prakt 119 [1966], pp. 162–194. . 1985. Zakros: The Discovery of a Lost Palace of Ancient Crete, Amsterdam. Sakellariou, A. 1975. “La scène du ‘siège’ sur le rhyton d’argent de Mycènes d’après une nouvelle reconstitution,” RA 2, pp. 195–208. Shank, E. 2001. “The Floral Landscape Group of Middle Minoan III,” Aegean Archaeology 5 [2002], pp. 71–80. . 2003. The MuSIS 2007 System and Its Application to the Throne Room Fresco at Knossos, Ph.D. diss., Temple University. Shaw, M. 1972. “The Miniature Frescoes of Tylissos Reconsidered,” AA 87, pp. 171–188.

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Strasser, T. 2010. “Location and Perspective in the Theran Flotilla Fresco,” JMA 23, pp. 3–26. Walberg, G. 1976. Kamares: A Study of the Character of Palatial Middle Minoan Pottery (Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis Boreas 8), Uppsala. Warren, P. 1979. “The Miniature Fresco from the West House at Akrotiri, Thera, and Its Aegean Setting,” JHS 99, pp. 115–129.

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8

The Three Minoan “Snake Goddesses” BERNICE R. JONES

Among all the works of art from Bronze Age Crete, none have epitomized the acme of Minoan civilization more than the faience statuettes found in the Temple Repositories at Knossos—dated Middle Minoan (MM) IIIB/Late Minoan (LM) IA—which Evans called the “Snake goddess” (HM 63) and her “Votary” (HM 65), both extensively “reconstituted” by him (Fig. 8.1; Evans 1902–1903; 1921–1935, I, 502–504, frontispiece, figs. 360–362; Lapatin 2002, 59–64, 76–81, figs. 2.19, 2.20, 3.4). A third faience statuette from this group, HM 64, is of equal importance, but it has received far less attention since it is preserved from just above the waist to the skirt hem, and Evans did not restore its upper part (Fig. 8.1; Evans 1921– 1935, I, 523, fig. 382; Lapatin 2002, 64). It is thus appropriate that I dedicate my study of these exemplary statuettes to the memory of an exemplary Aegean scholar: my mentor, colleague, and friend, Ellen Davis. This study analyzes the “reconstitutions” of the figurines by Evans and suggests new reconstructions and interpretations. The statuettes are referred to herein by their Herakleion Museum accession numbers: HM 63, HM 64, and HM 65 (Figs. 8.1–8.8, 8.10–8.14).

Statuette HM 65 All the fragments that comprise statuette HM 65 were found in the East Temple Repository (Evans 1902–1903, 43–44, 77–81, figs. 56, 57;

1921–1935, I, 501–504, figs. 360–362; Panagiotaki 1993, 52–53, 56–57). The head, left forearm, and portion of snake below the statuette’s right fist were missing (Fig. 8.2). Evans gave the figure a modern head and attached to it a fragment he interpreted as a circular tiara, into which a feline was doweled. Evans interpreted the curved element with spiraling stripes held in the figure’s right fist as the tail part of a snake and added below the fist its extended body and head. He also reconstructed a whole left forearm with a snake (Fig. 8.1). Close scrutiny of the front, back, right side, and inside views of the snake reveals what looks like a break just above the curve (Fig. 8.3). The surface from the hand to the “break” is rough, whereas it is smooth above the “break” to the tip. One thus wonders whether the smooth “tail” was also restored by Evans. The odd feature of the animal held upside down is only paralleled on a suspicious gold diadem said to be from Zakros that illustrates the “Mistress of Wild Goats” holding the goats in her

HM 63

HM 64 0

HM 65 5 cm

Figure 8.1. Faience statuettes from Knossos: front views of HM 64, HM 63, and HM 65. Courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports; photo of HM 64, Ch. Papanikolopoulos, courtesy INSTAP-SCEC.

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a

b

c

Figure 8.2. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 65: (a) back view drawing (after Evans 1902–1903, 79, fig. 57; 1921–1935, I, fig. 361); (b) side view (Evans 1921–1935, I, fig. 360:a); (c) three-quarter view (photo courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports). Not to scale.

Figure 8.3. Four views of the snake of HM 65 (details of Figs. 8.1, 8.2). Not to scale.

right side

front

inside

back

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outstretched hands by their hind legs (Platon 1971, 11, 22–23). Mistresses of animals and plants usually hold them in an upright position (Barclay 2001; Hiller 2001; Kopaka 2001; Yasur-Landau 2001; Cornelius 2004). Rather than snakes, MacGillivray (2000, 223), followed by Bonney (2011, 178), thought that the “peppermint stripes” represented twine or cord. If so, one would have expected incisions cut into the faience as marks of the spiraling recesses of a cord rather than painted stripes. In addition, both twine and cord, to my mind, seem too limp to generate such a firmly curved form. Since snakes slither on statuette HM 63 and on the faience arm of HM 66 from the same location (discussed below, Fig. 8.13; also Panagiotaki 1993, 58, fig. 2), one hesitates to doubt the identification of the snake, despite the oddities and different markings. The striped markings may indeed refer to the dice snake (Natrix tessellate), which has similar narrow black bands on a brown ground, whereas the spotted markings may refer to the cat snake (Telescopus fallax), both indigenous to Crete (Sakoulis 2008, 30–31). The rear view drawing of statuette HM 65 (Fig. 8.2:a; Evans 1921– 1935, I, 503, fig. 361) reveals, in lighter lines, the missing portions of the back of the torso and the swath of apron and skirt that was restored using plaster of Paris, glue, and paint (see also Bonney 2011, 173–184, figs. 6, 7; Simandiraki-Grimshaw and Stevens 2013, 156–158, figs. 3.2, 3.5). Evans published no drawing of his restorations to the front, providing only a photo of it already restored (Evans 1921–1935, I, 502, fig. 360:b). Although the radiography undertaken by Müller (2003, 151–153, pl. XXXV:a, b) was unable to distinguish ancient faience from modern plaster, it does show the metal wires that Evans used to connect the plaster forearm and snake at right, the snake to the fist at left, and the head to the chest. Plaster was inserted into the upper part of the skirt, through which a spike was inserted for stability. The dark area below the plaster shows the original hollow interior of the skirt, with 1 cm thick faience walls. Except for the feline-topped crown, the radiography corroborates Evan’s descriptions and restorations.

Statuette HM 63 Evans’s restorations of HM 63 are far more complicated than those of HM 65 (Figs. 8.1, 8.4; Evans 1902–1903, 74–76, 78, 80, figs. 54, 55; 1921– 1935, I, 501, 503, frontispiece, fig. 359). He combined the figure’s nonjoining head, torso, and right arm, all found in the East Temple Repository (Evans 1921–1935, IV, fig. 139; see also Bonney 2011, 173–184, figs. 4, 5; 96

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Figure 8.4. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63: front, side, and back view drawings. Note the labelled segments (A) and (B). After Evans 1902–1903, 76, fig. 55; 1921–1935, I, frontispiece, fig. 359. Not to scale.

Simandiraki-Grimshaw and Stevens 2013, 156–158, figs. 3.1, 3.5, 4), with the only faience object found in the West Temple Repository—not a torso, as stated by Bonney (2011, 173), but a belt or girdle in the form of a snake, “the part just below her waist and showing a triple interlacement of snakes forming her zone” (Evans, 1902–1903, 44; see Fig. 8.5, with restorations removed). As MacKenzie confirmed in his report on the excavation of the West Cist, “only one solitary fragment occurred but that of great importance, namely a part below the waist with entwined snakes of one of the figures from the other cist” (MacKenzie 1903, 90). In his front view, Evans drew the snake girdle and the laced bodice above it in darker hues to contrast with the lightly drawn restored missing areas: the break above it and the apron, the snake, and the skirt below (Figs. 8.4, 8.5). In the torso’s back view, however, Evans did not lighten his restoration of the missing part between the top of the belt and the jagged line marking the break, THE T HR E E M INOAN “SNAKE GODDESSES”

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East Temple Repository

West Temple Repository B Figure 8.5. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63: front and back view drawings with restorations erased by B. Jones. Segment with disks and spotted snake indicated by label B. After Evans 1902–1903, 76, fig. 55; 1921–1935, IV, 176, fig. 139. Not to scale.

which is estimated in Figure 8.5. How much of the back of the serpentine girdle was preserved is also unclear. The radiographic film taken by Müller (2003, 151–153, pl. XXXVI:a, b) revealed a modern long metal pin joining the chest to the belt area, and a modern metal spike inserted into a completely modern plaster skirt. Nonmetallic modern pins joined the figure’s modern left arm and ancient right arm, which was broken above the elbow. The irregular groove that runs from the top of the head to the skirt joins the head to the body, and the neck was restored with plaster. The headdress and head were made separately and joined in antiquity. As for the figurine’s lower part, Evans cryptically wrote that the missing skirt was restored based on another (Panagiotaki 1993, 54–57). This is surely HM 64, which preserves identical horizontal stripes and a lozenge-patterned hem band (cf. Figs. 8.1, 8.11, 8.12, 8.14). His drawing of 98

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the back of HM 63 portrays a completely restored skirt, whereas the front mysteriously incorporates two elements that he never mentioned: a darkly drawn triangular-shaped fragment with an apron’s border, A, and a lightly drawn fragment with disks and a spotted snake, B (Fig. 8.4). A closer look, however, reveals that Evans did not merely base his restoration of HM 63 on the preserved lower body of HM 64. Indeed, the triangular-shaped apron fragment, A, distinguished by its darker color from the rest of the skirt of HM 63, is identical in size, shape, location, and interlocking “S-hook” decoration to the part drawn as missing on HM 64 (Figs. 8.1, 8.11:a, 8.12, left and center). Thus, Evans clearly and inexplicably removed the faience piece from HM 64 and embedded it into his modern plaster skirt of HM 63. Furthermore, an even stronger reason to discard the apron is the design of the extant girdle of HM 63 that lies low on the hips and exposes the abdominal area (Figs. 8.1, 8.4). By contrast, the two sole preserved aprons in Aegean art, on HM 65 and HM 64, cover the abdomen and have belts or waistbands set high on the waists (Figs. 8.1, 8.2, 8.11, 8.12). Decorated with motifs that coordinate with the bands edging the borders, the waistbands are essential elements in the overall design of the aprons (Jones 2001, 263–264). Evans presumably created the apron for HM 63 to coordinate with the two aproned statuettes. The removal of the apron from HM 63 also calls into question the credibility of fragment B, which Evans never described (Fig. 8.5). Thus, the precise shape of its upper edge remains uncertain, and its join with the lower edge of the serpentine belt remains unsure. Perhaps to express his own reservations, Evans drew it in a light hue to fit within the curve of the apron (Fig. 8.4). With the apron removed, however, the placement of fragment B on HM 63 is questionable. Oddly, Evans never mentioned the disks on the fragment, reminiscent of those on the apron of HM 64 (Figs. 8.1, 8.11, 8.12). That Evans carefully marked the preserved edges of the fragment and distinguished it from his reconstructed snake and the border of the apron’s hem suggests that it is original. If it indeed belongs with the now apron-less figure, the disks could have decorated the skirt. However, a comparison of the raised disks on the apron of HM 64 and the barely detectable ones on the fragment on HM 63 makes one wonder whether Evans might have added them to the fragment to make it more credible as an apron (Fig. 8.1). Indeed, it would not be the first time that Evans manipulated archaeological evidence, as demonstrated convincingly by German (2005, 209–229; see also MacGillivray 2000; Lapatin 2002; Papadopoulos 2005, 87–135, esp. 135; Bonney 2011, 171–184). Alternatively, the fragment could belong to one of the other two figurines whose parts were found in the East Temple Repository (Panagiotaki 1993, 58–59, fig. 2:c). THE T HR E E M INOAN “SNAKE GODDESSES”

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Of course, this figurine is most notable for the snakes that slither over its body. Evans described three, colored here to clarify his front and rear view descriptions (Fig. 8.6; Evans 1921–1935, I, 501). He described the spotted one marked here in purple as follows: “The head of one of these she holds out in her right hand, its body follows the arm upwards, then descends behind the shoulders, and ascends again to the left arm, which held the tail [restored].” Marked in light blue is the snake incorporated into the questionable fragment B, “. . . whose head appears in the centre of this serpentine girdle, is continued in a festoon down the front of the apron, and thence ascending along the edge of the bodice to the neck, coils its tail round the Goddess’s right ear.” The third snake, marked here in red, “whose tail-end forms part of the plaitwork about the hips, runs up along the left fringe of the bodice over the left ear and coils up round the tiara, from the summit of which its head (here restored) originally projected.” Since Evans’s description leaves us to imagine how the two snakes are coiled in the girdle, I have hypothetically placed the red one along the top and the blue one along the bottom (Fig. 8.6). Evans’s assessment of the snakes, however, has been called into question by Panagiotaki (1999, 97). Noticing that the snakes on the arms and along the torso are narrower and spotted, she suggested that they were a different species from the unspotted, thicker snakes of the girdle. In addition, the snakes on the girdle are dark brown compared with the other light colored snakes (Fig. 8.1). One possible solution to the problem, shown in Reconstruction A (Fig. 8.7, right), involves separating the “serpentine girdle” from the red and blue snakes so that each had its own head and tail. Without an apron restricting it, the blue snake’s “festoon” could have a more symmetrical shape, and its head could lie at the right. The red snake’s tail would end above the girdle. Disks would decorate the skirt (Fig. 8.7, right). Reconstruction B eliminates the problematic fragment B, with disks and snake (Fig. 8.8), especially since Evans never mentioned anything existing below the girdle in his early notes (Panagiotaki 1993, 54), and Popham believed that Evans’s early reports were more factual and reliable than the Palace of Minos (Popham 1970, 15; Hentschel 1982, 294 n. 1; Papadopoulos 2005, 106). Evans described the girdle fragment only as the “part . . . just below her waist and showing a triple interlacement of snakes forming her zone” (Evans 1902–1903, 44). The part “just below her waist” depicts the connecting lower part of her bodice. Strikingly absent is a description of anything below the “serpentine girdle.” Indeed, in their compilation of the finds, Simandiraki-Grimshaw and Stevens (2013, 158, figs. 3, 4) attempt to compensate for Evans’s omission by adding to their text in parentheses, “(including a small portion of 100

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Figure 8.6. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63: front and back view drawings with snakes colored and skirt and apron deleted. Adaptations B. Jones after Evans 1902– 1903, 76, fig. 55; 1921–1935, I, frontispiece, fig. 359. Not to scale.

the skirt).” Because Evans omitted any mention of a skirt in his texts, it is appropriate that we experimentally omit it from the figure. With fragment B removed, the head of the blue snake could end beneath the girdle, and the tail of the red snake could end just above it (Fig. 8.8). Thus the girdle THE T HR E E M INOAN “SNAKE GODDESSES”

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Jones Reconstruction A

Figure 8.7. Reconstruction A, faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. Adaptations B. Jones of drawing after Evans 1921–1935, I, frontispiece; photo courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports. Not to scale.

would comprise a single snake, whose head and tail coiled within itself. The problematic fragment B (Figs. 8.4, 8.5) could well have belonged to one of the other figurines, for which only fragments of arms and a hand are preserved (Panagiotaki 1993, 58–59, fig. 2:c). 102

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Jones Reconstruction B

Figure 8.8. Reconstruction B, faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. Adaptations B. Jones of drawing after Evans 1921–1935, I, frontispiece; photo courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports. Not to scale

Although the snakes slithering up her arms, torso, and head are unique, the “serpentine girdle” by contrast seems to belong to a category of double rolled girdles that accompany a variety of Minoan skirts. A few examples are the A-shaped skirt on the faience plaque from Knossos (Fig. THE T HR E E M INOAN “SNAKE GODDESSES”

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Figure 8.9. Terracotta figurine from Piskokephalo, HM 16446 (Jones 2012, pl. XLVI.1:a–c). Not to scale.

