Society and Culture in the Mycenaean World: An Analysis of Mortuary Practices in the Argolid, Thessaly and the Dodecanese

Voutsaki, S., 1993. Society and Culture in the Mycenaean World: An Analysis of Mortuary Practices in the Argolid, Thessaly and the Dodecanese, Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge.

Chapter 1. Introduction

1.1. The problem

...the perception of that distance may serve as the starting point of an investigation, for anthropologists have found that the best point to penetrate an alien culture can be those where it seems most opaque. Darnton, The Cat Massacre and other episodes in French cultural history, 78

In 1876, Heinrich Schliemann brought to light the magnificent treasures of the Shaft Graves of Mycenae. To the present day, his discoveries remain fascinating, not only to the public, but to the specialists as well. The splendour of the Shaft Grave offerings remains the most puzzling question of Mycenaean archaeology. The ethnic origins of the people buried in the Shaft Graves, the provenance of this unprecedented wealth, the ancestry of the shaft grave and the derivation of new stylistic principles, have been obsessively debated for more than a century now. However, we still need to discuss the causes and the consequences of the 'Shaft Grave phenomenon': how it emerged out of the introverted and less differentiated Middle Helladic society, and how this initial transformation of the mortuary practices at the end of the MBA is connected with the emergence of the 'petty kingdoms' and, later, of the palatial system. This is the aim of my study: to explain the relation between the earlier change in mortuary practices and the subsequent emergence of the palatial system. Interpreting the initial transformation, the 'Shaft Grave phenomenon', became a main concern. However, I am not going to reiterate the old questions. Certainly the provenance of this new wealth is an important question, and this will be addressed, but my main question is why and how it was accumulated at specific sites, and, most importantly, why it was deposited in the graves. I suggest that we are dealing with two problems, rather than only one. We need to explain both the introduction of valuable objects on the mainland and their deposition in the graves My emphasis on the problem of deposition became justified with the increasing realization that mortuary practices did not simply reflect and record changes taking place elsewhere, i.e. in the economic and productive sphere. Both the absence of a steady economic growth in the MH period (see chapter 5.1) and the theoretical tenet of the active role of social practices led me to reformulate my initial aim. Instead of explaining Mycenaean social processes through an investigation of mortuary practices, I moved on to examine the role of the mortuary practices, and in particular of conspicuous consumption in the mortuary sphere, in the emergence of social stratification. The

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2 practice of the ostentatious destruction of valuables thus became a central theme in my research. My aim went beyond simply detecting the operation of this practice once it had come into existence; my main question became why this practice was introduced in the first place. As I became better acquainted with different aspects of the Mycenaean evidence and in particular with the MH background, I became aware that my primarily social explanations left too many aspects of the data unanswered. Despite the clear continuity of forms, the transformation of mortuary practices in the transition to the LBA in the Argolid, the best documented area, was too pervasive. At the same time there was evidence of changes in other spheres of life which did not converge into a process of unilinear growth, and could not be explained away through social change alone. Anthropological reading on mortuary practices made me suspect that the use of mortuary data in the archaeological research of the last three decades has been limited; that there is more to be achieved by examining mortuary practices than the reconstruction of social organization or of societal change. It became my conviction that the end of the MBA saw a wider structural transformation which contained, but couldn't be reduced to, social change. Thus, the aim of my work became to understand the role of mortuary practices in the transformation of the kin-based and introverted MH societies into the hierarchical and expansionist Mycenaean cultural system. My interest beyond the strictly social aspects of mortuary practices was also connected with the decision to include in my study two peripheral areas, Thessaly and the Dodecanese, which became incorporated into the Mycenaean world, but never developed a fully fledged palatial system. The analysis of these two areas allows me to examine more closely the social and cultural aspects of mortuary practices: the adoption and adaptation of Mycenaean mortuary forms in these two areas can elucidate the mode and the consequences of the expansion of the Mycenaean cultural assemblage as well as the internal social processes. My main questions can be formulated as follows: How can an analysis of mortuary practices help us to understand the formation of the Mycenaean culture and society ? More generally, how should we approach and interpret mortuary practices ? These wider problems contain a multitude of smaller questions which have been developed and constantly re-defined during observation of the Mycenaean evidence, the inapplicability of certain general models to the Mycenaean situation, and dissatisfaction with current approaches and answers. The relation between cultural identity and mortuary forms, the creation and definition of value and prestige through sumptuary behaviour, the role of consumption and demand in social life, the importance of interaction and cultural demarcation: all these theoretical issues brought up new ways of

3 perceiving and ordering the evidence, and built up the explanatory framework of this study. The starting point of my approach is a critique of the currently prevailing approaches to mortuary practices, presented in chapter 2.1. To start with the New Archaeology, my criticisms can be summarized as a rejection of the notion of isomorphism, i.e. of the reflective relation between mortuary patterning and social organization. Isomorphism relies on a static definition of social structure, in which people belong firmly to clearly demarcated social strata. We shouls ask whether Mycenaean social organization conforms to this picture, rather than force the evidence into preconceived models. Indeed, this study will attempt to show that the traditional view of a social hierarchy corresponding to the main tomb types, the tholoi, the chamber tombs and the pits and cists simplifies a more complex and fluid situation. But my concern is not only whether isomorphism holds or not. The question is, even in cases where a degree of isomorphism can be postulated, should we interpret it as a manifestation of a cross-cultural law or as a phenomenon that needs to be explained within its context? For instance, it can be argued that the Mycenaean mortuary data show a general correlation between the type of tomb, the richness of the offerings and the importance of the associated settlement. We have therefore some independent evidence which could justify reflective inferences. At the same time, though, a disparity in the range of variation between the funerary and the domestic evidence can be detected: the scale and rate of elaboration of the mortuary ritual are not paralleled in the domestic context, and problems of preservation cannot fully account for this problem. Minoan Crete and the Cyclades, by contrast, show a different picture and an emphasis on the domestic/ritual sphere. This is the main problem with isomorphism: it assumes that all spheres of life reflect equally and faithfully the formal structure of society. Consequently, a systemic approach cannot explain why the mortuary sphere should be selected for the expression (or perhaps exaggeration ?) of differentiation, nor why mortuary practices are most sensitive to social change. The other consequence of isomorphism is the methodological isolation of mortuary practices. My position is that mortuary practices can only be understood if contrasted with the domestic evidence, if set against the traditional MH customs and the contemporary forms in neighbouring cultures; in short, if they are placed in their total social context, the cultural tradition and the historical background. My criticisms of the contextual approach are more complex, since it is more difficult to pin down its main theoretical tenets. However, a central principle is the active role of social practices in sustaining and legitimating power relations. The problem with this definition - or, to be fair, with its applications - is that it ultimately salvages economic

4 determinism: social practices are assigned an epiphenomenal role, the legitimation - or, in the more Marxist version, the mystification, dissimulation - of already constituted social interests. Certainly the Shaft Grave phenomenon can be described as competitive display in order to bolster nascent asymmetrical relations. But this proposition leaves a whole set of questions unanswered. Why did mortuary ritual take these forms -why this emphasis on demarcation and distanciation through the use of a formal and enclosed disposal area, and why the more complex funerary rites, involving re-use, with removal of the earlier interments and/or offerings, animal sacrifices, etc.? Further, why did the changes take place at the turn of the MBA and not before ? And, most importantly, if the mortuary practices only served for the a posteriori legitimation of an elite, then why and how did this elite emerge out of the less differentiated MH society? My objection, though, is not simply that the systemic and contextual approaches do not give the correct answers. My point is that both - in different degrees - ask limited questions: both are concerned with the social phenomena behind mortuary practices. I see the mortuary practices not only as an impression of the social fabric, nor simply as an arena for the legitimation of social interests. In chapter 2.2, I suggest instead that mortuary practices (like all other ritual and social practices) create social reality, shaping people's perception of the world and of their position in it. They create a temporal and spatial framework through which the universe is understood; they reproduce difference through transmission and inheritance; they define identity at the level of the person and at the level of the group. So far mortuary practices have been analyzed only as indicators of social differences. My contention is that mortuary practices create both difference and unity - and that is where their centrality lies. I must make it clear that by unity I mean cultural identity, a category that encompasses social differences and not social cohesion. After the rejection of the culture-historical approach, ethnicity hardly features in archaeological interpretation. My work is a deliberate attempt to bring this concept back into archaeological theory. I do not simply want to emphasize that mortuary practices have to be examined in relation to cultural attitudes to death, although this is in itself an important and often neglected issue. My point is that cultural identity is as important an organizing principle as kin and status, and should become part of our explanation of social processes. I should stress that I am not reverting to the normative approach. I do not define group identity as consisting of primordial and immutable endowments, but rather as a form of social life which can be redefined and transformed (Glazer and Moynihan 1975, 4). Nor do I propose that we should go back to delineating cultural assemblages; what we should do is examine whether cultural distinctiveness was or became an important issue in the periods we are studying, and if so, how this was manifested in their material culture. Ethnicity is

5 neither founded deeply in human nature, nor stable; it is a situational and strategic category, which can be constructed, re-defined and dissolved within specific historical circumstances. We should widen the scope of our explanations and consider the role of cultural demarcation alongside social differentiation. Again, this theoretical proposition is born out of my observations on the Mycenaean data. The transformation of mortuary practices in MHIII-LHI does not simply consist of an accentuation of social differences. We are dealing with a wider transformation of forms and practices: a stricter categorization of space through the use of extra-mural cemeteries, a cyclical temporal scheme through the re-use of the tombs and the secondary treatment of the body, a different definition of the social person through a stricter demarcation of the 'family' in the family sepulchres, and a wider and more inclusive 'mainland' cultural identity, through the simultaneous adoption of the new practices and forms in several regions (corroborated by the invention of a homogeneous pottery style, superimposed on the more regionalized MH styles). It is this wider transformation, the new joint emphasis on differentiation and cultural identity, and its consequences, that became the object of my study -and not simply the emergence of a social elite. My starting point is the practice of conspicuous consumption: after all, the appearance of valuable items in the archaeological record is the defining criterion of the Mycenaean period, and poses the most enigmatic question of Mycenaean archaeology. However, my interest in consumption does not only stem from my observations on the Mycenaean data. The 'productivist bias', the last shred of economic determinism inherited from 19th century economic theory, is still prevalent in archaeological theory today. There has been very little discussion in archaeology of the importance of sumptuary practices and the manipulation of demand in pre-market societies. And yet archaeology, more than any other social discipline, should be concerned with the issue of consumption. Our evidence consists of the results of more or less purposeful and formalized consumption, and does not necessarily reflect exchange networks or levels of production. These we can reach only indirectly, by examining other aspects of the evidence as well. Patterns of deposition in the Mycenaean graves provide a good example: in the palatial period in the Argolid there is an overall decline in the deposition of wealth outside the (robbed) palatial tholoi. Should we deduce that in this prosperous period the production or importation of valuable goods had ceased ? The mention of golden vessels dedicated to deities in the Linear B tablets and the discovery of the faience and ivory objects in the Houses of Mycenae point in a different direction: the patterns of deposition have changed, not the patterns of production. We

6 should therefore treat our evidence as it is, rather than as a fossilized imprint of what was produced and circulating. But once we reject using the archaeological evidence as a fossilized record, we need a theoretical framework which will allow us to move from the material evidence to the social strategies in which it wasused. We need a theory which allows for the importance of material culture in social action. This is the aim of the discussion on value and prestige in chapter 3: to set up a framework allowing me to make inferences, from the use and classification of goods, concerning the nature of power and the social structure. At the same time, the discussion in this chapter provides the starting point in my attempt to understand the past in its specificity, i.e. in its difference from the present, without reverting to its idealization. I try to reach an understanding of a different economic rationality and a different articulation of the economic and the political sphere in primitive societies. My approach relies on a specific definition of power: I see power as being constantly enacted through social practices and moral norms, as a subtle force pervading the whole of social life, and not as a resource allocated to and firmly held by individuals, nor as based exclusively on the accumulation of material wealth. Once more, my theoretical position is also related to observations on the Mycenaean data. If power is based on material wealth, then why is wealth in Mycenaean times removed from the economic sphere and deposited in graves? If agricultural potential, or even trade, is the sole basis of power, how can we explain the rise of Mycenae over the other Argive sites ? If power is a controlled commodity, owned anyway by few and accepted by all, why this ostentatious display of wealth in burials -and why did it unleash a spiral of emulation, competition and constant elaboration of the material culture ? To return to the issue of value, there is very little discussion of this topic in archaeology. Most often goods are labelled 'valuables' without much concern about the mechanisms through which they are assigned value. Implicitly, the modern notion of value as embodied labour, or the outcome of the interplay between supply and demand, is adopted. However, neither the notion of labour as commodity nor the operation of market forces is necessarily applicable in primitive societies (Voutsaki 1992). The important point is that the concept of value cannot be exhausted by the modern definition of value as economic exchange ratio (price, cost). In prehistoric archaeology, we can never know the exchange rates of objects - it is rather doubtful whether such a clear-cut concept existed in non-monetary economies (at least, there is no evidence for it in the Mycenaean palatial archives). What we can and should find out is why and how, through which strategies, things acquire social value; why and how they are valued.

7 My definition of value is based on Mauss's famous statement about the spirit of the gift: "to give something is to give part of one's nature and substance" (Mauss 1954, 10). I see value as created through the fusion between the subject and the object. This point provides the theoretical justification for my discussion of the value of objects and the prestige of people as two mutually defined categories, and thereby allows extrapolation from the classification and movement of prestige items to the social structure. The core of my argument in chapter 3 is that the value of an object is not created only at the moment of production through labour, but also during its circulation in gift exchange networks and through its consumption (destruction, deposition) in ostentatious ceremonies. While I consider both gift exchange and ostentatious consumption as central strategies for the creation of value and prestige, I also see a crucial difference between them: conspicuous consumption brings about the abolition of the reciprocal relationship on which gift exchange is based. Therefore, the initiation, or indeed the institutionalization, of conspicuous consumption is an important strategy in creating, and not simply expressing or legitimating, asymmetrical relationships. Let us accept provisionally that this describes what happened in MHIII-LHII on the mainland. If so, why did it happen ? With this question, we have reached the other main concern of my thesis: the explanation of change. In chapter 4.1. I give a critical presentation of the systemic models of state formation in the Aegean, which remains the only systematic, explicit and coherent attempt at social explanation in Aegean archaeology. These models have been conceived primarily for Minoan Crete, but they either assume that state formation is a unified Creto-Mycenaean phenomenon, or state explicitly that their aim is to provide general explanations, which are valid beyond the specific Minoan case. Therefore, when examining the usefulness of these models in the Mycenaean case, it is worth asking to what extent we can generalize about the processes of social change, and whether this should be our aim. The systemic models generally emphasize internal growth in the productive sphere taking place within a closed system. The transformation on the mainland cannot be explained within this framework. The sequence of gradual and parallel growth in production, trade and craft specialization alongside nucleation and redistribution cannot be observed in the MH period (see chapter 5.1). During the final MH period, there seems to have been an intensification of both external and internal contacts and a certain movement towards hitherto (since the EHIII discontinuity) uninhabited areas. While settlement expansion can be postulated for MHIII, we seem to be observing shifts and re-arrangements rather than a process of overall economic growth: certain sites seem to

8 be gaining in size and importance, others declining. Anyway, in MHIII the 'Shaft Grave phenomenon', the relatively sudden and dramatic change in mortuary practices and forms, is already well under way. Population growth, settlement expansion, and the intensification of production and trade seem to follow the transformation of the mortuary practices and the lavish deposition of valuable items. Therefore, what we see on the mainland is not a change in productive practices, but in consumption patterns and intensity of demand. Intensification of production follows rather than predates the transformation of the sumptuary behaviour. If one model of state formation cannot explain a specific instance, should we look for other general models or question their usefulness altogether? I am inclined towards the latter solution. State formation as a problem has been conceived within an evolutionary and abstract way of thinking and is not intended to explain historical change. I would in fact go further and doubt whether the general concepts of state and state formation are nowadays really meaningful, as they seem to have been worn out by being used in very disparate contexts. My position derives not from theoretical prejudice, but mainly from observations on the Mycenaean evidence. Is there a political or territorial entity that can usefully be described as a state in the Mycenaean Argolid ? Or, to put the question from a slightly different angle, does the existence of two palaces and several fortresses become intelligible if we think in terms of one centralized state, or even of smaller states (how far can we stretch the term ?) with clearly demarcated territories around one centre ? We are running the risk of defining the Mycenaean political system by a level of centralization it never reached. Before I am accused of relativism, I should add that I am not against generalization per se, but against generalization as the sole and final aim of archaeological research. We certainly start from general principles, but we use them to make specific instances intelligible; in turn, our historical explanations will, we hope, produce new theoretical propositions. To return to the explanation of change: once internal economic growth as an explanatory factor is rejected, I have to find a different explanation for the structural transformation on the mainland. It is certainly not a very original idea to look towards the Minoans. For decades now, Minoan cultural influence and trade have been taken to explain everything on the mainland, from decorative motifs to wider historical developments. My position differs considerably from this view. My objection to it is that it explains neither the timing nor the rate of change in the mainland, nor many of the new forms that appear there. Minoan cultural influence is virtually absent from MHI-II and yet (direct ?) contacts with Crete are attested to by Minoan imports, found initially in the Argive and Laconian coastal sites, but eventually in other regions as well. The old view of MBA isolation has now come under doubt. A series of overlapping

9 though perhaps not far-reaching exchange networks can now be documented between the mainland regions, Aegina and the Cyclades. It was therefore not isolation that ensured the impermeability of the mainland culture. If we further compare the mainland with the Cyclades and the Dodecanese (see chapter 5.2.), it becomes even more puzzling why the mainland did not succumb to Minoan cultural influence. Fortunately this problem need not be addressed in a study about Mycenaean mortuary practices. What we have to note is that the transformation of the mortuary practices coincides with the cultural opening up of a hitherto (culturally, not necessarily economically) introverted and segmentary society. In MHIII-LHI we are not dealing only with the emergence of social stratification, but with something wider: the redefinition of cultural identity. The process of interaction has received little theoretical attention in the last two decades because of the justified systemic reaction to the old diffusionist framework. However, it is time to redress the balance. Interaction is important, but of course it is not a selfexplanatory deus ex machina emerging every time we need to explain stylistic change or historical developments. We need to refine this concept, dissecting the vague notion of influence into economic intrusion, political domination and cultural influence (while being aware that these are our categories, and not rigidly separated constituent parts). Economic dealings can carry no cultural influence if, for instance, they are marginalized through pollution beliefs about trade or the low and ambiguous social status of traders; cultural influence may be a subtle, and therefore more successful, form of political domination. Nor is influence a monolithic concept. It can be manifested with different intensity through time and across space, and in differing degrees in various spheres within the same culture. In order to understand interaction, we have to account for motivations and perceptions; we have to explain both sides, i.e. influence and receptivity or resistance; we have to examine the other aspect of interaction, that is, cultural demarcation. We cannot confront cultural groups as concrete, undifferentiated entities; we need to investigate which segments of society promote, are involved in or are affected by interaction. We need to know the internal structures of the groups on which influence is exerted, because it is through these structures that influence is channelled, adapted and ultimately incorporated into the cultural system. For these reasons, when dealing with the transformation on the mainland at the end of the MBA we should consider both the cultural background and the wider historical context, i.e. the political scene in the Aegean. I undertake this in chapter 5. The general and vague notion of Minoan influence has to be defined more closely; we have to see its intensity through time and across the different regions, and examine in which spheres it becomes manifest, which Minoan forms are and which are not adopted and by whom, and how they are re-defined in the mainland context. Many studies have tackled this last

10 question in the area of stylistic traits; it is time to address the transformation of social practices. To summarize, cultural systems do not develop in isolation; interaction and cultural demarcation have to become part of our social explanations. This point is the basis of my discussion of change in chapter 4.2.2 Again, I have to emphasize that my account should not be taken as another universal model of change: it has been conceived with the Mycenaean data in mind, but it will, I hope, provide some insights into other cases as well. It might seem that I am dwelling too much on the initial stages of the Mycenaean period. It is indeed my conviction that the developments in the MHIII period are crucial to an understanding of subsequent developments, and that the LHI-II period saw the consolidation of the Mycenaean cultural system. Moreover, the operation of practices can only be understood if we trace the generation of the new forms out of traditional customs. The main reason, however, for insisting on examining jointly the issues of cultural identity and social differentiation is that they underlie the development of mortuary practices throughout the Mycenaean period. As discussed extensively in chapter 5.3., Mycenaean imports had already appeared at several sites in the Aegean in LHI-IIA, during the heyday of the Minoan New Palaces. After the collapse of the Minoan 'thalassocracy', the Mycenaean expansion began in LHIIB-IIIA1 and reaching its peak in LHIIIA2-B. The reasons for this expansion need to be investigated within the context of changing social relations on the mainland, rather than sought in a 'natural' propensity of social systems to expand. The subject of the adoption and adaptation of Mycenaean mortuary practices in the two peripheral regions, Thessaly and the Dodecanese, is not exhausted by deciding whether they were the result of migration or conquest. Once more, the two issues of interaction and demarcation enter the analysis of formal variation in funerary practices. In the peripheral areas, the question of acculturation is again intrinsically linked with social differentiation. How are these two connected? Is social change contained within a wider cultural transformation? Is the pre-existing social asymmetry maintained through the adoption by the elite of the Mycenaean modes of burial and prestige? Or are simply Mycenaean settlers emigrating to other regions of the Aegean ? Can the same processes be said to be operating in the two areas under study ? Ultimately, what this discussion is about is the political and the cultural unity of the Mycenaean world. The other aspect of the Mycenaean expansion which interests us here is its consequences in the central areas, primarily for the Argive society. The evidence from mortuary practices can be used to follow the social processes. Emulation, patterns of

11 elaboration or aesthetic impoverishment, fluctuations in the deposition of goods, similarities between assemblages or fall-off in the range of goods, and the concurrent or divergent use of various differentiating categories (like location, type of tomb, quality of construction, diversity of grave goods, complexity of ritual) are the archaeologically recoverable traces of strategies and imbalances of power, of the conflicts and negotiations which shape social and political life. In prehistoric archaeology, the political discourse of past societies is to be found in the motion and manipulation of prestige artefacts, of the signs of power and excellence. Our goal is not only to retrieve them and classify them, but to see them as what they were then: the material extensions of human desires, values and ideals.

12 1.2. History of research When Schliemann started his excavations in Mycenae, his main concern was the verification of the Homeric poems. For decades after his spectacular discoveries, debate centred primarily on the ethnic origins of the people buried in the Shaft Graves. Isolated features were abstracted from their context and attached to specific ethnic and cultural elements; the explanation of form was sought in invasions, migrations and cultural influences. Evans (1929) saw in the Shaft Graves the burial place of the Minoan conquerors of the mainland; Persson (1931) attributed the new mortuary forms and practices to Egyptian influences. Tsountas (1892, 1897) took a different stance: while acknowledging the strong Minoan cultural influence on the mainland, he emphasized the autochthonous character of the Mycenaean civilization. His position should be connected with wider trends in Greek intellectual life, which stressed cultural continuity through the ages. Around this new mode of reference to the past, Tsountas established a scientific framework for the study of the Mycenaean civilization beyond Schliemann's picturesque reconstructions. He was the first to make systematic observations on Mycenaean society on the basis of the mortuary evidence, rather than the Homeric texts. Through his concern with ethnicity, he introduced another dimension into the study of Mycenaean mortuary practices: their continuity with the practices of the historical periods. This direction (amplified later in Nilsson's (1950) work on religion) has deeply influenced the study of Mycenaean mortuary practices, causing aspects of the mortuary ritual to be perceived through their classical counterparts. As knowledge widened with more systematic excavations (Wace 1932, Blegen 1937, Persson 1931, 1942) in primarily Argive cemeteries, the main priority became the reconstruction of the normative mortuary rites. Adherence to Homer diminished; more attention was paid to local developments, while the importance of Minoan influence was widely recognized. This was not a smooth development, however; the period was marked by the fierce debate between Evans and Wace (McDonald and Thomas 1990). The emphasis was still on form, seen now in a different way: the main axis of variation was time, and priority was given to the construction of a typological/ chronological sequence (Wace 1932). Descriptions aimed at the crystallization of types and the reconstruction of standard practices. Emphasis was also placed on the reconstruction of religious beliefs, adopting a more or less diffusionist mode of interpretation. While diffusionism is now on the whole condemned (though not within Aegean archaeology), we should note the wide scope of one of the first overviews of mortuary practices in the Aegean (Wiesner 1938). Wiesner's explanations were typical of the culture-historical approach: different types of graves, or intra-mural versus extra-mural burials, were

13 assigned to different ethnic elements. Nevertheless, wider trends and divergences within the main cultural regions of the Aegean (the mainland, the Cyclades, Crete) were noted and contrasted -something rarely undertaken nowadays. After Linear B was deciphered, interest in the ethnic identity of the Mycenaean people declined. In the 1970s, Mylonas' excavations in the Grave Circle B and Elefsis (Mylonas 1972-3, 1975) provided the solid evidence for continuity through the transition to the late bronze age. As evidence accumulated, special studies appeared in which the purely typological approach established itself. Although diffusion remained the underlying explanatory framework, the emphasis was on classifying rather than explaining form. In Pelon's study (Pelon 1976) of the tholoi, tumuli and grave circles, architecture, detached from the tomb content and the mortuary rites, was investigated. Forms acquired their own independent life, their 'traditions', 'inspirations' and 'influences'. Specialization developed in parallel with the fragmentation of the evidence. Certain works, however, were orientated towards wider historical problems. Dickinson (1977) was the first to examine several aspects of the MBA and to include the later phase of the period in particular in his explanation of the origins of the Mycenaean civilization. The MH period became more than the backward, isolated, poor, static background to the Shaft Grave splendour. In a later study, Dickinson (1983) initiated the recent discussions on Mycenaean burial customs addressing three key issues: a) the association between types of tomb and ethnic elements -the problem of the use of pits and cists during the Mycenaean period, b) the association between grave types and social groups, and c) regional differences, abandoning thereby the Argolidocentric view that had so far dominated Mycenaean studies. As we are entering the 1980s, it is worth stopping for a moment only in order to note that no break occurs in Mycenaean studies. The New Archaeology certainly seeped into Aegean archaeology, as the number of articles on Mycenaean mortuary practices and social organization multiplied steadily throughout the decade (see, for instance, papers in Hägg and Nordquist 1988, Laffineur 1987). However, only one or two of these studies incorporated the wider theoretical framework of the New Archaeology (Wright 1987, Dabney and Wright 1990). The idealist tradition in Mycenaean and Minoan studies has been too strong to allow the complete transfer of the processual outlook into these fields. These more recent studies have significantly enhanced our knowledge of Mycenaean mortuary practices. However, they have sometimes relied on a partial examination of the evidence. The Shaft Graves of Mycenae are the classic example: the information from other contemporary graves in the Argolid, and those in Corinth, Thebes and Messenia, is not incorporated into the explanations of the 'Shaft Grave phenomenon', and thus the rise of Mycenae is explained within an empty social landscape. In other

14 cases, general conclusions are based on the comparison of individual cases (Darcque 1987). However, in other studies, notably those by Mee and Cavanagh (1988, 1990; Cavanagh and Mee 1990), a systematic statistical analysis of tombs from the extensively excavated cemeteries is undertaken. But as these are associated with important centres, the bias caused by the intensity of research is perpetuated. Thus, certain classes of evidence (concerning the small sites, the peripheral areas of the mainland and the intra-mural graves in all regions) still do not feature in the discussions. For most of these papers, the main aim is the reconstruction of the Mycenaean social organization. A crucial question is addressed (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 54ff., Wells 1990, 138): was everyone given formal burial in the Mycenaean period ? However, no definite answer can be given because of the lack of osteological analyses. The main question has therefore been who, or rather which social class, is buried in each type of grave. The tholoi have been proposed as sepulchres of kings, royal families, or local chiefs; the elite, the middle class or the bulk of the population have been suggested as occupants of the chamber tombs; pits and cists are said to have belonged to the poorer members of the society, although some contain precious offerings. These debates (Dickinson 1983, Darcque 1987, Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 1990) have put some old assumptions to the test. Mee and Cavanagh (1984, 62) observed that there was no strict association between tomb type and level of wealth. By reaching this conclusion, however, they reached the limits of their own reflective approach, i.e. of the view that mortuary practices mirror social ranking. Within this framework a more fluid patterning in the mortuary record cannot have a corresponding scheme of social organization. Nor can this observation be reconciled with the rigid hierarchical scheme that dominates Mycenaean studies, having been projected from the palatial era onto the entire period. The question has to be asked explicitly: Were there clearly defined social classes throughout or at any stage of the Mycenaean period ? The second problem addressed in these recent studies is social change. Several studies have recently improved our understanding of the crucial Shaft Grave period (primarily Kilian-Dirlmeier 1986, Graziadio 1991) by noting the distribution and association of offerings in the two Grave Circles. The gradual transformation of the mortuary practices is noted and analyzed, but in the end it is not explained. Graziadio's scoring system and Kilian-Dirlmeier's sets of offerings do not consider the nature of the 'Shaft Grave phenomenon' (the ostentation, the new accumulative ethos, the extreme variety of offerings). If the transformation of the mortuary practices is only a symptom of the emergence and consolidation of an elite, why did this elite emerge at that moment? Why is social change expressed through new mortuary forms and practices? Even more

15 subtle explanations, like the need for display at a period of political change (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 49) do not provide an answer to these questions. Nor is the problem of social change solved by assigning evolutionary labels. The formation of the palatial system can perhaps be described as a transition from a chiefdom to an early state form (Dabney and Wright 1990), but is not explained by this statement. The treatment of form (in all its various aspects: type and shape of grave, choice of offerings, practices) has moved away from typology to form as an expression of social asymmetry. However, in certain cases the social function of form has been overemphasized at the expense of its symbolic significance. For Graziadio (1991), the symbolic value of the offerings is fully reduced to their function as status indicators: everything in the Shaft Graves -the new grave type, the stelai, the different types of offering- signifies only rank. According to a more subtle argument (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, Wright 1987, Wells 1990), mortuary forms and practices do not simply express social differentiation; they legitimate and thereby maintain inequality through differential energy input. This need not be doubted. But the legitimative function of practices cannot explain their form. The selection of certain forms and practices has certainly been interpreted beyond their social function. Cavanagh (1978) was the first to consider the secondary treatment of the body an essential part of the mortuary ritual, while Wells (1990, 133) has interpreted the blocking wall, the fill of the dromos and the distant location of the cemeteries as creating a physical boundary between domestic and funerary space. While both interpretations provide valuable insights into the structure of the mortuary rites, they are not placed within a larger conceptual framework, i.e. that of attitudes to death. We see therefore that in two main areas of debate, the explanation of social change and the interpretation of form, there is a move away from external stimuli and influences. Social change is viewed increasingly as an internal process; form is no longer explained solely through cultural interchange, but through its internal social function. However, for all this growing interest in their social aspects, the mortuary practices themselves their forms, their transformations, their diversity- are not really explained; they are analyzed primarily, if not only, in order to detect in them the traces of the social order. If we reflect on the development of Mycenaean archaeology and on the present situation, we see a split between the internal and the external, the symbolic and the social. Either the one or the other is the main focus of investigation. Yet external influences can only be understood in connection with local receptivity and internal conditions; social distinctions in mortuary patterning cannot be examined apart from the symbolic forms which give them material expression. The mortuary practices can only

16 be approached through a global analysis, which should consider forms, practices and beliefs. In the case of the Mycenaean mortuary practices, such an analysis has to take into account all aspects of the evidence (location, architecture, practices, offerings), and give equal weight to the rich central sites and to the poorer peripheral ones, to normative practices and to deviations and residuals. The settlement evidence has to be examined alongside the mortuary record. Different regions must be included in order to check rather than presuppose the cultural and political unity of the Mycenaean world. The mortuary practices have to be placed within the social strategies, the cultural tradition, the historical context -briefly, the total social context. This is what this study has set out to do.