8.15), the flounced skirt on a bronze statuette from Palaikastro (Verlinden 1984, fig. 68, pl. 32), the flounced kilts on bronze statuettes from Hagia Triada (Verlinden 1984, figs. 34, 35, pl. 17), and the side-pleated skirts on terracotta statuettes from Piskokephalo (Jones 2012, 221–229, pl. XLV.3–5). One from Piskokephalo, HM 16446 (Fig. 8.9), missing its upper part, may provide a possible parallel for a “serpentine girdle,” if the spiral at the right that emerges from the loop is a snake’s coiled tail, nestled within itself (Jones 2012, 221–229, pl. XLVI.1). Its missing counterpart to the left was restored as a spiral, though if it were a snake it would actually be its head, like that on HM 63. Although this crudely fashioned terracotta figurine from the rural site of Piskokephalo cannot compare with the fine quality of our faience masterpiece, it may suggest another possibility for HM 63. As on the figurine, a similar loop could have emanated from the snake’s criss-crossing overlap at the center (Reconstruction C; Fig. 8.10). Figurines from Piskokephalo also provide the closest parallels for the coiffure of HM 63, which is not long, as Evans thought, but is upswept into a high spiraling band and emerges in a fringe at the top (Zervos 1956, 281–282, figs. 401, 405). The somewhat simpler Piskokephalo versions again reflect their humbler medium. Parallels with the Piskokephalo figurines may also suggest that HM 63 likewise wore a side-pleated skirt, though other styles are possible.

Statuette HM 64 Only the lower part of HM 64 is preserved (Fig. 8.11). The figure wears an A-shaped skirt, decorated overall with rows of evenly spaced horizontal stripes and hemmed by a wide band with a running lozenge motif. Evans restored the skirt extensively, though, to his credit, in his drawings and 104

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Jones Reconstruction C

Figure 8.10. Reconstruction C, faience statuette from Knossos, HM 63. Adaptations B. Jones of drawing after Evans 1921–1935, I, frontispiece; photo courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports. Not to scale.

reconstitution of the object, the missing portions are clearly discernible from the preserved ones (Fig. 8.12). Over the skirt is a double U-shaped apron adorned with raised round elements, probably to represent disks, and banded at the waist and hem with a row of quirks or disconnected spirals, the same motif that appears on the heanos, the open-front dress, of HM THE T HR E E M INOAN “SNAKE GODDESSES”

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63 (Figs. 8.1, 8.4, 8.5). A lock of hair adhering to the back of the apron reveals that the statuette had long hair. The preserved lower part of the torso depicts a striped heanos and two or three sets of laces that tie its center front together. Presumably Evans found the size of this laced area comparable with the laced area of HM 63. He then used the lower part of HM 64 as a basis for reconstructing that of HM 63 (Evans 1902–1903, 78; 1921– 1935, I, 523, fig. 382; Panagiotaki 1993, 54–57; 1999, 97).

0 1 cm

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Figure 8.11. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 64: (a) front, (b) back, and (c, d) side views. Photos Ch. Papanikolopoulos, courtesy INSTAP-SCEC and Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports.

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Figure 8.12. Faience statuette from Knossos, HM 64: front and back view drawings adapted by B. Jones after Evans 1921–1935, I, 523, fig. 382. Not to scale.

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In order to reconstruct the upper part of HM 64, we can do the reverse, using the size and shape of HM 63 as a model. Evans, followed by Panagiotaki, thought that a faience left arm, HM 66 (Fig. 8.13), found with two others in the East Temple Repository, belonged to HM 64 because of its large size, and he thus placed it in front of HM 64 in his photograph of the assemblage (Evans 1902–1903, 79–80, 92, fig. 63; Panagiotaki 1993, 58, 89, fig. B, fig. 2:c above; 1999, 98, 101, pl. 16:e [left], no. 213, pl. 17). Preserved from part of the sleeve band to the clenched fist, the arm is extended at the elbow and has an undulating bracelet at the wrist. A spotted snake lies across the knuckles of the hand and curves up to the break at the sleeve band. A hole at its upper edge reveals that it was doweled into the missing upper arm (Fig. 8.13:a). A deep crack across the diameter caused breakage to the front (Figs. 8.13:a, b) and back (Fig. 8.13:d) of the arm, clearly breaking off part of the snake at the front (Fig. 8.13:b) and probably the end of the snake at the back (Fig. 8.13:d). The reconstruction drawing of HM 64 thus incorporates HM 66 in three views and mirror images of it for the figure’s right arm (Fig. 8.14). The reconstructed decoration on the heanos of HM 64 is based on the traces of laces and vertical stripes preserved just above the waist, which closely resemble those found on HM 65 (Fig. 8.14; cf. Fig. 8.1). Unlike the dark laces and bands of HM 65 and HM 63 and the dark stripes of HM 65, the stripes and laces of HM 64 are light with a reddish hue against a neutral ground. Otherwise, the lateral contours of the center front bands and adjacent stripes of HM 64 are virtually identical with those of HM 65, and like them, presumably frame the exposed breasts and rise up to the shoulders.

b

a Figure 8.13. Faience left arm from Knossos, HM 66: (a) top end, (b) front, (c) side, and (d) back. Photos Ch. Papanikolopoulos, courtesy INSTAP-SCEC and Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports.

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Figure 8.14. Digital reconstructions of upper parts of faience statuette from Knossos, HM 64, front (a), back (b), and side (c) views by C. Mao and B. Jones. Photos C. Papanikolopoulos, courtesy INSTAP-SCEC and Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports.

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Figure 8.15. Faience dress plaque from Knossos, HM 58a. Courtesy Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports.

Similar bands and stripes adorn the faience dress plaque HM 58, and illustrate that the open front can extend to the center to cover the breasts (Fig. 8.15). The stripes on the “sleeves” of HM 64 were based on those of both HM 65 and HM 58. Since the stripes continue onto the back of HM 65 (Fig. 8.2:a), they were added here (Fig. 8.14:b). If the faience left arm HM 66 belongs to HM 64, as argued here, its heanos would have short sleeves, like those of HM 63, and thus shorter than the almost elbow-length sleeves of HM 65. Furthermore, a snake would slither up the center front of the sleeve’s band like the purple snake on HM 63 (Fig. 8.6). The abraded surface across the sleeve band at the top of the back of the arm suggests that the snake curved over the shoulder and ended there (Figs. 8.13:d, 8.14:b, c).

Conclusions This examination of Evans’s “reconstitutions” of the snake goddess statuettes has suggested a new reconstruction of the upper part of HM 64. Furthermore, it has led to new interpretations and reconstructions of the costumes and snakes of HM 63, HM 64, and HM 65. As for their hairstyles, HM 64 had a long tress of hair on the apron, like HM 65, although the tresses of HM 64 are narrower and shorter (Fig. 8.14:b, c; cf. Fig. 8.2:a, b). Thus, as on HM 65, the tresses presumably clung to HM 64’s upper back, but stood away from the figure’s incurved waist area before they fell on the apron (Figs. 8.2:b, 8.14:b, c). By contrast, HM 63 is distinguished by her upswept coiffure (note the absence of long back tresses) and, arguably, the lack of an apron. Her splendid high conical crown makes one wonder what kind of headdress adorned the head of HM 64, and, of course, whether the one restored to HM 65 by Evans is accurate. With their exquisite clothes including unique aprons and their equally unique authoritative snake-wielding gestures, these statuettes were extraordinary manifestations of the power of certain women in Minoan society, whether priestesses or goddesses. Surely Ellen would have had comments on these iconic images. I hope mine have at least provided greater clarity as to their appearance and, perhaps, their essence.

Acknowledgments I am deeply grateful to Robert Koehl for organizing this significant colloquium in memory of Ellen Davis, inviting me to participate, and meticulously editing the papers for publication, and to Larissa Bonfante for her generous editing assistance. Any errors that remain are mine. I am greatly indebted to the Institute for Aegean Prehistory for travel and research THE T HR E E M INOAN “SNAKE GODDESSES”

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grants that allowed me to study the faience statuettes in the Herakleion Museum and to Tom Brogan and Eleanor Huffman for facilitating the excellent photographic services of Chronis Papanikolopoulos. I am particularly thankful to Director Stella Mandalaki and Associate Director Maria Pateraki and previous Director Athanasia Kanta of the Herakleion Museum for permitting me to study and publish the figurines, for generously providing me with photographs, and for permitting Chronis Papanikolopoulos to photograph HM 64. I am also grateful to digital artist Charlotte Mao.

References Barclay, A. 2001. “The Potnia Theron: Adaptation of a Near Eastern Image,” in Laffineur and Hägg, eds., 2001, pp. 373–386. Bonney, E.M. 2011. “Disarming the Snake Goddess: A Reconsideration of the Faience Figurines from the Temple Repositories at Knossos,” JMA 24, pp. 171–190. Cornelius, I. 2004. The Many Faces of the Goddess: The Iconography of the SyroPalestinian Goddesses Anat, Astarte, Qedeshet, and Asherah c. 1500–1000 bce (Orbis biblicus et orientalis 204), Göttingen. Evans, A.J. 1902–1903. “The Palace of Knossos: Provisional Report for the Year 1903,” BSA 9, pp. 1–153. . 1921–1935. The Palace of Minos at Knossos I–IV, London. German, S.C. 2005. “Photography and Fiction: The Publication of the Excavations at the Palace of Minos at Knossos,” JMA 18, pp. 209–230. Hentschel, F. 1982. The Basis for the Standard Chronology of the Late Bronze Age at Knossos, Ph.D. diss., Yale University. Hiller, S. 2001. “Potnia/Potnios Aigon: On the Religious Aspects of Goats in the Aegean Late Bronze Age,” in Laffineur and Hägg, eds., 2001, pp. 293–304. Jones, B. 2001. “The Minoan ‘Snake Goddess’: New Interpretations of Her Costume and Identity,” in Laffineur and Hägg, eds., 2001, pp. 259–265. . 2012. “The Construction and Significance of the Minoan Side-Pleated Skirt,” in Kosmos: Jewellery, Adornment and Textiles in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 13th International Aegean Conference, University of Copenhagen, Danish National Research Foundation’s Centre for Textile Research, 21–26 April 2010 (Aegaeum 33), M.-L. Nosch and R. Laffineur, eds., Liège, pp. 221–230.

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Kopaka, K. 2001. “A Day in Potnia’s Life: Aspects of Potnia and Reflected ‘Mistress’ Activities in the Aegean Bronze Age,” in Laffineur and Hägg, eds., 2001, pp. 15–27. Laffineur, R., and R. Hägg, eds. 2001. Potnia: Deities and Religion in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 8th International Aegean Conference, Göteborg, Göteborg University, 12–15 April 2000 (Aegaeum 22), Liège. Lapatin, K. 2002. Mysteries of the Snake Goddess: Art, Desire, and the Forging of History, Cambridge. MacGillivray, J.A. 2000. Minotaur: Sir Arthur Evans and the Archaeology of the Minoan Myth, New York. Mackenzie, D. 1903. Day-Book of the Excavations at Knossos for 1901–1903 II, Ashmolean Museum. Microform, University of Virginia. Müller, W. 2003. “Minoan Works of Art—Seen with Penetrating Eyes: X-ray Testing of Gold, Pottery and Faience,” in Metron: Measuring the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 9th International Aegean Conference, New Haven, Yale University, 18–21 April 2002 (Aegaeum 24), K. Foster and R. Laffineur, eds., Liège, pp. 147–154. Panagiotaki, M. 1993. “The Temple Repositories of Knossos: New Information from the Unpublished Notes of Sir Arthur Evans,” BSA 88, pp. 49–91. . 1999. The Central Palace Sanctuary at Knossos (BSA Suppl. 31), London. Papadopoulos, J.K. 2005. “Inventing the Minoans: Archaeology, Modernity and the Quest for European Identity,” JMA 18, pp. 87–149. Platon, N. 1971. Zakros: The Discovery of a Lost Palace of Ancient Crete, New York. Popham, M.R. 1970. The Destruction of the Palace at Knossos: Pottery of the Late Minoan IIIA Period (SIMA 12), Göteborg. Sakoulis, A. 2008. Amphibians, Reptiles, and Mammals of Crete, Herakleion. Simandiraki-Grimshaw, A., and F. Stevens. 2013. “Destroying the Snake Goddesses: A Re-examination of Figurine Fragmentation at the Temple Repositories of the Palace of Knossos,” in Destruction: Archaeological, Philological and Historical Perspectives, J. Driessen, ed., Louvain, pp. 153–170. Verlinden, C. 1984. Les statuettes anthropomorphes crétoises en bronze et en plomb, du IIIe millénaire au VIIe siècle av. J.-C. (Archaeologia Transatlantica IV), Providence.

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Yasur-Landau, A. 2001. “The Mother(s) of all Philistines? Aegean Enthroned Deities of the 12th–11th Century Philistia,” in Laffineur and Hägg, eds., 2001, pp. 329–343. Zervos, C. 1956. L’art de la Crète néolithique et minoenne, Paris.