17 1.3. The setting of the study 1.3.1. The spatial setting One of my first steps towards a global analysis of mortuary practices was the decision to study three different areas: the Argolid, an area at the heart of the Mycenaean world, and Thessaly and the Dodecanese, at its periphery. The importance of the Argolid, both within the Mycenaean world and within Mycenaean studies, need not be stressed. But precisely because of its central position, its internal developments have been considered 'typical' and taken to represent those of all other regions of the Mycenaean world, most notably the Peloponnese (as noted by Dickinson 1983). In this study, two other regions have been included, in order to check this assumption and thereby address the problem of the political unity of the Mycenaean world. The other two regions have been selected from the geographical margin of the Mycenaean world for two reasons: a) because social transformation can best be understood by studying the centre as well as the periphery of a social system, and b) because the gradual incorporation of these areas into the Mycenaean world brings to the fore the cultural dimensions of mortuary practices. The inclusion of Thessaly and the Dodecanese allows us to examine: a) the relationship between the political competition and increasing centralization in the core area and the Mycenaean expansion to the Aegean, b) the role of mortuary practices in the process of Mycenaean expansion and local demarcation, and c) local social developments in the two regions in connection with their incorporation into the Mycenaean world. These two regions have been selected because of their previous history and different cultural background: Thessaly, despite its marginal position, developed largely within the mainland tradition; while the Dodecanese, whose own local character was related to other islands of the southeast Aegean and the Anatolian coast, entered the orbit of Minoan influence in the MBA. The adoption and development of mortuary practices in these two areas allow us to observe their mode of incorporation into the Mycenaean world, and its consequences. Selecting the regions to be studied is the first step. Defining the boundaries of each region is a slightly more complicated problem. We should not start from the assumption that the regions we set out to study are either culturally homogeneous or politically unified, but rather question explicitly whether they are so. Assigning boundaries to our

18 'regions' at this stage involves informed analytical decisions; the progress of the study will establish their political and/or cultural significance in the past. Therefore, the definition of the regions in this study follows primarily geographical features. The question of what to include and what not to include has been asked for each region separately, and answered with regard to historical questions, local conditions and the quality of evidence available, rather than according to some universal criteria. Throughout the history of the Argolid, settlement has focused on the plain, as well as on some smaller coastal plains, such as that of Asine. Apart from those in the area around Epidauros, no burial sites have been reported in the rest of the area, e.g. the southeastern Argolid. Therefore, the Argolid presents us with a clearly delineated unit. The only question has been whether to include Corinthia as well. Recent studies have suggested an early takeover of the Nemea area, if not the whole of Corinthia, by Mycenae (Wright et al. 1990, Davis 1988 -a proposition which was, however, not supported by the ceramic material of the region (Rutter 1990). The answer could not be sought in burial evidence, as very few (almost all small or unpublished) burial sites have been excavated in Corinthia. For this reason, the area has not been included. If the Argolid presents a fairly straightforward picture, Thessaly is a more complicated case. Both political and cultural boundaries are here debatable; the Mycenaean infiltration into the interior is still, despite Feuer's (1983) careful study, not very well understood, because very little systematic research has been undertaken in this area (but see now Decourt 1990). As the burial data in Thessaly are on the whole rather poor and scattered, I have decided to include a wide region, the whole of the Thessalian plain and the thin scattering of sites in the bordering mountains. In this way the questions surrounding the political and cultural integration of Thessaly into the Mycenaean world can, I feel, best be illuminated. The Dodecanese presents different problems. While this group of islands creates a reasonably well defined geographical entity, its position between the Cyclades, Crete and the Anatolian coast has played an important role in its history. It will therefore be interesting to examine whether the islands form a cultural or political whole. The problematic point has been whether to include the burial sites in Asia Minor. While they provide very interesting instances of further, perhaps secondary, expansion, I have not included them because a) they are not well documented, and b) we have little or no information about the associated settlements.

19 1.3.2. The chronological setting This study covers the Mycenaean period from the Shaft Graves to the collapse of the palatial system at the end of the LHIIIB period. The LHIIIC period is excluded from the discussion. The tombs still in use in LHIIIC, and even those which came into use in this period, are included in my data-bases in order to make it possible to follow the development of cemeteries throughout the period. However, the period is not subdivided chronologically, and is generally dealt with only in so far as it can illuminate developments in the earlier palatial periods. While this is the general chronological framework, certain clarifications have to be made for each region, in particular concerning the beginning of the period. It should br pointed out that the absolute dates for the beginning of the LBA are undergoing revision at this moment (see papers in Hardy and Renfrew 1990). In the Argolid we have the best documented and most closely dated transition from the middle to the late bronze age (studied recently by Dietz 1991). It is very difficult to draw a sharp chronological boundary separating the middle from the late bronze age, because many of the new features of mortuary practices have already appeared sporadically in MHIII. The limit will necessarily be to a certain extent artificial, but the introduction of LHI wares, of a more unified mainland style alongside the more regional MH wares, is in itself significant. The only MHIIIA-B graves included in the analysis are the early shaft-graves of Mycenae. I decided against including MHIII graves from other sites because a) the large number of graves would unnecessarily inflate the data-bases, and b) the inevitable omission of unfurnished graves, and therefore not datable, would create a serious bias in the evidence. However, the MHIII evidence from all Argive sites has been collected and will be referred to in the discussion. In Thessaly, the chronological limits are less distinct. Artefacts in the Middle Thessalian tradition, as well as single burials in cists, are found well into the LBA, if not throughout the period. LHI pottery is found, but Mycenaean burials appear primarily in LHII-LHIIIA1. Since the transitional period is not well known, the criterion for including a grave in the analysis is not strictly chronological, but rather stylistic, i.e. a grave is included if it follows the Mycenaean mode of burial or at least shows some of its aspects. In the Dodecanese, no Mycenaean burials are found before LHIIB-IIIA1. Therefore, the chronological limit of the analysis is firmly set. To sum up: the selection of one central and two peripheral areas of the Mycenaean world has been my first step towards a comprehensive analysis of the cultural, social

20 and political dimensions of Mycenaean mortuary practices. My emphasis is on the transformation of late MH society, and on subsequent developments towards the formation and the consolidation of the palatial system until its collapse in LHIIIB2.

21

Part I: The theoretical background Chapter 2. The study of mortuary practices 2.1. Mortuary studies and the reconstruction of society This section will present a critical appraisal of the theoretical developments in mortuary studies in the last twenty-five years. The discussion will concentrate on two approaches: 1) the New Archaeology, and 2) the contextual critique. This division is to a certain extent schematic, yet it does reflect the current sense of polarization in theoretical debates. It is important to stress, however, that the contrast between the two approaches is not absolute; the post-processual approach has inevitably inherited elements of method and rhetoric from its own object of critique. 2.1.1. The New Archaeology In the 1960s and 1970s mortuary analysis played a central role in the formulation of the aims, principles and methods of the new, systemic approach and in the attack against the traditional historical-distributional framework. The New Archaeology rejected the idealistic view of mortuary practices as an expression of primitive religion or as symptoms of cultural diffusion. It was proposed instead that mortuary practices should be analyzed within the context of the organizational properties of the socio-cultural system itself. The discussion of the processual approach to mortuary studies will revolve around four issues: (i) the systemic notion of isomorphism (ii) the theoretical basis of quantification (iii) the explanation of change (iv) the use of cross-cultural generalizations. (i) The notion of isomorphism, i.e. of a reflective relation between mortuary patterning and social organization, is the principle underlying the systemic approach to mortuary studies. It was first explicitly formulated as a testable hypothesis by Saxe: 'In a given domain the principles organizing the set of social personae .... are congruent with those organizing the society at large' (Saxe 1970, 66). This notion of reflectivity was also extended into the relation between mortuary patterning and social complexity (ibid., 75). The proposition was tested across different cultures and levels of social complexity.

22 Binford, in his seminal study on the potential of mortuary analysis (Binford 1971), undertook to test the contentions of isomorphism, according to which individual treatment at death ought to reflect social status, and the complexity of mortuary practices should mirror societal complexity, again on a sample of 40 pre-state societies. Saxe's tests did not receive full statistical support, and Binford's tests were met with reservations even within the systemic approach for their lack of sophistication (O'Shea 1984, 5-8). However, the credibility of the notion of isomorphism did not depend on the outcome of specific tests. Isomorphism is an inevitable outcome of the initial fragmentation of the cultural system; the reintegration of the sub-systems can only be achieved through reflective interrelations. The reflectivity between material patterning and social structure has been a fundamental principle of systemic thought, and not a testable hypothesis. The critique of isomorphism has been a starting point for the post-processual critique. Hodder has argued: 'Burial ritual may be used as part of an ideology which faithfully represents and mirrors aspects of a living society, but it may equally be possible that ideology may be concerned with distorting, obscuring, hiding or inverting particular forms of social relationships' (Hodder 1982a, 152). (ii) Isomorphism provided the theoretical justification for the methodological isolation, and the often uncritical emphasis on quantification, which epitomized the ideal of an objective methodology. However, the result was that forms and practices were forced into a linear, numerical scale while the ones that could not be accommodated within it, such as style, the normative forms and the horizontal divisions, were left out. Even in attempts to rectify these omissions, e.g. O'Shea's proposition that kin distinctions in mortuary practices are expressed through nonvaluable, low energy markers (O' Shea 1984, 252), vertical concepts were used to approach horizontal divisions. In the end, the systemic approach fits everything into a linear, vertical scale. Social structure is described in terms of hierarchically ordered status grades; each society is placed in an evolutionary continuum from simple to most complex societies. The whole construct is based on one unitary measure: the energy expenditure principle. As formulated by Tainter (1975, 1978) on the basis of the Binford-Saxe hypotheses, corporate involvement in the act of interment and activity disruption caused by the death of a social actor will positively correspond to the social position held by the deceased in life, and will be expressed by the amount of human labour expended in the mortuary ritual. The energy expenditure principle has been proposed as an objective and universal criterion. The problems of applicability reveal that subjective bias cannot be excluded: voices from within the systemic approach (Braun 1981, 407; O'Shea 1984, 18) have criticized energy expenditure as too vague for its own purposes. However, the main

23 problem with the quantification of human energy and labour is that it only measures and describes mortuary elaboration, without explaining it. To reduce the several aspects and stages of the mortuary ritual to a single axis of signification not only reduces, but distorts our understanding of mortuary practices. To put it simply, Mycenaean mortuary practices would be much less interesting if all that richness of forms and elaboration of practices were to be reduced to only one function (the outward expression of rank). (iii) It is in explaining change that isomorphism becomes obvious. The mortuary record is seen as passively reflecting social developments; the causes of change are sought outside social life and explained by reference to non-social parameters. Social change meets the managerial needs arising from the adoption of more efficient economic strategies -the mortuary ritual is either a buffering or a controlling device (cf. Flannery 1972, Wenke 1981), or it merely mirrors social changes by means of a parallel increase in status grades (Tainter 1977). (iv) The use of cross-cultural generalizations is a direct product of the evolutionary logic that characterizes the systemic approach. Undoubtedly, the emphasis on processual rather than isolated formal similarities has been an important contribution of the New Archaeology. Yet the assumptions underlying cross-cultural comparison are revealed by Saxe's statement: 'Each body of data may have problems of its own. It is only after these problems are ironed out that mortuary practices are cross-culturally comparable' (Saxe 1970, 13). Thus, cultural idiosyncrasies acquire a pejorative significance and are regarded as distortions of a pure, generalized essence. Specificity is sought only in the prevailing environmental conditions. The denial of the cultural context goes alongside a denial of history, with a resulting emphasis on synchronic variation and transformation through the universal mechanism of adaptation. In some ways, the emphasis on cross-cultural generalizations contradicts the systemic concern with variability: different practices, forms and motivations are reduced to universal processes; variability is reversed to sameness (Hodder 1982c, 5). To sum up my criticisms of the systemic approach: in this section I have argued that isomorphic links, the reduction of variability to a vertical scale, functionalist interpretations and cross-cultural generalizations fail to do justice to the real complexity of the data and explain the generation and operation of mortuary practices. The New Archaeology has contributed enormously to theoretical awareness within archaeology by formulating an explicit and internally consistent theoretical framework.

2.2 The contextual critique

24 The critics of the New Archaeology cannot easily be assembled into a strictly demarcated approach, because the critique is still evolving. The unitary label 'contextual' will be used as a convenient term. The discussion here will be restricted to the early phases, where neo-marxist and structuralist principles were being introduced to social inferences in archaeology. By now, some proponents of the contextual approach have adopted a more overtly post-structuralist position (Shanks and Tilley 1987) and have explicitly criticized their own earlier studies (Hodder 1986). A central aim of the contextual approach, according to Hodder, one of its main exponents (Hodder 1982c, 1985, 1986), is to break down and move beyond the dichotomies established by the systemic approach between function and meaning, the general and the particular, facts and theory. This has been achieved through the emphasis on: (i) ideology (ii) social action and the individual (iii) the role of material culture (iv) the importance of the cultural context. The following brief explication (drawing from Hodder 1982b; Miller and Tilley 1984) will render these basic tenets for the moment more homogeneous than they were really meant to be, so that they can serve as a starting point for the subsequent discussion. (i) Ideology, defined as the system of beliefs through which the perceived world is objectified, i.e. made real, is inextricably linked to the legitimation of asymmetrical relations of power. Therefore, to study ideology is to study the modes through which meaning (signification) serves to maintain division and domination in a given social formation. Ideology operates by naturalizing the social order through the negation of its own temporality. (ii) The notion of social action involves a unity between subject and object: through social practices the subject perceives and appropriates the object-world. The knowledgeability and intentionality of the human actor have to become central components of social explanation: individuals evaluate and negotiate their positions and this is where the dynamics of social life lie. (iii) Material culture is not considered to be a passive carrier of information about ethnicity or social status, but seen as an integral part, indeed the materialization, of the signification system. Material items play an essential role in the manipulation of social meanings. By acting at the level of practical consciousness they can reproduce or contest asymmetrical relations. In archaeology, material culture has to be studied within its total context, including associations as well as present and past contexts of use and deposition.

25 (iv) Ideology, action and material culture are recursively related and embedded within a specific cultural context. General social theory is employed in order to understand specificity and the particular mutation of widely occurring generative principles. To sum up: in this approach mortuary ritual is seen as an embodiment of ideology, as a forceful social practice which can disguise and maintain social inequality by setting up an ideal, immutable representation of the social order. It is becoming clear that the link between the mortuary record and social structure is far more complex than the isomorphic view would have it. I would like to start with the main contribution of the contextual approach to mortuary analysis: the exploration of the total social context. All the following studies attempt to go beyond the fragmentation of the evidence and the theoretical fragmentation of the systemic approach. Mortuary practices are taken out of their isolation: mortuary variability and change are examined alongside economic strategies and the social relations of production (Parker Pearson 1984a; Hodder 1984); the funerary domain is contrasted with the domestic (Tilley 1984) and ritual context (Hodder 1982d, 218-28); elaboration of practices and form is investigated in several spheres within the same cultural frame (Hodder 1982c; Tilley 1984). The discussion is extended in different directions: the regional studies are placed within the contexts of both cultural traditions (Hodder 1984) and interregional contacts (Shennan 1982); detailed contextual associations (Pader 1980) are observed as well as long-term continuities across large regions (Hodder 1984). Social theory (Bourdieu 1977; Giddens 1979), ethnographic analogies (Tilley 1982), and ethnoarchaeological work in western European (Parker Pearson 1982) and other societies (Hodder 1982d) are drawn upon in order to construct a theoretical framework also capable of handling the archaeological information. I will now present certain inadequacies in the reasoning and the explanations offered, which, I will argue, either fail to do justice to the theoretical principles set out by the authors themselves, or result from some inherent misconceptions. The discussion will revolve around four topics: (i) the notion of ideology (ii) the explanation of change in mortuary practices (iii) the problem of specificity (iv) the relation between form and meaning

26 (i) Paradoxically, most of the contextual studies retained a rather restricted definition of ideology, which is seen as a device for the a posteriori legitimation of the dominant order -even when it has been defined differently in the theoretical introductions. Let us first consider the issue of the 'dominant ideology'. Consider this statement: 'Ideology works as a coherent model for effective action with its associated legitimation by the dominant group, but it may be faced with the belief and practices of any other group that recognize their own interest as in conflict with the dominant one' (Miller and Tilley 1984a, 12). Yet nowhere in these studies is the possibility that different practices might represent conflicting interest groups taken up at the level of interpretation rather than as a merely theoretical proposition. Ultimately, social practices and symbolic systems are seen as being manipulated by the dominant group alone, whether this group consists of the elite of senior males in a lineage society or the elite in a more stratified formation. The emphasis on the dominant ideology perpetuates the negative conception of power (despite extended discussions on Foucault's notion of non-coercive power; see Miller and Tilley 1984a, 5-8) and the split between ideology and social reality. It also contradicts the post-processual emphasis on the role of the individual. Shennan (1982, 156) attempts to solve the problem: '...it should not be thought that this [the legitimation of domination] requires the majority of the social actors to share in the dominant ideology; this is to regard people as dupes. Even though many may see through it they may still be forced to accept it as one of the conditions of their own action.' It has often been repeated that 'people are not dupes' but this has remained a theoretical principle, never really incorporated into historical interpretations. Perhaps this has not been a very serious loss: the 'knowledgeable agent', as first defined by Giddens (1979), comes dangerously near to western notions of individualism and rationality. (ii) As an example of the explanation of change in mortuarypractices, I shall use the adoption and disuse of megalithic tombs as interpreted in several papers (Braithwaite 1984; Hodder 1982c; Shennan 1982; Tilley 1984). Hodder, in his explanation of the change from megalithic tombs to individual barrows, describes two systems of legitimation by associating the two mortuary forms with economic practices and deducing from this association the loci of social conflicts in the two different periods. However, his explanation of change deals with a shift in economic practices, and not with the process of transformation of the mortuary practices. The change from megaliths to individual barrows is not really explained; it is simply displaced. Shennan offers a more consistent explanation in an analogous instance: the earlier ideology dissimulating social division through collective ritual centred on megalithic burials was superseded by a new ideology which emphasized individual distinction,

27 expressed through individual barrows and rich grave goods, because of the failure of the former to mystify a growing social inequality. Yet when he has to explain the emergence of social differentiation in the first place, he retreats to an economic explanation, the growth of the copper and bronze industry (1982, 159). Tilley (1984) moves away from the primacy of the economic by concentrating on the role of ideology. Drawing on the concept of 'legitimation crisis' as developed by Habermas (1975), he explains the transition as a change from a more stratified to a more egalitarian society, because 'the ideological justification for, and misrepresentation of, asymmetries in social power ... could no longer be sustained through cult manipulation in the sphere of ritual activities' (ibid., 143). Thus, Tilley explains the change not by a legitimation crisis, but by affirming the inevitability of a legitimation crisis. In other words, he does not explain why ideology failed to disguise social inequality, he simply asserts that it did fail. Here, change is treated as 'natural', obvious development -a notion not very far removed from the systemic views on change. (iii) The post-processual approach has often been criticized for particularism and relativism (e.g. Yengoyan 1985, 330-1). However, I will argue here that what is often lacking in post-processual explanations is specificity. Hodder (1984) derives an argument basic to his explanation of the form of the megalithic tombs in northern Europe (the link between the elaboration of domestic space and the position of women) from his ethnoarchaeological work in Africa (Hodder 1982d). He considers the analogy relevant not because of an intrinsic similarity between the two contexts, but because 'the link between domestic symbolic elaboration and the position of women has been recognized in a wide range of societies' (Hodder 1984, 62). The ethnographic analogy here very much resembles a cross-cultural generalization. Hodder's contribution lies mainly in the questions that he asks, not only about how mortuary practices operate within a social formation, but also about how the mortuary forms are generated. He correctly points out that both the processual and the contextual studies fail to consider the role of the cultural context in the generation of practices (ibid., 53). However, it is doubtful whether cultural specificity is achieved in his explanation. His main point, in a rather complex argument which cannot be presented here, is that the megalithic tombs should be seen as symbolizing houses. Yet how might this initial signification have spread unchanged across Europe? -especially since Hodder admits the local mesolithic contribution to the megalithic phenomenon. Moreover, how can culturally specific forms be understood within economic and social strategies, and how can social conflicts be reconstructed, on the basis of a general

28 model, the Marxist 'lineage model', which is after all not very different from the functionalist and materialist systemic explanations? Imposing interpretations (through the use of analogies or abstract models, e.g. the 'lineage model') on the data runs counter to the goal of culturally specific explanation. In contextual studies, the past is subsumed under the anthropological present, perceived through the productivist logic of the Marxist approach, in a manner slightly reminiscent of the systemic projection of maximizing logic into the past. Specificity is again thereby lost. (iv) Hodder, in the study referred to above (Hodder 1984), based his investigation of megalithic architecture on the relationship between form and meaning. The central element in Hodder's explanation is that tombs symbolize houses, as inferred from a series of formal similarities. He makes the following inferences: the tombs resemble houses, therefore they evoke houses, therefore they symbolize houses. The concept of evocation derives from Sperber's study on symbolism, in which he stresses that evocation can never be totally determined and that symbolic representations are neither generalizable nor stable (Sperber 1975, 113). Hodder's use of the notion of evocation is impoverished: symbolism operates on the basis of formal similarities and a supposedly logical connection. Furthermore, his symbolic association is placed within the social relations of production, rather than within a cultural cognitive scheme. Hodder's work exemplifies the oscillation of the contextual approach between its structuralist aspirations and its neo-Marxist starting-point: in the former, meaning is derived from a matrix of structural homologies and associations, and in the latter from the social relations of production. This brings us to our last point: one principal main problem with the contextual treatment of form, is that the elaboration of forms and practices is used as an index of the poignancy of the social conflicts. Ultimately, the mortuary ritual is no more than an arena for the legitimation of social asymmetry. To sum up: while the contextual approach has offered invaluable insights into the problems of mortuary studies, the basic dichotomy which it has inherited from the systemic approach, the split between function and meaning, has not, in my view, been broken down. In mortuary studies at least, this is because belief and action are still separated as a result of emphasis on the dominant ideology, a productivist bias, and disregard of the cultural content of the mortuary practices. This last point will be further developed in the next chapter.

29 2.2. Mortuary practices: an alternative approach In the previous section I argued that mortuary practices do not simply serve as an expression of ranking, nor as an arena for the legitimation of already formed social interests. These explanations do not address the specificity of the forms adopted in funerary ritual, nor seek to understand the selection of mortuary context for the maintenance of social differentiation. Mortuary practices as such are not interpreted; especially in systemic and neo-Marxist interpretations, they are treated as the archaeologically recoverable traces of economic and social processes. My intention is not to propose an 'internal' analysis of mortuary symbolism, but, on the contrary, to widen the field: we can only understand the operation of funerary practices if we attempt to understand the generation of mortuary forms within a cultural framework. Death does not simply disrupt the social order; it shakes the very existence of a group; it strikes at its essence, its self-representation as an entity, characterized by continuity and order despite and beyond the impermanence of its individual members. Mortuary ritual constitutes the group's defence against the irruption of death: it assigns death a place in the cultural universe and assimilates it into its institutions (Vernant 1989, 105). My position is that mortuary rites materialize and objectify cultural values, categories and definitions -and that all these are crucial to the examination of social processes. I see mortuary practices as creating, rather than legitimating, social reality: as shaping people's perception of the world and of their position within it. This approach takes us beyond the dichotomy between 'social reality', viewed as pragmatic and actual behaviour, and its 'idealized representation', 'socially approved "proper" relations' (Leach 1954, 15-16) that is now prevailing in archaeological mortuary studies, (under the influence of anthropological works such as Bloch 1971, 1977a, 1977b). The disjunction becomes sterile if the two sides are presented as closed, total systems confronting each other (Barth 1969, 64), especially if they are linked through the primacy of the 'real' social order over the 'false' ideological constructs. I think that the fertile question of social theory is rather how ideas and perceived realities constantly shape each other through endlessly renewed social strategies. Ritual has precisely this role: to lend material support to conceptions, emotions (Hertz 1960, 83) and categorizations; to make momentarily explicit, and thereby real, what is otherwise a fiction - to paraphrase slightly Leach's well-known phrase. (Leach 1954, 15-16). Mythical divisions and classifications, enacted in ritual, correspond structurally rather than formally to social divisions: both are ordered by the same generative

30 principles, which are reinforced through this symbolic reduplication (Bourdieu 1977, 222, n. 27). Let us concentrate on mortuary ritual. I will argue below that mortuary rites create social reality in the following ways: (i) by creating the time and space dimensions which divide and order the cultural universe (ii) by defining identity at both the personal and the group level (iii) by creating and maintaining differentiation through transmission of rights (i) My starting point is the definition of funerary ritual as a rite of passage, as established by the seminal studies of Hertz (1960) and van Gennep (1960). They have drawn attention to the structure that underlies the multiplicity of mortuary forms in different societies: the tripartite scheme of rites of separation, transition and incorporation, which involve simultaneously the deceased -his/her body and soul- and the living -the mourners or the social group affected by the death.

body soul

mourners

separation

transition

reincorporation

First, temporary burial Process of detachment from body starts

decomposition, abhorrent, polluting no fixed abode, pitiful, malicious

second burial, permanent state soul admittance to the World of the Dead: transformed to ancestor collective feast, mourners freed of contagion, ties reasserted

Set apart, secluded participation in condition of deceased: social death, prohibitions Scheme of rite of passage

Thus, death is not seen as occurring in one instant, but as a lengthy process with a specific sequence and duration. Consequently, the conceptualization of death is intrinsically linked with time.

31 a. Time Death irrupts into social life as the most uncontrollable and irreversible force. Through the elaborate sequence of segregation and reintegration, death is gradually immersed in a predictable, cyclical scheme. But mortuary rites do not simply happen in this scheme; they create it by creating periodicity in social life. As Leach has said: 'We talk of measuring time as if time were a concrete thing waiting to be measured; but in fact, we create time by creating intervals in social life.' (Leach 1961, 135). In agrarian societies, time is created through the divisions of the agricultural year, the cycle of vegetation, the movement of celestial bodies, and the life-crisis ceremonies that mark the individual's procession through the stages of birth, initiation, marriage, death. Nature and human life enter a cycle of continuity and renewal; death is mystically equated with birth; annihilation is harnessed in the process of reproduction. Mortuary practices therefore abound with symbols of fertility and sexuality (Huntingdon and Metcalf 1979, 93ff., Bloch and Parry 1982). Thus, the widespread practice of double obsequies facilitates the assimilation of death into the cultural universe, and creates a temporal scheme which stresses continuity and denies contingency and transience. b. Space Space is perceived by creating physical and cognitive boundaries, which demarcate and order the universe (Leach 1976, 33). Abstract, cosmological categories only become intelligible and real once fastened on spatial divisions. The threshold of death is the absolute and final boundary separating the dead from the living and dividing cosmic space into two demarcated and distanced realms. Their boundary -the tomb, the cemetery,- acquires a liminal character as it partakes of the forces and danger emanating from the sacred order. For these reasons, the physical reality of death is often circumscribed, enclosed and/or distanced: the dead are exposed far away from the settlement, or buried in closed containers, often in specially designated areas. This distanciation becomes more formalized and absolute through the use of extra-mural cemeteries. Their use implies a categorization of space into the domestic/ profane area and the funerary/ritual, thus stressing the boundary between life and death. The temporal and the spatial dimension come together most clearly in the case of permanent, collective tombs. As prominent monuments they inscribe themselves on the physical landscape and modify it. As multiple tombs, especially designed for re-use, they contain the past, the present and the future. As heavy, material constructions they deny transience and decay; they become the symbols of permanence, i.e. of the

32 continuity in time and fixity in space of the social group which is using them (Bloch 1984, 208). I have argued that mortuary rites constantly recreate two basic dimensions of the cultural universe: time and space. Let us now examine how they relate to the way in which people conceive of their own position within this universe. (ii) The creation of identity I will examine the creation of identity through mortuary practices at two levels: that of the person and that of the group. a. The person Death defines, by separating them, the elements that constitute the person: the body and the 'soul' (conceived in different cultures as the 'breath', the 'image', etc.). The doctrine of the soul is the cognitive basis for the transformation of the dead into ancestors and the continuity between the living and the dead; it is therefore the crucial concept in death's assimilation into life. Treatment at death provides the medium for the social definition of the person. In many societies, the dead are treated differently according to their age, sex, kin position, profession, social status, etc.. The social persona, if emphasized at death, defines the person's position within the group, but also crystallizes a scheme of socially valued roles. At a different level, the mode of disposal materializes the society's attitude towards the individual. Certain practices during the secondary treatment of the dead, as for instance the mixing of the bones into the collective tomb (amongst the Merina, Bloch 1971), symbolize the dissolution of the recent dead into the undifferentiated world of the ancestral spirits. Individuality is thereby devaluated, and the cohesion of the social group extolled. Finally, the notions of the 'good' or 'bad' death introduce an element of ethical judgment (Goody 1962, 232), which can be extended to the deceased's past life. Death provides the occasion to reflect on morality and conformity to traditional norms. Thus, at death, the person is defined in its three aspects: the cognitive, the social and the moral. b. The group In primitive societies death is not a private affair. In small communities several people beyond the close relatives participate throughout the funeral, either out of kin obligations or through the exchange of services of affliction amongst kin groups (Goody 1962, 64). The final ceremony, which marks the end of the mourning period and the return to normality, has a very pronounced collective character and is in many societies the most solemn and important ceremony. It is usually performed for several

33 people who have died since the last ceremony, because the resources needed exceed the economic capacity of any one household: large amounts of socially valued resources have to be accumulated, and a lot of time has to be spent on material preparations. The feast is therefore the product of joint effort and, as such, it has a strong integrative function. Moreover, the main aim of the final ceremony is to re-assert the ties severed by the loss of individual actors through special ritual acts, like sacrifices and communal meals, which create mystical bonds among the participants (Hubert and Mauss 1964), to restore and to celebrate the unity of the group. Thereby, the mortuary ritual throws into relief, and shapes, the values that are central to the self-definition of the group (Geertz 1973, 94-8). I have to stress that by the unity of the group I do not mean social cohesion. Mortuary ritual, like any ritual, reveals the main principles that govern social life: kin, hierarchy, etc. The treatment of the dead often varies with status; contributions to the costs of the ceremonies are prescribed on the basis of kin obligations or dictated by aspirations to individual or group prestige; distributions and presentations during the ceremony draw out once more the system of status evaluation. But I am referring to the kind of unity that goes beyond and in fact incorporates social differences: to group identity. This aspect has been rather neglected in recent archaeological mortuary studies. Yet the issue of cultural identity is crucial in social explanations, since local processes and forms have to be examined not only internally, but also in connection with external conditions, influences and pressures (Okely 1983). To sum up, I have argued that mortuary practices provide a medium for self-definition at both the personal and the group level. (iii) Transmission and reproduction So far, mortuary practices have been discussed in relation to themes of identity and unity. In this section, the opposite, yet complementary, aspect will be discussed: the creation and maintenance of difference and asymmetry. Continuity in social life has to rely on some system for the intergenerational transmission of property and rights. The cost at which this continuity is obtained is the conflicts that arise over the transfer (Goody 1962, 30) and which have to be dealt with through the mortuary ritual. In primitive societies, inheritance takes place along kin lines (ibid., 315). Therefore, the conflicts inherent in the kin system -the tension between the generations, conflicting loyalties towards the residential and the descent groups, status-seeking versus obligations to kin, etc.- become manifest during the process of transmission, i.e. during the mortuary rites. To these is added the contradiction underlying the transmission: the need to pay due respect to the deceased, who until the final ceremony is still seen as maintaining rights over his/her property, and at the same time, to divest

34 him/her of these rights. This tension is symbolically expressed in ideas about the malice of the wandering soul, and is resolved only gradually through a complex ritual sequence. Therefore, the elaboration of the mortuary ritual indicates that it involves the transmission of exclusive and conflict-ridden assets to the survivors (ibid, 279). This association that I draw between transmission and elaboration seems to run counter to the deposition of wealth with the dead which is then presumably not inherited by the living. Indeed, there are cases where the personal belongings of the deceased are considered dangerous and therefore destroyed at burial (Strathern, 1981, 220) - in this case, the dead retains full rights over these objects. In other cases, part of the deceased's property is destroyed or sacrificed in order to make the rest 'safe' for the heirs (Goody 1962, 177). The case of deposition is to a certain extent similar: objects are removed from the mundane sphere and offered to the dead, either as provisions for the after-life (Hertz 1960, 55-56), or as an extension of his/her social personality (Strathern 1982, 153, n.12). Yet the situation is different if the goods are deposited in a collective tomb used by a specific group. In this case, these objects remain symbolically within the group, which also includes the ancestors. Thus collective burial a) marks out the property-holding group, the 'family', and b) allows the symbolic appropriation and pooling of wealth, and thereby social fragmentation and asymmetry. Furthermore, the prestige conferred on the heirs through the act of deposition is, as it were, handed down by the ancestors, who in this way can interfere in the affairs of the living as a transcendent and eternal force. To sum up, mortuary practices are closely associated with transmission, i.e. the creation and reproduction of social differentiation. So far the discussion has emphasized the way in which death is conceptualized and assigned a place in the cultural universe. However, the central element in attitudes towards death, the concept of pollution has not been addressed yet. This is because pollution cannot be isolated in specific forms and practices; it pervades the entire sequence of the mortuary practices, it is the very force that has to be controlled, surrounded with ritual and finally harnessed into a unifying scheme of continuity and renewal. Funerary contagion necessitates the complex tripartite sequence which brings about a gradual acceptance of death; the confinement and distanciation of the dead in a special disposal area; the seclusion of the mourners; the collective character of the rites, especially at the final ceremony; the purifications and sacrifices. Mortuary ritual gives a material expression to the abstract concept of pollution, which can thus be externalized, manipulated and finally expelled (Sourvinou-Inwood 1983, 38). The focus of mortuary practices, and main carrier of the funerary contagion, is the corpse. The decaying corpse is most impure and abhorrent, because it is in a state of transition; neither living nor dead, it is 'betwixt and between'. Pollution has been

35 defined as 'matter out of place' (Douglas 1984, 35) and is caused 'by any object or idea likely to confuse or contradict cherished classifications' (ibid., 36). Death is a transition, it entails the transgression of a dangerous boundary, it is disorder; therefore it has to be approached and surrounded by a formalized ritual order. We can deduce that the more elaborate the mortuary ritual, that is, the more complex and costly in material trappings, the more death is felt as a dangerous and powerful force. The question is, when and under which conditions do pollution beliefs proliferate. Douglas' work on pollution has led her to the conclusion that ideas of pollution proliferate in times of fluid social conditions, rather than within rigid social systems (ibid., 5), and denote anxiety about both the internal divisions and the external boundaries of a group. To conclude, the elaboration of mortuary practices can be related to the intensity of pollution beliefs. The explanation for the emphasis on boundaries and pollution should be sought in external pressures and internal social and ideological conflicts. To sum up my approach to mortuary practices, I have suggested that the mortuary ritual sets up a temporal scheme in which natural and social time are linked into a cyclical scheme; it sets boundaries and enables their transgression; it defines the concept of the person; it embodies and makes explicit crucial collective values; it creates and transmits differentiation. Mortuary ritual confronts the disorder of death with an elaborate ritual order, and creates both unity and difference: therein lies its centrality and significance for social life.

36 Chapter 3. The political economy of kin-based societies: the creation of value and prestige In this chapter, the discussion will move beyond mortuary practices to another main concern of this study: the creation of value and prestige and the connection between these two systems of social evaluation. An examination of the processes that lead to the creation of value systems and prestige structures brings up simultaneously two problems which are central to theoretical archaeology: the importance of social action and the role of material culture. Even though the basis of prestige may vary between societies, prestige is an easily definable term: it denotes authority and reputation, either inherited or gained through personal achievement. Prestige may be associated with material wealth, but wealth is not its sole basis. In pre-modern societies, the notion of prestige refers also, if not primarily, to non-material qualities, such as moral conduct, or the possession of physical strength, courage, political and rhetorical skills, or intelligence. Thus prestige partakes of our notions of authority, excellence and honour. Value is a more elusive term. In this paper, I will attempt to show that there are different types of value, which cannot be exhausted by our notion of value as a simple exchange ratio between objects. There is agreement on one point at least. Value is not considered as a property inherent in objects, but as a judgement made about them by subjects. Value is therefore subjective, and yet this subjectivity must rest on a consensual basis for communication and exchange to take place . Value emerges 'in this difficult realm, which is neither wholly subjective, nor quite objective' (Appadurai 1986b, 3). I shall first present Marx's theory of value and the subsequent critique, especially by Baudrillard (1975, 1981). Then, using anthropological parallels, I will discuss the production of value in the realms of exchange and consumption, and the connection between primitive value systems and social structure. Throughout this paper, the emphasis will be on 'prestige objects'. Prestige objects are characterized by: - complexity of acquisition through institutionalized scarcity, - specialized knowledge as a prerequisite for their appropriate consumption, - semiotic virtuosity; prestige objects are often characterized by non-functionality, decorativeness, etc., - a high degree of linkage through their consumption to personality and identity (Appadurai 1986b, 38).

37 The question is: how do goods become objects of prestige? How is value assigned? How are systems of value reproduced? These questions lay the basis of the two main problems addressed in this section: the process of mutual valorization between objects and people, and the articulation of systems of values, i.e. practical taxonomies, with social structure. 3.1. Marx's theory of value According to Marx's seminal analysis of value, a commodity is both use value and exchange value. Use value is a measure of the object's utility, while exchange value is the quantitative proportion in which use values of one kind are exchanged for use values of another kind. Use value is concrete and absolute, while exchange value is abstract and relative. Exchange value must be based on a common measure. The only property common to all objects is that they are products of labour. Therefore, value is defined as the materialization of labour. Thus, value is created through labour at the moment of production. The two basic concepts of utility and labour in Marx's definition of value have been vehemently criticized by Baudrillard (1975, 1981). His main argument is that the notions of need and utility do not describe a natural and objective relationship between the subject and the object, but are forged as an artificial link after the subject - object dichotomization, creating a circular definition of the subject through his/her needs for objects and of the object through its utility for the subject. He described the notion of abstract labour as an ideological construct of 19th century capitalism, in which labour is conceived of as domination over Nature. The importance of Baudrillard's analysis is that the concepts of need, utility and labour, as defined and used by Marx, cannot be projected onto past societies. In the free market economy, labour is the measure of cost, because labour is a commodity and can be sold. However, this is not the case in pre-monetary, kin-based societies, where a) there is no one all-pervasive measure of value, and b) labour is not a commodity, but is exchanged reciprocally along kin lines. Further, in primitive societies productive success is perceived as dependent not on labour input per se, but on the proper observance of a schedule and the appropriate rites (Vernant 1983). Indeed, it is questionable whether our economic concept of labour is applicable to pre-modern societies. The most important point, however, is that labour is not a measure of value in its widest sense, but of cost. The difference between cost and value is simply that the latter includes some notion of relevance, which takes us outside the strictly economic sphere and into the cultural construction of demand.

38 This was the major weakness of the Marxian theory of value: it never moved beyond the notion of value as economic value, as cost, and therefore its concepts cannot be used to understand the creation of social value and prestige. If then value is not created (solely and necessarily) through labour and in the realm of production, we have to consider the other two stages of the productive cycle: exchange and consumption.

3.2. Exchange Here the emphasis will be on gift exchange. The important difference between gift exchange and commerce is that gift exchange operates along the principle of reciprocity, within a cyclical structure of continuous transactions. Gift exchange creates a matrix of social communication and is a forceful strategy for the creation of prestige. The flow of material resources initiates or underwrites social relationships (Sahlins 1974, 186). In pre-class societies, where kinship is the main organizing principle, exchange is regulated along kinship lines. As kinship relations rest on the observance of mutual obligations, they are closely connected with group identity and morality. Thus, through exchange a group defines itself in the original sense of the word: it defines the boundaries around itself (Baudrillard 11981, 74). However, self-definition does not mean internal cohesion: we need now to address the other aspect of gift exchange, its potential to create and sustain power relations. The central element of gift exchange systems, such as the Trobriand kula (Malinowski 1922; Leach and Leach 1983), is the circulation of goods in distinctive and ranked spheres of exchange with strict prescriptions governing 'conveyance', i.e. the transfer of goods between spheres (Bohannan 1955). Within each sphere, and according to the rules of delayed reciprocity, like is exchanged for like. The enclaving of goods creates a barrier of discrimination and exclusion, since only a few people (almost always the local leaders) will ever handle and exchange the top sphere goods. Gift exchange is therefore an exclusive practice with a rigid structure, which nevertheless allows some mobility. Successful transactions, and the prestige derived from them, ultimately rest on personal competence and strategic skills (Munn 1983). Having examined gift exchange as a tournament of power and prestige, it is time to address the main questions: (i) How is value assigned in gift exchange ? (ii) How is value created in gift exchange ? (iii) How is the value of objects connected to the prestige of people ? The discussion will be illustrated with examples from the kula..

39 (i) In gift exchange the valuables move in different spheres and are exchanged according to the principle of reciprocity, establishing thereby a qualitative rather than a quantitative relationship. The transactions do not rest necessarily on equivalence, nor on precise material rates (Sahlins 1974, 278), but rather on substitution along broad standards (Firth 1983, 98). In gift exchange goods do not primarily have exchange value, but an exchange order. The purpose of the exchange order is to limit the exchangeability of goods, making them exchangeable only with others from the same sphere, in other words, to fix and narrow the range of substitutability of the top sphere goods. According to Dumont's (1980, 232) hypothesis, when the rate of exchange is seen as linked to the basic values of society, it is stable and not allowed to fluctuate. The value of the object is 'fixed', in the sense of allowed to fluctuate within a prescribed range, which is not arbitrary, but linked to the reproduction of the social system. Ultimately, what is important in an exchange of gifts is not the value of the object, but the status of the transactors (Gregory 1983). The object in itself is unimportant; what matters is fame accrued by menas of the transaction, as a condensation of past performance and future expectations. The logic of gift exchange is thus not that of equivalence, but that of ambivalence: the play between relation and distance, between aristocratic parity and competition, between mobility and socially prescribed roles. (ii) The value of the kula shells is derived from an elaborate and explicit scale, based on intrinsic properties (size, colour, shape) which give 'prime value' to the object (Renfrew 1986), and on labour, but most importantly on the history of the individual object, on its 'past' and 'personality' as traced through its movement in space and time. We see, therefore, that while certain natural qualities give a primary, static value to an object, value is accumulated and ultimately defined by the circulation of the object. Value is created by and in the process of exchange. Yet this value cannot be appropriated. What the 'owner' of a valuable possesses is not really the object, but a debt to reciprocate (Gregory 1983). The gift is inseparable from the transaction: it has no use value, or (save in exceptional circumstances) economic exchange value (Baudrillard 1981, 64). The object is constituted as value in gift exchange because 'to give away is to give part of one's own nature and substance, to receive is to receive part of someone's spiritual essence' (Mauss 1954, 10). Value is created in exchange through a mingling, a fusion between the transactor and the gift. Thus, the problem of the creation of value moves us into the difficult realm beyond the subject-object dichotomy. According to Dumont (1980, 230), once we are dealing with pre-modern societies, we have to suspend the absolute character and the value stress of the split between subject and object, and allow the boundary to fluctuate according to the internal definitions of the society we study. The discussion brings us to the next point: the intertwining of value and prestige.

40 (iii) The value of objects and the prestige of people are more than simply related: they are mutually defined. People and objects valorize each other. Munn's observation on this point grasps the essence of the simultaneous creation of value and of prestige: 'Men appear as the agents defining shell value, but without shells men cannot define their value. In this respect, shells and men are reciprocally agents of each other's value definition' (Munn 1983, 12). My discussion has indicated how the principles upon which shell classification is based, i.e. the interplay between static (intrinsic) and mobile ('personal' history) properties, encode the developmental character of the ideal career within the kula system. The same social logic of prescribed mobility (which both offers and eliminates opportunities to ascend the hierarchy) is at play simultaneously in both fields. The kula example has been referred to in order to extract some general principles, which in general govern gift exchange: - in gift exchange the logic is that of ambivalence, and not of equivalence; - value is not fixed at the moment of production, but is created in and through the process of exchange as a fusion of the subject and the object; -the value of goods and the prestige of people in gift exchange systems are created simultaneously. Yet the problem is not exhausted. We now have to consider the role of consumption. 3.3. Consumption The role of consumption cannot be exhausted in the satisfaction of individual desires, whether these involve subsistence or the display of wealth. Consumption is 'eminently social, relational and active rather than private, atomic or passive' (Appadurai 1986b, 31). Consumption can be seen as (i) a means of signification, i.e. of assigning meaning and order to the world, and (ii) a strategy of discrimination and exclusion. (i) An object is not simply a physical object, but a bundle of relationships which hold it within a system of objects, norms and beliefs. When consuming an object, we interiorize and thereby reproduce this whole system, i.e. the cultural code, of which the goods are only the visible part (Douglas and Isherwood 1978, 66). (ii) The processes of signification and classification are the prerequisites for exclusion. Consumption can be a strategy of exclusion and intrusion. Sumptuary patterns inform us about the underlying social logic of mobility or social inertia. Consumption is thus political, because it can become the arena in which social conflicts are expressed and conjured away. Consumption as a mechanism of power is most obvious in the conspicuous, prodigal destruction of goods. In primitive societies material wealth may be a prerequisite for,

41 but is never the sole basis of, prestige. The deliberate destruction of goods, the potlatch, as it is known, is the main mechanism of power both in lineage based societies and in the unstable Big Man societies (Sahlins 1963). Prestige in these cases is built through collective feasts, which operate as a redistributive mechanism at the local level, but also act as a provocation to competitors -aspiring Big Men or neighbouring lineages. Until now, I have deliberately drawn too close an analogy between gift exchange and (conspicuous) consumption: both are means of classification and communication, both are forceful strategies for the creation of power, both are formalized social practices, central to the social life of many societies. Yet there is an important difference between them, which pertains to the central problem here: the creation of value. It has been pointed out in the discussion about gift exchange that in reciprocal exchange objects accrue value through their constant circulation. Yet this value is a) transitory, because inalienable, and b) ambivalent and open, because inseparable from the transaction and from the status of the transactors, i.e. their past achievements and their future prospects. What distinguishes consumption from exchange is not only that consumption has a physiological dimension that exchange lacks (Gell 1986, 112), but that consumption establishes a different relation of value between the subject and the object. The transitory, ambivalent and open value of the gift is appropriated, fixed and terminated when the object is consumed, when it is removed from circulation, withheld and manipulated by the individual. The reciprocal relationship is abolished. The object becomes intransitive, it becomes a sign, which derives its value from its differential relationship with other signs. Through consumption, value becomes fixed and codifiable into a system of value, i.e. of difference. Consumption is therefore the production of difference in its two stages: signification and discrimination. The need to fix values into a more or less explicit, material system is a sign of creativity or crisis and may derive from a fluid and competitive situation or from the intrusion of foreign classification systems. To conclude: an object, when consumed and appropriated, is transformed into a sign of difference and status, which acquires its value through its relation to other signs in a system of values. The next question is: What is the relationship between the categorization of goods and the social structure ? 3.4. Value systems and social structure

42 In primitive societies social life is embedded in the natural world and its rhythm; as Dumont says, 'they are copying their very conventions after the principles of life and the world' (1980, 217). The modern tendency to dissect experience into different domains, and notably to make the subject-object division, impedes our understanding of primitive classification systems and subordinates them to the 'reality' of the social structure. According to the classical Durkheimian answer (Durkheim and Mauss 1963), cultural systems of classification are ordered along the social structure, thereby ensuring the cohesion and reproduction of the latter. Yet objects and systems of objects do not simply express an already constituted social order. The world of objects and the world of people acquire meaning simultaneously in a continuous process of internal classification. The same social logic, the same ideology, pervades both levels, mental as well as social structures. Neither is cause or effect; neither takes analytical precedence over the other (Baudrillard 1981, 100); both are structured in the same logical way. This does not mean that there is a formal correspondence between the two, but rather that they both operate on the basis of the same generative principles according to an economy of logic (Bourdieu 1977, 110). The interiorization of these principles, while not necessarily leading to consensus at the level of social action, constitutes a fundamental form of social control. 'Ideology seizes all production, material and symbolic, into the same process of abstraction, ... and signification' (Baudrillard 1981, 100) -and it is exactly there, in the redundancy of signs and the closure of the ideological discourse upon itself, that the effectiveness of ideology lies. To conclude: The social structure has no primacy over systems of classification. Both are created simultaneously, recreated continuously, and pervaded by the same social logic. 3.5. Gift exchange, conspicuous consumption and archaeology What relevance does the foregoing discussion have to arcaeology? First, it must be borne in mind that, in prehistoric archaeology at least, we have only a partial and biased picture of patterns of circulation and deposition, due to the differential preservation of the archaeological material. This is not the only difficulty, however. The most problematic point is the way we use archaeological evidence to draw economic and social inferences. Here I will address two questions: (i) What role has been assigned to conspicuous consumption in archaeology? (ii) How has the relationship between gift exchange and conspicuous consumption been defined in archaeology?

43 (i) I have discussed extensively in the first section how systemic studies attempt social reconstruction on the basis of a simplistic logic, with energy expenditure mirroring social status and overall social complexity. The same reflective argument is used when drawing economic inferences. In the systemic approach (e.g. Randsborg (1975a, 1975b) and Kristiansen 1978), the deposited, consumed wealth is assumed to be a direct reflection of the circulating, i.e. produced quantity of goods. The amount of deposited goods is determined by the purchasing power, i.e. the productivity, of each region. Fluctuations in the deposition of wealth are explained by changes in supply, or in productivity, through technological innovation. The consumption of goods is not considered as a practice requiring explanation, but as a fossilized record (Patrik 1985) from which exchange and production are read out. It is questionable whether the Marxist approach in archaeology (Friedman and Rowlands 1977; Frankenstein and Rowlands 1978; Rowlands 1980) makes any great advance on this specific point: the only function of deposition is to force exchange value to rise (Rowlands 1980, 46). According to Rowlands (ibid., 30), power is not derived directly from economic control, but rather from the manipulation and drawing together of a complex marriage, alliance and exchange network. However, it is never quite clear how control over and centralization of the exchange network are actually achieved. What is described in all Marxist studies is the intensification of the process (with the automatism of growth Marxism characteristically recognizes), and not its initial conditions and causes. To summarize the foregoing discussion: the systemic and Marxist approaches, despite their otherwise considerable differences, have one point in common. They both use consumption as a simple index of production and exchange. The practice of purposeful and formalized deposition of wealth is not addressed. This last point is raised by Bradley (1982) and Parker Pearson (1984a, 1984b), who embrace some aspects of the neo-Marxist critique of orthodox Marxist theory. Both note that purely economic explanations of conspicuous consumption of wealth ignore the ritual and dramatic character and the social function of the practice: the transformation of economic into symbolic capital, i.e. power and prestige. Their interpretation follows the neo-Marxist scheme, in which the economy is in the final instance the determining factor and ideology acts as the epiphenomenal legitimation: differentiation is created by economic practices and legitimated by ritual. (ii) I shall now turn to the second question: the relationship between gift exchange and conspicuous consumption. Both Bradley (1982) and Parker Pearson (1984a, 1984b) refer extensively to Gregory's (1980) discussion of the different social logic behind gift exchange and ostentatious destruction. Competitive gift giving -'gifts to men'- does not permit long-

44 term accumulation, while the sacrifice of goods in feasts, etc. -'gifts to god'- allows the accumulation of capital. However, Gregory's scheme of two successive and static systems, when transferred on to the archaeological evidence, leaves two crucial questions unanswered. How are gift exchange and conspicuous consumption articulated? And how is a system of conspicuous consumption initiated? My point is this: does the depositional record always give us direct insight into the principles of gift exchange? Is deposition and destruction always an element, a part of the normal operation of gift exchange? I would suggest that this may be the case and that deposition may be a 'path', but that it may also become a 'diversion' (to use Appadurai's (1986b) terms), a rupture of the normal operation and principles of gift exchange. What I would like to emphasize is that when we find imported valuable items deposited in the archaeological record, we are simultaneously observing two practices, gift exchange and conspicuous disposal, which may not have been governed by the same principles. The problem is, of course, how we can tell whether consumption is a path or a diversion within a gift exchange system. I propose the following hypothesis: Conspicuous consumption can be interpreted as a rupture of the gift exchange principle of reciprocity when a) the practice is temporally and spatially discontinuous, i.e. it appears suddenly in a few, localized sites, and b) when there is a high discrepancy between 'rich' and 'poor' sites in terms of the range of goods deposited. I suggest that if these features are present, the practice of conspicuous consumption marks a significant departure from earlier practices. These thoughts lead us to the next question addressed in this study: the relation between conspicuous consumption and social change. This will be discussed in the next chapter, after a presentation of the current explanatory paradigm of the emergence of social complexity in the prehistoric Aegean.

45 Chapter 4. The explanation of change The starting point for the discussion on change will be a critical presentation of the current explanatory paradigm in Aegean archaeology: the systemic approach, as originally proposed by Renfrew (1972, 1984) and developed further by Cherry (1978, 1983, 1984, 1986, 1987) and Halstead (1981, 1987). Any account of state formation in the Aegean has to start from this approach, as it is the only systematic and explicit attempt at social explanation in Aegean archaeology. 4.1. Systems thinking and state formation in the Aegean The systems approach as first applied by Renfrew in The Emergence of Civilization (1972) was part of a reaction against the prevailing mono-causal and diffusionist explanations of social change. The most important contribution of the systemic approach was that it exposed the complexity of social transformation. Renfrew's basic argument (Renfrew 1972) is that the adoption of polyculture in the early bronze age Aegean made local specialization and intensification of production possible. The need for a redistributive system led to the emergence of larger, protourban, settlements and provided the ascending elite with the opportunity to control production and craft specialization, primarily metallurgy, a novel and socially valued craft. The increasing need for prestige artefacts further stimulated technological developments, e.g. in ship construction, and promoted trade. Through the operation of the multiplier effect, subsistence, technology, trade and social relations entered a process of continuous growth which culminated in the emergence of the palatial system first in Minoan Crete and later in the mainland. I shall review the systemic explanation of state formation in the Aegean by addressing the mechanisms of change proposed in the original model and in its recent modifications: redistribution, interaction, and external trade. (i) The internal process of change: surplus and redistribution The causal linkages in Renfrew's model have received criticisms. For instance, it has been pointed out that polyculture does not automatically lead to surplus production (Cherry 1984, 28), or to specialization of production (Forbes 1976). It should also be mentioned that there is little evidence for specialization even in the Linear B tablets (Halstead 1987, 522). Halstead has proposed an alternative model for the emergence of the redistributive system (1981, 1987; Halstead and O'Shea 1982). He suggests that it came about through the centralization of 'social storage' networks, along which subsistence goods

46 were exchanged against durable tokens, which could then be re-converted to foodstuffs in times of hardship. Redistribution, and consequently the palatial system, emerged as a safeguard mechanism against local shortage in areas of ecological diversity and low rainfall. These criticisms and modifications, although valid, do not question the explanatory potential of redistribution. I would argue that the redistributive model does not really elucidate the core of the problem: the process of centralization, i.e. how and why resources were extracted and diverted to the centre. Redistribution is presented as an 'efficient' (Renfrew 1984c, 91) or 'obvious' solution: exchange networks 'may be predisposed to centralization due to their complexity' (Halstead 1981, 192). The ethnographic record presents a rather different picture: there is ample evidence of complex exchange networks which never became centralized, while the evidence for the transport and exchange of bulky foodstuffs in pre-state societies, or even in early states (Brumfiel and Earle 1987b, 6-7), is much scantier. Nor does redistribution inevitably set a spiral of constant growth in motion. Redistribution may imply a degree of centricity in the social system, but does not necessarily initiate an irreversible process of centralization; if it did, all primitive chiefdoms or Big Man societies would have evolved into centralized states. These redistributive political systems have inbuilt defence mechanisms against sustained accumulation (Clastres 1974, Sahlins 1974). The main problem with the redistributive model is that it abstracts the flow of goods and services from political structures and kin relations. Redistribution is presented as a universal mechanism, and specificity is only sought in the prevailing ecological conditions. This is especially the case in Halstead's more reductionist model: if ecological diversity and patterns of rainfall explain why the palatial system emerged in Crete and not in Thessaly (Halstead 1977), they do not explain why it did not emerge at the same time on the mainland where the same ecological conditions are to be found. (ii) Peer polity interaction In the most recent modifications of the systemic model, the emphasis has been shifted from internal processes to the regional level, i.e. interactions between autonomous socio-political units, or 'peer polities' (Renfrew 1982; Renfrew and Cherry 1986). The 'peer polity interaction' model is an attempt to explain the relationship between the development of structural homologies (in social practices, political institutions and even language and ethnicity) and the parallel rise in social complexity in autonomous but closely interacting polities (Renfrew 1986, 1). However, problems arise at once with the definition of the 'peer polities'. Their territories are defined, rather arbitrarily, by drawing Thiessen polygons around the main centres. At least in the Aegean, the polities derived thereby represent the final and

47 not the early stage of the formation of states. Projecting these territorial boundaries back into the pre-palatial phases in Crete or in the mainland presupposes what we are trying to explain: the emergence of politically and spatially demarcated units. In examining the first claim of the 'peer polity interaction' model, the emergence of formal and structural homologies, we should point out that peer polity interaction cannot explain the derivation of specific forms, practices and institutions -and I would add that it can only partly explain their similarities across wider areas. The degree of similarity does not faithfully reflect the intensity of interaction (Hodder 1982), nor does dissimilarity necessarily imply lack of interaction. More efficient or developed practices and institutions are not always readily accepted (Torrence and van der Leeuw 1989), and differences in organizational or material forms may be maintained despite interaction (Barth 1969). The other problem with the peer polity concept is that it does not explain differences. I would suggest that imbalances of power -even slight or alternating- between social groups might offer more fruitful ground when we attempt to explain the emergence of structures and social transformation. This brings us to the second question: the explanation of change. It has already been pointed out by Cherry (1986, 42-3) that peer polity interaction could explain the operation and growth of states already in existence, but not the process of their formation, especially if contacts and similarities can be demonstrated for earlier periods as well. To summarize: while the peer polity interaction moves beyond the narrower materialist and evolutionary concerns of the redistributive model, it still explains growth rather than transformation, precisely because it presupposes what it has set out to explain: the existence of politically and territorially delimited higher order units. A model of change cannot have as its main actor the polity as an already constituted and, ultimately, internally undifferentiated unit. (iii) Emulation and external change While Renfrew generally acknowledged the importance of external trade and symbolic entrainment as factors in change (Renfrew 1984c, 113), he did not consider them relevant to the prehistoric Aegean. Cherry (1984, 1986) criticized this tendency to treat the Aegean in isolation from contemporary developments in the Mediterranean. He proposed that the integration of the local economy into a wider framework of exchange and interaction with the Near East was the catalyst of change in Crete (Cherry 1984, 28). The involvement with external exchange allowed local leaders to consolidate their status by controlling the exchange of prestige items (ibid. 38). Cherry did not propose external trade as the sole cause of social change; instead, he stressed the importance of

48 the internal re-organization caused by external stimuli. As he points out 'the Near Eastern exemplars emulated by different Minoan polities provided a medium for competitive display and self-aggrandizement, yet they were not the cause either of such competition or of the rise of competing political entities themselves' (Cherry 1986, 42 emphases in the original). While this proposition has the advantage that it avoids the simplistic solution of an either purely external or purely internal explanation, it still balances uneasily between the two. On the one hand, what differentiates Crete is its involvement in Near Eastern long-distance trade; on the other hand, exotic artefacts and the symbolic knowledge associated with them were only a currency of competition among 'pre-existing leaders in the ranked society of the early bronze age' (Cherry 1984, 38 -emphasis added). My objection is not that a prime mover ought to be isolated, but, on the contrary, that the fusion of external circumstances and internal developments is not very clear. I would suggest that more attention should be given to which objects, practices and institutions are borrowed or adopted and how they are culturally re-defined and adapted to local strategies. To summarize: while Cherry's discussion of state formation brings in the historical context through the discussion of external contacts, the interplay between the historical conjuncture and the internal structures is not fully explained. The discussion so far has addressed the mechanisms of change. However, when explaining change we need to ask not only how change came about, but also why it occurred. This is the weakest point in the systemic explanations: they can explain growth, but not transformation, because they assume that elements such as the existence of a disembedded economic sphere and political demarcation around one centre exist in embryonic form in all egalitarian groups, which under the right circumstances, will automatically develop into stratified social formations. Ultimately, the causes of change are posited in an innate human propensity to seek material advance, pursue individualistic interests and accept innovation (Renfrew 1984d, 269). In systemic explanation, both the mechanisms of change and its causes are abstract and universal; after all, the explicit aim of the processual approach is to formulation of general explanatory propositions (Renfrew 1984b, 5; Cherry 1978, 425). The view that the state is a unified phenomenon has recently come under attack (McGuire 1985; Kohl 1987; Patterson and Gailey 1987; Gledhill 1988). The empirical diversity and specificity of early states is obscured when subsumed under a seemingly generalizing, but ultimately Eurocentric and deterministic, mode of historical explanation. Following these authors, I propose that the explanation of change is a historical rather than an evolutionary question.