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9

Beyond the “Chieftain Cup”: More Images Relating to Minoan Male “Rites of Passage” ROBERT B. KOEH L

Ellen Davis and I met in 1976 at the first of Philip Betancourt’s now legendary Temple University Aegean Symposia and became fast friends. Thus, it was Ellen that I called first in 1982, after spending the previous night poring over images of the Chieftain Cup and other representations of Minoan male figures, when I began to think that there was a correlation between hairstyle and age-grade rites of passage on Bronze Age Crete. Ellen exclaimed that she had noticed the same phenomenon with the women depicted on frescoes from Thera, and had come to the same conclusion. Both of our articles appeared in 1986, beginning a dialogue that continued for decades as new evidence emerged that seemed only to strengthen our hypothesis (Davis 1986; Koehl 1986). Christos Doumas, the excavator of many of the frescoes from Thera, soon joined the discussion, having independently arrived at similar conclusions, although the three of us differed in the details of our sequence of hairstyles and the age groups they represent (Doumas 1987, 2000). Shortly after our articles appeared, Ellen drew my attention to a gold ring from Pylos (ANM 7985; CMS I, no. 292) whose imagery seemed to illustrate a stage in the male initiation rituals preceding the one depicted on the Chieftain Cup (Fig. 9.1; discussed further below). The following year, our friends Sandy MacGillivray and Hugh Sackett discovered the

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c Figure 9.1. Gold ring from Pylos, ANM 7985 (CMS I, no. 292): (a) photo; (b) detail cast; (c) drawing. Photos courtesy CMS and Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports; drawing courtesy CMS. Not to scale.

splendid ivory statue at Palaikastro. Its braided Mohawk hairdo and slender, muscular physique seemed clearly to equate him with the Fisher Boys from the West House and the boy holding a cloth from Xeste 3 at Akrotiri, stimulating hours of joyful and enriching discussion with Sandy in Ellen’s New York apartment (Doumas 1992, figs. 18, 19, 22, 23, 109, 113; MacGillivray, Driessen, and Sackett, eds., 2000). And we shared in the satisfaction when a bronze figurine was discovered in 1994, at the peak sanctuary located at Hagios Georgios sto Vouno on Kythera, which finally rendered in three dimensions the top knot hairstyle worn by the boy, figure B, on the Chieftain Cup (Fig. 9.2:a; Sakellarakis 2012, 59, fig. 63, pl. 30). It is therefore appropriate that the subject of my contribution in Ellen’s memory continues to explore images in various media of Minoan art that depict figures with distinctive hairstyles engaging in activities relating to age-grade initiations, including homoerotic displays. To summarize, based on the sequence of hairstyles and accompanying tonsure rituals, it appears that the Minoans conceived of the life cycle in 114

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three main stages: (I) childhood, (II) youth, and (III) adulthood (see Koehl 2000, 135–137, fig. 11.1, for full discussion). Each stage was further separated into three phases, each with its own distinctive hairstyle, though all three stages repeat the same pattern: the hair is cut in the first phase (phase a); a period of growth follows (phase b); and the hair reaches its full length in the final phase (phase c). And the hair is cut again to enter the next stage of maturation. Thus, when the child was old enough to survive without his mother, perhaps at around five or six years of age, it was given its first haircut, shaving off the first tufts of birth hair (Ia). By around the age of 8 or 10, the boy grows a front lock and looping back lock, while still shaving the rest of his scalp (Ib). At puberty, the final stage of childhood, the hair has grown into long back locks and thick front locks, around which the scalp continues to be shaved (Ic). Then, upon entry into the youth stage, the locks of childhood are cut into a short front lock and back lock, and the sides are shaved for the last time (IIa). By the middle stage of youth (IIb), perhaps around the age of 16 or 17, the scalp has grown out, the front lock is cut into bangs, and the back lock is worn in a top knot (Figs. 9.2:a [figure B], 9.3:b [figure 2]). By the end of this stage, perhaps around years 20 or 25, when the male has reached the “full bloom of youth” (IIc), the hair is worn in waist-length tresses with curling front locks (Figs. 9.2:a [figure A], 9.3:b [figure 1], 9.4:c [figure 1]).

figure B

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Figure 9.2. “Chieftain Cup,” HM 341: (a) side A; (b) side B. Courtesy Alison Frantz Archives, American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Not to scale.

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Finally, when the male is ready to leave this stage and enter adulthood, perhaps around the age of 30, the hair is once again cut short, leaving a top knot (IIIa). By the middle stage of adulthood, perhaps around 35, the male wears bangs, the hair is cut to the nape of the neck, and he now sports a goatee (IIIb). The eldest male figures in Minoan art, presumably now in the final stage of maturity (IIIc), wear bangs, shoulder-length hair, and a full beard (Fig. 9.4:c [figure 2]). The imagery on the gold signet ring from Tholos Tomb IV at Pylos (Fig. 9.1; Blegen et al. 1973, 113, fig. 192:9a, b), which Ellen and I thereafter referred to as “our ring,” seemed to support the sexual aspect of the relationship that I had posited between the two main figures on the Chieftain Cup. My hypothesis derived largely from my reading of a late classical text by the historian Ephoros, quoted by Strabo (10.4.21 [C 483–484]), which describes the love affairs between Cretan young men and youths (Koehl 1986, 105). The text states that a young man, the philetor, or lover, would select a youth from the agela, or herd, the name for the groups of age-grade cohorts on Crete. The youth, called the parastatheis, or the one who stands beside, was chosen for his appearance, courage, and manners. After staging a mock abduction with the help of the youth’s agela, all would retreat into the countryside for two months of hunting and feasting. At the end of this period, the philetor would present the parastatheis with gifts as required by law, including an ox, military gear, and a drinking cup. Most scholars agree that Ephoros is actually describing a rite of passage based on the tripartite structure of separation, transition, and incorporation (van Gennep 1960, 10–11). But while most think it was part of a social system that was introduced to Crete by Dorian-speaking Greeks after the end of the Bronze Age (e.g., Sergent 1996, 380–402), Willetts thought that it might derive from the Minoan era (Willetts 1955, 13–17). Following Willetts, I suggested that side A of the Chieftain cup (Fig. 9.2:a) depicts the Minoan equivalents of the philetor presenting his parastatheis with a sword, while side B (Fig. 9.2:b) depicts the agela holding the ox hides that would be made into the familiar Minoan ox-hide shields (Koehl 1986, 105–106). The archaeological evidence that I cited for its Minoan pedigree comes from the sanctuary of Hermes and Aphrodite at Kato Syme Viannou, where dozens of Neopalatial Minoan chalices were discovered, similar in form to the Chieftain Cup, a shape that was hitherto very rare and remains so (Koehl 1986, 107–108). Furthermore, votives from Kato Syme dating to the 8th and 7th centuries b.c. depicting male couples in states of arousal and embrace suggest that these rites survived through the Bronze Age (Lebesi 1985; Koehl 1986, 107–108).

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The ring from Pylos depicts a mountainous landscape with an altar on the peak just off-center, flanked by two facing male figures to one side, and a large caprid on the other (Fig. 9.1:a). Though the context is Mycenaean, possibly dating to 14th century b.c., the iconography seems clearly derived from Neopalatial Crete. The mountainous landscape, altar, and caprid recall the scene on the “Sanctuary Rhyton” from Zakros, with its mountain shrine and agrimia, the wild Cretan goats (Koehl 2006, 103– 104, no. 204, pl. 16). As for the male figures, the closest parallels for their disparate scale and en face pose are found on the so-called Epiphany ring from Knossos and on a Mycenaean ring from Elateia (Knossos: Evans 1921–1935, I, fig. 115; also Krzyszkowska 2005, color pl. 25; Elateia: CMS V, Suppl. 2, no. 106; see also Krzyskowska 2005, fig. 593). On the Knossos and Elateia rings, however, the larger figure is female, and on the Knossos ring the smaller male figure holds a staff in his outstretched arm. On the gold signet ring from Pylos, both males make a similar saluting gesture, with one arm bent at the elbow and raised in front of the head, and the other bent arm pointing downward (Fig. 9.1:b). Perhaps what is most striking and unique on the Pylos ring, and what Ellen observed was missing from Piet de Jong’s published drawing, is the larger male’s obviously engorged and ejaculating penis (cf. Fig. 9.1:a, b, with Blegen et al. 1973, fig. 192:9b [= CMS I, no. 292]). A more recent rendering done for the Corpus der minoischen und mykenischen Siegel (CMS) includes the ejaculate blobs (Fig. 9.1:c), but this still does not do justice to the tumescence; hence Ellen’s often-expressed skepticism of scholars who relied on seal drawings, rather than on originals or casts. Certainly the ring raises questions: can we infer from its Helladic context that similar rites of passage were practiced by the Mycenaeans? Or might the ring have been made on Crete and given as a gift, or taken as plunder (Krzyszkowska 2005, 305–307; see also Wiener, Ch. 2, this vol.)? Regardless, the ring’s explicitly homoerotic content and mountainous setting, with intimations of hunting implied by the imposing agrimi, iconographically links the Cretan rites of passage practiced during the historical period to the Late Bronze Age. Another link between Cretan male rites of passage of the historical and Neopalatial periods is now suggested by a gold signet ring discovered in 2000 in the sanctuary of Kato Syme Viannou, and a more recently discovered gold bead seal from the Neopalatial cemetery at Poros, both of which depict a running long-haired male (Lebessi, Muhly, and Papasavvas 2004; the bead seal from Poros, as yet unpublished, is on display in Gallery VI in the Herakleion Archaeological Museum). The Gortyn Law Code and other

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inscriptions emphasize the importance of footraces in male rites of passage on Crete (for references, see Willetts 1955, 7–8). Thus a young man who had not yet won a footrace was called an apodromos, dromos being the Cretan word for gymnasium, and was barred from exercising there until he succeeded, after which time he was known as a dromeus, or runner (Willetts 1955, 11, 13–14, 122–123; Lebessi, Muhly, and Papasavvas 2004, 13–15). While these new discoveries are welcome additions to the repertoire of images that probably relate to Minoan male rites of passage, I would like to draw attention to three clay sealings: HMs 52 and HMs 53 (Fig. 9.3; CMS II.7, no. 2), stamped from the same gold signet ring, and HMs 76 (Fig. 9.4), which is stamped from another ring (CMS II.7, no. 3). The sealings were discovered in 1901 by Hogarth at Zakros (in House A, room VII), along with approximately 500 others, most of which depict surreal composite creatures (Hogarth 1902; Weingarten 1983; CMS II.7). Their Late Minoan (LM) IB, or possibly LM IA, context thus provides a terminus ante quem for the sealings, the seals from which they were stamped, and their iconography (on the destruction date of House A, see Weingarten 1983, 3; Driessen and Macdonald 1997, 240). Hogarth originally identified the central figure on the sealings HMs 52 and HMs 53 as a female wearing a “Babylonian petticoat,” who extends her left hand toward a pillar or a tree, and thus associated the scene with the Minoan “tree cult” (Fig. 9.3; Hogarth 1902, 77, pl. 6:2). He also thought there was one male on the other side of the “tree” with his hand raised to his chest (Hogarth 1902, 77). In his restudy of the Zakros sealings, Levi

figure 1

figure 2

figure 4 figure 3 figure 5

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Figure 9.3. Sealing HMs 52 (a) and reconstruction drawing of sealings HMs 52 and HMs 53 (b). Not to scale. Photo courtesy CMS and the Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports and drawing R.B. Koehl and P. Karsay.

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correctly identified the central figure as a male, and saw that two males wearing belts but otherwise naked were depicted on the other side of the “tree,” which he called a spear or scepter (Levi 1925–1926, 158, fig. 165). Levi also drew attention to the damaged lower portion of the sealing, suggesting it might depict an object, now impossible to identify, or a crouching male figure (Levi 1925–1926, 158). The publication of high quality photographs of HMs 52 and HMs 53 in the CMS (CMS II.7, no. 2), confirmed Levi’s identifications of the central male and two male side figures, but the accompanying drawing also raised new questions. For example, the photograph shows that the far left figure wears a back-flap, rendered in profile, which is missing on the CMS drawing (Fig. 9.3). Furthermore, it is impossible to decipher the pose of the central figure. Maria Anastasiadou, a post-doctoral fellow at the CMS, kindly examined the casts now held in the Heidelberg headquarters, and she not only verified the presence of the back-flap but clarified the area below the central figure. As Levi first hinted, there is a figure facing left depicted crouching in front of him, that is to say, overlapping him, our figure 5 (Fig. 9.3:b; Levi 1925–1926, 158). Remarkably, Anastasiadou found a preliminary unpublished sketch in the CMS archives that correctly shows the crouching figure (M. Anastasiadou, pers. comm., 2014). My own examination of HMs 53 under an electron microscope in the summer of 2014 confirmed and clarified other details (HMs 52, now on display in the Herakleion Archaeological Museum, could not be accessed out of the case). Thus, from viewer’s left to right, sealings HMs 52 and HMs 53 depict five individuals (Fig. 9.3; see esp. Fig. 9.3:b). Figure 1 is a male in profile facing right, wearing a belted breechcloth. His left leg is raised and bent at the knee in a 90° angle, while his right leg is also bent, perhaps in a 45° angle, probably touching the ground (not preserved). His left arm, partly extended and bent at the elbow, disappears behind the back of figure 2. Figure 2, a short-haired male, also wears a belted breechcloth. While his muscular torso is rendered frontally, he turns his head in profile view to face figure 1. His right arm is partly extended and disappears behind the left arm of figure 1. In his partly extended left arm he holds a long vertical object with a triangular top, from which hangs a wavy element. This object is surely significant yet its identification is not without problems. Hogarth’s opinion that the object was a tree cannot be taken seriously as it does not at all resemble any of the many examples of trees in Minoan glyptic (Hogarth 1902, 77). Levi’s identification of it as a scepter or spear is more plausible (Levi 1925–1926, 158). Indeed, as Palaima points out, Pausanias states that the scepter of Agamemnon was a wooden spear (Paus. 9.40.11; see Palaima, Ch. 10, this vol.). Unlike the object held by B EYO N D T H E " C H I E F TA N C U P " : M I N OA N M A L E " R I T E S O F PA S S AG E "

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figure 2, however, spears depicted in Aegean art have a uniformly slender shaft, as seen on both the Chieftain Cup (Fig. 9.2:a) and on the sealing HMs 76 (Fig. 9.4). Furthermore, the spears depicted on more complete examples, such as the “Master Impression” (CMS V, Suppl. IA, no. 142; Hallager 1985, figs. 10, 11, 13, 14:a) and a Mycenaean seal from Naxos (CMS V, no. 604; Koehl 2006, pl. 61:S5), stand to the full height of its bearer, whereas the object depicted on HMs 52 and HMs 53 is clearly shorter. An intriguing parallel, at least for the object’s triangular-shaped upper part, is a motif known from Minoan glyptic art as the “impaled triangle,” which has been convincingly identified by Marinatos as a type of dagger (Marinatos 1986, 61–64). Based on its visual association with bucrania, animals on tables, or animals in contorted poses, Marinatos further identified the “impaled triangle” as a sacrificial instrument (Marinatos 1986, 64). However, the length of the object on HMs 52 and HMs 53, in proportion to its bearer, seems too long to be classified as a dagger. Rather, like the object held in the hand of the younger male on the Chieftain Cup (figure B), perhaps it too is a sword (Fig. 9.2:a). Its curved contour might represent a scabbard, while the longer curved element that seems to hang from behind would be its tassel or plume, which, as Rehak perceptively realized, often embellished the scabbards of Minoan swords (Rehak 1999, 230–231). The outer edges of the triangle would thus function as the sword’s hand guard while the central element would be its handle. It is also worth keeping in mind that the entire length of the object is approximately 1.3 cm. Off to the right stand two males, one just behind the other, figures 3 and 4. Figure 4 stands pressed up against the buttocks of figure 3, with his torso shown frontally, twisting in front of figure 3. Both have their arms bent at the elbow; the left arm of figure 3 is raised toward his head (not preserved), while the left arm of figure 4 rests on his chest. Clearly wearing belts, they seem to be otherwise naked, as Levi observed; their erect penises, standing away from their bodies, are correctly shown on the CMS drawing (CMS II.7, no. 2). Though not common, Neopalatial figurines of naked males otherwise wearing only a belt do exist (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1971, fig. 13:144, 145, pl. 23:77; 1995, pls. 29:54, 140; Verlinden 1984, pls. 2:11, 40:88, 47:104; Sakellarakis 2012, 42, no. E37, fig. 36, pl. 23). We recall, too, that the frescoes of the Boxing Boys from Akrotiri, and perhaps the Fishing Boys, also depict them wearing belts, but otherwise naked (Doumas 1992, figs. 18, 19, 79). As already noted, figure 5 crouches in front of figure 2, in profile view facing left, with his head bent downward. He also wears a belted breechcloth whose back flap hangs to the ground. Based on autopsy, it is now 120