49 4.2. The explanation of change: a historical question. The aim of this section is to place social change within its cultural and historical context and to demonstrate that change comes about through conflict between the internal power structure and the pressures and opportunities created within changing historical conditions. The discussion consists of two parts: 1. The mechanisms of change, in which the emphasis will be on the internal transformation of traditional social practices. 2. The cause of change, in which I will address only one possible factor promoting social complexity in a largely egalitarian society: the proximity of an expanding state. It has to be stressed that my aim is not to provide universal answers. While it is hoped that certain issues will be of wider relevance, the discussion on conspicuous consumption and gift exchange as mechanisms of differentiation and on the impact of pre-existing states on segmentary societies, must be linked with the specific historical case for which it has been conceived: the Mycenaean case. 4.2.1. The mechanism of change The discussion here will start with the remarks that concluded the section about the creation of value. These pointed out that that exchange and consumption establish different relations of value between the object and the subject: the transitory, ambivalent and open value of the gift is crystallized and appropriated when the object is consumed, even when it is destroyed. Economic value is transformed into social value and wealth into prestige. Consumption is therefore the primitive mode of accumulation -albeit in a symbolic form- and an important mechanism of differentiation in primitive societies, because it implies the abolition of the reciprocal relationship. Hence, consumption carries an anti-social element of aggression and asymmetry. In primitive, kin-based societies this latent potential is closely controlled, since largescale consumption is associated with group activities, such as communal feasts associated with the agricultural cycle or with status elevation ceremonies. These communal feasts operate as a mechanism for the pooling and redistribution of resources. As they take place, at regular intervals and in specified localities, a regulated proportion of goods and labour is diverted to the ceremonial centre and consumed collectively. Consumption in this case acts as an integrative force: it draws the social territory from which contributions are expected and validates membership of the group. At the same time, it creates a relation of interdependence between the leaders and the community, defines their mutual obligations and thereby reproduces the power structure. The leaders do not necessarily derive significant material gains from this process: differences in economic wealth are played down through the obligation of

50 reciprocity, or levelled out through competition between aspiring leaders or neighbouring lineages. The importance of conspicuous consumption/redistribution lies rather in the creation of a logical scheme of unity through centricity (Sahlins 1974, 190). Conspicuous consumption is a forceful social practice, because it acts as a simultaneously integrative and divisive force operating at the very centre of group identity: the collective ceremonies. However, conflicts exist even in those largely egalitarian societies where political relations are embedded in the 'natural' kin order. They might be covert or suppressed, and they do not necessarily imply a conscious contestation of the traditional order, but they do create tensions in everyday life (e.g. in the relations between the sexes or the generations, in the contradiction between the needs of the household and the demands of the community, etc.). Nevertheless, it is doubtful whether these tensions can initiate an irreversible process of change. Structural transformation implies a discontinuity, an element that cannot be traced back to traditional principles and practices. Giddens (1984, 246) has suggested that there may be 'critical thresholds' of change, with some key institutional transformations taking place over a relatively short period of time but generating a long-term momentum of development. Gledhill (1988, 15) has suggested that the initial condition for the rise of social complexity should be sought in the institutionalization of an 'ownership' differential -an element totally opposed to the reciprocal obligations of the kin order. The question is, how can the social practices which support the traditional order be reversed ? I would propose that change can only be brought about through the traditional schemes and practices, by redefining kin relations and drawing on the ambiguity of the existing social practices. The mode of biological and social reproduction, i.e. the system of principles that governs fertility, residence, marriage and inheritance, determines the flow of goods in and out of a social group. The control of reproduction is therefore essential in creating a centripetal motion as an eventual basis for accumulation (Gailey and Patterson 1987b, 9-10). Moreover, kin provides the basis for the division of labour. Gender and age relations are redefined and accentuated once an element of differential evaluation is introduced into these 'natural' divisions. (McGuire 1985, 11). Categories of age and gender are assigned different roles, which are evaluated differently. Kin remains the main organizational principle, but kin roles are redefined and restructured through their articulation with social differentiation (ibid., 12) or, more precisely, in the process of the creation of social differentiation which can at first only proceed along kin principles (skewed gender relations, strictly separate age sets, seniority principle, etc.), i.e. in terms of the traditional idiom. As Giddens has pointed out (1984, 196), the deepest contradiction in the early stages of social change, is that the new structural principles counter the old while still dependent

51 on them. New patterns of authority, still partially worked out and unstable, can only emerge from within the kin order. The new mode can draw on the traditional forms. Conspicuous consumption, the very practice where the social countered the economic, can be transformed into a mechanism for the creation of both economic and social differentiation. The established form of collective and ostentatious consumption may be retained, albeit with its redistributive function distorted, if the possibility of even a partial retention is introduced. I would suggest that herein lies the crucial difference between a total potlatch-like destruction and symbolic destruction, i.e. the deposition of goods in graves: both may be public acts destined to convert economic value into social distinction, but through deposition with the ancestors, agents can retain a symbolic 'ownership' of goods, while seemingly giving them away and denying their materiality. Deposition of goods can constitute the basis for the 'ownership' differential which has been suggested (Gledhill 1988, 15) as the basis of social stratification. Conspicuous consumption is thus transformed from a strategy to level out social differentiation into a mechanism for the creation of asymmetry. As conspicuous consumption is associated with divisions of the agricultural cycle or with rites of passage, i.e. with practices endlessly repeated in a 'natural' rhythm, its transformation is immersed in ritual acts which facilitate transgression (Bourdieu 1977, 120). A heavy ritualization is required when the traditional, 'natural' order is disrupted and the dissonance of interests threatens to reveal their arbitrariness. Innovation and elaboration in ritual practices indicate the opposition between competing principles, i.e. the creation of differentiation out of an egalitarian order rather than the legitimation of an already established and demarcated social elite. In this unstable and conflictual situation caused by the disruption of the traditional classifications, the system of social values can only acquire a certain material reality through its objectification (Bourdieu 1977, 169), i.e. through the equation of symbolic capital with material signs of difference: symbolic items, rare and exotic objects, monumental structures, etc. The equivalence of prestige and material signs constitutes an attempt to crystallize social values through the consolidation of a scale of material value; briefly to devise a system of social evaluation, a new mode of prestige, in which social position is based on the acquisition and appropriate use of signs. Thus a means of evaluation separate from the kin order is constituted. However, the new mode can still be absorbed and contained within kin differentiation: access to and acquisition of material signs can be controlled through sumptuary laws, and transmission along descent lines may become emphasized. The enclaving of goods in societies devoted to stable status displays should be understood as an attempt to channel socially valued objects into the traditional structures (Appadurai 1986b, 25). But this very attempt to constrain change may constitute the 'Trojan horse' of change (ibid.,

52 26, 57). Enclaving regulates the flow of goods, but at the same time it provides a target for diversion and emulation. Exclusionary tactics always contain means for intrusion. Thus, the traditional structures and the new opportunities co-exist and compete within the new mode of prestige. Elements of mobility and instability are introduced into the social life, yet at the same time they are suppressed through enclaving and control over the transmission of goods and rights. This process of incipient differentiation can only be consolidated if two basic material preconditions are met: a. intensification of production b. the extraction and centralization of surplus. While conspicuous consumption/deposition at the centre initiates the centralization and appropriation of material capital, sustained accumulation and a regular flow of goods still have to be ensured. Social division has to be translated into relations of dependence and subordination between the centre and a social territory. If conspicuous consumption can set up an asymmetrical relationship, gift exchange operating from a centre can become the main strategy for keeping up a lasting asymmetrical relationship. The centralization of a gift exchange network does more than just exert control over the distribution of prestige items: it creates relations of indebtedness and patronage between the central elite and the local community leaders who have to reciprocate with regular contributions. Gift exchange in this context founds dependence rather than parity; it sets up a hierarchical scheme within which status is fixed according to the possession of insignia acquired from the centre. Within this scheme, advancement is theoretically possible, but in reality controlled by the centre. Once the position of local leaders is defined through their relation to the centre, local communities are split, social division is reproduced at all nodes of the hierarchical system and everyone is engaged -actively, potentially, or negatively by being excludedin this process of hierarchization. Thereby, the values favouring one segment of society prevail across the social body (Miller 1988, 63). Social life is permeated by a set of standards against which excellence and morality are judged -in a word by the mode of prestige. Prestige subordinates and 'encompasses' (Dumont 1970) all other classificatory schemes: it sets life purposes for actors and defines the methods by which they can be achieved; it constructs social reality and the subject within it. The reproduction of division within local communities has important ramifications for the intensity of production. In societies where the productive technology is simple and available to all, the intensification of production can only take a dialectical course through the intensification of consumption and demand at all levels of the social system. The incentives for additional labour input, technological innovation, etc., can only be created by devising new needs and providing (therefore, controlling) a currency

53 that can meet them. The increasing demand for prestige objects is crucial in the intensification of agricultural production and in the take-off of trade and manufacture. The social system is kept together through the opposite flow of insignia and protection against local produce and obeisance. Once more this is achieved by drawing on a traditional practice, gift exchange, and yet transforming it imperceptibly into its opposite: taxation. To sum up my argument so far: change takes place through the restructuring of kin principles and transformation of the traditional practices: conspicuous consumption is turned into a strategy of centralization and accumulation, and gift exchange into a strategy of subordination and hierarchization. Two points have been emphasized: a) that the mechanisms of change should be sought in structurally available means, i.e. in the traditional social practices, and b) that social change is brought about through the manipulation of consumption and demand rather than through the control of production. However, the emergence of social asymmetry is not an inevitable and unidirectional process following from some evolutionary advantage of the state form (Gall and Saxe 1977). Nor is society prone to change by automatically adopting more complex or efficient practices and forms. The process of state formation is marked by the attempts of local communities to maintain their autonomy against the demands of the emergent civil order (Gailey and Patterson 1987b, 8; Gailey 1987, 52). Gailey (1987, 36) has defined resistance to state demands as 'any institution or practice -intentional, conscious or not- that thwarts the consolidation of class relations as self-defined groups'. Resistance may be passive or active, conscious or unconscious, widespread or localized, depending on the strength of the kin structures. The differential resistance of local communities to state penetration results in a pattern of uneven integration: the emergence of social complexity is a spatially uneven phenomenon. Therefore, the intensification of central control should not be considered as an 'obvious' phenomenon, but must be understood in connection with its opposing force: the resistance of the traditional order. Ostentatious and expensive gestures, continuous elaboration and shifts in exclusionary tactics do not just act as a display of the elite's prestige and wealth, but also indicate that the validation of the new mode of prestige is both crucial and fragile. At least in the early stages of a process of centralization, the elite's grip on power is tenuous and the competition within it strong; fission and usurpation are rife; (Gledhill 1988, 25). State formation is therefore a tense, spatially uneven and unstable process (Gailey and Patterson (1987b, 35).

54 Even when political control is consolidated through force or subtle permeation by symbolic violence, resistance can be effected through cultural means, through the revival of archaisms, the defence of the customary practices, or the redefinition of notions associated with the state (Gailey 1987, 36). Culture in state societies is not created on a consensual basis, but constitutes an important arena of conflict (ibid., 35). To conclude: the establishing of relations of domination has to be understood in connection with the opposing force: resistance. Increasing centralization of power and the elaboration of exclusionary tactics have to be set against strategies of intrusion, emulation and opposition to the state practices. 4.2.2. The causes of change So far, the discussion has presented social change as a purely internal process. Here I will outline one possible cause for the rise in social complexity: the impact of already existing states upon more egalitarian and segmentary groups situated on their borders. In this discussion I shall demonstrate that groups need to reproduce not only internal relations, but also their position among their neighbours. I will stress that these two aspects cannot be separated; that the creation, maintenance or abolition of external boundaries plays a crucial role in internal social strategies. Interaction across cultural boundaries is based on completely different principles from those underlying relations within the group. Transactions rest on different criteria of value, organizational principles and means of expression. The sharpest disjunction of values and institutions occurs at the border of expanding state systems, at the expense of surrounding kin-based societies. States are centralized and hierarchical systems, with institutions fostering social division. The border populations consist of a more or less fluid constellation of autonomous and egalitarian or semi-egalitarian groups with kin as their main organizational principle. The degree of openness or closedness of the boundaries and the nature of the interaction between the state and the segmentary groups, depends on a multitude of factors, but primarily on the role of external boundaries both within the state and within the border populations. For the early state, expanding its sphere of influence is a crucial weapon in internal competition, as this ensures and increases the flow of resources that sustain social division at the centre. The annexation of neighbouring areas is vital for the glorification and consolidation of domestic control. Conversely, the rate and evenness of the integration of bordering areas depends on the outcome of internal competition and power shifts. The direction of the state's expansionist policies is dictated by the differing strategic importance of border groups, the distribution of valued resources, etc. The expansion of the state is therefore a spatially uneven process. The outcome of expansionist

55 strategies also depends on the internal structure of the border groups. These can use relations with the state as an internal strategy of exclusion. Local leaders can use their position to monopolize contacts with the state and enhance that position. External boundaries are abolished by being transformed into internal social boundaries. However, interaction does not necessarily bring about political, let alone cultural, assimilation. External boundaries may be maintained despite interaction, if they play a crucial role in social life. An important point here is the relation between group identity and rights to productive and reproductive resources. Groups in which access to the means of production is conditional on group membership, (e.g. where land is allocated by the communal authorities and labour cooperation is regulated along kin lines) are less permeable to external influences (Barth 1969b, Haaland 1969, Siverts 1969). In these societies, ethnic identity constrains the incumbent in all his activities (way of life, social practices, moral behaviour) and deviation is sanctioned (Barth 1969b, 17). If there is no notion of property, there is no possibility of accumulation and social mobility outside the kin-based political structure and sumptuary norms. In this case, interaction is counteracted by channelling and constraining external contacts. Interaction can be controlled by marginalizing trade activities or canalizing foreign goods into existing structures, while the political and cultural sectors remain insulated from comparison and modification (Barth 1969b, 15). Thereby, boundaries persist despite interaction or the movement of people across them, and political incorporation is resisted. Thus, state expansion is not an automatic, homogeneous and evenly successful process, but an uneven and conflictual one with groups incorporated in varying degrees depending on external circumstances and their internal structure. However, even the populations that resist political subordination are also affected by the proximity of the state. State expansion disrupts the balance of interdependence between neighbouring groups. The segmentary circuits of exchange break apart as the flow of goods becomes increasingly distorted through the infiltration of state control. When one group withholds resources needed by another, group relations of inequality and stratification develop. The pressure induced by the state therefore has indirect effects on non-subject peoples as well. These pressures are felt unevenly across space, as different communities within the group are unequally placed in relation to external contacts or exchange networks. They are also felt unevenly across the social body. Local leaders are most susceptible to external perturbations, as they are situated at the nodes of exchange networks. If they fail to command the necessary resources and perform according to the set standards of excellence, their prestige, both within the group and towards peers outside the group, is at stake. If it is not possible to participate in a wider system of values while maintaining autonomy, and a separate identity, then allegiance to traditional values will be questioned (Barth 1969b, 25; 1969c, 132-3). The

56 segmentary groups may fail to maintain a separate identity and become both politically and culturally engulfed by the state. Alternatively, at the moment when the traditional tenets are being readjusted under the pressure of the expanding state, cultural distinctiveness may be emphasized and given a new organizational relevance beyond the immediate group. In the second case the relations between the different groups are re-organized not on the basis of identical values handed down from time immemorial (Siverts 1969, 105), but rather by a set of idioms communicating minimal contrast between them, and difference from the state. Syncretism and the accentuation of local traditions are only two possible ways of constructing a cultural idiom, while special emphasis is given to the construction of historical continuity and a common past through the glorification of the ancestors (Barth 1969b, 35). It has to be stressed that cultural demarcation and resistance are not necessarily expressed in all spheres of life, and certainly not to the same degree -they may be emphasized only in those spheres that are considered culturally important. This continuing dichotomization will be signalled through forms partly visible in the archaeological record: foreign goods may be increasingly imported and imitated, but only those corresponding to local needs will be selected and redefined within local practices. Decorative styles may be heavily influenced, but still rendered according to the local idiom. The content of social practices may be transformed, while their form continues local traditions. Thus, cultural demarcation is an attempt to counteract the penetration of the state structures and principles of organization. The state sets out to absorb the groups located at its periphery by providing the material and ideological resources, e.g. elaborate and exclusive artefacts, which carry with them an entire system of social signification and exclusion. The intrusion of foreign goods and systems of evaluation erodes the local segmentary networks of exchange and the internal sumptuary structures. Under the impact of these two processes, pressure by the state leading to the erosion of the traditional prestige structure and opposition to the state through the mobilization of cultural identity, the egalitarian order bursts. The political and ideological pressure exercised by the state has certainly been the catalyst, but it is not the sole cause of the crisis, which has to be sought in the conflict between, and the eventual fusion of the external threat and the internal resistance. The formulation of a cultural idiom is thus a situational construct: 'Ethnicity is a subjective and malleable category, by which various preexisting likenesses are manipulated symbolically in order to mould an identity.' (Geary 1983, 16). In the case I have presented, the mobilization of a cultural identity can only be understood against the dissolution of pre-existing forms of identity creation and maintenance: kin relations and ascription to the group (Shennan 1988, 16). These two processes, the creation of a more inclusive identity and the erosion of the traditional power structure, do not stand

57 in a cause - effect relationship, but are part of the same process of structural transformation. To conclude: in this section I have presented one possible factor causing the dissolution of the traditional order in a kin-based society: internal resistance to pressure by an expanding state. Two points have come out of the discussion: a) that change does not come about through the imposition of economic mechanisms on a cultural and political vacuum, and b) that in order to understand the nature, timing and rate of structural transformation we have to examine it within the cultural tradition and the historical context.

58

PART II Chapter 5. The historical and cultural background Before proceeding with the presentation of the mortuary data, we must first place the evidence in its cultural and historical context. In this part, I will describe the wider setting within which the formation of the Mycenaean culture and society has to be understood: 1. the Middle Helladic background, 2. the relations between the mainland and its neighbouring cultures until the fall of the Minoan palaces, 3. the Mycenaean expansion into the eastern Mediterranean. 5.1. The Middle Helladic background The discussion will start with a description of MH mortuary practices which, along with a brief presentation of the settlement evidence, will allow us to make some tentative remarks about MH society. The discussion will concentrate on the Argolid, but references will also be made to Thessaly -our knowledge of the Dodecanesian MBA culture, except for the Minoan finds and Minoan influence, is virtually non-existent. Despite their apparent simplicity, MH mortuary practices are characterized by a wide diversity of forms. There are both intramural and extramural graves; in the Argolid there are both tumuli and flat cemeteries. Several tomb types are used: pits, cists, and hybrid forms between the two, pot burials, and at the end of the period shaft-graves. The mode of disposal is homogeneous: all burials are inhumations, generally contracted. Most burials are single, yet some double and multiple ones are already found in the early MH, some of them contemporary, some being instances of re-use. Grave goods occur in a small percentage of the graves. Ceramics are the commonest offerings, and ornaments are found in a few burials, while simple metal weapons appear sporadically towards the end of the period. No evidence of ritual surrounding the disposal of the body has been noted in the flat cemeteries. The tumuli constitute a separate category. In the Argolid (in contrast to Messenia), they are found only in a few, large sites. Tumuli were in use in Argos throughout, but mostly in the later part of, the MH period (Deilaki 1980); the tumulus in Asine was used in MHII-LHI (Dietz 1980), while the two examples in Dendra should also belong to the late MH (Deilaki 1990). The types of tomb and the mode of disposal are the same as those in the flat cemeteries. The frequency of offerings is generally higher in the

59 tumuli than in the flat cemeteries, but this may be connected with the general chronological trend towards more offerings. Sacrificed horses were found with the Dendra tumuli. We should now attempt to assess the evidence for social differentiation in the MH mortuary record. The discussion will be based on the main studies of large Argive cemeteries (Deilaki 1980, and especially Nordquist 1979, 1987). The MH mortuary patterning is complex and diffuse. Although there are some general trends and associations, no strict distinctions between the graves can be observed. To start with age at burial as our differentiating criterion, we can observe an unequal representation in intramural cemeteries, where children are more common than in extramural burial sites (Nordquist 1987, 21). Child burials seem to be underrepresented in the tumuli as well. Adults are on the whole buried in graves with more complex construction. However, the type and and quantity of grave goods do not correlate with age, since rich children and adolescents as well as rich adults are found. Gender differences are not very pronounced in the graves. For instance, the grave type, the grave construction and the amount or type of grave goods are not associated with gender. However, more men than women were buried in the Asine tumulus (Nordquist 1987, 99). Male burials in the extramural graves tend to be slightly richer, while some of the women from intramural graves have the 'richest' funerary gifts. Ornaments are found with both sexes. Although women are often buried with jewelry, higher concentrations are found with children and sub-adults. Weapons, which appear in the later part of the period in extramural graves, are found with men. There are significant differences between the intramural burials and those in formal cemeteries: the majority of the intra-mural graves are of simple construction and small size, and contain child burials, and there is generally less differentiation among both adults and children. By contrast, the extra-mural cemeteries house larger and more complex graves, in general the range of variation among the burials, both the adults and the children, is wider. It should be stressed however, that the difference is also to a large extent chronological. Both types of cemeteries have existed since the beginning of the period, but the use of extra-mural cemeteries increases in MHIII. At the end of the MBA, we thus see three parallel and interlinked trends,towards increasing demarcation of the funerary area, clearer distinctions through the concurrent use of differentiating strategies, and a progressive separation between sex and age groups. Does this tell us anything about the organization of MH society ? Nordquist's final comment on Lerna society is that it did not develop from egalitarian to more complex, but 'from a society with fewer and less marked rank groups to one with larger social divisions, more marked ranking and clearer sex differences' (Nordquist 1979, 44). Undoubtedly differentiation has existed since the beginning of the period, but it cannot be easily localized. Only the tumuli clearly set the group buried in them

60 apart. Some doubts can be expressed as to whether this group represents a local elite. So far, there are too many of them in Argos and too few elsewhere; also, as they belong mostly to the later part of the period, they express the more general trend towards increasing differentiation. To take Nordquist's second point, it is true that a trend towards clearer differentiation through the concurrent use of differentiating categories (extra-mural location, use of larger and more elaborate cists, more offerings) can be detected primarily in the MHIII period. While Nordquist's points are valid, we should perhaps address the question from a slightly different angle: is social ranking the main dimension underlying the MH mortuary patterning ? I think not; I would suggest that the MH mortuary patterning appears complex and diffuse because social relations are still embedded in the nexus of kin relations. The variety of forms and combinations, the absence of clear levels of wealth or grave elaboration and the lack of correlation between the two categories indicate a diffuse and subtle categorization (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 61), most probably along kin lines and descent. However, it is always possible that social distinctions were simply not expressed in the mortuary practices. But if we examine the settlement evidence, we still find very little evidence for overt distinctions through the use of exclusive artefacts. The house layout in MH settlements denotes that the household was the basic unit of production: cooking, storing and basic craft activities must have taken place in each household (Nordquist 1987, 74). There seems to have been little differentiation, in terms of construction or contents, between the houses. Only the Asine houses B, D and E (all dating from the end of MHII and MHIII) are larger and more complex, and in one of them there is a slightly higher distribution of imported ceramics. However, they do not differ in construction details from the other houses (ibid., 108). Except the evidence of MHIII frescoes reported from Tiryns (Kilian 1985, 213), there is no instance of domestic elaboration. The next question is: can we detect the economic mechanisms that would underlie and support differentiation ? So far, no evidence for centralized storage facilities has been recovered in a MH village. The evidence from Asine, Lerna, Pefkakia and Argissa shows that each house had its own storage area. Thus we have no indications for production beyond the consumption requirements of the household. While we may have some evidence for craft specialization (metal working, manufacture of simple ornaments), the industries must have remained small (Dickinson 1977, 40). However, we do have evidence for economic specialization, e.g. in pottery (Zerner 1986) and mill-stone production (Runnels 1981). We also have evidence for trade networks distributing these specialized products, and what is more important, for uneven participation in these networks, with imports concentrated in certain sites (Lerna, Asine, Tiryns -the situation in Mycenae and Argos is not very clear), but absent from smaller sites (Nordquist 1987, 26). In fact, the presence of imports is an important

61 criterion in the settlement hierarchy, which exists throughout the MBA, but becomes more marked in the later part. Therefore, while we can easily detect differentiation between the various sites, it seems that differentiation within a settlement was not given overt material expression, at least not in the mortuary practices or the construction of the houses. These, of course, would be the only archaeologically recoverable signs of differentiation, but the overall lack of specialization, indeed the austerity of the MH material culture, reinforces this lack of emphasis on distinction through material means. Why should this be the case ? I suggest the following working hypothesis: that the main organizational principle in the MH period was kin rather than status; that as authority was enscribed and embedded in kin relations, it did not require elaborate practices and material distinctions for its legitimation. In the MHIII period, however, wider changes can be observed, not only in Mycenae, or in the Argolid, but in the entire southern mainland. The deposition of wealth can be observed in many sites: in the rich offerings in the Messenian tombs (Lolos 1989), in the tombs in Corinth (Blegen et al. 1964) and in Thebes (Kasimi-Tsoutou 1980); richer offerings are found even in the more remote site of Pefkakia. Elaborate tombs are found in many places: the shaft graves in Mycenae and shaft-like tombs in the Argolid (Morou 1981), the cist covered by a tumulus in Thorikos (Servais and servais-Soyez 1984), the tumuli in Marathon and Boeotia (Maran 1988), the tholoi, shaft-like graves and complex tumuli (Korres 1984), perhaps even a Grave Circle, in Messenia; the elaborate cists with pseudo-entrance in Elefsis (Mylonas 1975). Beyond the mortuary practices in MHIII, along with the rise of Mycenae, we can observe an expansion in Asine and possibly in Argos, while Lerna seems to decline. Beyond the larger settlements, in MHIII we observe a sudden re-occupation of the Nemea area (Davis 1988; Wright et al. 1990), while new sites are founded at Prosymna, Katsingri and Midea (Dietz 1991, 292-3). The material of MH character from the southwestern Argolid survey contains very little early MH; most is late MH and LH (Nordquist 1988). Therefore, in MHIII we can observe a recovery from the sharp fall in the number of settlements which took place in EHIII. However, this seems to be not the result of a steady growth throughout the MBA, but a rather sudden phenomenon. As noted by Dickinson, it is not possible to detect increasing momentum during the greater part of the MH period: the first signs of a process that will cause irreversible change only appear in the latest stages of MH (Dickinson 1989, 133). Thus, in the Argolid at least, we do not seem to observe the process of gradual settlement expansion and infilling of the landscape that has been proposed in Messenia (Carothers and McDonald 1977), nor do we have evidence for intensification of

62 production, at least not before MHIII. It should be added that doubts have even been expressed about the systematic cultivation of the vine and the olive before the LBA (Hansen 1988). To conclude, towards the end of the MBA we can detect changes not only in the mortuary forms or in Mycenae, but also in the position of sites in the regional hierarchy, and in the structure of the rural settlement. We will now turn to the wider scene in the Aegean, and the relations between the mainland and its neighbouring cultures in the MBA and the early LBA.

5.2. Political relations in the Aegean in the Middle and early Late Bronze Age A comparison of the relations between Minoan Crete, the Cyclades and the Dodecanese will provide a useful background for the discussion of the external relations of the mainland at the end of the MH period. 5.2.1. The relations between Crete, the Cyclades and the Dodecanese The extent and nature of the Minoan influence on the 'Minoanized' sites in the Cyclades and the Dodecanese has recently attracted a lot of attention (see papers in Hägg and Marinatos 1984; Doumas 1978, 1980 ; Hardy 1990). Recent research has cast doubt on the traditional view of an unconditional Minoan political domination over the Aegean (cf. Hood 1984). Closer examination of the evidence in the three principal Cycladic sites -A. Irini in Kea, Phylakopi in Melos and Akrotiri in Thera- has indicated a differential penetration of Minoan influence (Hägg and Marinatos 1984), the persistence of local elements (see Doumas 1982, Marthari 1987, Schofield 1982b, Morgan 1988), different intensities of trade contacts with the mainland (Renfrew 1982a, 223; Overbeck 1982, 41; Marthari 1980) and different degrees of urbanization (Renfrew and Wagstaff 1982; Davis and Cherry 1990). Although the differences among the islands have to be stressed, a crucial similarity must be pointed out as well: the general and uniform rate of increase of the Minoan influence. A process of continuous infiltration, initiated basically with the onset of the proto-palatial period in MMIb, can be observed throughout the MBA: in A. Irini the number of Minoan imports increases throughout the period (Davis 1980, 257) and by the end of MCII Minoanizing pottery is the dominant ware (Davis 1979, 143). Similarly in Phylakopi, the quantities of Minoan pottery, already imported in MMIA, increase in MMII; the local pottery, however, has a predominantly Cycladic character (Barber 1984, 179).

63 In MMIII, and especially in LMIA, in addition to the increase in the number of imports, the introduction of Minoan technology, the use of Minoan household objects, and the growing Minoan stylistic influence on the material culture, we also detect the adoption of Minoan practices in all these sites. In A. Irini, recording in Linear A (Palaima 1982), the use of Minoan weights (Petruso 1979), the Minoan potters' marks system, alongside local systems, and the use of conical cups (Wiener 1984, Gillis 1990) are adopted; a bronze statuette has been found in the neighbouring site of Troullos. However, the local elements, seen primarily in the house construction and the 'unMinoan' features of the Temple (Caskey, comments in Hägg and Marinatos 1984, 38) should be kept in mind. In Phylakopi, the use of a pillar crypt, the fresco decoration, and the use of Linear A tablets confirm this picture of a deeper penetration of Minoan influence. Yet other elements, like the town layout and the fortification wall, denote independence from Minoan prototypes and developments. In Akrotiri, several features speak for a strong Minoan influence: the architectural elaboration of the houses and the use of Minoan features, such as ashlar masonry, gypsum slabs, polythyra and fresco decoration (Shaw 1978); the adoption of Minoan cultic equipment and iconographic symbolism, the use of the lustral basin and domestic shrines (Marinatos 1984). However, once more, the local character of the town layout and house architecture (Shaw 1978) and of the pottery (Marthari 1987, Papagiannopoulou 1990), as well as the selective adoption of Minoan cult practices (Marinatos 1984) should be emphasized. Similar developments can be seen in the Dodecanese: while there are MMI-II finds in Ialysos (Benzi 1984; Papazoglou 1982), in other parts of the Dodecanese (Mee 1982, 80; Melas 1985; Papagiannopoulou 1985) and in the sites on the Anatolian coast (Laviosa 1984; Love 1984), in MMIII-LMI an accentuation of Minoan influence can be detected in Ialysos, in domestic elaboration through the use of ashlar and a polythyron, and in the introduction of Minoan cultic elements such as horns of consecration and bronze statuettes (Marketou 1988). The evidence indicates, in the Neo-palatial period, especially in LMIA, not only that contacts were intensified, but also that the nature of relations moved on, from primarily involving exchange, to cultural influence (and thereby a form of political domination or control ?). It can be proposed that the earlier exchange network was transformed into channels through which Minoan expansionism under the New Palaces directed ideological influence and political pressure, with varying degrees of success and resistance from the local communities. The parallel emphasis on internal differentiation, with the construction of larger mansions at least in A. Irini and Phylakopi, is a significant and related development -the situation in Akrotiri is by far more complex (Doumas 1982). 5.2.2. The relations between Crete and the mainland

64

In MMIA (=MHI), after the isolation of EHIII, Minoan pottery can already be found in various coastal sites in the northeastern and southeastern Peloponnese (Rutter and Zerner 1984), but the number of imports differs markedly between the sites, with Lerna showing the highest concentration. Minoanizing pottery was produced simultaneously in Lerna, and in even larger quantities in A. Stefanos (C. Zerner, pers. comm.), probably by resident Minoan potters. Very little apart from pottery was imported during this period. The distribution of the Minoan finds in Laconia and the Argolid, with very few in western Attica, has been associated with the Minoan colony in Kastri (but it should kept in mind that there are few imports in Kastri in MMI-II). Very little MHI pottery is found in Crete. The MMIb renewal of Minoan-Cycladic relations may lie behind the further expansion of Minoan finds into the interior of the Argolid, eastern Attica and coastal Thessaly, while Messenia still remained isolated. Outside Lerna, however, the quantity and range of imports was still restricted. Overall, the level of Minoan imports remained the same (Rutter and Zerner 1984), while Cycladic and Aeginetan imports increased. The first Minoan stone bowls are found in this period, and in A. Stefanos a stone object bearing Linear A signs has been found. In this period more complex trade networks seem to have been established, involving contacts between the mainland, Kythera, the Cyclades and Aegina as well as internal exchange. Participation in these networks must have been uneven: the number of Minoan imports in Asine and Tiryns is smaller than that in Lerna, while almost none are found in smaller, out-lying settlements. Aeginetan and Cycladic imports also reach the different sites in differing numbers (Nordquist 1987, 66; Kilian, comment in Hägg and Marinatos 1984). We have some evidence for different networks operating further north: in MH Pefkakia Boeotian and Aeginetan imports were found, along with a few Cycladic, Trojan and Minoan fragments (Fraser 1970-71, 16). In MHIII imports, primarily Minoan or presumably imported via Crete, appear in the Shaft Graves. In this period there is a general intensification of trade contacts and mobility throughout the Aegean (Dickinson 1977, 37). MHIII sherds are found in fair quantities in the Cyclades, and reach coastal Thessaly, Chalkidike and perhaps Troy, but few are found in Crete.

I would like now to assess the evidence about trade and its impact on the mainland. It has long been noted that the areas where Minoan imports are found from the early part of the MH period also show signs of strong Minoan influence from the end of the period onwards, develop a highly differentiated settlement hierarchy and later form the

65 core of the Mycenaean world. It was early on inferred that Minoan trade and influence were the sole causes of the mainland developments (for a recent exposition of this view: Runnels and van Andel 1987). Independent local development is of course, now also being stressed -for instance, by Dickinson (1977), Korres (1984) and Hägg (1984). However, we still need to define the nature of the interaction between Crete and the mainland during the MBA. There is certainly a broad correlation between the presence of Minoan imports in a site and its position in the settlement hierarchy (although the deficient evidence from Argos and Mycenae does not allow firm conclusions). However, although Lerna may have been the main trading centre during most of the MH period, its importance declines at the crucial MHIII period. A. Stefanos in Laconia never developed into an important regional centre in the Mycenaean period, while it has been assigned a crucial role in contacts with Kythera and Crete. Most importantly, Messenia shows no signs of contacts with Crete right up until the transition to the LBA (Dickinson 1984, Korres 1984), yet a process of internal growth can be observed throughout the MBA (population growth, filling in of the landscape, increase in the number and size of settlements -McDonald and Rapp 1972). Further, the trade/influence explanation does not explain the timing of the introduction of Minoan valuable objects in the mainland, or the differences between the developments in the Cyclades and on the mainland. First, the relations between the mainland and Crete do not show the constant intensification which characterizes the Minoan - Cycladic interaction. Second, Minoan cultural influence in the mainland is absent (at least until MHIII). Even in a site like Lerna, where there is a large amount of imported and locally imitated Minoan pottery, no evidence for the adoption of any Minoan features can be attested, except perhaps that concerning a Minoan weaving technique. It would be impossible to attribute the absence of Minoan cultural influence to the mainland's isolation; as we have seen, this early position has been refuted by more recent research (Nordquist 1987, 66-7). Neither does the evidence support a recent model of interaction in the Aegean, the'Western String' model (Davis 1979; Schofield 1982b). According to this model, interaction in the (western) Aegean can be explained as a result of directional trade between Crete and the mainland with the three'Minoanized' Cycladic sites acting as staging posts. This model has received some criticisms. First, as the discussion on the Cyclades has suggested, there are considerable disparities between the 'Minoanized' sites, which are not really compatible with directional exchange. Recent research has revealed evidence for Minoan finds in Naxos and Kouphonissia (Hadjianastasiou 1989; Barber and Hadjianastasiou 1989). These finds weaken the hypothesis of preferential treatment of A. Irini, Phylakopi and Akrotiri. The discovery of a considerable number of southeastern 'dark-on-light' and

66 'light-on-dark' wares in Akrotiri (Marthari et al. 1989) argues against a strict distinction between the western and the 'Eastern' network (the route connecting Crete with the Dodecanese and the Anatolian coast -Davis et al. 1983, 363). However, the main problem with the Western String model is that it does not account for the differences between the Cyclades and the mainland. For these reasons, the model of directional trade between the mainland and Crete, existing since the beginning of the MBA, has to be questioned. The evidence points in a different direction: in both the Cyclades and the mainland we seem to be dealing with an uneven and complex exchange network, involving several, perhaps overlapping, routes. It could then be suggested that Minoan trade relations with the mainland were indirect and part of a complex exchange network including the Cyclades, Aegina and Kythera. This could explain why the infiltration of Minoan goods was not accompanied by Minoan cultural influence, at least not during the earlier part of the MBA (MHI-II). In this case, we should expect some Cycladic influence on the mainland. This aspect of the evidence has not really been addressed, but at least so far no Cycladic practices on the mainland have been referred to. A case has been made recently by Hiller (1989) for a Cycladic origin for the shaft-grave, but it seems unnecessary to seek an external derivation of the type, since some of its elements can be found in late MH pits in Argos and Prosymna (see below, chapter 7.2). Therefore, at least at the present state of knowledge, neither Minoan nor Cycladic cultural influence can be detected in the mainland. Of course, it is the lack of Minoan influence that is puzzling: Crete, the stronger by far, would have been in a position to exert power over the mainland. But did it ? did it it attempt to draw the mainland into its sphere of influence already in the earlier part of the MBA ? There are two possibilities: either the Minoan palaces were not interested in the mainland and contacts were through the Cyclades, Kythera and, perhaps, Aegina, who acted as intermediaries, or the Minoans did direct their attention to the mainland, yet Minoan cultural influence was resisted. It is impossible to explain why this should have been the case. The old theory of hostile relations between Crete and the mainland (Blegen and Wace 1939; Buck 1962) raises an interesting possibility, but is impossible to prove or disprove. The question has to remain open. To summarize: the main difference between the mainland and the Cyclades during the earlier part of the MBA is that contacts with Minoan Crete are not steadily intensified throughout the MBA. 5.3. The Mycenaean expansion to the Aegean

67 We have seen that the very beginning of the LBA, the LMI period, is the Golden Age of Minoan Crete. However, at this period of the strongest Minoan expansion there is also a parallel, but uneven increase in mainland imports across the Aegean. In A. Irini the LHI imports equal in number those of LMIA date (Davis 1980, 257); in Phylakopi their quantity and variety increases (Cherry and Davis 1982, 337), while remaining rather small in Akrotiri (Marthari, 1980). The few sporadically appearing sherds from sites in the Dodecanese, in Anatolia (Mee 1978, 1988a), and in the Levant and Egypt (Cadogan 1973, 168), are usually found with Minoan sherds, and must therefore have been introduced into these areas through Minoan networks. The situation, however, is different in the west: MHIII/LHI pottery appears in some quantities in Lipari, Filicudi and in Vivara in Italy (Dickinson 1986). This perhaps implies some direct contacts with areas lying beyond the control of the Minoan Palaces. Early LH pottery has also been found in Troy, another site without very close contacts with the Minoan world (ibid., 272). It can be suggested that during the Minoan acme the Mycenaeans are already asserting their position and establishing links with distant places. Therefore, in this period (LHIIIA)we observe a brief co-existence of the two cultures (one just rising, the other at its floruit, yet curiously showing the first signs of disintegration; see MacDonald 1990 for Knossos in LMIB). The fall of the Minoan palaces in LMIB brought an unexpected solution. Whether the palaces were destroyed by Knossos (the only palace to survive), by an internal rebellion, by an earthquake or by the Mycenaeans is a hotly debated point. What is certain is that the Mycenaeans benefited from the elimination of the most important power in the Aegean. The LHIIB-IIIA1 period sees a gradual Mycenaean infiltration or takeover of the sites in the Cyclades and the Dodecanese, which were within the Minoan sphere of influence during the Neopalatial period. After the LCII destruction, a large Mycenaean megaron is built in Phylakopi, while in A. Irini the Mycenaean influence has become dominant by LHIIIA1 (Barber 1981, 8-10). In LHII-IIIA1 the Mycenaeans establish their presence in the Dodecanese and Anatolia as well (Mee 1978, 1988a); the number of Mycenaean imports in Cyprus and the Levant rises, but some Minoan pottery still reaches these areas (Cadogan 1973, 269). In the west, the numbers of Mycenaean finds increase; indeed, the concentration of imports in certain sites indicates that they might be functioning as emporia (French 1986, 279). Thus, we see in this period the beginning of the Mycenaean expansion to the east and the consolidation of its contacts with the west. As French has noted, this process of silent takeover cannot have been carried out without any opposition from Crete, and must have relied on some form of Mycenaean control over Knossos, the remaining centre of Minoan Crete (ibid., 278). This is another controversial point: is LMII Knossos Mycenaean or Minoan ? The question cannot be discussed here, but it is

68 important to note the dynamic fusion of mainland and cretan influences, which results in a complex picture in mutual borrowings of stylistic features and social practices: the use of frescoes, Palatial ware, Ephyrean decoration, the use of the chamber tomb, shaft-grave and pit-grave (and later the tholos), the deposition of wealth in tombs, the emphasis on weaponry. It is interesting that the Mycenaean influence is most apparent in the mortuary practices. The evidence for new mortuary forms in A. Irini as early as LHI (the appearance of shaft-like graves, one covered with a small tumulus -Overbeck 1984) may trace this process to an earlier period. The LHIIIA2-B1 period sees the greatest expansion of Mycenaean features across primarily the eastern, but also the western, Mediterranean. Whether this was facilitated by the destruction of Knossos, if this is indeed placed early in LMIIIA2 (Popham 1970; for a date in LHIIIB see Hallager 1977), is another question that cannot really be addressed here. In the Cyclades the local wares are totally eclipsed by Mycenaean pottery; chamber tombs and one small poorly built tholos are in use (Barber 1981, 10). In the Dodecanese the number of sites with Mycenaean features, such as pottery or tombs, multiplies; in most islands there is evidence for Mycenaean occupation (Mee 1988a, 301). Mycenaean tombs are found even in Anatolia, in Müsgebi, Miletus, and perhaps Ephesus, while a small tholos tomb in Colophon is not closely datable (Mee 1978). In Miletus, fine Mycenaean wares are produced locally (Gödecken 1988). In LHIIIA2-B1, what has been described by Cadogan (1973, 168) as 'a flood of Mycenaean pottery' reaches various sites in Cyprus and the Levant, while the quantities of Mycenaean imports in the sites in Italy also increase (Vagnetti 1982, 18). The spread of Mycenaean ceramics and presumably other products must have relied on elaborate trade mechanisms; at least, the manufacture of different types of pottery for export specifically to the Dodecanese (Jones 1986, 501ff.) and Cyprus (Cadogan 1973, 169) points in this direction. However, towards the later part of the LHIIIB period this system suffered some serious disruptions: in the Cyclades, there is a marked decline in the number of Mycenaean imports and some signs of insecurity appear, such as the fortification of Phylakopi, and the foundation of new sites in defensible position (Barber 1981, 11). In the Dodecanese, certain sites in Rhodes suffer a setback; Miletus is destroyed at some point in LHIIIA2 and a fortification wall is built afterwards. The provision of the eastern areas with Mycenaean products seems to suffer a decline in both the eastern and the western Mediterranean. The troubled conditions reach the palatial centres as well: after the LHIIIB1 destruction of the Houses of Mycenae, the fortifications are extended both there and in Tiryns; in Pylos, the Linear B tablets convey a situation of pressure and mobilization. The elaborate palatial construct is nearing its end.

69 To summarize the main points made in this section: throughout the Mycenaean period we can see a continuous process of expansion, perhaps nascent and uneven in LHI-II, but intensified in LHIIIA1 and consolidated in LHIIIA2-B1.

70 Chapter 6. The method 6.1. The collection of the data Bringing order to the immense complexity, variation and unevenness of the Mycenaean mortuary evidence has been the most difficult part of this study. The problems associated with Mycenaean mortuary practices seem at first quite prohibitive. I shall here present the main problems, and propose solutions to overcome or minimize them. The first problem with the evidence is the unevenness of the information. The intensity of research and the quality of the information vary significantly both between and within the three regions in this study. It is therefore proposed to treat the evidence at two separate levels of resolution: a) the site, and b) the individual burial structure. For this reason, two separate databases have been created. The site database (see data sheet in Appendix I) contains information about the site as a whole: the type and number of tombs, the location of the cemetery, its periods of use and its relation to the associated settlement, if this has been located. In the tomb database, the unit is the burial structure, whether this be a simple pit or the elaborate Atreus tholos. Because of the diversity of forms and practices in the Mycenaean period, a very large and complex database has been set up, in order to explore as many aspects of the data as possible. As can be seen in the data sheet (Appendix I), the following aspects of the evidence have been recorded: location, preservation, dimensions, size, tomb design, quality of construction, external features of the tomb; evidence for the ritual use of the dromos and the entrance, information about the burials, traces of ritual beyond the disposal of the body, evidence for removal of offerings from the grave, a general description of the findspot and association of the valuable offerings, an index of the wealth deposited with the dead, the peak in the use of the tomb, the peak in the deposition of wealth, the periods of use and, finally, the number of burials. For each tomb, a finds data sheet (see Appendix I) contains information about the type and number of grave offerings. All the known cemeteries have been entered into the site database; however, only those tombs for which adequate information is available have been included in the tomb database. Problems of representativeness do arise, but as these are markedly different among the three regions, they are discussed in more detail at the beginning of each region chapter (chapters 7, 8 and 9). This study does not adopt a formal sampling strategy for several reasons: a) there are substantial differences between the three regions, which make a uniform sampling strategy impossible, b) the Mycenaean data are uneven, but we would create even more biases if we were to concentrate exclusively on the well documented cases, which are as a rule associated with large sites, and c) in this study no attempt is made to extrapolate from the analyzed evidence to other regions, or to the Mycenaean world as a whole; in fact, the analysis stresses differences

71 and divergent developments rather than overall similarities. The collection strategy adopted here has thus set out to use as much of the available information as possible, while at the same time controlling its quality. This is the rationale behind the use of two resolution levels. The second main problem in Mycenaean mortuary practices is the multiple use of the tomb, which sometimes remained in use over centuries. The mixing and scattering of the earlier interments does not allow us to use the burial as a main focus of analysis. The main difficulty with the Mycenaean mortuary evidence is that it cannot be broken down into consistent smaller analytical units. Consequently in this study the tomb is used as a closed 'box'. While some evidence is lost in this way, primarily the chronological resolution and the internal associations within the tomb, steps have been taken to minimize these problems: for instance, the fluctuations in the deposition of wealth within the tomb are noted by recording the period during which most offerings, or the more valuable offerings, were deposited (where this can be established). During the analysis all aspects of the data are also cross-tabulated against several other features in order to note associations. The third important problem arising from the Mycenaean evidence is the robbing of the tombs. While our understanding of, for instance, developments within Mycenae is hampered by the looting of the tholoi, it is important to note that robbed cases constitute a small percentage of all the tombs in the area. Once we undertake a regional analysis, the problems of preservation of individual tombs, though still serious, are not prohibitive: the levels of wealth within a tomb can be largely reconstructed on the basis of the tomb type, the quality of construction and the site the tomb is in. The problem is more serious in the Dodecanese, where whole cemeteries have been systematically plundered over the last century. There, the spatial observations have to be treated with caution. 6.2. The analysis of the data My theoretical approach to mortuary practices can be summarized in one phrase: I see mortuary practices as a) creating and maintaining group identity, and b) creating and maintaining social differentiation. These two theoretical concerns are directly translated into the two directions of the analysis: 1) the analysis of formal variation and 2) the analysis of differentiation . 6.2.1. The analysis of formal variation In this part of the analysis, the question of formal variation between the different regions will be addressed. The aim is to isolate local features and examine their spatial distribution and chronological development within the region. This will give us an indication of uniformity or diversity within the region and temporal trends towards

72 homogeneity and diversification. Eventually, it will be interesting to discuss which aspects of the mortuary practices are more sensitive to regional variation. The following aspects will be examined: a) at the level of the cemetery as a whole, its size and spatial organization, the combination or segregation of the different tomb types, its location, and its relation (distance, orientation) to the associated settlement. b) at the level of the tomb, the types of tomb in use, the types of disposal and the variety in mortuary forms and practices, the complexity of the ritual surrounding the disposal of the body, the use of space inside the tomb, the treatment of children, the types and diversity of grave offerings. The evidence will be examined by establishing for each aspect the frequency with which the alternative forms occur, and examining their spatial and chronological distribution, as well as their association with other categories. 6.2.2. The analysis of differentiation In this part I will examine the variables that range along an axis of increasing elaboration. These variables are: the type of tomb, the quality of construction (for tholoi, chamber tombs and shafts), the size (for the same types of tomb), the shape (for the chamber tombs) and the wealth deposited with the dead. The first question is how to measure the variables. Type is straightforward, despite some hybrid cases. Size is also simple, as it can be measured on the basis of surface area for all tomb types (it is obvious that each different tomb type will cover a different size range). A size scale of 1 (smallest: <1.99m2) to 9 (largest: >200m2 -only a few tumuli are found in this category). The question of shape and tomb design is interesting for the chamber tomb, in which the axial symmetry of the tholoi was sometimes emulated. The quality of construction is important primarily for the tholoi, and to a lesser extent for the chamber tombs. For the tholos, architectural elaboration is assessed on the basis of the presence or absence of certain characteristic features: a relieving triangle, a threshold, a door, ashlar masonry, decoration. For the chamber tombs, differential quality of construction can be seen mostly in the regularity of the shape, the finishing of the surfaces and the existence of decoration. Measuring the wealth deposited in the tombs is, of course, the main problem. The difficulties are well known and some have already been referred to: the uneven information, the differential preservation, the multiple use, the robbed tombs. To these should be added the removal of earlier offerings by the Mycenaeans themselves. Are these problems prohibitive ? It depends on the questions one is asking of this material. If the main aim of mortuary analysis is to associate offerings with individual burials, in order ultimately to place these individuals in a scale of rank, then the Mycenaean data

73 are totally hopeless. I hope, however, that I have by now at least indicated that there are other possible ways of looking at mortuary data. In this study, I do not intend to assign rank either to individuals or to the social groups using multiple tombs. I propose that the elaboration of mortuary practices is a social strategy; consequently, my aim is to observe how this strategy evolves and changes forms. Let me return to the practical aspects of observing, measuring and encoding `wealth'. First, I shall say what I am not going to do. I am not going to use a system based on value scores (measures of energy expenditure and labour input) for individual objects or types of object, for the following reasons: a) The theoretical discussion in chapter 3.1. has indicated that labour cannot be used as a measure of value. The notion of cost cannot account for the symbolic and cultural significance of objects. b) Another theoretical objection follows from the discussion on value in chapter: a system of scoring implies that the lower categories, if aggregated, can be equivalent to higher categories -in short, that one category is a multiple or a proportion of another. I have pointed out in the theoretical discussion that we simply do not know the economic exchange ratio between objects, nor can we establish whether the different types of objects could be exchanged with each other. c) We must also consider the practical aspects of scoring wealth. The application of energy expenditure to a body of data characterized by immense variability, as are the Mycenaean funerary offerings, would constantly and at each step involve subjective decisions. For instance, the material can be classified along several criteria which all imply a difference in 'energy expenditure': raw material -whether local or imported, size/weight, technique of decoration, amount of decoration, or provenance of the finished product -whether local or imported, if we can establish this. The energy expenditure measure is not only theoretically dubious, but also impractical. d) The final problem is how to assign one uniform value to individual objects or categories across time and space, if there are marked fluctuations and regional variation in the quantity and diversity of wealth deposited. As we will see in chapters 7, 8 and 9, these are indeed salient characteristics of the Mycenaean funerary assemblage. I have emphasized in theoretical discussion that value cannot be assigned to objects outside their context and associations. In this study, I propose to use as the measure of the wealth deposited in the tombs the diversity of goods, i.e. the range of different categories of objects within the tomb, by simply adding up the number of categories of valuable goods found within a tomb. The pottery is not taken into consideration. The advantage of looking at the overall range of goods on the basis of presence/absence of categories of goods rather than presence/absence or quantity of 'exclusive' objects is

74 that the latter are much more sensitive to all the distorting factors that I have mentioned above: uneven information, poor preservation, and removal. It should also be added that these three different aspects of wealth deposited are closely connected: 'rich' tombs contain both large quantities and a wide range of grave goods, including the more exclusive types. Therefore, observing the diversity of the grave assemblage does not simply provide a solution to the practical problem of measuring wealth, but also allows us insights into the strategies of differentiation used by the Mycenaeans. This is the aim in this part of the analysis: to understand how mortuary ritual was used in social strategies of exclusion and inclusion, and reconstruct, on the basis of the patterns in the elaboration of the practices, the social and political processes in each region. The analysis will proceed by establishing frequencies and examining the distribution of all tombs across the different categories. Variation in each aspect will then be examined across the region and through time in order to detect spatial and temporal trends in the elaboration of the mortuary forms. Finally, all the different categories -type, size, quality of construction, wealth- will be cross-tabulated against each other in order to establish how consistently they are used. I am thus trying not to reach an aggregate value for each tomb and then rank accordingly the social group using it, but examine the evolution and coherence of strategies of differentiation through time and across space.

75 Chapter 7. Mortuary practices in the Argolid 7.1. Introduction The Argive plain has been an important focus of habitation throughout Greek history and prehistory. The plain, now covered by alluvium, must have been fertile in the prehistoric period as well, although it was partly covered by swamps, especially in the area between Argos and Lerna. Prehistoric settlement concentrated on the fertile hills surrounding the plain, or near the coast. The Mycenaean Argolid has both very rich mortuary evidence and extensive information on the large settlements. As everywhere, the quality of the mortuary data is uneven, but the general standard is much higher than in any other region. However, a bias against the small and poorer sites exists: most information comes from large cemeteries associated with important sites. Among these sites, only Prosymna has been (more or less) completely excavated. Three sites present special problems. In Mycenae all six tholoi have been robbed and many chamber tombs, despite the detailed publication of Tsountas' finds by XenakiSakellariou (1985), are not closely datable; no information on tombs from the large cemeteries at Nafplion has been published; the information from Argos, apart from that on the Deiras cemetery, comes from rescue excavations and is further complicated through the later occupation of the site. Seven sites have been excluded from the detailed analysis, as no information about individual tombs is available. These are Phychtia (3), Aria (9), Kephalari Magoula (15), Myloi, Lerna-Piteros site (16D), Kiveri (18), Nea Epidauros (23) and Nea Epidauros, Vassa (24) (see Map 7.1.). Information on these sites can be found in Appendix II. 7.2. Continuity from the MBA In order to understand the extent of continuity of mortuary forms from the MBA, we need to examine all aspects of the mortuary customs. A main characteristic of Mycenaean mortuary practices is the use of extra-mural cemeteries. Such cemeteries were in use throughout the MH period (e.g. in Argos and Asine), but became more common towards the end of the period. There are indications that even within the settlements particular areas were set apart as burial plots (Dickinson 1977, 33; Nordquist 1987, 95). In certain cases, the move towards extra-mural cemeteries in the transition to the LBA brought about shifts in the habitation areas, as formerly domestic areas were given over to funerary use (as, for instance, in AsineBarbouna and Lerna). Many features of the main new grave type, the shaft-grave, can be traced back: the MH pits and cists had a shaft (Blackburn 1971, 15) which was becoming deeper towards

76 the end of the period (Nordquist 1987, 26). Markers are known throughout the MBA, even in intra-mural cemeteries in Lerna (Nordquist 1979, 25). Quite a few graves in the Argos tumuli share many features with the Mycenae Shaft-Graves: a shaft, roof beams, ledges (Deilaki 1980, passim; Dietz 1991, 276ff.), or large size (Morou 1981, 107ff.). All these features converge in the Mycenae Shaft-Graves, but there the gradual increase in size implies the multiplication of energy input. If the shaft-grave has precedent forms, the chamber tomb appears in LHI in four or five sites as a completely new form. Certainly, burial in groupings has a long tradition (Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 48), but we are here dealing with a new emphasis on demarcation and restriction of access, and a tomb design which is especially suited for re-use over centuries. The interesting question is not where the new form came from, but how and why these new needs were created. The same problems are posed by the introduction of the tholos in LHIIA, but here a new dimension, monumentality, is added. We should also mention the tomb types that fall out of use: in the Argolid, unlike Messenia,the pithos burials disappear as early as MHIII, and the tumuli are gradually abandoned between MHIII and LHII. The normative disposal in the MBA is single burial in contracted position. Re-use and secondary treatment occur, but are not common before MHIII. The extended position also appears towards the end of the period. However, no evidence for ritual activities beyond the disposal of the body is known from the MBA, except perhaps the rare placement of offerings outside the grave. The offerings found in Mycenaean tombs belong to the same classes found sporadically during the MBA, but mostly in MHIII: pottery, jewelry and weapons. However, the Shaft Grave assemblage, even if only gradually built up (Graziadio 1991, KilianDirlmeier 1986), presents the totally new elements of ostentation and extreme diversity, together with a new accumulative ethos. We can therefore observe both continuity with and rupture from traditional MH practices. Certain formal elements (the shaft-graves) or practices (extra-mural burials, secondary treatment) can be found sporadically in the MH period, appear more consistently towards the end of the period (e.g. in Argos, Prosymna and Asine) and are intensified in LHI. However, the lavish disposal of wealth, the use of multiple graves and the complex ritual sequence of the Mycenaean mortuary ritual mark a departure from earlier practices.