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clear that figure 1’s raised left leg is positioned behind the crouching left leg of figure 5, possibly between his legs; hence, his foot was not depicted. What remains unclear is the arm gesture of figure 5; while his preserved upper left arm seems slightly extended from his body, his forearms and hands are missing. Although Hogarth and Levi thought that the entire scene had a religious content (Hogarth 1902, 77; Levi 1925–1926, 158), a different interpretation emerges when examined in the context of images relating to male rites of passage. Hogarth rightly surmised that figure 2 is the scene’s main protagonist, based on his central position (Hogarth 1902, 77). Figure 2 certainly commands the viewer’s attention by the display of his frontal torso and the sword in its tasseled scabbard. His importance is further underscored by the attention he receives from figures 1, 3, and 4, who all turn toward him. Yet, figure 2 clearly turns his gaze toward figure 1. Furthermore, figures 1 and 2 embrace, a gesture that, to my knowledge, is unique in Neopalatial imagery. Indeed, human figures rarely even touch in Minoan art. Exceptions are a poorly preserved Protopalatial bone seal from Viannos (CMS II.1, no. 446), which may depict a male and female engaged in sexual intercourse, and two possible images of hand-holding, on a Protopalatial sealing from Phaistos (CMS II.5, no. 324) and a Protopalatial ivory hemi-cylinder from Knossos, the latter of questionable authenticity (Koehl 2001, 239–240, pl. 79:a–c, e–g). According to his short hairstyle, figure 2 can be linked iconographically with the younger figure B on the Chieftain Cup (Koehl 1986, 101–102, fig. 9.1:D; superseded by Koehl 2000, 135–137, fig. 11.1:IIb). On the cup, the youth receives gifts from his lover, figure A, notably the sword and scabbard, which he holds pressed against his shoulders (Fig. 9.2:a; Koehl 1986, 106). Though missing his head, figure 1 on the sealing might be reconstructed with the same hairstyle as figure A on the cup, and hence belong to the same age grade (Fig. 9.3:b). A rough, thin vertical ridge on the sealing along his torso may be the remains of a long hair-lock (Fig. 9.3:a). Furthermore, in contrast to the static, formal presentation scene on the Chieftain Cup, the bent leg pose of figure 1 and twisting pose of figure 2 seem to suggest movement. Indeed, the pose of figure 1 may be understood to represent a leap, for which their arms, linked from behind, would provide support and balance. This linked arm position is best paralleled by the clay model from Kamilari of naked youths, wearing top knots, who perform a circle dance (Levi 1962, fig. 174:a, b). Thus, the movements of figures 1 and 2 on the sealing surely represent a dance (see also, Warren 1988, 14–15). From figure 2’s central position and the prominence of his sword, perhaps they are engaged in some type of sword dance. An B EYO N D T H E " C H I E F TA N C U P " : M I N OA N M A L E " R I T E S O F PA S S AG E "

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iconographic parallel comes from a fresco in Xeste 3, at Akrotiri, where a sword dance is performed by monkeys (Doumas 1992, figs. 95, 96). In this fresco, one monkey holds a sword and one holds an elaborately tasseled scabbard. On the viewer’s left, two monkeys play lyres; on the right, one monkey squats on the ground, clapping (Rehak 1999, 231, pl. 47:a). The pose of the squatting monkey offers a striking parallel to the sealing’s crouching figure 5. Thus, perhaps figure 5 was also clapping to keep the rhythm and encourage the dancers, a role still performed in the traditional Greek dance, the zeibekiko (ζεϊμπέκικο). It may also be recalled that the most famous dance on Crete of the historical period was a war dance, which tradition said was first danced by the legendary Kouretes, the young male protectors of the island who beat their swords against shields in order to drown out the cries of the infant Zeus from his cannibalistic father, Kronos (Strabo 10.4.16 [C 480–481]; Thorne 2000, 150, 159; D’Agata 2012, 232–235). The depiction of an armed “war” dance on an Early Protogeometric krater from Thronos Kephala, ancient Sybrita, offers iconographic evidence for its performance on Crete in the Early Iron Age, or 10th century (D’Agata 2012, 2014). Remarkably, one figure seems distinguished by his elaborately tasseled scabbard and fancy crested helmet, while another seems depicted in a leap (D’Agata 2012, fig. 2; 2014, fig. 3), iconographic elements that both occur on sealings HMs 52 and HMs 53. While figure 2 appears to perform a sword dance with figure 1, and figure 5 may be providing its rhythmic accompaniment, the presence of figures 3 and 4 remains unexplained. Standing off to the side, these figures seem subsidiary to the central action of the dance, though clearly they are observing it. There is also little doubt that they are engaged in erotic play: the tip of figure 4’s erect penis touches the exposed buttocks of figure 3. If the hairstyle and sword of figure 2 provide iconographic links with the youth on the Chieftain Cup, figure B, then perhaps figures 3 and 4 may be identified as members of his agela, like the males who carry ox hides on the back of the Chieftain cup (cf. Fig. 9.2:b; Koehl 1986, 107–108). When the crouching figure 5, subsidiary to the dancing couple, is counted with them, then the seal would depict a cohort of three, as on the Chieftain cup. The erotic activity in which figures 3 and 4 engage would certainly not be inconsistent with my interpretation of the Chieftain Cup that posits a sexual relationship between its two main figures, or of the gold ring from Pylos (Koehl 1986, 106–110). Elsewhere, I have suggested that the scene depicted on the Chieftain Cup would have taken place in the Minoan equivalent of a Cretan andreion, the men’s dining and social clubs of the historical era (Koehl 1986, 108–109; 122

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1997; on the Cretan andreion, see Pilz and Seelentag, eds., 2014). The sword dance depicted on the sealing may also have taken place in this locale but, obviously, after the presentation of the sword. Interestingly, the passage by Ephoros, cited by Strabo, which presumably describes rites of passage that I maintain were Minoan in origin, states that after the youth received the gifts prescribed by law, he continued to hold positions of highest honor, specifically in dances and races (Strabo 10.4.21 [C484]). As noted above, in light of the iconographic links with the Chieftain Cup and the physical intimacy displayed between figures 1 and 2, figure 1 may be understood as the elder, and thus would have worn his hair like that of figure A on the Chieftain Cup (cf. Figs. 9.2:a, 9.3:b). Indeed, this age group, the last stage, or prime, of youth, is the most frequently represented male age-grade in Minoan imagery, whether on frescoes, seals, figurines, or relief stone vases, and it often showcases their physical prowess (Koehl 1986, 102–103; 2000, 135–137, 142, fig. 11.1:IIc; Rutter 2014; Wiener, Ch. 2, this vol., Fig. 2.1:a). One such figure clearly appears on HMs 76, identifiable from the five hair locks that hang to his waist, visible between his right arm and the curve of his back (figure 1 in Fig. 9.4). Standing proudly in a twisted profile

a

b

figure 1

figure 2 figure 3

figure 4

c Figure 9.4. Sealing HMs 76: (a,b) photos; (c) reconstruction drawing. Not to scale. Photo (a) courtesy CMS and Herakleion Archaeological Museum, v; (b) color photo M. Anastasiadou, courtesy CMS and Herakleion Archaeological Museum, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports; (c) drawing R.B. Koehl and P. Karsay.

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facing right, with left leg ahead of right, he holds his left fist over his heart, while his right arm extends back, bent in a 45° angle, and holds a rod or perhaps a spear. At his waist he wears a belt, more clearly distinguishable in the color rather than the black and white photograph, but he is otherwise naked. In the black and white photograph (Fig. 9.4:a), what looks like an incision across the upper thigh at the bottom of his buttocks, which Marinatos thought was evidence for a kilt (Marinatos 2007, 182), does not actually exist, as the color photograph shows (Fig. 9.4:b) and as verified by my own and Georgia Flouda’s examination of the sealing under an electron microscope. His prominent engorged penis points upward, with both testicles rendered. Although his head is missing above the shoulders, he is clearly shown turning toward the standing figure facing him. Figure 2, rendered in profile facing left, is well preserved below the shoulder, though traces of a face, a long beard, and hair worn to the nape of the neck may be detected (restored in Fig. 9.4:c). His left arm is bent, and he holds his now-missing hand near his mouth. His other arm, bent at the elbow in a 45° angle, disappears behind his back. He seems to wear an upper garment flung over his shoulder, such as a shawl. Below, at mid-body, he wears a skirt with two prominent parallel tufts near the bottom. An uneven line below the skirt’s upper edge suggests that the garment was folded over. From this uneven line appears to hang a curve-tipped object resembling a knife, which presumably was suspended from a belt, obscured by the skirt’s over-fold. The iconographic identity of this figure may be connected to a group of seals that depict males wearing long, wrapped garments with decorative hemlines, some of which are fringed, while others are tufted (Koehl 1995, 29–30). Evans first identified them as priests, thinking that the fenestrated axe that many carry was an instrument of sacrifice (Evans 1921–1935, IV.2, 402–419; also Marinatos 1986, 22–25). He also thought that the garment and axe derived from Near Eastern priestly accoutrements (Evans 1921–1935, IV.2, 403–404, 413–417). While the garment with the tufted hemline does find close parallels in Middle and Late Bronze Age Levantine imagery, it is now recognized as the official attire of local Canaanite rulers, who of course also had ritual responsibilities (Beck 2002, 71–74; Ziffer 1990, 51*). Immediately behind him stands figure 3, who, though poorly preserved, seems to wear similar attire and makes a similar gesture. Occupying the visual center of the sealing is figure 4, a male rendered in profile, facing left, bending over, with his head, not preserved, near the ground. His buttocks are raised up, under the standing figure’s skirt; his lower arms and lower legs are not preserved. Although Marinatos thought that he was wearing a kilt, his buttocks are clearly exposed, and there is no 124

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indication of a hemline (Marinatos 2007, 182, fig. 2). Like the standing figure on the left, he wears a belt clearly visible in the color photograph (Fig. 9.4:b), but he is otherwise naked. More information about figure 4 may be surmised from his hairstyle. Consisting of a single lock that hangs to the middle of his back—again, more visible in the color photograph (Fig. 9.4:b)—it resembles in length the tresses of boys in the final phase of childhood (Ic), like the Boxer Boys from Akrotiri, and also the coiffure associated with the prime of youth (IIc), as emblematized by the male standing to the left (Koehl 1986, 101–103, fig. 1:B, E; 2000, 135–137, fig. 11.1:Ic, IIc). While his muscular physique and scale suggest that he most likely belongs with the latter group, compared to the other males in this stage, who have long, multiple tresses, his single hair-lock seems rather short and sparse. However, parallels for this hairstyle occur on a bronze figurine, perhaps from Milatos (Sapouna-Sakellaraki 1995, pls. 34, 35), and one recently discovered in the peak sanctuary at Hagios Georgios sto Vouno, Kythera (Sakellarakis 2012, 29–30, no. E18, fig. 18, pl. 15), which depict young men with two shoulder-length hair-locks. As will be suggested below, the sealing and these two figurines depict the male just entering the final phase of youth (IIc). Any understanding of this scene must also explain the figure’s pose, which is unparalleled in Minoan imagery. While Levi first thought that he might be starting a summersault (Levi 1925–1926, 159), he finally decided that figure 4 is in a proskynesis, or genuflection, a conclusion that most scholars follow (Levi 1925–1926, 159; CMS II.7, no. 3; Marinatos 2007). Levi thus identified figure 1, the recipient of this putative gesture of supplication, as a divinity (Levi 1925–1926, 159). Referencing visual and literary parallels from Egypt and the Near East, Marinatos identified him as either a king or perhaps a statue of a god (Marinatos 2007, 179). She further interpreted the sealing as either a mythical depiction of the Minoan pantheon, with the chief divinity receiving worship from a god of lower status, or a representation of an actual ceremony, with the great Knossian king on the left receiving homage from a vassal or subject who worships him like a god—thus supporting Evans’ contention that Minoan kings were regarded as divine (Marinatos 2007, 182–183). As noted above, however, Marinatos incorrectly restored the standing and bending figures as wearing kilts (Marinatos 2007, fig. 2), obscuring the distinctly engorged penis and testicles of figure 1, and the exposed buttocks of figure 4. Furthermore, while their seminudity is recognized in the CMS volume (CMS II.7, no. 3), no discussions acknowledge the deliberate positioning of figure 4’s naked buttocks under the skirt of figure 2. Indeed, it is remarkable how the seal-carver shows this, by stopping the B EYO N D T H E " C H I E F TA N C U P " : M I N OA N M A L E " R I T E S O F PA S S AG E "

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hemline to fully expose the buttocks’ contour, and compressing the fabric above the tufts. Frankly, it is difficult to explain this as anything but a representation of anal copulation. The scene’s sexually charged atmosphere is further underscored by the aroused state of figure 1. Such a unique scene in Minoan imagery surely begs for an explanation beyond the description of gestures and identification of actions. One line of inquiry is suggested when the scene is considered alongside the other images interpreted here as emblematic references to male age-grade initiation rites. As noted above, each appears to reference a different episode associated with the initiation into the middle phase of youth (Koehl 2000, 135, fig. 11.1:IIb). Thus, the gold ring from Pylos depicts the transitional or liminal period, spent hunting agrimis in the wild (Figs. 9.1), while the Chieftain Cup (Fig. 9.2) refers to the rites of incorporation, when the youth was presented with gifts, notably the sword and tasseled scabbard, after which he and his lover performed a sword dance, as emblematized on HMs 52 and HMs 53 (Fig. 9.3). We recall that on both the Chieftain Cup and the sealings, the youth’s cohort appear as participants and witnesses, akin to the agela of the historical period (Figs. 9.2:b, 9.3; cf. Strabo 10.4.16, 20 [C480, C 482]). The scene on HMs 76, however, introduces a new set of iconographic elements. Whereas the protagonist, or initiate, on the Chieftain Cup is the short-haired youth who receives the tasseled sword and then displays it while dancing, as on HMs 52 and HMs 53, the central figure on HMs 76 is the bending male with a long back lock, figure 4. As noted above, the lock of hair on figure 4 seems to reach only to the middle of his back, and with one lock depicted, seems sparse in comparison to the multiple waist-length tresses worn by figure 1. Considering the specificity of costume, gesture, and pose in Neopalatial figural art, it is likely that the seal-maker intentionally distinguished the hairstyle of these two figures. I would suggest that both hairstyles belong to the final phase of youth (Koehl 2000, 136, fig. 11.1:IIc) but represent two levels within that age-grade. Thus, on the left, stands figure 1, the fully matured youth, whereas in the middle, the youth who is just entering that phase bends in submission; figure 4, in other words, is the initiate. That a homosexual act may have formed a component of the rites of passage into the ultimate phase of youth should not surprise. Anthropological studies of traditional societies provide ample comparanda, as do sources from the classical world (Herdt, ed., 1982, 1984; Sergent 1996). And, as already discussed, a homosexual relationship was an important element in the initiation of males into the middle phase of youth (Koehl 2000, 135– 138, fig. 11.1:IIb). 126