77 7.3. Regional characteristics 7.3.1. The cemetery In the Argolid both intra-mural and extramural cemeteries are found. The intra-mural graves will be presented first, as they differ in most aspects from those in the formal cemeteries. (i) Intra-mural graves Intra-mural graves are found in all excavated settlements. The number included in the analysis (80 cases) cannot be considered representative, but as there is little variation among them, certain observations can be made (see Appendix IIIB). Intra-mural graves are found throughout the period. It is generally held that intra-mural interment declines gradually during LHI-II, but this cannot be demonstrated on the basis of the graves included here, as most are not securely dated. For what it is worth, no graves can be dated with certainty in the LHIIIA2 period. The graves generally fall into two types: the first type contains mostly children, always single, buried in cists or pits under floors, walls or staircases, only rarely accompanied by a few offerings, such as a pot, or a few beads. In LHIIIB, most probably late in the period, what may be a new practice appears in Tiryns: the disposal of the single, unfurnished (a clay bead, a whorl and a bone tool found with three of these burials can hardly be considered offerings) bodies of both adults and children, often in groups, in abandoned areas in the Unterburg. Their number seems to increase in the LHIIIC period. Approximately 70 such burials have been found in Tiryns (only 48 are included here). In one case, a corpse had been mutilated; in another the body had been deposited in an unnatural position. The only parallels to the Tiryns practice might be the two intra-mural graves in Berbati (dug into the debris of the abandoned potter's workshop) and perhaps one LHIIIC burial (accompanied, however, by a vase) dug into the Cyclopean Terrace Building in Mycenae after its abandonment. The picture is complicated by the fact that 'normal' intra-mural graves of children (but rarely also of adults) are found in LHIIIBC, while in LHIIIC a revival of old features, such as the pithos burial found next to the simple inhumation in the Cyclopean Terrace Building in Mycenae, can be observed. The intra-mural graves rarely contain offerings. When they do (out of 80 graves, 11 contain pottery, 6 other objects and 2 both), these consist of a few pots, mostly cups, or a few beads, a whorl or a bone pin. Metal ornaments are only found in a LHIIIC child burial in Mycenae. No instances of re-use, removal, or any ritual are reported for intra-mural burials, except a rather dubious 'libation hole' noted next to a group of simple inhumations in Tiryns. We see, therefore, that the intra-mural burials continue the simpler MH burial customs throughout the period, although they seem to decline in LHIIIA; the practice of intra-

78 mural burial appears to have been revived, albeit in a slightly different form, at the end of the period. (ii) Extra-mural cemeteries The typical Argive cemeteries consist of chamber tombs, associated in the large sites with a tholos and sometimes with other types, such as pits or pit-graves. Their size varies: the largest cemetery reported so far is Nafplion (ca. 500 tombs, all unpublished), which, just like Mycenae, the next largest site with perhaps more than 300 graves, must have consisted of smaller cemeteries. In large sites, such as Dendra, Prosymna, Asine, Tiryns-Prophitis Ilias and Deiras, cemeteries of approximately 20 to 50 graves have been found. Fewer graves (1-20) are found in smaller sites, such as Priphtiani, Schoinochori, Kiveri and Aria, and also in some larger sites, e.g. Kato Phournos, Gourtsoulia in Mycenae, and the cemeteries in Berbati. The cemeteries are organized in smaller groupings. Different types of tomb co-exist inside the same cemetery. Tholoi are always spatially segregated, albeit in different degrees. In all the sites except Mycenae (and perhaps Kazarma, where a knoll may conceal a second tholos), only one tholos is found. Cemeteries can consist of chamber tombs alone, but other graves, such as pits, or pitgraves, are sometimes found in between the chamber tombs (e.g. in the Deiras and Kokla, and in other sites as well, although in small numbers). In the early period, more combinations exist, such as shaft-graves and pits in Grave Circle B, tumuli and cists in Argos and Asine, and groupings of cists in Argos, Lerna, and perhaps Tiryns. As everywhere in the Mycenaean world, the cemeteries are most often located on slightly sloping ground, at a certain distance from the settlement, with the exception of the early (LHI) cist grave groupings and the Grave Circles, which are placed nearer to the settlement. As has already been noted (Mee and Cavanagh 1990, 227-8) there is no general rule dictating a location to the west of the settlement, or along a road, although both are noted frequently. 7.3.2. The tomb (ii) Types of tomb The following types of tomb are found in the Argolid (see Figure 7.1, Map 7.2): the tholos, the chamber tomb, the tumulus, the shaft-grave, the cist, and the pit. The Argolid comes second after Messenia for its number of tholoi with 15 examples, 9 of them in Mycenae. All are monumental and large, albeit with different degrees of architectural elaboration. The chamber tomb is by far the commonest and most widespread type. By contrast, the tumulus is very rare. Its use is discontinued at the beginning of the LBA; the type re-appears again in LHIIIC at Chania, Monastiraki.

79 Shaft-graves are found only in a few sites -Mycenae, Lerna and Asine- during MHIIILHI. At the beginning of the LHIIA period, at the time when the tholos type is introduced, the use of shaft-graves is discontinued. Cists are rather rare: they are found mostly in the early part of the period in Argos and Lerna, with 1 or 2 examples in Asine and Tiryns. No cist tombs have been found in the Mycenae area. Pits are more common and widely found than cists. However, their use decreases through the early LH, to be revived again in LHIII in the Deiras and Kokla. Under the category 'other' are entered different types of to, mostly unfinished dromoi and 'pit-graves'. Among the abandoned dromoi, the lined monumental dromos at Argos (Deiras X) must be singled out, but its Mycenaean date has been doubted (Pelon 1976, 291-2). The pit-grave is a hybrid between the pit and the chamber tomb, with a vertical shaft and a small chamber, or rather a niche, opening at its bottom. The type is found sporadically throughout the period in several sites across the region. Some other odd graves are listed in Table 7.1. Therefore, although the different tomb types are generally well defined, there are also, particularly in the earlier period, aberrant and hybrid forms, such as the pit-graves, the built tombs, the elaborate cists, or even the Kokla tholos, which shares elements of the tholos and the chamber tomb. (i) The external appearance of tombs The Grave Circles introduced an emphasis on the visibility of the burial area through the different types of markers (stone piles, individual mounds) and, in particular, the sculpted stelai, associated consistently with the richest graves and perhaps with the male burials. No markers of any kind were found in the shaft graves in Asine and Lerna, and yet the area around them was not built over for some time. Later, visibility came to be less emphasized. In the case of the tholoi, the mound made them at the same time more conspicuous and less visible (Pelon 1976, 276). Only the Kokla tholos is fully subterranean and perhaps had no mound; all the other tholoi were cut into gentle slopes, most often with the lintel at surface level. In the Prosymna, Lion, Clytaemnestra and Atreus tholoi, the mound was retained by a wall. A possible marker stone has been found only in the Prosymna tholos. No much effort seems to have been made to render the chamber tombs visible, even if they are sometimes placed along important routes. Markers are reported from Nafplion (Deilaki 1973-74, 202). A painted stele was found re-used inside a blocking wall in chamber tomb Panayia 51, but there is no indication as to where it was first used. Markers are known over pits and cists of the early period. Thus the emphasis on visibility, seen in the richer Shaft Graves in particular, is also observed in simpler contemporary graves. For the more elaborate tombs, there seems to be an ambiguous attitude towards visibility.

80

7.3.3. Modes of disposal (i) The cenotaphs (?) I will start the presentation of the modes of disposal with the cases where no burial remains were found inside the tomb. Tombs found empty but with human remains in the dromos (e.g. chamber tomb Dendra 2 or the Kokla tholos) cannot really be considered 'cenotaphs'. Only in 5 tombs were no skeletal remains found (see Table 7.2). In two cases, there were neither burials nor offerings; in the others, there were offerings, but no burial remains. Except for chamber tomb Deiras XXIII, all the tombs are small and unshapely, and can thus be explained as child burials. The offerings found in Deiras XXIII, a jug and a fragment of an animal figurine, could again belong to a child burial. Of course, the explanation of these 'cenotaphs' as child burials has to remain hypothetical. (ii) The disposal of the body Very few cases of cremation are known in the Mycenaean Argolid. Apart from the LHIIIC tumulus with cremation urns at Chania, Monastiraki, there is only one certain case of cremation: the LHI pit 301 in Argos-secteur d. The burnt human bone found inside an amphora in the entrance of chamber tomb Prosymna XLI (a LHIIIA2-B tomb) does not constitute sufficient evidence for cremation. Table 7.3 gives the distribution of single and multiple burials across the different tomb types. It is evident that chamber tombs, shaft graves, and perhaps, on the basis of the meagre evidence, the tholoi as well, most often contain multiple interments. Cists, unfinished dromoi and pit-graves are used for single and multiple burials in roughly equal proportions, while single burials are most common in pits. It is worth noting that not all single burials are primary burials (see Table 7.4). In 6 out of the 11 chamber tombs containing single burials, only secondary burials were found. Of course, other remains may have been removed from these tombs, or child burials may have decomposed completely. Still, the possibility exists that some tombs were reentered only in order to give secondary treatment to earlier interments without depositing another burial. This suggestion is reinforced by the evidence from the other tomb types, also given in Table 7.4. We already have some evidence that secondary treatment was an essential part of the mortuary ritual (as already argued by Cavanagh 1978). If we look at the distribution of primary and secondary interments in graves with multiple interments (Table 7.5), we can make the following observations:

81 Shaft graves and tholoi can contain both primary and secondary burials or primary only, but the evidence for tholoi is again deficient. By contrast, the majority of chamber tombs contain secondary burials only, though differing minimally from tombs containing both types of disposal. Only 3 chamber tombs, 2 of which were excavated in the 19th century and may not have been accurately described, contain solely primary burials. The combination of both modes occurs most often in cists and pits. Nevertheless, we once more have cases of pits where only secondary burials are found (see Table 7.4). The frequency of secondary burials in chamber tombs indicates that the clearing of the earlier burials did not arise out of disrespect for the earlier burials (Mylonas 1966, 113), but was part of the mortuary ritual. Even simpler tomb types might be re-opened in order to carry out the second stage of the mortuary ritual. However, even if secondary treatment is very common, not all burials received it. The question is, are all primary burials the last in the sequence of a tomb's use ? As we can see in Table 7.7, the great majority of primary burials in all tomb types are indeed the last burials to be deposited in the tomb. It is impossible to explain why a smaller percentage of primary burials did not receive secondary treatment, even if the tomb was re-used several times. If we examine aspects of the primary burials in the different tomb types, we can make the following observations: The evidence for primary burials in tholoi is scanty, but allows us to note that the primary burials are deposited in burial features, in two cases in large, deep pits. These pits are a common feature of tholoi (they are found in another 6 tholoi); whether they contain primary or secondary burials is unknown, but they certainly provided a link with the shaft-graves within the new tomb type (Wells 1990, 135). Primary burials in chamber tombs are most often in an extended position, and deposited directly on the floor rather than in a burial feature. However, the body can also be placed in a niche or pit; very rarely, it may be put in a side-chamber, on a bier, or on a platform or bench; once, it may have been put in a larnax. In the shaft-graves the extended position is more common; in the cists the proportion of contracted to extended position is more balanced; in pits, the contracted position is more frequent. We now turn to the secondary burials. Although we have already had some indications for the importance of the secondary burials, it is important to disprove the prevailing opinion that the earlier interments were pushed away only in order to create space for the new interments. In Figure 7.3 we can see the amount of floor space used up in

82 chamber tombs with both primary and secondary burials. It is obvious that in the great majority of graves there was still plenty of space for more burials to be deposited. The secondary treatment did not arise out of a practical need. As the evidence for secondary burials in tholoi is non-existent, the discussion has to start with the chamber tombs. In most cases, the burials are swept into specific features rather than scattered around. Scattered remains are sometimes found in larger, wealthy tombs, where fumigation and/or removal are also attested, but this is certainly not a general rule. Most often, earlier remains are pushed away into heaps, pits, or, less often, niches, while side chambers, enclosures, platforms, benches, biers and perhaps a larnax are very occasionally used as well. In heaps, the disarticulated remains and the offerings are in most cases mixed together; pits retain the individuality of the deceased more, as they often contain one or two individuals only. In shaft-graves, cists and pits the earlier burials are either amassed into a larger heap, or, most often, each is swept separately against the wall. Thus, individual identity is preserved more in these tomb types. Of course, we should bear in mind that what we observe in the multiple tombs is the end result of practices sometimes taking place over centuries. However, the variety that exists within the practice of secondary treatment is not due only to post-depositional disturbances. Nor is this picture compatible with the prevailing notion of disrespect towards the dead. Secondary treatment must have been an essential stage of the mortuary ritual. It is important to note that this final stage preserves individuality and differentiation (contra Cavanagh 1978, 171), but only partially, and unevenly across the buried group. Thus, wealth differences may be blurred through the secondary treatment, where perhaps some goods are removed, broken or dispersed, but they are not obliterated: valuable offerings are often found with secondary burials. Some last observations should be made about the use of space inside the multiple tombs. One of the salient characteristics of the multiple graves is the placement of burials or burial features along the width and length axis of the tomb, or, when the tomb is circular, near the wall along the curve. As we can see in Figure 7.4, this is observed in the majority of cases, at least inside the chamber tombs for which we have plenty of evidence. The tombs where the remains are scattered, and the few cases where burials or burial features are placed diagonally, provide the exceptions. We see therefore that there is a certain spatial order underlying the complexity of the mortuary rites and the diversity of burial features. To conclude: the modes of disposal in the Mycenaean tombs present a complex and varied picture. The basic sequence of primary disposal and secondary treatment

83 contained endless possibilities and combinations. While variation between the different tomb types has been detected, no consistent temporal and spatial patterns can be noted. We may not be able to explain what each treatment represents -it could be gender or kin roles, the circumstances of death, etc.,- but we can still make an important observation: a principle of differentiation and subtle categorization seems to be operating at every stage of the mortuary ritual. (iii) Child burials The disposal of children is a special problem which has to be dealt with separately. The number of child burials known to us is minimal due to deficient information, the bad preservation of children's skeletons, and lack of osteological analyses. However, the evidence allows certain general observations. Intra-mural child burials are found throughout the period; the small numbers and the lack of offerings do not permit us to detect fluctuations in their numbers. Children are found in the Grave Circles of Mycenae, although fewer than would be expected from a 'normal' population. They are also buried in cists and pits throughout the period; their number follows the decline of these types through LHII and the revival of the use of pits in the Argos area in LHIII. Single child burials are found in pit-graves in the LHIIB-IIIA1 period. No child burials are attested in chamber tombs for the early part of the period (LHI-II; as already noted by Dickinson 1977, 59) except for a probably LHIIB-IIIA1 child burial, covered with golden foil, in chamber tomb Prosymna II. None are known from tholoi, but the evidence is far from reliable. In LHIII the situation changes: children appear in chamber tombs, although their inclusion is sometimes ambiguous. In 5 cases (see Table 7.8), children are buried in a separate chamber tomb (all these tombs are small and poor; similar tombs are also reported from Nafplion (Deilaki 1973) and in 6 cases they are deposited in the dromos, mostly in niches. However, in most cases they are found inside the chamber, where their treatment is as varied as that of the adults: they can be primary or secondary, deposited on the floor or in a burial feature, placed separately or mixed in with the other interments. Just as for adult burials, there are cases of single secondary child burials, one in a chamber tomb and one in a pit (see Table 7.4), which indicate that tombs were sometimes re-opened only for the secondary treatment of child burials. Gejvall's observation of the lower than normal numbers of children in two chamber tombs in Dendra (Gejvall 1977, 136ff. ) indicates, however, that still not all children were included in chamber tombs, and the evidence of LHIII child burials in the settlements or in pits corroborates his observation. However, there is a difference from adult burials: the small number and range of offerings deposited with children. Despite the problems of tracing grave good associations in multiple tombs, there is no evidence for exceptionally wealthy child

84 burials. Only the child burials in the Shaft Graves are an exception. Most children are buried with a few pots, or less often, with some beads, a ring, or a pin -again with the exception of the child burial covered with gold foil. In two cases (chamber tomb Prosymna XXXVIII, cist Argos-Aspis T4), seals were found with child burials. To conclude this discussion: throughout the period, children seem to be considered as a separate category, although the emphasis on this distinction becomes less marked with the onset of the LHIII period. This suggests that the 'families' buried in the multiple tombs were not nuclear families as we know them, but groups of, most likely related, adults (perhaps more men than women? -see Gejvall 1977). It is tempting to consider the relatively rich child burials in the Shaft-Graves as evidence for the importance of descent within the elite, but the lack of information from the tholoi does not allow us to extend this argument to the later period (we should note, however, the rich child burial in Prosymna II, a very wealthy tomb). The more uniformly low level of wealth deposited with children could be taken as an indication that funerary wealth was the result of personal achievement only. We have to be careful with these inferences, though: the type and quantity of offerings may also be connected with ascribed kin and gender roles in adults. 7.3.4. The ritual (i) The ritual use of the dromos and entrance An attempt has been made to distinguish rites taking place in the dromos or entrance from acts of removal of objects or burials from the chamber. The discussion here is limited to the tholos and chamber tomb. The evidence for the tholoi is as always too fragmentary. Two cases of burials in the dromos are known: the rich secondary burial in the Clytaemnestra tholos, most probably removed from the chamber, and the apparently primary burials in the Kokla tholos. As the Kokla tholos was found empty, it is possible that burials were removed and transferred elsewhere. Kokla also provides the only evidence for animal sacrifice deposited in the dromos, perhaps just before the tomb was closed down, and for kylikes broken at the entrance. The chamber tombs present us with a complex picture, in which the line between ritual use of the dromos and entrance and removal cannot always be drawn. Primary burials deposited in the dromos, in pits or niches, or on the floor, denote deliberate use of the dromos. Slightly more children (6) than adults (5) are buried in the dromos, but the numbers are small. It is interesting that the adult burials are even more poorly furnished than the child burials: they are accompanied by a few pots or whorls,

85 or a pin, or nothing. A consistent differentiation seems to be at play here. If the unfurnished (but in two cases accompanied by animal remains) human remains found in nine cases higher up, above the door, belong to the Mycenaean period, they reinforce the argument about the dromos burials. The best known instance of ritual taking place in the dromos is the 'farewell toast', the breaking of kylikes near the stomion of the tomb. This is observed in 67 out of the 232 chamber tombs, but this is certainly a minimal figure. In one case (chamber tomb Deiras XXIV) broken kylikes were found in a tomb with primary burials only. It is possible, therefore, that the practice took place during the primary burial. It has to be added that there is some evidence in the Deiras for kylikes being broken above the LHIII pits. But as they are most often found along with MH sherds, they may simply belong to the fill of the grave. Another case of purposeful deposition outside the chamber should be mentioned: the hoard of bronze objects deposited in a large pit in the entrance of chamber tomb Dendra 2, the so-called 'cenotaph'. The grooves along the entrance, found in 5 cases, must be mentioned as well. In most of these cases, where some kind of practices take place in the entrance -'threshold rituals'?- we are dealing with wealthy graves, in which removal and some other ritual practice (fire, fumigation, animal sacrifice) can be observed. (ii) Removal Removal is by definition a problematic issue: we only observe removal if it leaves material traces, such as human remains or offerings in the entrance or dromos, but these leavings cannot always be distinguished from accidental inclusions in the dromos fill. Still, it is worth looking at this evidence, because it has never been addressed systematically. Removal has been noted in 91 out of the 232 chamber tombs (for 16 cases there is no information). It is observed in shaft-graves and, rarely, in cists and pits (for the tholoi there is no evidence), throughout the period. The evidence consists of human remains or grave goods found in the dromos, the entrance or the fill of the tomb. It has to be noted that in the case of secondary burials, we can never exclude the possibility that some were originally deposited in the dromos and given secondary treatment there. In most cases, however, there is independent evidence for removal, i.e. offerings found scattered in the dromos. Besides, valuables, or at least larger valuables which would not escape attention, are not found with secondary burials in the dromos. Removal occurs regularly in tombs which were becoming full (Table 7.6), as pointed out already by Wace (1932, 1290). Thus, it can be suggested that there was generally an intention to create space for new interments during the secondary treatment. There is perhaps a tendency for removal to be associated with wealthy tombs (see Table 7.9),

86 but it is certainly not exclusive to them. There seems to be no difference among wealth classes as to what is removed: using the evidence of what is left behind during removal, at least, valuables, pottery and human remains are removed from the chamber in every wealth cluster. It is therefore difficult to explain it as a means of acquiring valuables in times of shortage (against Wells 1990, 126). There are two possibilities: either removal was an act of aggression and spoliation, or it was a normal practice, probably part of secondary treatment. In the first case, we should expect some kind of purification ritual. Of course, the argument here becomes tenuous: neither the evidence for removal nor that for ritual practices is very reliable. Still, on the basis of the evidence as we know it, there seems to be no particular association between any ritual (fumigation, use of fire, sacrifice) and removal, except in the cases of the practice of shattering and dispersing offerings. Though we will never know how much was removed, in most cases precious objects were left behind. Therefore, although it can never be proven, it can at least be suggested that removal was some kind of symbolic token action, along with breaking, scattering and mixing the bones and the offerings, to indicate that the dead had no longer use for material goods. In this case, it need not significantly have distorted the levels of wealth deposited within a tomb. (iii) Ritual practices In the Mycenaean tombs, there are sometimes traces of ritual activities surrounding the disposal of the body (Table 7.10). Animal sacrifice is not very frequently found. It is relatively common among the Shaft Graves: animal, and sometimes other food, remains found above the cover in 10 cases, mostly large and rich examples, have been interpreted as the remains of a 'funerary meal'. In all tholoi whose contents were preserved, except the Berbati tholos, animal remains have been found. Instances of animal sacrifice are found in both poor and wealthy chamber tombs, although they are slightly more common in the latter. Among the simpler tomb types, a decapitated horse skeleton has been found in a late pit in Deiras, and animal remains were deposited as later offerings in a built tomb in the Argos tumulus Gamma. A general observation can be made that in all cases where the species of animal has been recorded we are dealing with domesticated species; in order of frequency, with ox, sheep/goat, dog, horse and pig. Thus, animal sacrifice is more often found in the more elaborate tomb types (tholos, chamber tomb, shaft-grave) and with wealthy burials, but this is not a universal rule. Small pits, not containing human remains, and filled with ash, and in one case burnt offerings, are often called 'sacrificial pits'. They are quite rare: they occur only in one tholos and 5 chamber tombs. Fumigation, most likely for purificatory reasons, has only

87 been observed in chamber tombs. Once more, although there is a slight tendency for wealthier tombs to show traces of fumigation, the practice is found in poorer tombs as well. The same observations hold for traces of more localized fires. In some cases, the pottery is smashed and the offerings are scattered across the chamber. Instances where offerings are deposited at a later stage have to be mentioned separately, as this issue has been heavily debated (Andronikos 1968, Mylonas 1951). Although they are rare, they do occur (Table 7.11). In five cases the offerings were deposited in the LHIIIC period, after the tomb had been abandoned for some time. In four other cases, however, we may be dealing with rites of commemoration, which need not, of course, imply a cult of the dead. To conclude the presentation of the practices included in the mortuary ritual: the Argolid shows a complex picture of various practices, involving particularly purification or the presentation of offerings. There is a distinction within the Argolid in the frequency of these practices: by far the largest body of evidence for ritual comes from the large cemeteries associated with important settlements. In the smaller and poorer cemeteries only 4 cases of fumigation and an uncertain case of animal sacrifice can be reported. This disparity cannot be explained solely through the recovery bias against smaller sites. 7.3.5. The funerary assemblage (i) The pottery The distribution of 'complex' vases, i.e. vases of complex form and perhaps special function, across the different sites shows no spatial patterns. The range of types found in any one site seems to reflect the size of the cemetery more than anything else. Askoi and miniatures are the commonest objects, followed by braziers and rhyta. Closed vases are the most numerous class of pottery in the Argive graves. The shapes most frequently found are the stirrup jar, the alabastron, the piriform jar, the globular jug, and the amphora, followed by the different kinds of jugs. The diversity of types in any one site reflects foremost its size and its chronological range; in the smaller and poorer cemeteries the range narrows down, but not necessarily to the same types. This is not surprising: pottery in the Argolid, except for Palatial ware and the early elaborate types, is not a controlled and restricted commodity. Open vases are less common than closed ones. Certain classes, such as the Ephyrean goblet, the krater, the deep bowl, and the mug, are clearly under-represented in comparison to the domestic assemblage. Kylikes are most numerous, while cups, in particular the globular, conical and shallow types, are the most widespread. Once more,

88 a more diverse range is found in large sites; in the smaller sites, the range narrows down to the common cup types. (ii) Figurines (Map 7.5) The most common types of figurine are the Psi and Phi types, followed by the animal figurines. The object figurines, the complex figures and the Tau type are relatively rare. It is interesting that certain large sites (Panayia and Kalkani in Mycenae, Prosymna, Dendra, Deiras) have all or almost all types. By contrast, Berbati, Tiryns-Prophitis Ilias have a poor range, while no figurines have been found in the Asine graves. In the small sites, the range is narrower, though rare types occur. (iii) Valuables The Argolid is characterized by an extremely rich and diverse assemblage of funerary offerings. The distribution of valuable objects across the different sites (see Maps 7.68) shows some very interesting patterns. For all classes of valuables -weapons, metal vases, containers made of precious materials, jewelry- the same pattern of heavy concentration in Mycenae can be observed. This does not refer only to the ShaftGraves; even in some later (LHII, LHIIIA-B) Mycenae chamber tombs, mainly in the Panayia, rather fewer in the Kalkani, Asprochoma and Kato Phournos cemeteries, large numbers of valuables or unique pieces are found. If we assume an equal or higher level of wealth deposited in the nine robbed tholoi, it becomes obvious that Mycenae, throughout the Mycenaean period, displayed an enormous range and quantity of funerary wealth. Certain types of objects remain exclusive to Mycenae: the golden masks, animal rhyta, elektron vase, faience conch shell and sacred knots, and the solid and elaborate golden jewelry, found in the Shaft-Graves, but also the skeuomorph swords, the ivory lyre (?), the elektron and iron rings, a silver jug, etc., from the chamber tombs. The 'lesser centres', i.e. the sites with tholoi and/or large chamber tomb cemeteries, have a clearly narrower range of valuables and markedly fewer exclusive objects. The really elaborate weapons are very rare; the range of metal vessels is reduced to smaller cups or bronze vases, while ivory and faience containers are found only occasionally; jewelry consists almost solely of the more standardized beads and foil ornaments, or few intaglio rings; amber is found in smaller quantities. However, these sites present a far from uniform assemblage. The cemetery in Dendra displays the richest and most varied assemblage and many exclusive types, such as elaborate swords, silver and golden vases, an ostrich egg rhyton, rings made of iron, gold and silver, and amber beads. Prosymna shows an impressive range, but smaller quantities and fewer unique objects: two inlaid weapons, an ivory figurine. From Asine to the Deiras, then to Tiryns and finally to Berbati, the diversity and quantity of valuable objects decreases

89 constantly. Some of these differences may be attributed to differential preservation: it is quite likely that the Prosymna and Berbati tholoi contained valuables comparable to those found in the Dendra tholos, and one fairly rich chamber tomb in Tiryns has been robbed. However, this is not the only cause of variation. If we compare, for example, the well preserved tholoi (Dendra, Kokla and Kazarma), we can see that there are considerable differences in richness and in the type of objects found in them. Anyway, the preservation of individual graves is here less important, because the comparison is between entire sites. For instance, the assemblage of the Dendra chamber tombs, which includes golden and silver cups, ivory pyxides and the famous cuirass, is clearly richer than that of the Prosymna cemetery. The Tiryns and Berbati tholoi have been robbed, but it is interesting that the chamber tombs in these sites do not contain very remarkable finds. Of course, the discovery of more tombs might change this picture. The range of valuables is conspicuously narrower in the smaller sites, such as some of the cemeteries in Mycenae (Souleimani, Alepotrypa), or the tombs in Phychtia, Priphtiani, Schoinochori, Myloi and the Epidauros area. In these sites the range narrows down consistently to the commoner types of valuables, such as cleavers, knives and arrowheads among the weapons, rarely a stone vase from among the range of precious containers, a trickle of simple gold or bronze ornaments, but mostly stone and glass-paste beads, even these simple types appearing in very small quantities. It is also interesting that seals only appear very rarely in these sites, while they are found in all larger sites. Thus the spatial distribution of valuables forms a clearly hierarchical structure, which is too consistent to be dismissed on account of differential preservation or intensity of research. On the basis of these depositional patterns, we can deduce that the circulation of and access to valuables were closely controlled. We should also examine the chronological development within the various classes of valuable offerings. Despite the difficulties in ensuring find associations in multiple tombs and dating valuable goods accurately, certain general observations can be made by examining the range of prestige goods in those tombs where the peak in deposition can be established. It is generally held that while elaborate types and unique pieces are found in the Shaft Graves, in the later period smaller and more standardized ornaments predominate. For instance, the Shaft Graves jewelry is characterized by marked diversity, including many heavy and ornate pieces, while in the later period various, but fairly standardized, types of beads, as well as foil ornaments, predominate. However, we are not dealing with a simple chronological development, but with a comparison between two different assemblages: as almost all later tholoi have been robbed, the LHIIIA-B finds come from chamber tombs only. Nevertheless, chronological observations are important, because they allow us to examine which objects remain

90 exclusive, which ones become more widely used with time, and which ones are emulated in simpler and more accessible materials. We have already observed that certain classes -golden masks, animal rhyta, large golden and silver vessels, Minoan cultic accessories- seem to remain exclusive to Mycenae, although they may well have been among the offerings in the robbed tholoi. The use of certain other types spreads through time, albeit to different degrees and in a spatially uneven manner. For instance, just one ostrich egg rhyton is found outside the Shaft Graves, in the Dendra tholos; certain classes, such as elaborate weapons, and silver and golden cups are found in LHII in chamber tombs in Mycenae and/or in tholoi elsewhere, and in LHIII in chamber tombs outside Mycenae as well. Bronze vases, ivory containers and intaglio rings are already found in LHII in chamber tombs outside Mycenae, mostly in Dendra and Prosymna. Stone vases, amber beads and seals are found in LHII in other centres as well. Iron appears later, mostly in LHIII chamber tombs. The golden foil ornaments and elaborate bead types are found in LHII-III in all larger sites. Their form is also emulated in faience and glass-paste (sometimes even the granulation is imitated); these simpler ornaments are found in small quantities in the smaller LHIII sites. Therefore, even when we are observing funerary wealth through time, the differences between sites remain of foremost importance. Thus, tholoi are not consistently associated with a specific level of wealth; even if we should assume that tholoi are richer than the chamber tombs in the same site, quite a few chamber tombs are richer than the tholoi in Kokla and Kazarma. The range of wealth in chamber tombs, or rather the upper limit, depends throughout the period on which site they are in. Thus, the main axis of differentiation is the variation between sites and, at a second level, the difference between tomb types.

7.4. Developments through time The emphasis so far has been on spatial variation. It is time to address also temporal trends in the use of tombs. Figure 7.5 gives the number of (extra-mural) tombs in use for each period. We can observe an increase through LHII-IIIA1 culminating in LHIIIA2, a decrease in LHIIIB and a dramatic fall in LHIIIC. Figure 7.6 shows the rate of construction for all tombs and tomb types forming two peaks: a low one in LHI and a taller one in LHIIIA2. In Figure 7.7, which shows the

91 rate of abandonment, we observe that in addition to the dramatic abandonment of tombs in LHIIIB/IIIC, a certain amount of discontinuity can be seen in LHI/IIA. However, the picture becomes clearer if we examine the different tomb types separately. Figures 7.9 and 7.10 give the rates of construction and abandonment for tholoi. The type makes a sudden appearance in LHIIA, with 6 tholoi in Mycenae and 3 in other sites (Prosymna, Berbati and Kazarma). This sharp rise is soon halted in LHIIB, where the number of tholoi in use (Figure 7.8) remains more or less constant; by LHIIIA1-A2 the reverse process of abandonment and restriction of the type to Mycenae, and probably Tiryns, is well on its way (noted by Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 53). As all the palatial tholoi are robbed, the exact sequence of their use cannot be established. In LHIIIC no tholos is in use, but the Dendra tholos is re-entered and one amphoriskos is deposited. Chamber tombs show a different picture. In Figures 7.11 (tombs in use by period) and 7.12 (new tombs by period) and we see the increase in the number of tombs from LHI until LHIIIA2. The type appears in LHI in Prosymna, Kalkani, Nafplion, Kokla and perhaps the Deiras (a single sherd in one tomb in Schoinochori cannot be considered sufficient evidence for use in this period); by LHII, it is found in all the large sites, but occasionally also in smaller ones, such as Aria. The small regression in tomb construction in LHIIB may be to a certain extent misleading, since the LHIIA peak consists largely of uncertain cases. Indeed, in Figure 7.13, a slight increase in the number of tombs in use can be observed. The setback in tomb construction may perhaps be explained by the lower visibility of LHIIB wares in tombs, since the characteristic shape of the period, the Ephyrean goblet, is rare in the funerary assemblage (Frizell 1980, 123). The increase in LHIIIA1 and particularly in LHIIIA2 is due to the growth of already existing cemeteries and the appearance of chamber tombs in small sites. The regression in LHIIIB is difficult to explain. New small sites appear, just as in LHIIIA2, but the numbers of new tombs and of tombs in use fall (although this is not so everywhere: in the Deiras the number of chamber tombs remains stable). Alden (1981) has made a case for a demographic decline in the LHIIIB period, but the settlement evidence shows the opposite. The low visibility of LHIIIB wares in tombs, due to the presence of less pottery and to the deposition of predominantly plain and linear wares in the graves, has been pointed out by E. French (1969, 71). This cannot fully account for this pattern, however, since, in this analysis at least, such cases have been considered as 'perhaps in use' in LHIIIB. Cavanagh and Mee (1984, 56) see in the LHIIIB setback to the chamber tombs the first signs of the LHIIIC decline. Indeed, the rate of abandonment (Figure 7.13) shows a marked continuity up to LHIIIA2, but the dramatic abandonment in LHIIIC has already been anticipated in LHIIIB. The LHIIIC decline does not affect all sites equally: of the large cemeteries, the ones in Mycenae included, some are abandoned, some continue in use with considerably fewer

92 tombs, Deiras is less affected and the number of tombs in Asine actually increases, mostly through the re-use of earlier tombs. All the small sites are abandoned. Re-use should also be considered here (Table 7.12). Of course, the evidence is not always reliable: a gap in the sequence can be due to removal or to differential preservation. Not all tombs are abandoned or re-used in the same periods; only the Deiras and Asine show a homogeneous re-use horizon in LHIIIC (on the question of LHIIIC reuse, see also Cavanagh and Mee 1978). To finish this discussion, the temporal trends in the use of cists and pits will be briefly presented. Figures 7.15 and 7.16 give the rates of construction and abandonment respectively, and Figure 7.14 the number of graves in use. The peak in the rate of construction is in the LHI period (and of course in MHIII, which is here heavily underrepresented). In this early period they occur in several sites, but their use has declined by LHII. The use of pits is revived again in LHIIIA-B, almost exclusively in Argos and Kokla; outside these sites only one LHIIIA pit is found, in Prosymna. We see, therefore, that the uses of the various tomb types differ significantly, and form different spatial and temporal patterns: use of the tholos is already contracting in LHIIIA1, and the chamber tomb spreads throughout the period (until LHIIIC), the use of cists and pits on the whole declines throughout the period and becomes more or less restricted to the Argos area (see Maps 7.3 and 7.4). Overall, the range of tomb types in use narrows with time, although not in a spatially uniform manner: except in Argos and Kokla, in LHIIIA2-B by far the majority of tombs in use are chamber tombs. A trend towards homogeneity in tomb types can thus be detected in the Argolid (noted by Mee and Cavanagh 1984, 49) (Figures 7.17 and 7.18). Despite the differences, there are are also some overall trends: the number of tombs in use increases more or less constantly through LHI-II, despite a slight setback in LHIIB. However, the main period of increase is in LHIIIA1, and especially in LHIIIA2. A process of decline, which becomes dramatic in LHIIIC, starts imperceptibly in LHIIIB. The divergences from the general trend, observed primarily in LHIIIC, but perhaps also in LHIIIB, may, of course, be due to differential recovery, but they are worth noting. 7.5. Categories of differentiation 7.5.1. Size Table 7.14 gives the distribution of types along the size categories. The two lowest classes are occupied by pits, cists and 'other' graves, the upper edge by the Chania tumulus and the next categories down by the tholos. The size range in these categories

93 is relatively narrow, while the shaft-graves and the chamber tombs stretch and overlap across a much wider spectrum, indicating that energy expenditure for the larger shaftgraves was comparable to that for many chamber tombs. In order to detect spatial and temporal patterns in size variation, we shall examine the evidence by tomb type. To start with the tholos, all the larger examples come from Mycenae and all the smaller ones from other sites; tholoi from both Mycenae and other sites are represented in the category in the middle, (Figure 7.19). While a chronological development towards larger size can be observed only in Mycenae, size differences exist even there, probably from LHIIA onwards. Figure 7.20 shows that chamber tombs cluster around categories 3 and 4. No cemetery contains exclusively tombs in one size category; most cemeteries conform to the general trend, i.e. they have a fairly wide range with most graves in the intermediate categories. However, no large graves (categories 6-7) are found in small sites. Deiras shows a tendency to smaller graves; finally, the two largest graves are both in Kalkani. If we cross-tabulate size against period of construction (Table 7.13), we can see that from LHIIA onwards there is a clear chronological trend towards smaller size. We have seen that the shaft-graves cover a surprising size range. However, the great majority, including all cases outside Mycenae, are concentrated in the lowest categories (Figure 7.21). The Grave Circle B graves stretch across classes 1 to 3, and the Grave Circle A graves from 3 to 6. We can therefore note a chronological trend towards larger graves between the two Grave Circles, but not in the graves outside Mycenae.

7.5.2. Quality of construction The architectural elaboration of the tholoi in Mycenae has been the basis of Wace's chronological scheme, which is largely corroborated by the scarce ceramic finds. Despite the obvious differences in tomb construction between the tholoi outside Mycenae, this spiral of elaboration is not observed anywhere else. Furthermore, certain features, such as the use of ashlar conglomerate and elaborate decoration, remain restricted to Mycenae (see Table 7.15). It is worth noting that it is always the facade and the entrance that are emphasized through decoration or special care in construction. The evidence, e.g. the concurrent use of elaborate door and blocking wall, indicates that this part of the tomb was not only the most visible, but also must have had some mystical significance as the passage to a consecrated place.

94 The finishing of the rock surface has been taken as the main criterion for the quality of construction in chamber tombs. The majority of tombs are found in the middle category. All finely cut tombs are found in cemeteries associated with important settlements; Deiras has the largest number of poorly finished tombs. If we set quality of construction against period of construction (Table 7.17), we can see that, just as for size, there is a peak in LHIIA followed by a more or less gradual decline until the end of the period. It is interesting to note that the well cut tombs are as a rule of symmetrical shape (including two LHIIA tombs in Prosymna which emulate the circular tholos plan) and constitute the majority of tombs with (mostly painted) decoration in the facade. No particular emphasis is placed on architectural elaboration in the shaft graves; in MHIII most graves have already lined walls, pebble floors, and beams and/or slabs for roofs. However, all these features are most consistently used in Grave Circle A. It must be noted that the shaft graves outside Mycenae are of simpler construction. Thus we see that architectural elaboration gains importance through time, particularly in the tholos tomb. 7.5.3. Wealth Before discussing the variation in grave offerings, we should examine the measure of wealth used in this study, i.e. the diversity of grave goods in any one tomb, against two other possible measures: the quantity of offerings and the presence of exclusive objects. In the Argolid, inlaid weapons, golden and silver vessels, funerary masks, intaglio rings, ostrich egg rhyta and amber beads have a highly restricted distribution; they occur in tombs with both large quantities and a wide range of offerings, primarily in Mycenae. Conversely, fewer such objects are found in tombs in the large sites, and none in the small sites. Thus, diversity, quantity of offerings and the presence of rare objects coincide in the Argive tombs. Figure 7.22 shows the distribution of all tombs across the diversity categories, forming a continuum with a peak in the lowest classes. If we set diversity against tomb type (Table 7.17-18), we see the variation in grave good diversity among the different tomb types. Starting from the lower end, pit-graves, abandoned dromoi etc. cover the lowest categories, while pits and cists are also (very occasionally) slightly richer. Chamber tombs expand into the intermediate categories, i.e. up to diversity index 30, but the majority are in the lower categories (0-9). Shaft graves stretch across the entire range, but most are concentrated between 0 and 20, with only 2 graves from Grave Circle B reaching 20 to 24, and 4 from Grave Circle A leaping into the highest classes. As most tholoi have been robbed, we cannot establish their range with certainty; however, they must have ranged from 10 (the Kokla tholos) through 35 (the Dendra tholos) to the highest categories, reaching or even surpassing the Grave Circle A shaft-graves.

95 We should now examine the relation between diversity, an aspect of variation prone to fluctuations, and the more static aspects of tomb size and construction. In the chamber tombs and shaft graves, the only tomb types for which our information is adequate, a clear relation exists between diversity and size (see Table 7.19 for the chamber tombs). It is also interesting to compare diversity of grave goods with quality of construction, which is again possible or meaningful only for the chamber tomb. In Table 7.20 we can see that there is a good correlation between the two categories. If we now concentrate on diversity of grave goods, the first question is whether the deposition of wealth in the tombs remained stable through time. The evidence has been examined for each tomb type separately by setting the diversity index against the peak of deposition or, if it was not possible to establish this, against the periods of use. The evident from the tholoi being deficient, we have to start with the chamber tombs. The evidence for the LHI period is meagre, but in LHIIA-B there is a concentration of tombs in the high diversity classes (15 to 29). In LHIIIA1 the number of tombs in the high categories remains more or less stable, but the number in the lower classes increases. This trend towards an increase in the number of poorer tombs and a decrease in richer tombs continues in LHIIIA2-B, until LHIIIC when there is a more dramatic fall in deposition. The shaft-graves show a different pattern with a clear increase in deposition between MHIII and LHI. If we combine this trend with our observations for the chamber tombs, we see that there is an overall decline in the deposition of wealth throughout the period. Of course, we miss the crucial evidence from the tholoi. It is important to keep in mind that the use of tholoi has been declining since LHIIIA1, but we will never know whether the levels of wealth deposited in the few LHIIIA2-B tholoi in Mycenae and, probably, Tiryns equalled or surpassed the richness of the Shaft Graves or of the earlier tholoi. The pits, cists and 'other' types of grave do not show any significant fluctuations in wealth, as their range of diversity is quite narrow. We should now examine spatial variation and fluctuations through time together. The evidence will be presented by examining the distribution of all the tombs in use in each period across the diversity categories. Robbed tombs and tombs not datable accurately in the sub-phases of the Mycenaean period are not included here. In an attempt to refine the chronological observations, whenever possible, the peak in the deposition of valuables has been noted for each tomb. For example, a tomb used from LHIIB to LHIIIB, with a diversity index of 14 and a peak in the deposition of valuables in LHIIB-IIIA1, will not appear in the histograms for the LHIIIA2 and LHIIIB periods,

96 because the diversity index of 14 does not apply for these periods. Removing these tombs creates less problems than including them. In LHI (Figure 7.23, Map 7.9) we can observe a very uneven distribution of wealth, with the Shaft Graves of Mycenae occupying exclusively the highest wealth categories (diversity index higher than 35) and also, together with chamber tomb XXVI in Prosymna, the intermediate categories (10-24). A fairly sharp transition between 4 and 5, and the peak in the lowest category (0), emphasize further this picture of markedly asymmetrical distribution of wealth. While pits, cists and 'other' graves cluster in the lowest categories (0-4), the first chamber tombs cover a wider range of diversity, and the shaft-graves span the entire range. In LHIIA the diversity curve forms more of a continuum (Figure 7.24, Map 7.10): the numbers in the lowest categories (0-4) fall, the peak moves up to category 5-9, the numbers in the intermediate classes (10-29) increase, and we must postulate that the robbed tholoi ought to occupy the highest categories. With the tholoi more or less replacing the shaft-graves, but also appearing in sites other than Mycenae, we can postulate an overall increase in the deposition of wealth. Mycenae, with perhaps 6 tholoi in use and several rich chamber tombs, retains its pre-eminence, but at the same time lesser centres such as Prosymna (tholos, rich chamber tombs) and Dendra (one fairly rich chamber tomb) are emerging. The Kazarma tholos, simply built and not particularly rich, was used only in this period. The patterns already visible in LHIIA are accentuated in LHIIB (Figure 7.25, Map 7.11): numbers in the lower categories fall, those in the higher categories increase, and thus a plateau is formed across categories 1-14, consisting primarily of chamber tombs. Once more, we should place the tholoi in the highest categories, although the only well preserved example in this period, the Kokla tholos, of rather poor construction and small size, and having a diversity of 10, indicates that there was a range of diversity among tholoi as well. Just as in LHIIA, the by now few cists and pits cluster in the poorest categories. Mycenae still shows the largest concentration of wealth, with perhaps 5 tholoi in use, while rich chamber tombs (in categories 15-29) appear in Prosymna, Dendra, Asine and the Deiras. In LHIIIA1 (Figure 7.26, Map 7.12), along with the increase in the number of tombs, there is a reversal of the LHIIA-B trends, and a much more uneven distribution appears. The majority of new tombs appear in the lowest categories (chamber tombs and the Deiras pits in 0-4, chamber tombs only in 10-14), while the number of rich chamber tombs, now more abruptly separated from the lower categories (<15), remains the same. Moreover, for 11 chamber tombs in Kalkani, Prosymna and Dendra a decline from the LHII wealth levels has been established. Therefore we can postulate a relative decrease, or at least a standstill, in the overall deposition of wealth. We should also

97 keep in mind that by LHIIIA1 the decrease in the number of tholoi, both in and outside Mycenae, is already under way. However, a new tholos comes into use in this period in Dendra, while the Kokla and Berbati tholoi are still in use. Rich chamber tombs are found in Mycenae, Asine, Dendra, Prosymna and perhaps the Deiras. In LHIIIA2 (Figure 7.27, Map 7.13) we see the intensification of trends already apparent in LHIIIA1: the increase of poorer tombs, stability in the numbers of richer chamber tombs, the abandonment of tholoi, and their restriction to Mycenae and, probably, Tiryns. The result is an even steeper peak in the poorer categories, with, however, a more gradual transition to the richer ones. The number of tombs for which we can establish positively -or at least, as positively as is possible within a multiple tomb- a decrease in the range and quantity of valuables doubles. Rich chamber tombs are still found in Mycenae, Prosymna and Dendra, and perhaps in Asine and the Deiras. The distribution of wealth does not change markedly in LHIIIB (Figure 7.28, Map 7.14). The overall decrease in the numbers of tombs in use is even more clear in the richer categories (20-29), in which by now only Mycenae chamber tombs are to be found. Only Atreus and perhaps the Tiryns tholos (or tholoi ?) are in use. We can see therefore that in LHIIIB the deposition of wealth in tombs declines everywhere outside Mycenae -and, perhaps Tiryns. Only a few observations will be given for LHIIIC (Figure 7.29, Map 7.15), since this period is outside the scope of the present study. In Figure 7.29, we can see the decrease in the level of wealth deposited in the tombs. Many of the large sites continue in use, but only with a few poor chamber tombs. Most poor graves are in the Deiras, while in Asine a fairly rich chamber tomb is re-used. To summarize the main patterns: the LHI period is characterized by a marked concentration of wealth in Mycenae, while the LHII period sees the emergence of lesser centres and an overall increase in the deposition of valuables in tombs. In LHIIIA1-A2, along with the extension of the use of chamber tombs, we can observe a more hierarchical and uneven distribution of wealth, and a gradual restriction of the use of the tholos to Mycenae and, possibly, Tiryns. In LHIIIB, these trends are further accentuated with the general decline in the deposition of wealth outside Mycenae (and Tiryns ?). 7.6. Discussion 7.6.1. Social differentiation Any discussion of social structure in the Mycenaean period has to start from the Shaft Graves of Mycenae. There is no doubt that the people buried in the Grave Circles form

98 a strictly defined and closed group, demarcated through the perivoloi, and distanced from the rest of the community through the elaborate ritual surrounding their funerals and, more than anything, through the enormous array of valuable and exotic objects which accompanies them in their graves. The question is: do those people constitute a separate social class, the higher level of a complex society ? Designations for this class are abundant: the Shaft Grave burials are considered a royal family (recently by Kilian 1988, 292), a military aristocracy (Kilian-Dirlmeier 1986), an oligarchy (Alden 1981, 110ff.), etc. However, why and how this group emerged from the less differentiated MH background has not really been addressed. The discussion has recently concentrated on internal development in the two Grave Circles, which has been interpreted as the emergence and consolidation of stratification during the MHIII-LHI (Graziadio 1991, Kilian-Dirlmeier 1986). The Grave Circles, however, are not a microcosm of the entire contemporary society. What we observe in them is a group distancing itself from the rest of the community through demarcation, the energy input for the construction of the graves, the complexity of the mortuary ritual, the disposal of precious goods and the display of a new iconography of power, mostly combat scenes. The concurrent use of these differentiation strategies and the spiraling elaboration denote that this is a tense and competitive process, still unfolding rather than already crystallized into a new stratified order. The little evidence from contemporary graves in the Prehistoric Cemetery shows that little has changed there since MH times. By contrast with other sites, where the transition can be followed in the domestic context, our knowledge of Mycenae in MHIII-LHI comes exclusively from the mortuary record. The meagre evidence for elite dwellings in this period, such as the frescoed (?) Maison du Chef in Tiryns, does not support the view of a gulf between the elite and the population. Another problem is that the Shaft-Graves are never placed within the general context of late MH - early LH burials in other sites (see also chapter 5.1 for the evidence beyond the Argolid). Changes can be observed there as well, although the developments seem uneven and spasmodic. In Argos, shaft-like forms, secondary burials and richer grave goods are common in the tumulus Gamma, which continues into the LH period (even a built tomb is constructed during LHI); in the area of the tumuli, a very large pit (2 by 5m) with a pseudo-dromos (Morou 1981, 107) has been found; to LHI belongs the unique case of cremation in a pit. In Asine also, the tumulus is gradually abandoned during the transition, while two small and poor shaft-graves are built in Barbouna in LHI. In the same period in Lerna, two shaft-graves are cut on and near the earlier mound over the House of Tiles, but they are soon cleared of their contents, filled in and sealed. In Dendra, the tumuli are probably abandoned. New elements in mortuary practices appear during this period in all these sites. While Graziadio detects class-consciousness among the Shaft Grave people, evidenced in the

99 distanciation of the Grave Circles, the use of stelai and the emphasis on descent (1991, 407), these features, apart from the (short-lived) use of stelai, also characterize other burials in the same period: the cemeteries -whether pits in Prosymna, cist groups in Lerna or the first chamber tombs- are increasingly located away from the settlement, and concern with descent is evidenced in the re-use and the secondary treatment, not only in the first chamber tombs, but also in the pits in Prosymna and the cists in ArgosTumulus Gamma. We see therefore that any explanation of the 'Shaft-Grave phenomenon' cannot be limited to the identification of the exact political nature of the elite in Mycenae, but has to include the wider transformation of mortuary practices as well as the unstable situation across the region. Certainly the concentration of wealth in Mycenae and the establishment of the pre-eminence that was to last for some centuries is a key problem, but it has to be understood within the context of the wider changes taking place in the entire region, if not in most parts of southern Greece. As these questions go beyond purely social considerations, they will be addressed in the discussion in chapter 10.1. It suffices here to stress that the evidence for the emergence of a complex society as early as during the Shaft Grave period is problematic. We should now leave the Shaft Grave era behind and address the problems of the Mycenaean social structure during the rest of the period. In making social inferences from mortuary data, the first question that needs to be asked is whether everyone received formal burial. There seems to be, however, no simple answer covering the entire period. We need to consider the fluctuations in the numbers of intra-mural graves and in the different extra-mural tomb types. It is generally accepted that there is a relationship between the decline of the intra-mural burials and the increase in the number of chamber tombs in LHIIIA. We have also observed (see section 2.3 above) that children are buried in chamber tombs only from LHIIIA onwards. It is therefore safe to conclude that the number of people given formal burial increases in the LHIII period. Still, intra-mural burials exist throughout the period; even adult intra-mural burials are found, albeit rarely, in LHIII. Can we attribute them to a lower social rank ? Considering the high number of child burials, it is safer to assign them a marginal position outside the society of adult community members. Non-initiated children make up one such marginal category; the adults may have been social deviants. Other alternative burial modes are known, such as the simple inhumations in Tiryns (and also in Berbati and Mycenae ?), which Kilian (1980, 176-7) has interpreted as slave burials. We should bear in mind, though, that both these and the burials (?) in the Argos well are late (late LHIIIB, LHIIIC), and should not project them back over the entire Mycenaean period.

100 The conclusion is, therefore, that while not everyone was given formal burial, the number of people excluded must have diminished in the LHIII period. Because of the high proportion of children among intra-mural burials it is logical to deduce that the people excluded were, for one reason or another, deprived of social identity. The second question we need to address is whether the different tomb types correspond to specific social classes. Mee and Cavanagh (1984, 49) have already cast doubt on this notion. Starting from the lower end, it would be tempting to assign the burials in cists, pits and pit-graves to a lower social class, since in the Argolid (in contrast to Thessaly, Attica or Phokis -see Dickinson 1983, 63) these tombs are consistently poor. But we would still need to account for their decline during LHII, and their uneven distribution, particularly in the LHIIIA2-B period. If we were to accept that the decrease in their numbers is connected with the increase of (poor) chamber tombs in LHIIIA-B, we should still need to explain why the social distinction would be weakened during the palatial period, when we could expect to find a highly stratified social structure. We see therefore that the inquiry should not stop at the equation of a tomb type with a social class. The debate about the social position of those buried in the chamber tombs has been going on for a long time. While Tsountas saw in them the sepulchres used for the bulk of the population (Tsountas and Mannatt 1897, 131), they were used, according to Alden, by an affluent middle class (Alden 1981, 19) and, according to Mee and Cavanagh (1984, 56), by a cross-section of society. Mee and Cavanagh's calculations for the Prosymna cemetery (ibid., 54-6) justify their opinion; and indeed the chamber tombs show a wide range of size, quality of construction and, in particular, wealth. Therefore, chamber tombs cannot be considered exclusive to a specific social class. However, we have again to note the spatial and temporal patterns in their use. There is no evidence, as there is for the shaft-grave and the tholos, that the chamber tomb was adopted as an elite place of burial: the LHI chamber tombs were not consistently rich and large, although we only have a few examples. In LHII we see an increase in the number of rich chamber tombs and a peak in size and quality of construction; in fact, several chamber tombs are richer than the only well preserved (but provincial) tholoi in Kokla and Kazarma. During this period, the wealth and the elaboration of chamber tombs denote a fluid and competitive situation, both within and between the larger sites, such as Prosymna, Asine, the Deiras and Dendra. The sharp increase in their numbers can be connected with the decline of the pits and cists, but also perhaps, from LHIIIA1 onwards, with the progressive restriction of the tholoi to the palatial centres. This means that in LHIIIA-B a large segment of the population was buried in chamber tombs. This 'popularization' of the type has generally been considered as a symptom of

101 growing prosperity and stability under the palatial system, and indeed a demographic growth can be observed during these period. However, we should note the increasing proportion of poorer and smaller tombs, which indicates an overall decline in the wealth deposited, the size and the quality of construction of the tombs. Certainly wealth was channelled towards the palatial centres, but the general impoverishment of the chamber tombs was also a symptom of the emergence of a more hierarchical social structure, with a wider distance between the population and the local leaders, who were buried in the fewer rich chamber tombs. It is interesting that the number of rich chamber tombs in the larger centres decreases between LHIIIA2 and LHIIIB, denoting pressure on the local elites, and a widening gulf between them and the palatial elite, buried in the by now highly exclusive tholoi. We should note, however, that this widening of the use of chamber tombs also contains another phenomenon, the burial of children inside the chamber tombs from LHIIIA onwards, which is not so easy to explain. It seems that the emergence of the new order relies not only on the oppression of the earlier competitive practices, but also on the at least partial abolition of earlier organizing principles, such as the differences between age sets. Children, poorer members of the society and local chieftains are all buried in chamber tombs -and thus the difference between them and the palatial elites is further intensified. It is time to consider the tholos. In the Argolid only monumental tholoi are found, as is not the case in Messenia or Thessaly, where smaller and hybrid forms exist alongside. Therefore, in the Argolid, the tholoi are exclusive signs of power and prestige, relying on the mobilization of social force and special craftmanship; briefly, they belong to the elite. But did this elite form a uniform class? Once more, we have to examine the spatial and temporal patterns: in LHII we observe the sudden introduction of the type in Mycenae, Berbati, Prosymna and Kazarma, and already see a wide range in size, quality of construction, and perhaps wealth. If we observe the sheer number of tholoi, especially in Mycenae, where a spiral of elaboration can be observed, the swift abandonment of Kazarma and Epano Phournos, the short length of use in general of tholoi compared to chamber tombs, and the emulation of the form in the simpler tholos in Kokla in LHIIB (which can perhaps be designated as a hybrid form), we acquire a general picture of instability and intense competition, probably both within Mycenae and between the larger centres. By contrast, as early as LHIIIA1, and certainly in LHIIIA2-B, the use of the tholos becomes exclusive to the by now palatial sites (the evidence from Tiryns, however, is uncertain). There is no evidence for the contents of the tholoi, but at least in Mycenae we should expect very high levels of wealth, because even the chamber tombs in Mycenae in LHIIIA-B were very rich. The architectural elaboration justifies this inference. It is evident that the concentration of power in the palatial centres was only possible if the main symbol of power and prestige, the tholos