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On HMs 76, however, it would appear that the initiator is not figure 1, the fully matured youth, but figure 2, the male standing behind the bending figure. Based on his attire, hairstyle, and beard, if correctly restored, this figure would belong to the oldest stage identifiable in Minoan iconography, the fully matured adult of phase IIIc (Koehl 1995, 28–31; 2000, 135–137, fig. 11.1:IIIc). During the historical period on Crete, an analogous role was filled by the local kosmos, an administrator who held various civic and priestly responsibilities, including supervision over the ritual graduation of youths from the agela (Willetts 1955, 123, 127). Though Davis thought that royal imagery was entirely absent from Minoan Crete (Davis 1995), I previously suggested that all of the figures wearing wrapped garments on the so-called priest seals held both the highest religious and political authority (Koehl 1995). Based on its derivation from the attire for local Canaanite authorities, however, perhaps the tufted garment was worn by the highest locally ranking administrators on Minoan Crete. If this figure is the initiator, then who is figure 1, standing off to the left? The long rod or spear he holds in one hand could connect him with a corpus of images that includes figure A on the Chieftain Cup (Fig. 9.2:a), the “Master Impression” from Chania, and the cushion-shaped seal from Naxos, discussed above (Hallager 1985, 22–25, figs. 9–16, 28:a; Koehl 2006, 255–256, no. S5; Crowley 2013, 193, no. E 128). Though usually interpreted as a gesture connoting command or power (Hallager 1985, 23– 25; Crowley 2013, 193), on the Chieftain Cup and the Naxos seal it may alternatively be understood as a gesture of offering or presentation (Koehl 2006, 256), whereas on the “Master Impression,” it may be read as a gesture of protection. On all these examples, however, the arm holding the rod or spear is extended, whereas on HMs 76, the arm is pulled back. Furthermore, the position of the bent arm, with fist over heart, is only paralleled on the painted plaster relief of the “Prince of the Lilies” or “Priest King” from Knossos, suggesting how that fresco itself might be restored (Shaw 2004, cf. figs. 4.1–4.5). It should also be noted that, besides the gold ring from Pylos (Fig. 9.1), this sealing is the only image in Minoan art where a figure displays a naked and engorged penis. I therefore propose that figures 1 and 4 on HMs 76 represent the same male couple emblematized on the Chieftain Cup (Fig. 9.2:a). Figure 1 “offers” his youthful lover, figure 4, to figure 2, the eldest local male authority figure, to initiate him into the last phase of youth, phase IIc (Koehl 2000, 135, fig. 11.1:IIc). During the course of this age-grade, he may have continued his initiatory cycle by participating in arduous athletic competitions, such as bull-leaping, boxing, and running, to achieve even higher status (on Minoan athletics and initiation, see Koehl 1986, 109 n. 66; 2006, 165; B EYO N D T H E " C H I E F TA N C U P " : M I N OA N M A L E " R I T E S O F PA S S AG E "

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Rutter 2014, 41). As noted above, sources from the historical period clearly indicate that initiation to fully enfranchised manhood entailed success in athletic competitions, specifically foot races (Willetts 1955, 11–12, 200; Lebessi, Muhly, and Papasavvas 2004, 12–17, 23–24). Thus, three sealings from Zakros discovered in 1901, and a gold ring from Pylos, may now join a growing corpus of images that refer to various aspects of Minoan age-grade rites of passage. Hopefully, too, this paper communicates something of the impact that Ellen Davis had on this discussion and on my own efforts as an interpreter of its iconography.

Acknowledgments I am grateful to Maria Anastasiadou of the CMS in Heidelberg, for enthusiastically sharing her observations with me ahead of her own republication of the Zakros sealings, her fine color photograph of HMs 76, and for photographs and images from the CMS archives. I am also deeply grateful to Georgia Flouda and the staff of the Herakleion Archaeological Museum for graciously allowing me to study HMs 53 and HMs 76, to Fritz Blakolmer and Andreas Vlachopoulos for stimulating discussions, and to Patricia Karsay for technical help and esthetic advice.

References Beck, P. 2002. “The Figure of the Ruler and Related Problems in Middle Bronze Age Art,” in Imagery and Representation. Studies in the Art and Iconography of Ancient Palestine: Collected Articles (Journal of the Institute of Archaeology of Tel Aviv University Occasional Papers 3), P. Beck, N. Na’aman, U. Zevulun, and I. Ziffer, eds., Jerusalem, pp. 58–93. Blegen, C.W., M. Rawson, W.D. Taylour, and W.P. Donovan. 1973. The Palace of Nestor at Pylos in Western Messenia III: Acropolis, and Lower Town, Tholoi, Grave Circle, and Chamber Tombs. Discoveries outside the Citadel, Princeton. CMS I = Sakellariou, A., ed. 1964. Die minoischen und mykenischen Siegel des Nationalmuseums in Athen (CMS I), Berlin. CMS II.1 = Platon, N., ed. 1969. Iraklion Archäologisches Museum: Die Siegel der Vorpalastzeit (CMS II.1), Mainz. CMS II.5 = Pini, I., ed. 1970. Iraklion Archäologisches Museum. Die Siegelabdrücke von Phästos (CMS II.5), Mainz. CMS II.7 = Müller, W., and I. Pini, eds. 1998. Iraklion Archäologisches Museum: Die Siegelabdrüke von Kato Zakros. Unter Einbeziehung von Funden aus anderen Museen (CMS II.7), Berlin.

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CMS V = Pini, I., ed. 1975. Kleinere griechische Sammlungen (CMS V), 2 vols., Mainz. CMS V, Suppl. IA = Pini, I., ed. 1992. Kleinere griechische Sammlungen: Ägina– Korinth (CMS V, Suppl. IA), Berlin. CMS V, Suppl. 2 = Dakoronia, Ph., S. Deger-Jalkotzy, and A. Sakellariou, eds., 1996. Kleinere griechische Sammlungen: Die Siegel aus der Nekropole von Elatia-Alonaki (CMS V, Suppl. 2), Berlin. Crowley, J.L. 2013. The Iconography of Aegean Seals (Aegaeum 34), Leuven. D’Agata, A.L. 2012. “The Power of Images: A Figured Krater from Thronos Kephala (Ancient Sybrita) and the Process of Polis Formation in Early Iron Age Crete,” SMEA 54, pp. 207–247. . 2014. “Warrior Dance, Social Ordering and the Process of Polis Formation in Early Iron Age Crete,” in Archaeological Approaches to Dance Performance (BAR–IS 2622), K. Soar and C. Aamodt, eds., Oxford, pp. 75–83. Davis, E.N. 1986. “Youth and Age in the Thera Frescoes,” AJA 90, pp. 399–406. . 1995. “Art and Politics in the Aegean: The Missing Ruler,” in The Role of the Ruler in the Prehistoric Aegean. Proceedings of a Panel Discussion Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America, New Orleans, Louisiana, 28 December 1992, with Additions (Aegaeum 11), P. Rehak, ed., Liège, pp. 11–20. Doumas, Ch.G. 1987. “Η Ξεστή 3 και οι κυανοκέφαλοι της Θήρας,” in EΙΛΑΠΊΝΗ. Tόμος τιμητικὸς γιὰ τὸν καθηγητὴ Nικόλαο Πλάτωνα, L. Kastrinaki, G. Orphanou, and N. Giannadakis, eds., Herakleion, pp. 151–59. . 1992. The Wall-Paintings of Thera, Athens. . 2000. “Age and Gender in the Theran Wall Paintings,” in The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium, Petros Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas, 30 August–4 September 1997. Vol. II, S. Sherratt, ed., Athens, pp. 971–981. Driessen, J., and C.F. Macdonald. 1997. The Troubled Island: Minoan Crete before and after the Santorini Eruption (Aegaeum 17), Liège. Evans, A.J. 1921–1935. The Palace of Minos at Knossos I–IV, London. Hallager, E. 1985. The Master Impression: A Clay Sealing from the Greek-Swedish Excavations at Kastelli, Khania (SIMA 69), Göteborg. Herdt, G.H., ed. 1982. Rituals of Manhood: Male Initiation in Papua New Guinea, Berkeley. , ed. 1984. Ritualized Homosexuality in Melanesia, Berkeley. B EYO N D T H E " C H I E F TA N C U P " : M I N OA N M A L E " R I T E S O F PA S S AG E "

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Hogarth, D.G. 1902. “The Zakros Sealings,” JHS 22, pp. 76–93. Koehl, R.B. 1986. “The Chieftain Cup and a Minoan Rite of Passage,” JHS 106, pp. 99–110. . 1995. “The Nature of Minoan Kingship,” in The Role of the Ruler in the Prehistoric Aegean. Proceedings of a Panel Discussion Presented at the Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America, New Orleans, Louisiana, 28 December 1992, with Additions (Aegaeum 11), P. Rehak, ed., Liège, pp. 23–35. . 1997. “The Villas at Ayia Triada and Nirou Chani and the Origin of the Cretan Andreion,” in The Function of the “Minoan Villa.” Proceedings of the Eighth International Symposium at the Swedish Institute at Athens, 6–8 June 1992 (ActaAth 4º, 46), R. Hägg, ed., Stockholm, pp. 137–147. . 2000. “The Ritual Context,” in MacGillivray, Driessen, and Sackett, eds., 2000, pp. 131–143. . 2001. “The ‘Sacred Marriage’ in Minoan Ritual and Religion,” in Potnia: Deities and Religion in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 8th International Coneference, Göteborg, Göteborg University, 12–15 April 2000 (Aegaeum 22), R. Hägg and R. Laffineur, eds., Liège, pp. 237–243. . 2006. Aegean Bronze Age Rhyta (Prehistory Monographs 19), Philadelphia. Krzyszkowska, O. 2005. Aegean Seals: An Introduction (BICS Suppl. 85), London. Lebesi, A. 1985. Το iερό του Ερμή και της Αφροδίτης στη Σύμη Βιὰννου Ι.1. Χάλκινα κρητικά τορεύματα (Βιβλιοθήκη της εν Αθήναις Αρχαιολογικής Εταιρείας 102), Athens Lebessi, A., P. Muhly, and G. Papasavvas. 2004. “The Runner’s Ring: A Minoan Athlete’s Dedication at the Syme Sanctuary, Crete,” Athenische Mitteilungen 119, pp. 1–31. Levi, D. 1925–1926. “Le Cretule di Zakro,” ASAtene 8–9 [1929], pp. 157–201. . 1962. “La Tomba a Tholos di Kamilari presso a Festòs,” ASAtene 39– 40, pp. 71–48. MacGillivray, J.A., J.M. Driessen, and L.H. Sackett, eds. 2000. The Palaikastro Kouros: A Minoan Chryselephantine Statuette and Its Aegean Bronze Age Context (BSA Studies 6), London. Marinatos, N. 1986. Minoan Sacrificial Ritual: Cult Practice and Symbolism, Stockholm.

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. 2007. “Proskynesis and Minoan Theocracy,” in ΣΤΕΦΑΝΟΣ ΑΡΙΣΤΕΙΟΣ: Archäologische Forschungen zwischen Nil und Istros. Festschrift für Stefan Hiller zum 65. Geburtstag, F. Lang, C. Reinholdt, and J. Weilhartner, eds., Vienna, pp. 179–185. Pilz, O., and G. Seelentag, eds. 2014. Cultural Practices and Material Culture in Archaic and Classical Crete. Proceedings of the International Conference, Mainz, May 20–21, 2011, Berlin. Rehak, P. 1999. “The Mycenaean ‘Warrior-Goddess’ Revisited,” in Polemos: Le Contexte guerrier en Égée à l’âge du Bronze. Actes de la 7e Rencontre égéenne international, Université de Liège (Aegaeum 19), R. Laffineur, ed., Liège, pp. 227–239. Rutter, J. 2014. “Sport in the Aegean Bronze Age,” in A Companion to Sport and Spectacle in Greek and Roman Antiquity (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World), P. Christesen and D.G. Kyle, eds., Chichester, pp. 36–52. Sakellarakis, Y. 2012. Κύθηρα: Το Μινωικό ιερό κορυφής στον Άγιο Γεώργιο στο βουνό. 2: Τα ευρήματα (Βιβλιοθήκη της εν Αθήναις Αρχαιολογικής Εταιρείας 276), Athens. Sapouna-Sakellaraki, E. 1971. Μινωικόν ζώμα (Βιβλιοθήκη της εν Αθήναις Αρχαιολογικής Εταιρείας 71), Athens. . 1995. Die bronzenen Menschenfiguren auf Kreta und in der Ägäis (Prähistsoirische Bronzefunde I.5), Stuttgart. Sergent, B. 1996. Homosexualité et initiation chez les peuples indo-européens, Paris. Shaw, M.C. 2004. “The ‘Priest-King Fresco’ from Knossos: Man, Woman, Priest, King or Someone Else?” in ΧΑΡΙΣ. Essays in Honor of Sara A. Immerwahr (Hesperia Suppl. 33), A.P. Chapin, ed., Princeton, pp. 65–84. Thorne, S. 2000. “Diktaian Zeus in Later Greek Tradition,” in MacGillivray, Driessen, and Sackett, eds., 2000, pp. 149–162. van Gennep, A. 1960. The Rites of Passage, M.B. Vizedom and G.L. Caffee, trans., Chicago. Verlinden, C. 1984. Les statuettes anthropomorphes crétoises en bronze et en plomb, du IIIe millénaire au VIIe siècle av. J.-C. (Archaeologia Transatlantica 4), Providence. Warren, P.M. 1988. Minoan Religion as Ritual Action (SIMA-PB 72), Göteborg. Weingarten, J. 1983. The Zakros Master and His Place in Prehistory (SIMA-PB 26), Göteborg.

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Willetts, R.F. 1955. Aristocratic Society in Ancient Crete, London. Ziffer, I. 1990. At That Time the Canaanites Were in the Land: Daily Life in Canaan in the Middle Bronze Age. 2: 2000–1500 b.c.e., Tel Aviv.

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The Ideology of the Ruler in Mycenaean Prehistory: Twenty Years after the Missing Ruler T H O M A S G . PA L A I M A

In my experience, Ellen Davis had a healthy outlook on scholarship. To her it was one long, extended conversation, and she gave her attention to what those who had come before her had said. In the St. John’s College tradition, she wanted to know what others had to say about her ideas but did not worry about the future reception of her thoughts, and she looked forward to the new discoveries and new ideas of others. And she always, always, talked over ideas with us collectively and individually not as if they were removed from our lives, in illo tempore, like myths and tales for children or chess pieces for scholarly egos. Rather, she discussed topics in the Aegean Bronze Age as if they were part of the meaning our lives have in hoc tempore, right here and right now, over a bagel with a schmear, over dim sum, over the coffee-stained pages of yesterday’s New York Times. It was Ellen who first noticed that representations of the ruler were missing from the iconographical record of Minoan art, a perception that she publicly presented in 1985 at the annual meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America. She pointed that out to us so modestly, as she always did, that it took a collaboration of scholars, among them Robert Koehl and the late and much lamented Paul Rehak, to preserve Ellen’s

thinking in print a full decade later (Davis 1995, esp. 18; Koehl 1995; Rehak, ed., 1995). There is, indeed, also a scarcity of kingly imagery in Mycenaean art. This may be due to the reliance of the Mycenaeans on the Minoan pictorial tradition, which generally had provided them with appropriate and adequate prototypes, although not in this case. Yet we know that the Mycenaeans had kings, not only from the Linear B texts and from the survival of Homeric terms, but also from the evidence of Mycenaean architecture. Tholos tombs and the megara of the Mycenaean palaces are dominant architectural forms, strong evidence of an elite—of royalty. On Crete, the picture is different. The Minoan king is as elusive in architecture as he is in the pictorial art, unless we posit that the throne room at Knossos was actually a throne room, albeit not in the strict Mycenaean sense. It is clear that whatever ceremonies took place there were significant to how the people, even in the Mycenaean period, conceived of and responded to the power figures who presided at Knossos. As in the formation of the Carolingian state around Pippin, Charlemagne, and their successors, and of the Hittite state around Hattusili I, Mursili I, and their successors, the continuing existence of Mycenaean palatial kingdoms depended on the central authorities being seen as capable of, and being trusted to, provide benefits. This benevolence was seen in the form of land grants, elevated social status and hierarchical distinctions, food allotments (through centrally monitored harvests and, though not archaeologically evident, importation of grain), feasts and festivals, major public works (aqueducts, road networks, dams, harbors, fortification walls, and impressive palatial buildings) and the employment opportunities such projects provided, general prosperity, and material well-being. The wanaks and lāwagetās had to be seen as benefactors in a literal and substantial sense. They also had to motivate and reward both regional and local nobility, palatial officials, and dependent personnel. Besides providing material prosperity, the Mycenaean rulers had to convey to the inhabitants an overall sense of security from outside threats and internal disorders, as well as the possibility of redress from local misapplications of justice (Palaima 2012b, 348). To me, what is surprising about Ellen’s observation 30 years later is not that Aegean rulers are neither evident in the iconography nor explicitly evident in any particular unit of Minoan architecture. What is surprising is that we have not made more of a concerted and collaborative effort to address the questions that Ellen’s insight raises. By examining the evidence for rulers and ruler ideology in textual documentation, we can, if we are careful, get a sense of where the inhabitants in palatial territories of Mycenaean Greece got their ideas about power and how those ideas were put into practice. 134

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The Mycenaeans, in the two centuries we consider their heyday, ca. 1400–1200 b.c.e. (Late Helladic [LH] IIIA and IIIB), were a hybrid culture assembled over a period of at least 500 years by Indo-European (hereafter, IE) outsiders merging with and influenced by the beliefs, practices, customs, and cultural paraphernalia of what we still refer to as substrate inhabitants of the Aegean area, including what are called Minoan and Minoanized peoples. The Mycenaeans were also under the influence of, and had both direct and transfused contacts with, high cultures in the surrounding Eastern Mediterranean, Anatolia, Egypt, and the Near and Middle East with long-established power structures and ideologies. These contacts must have affected the behavior and concepts of the Mycenaean palatial elites. Ellen would still be puzzled over how the very concept of “king” came to be and its afterlife. In poor imitation of Ellen, I will attempt to explain what I think the textual data tell us. The Mycenaean king, or wanaks, is not missing from the Linear B texts, although occurrences of the term per se and derivatives of it are not all that common: 18 references, out of about 1,000 sizable texts, to the wanaks at Pylos (eight occurrences of which are the adjectival form wanakteros); six (three of which are adjectival) at Knossos, out of well over 2,000 sizable texts; two (one of which might be adjectival) at Thebes, out of at least 150 sizable texts; one now in the new tablets from the major Laconian palatial center being uncovered at Hagios Vasileios in Laconia (Vasilogamvrou 2015); plus single vase inscriptions from Tiryns, Thebes, Eleusis, and Chania with the adjectival form or the single-syllable abbreviation wa. A broader look helps put these relatively modest numbers in perspective. For example, Leprohon, in discussing Egyptian royal ideology and state administration, points out the elusive nature of references to the Egyptian king in administrative texts (Leprohon 1995, 280). Where ceremonial or ritual duties are to be fulfilled, reference to the Egyptian king is present. If not, he is found rarely; oversight and control falls to other administrators, sectors, and offices. The same, judging from the nature of our Linear B texts, seems to be the case with references to wanaks or material things and people associated with the wanaks. For the Mycenaean period, all we have are narrow economically focused administrative texts. In the Linear B texts, the term wanaks is mostly linked to practical matters associated with the rituals, ceremonies, practices, and behaviors of the “office” of the Mycenaean ruler in tablets recording: (1) offerings of perfumed oil; (2) landholdings of specialist royal crafts personnel; (3) precious, and no doubt exclusively royally monopolized purple-dye workshops; (4) contributions to feasting events by what we would call key political figures and

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social groups; and (5) ritual paraphernalia to be used in ceremonies that include sacrifice and communal banqueting (Palaima 1995, 1997, 2006). There are, however, questions that the textual data are unlikely to answer. Surely there was a time in the southern Balkan Peninsula, the Cyclades, and Crete when the figure identified in the Linear B, and later early Greek historical texts, as the wanaks did not exist. How then did such a figure come to be, and where did the term used to identify him come from? What meaning did it have originally, and what meaning did the native Greek speakers among the Mycenaeans think it had? Once the position or institution of the wanaks came into being, what was involved in the passing of the authority of this position from one holder to the next, given that smooth and stable succession in offices of the greatest power is a desirable, although often unattainable, necessity in any culture (Palaima 2012b)? What did individuals who were not yet, but one day would be, wanaks think about the transition they would have to make, and then have made? What beliefs and expectations did they have? How were they enculturated to assume and hold the powers of wanaks? What did they use during this process to convince themselves and others that they were what we would call the “real deal”? I have tried to answer some aspects of these questions over the past 20 years (Palaima 1995, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2012a, 2012b). In order to get better answers, I try here, as Ellen would have, to get some sense of how power figures functioned in the greater and longer enduring civilizations to the south and east of the Mycenaean mainland, the Cycladic islands and the island of Crete. This is the milieu in which the Mycenaeans were operating. If the Mycenaeans had been exposed to Ellen’s friend Malcolm Wiener’s “Versailles effect” from Crete (Wiener 1984, 17), they might have felt this effect also to some degree from Hittite Anatolia, Egypt, and the major centers of cuneiform cultures. My modus cogitandi here is as simple as Ellen’s always was. My objectives and strategy can be summed up as follows: 1. We should consider the preceding questions in the broader eastern Mediterranean, Anatolian, Near and Middle Eastern milieu in which Mycenaean culture was formed and in which it eventually competed and existed during the palatial period (ca. 1600–1200 b.c.e.). 2. We should consider whether a “Versailles effect” on the Mycenaeans came from more than Minoan culture. 3. If we can detect traces (often symbols and meaningful symbolic syntax) of extra-cultural influence in images and objects, perhaps we can also see them in the lexicon of terms for power and for the 136

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instruments and trappings of power used by the Mycenaeans and the surrounding high cultures with which they were in contact. What I am proposing would be the linguistic correlate to “the visual expression of a specific intercultural, supraregional community of rulers that coalesced as a distinct sociopolitical entity during the late Bronze Age,” as identified by Feldman (2006, 8). Before turning to these questions, at the other end of the historical process we ask how could the many regional leaders of the Mycenaean palatial territories, each known as wanaks, and the culture built around them, disappear so quickly at the end of the Late Helladic IIIB period (Crielaard 2011)? Should we be troubled by how quickly Mycenaean palatial culture seems to have vanished, even factoring in the elements of Mycenaean ruler ideology that were preserved for some time during LH IIIC by local rulers to legitimize their right to power (Maran 2006, 2011)? Does the fact that it disappeared in and of itself suggest that the structures of Mycenaean palatial territories were flawed or that the institution of the wanaks was not well suited to the conditions that prevailed in the Aegean during the Mycenaean palatial period (Palaima 2007)? The answer is simple. Conditions were right for the wanaks and Mycenaean palatial culture to cease to exist, just as the seemingly firmly fixed institutions of German Kaiser and Russian Tsar, both based on a connection with and using terminology derived from Roman imperial culture, came to an end in less than a decade about a century ago (Belton 1998, 27). We should also note, as another instructive parallel even closer to our own time, how quickly many of the titles and terminology of the Nazi power system disappeared, especially the term for the sole power figure, der Führer (Elias 1983, 276–283), even though that system also based its ideological claim for legitimacy and its intentions for millennium-long perpetuation on earlier power systems and authority figures: the first Reich and second Reich were respectively the Holy Roman Empire and the Hohenzollern Dynasty. The German imperial phase of the Hohenzollern Dynasty originates with the proclamation of the German empire under a literal “Versailles effect” connected with the coronation of Wilhelm I as Deutscher Kaiser at the palace of Versailles on 18 January 1871, a date chosen for ancestral legitimization because it was the date when the first Prussian king, Frederick I, was installed in 1152 (Kitchen 1996, 207; on the titles and symbols of Prussian kings, see Stillfried 1875). We may note that Adolf Hitler, as Reichskanzler and Führer, also proclaimed himself Erster Soldat des Deutschen Reiches (First Soldier of the German Reich) at the beginning of World War II, on 1 September 1939 T H E I D E O L O G Y O F T H E RU L E R I N M YC E NA E A N P R E H I S T O RY

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(Toland 1976, 569–570; Lynch 2013, 198–199), and was known as Hoher Protektor des heiligen Berges (High Protector of the Holy Mountain) by proclamation of the Monastic State of Mount Athos after the Germans invaded Greece in 1941 (Feigl 1982, 58–59; Zwerger 2005, 262). Ellen would have seen the force and the complexity in such nomenclature (with its religious and war-related implications). She would have wondered how we might interpret power titles such as these in relation to what was equivalent for the Mycenaeans and Minoans.

Terminologies of Power: Wanaks, Megaron, Skēptron, and Thronos My aim is to get insight into the particular force that those who held power wanted the titles to convey, and to try to understand how those titles and other symbols of power were received by the different classes of people whom the rulers ruled and with whom they interacted. In this context, I make observations about four terms: the title wanaks and the terms megaron, thronos, and skēptron, and their real world correlates. Looking at other cultures can bring some comfort to Aegeanists. One of the Hittite terms used for their high king, tabarna-/labarna-, poses, if anything, even more difficulties concerning its ultimate origins. Yakubovich (2002, 94) in a provocative overview, cites the sober appraisal of Tischler (1988) regarding the term. His assessment would be a valid way of summing up discussion of the Mycenaean/historical Greek terms wanaks/ anaks and g wasileus/basileus: Die etymologischen Versuche . . . sind schon beinahe unübersehbar geworden, haben bisher zu keinem allerseits befriedigendem Ergebnis geführt. Attempts at etymology have already become nearly illimitable and up to now have led to no conclusion that is satisfactory from all perspectives. (Translation my own)

The term tabarna-/labarna- does appear applied to Hittite kings in Hittite records referring to the earliest stages of state formation. It also occurs in non-IE Hattic and Akkadian texts and likely a non-IE element in Palaic. The Hittite language has a somehow related verb tapar- (“rule”). In some schools of thought, various forms of tapar- gave rise to the term tabarna-/ labarna-. In others, forms of tapar- were responsible for the transformation from original labarna to tabarna once this foreign word had entered the Hittite lexicon, either (1) as a personal name for an early Hittite king, a kind of royal ancestor (see below, on the use of the term Caesar), or (2)

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as an early title borrowed from the Hattic population with whom the IE “Hittites” mixed, or (3) as a Wanderwort from some other culture. The evidence is as follows (Starke 1980–1983, s.v. Labarna; Beckman 2000b, 532; Soysal 2005; Kloekhorst 2008, 520–521). The term labarna appears in early Hittite texts dated to the 18th century b.c.e., and the term tabarna appears in the 16th-century b.c.e. proto-Hattic and Palaic texts at the same time that tawananna appears as a term for “queen.” Labarna-/ tabarna- are used for Hittite kings in Hittite records referring to the earliest stages of state formation, as already noted, and they continue in use to the end of the empire. The title labarna (king) is important for legitimization, for association with divine power, for Kampfkraft (military prowess), and for Fruchtbarkeit (fertility and fruitfulness: crops, animals, humans). The title is also associated with the deity ḫalmašuit (the deified throne seat; see Starke 1980–1983, 407). In comparison, in Egypt the throne of the pharaoh was deified early on; the same hieroglyph identified both the “throne” and the goddess Isis. Lastly, in late Hittite labarna was used in reference to deceased kings. The singularity and peculiarity of the word and its likely status as a loanword from a non-IE language are further highlighted by the fact that tabarna-/labarna- is rare among Hittite words in being “consistently written with the syllabographeme BA, . . . normally reserved for Sumerograms [BA] and Akkadograms [PÁ]” (Yakubovich 2002, 102, 108). This seems to be an attempt to capture precisely a consonant sound that was not in the normal Hittite phonemic repertory. Oddly enough, the Linear B script, which was adapted from the Cretan Linear A script expressly to represent the Greek language in written form, has a series of signs retained from Linear A that Melena (1987, 222–230; 2014, 71–73, 89) has convincingly argued represent some kind of peculiar /b/ phoneme. Yakubovich (2002, 104–111) goes so far as to suggest that the toponymic noun da-pu2-ri-to (daburinthos) found in the Linear B texts from Knossos, with the same fluctuation in representation of the initial d/l consonant (the word represented in Linear B daburinthos corresponds to historical Greek laburinthos) and the same effort to represent the labial stop /b/ by means of a special sign, ultimately derives from tabarna-/ labarna-. He cites the Carian place name Λάβραυνδα as a toponym derived from the root of this royal title. These places would then be identified simply as “place of the ruler” with a specification of the particular word for ruler that had gained rather wide usage as a Wanderwort. We should also note that Yakubovich (2002, 107) casts doubt on the standard explanation of the labr-/labur- element in Labraunda and laburinthos, stemming

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from Plutarch 2.302a, that labrus means pelekus “double axe” in Lydian (cf. Beekes 2010, 819 [s.v. laburinthos], 1166–1167 [s.v. pelekus]). This increases the possibility of a connection with the root seen in labarna. All this is not just wild speculation. Consider how widespread and long the title “Caesar” has traveled, both as a title and as a common term for power. It is manifest in Bulgaria, pre-imperial Russia, medieval Serbia, Germany, and Austro-Hungary. It was bestowed upon Octavian (Augustus) as an adopted name. Later it was assumed, without adoption on his accession, as a title by the emperor Claudius. It was later used by Diocletian as a title for heir apparent or emperor designate and for the secondary figure in a consortium, in the eastern empire from Constantine through Heraclitus and even afterwards. It was used in Persian and Arabic to refer to Roman and Byzantine emperors. And it was used after the Turks captured Constantinople to refer to the sultan in his capacity as literally “Caesar of the Roman Empire.” Wanaks Virtually the same kind of debate about the origin of the special term for “high king” in the Hittite texts continues concerning the term wanaks in scholarship on the Linear B texts. There have been many, to my mind, unpersuasive attempts at IE etymology (reviewed and refuted in Palaima 2006, 53–58). The latest attempt (Willms 2010) to revive an IE etymology does not take into account Palaima 2006 and uses a variant of a long-tried approach (Szemerényi 1979, 215–217; 1981) most recently advanced by Hajnal (see Palaima 2006, 55, for its shortcomings). The line of attack of Szemerényi, Hajnal, and Willms posits that wanaks goes back to an original form (w)anakt-, which Szemerényi segments as: *wen-ag-t IE *wen- + *ag- ‘lead’ + agent-suffix -t + s. Willms (2010, 252–259) rejects Szemerény’s (1981, 315) reasoning that wanaks ultimately derives from IE *wen- or *weni-, meaning respectively “clan” or “member of the clan,” so that the wanaks would be “leader of the kin, tribe,” according to Szemerényi (1979, 217) “a very suitable expression, it would seem.” Willms (2010, 257) asserts that “in IE times, when *wana[ks] was formed, the root *wen- was conceived with the two meanings (1) “to like,” “to love”; and (2) “to strive for,” “to make an effort,” “to fight,” or “to win.” Thus, in his view, the word wanaks can mean something like “he who leads ‘victory’” (cf. Rix and Kümmel 2001, 680–683, for the full range of meanings of what they take to be two separate roots, meaning respectively “liebgewinnen” and “überwältigen,” “gewinnen”).

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Willms (2010, 260) then further overemphasizes the Mycenaean evidence for the connection of the wanaks with military affairs. The evidence is minimal: two tablets, Vc 73 and Vd 136, from the Room of the Chariot tablets at Knossos that associate the title wa-na-ka most likely with a single chariot of unknown type (i.e., the texts belong to a series of tablets that are intentionally scored and cut to function as chits connected each with a single chariot, and one tablet may be a copy of the other), and from Pylos an impressed nodule, Wr 1480 (a surface find), which has the abbreviation WA for the adjective wanakteros and the words do-ka-ma (“handful[s]” or “handle[s]”) and pa-ta-jo (either “javelin” or “of javelins”) on the other two faces. These texts do not prove a significant role of the wanaks in military affairs, nor that warfare was the semantic sphere of the root of the title. Beekes (2010, 98–99, s.v. ἄναξ) argues convincingly, in my view, that wanaks is non-IE and that the suffix -ak- is pre-Greek. We should notice that a whole array of words with a like morphology have no good IE etymology and understandably so. Judging by their meanings, that is, the things they identify (e.g., plants, minerals, distinctive manufactured or technological items, customary social practices), words of this morphology would seem to have been Greek borrowings from non-IE languages and culture groups: σάμαξ, σάμακος: “bulrush, mat of bulrush” σάνδυξ, σάνδυκος: “bright red colorant, or cloth thereof” δόναξ, δόνακος: “pole-reed, shaft of an arrow or pipe made thereof” σμῖλαξ, σμίλακος: “common yew tree, ivy-like weed, leguminous plant” θῶραξ, θώρακος (θύραξ): “cuirass, upper-body armor” αὖλαξ, αὔλακος and variant ἄλοξ, ἄλοκος: “furrow” (Beekes 2010, 73–74) κόρδαξ, κόρδακος: “name of a dance” (Beekes 2010, 750) σάλπιγξ, σάλπιγγος: “trumpet” σῦριγξ, σύριγγος: “quill, flute” φήληξ, φήληκος: “wild fig” φόρμιγξ, φόρμιγγος: “cither, often called a lyre” φῶυξ, φώυκος or πῶυξ, πώυκος: “a kind of bird, a heron.” Even the very common historical term φύλαξ, φύλακος (“guard”) defies a convincing IE etymology and is classified by Chantraine (2009, 1187) as having the structure of the sample list of clear loan words just listed: “Un

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terme comme φύλαξ a la même structure que κόλ-αξ, σκύλ-αξ, etc., mais avec un radical obscur; mots expressifs ou familiers, souvent sans etymologie.” Chantraine, in part on these grounds, considers wanaks (ἄναξ) as a loan word: “Ét[ymologie]: Inconnue. On admet que c’est un terme d’emprunt (pour les raisons de l’emprunt, voir Meillet, Mél.Glotz, 2,587 sqq.)” (Chantraine 2009, 80–81). Later Greek κῆρυξ, κήρυκος (with long upsilon throughout), which is found (ka-ru-ke) in Mycenaean Greek in texts having some connection to ritual activities, is traditionally and reasonably—given the Mycenaean and historical Greek use of the term to designate a “messenger/ announcer” with special qualities—related to Sanskrit kāru-, or “singer, poet.” Beekes (2003), however, has demonstrated that Greek in its word formation does not have an enlargement in -κ-, as we have noted, and that the etymological derivation of κῆρυξ from the IE root for kāru- leaves the length of the upsilon unexplained. On balance, therefore, consideration of word formation in the Greek lexicon would suggest that it is at this time in our scholarly understanding reasonable to assume a priori that a noun of the shape wanaks is pre- or non-Greek in origin. Here then I rely on what I regard as the “gloss alternation” between Iphigeneia and Iphiwanassa in the traditions concerning the three daughters of Agamemnon (Palaima 2006, 58–62). The form Iphiwanassa with a non-Greek root in its second element is explained and replaced by Iphigeneia, a name with clearly understandable Greek roots. This would suggest that the root of wanaks and wanassa can be rendered by the Greek root *gen-, denoting “birth,” “begetting.” The English word “king” and Germanic “König” are derived from the same root IE *ǵenh1- (“beget, arise”). These associations are reinforced by the meaning of the root of the standard Hittite word for king ḫaššuš (see the Hittite verb ḫaš- = “beget”; Palaima 1995, 2006). This nexus suggests that the Hittite and Mycenaean terms for “king” have to do with “begetting” and fertility, a conclusion reinforced by Nagy (1992, 144–145, as discussed below) who argues that “a semantic relationship between the concept of ‘beget’ and ‘king’ may be latent in the heritage of myth and ritual.” Lastly, we should remember (Palaima 2006, 58) what Laroche and Watkins (Watkins 1986, 56–57) proposed for the names of two prominent members of the paramount royal dynasty of Troy in the Iliad, the old king Priam (Priamos) and the young prince Paris. Both names are clearly non-Greek. Paris in fact has an etymologically transparent alternative Greek name Aleksandros (cf. Skamandrios and Astuanaks for the son of Hektor). Priamos and Paris are identified as Luwian Pariya-muwas and Pari-LÚ. The first element of both names arguably comes from IE *perh3, 142

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meaning “birth, produce,” and the second element from IE *meuh1 /h3, “abundant, reproductively powerful.” Both names emphasize “birth” and “generation,” which is in line with what we have been arguing for wanaks. Furthermore, if our reasoning is correct, then Astu-anaks would fit into the lineage of royal names at Troy splendidly and give three generations of names that emphasize the guaranteed fertility and progenerative powers of the ruler dynasty: Priamos > Paris > Astuanaks. We should note that Szemerényi’s approach to an original IE source of wanaks would put it in the same semantic sphere of procreativity and family-clan association as my non-IE proposal. And in its survival as a technical term on the island of Cyprus in the historical period, the term wanaks also has to do with genealogical-family/clan relationships. The most pertinent occurrence is discussed by Masson (1961, 218) pointing to a passage of Aristotle found in Harpocration. It corroborates that in the historical period on Cyprus the term wanaks designated the son or brother of the king (basileus) of the community: §211 o-wa-na-xe sa-ta-si-ya-se | sa-ta-si-ka-ra-te-o-se Ὁ ϝάναξ Στασίyας Στασικράτεος inscription du prince Stasias, fils de Stasikrates, à dater vers la fin du IVe siècle. Le mot ϝάναξ signifie “prince,” comme à Idalion, §220, 2; le fait est confirmé par un passage d’Aristote, fr. 526 Rose . . . chez Harpocration, s.v. ἄνακτες καὶ ἄνασσαι, indiquant que les fils et les frères d’un roi à Chypre sont appelés ἄνακτες.

As a counterbalance and note of caution, we should keep in mind that “Caesar” as a term for ruler is derived from the personal name of an early power figure and has a meaning that has no bearing on the function of the office it comes to identify, or on the qualities that those who hold the office should have, or the virtues they should embody and display. And, as Nikoloudis (2006, 231) points out, the Roman pontifex is not a literal “way/ passage (> bridge)-maker.” As significant as where the Hittite term comes from is what the force of its later use was. It functions in a similar way to how “Caesar” was appropriated in Kaiser and Czar. Whatever we believe about the historicity of an early Hittite king named Labarna, I agree with Yakubovich (2002, 100) that “it is a priori not unlikely that an early Hittite prince was given an auspicious name meaning ‘ruler’ [vel sim.], which was later ‘actualized’, as he became a king. It is also not impossible that in a later period the sense of the word tabarna-/labarna- implied a reference to this earlier ruler (or a group of rulers).” That is, in Hittite we would have embodied in the very title of the ruler a form of legitimization through reference to an ancestor.

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We see this instinct in the preternatural entity or figure entered in the text of Pylos tablet Tn 316: ti-ri-se-o-e (dative), a literally intensified hērōs (Thrice-hero), among many important divinities (Zeus, Hera, Hermes, Posidaeia, Diwia). Lupack (2014) has argued that the occurrences of the term wanaks in the dative on the oil offering texts (Fr series) at Pylos refer to the ancestral, heroized or deified wanaks from whom each wanaks in the Mycenaean palatial period draws his legitimacy. The supernatural figure, called the Thrice-hero, would be a further manifestation of this practice. This cultic sanctification of an ancestral king figure and title is perhaps also seen in the building of tholoi and the special treatment of Grave Circle A as recognition of ancestral associations, whether we call this “worship” or not (Shear 2004, 11 n. 61), within architectural programs that are clear statements of power. There is an attractive parallel in how the term/ title tabarna-/labarna- is used in Hittite texts much later than the period of the early figure Labarna who preceded Hattusili I (see Melchert 1978; Bryce 1981; Beckman 2000a, for the reading of important pertinent Hittite texts and efforts to make chronological sense of them). We turn now to the three terms that are closely connected with Mycenaean kingship and ruler ideology: in Greek, these are megaron, thronos, and skēptron. These are the three most distinctive identifiers of power in the cultural milieu in which the Mycenaean rulers were operating. Megaron The word megaron is amply attested in Homeric texts and a single time in Mycenaean Greek, on a nodule from Midea, in the allative form me-karo-de megaronde = “to the megaron.” Certainly it was understood by Mycenaean and later historical Greeks as connected with the adjective megas, from IE *meǵ-h2-, meaning “much, many” but also “great and sublime,” “lofty,” “grand, vast, important,” and sometimes “powerful” (Chantraine 2009, 649–650). The unit to which it refers is the central architectural focus (and locus of power) of the Mycenaean palatial centers, a unit that seemingly developed out of a long tradition of important buildings with big rooms of the same general plan and design with hearths (Barber 1992, esp. 20; Werner 1993; Hitchcock 2010, 201–204; Hitchcock and Chapin 2010, 820). If the canonical central megaron in Mycenaean palatial architecture does develop from Middle Helladic back into Early Helladic (EH) prototypes, even if they are not considered full and stylized palatial megara— and it is wise to be cautious about using the term megaron too loosely as a description of rectangular building elements (Darcque 1990; 2005, 144

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318–319)—it would be reasonable to posit that the word used to identify this component of settlement architecture is a loan word. It is outside the scope of this paper to take the matter up in full, but we may let suffice three expressions of opinion about how the megaron form and the hearth within it develop through time (cf. Darcque 1990; Werner 1993): This plan [of the megaron] is a formalization of the linear, axial arrangement characteristic of Middle Bronze Age architecture, and it has as its goal the circular monumental hearth in the centre of the megaron which is itself surrounded by four monumental columns (Wright 1994, 56). It is clear that the large baked and stamped terracotta hearth rims of the EBA corridor houses were very important expressions of those communities and that they slowly reappear and become centralized and ultimately monumentalized among the rectangular and apsidal houses of the MBA in Central and Southern Greece (J.C. Wright, pers. comm., 22 January 2015). The widespread use of rectangular rooms/structures, linear axiality and built hearths, however, seems to have been shared in EH II and EH III/ Middle Helladic, whether by the same population or a different one. The term megaron as a categorical grouping for architecture is quite difficult to define precisely. Thus, I am hesitant to say for certain whether the megaron was present throughout the entire Bronze Age, was a palatial adaptation/ crystallization of general architectural forms already present, or if the concept was introduced at some point but was not significantly unique relative to the pre-existing architectural vocabulary (K. Jazwa, pers. comm., 22 January 2015).

Beekes (2010, 917) believes that the word itself is a “technical loan from the substrate, perhaps adapted to μέγα.” He essentially is making the same kind of argument that was made with Labarnas/Tabarnas being associated, when taken into the Hittite lexicon, with the Hittite verb tapar-, meaning that a non-IE word (or root) gets taken into an IE language (Hittite and Greek) and is there associated with a much-used IEderived word (root). Furthermore, as with our treatment of the morphology of wanaks above, Beekes (2010, xxxvi) cites the structure of clear loan words in the historical Greek lexicon like ἄσκαρος, βάσσαρα, γάδαρος, γίγγλαρος, κίσθαρος, κύσσαρος, λέσχαρα, and φάλαρα, and toponyms like Megara, Aptara (Crete and Lycia), Patara (Lycia), and Allaria (Crete) as support for megaron being a substrate term with a substrate suffix. On the other hand, Melena (pers. comm., 16 August 2014, who considers megaron to mean the “lofty” room) regards megaron as readily explicable in Greek as *meg-h2r-on, comparing it to the verb form megairō. In turn, Beekes (2010, 917) sees it as unnecessary to reason that megairō has

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to be based on r-stem noun forms *meg(-h2)-r- (“greatness” or *megh2ro “great”), with yod-verbal suffixation, as posited by Chantraine (2009, 650), because the resultant -air- verbal suffix thus produced in Greek was so productive that it could be applied directly to a root ultimately coming from a substrate source, that is, meg-, and produce the historical verb form that ends in -airō without any intermediate form like *megh2-ro. Melena in turn explains the place name Megara as directly derived from the common plural usage of megaron (cf. dōmata) as “the place of lofty houses.” But this is at odds with and would leave unexplained the morphologically parallel place names that do not have apparent Greek etymologies. The same two lines of argument, for and against an inherited IE root, apply to the term thronos as well. Regarding the megaron as an architectural statement of power and ritual center, one rather spectacular parallel is that of the Egyptian term prˤ3 (pharaoh), which was first used as a title for the king of Egypt in the middle of the 18th dynasty after the reign of Hatshepsut (around 1460 b.c.e.) and continued in use throughout the rest of the Mycenaean period (Osing 1982). The title pharaoh means literally “the great (or greatest) house” (Leprohon 1995, 276; Hornung 1997, 286). It was used in this period alongside the word tw meaning “one, an impersonal construction” in order to designate it as applying to a person (von Beckerath 1984, 39). The end result then was that a term that “originally referred to the architectural entity of the palace . . . was later transferred to the institution and person of the [Egyptian] king” (Hornung 1997, 286), meaning, it became a title. This shift in usage coincides in its underlying meaning with the association of the Mycenaean power figure with “the big or lofty room” or megaron at precisely the time when the Mycenaean palatial system and, we would imagine, its corresponding architecture of power on the Mycenaean mainland, are making their first strides forward. We should not forget that a main, if not the main, feature of importance for the Mycenaean megaron and related pre-Mycenaean architectural precursors was the “hearth” at its center. In Mycenaean palatial centers the throne faced the hearth, thus emphasizing the close association between the enthroned wanaks and the sacred powers of the hearth. The smoke and fire in the hearth also necessitated that the roof of the megaron be opened above it, thus connecting the megaron both architecturally and ritually and symbolically to the sky and sky-god. Pertinent here is the persistent memory of the importance of the megaron and central hearth as a ritual locus of power and of fertility.

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Nagy (1992, 143) draws our attention to this fundamental significance of the “hearth,” in connection with the scepter, as preserved in Sophoclean tragedy: In the Electra of Sophocles, Clytemnestra dreams that Agamemnon has come back from the dead to the realm of light (417–419; ἐς φῶς 419). The king seizes the skêptron “scepter” (σκῆπτρον 420) that had once been wielded by him, but which is now held by the usurper Aegisthus (420–421), and he places it firmly into the royal hearth, the hestíā (ἐφέστιον | πῆξαι 419–420). From the hearth, there then grows out of the scepter a shoot so vigorous that it covers with its shade all the kingdom of Mycenae (421– 423). The focus in the inquiry that follows is this very symbol of the hestíā “hearth” as the generatrix of the authority that is kingship.

This regenerative life-giving power of the hearth, in connection with the sky-god above it in the megaron, is all the more remarkable given that when Achilles swears an oath while holding this very scepter in Iliad 1.236–237, he declares emphatically that it will never bloom again: οὐδ᾽ ἀναθηλήσει. Nagy (1992, 145) goes further and shows that in Hittite, the root ḫaš(“beget”) is related to the noun ḫašša- (“sacrificial fireplace”). We would argue that the same meaningful ritual and ideological association seems to be found in the Mycenaean palatial centers where the wanaks is firmly rooted in his thronos (see above for the Hittite and Egyptian association between the ruler and the sacred throne) and tends to the royal hestíā, the source of fire and fertility and of the bountifulness that is emphasized in Mycenaean palatial ideology (Palaima 2008, 384–386; 2012b). It is during the Mycenaean palatial period, too, that the main room of the megaron is upgraded and the hearth becomes its most dominant and central feature, with associated “throne” and columns for a clerestory (C.W. Shelmerdine and L.A. Hitchcock, pers. comm., 22 January 2015). Skēptron We now take up the wielded symbol of the power and vital charismatic authority of the ruler, the skēptron. Even Beekes, who is the keenest advocate of not going to desperate lengths to come up with an IE etymology for words in the historical Greek lexicon, especially when evidence is favorable that a term may be non-IE in origin, admits with regard to skēptron in Greek (with its conspicuous tool-suffix -tron) and cognates in other IE languages that “formally the words could certainly be of IE origin”

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(Beekes 2010, 1350, s.v. σκήπτομαι). In this case, he proposes that since all certain IE cognates are European, “the distribution of forms and semantics rather point to a European substrate origin.” This may be going too far. But that narrowing of the source of the term does not substantially affect our argument. The term skēptron is formed from the -tron “tool-suffix” designating an instrument relating to the action notion in the verbal root. The verb σκήπτομαι means “support oneself, lean (on),” and related forms in historical Greek have meanings—glossed or deducible from context— of “stick,” “branch,” “staff,” or “crutch” (Beekes 2010, 1350). The term skēptron is used in Homer for the royal scepter, notably of the house of Atreus, passed down to Agamemnon, while the term σκηπτ-οῦχος meaning “scepter-holder” = “ruler” was used in historical texts to describe “Persians and other Asiatic peoples who have high office at court.” Cognates in Latin and Albanian mean “shaft, stalk, stick, and scepter” and in Old High German and Old Norse “shaft, spear, or lance.” We might here consider the figure on the Chania Master Impression (CMS V, Suppl. IA, no. 142; Hallager 1985) and take note of Pausanias (9.40.11) on the historically identified scepter of Agamemnon. Pausanias says it was a doru, or wooden spear (shaft), directly transmitted, we are told in Homer, from Zeus, through Hermes, to the Atreid dynasty down to Agamemnon (see Koehl, Ch. 9, this vol.). As Chantraine (2009, 981) points out regarding skēptron in his entry on the verbal form skēptomai, Benveniste (1969, II, 29–32) demonstrated that in Greek alone among the IE languages was this root for “support” used for the power symbol that we still call the scepter as the term is applied to the many functions a king or claimant to power, temporary or permanent, might have: speaking in an assembled group with the right to be heard, rendering justice in different ways, asserting a right to command, and demonstrating divine legitimation. Notionally, the scepter is there to support power figures and claimants to power in these socially important activities. The impact that such a device of the ruler may have on those who are ruled is conveyed by Nexø (1917, 35), where the child of a common laborer feels the touch of the stick wielded by the owner of a farm estate to be “a caress of a divine nature” that conveyed “an elevating sensation in his shoulder as if he had been knighted” and transmitted “an intoxicating warmth . . . through his little body.” One thinks here primarily of how shepherds lean on their wooden staffs and use them as weapons in defense of the flocks they guard. It is then easy to understand the phrase poimēn lāwōn used in Homer

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(Haubold 2000, 21–24, calls “shepherd of the people” “an all-pervasive formula”) as an epithet for Mycenaean kings as “shepherd of the originally inflowing peoples” (Nikoloudis 2006, 231–236, esp. 235, for Mycenaean lāwos) and the direct transmission of the scepter of Agamemnon from Zeus through Hermes to the Atreid dynasty. It was passed in its last stage from Thyestes to Agamemnon who carried it and gained from it the legitimacy to πολλῇσιν νήσοισι καὶ Ἄργεϊ παντὶ ἀνάσσειν (Hom. Il. 2.108) “to be wanaks over many islands and all Argos.” By contrast, in Egypt various terms were used for the different types of scepters that were associated with the king (Kaplony 1986): (1) the was (“dominion”) scepter with a forked base and an animal head (dog or jackal) at the top (on the practical uses of the was scepter, see Schwabe and Gordon 1988); (2) the ankh signifying “life”; (3) the shepherd’s crook or ḥeqat (cf. the verb ḥeqa = “to rule”); (4) the flail or whip; (5) the mace, as an instrument of smiting enemies and asserting dominion; and (6) the sekhem signifying “power.” The was scepter is a good parallel for the Greek skēptron because it, too, is connected with the gods who wield it and bestow it upon the king who bears it as a mark of being divinely gifted and in turn wields it in the manner of a solicitous shepherd. Of these various hand-held symbols of powers, the one that may also be pertinent here is the ankh scepter. Schwabe, Adams, and Hodge (1982) have proposed that this symbol in origin was the thoracic vertebrae from a bull’s spine, a source of vital fluid and sperm. It is striking that the Linear A and B phonetic repertories share a phonetic sign (*17) that is identical with the ankh (Driessen 2000, 331, pl. 42). That its value in Linear B is za, the root syllable of the Greek word for “life,” deriving from a palatalized labiovelar that would fit perfectly with Minoan phonemic patterns (Chantraine 2009, 168–169 and 385, s.v. βίος and ζώω), suggests that here, too, there could be some cross-cultural transmission of ideas, forms, and symbols. Thronos Our final term thronos likewise is etymologized in two tracks. Beekes (2010, 558, s.v. θρόνος) asserts that Greek words ending in -ονος are rare, that a suffix *-ono- does not seem to have existed in Greek or in IE, and that words that would appear to have such suffixation, as traditionally explained, “are suspected to be of Pre-Greek origin.” He compares χρόνος “time” and Κρόνος, “the divine entity who is father of Zeus and whom Zeus overthrows.” Chantraine (2009, 1233) likewise says of attempts at

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finding a convincing IE/Greek etymology for χρόνος through an analysis parallel to κλόνος (κλ-όνος) and θρόνος (θρ-όνος), that they provide neither a satisfactory root nor a satisfactory suffix. Beekes (2010, 718, s.v. κλόνος) applies the same line of the argument to κλόνος “excitement, throng, battle turmoil.” The standard etymology proposed by Chantraine (2009, 442–443) and argued at length by de Lamberterie (2004) derives thronos from IE *dher-, meaning “to hold, support,” explaining its original meaning as “supporter, bearer.” Most tellingly, Beekes (2010, 558, s. θρόνος) argues that “no other words for ‘chair’ are derived from the proposed Indo-European root, nor does Greek have certain derivatives from this root.” But we have seen that Greek, among IE languages, has a special word for “ruler” and for “scepter.” It is clear what the term refers to in the Mycenaean period because of the references to thronos (in the form thornos, Myc. to-no) on three tablets in the Ta inventory of ritual furniture and paraphernalia and to throne-workers (thronoworgoi, Myc. to-ro-no-wo-ko) on Knossos text As 1517. What is at issue here is whether at its very origin and perhaps continuing forward, the Myceneaean Greeks conceived of this power/symbolic piece of furniture in line with the notion of “support” that underlies, as we have seen, skēptron, and whether none, one, or both of these two terms derive from substrate culture(s) and substrate thoughts and concepts. The Linear A and B sign *61 (Driessen 2000, 369, pl. 80) that has the phonetic value o in Linear B can reasonably be taken as a throne and in its fullest and most formal renderings a throne with a curved scepter. On Hagia Triada (HT) Linear A tablet 93a.6 it is word initial, a frequent slot for pure vowel signs. On HT 113.3 it might be word initial or even, possibly, ideographic. It appears as a rare (only three times) countermark on the inscribed nodules Wa 1279, Wa 1280, and Wa 1281. That this sign has the value o suggests that the term thronos was not derived acrophonically from whatever language(s) the Linear A script was devised to represent— its word for throne, using the acrophonic principle, would begin with oor the corresponding vowel or semivowel value in the Minoan language.

Conclusion Ellen, I imagine, would have a question, or perhaps two or three, after taking in what I have tried to “shine light on,” that is, “argue” in the literal sense. It is clear that Mycenaean power symbolism fits into the kinds of power symbolism used by surrounding high cultures of the mid- to late second millennium b.c.e. The Mycenaean ways of representing, presenting,

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and legitimizing power, linguistically, iconographically, and undoubtedly in ceremonial performance, can be characterized as having a more limited repertory of elements than those of surrounding cultures that had longer periods of development. But wanaks, thronos, megaron, and skēptron emphasized “support,” “stability,” ancestral legitimacy, central ritual largeness and loftiness, progenerative capacities and bountifulness, and linkage to higher powers in the divine sphere. Taken all together ideologically, they offered reassurance of continuing fertility and life for the populations who viewed them with a sense of awe. To sum up, the Mycenaeans and the Hittites applied non-IE terms to the supreme position of power and highlighted the association with early ancestral figures by using their titles (or their very names) to legitimize and secure the transmission of power down through royal lines. Both cultures used terms that emphasize the importance of the king as progenitor and guarantor of fertility. The Mycenaean king, in turn, associated himself symbolically with the hearth, the source of light and fire and the cultural advances that fire provides. The Hittite terms for “king” and for “hearth” share the same root meaning “beget” that we posit as the meaning of the non-IE root of wanaks. The “king” in both of these cultures is thus vital for the very life of the community. Like the Egyptian pharaoh, the Mycenaean king was ideologically linked to the “big hall.” The very title pharaoh has that meaning and is a true case of identification of the figure with his central, physical, and symbolic place in the community. The Mycenaean king’s throne (cf. the divinized thrones linked with the “ruler” in Egyptian and Hittite) and its ideological linking with the megaron and fertile, life-sustaining, regenerative hearth (hestia) emphasize the security and stability that the Mycenaean palatial centers promised as the do ut des of their social contracts with the peoples who lived within the territories that they dominated. The main power figures in the Mycenaean period and in the early stages of later historical Greek culture wielded only the single simple skēptron (a wooden spear shaft). They did not make use of variant devices that rulers in Anatolia, Egypt, and the Semitic cultures of the Middle and Near East carried as symbols of distinctive powers and roles, including those that symbolize the exertion of violent force against enemies, or threats, foreign or domestic. This is a significant departure from the power symbolism we see in these other high cultures that could have “played Versailles” for the Mycenaean Greeks. This might even explain why individual Mycenaean rulers are missing from palatial iconography. They might have staked their claim to their

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power through their title and office, both legitimized through links to a founding ancestral figure. The title and role they assumed promised both enduring stability and continuity through procreative powers and the benevolent and protective wielding of military power that is characteristic of a “shepherd of his peoples.” They performed their roles as kings by demonstrating a healthy respect for what the historical Greeks surely called, and perhaps even their Bronze Age ancestors had called, hubris. It would not be necessary or perhaps even reverent—but it would have been ou themis within the Mycenaean and later Greek belief system—for the Mycenaean wanaks to propagandize his personal accomplishments on the ceremonial walls of the central megaron. It might have been ou themis for any of them to put forth publicly their accomplishments as individual rulers. And so we do not see them as individuals in the archaeological remains and we consider them missing. Yet the Mycenaean kings, each a wanaks, were there and in power. They were firmly fixed, presiding, and, at least in ideological theory, pious and sacred. And in this way, they offered protection and guaranteed fertility, prosperity, and satisfaction to the inhabitants of their individual territories.

Acknowledgments I thank Robert Koehl and Larissa Bonfante for streamlining an unwieldy first draft. Will E. Bibee and Aren M. Wilson-Wright guided me through Egyptian, Hittite, and Akkadian sources and scholarship. Cassandra Donnelly pointed me toward Feldman’s view of an intercultural “royal” milieu. Richard Jasnow helped with scholarship on the Egyptian term “pharaoh.” I learned much from presentations of versions of this paper to the GSAS Workshop on Indo-European and Historical Linguistics, Harvard University (November 7, 2014) and to the University of Texas consortium for the study of writing systems and decipherment (December 1, 2014). Susan Lupack and Joann Gulizio kindly let me read, well in advance of publication, Susan’s now-published paper on the Mycenaean wanaks and ancestral legitimization. Louise Hitchcock, Jim Wright, Jack Davis, Cynthia W. Shelmerdine, and Kyle Jazwa readily provided expert guidance on the archaeological evidence for predecessors to the Mycenaean megaron. Gregory Nagy generously discussed his work on hearths and fertility with me. I also thank José L. Melena for explaining his etymology of megaron to me, Jeremy Rau for discussing with me how to weigh the evidence, material and linguistic, for alternative etymologies of megaron, and Christina Skelton and Paula Perlman for getting me to look

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again at the historical Cypriote evidence for wanaks. Nikos Poulopoulos discussed with me rare Greek words in -ks; Michael Cosmopoulos evidence for a megaron with a hearth at Iklaina. David Crew helped with references to the nomenclature of power during the Hitlerzeit. I thank retrospectively the late Mark Southern for discussions of the etymology of wanaks and the Hittite and Homeric evidence. I thank Vassilis Petrakis and Adamantia Vasilogamvrou for permission to refer to the reference to wanaks in the newly discovered Linear B tablets from Hagios Vasileios. In this paper I have not done justice to the intricate subtleties of the thoughts these and other scholars have about the many issues I necessarily take up. The fault for that is mine. Finally I thank Malcolm Wiener, as always for his probing questions, and Ellen Davis for still being Ellen Davis to us all.

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