102 tomb, and access to the most exclusive prestige goods, became restricted to the palatial elites. Thus we see that the distribution and the range of wealth in each tomb type become intelligible within the social processes reconstructed from the spatial and temporal patterns in the use and the elaboration of the different tomb types. The discussion so far has indicated that the relatively sudden appearance of asymmetrical relations in the MHIII-LHI period is followed by an increase in social competition in LHII, which gives way to a more rigid hierarchical structure in LHIIIA-B . 7.6.2. Political structure It is time to address the second problem: the emergence of the centralized palatial system. A recurring spatial pattern has been noted both for the elaboration of the burial structure and for the deposition of valuable goods across the region, with high levels of wealth and a concentration of elaborate tombs in Mycenae, one tholos or fewer fine chamber tombs containing a narrower, although sometimes impressive, range of valuables in the larger centres, and a few poor chamber tombs in the smaller sites. We now need to follow the emergence of this uneven distribution through time. The concentration of wealth in Mycenae in the Shaft Grave period cannot be attributed to the agricultural potential of its immediate hinterland. Davis suggested (Davis 1988, 165; Wright et al. 1990) that Mycenae was already expanding its productive base in the MHIII-LHI period by exploiting the Nemea area, but Rutter's ceramic analysis does not support this conclusion (Rutter 1990, 453-4). The wealth of Mycenae must in any case have been based on control over external exchange, and must therefore be explained not only by the acquisition of productive land outside the plain, but by the displacement of other candidates within it. The question is: does the rise of Mycenae have any consequences on the other sites in the Argive plain? Some sites certainly seem to be affected. The evidence is not unequivocal: in Lerna, a relatively small part of the site has been excavated, and the difficulties of piecing together information from rescue excavations in Argos are well known. However, given our present state of knowledge, we can only note the contrast between a thriving settlement in MHI-II Lerna and the virtual absence of architectural remains in MHIII-LHII. Certainly, the site is not totally abandoned: in LHI two shaft-graves are cut, but they are soon emptied and sealed -the attempt to emulate the shaft graves of Mycenae has had to be abandoned. Argos shows an impressive series of tumuli throughout the MH period and some kind of town planning in Aspis (Touchais 1989, 114); by MHIII, precedent forms of the shaft-grave can be found. However, only one tumulus continues in use in early LH, with simple cists and pits and one built tomb. The scarce information for the LHI period stands in

103 contrast to the wide distribution of MHIII remains (see Dietz 1991, 281-3). Finally, in Asine, where there have been extensive excavations, an expansion of the settlement can be observed in MHIII, but hardly any architectural remains and finds can so far be dated to LHI-II (Dietz 1984, 42). Does the evidence then already warrant the theory of the political domination of the Argive plain by Mycenae and the establishment of a centralized system ? It has to be emphasized that no site hierarchy around central places can be observed at this stage in the Argolid (Dabney and Wright 1990). It is better to defer the answer until after we have examined the developments in the next phase. In LHIIA-B the monumental tholoi appear and immediately spread to other sites, even the isolated site at Kazarma. At the same time, rich and elaborate chamber tombs appear in all the larger centres; in LHII the peak in the elaboration of chamber tombs -in size, quality of construction, frequency of decoration and deposition of wealth- can be observed, with all these categories used concurrently. Some chamber tombs are richer than the tholoi in Kazarma and Kokla, and the circular tholos form is emulated in a few rich tombs -the general picture is one of emulation and close competition. Certainly Mycenae, with 6 tholoi and several large and rich chamber tombs, retains its preeminence and distance from other sites. The deficient information from the tholoi does not allow us to examine whether these centres were obtaining their wealth through Mycenae, or by acquiring direct links with external elites. The first possibility could, of course, be used as evidence for a centralized political system, wherein the lesser centres obtained not only their wealth but also their position within hierarchy, via the central authorities at Mycenae. However, there are two arguments against an early establishment of a centralized system. The first is the difference in the distribution of wealth between LHI and LHII, with the markedly asymmetrical and discontinuous pattern of the Shaft Grave period giving way to a more even and gradual distribution. If Mycenae established an early and spectacular precedence, it did not have the power or the will to retain exclusivity in high levels of wealth. The difference between LHI and LHII denotes a more dynamic process, with the emergence of the various principalities and their attempt to assert their independence from Mycenae and their position within a competitive environment. The far from uniform range of wealth found in the larger centres supports this suggestion. As for the tholoi, even within LHII their spread is not constant or smooth; Kazarma has already been abandoned at the end of LHIIA, and a new tholos appears in Kokla in LHIIB. The second argument against centralization during this phase concerns the subsequent developments. If certain shifts in the use of tholoi can already be detected in LHII, a more linear pattern emerges in LHIIIA1, and especially in LHIIIA2, with the progressive restriction of tholos use to the palatial centres. In LHIIIA1 the only new tholos to be built outside Mycenae is in Dendra -a short-lived assertion of local independence, as all tholoi

104 outside Mycenae have been abandoned by LHIIIA2. Thereby, the power and independence of the local leading families are curbed, as an arena of social and political competition, the lavish disposal of wealth in elaborate sepulchres, becomes the exclusive right of the palatial elites. The situation in Mycenae is not very clear, but the number of tholoi falls there as well. In the chamber tombs, the more even distribution of wealth of the LHII period is reversed: the increase in number of poor chamber tombs again occurs alongside a clearly uneven distribution of wealth. The process of elaboration in the form of chamber tombs and the increase in wealth between LHI and LHII are halted, and the inverse process of impoverishment sets in. The competitive and unstable situation of LHII gives way to a more hierarchical and rigid pattern, which is intensified in LHIIIA2 and endures through LHIIIB. All aspects of the evidence point in one direction: in LHIIIA1 we can see the emergence of a hierarchical and centralized political system, which is consolidated during the LHIIIA2 period. This proposition fits in well with settlement evidence: the LHIIIA1 period sees the erection of the first palaces in Tiryns (Kilian 1985, 209), and perhaps in Mycenae (Kilian 1988, 295). However, the centralization process does not converge onto a single centre. There is a disparity here between the mortuary and the domestic evidence: while in Tiryns a clear architectural sequence of domestic elaboration can be followed, the mortuary record, until the appearance of the two tholoi presumably in LHIII, is surprisingly poor compared to the concentration of both elaborate tholoi and chamber tombs in Mycenae. We can never exclude the possibility, of course, that any richer cemeteries have either been destroyed or escaped attention. The possibility also exists that the extensive cemeteries in Pronoia in Nafplion, for which the fragmentary information suggests substantial levels of wealth, were associated with Tiryns, despite the distance involved. In any case, the mortuary evidence cannot contribute much to the continuing debate about the relation between Mycenae and Tiryns. The LHIIIB period is, on the basis of the settlement evidence, the intense building activity and the increase in the number of settlements, the heyday of the palatial system. The mortuary data show complete centralization, with no tholoi in use outside Mycenae (and Tiryns?) and no very rich chamber tombs outside Mycenae. However, no new tholoi are built; perhaps energy was directed to the enormous building programmes in the akropoleis and to the decoration of the palaces. An overall decline in wealth and a decline in the quality of construction and size of tombs indicates that wealth was now channelled into the upkeep of the palatial system. Of course, this may have been a general cultural trend, with the emphasis moving from the mortuary sphere to the domestic context (French 1989, 125). But the other characteristic of the period, the fall in numbers, which stands in clear contrast to the constant increase through LHIIIA,

105 cannot be explained in this way, especially since the settlement evidence shows a demographic growth. Mee and Cavanagh explain the LHIIIB fall in numbers as anticipating the LHIIIC disruptions (1984, 56). If the mortuary evidence indicates a successful centralization towards the palatial centres, it has to be kept in mind that the settlement evidence shows a more unstable picture, with the erection of fortifications and small forts in several sites. Either the mortuary evidence of centralization of wealth, mostly in Mycenae, but presumably also in Tiryns, is misleading, or precisely this over-centralization became disfunctional. Throughout the discussion of the data, the Argolid has been assumed to form one analytical entity, even if it never became politically unified under one rule. Indeed, the mortuary data support this proposition: the outlying sites show the same characteristic features as the larger centres, albeit sometimes in attenuated form, and follow the general trends, in particular the gradual fall off of wealth and mortuary elaboration away from the main centres. The question of whether Corinthia ever came under the control of the Argive centres has to remain open, although new information, in particular the rich finds from the site of Aidonia near Nemea, provides some indication for the relative autonomy of at least this area. Throughout this section, the mortuary data have been used not in order to read off the social organization or the political territories of the Mycenaean Argolid, but in order to detect social and political processes. The spiraling elaboration of the mortuary practices in the early LH period, and the concurrent use of all categories of differentiation, have been interpreted as the emergence of an agonistic society and political competition between the local elites, resulting in a fluid and unstable situation, in which hierarchy is emerging, but is still disputed and resisted. The general impoverishment of the mortuary data in LHIII and the progressive restriction of mortuary display to the palatial elites has been explained as a strategy for the establishment and consolidation of a more hierarchical social structure and a centralized political system. However, this more rigid system already showed signs of disruption during its acme.

106 Chapter 8: Mortuary practices in Thessaly 8.1. Introduction Thessaly is a large and fertile inland basin in central Greece. It is bordered on three sides by high mountains, and to the east by the Aegean. The plain is divided into two parts by a low range of hills, and is drained by the Peneios river. Narrow mountain passes lead into Thessaly from the neighbouring areas of Epirus to the west and Macedonia to the north, but the main point of entry is the coastal plain of Volos. Mycenaean Thessaly is imperfectly known, especially its western part. All extensively excavated LBA settlement sites (Iolkos, Pefkakia, Dimini) are in the coastal area. However, our knowledge of Mycenaean Thessaly has been greatly enriched by some recent surveys and studies: Halstead's diachronic study of settlement and ecology (Halstead 1984), in which data from a still unpublished survey by E. French and D. French are used; Feuer's study of the Mycenaean frontier in Thessaly (Feuer 1983); Kakavoyianni's (1979) survey in the Velestino area, and a recent survey in the Pharsala area (Decourt 1990). Rescue excavations by the Greek Archaeological Service are also producing some interesting new evidence, especially in Velestino. However, the mortuary data present serious problems: the small number of tombs, the overall lower quality of the data, compared with those for the other regions, and deficient information on the cemeteries associated with the larger sites. However, the evidence presents some interesting contrasts to the Argolid and the Dodecanese and, despite its shortcomings, provides very useful comparative information. The following cemeteries have not been included in the analysis, either because there is no information on individual tombs (e.g. for the still unpublished chamber tomb at Velestino), or because the evidence consists of finds coming reportedly from a tomb: Iolkos, Kastro (1C), Zerelia, Kastraki, (5), Argalasti, Khortos (9), Velestino (10C), Stefanoviki, Petra (16), Chasambali, Kefalovryso (15), Rhodia, Pera Machala (22), Elasson, Panayia (23) Elasson, Vouvala (24), Vouvaina (25), Phyllos, Gioli (26), Achilleion (29) (see Map 8.1). Information on these sites can be found in Appendix II.

107 8.2. Continuity from the Middle Bronze Age Continuity in mortuary practices in Thessaly is even more pronounced than in the other regions. Single burials in cists, accompanied by few offerings, are found, even in Iolkos, in the LHIII period, while the practice of intra-mural burials persists into LHIII layers. Mycenaean tombs are often found above or close to MTh graves, perhaps indicating use of the area by the same community or burying group over a considerable period. The adoption of the Mycenaean mode of burial therefore never entirely displaced the traditional MTh practices. 8.3. Regional characteristics 8.3.1. The cemetery Intra-mural graves have been found in Iolkos in early LH layers (Theocharis 1961, 49) and in Pefkakia throughout the period (Fraser 1968-69, 20). In Thessaly it is sometimes difficult to say whether cists belong to an extra-mural cemetery or not: few settlements have been extensively excavated, and even where they have been, it is not possible to ascertain their limits. Among the tombs included in the analysis, only a small cist in Iolkos can be designated as intra-mural with certainty. Another five cists and a pit, containing single poor burials, may also be intra-mural. In Thessaly the only large cemeteries are the cist cemeteries in Iolkos and Pefkakia (in the latter, built tombs were also used). Thessalian cemeteries most often consist of small groups of tombs, which may be of the same type or of different types. There is no standardization in cemetery organization, because several types of tombs are in use in the region as a whole, but also, to a certain extent, in individual sites. Different types of tomb are separated spatially to varying degrees: tholoi, chamber tombs and built tombs have so far always occurred singly or in groups of tombs of the same type, while cists are found with other types of tomb. Elaborate tombs are therefore more segregated than cists. A characteristic of Thessaly is that tombs are often found on or in the sides of the inhabited magoula. These graves do not appear to be intra-mural. As well as cists and pits, small tholoi, chamber tombs, tumuli and built tombs are located on the sides of settlement tells.

108

8.3.2. The tomb Several types of tomb are found in Thessaly (see Figure 8.1, Map 8.2): a. Thessaly comes third after the Argolid and Messenia in its number of tholos tombs. The Thessalian tholoi fall into two groups, clearly distinct in terms of size and of quality of construction. Large tholoi are found exclusively in the Volos area, with the exception of the Georgikon tholos, which may date from the early LH period, but could also be PG. Small tholoi are found everywhere in Thessaly, except in the far west. b. Chamber tombs are (here Thessaly is unlike the rest of the mainland) rather rare. So far, all have been found in the southeast, with one exception in the northeastern area. c. Tumuli are not common; they are found primarily on the periphery of Thessaly. They seem to be connected with Epirus and Macedonia, as no tumuli have been found in MBA Thessaly. d. No shaft graves have been uncovered in Thessaly; however, some large built cists in Iolkos (and perhaps the built tombs in Pefkakia) denote a process of elaboration upon the simple cist form. e. The cist is the most widespread type of tomb. Cists are found in both intramural and extra-mural cemeteries, which can reach considerable size. They occur in all regions and prevail in the peripheral area north of Peneios. f. Pits are rare; they are only found in two sites. g. Two different types of tomb, both labelled 'built tomb', occur in Thessaly. The first, found only in Pefkakia, is, according to the original description (Wolters 1889, 262ff.), reminiscent of the elaborate cists with pseudo-entrance found at Elefsis. Four examples of the second type of built tomb have been found, all in the Pharsala region, where neither small tholoi nor chamber tombs have been found. Each consists of a rectangular chamber and a rudimentary dromos, both built with unworked stones, and is roofed with corbelling and, sometimes, a large slab. The Thessalian graves are therefore characterized by diversity and by the mixing of typical Mycenaean types, local forms and hybrids. Little is known about the external appearance of the tombs. Tholoi (both large and small) and tumuli were made conspicuous by means of the covering mound. There is hardly any information on the built tombs, except for Phetih Tsami I, which has a mound. Only the tholos Dimini 2 has a wall retaining the tumulus. No markers have been found in Thessalian graves.

109 8.3.3. Modes of disposal No cases of 'cenotaphs' and no cremations have been noted in Thessaly. All burials are inhumations, either single or multiple (see Table 8.1). All chamber tombs, and almost all tholoi, contain multiple burials (except for the poorly described tholos at Spilia); cists received either single or multiple interments, but only single burials were placed in the few cists inside tumuli; finally, built tombs seem to have been used for multiple burials, but information is limited. Regarding the distribution of primary and secondary inhumations across the different types of tomb (see Table 8.2), tholoi may contain primary only (in two cases which are not well documented), secondary only, or both types of disposal at the same time. Chamber tombs never contain only primary inhumations; cist tombs never contain secondary alone; cists in tumuli are used only for primary disposal; the information on built tombs is too limited to comment upon. We see therefore that the frequency of secondary treatment is closely associated with the type of tomb used. Primary burials are encountered in both contracted and extended positions. The use of a burial feature, a bier, for a primary burial has been suggested in the chamber tomb Mega Monastiri D. Secondary burials were in most cases swept to distinct features rather than scattered around (which was only the case in three tombs, all tholoi). The range of burial features used for secondary burials in Thessaly is much narrower than that found in the Argolid, and consists almost exclusively of heaps and pits, while a platform in the tholos Dimini 1 and enclosures in the tholoi Dimini 2 and Gritsa 4 were not associated with human remains. In cists, secondary burials are swept against the wall, but not mixed into a heap. A larnax found in Ktouri Magoula should be mentioned, but it is not clear whether it was found in a domestic or a funerary context (Béquignon 1932, 48). No regularities in retaining individuality after death can be detected between heaps and pits: in both, skeletal remains were deposited more or less mixed. Secondary treatment was not uniform within the same tomb: as in southern Greece and despite the considerably narrower range of alternative forms, different burial features could be combined within one (multiple) tomb. Nor were differences in wealth fully obliterated through the secondary treatment; valuables were associated with both primary and secondary burials. Evidence concerning the burial of children is very limited in Thessaly (see Table 8.3). Child burials are found probably in intra-mural, and certainly in extra-mural, cists, and in one case in a LHIIIA2-B chamber tomb, in between other burials.

110 Child burials can be either primary or secondary. No cases of multiple tombs used exclusively for children, as noted in the Argolid and the Dodecanese, have been reported from Thessaly. They are accompanied by few offerings, mostly pottery. In one case, a figurine and two feeding bottles were found, according to a practice common in the Argolid; in another, an amber bead accompanied the child. Such evidence as there is shows no divergence from practices in the Argolid. The number of interments varies significantly with the type of tomb (see Table 8.4): cists consistently contain one to two burials, small tholoi, chambers and built tombs occupy the middle of the range, and only in the Kapakli tholos have more than 15 burials been found. 8.3.4. Ritual practices Here, I will consider the evidence for mortuary ritual beyond the treatment of the body. The evidence is not plentiful, but it can be used to establish conformity with or departure from the rites in the Argolid. There is hardly any evidence for ritual practices or formal burial in the dromos: a small cist was found empty in the dromos of the chamber tomb in Almyros. Broken kylikes were found only in the dromos of the tholos Dimini 1. Two certain instances of removal can be reported. In the tholos Dimini 1, human and animal bones, sherds and scraps of golden foil were found near the entrance. In the small tholos Gritsa 2 a few human bones had been removed into the dromos. In Mega Monastiri D a few awls were found in the dromos, but it cannot be established whether they were intentionally deposited or displaced during removal operations. In Phetih Tsami I (built tomb) and II (tumulus with cist) valuables were found outside the tombs, a practice encountered in the Argolid in the LHIIIC tumulus in Chania. The evidence for ritual in Thessalian graves is limited and localized. Animal remains (although some could be coincidental finds) are found only in tholoi associated with important coastal sites (see Table 8.5). Evidence for fumigation has been noted in the tholos Dimini 1, and there are traces of a large fire in Mega Monastiri B (inside the chamber) and in Hexalophos (on the tumulus dais). One bent arrowhead was given as an offering in Agrilia A (the only instance of a bent sword was found in a small cist of unknown date in Peneias, which has not been included in the analysis). Ritual traces are therefore found more often in elaborate or rich tombs in the coastal and, to a lesser extent, in the lake region.

111 8.3.5. The funerary assemblage (i) Pottery The ceramic assemblage recovered from the Thessalian tombs, most of which is locally produced (Avila 1983, 48), is much less varied than that found in the Argolid. Feuer has noted that vases of special function are absent in Thessaly from both domestic and funerary assemblages (Feuer 1983, 62). Indeed, only one rhyton has been found, in chamber tomb Mega Monastiri A. Only askoi have a relatively wide distribution (Map 8.3). Closed vases constitute the largest proportion of the Thessalian assemblage, just as in the south. Certain local preferences can be discerned: the commonest shapes are alabastra, piriform jars and pyxides; then follow jugs of different types, stirrup jars and amphoriskoi. The early elaborate shapes are of course absent, and generally the range of shapes is narrower than that in the Argolid. There are significant differences in the spatial distribution of types (Map 8.4). The coastal sites have the highest diversity of types. Such shapes as the stirrup jar, the feeding bottle and the beaked jug do not occur outside the coastal area; the piriform jar and the amphoriskos are found only once or twice, in the northeast and the southwest. The main shapes found outside the coastal area are alabastra, globular and cut-away jugs. The only exception to this rule is the site of Pharsala, where there are also an amphoriskos and a piriform jar. The frequency of open shapes in graves is remarkably low and their range very narrow. Most are local cups and bowls. The characteristically Mycenaean shapes, like the different cup forms, kylikes and goblets, are virtually absent. Spatially, despite the small numbers, the pattern observed for the closed shapes is duplicated: the typically Mycenaean shapes are found in the coastal and lake regions and in the site of Pharsala; in the northeastern and western areas local types are found. (ii) The distribution of figurines in graves is restricted to the coastal and lake areas. Figurines in domestic assemblages have a much wider distribution, and also occur in the northeastern and southwestern areas. However, a wider range of types is found in the coastal area (see Map 8.5). All types and all stages of the development are found in Thessaly (see also Feuer 1983, 70 and French 1971, passim). To summarize my observations so far: the ceramic assemblage consists largely of closed shapes. The range of types is considerably narrower than that in the core areas, and within Thessaly it decreases markedly from the coast towards the interior, except in the tombs at Pharsala, where a diverse range is again found.

112 Figurines, although not plentiful, are found across Thessaly in domestic contexts, but are found in graves only in the coastal area. (iii) Valuable offerings The evidence will be examined along classes of artefact, such as weapons, ornaments (of metal and other materials) and miscellaneous objects. None of the elaborate types of weapon found in southern Greece appears in Thessalian graves. Those found belong to simple types without decoration: knives, daggers, swords, spearheads, arrowheads. Their distribution is characterized by density and diversity in the coastal and northwestern areas with only sporadic examples in the northeastern and southwestern areas (see Map 8.6). The widest range of metal, and in particular golden, ornaments is found in the Kapakli and Dimini tholoi and the Mega Monastiri chamber tombs. Certain types, like intaglio or elaborate rings and granulated beads, occur only in the Volos area and in Mega Monastiri. Extremely few ornaments are found in the northeastern area, while in the southwest, in Pharsala and Anavra, a fairly wide range of ornaments accompanied the dead (although the information about Anavra may be inaccurate, as it is based on an old report). The Hexalophos and Agrilia sites have only specific types of objects: bronze bracelets, pins and rings of late types. Objects made of stone, glass paste, faience and ivory have on the whole a wider distribution than metal ornaments, although there are significant differences among the various materials and types of object. Once more, the overall range is markedly narrower than that in the Argolid. Stone and glass paste beads and seals occur in all areas except the northwest. Again, the diversity of stone and glass paste objects is higher in the coastal and lake areas than in the northeast and the southwest. Faience has a restricted distribution; outside the coastal and lake areas, it is only found in the Pharsala tombs. Ivory is only found in the coastal area and the Mega Monastiri chamber tombs; a bronze knife in Hexalophos has an ivory handle. Amber alone is more often found beyond the coast and lake regions in sites like Gonnos, Souphli Magoula and Pharsala. The most salient characteristic of the valuable items found in Thessaly is that, with the exception of the weapons and one bronze vase in Ayioi Theodhoroi, they are small objects, i.e. beads, ornaments and seals. No stone vases, or faience or ivory containers, have been found in Thessaly. It is worth examining the distribution of certain objects which are characteristic of Mycenaean graves in the south, but whose function or significance is not very well understood. Stone and clay whorls are very common everywhere; tweezers have been found in a cist grave in Iolkos-Nea Ionia, not included in the analysis, in the

113 chamber tomb Mega Monastiri D, and in the built tomb Ayios Antonios I; lead wire is found only in the Mega Monastiri chamber tombs. To summarize my observations on the distribution of valuable objects in Thessalian graves: - the range of valuables deposited with the dead is restricted in comparison to that in the Argolid. The grave offerings consist essentially of small ornaments. - their distribution across the region is markedly uneven, with a more varied assemblage and more exclusive objects in the coastal and lake regions. - all types of valuable offerings from tombs in the interior are found more frequently in coast and lake graves. There are two exceptions: a) the bronze weapons and ornaments of late type found in the northwest, which have connections with Epirus, and b) amber, which might have been procured directly on the Epirote or Macedonian routes. - the northwestern graves stand out by their lack of typically Mycenaean types of ornament and by the popularity therein of bronze weapons and ornaments. The distribution of both pottery and valuables thus follows the same pattern of gradual fall-off towards the interior. However, the fall-off is not constant across Thessaly, as there are differences between the regions. To sum up, regional characteristics of the Thessalian graves are: - a marked continuity from the MBA, seen in the popularity of the single inhumation in cists and the persistence of intra-mural burials into the LHIII period. - the simplification of the 'Mycenaean' types of tomb through the creation of the small tholos and the built tomb types. - a lack of standardization in tomb types and cemetery organization. - a narrower range of forms associated with secondary treatment. - more exclusive and perhaps less composite ritual accompanying the disposal of the body. - a narrower range of both ceramic and valuable offerings. 8.4. Developments through time So far, the discussion has emphasized variation across space. It is time to examine temporal trends in the use of tombs. The small number of excavated tombs and their sometimes uncertain dating create problems, but cannot completely obscure some general trends.

114 Figure 8.2 shows the number of tombs in use, indicating an increase in tombs in use towards the LHIIIB period and a fall in LHIIIC. The MH/LH and LHI periods are chronologically under-represented, since the Mycenaean mode of burial had then not yet really been introduced (the unplublished LHI-II (?) chamber tomb in Velestino is an exception). It is interesting that in Thessaly the period during which there was most use of both chamber tombs and tholoi is LHIIIA2-B. In Figure 8.3, the rate of construction gives us a sharper picture: again, an increase first gradually towards, but primarily during, the LHIIIA2-B period can be noted, with a marked fall in LHIIIC. The rate of abandonment (Figure 8.4) basically shows two patterns: the continuity between LHIIIA2 and LHIIIB, and the widespread abandonment of tombs at the end of LHIIIB. It should be added here that no cases of re-use have so far been reported in Thessaly (only the small tholos Gritsa 1 shows a gap in the sequence of interments in LHIIIA2, but this case is unclear). Let us examine the range of tomb types in use in each period . In LHI-II (Map 8.7) new tombs were mostly built in the Volos area: the tholos in Kapakli, built tombs in Pefkakia, cists in Iolkos and a chamber tomb in Velestino. Undoubtedly, cists were used across the region, accompanied by pottery of MTh type, but the emphasis here is on the introduction of the 'Mycenaean' mode of burial, and not on the chronological distinction between the MBA and the LBA. The tholos in Georgikon may belong to this period (if it does not belong to the Iron Age !). In LHIIIA (Map 8.8) large tholoi continue to be used only in the Volos area: Kapakli goes out of use after LHIIIA1, Dimini 1 and perhaps Dimini 2 must have been built in LHIIIA2. Small tholoi appear in the coastal and northeastern areas (and perhaps in the southwest, if Anavra was built during this period), chamber tombs in the coastal, lake and northeastern areas, built tombs in the Pharsala region, cists everywhere. (The tumulus in Gonnos is of uncertain date.) Therefore, in LHIIIA we see in Thessaly a tendency towards diversification which stands in contrast to the trend towards homogeneity, observable primarily in the Argolid in LHIIIA onwards. In LHIIIB (Map 8.9) the situation does not really change: all types of tomb are in use (although, as I have said, the date of the tumulus in Gonnos is uncertain) and their distribution remains basically the same. In LHIIIC (Map 8.10) the picture changes: large tholoi disappear and all chamber tombs go out of use. Small tholoi are known certainly to continue only in Gritsa; cists remain in use, but in fewer sites; only the number of tumuli increases. It is not

115 a coincidence that small tholoi, tumuli and cists continue into the PG period. Despite the narrower range, there is still no homogeneity. To summarize: throughout the Mycenaean period there is a wide range of tomb types in use. In Thessaly we do not observe the trend towards homogeneity that characterizes the Argolid. 8.5. Categories of differentiation 8.5.1. Size Table 8.6 gives the distribution of types of tomb across the size categories and Figure 8.7 the range of size categories, for each type. The latter shows that the size range differs between types: cists occupy one end of the range, large tholoi and one tumulus the other, while the other types, especially the small tholoi, show a wider range of variation in the middle of the distribution. Examining spatial variation in size is only meaningful for the tholoi, since the other types are either represented by too few examples, or occupy one size category (cists), or are too localized (chamber tombs). Among the large tholoi, Kapakli in Iolkos is larger than the rest. Among the small ones, the largest are concentrated in Pteleon. We also know that large cists have been found in Iolkos. The coastal sites, while containing both large and small tombs, therefore housed all the larger specimens of tholoi and cists. The next step is to investigate chronological variation in size, by cross-tabulating size against the period of construction. For small tholoi (Table 8.8) there is no association between size and period of use. Within the Mega Monastiri site the size of chamber tombs decreases between LHIIIA2 and LHIIIB (Table 8.9), but the sample is too small to be conclusive. 8.5.2. Quality of construction The evidence for quality of construction is so limited that only a few observations can be made. Among the large tholoi, Dimini 2, of uncertain date, but probably LHIIIA2-B, is the best built. There is not much evidence about chamber tombs, but at least within Mega Monastiri no differences in surface finishing have been observed or mentioned. For the small tholoi, the situation is more complex because the evidence is incomplete and their form less standardized. The same holds for built tombs and tumuli, of which we have very few cases.

116 8.5.3. Wealth We must first examine the measure of diversity of goods against two other indications of wealth: the presence of exclusive ornaments and the quantity of valuable goods. In each region, different objects from within the range of prestige items are designated as exclusive. In Thessaly, the following items have a restricted distribution: bronze vases and swords, golden beads and rings, faience cylinder seals, and iron, silver and ivory objects. These objects are regularly deposited in tombs of high diversity. If we compare diversity and quantity of grave goods, we see that only the coastal tombs combine both diversity and quantity, and even then we are dealing primarily with small objects, like beads or ornaments; we see nowhere in Thessaly the ostentatious depositions which occur in the south. To concentrate on diversity alone: the distribution of tombs across the diversity classes (Figure 8.10) shows a continuum, but with an abrupt decrease between the poor (0, 1-4) and the moderately rich (5-9) cases. Let us first examine diversity in the different tomb types. As we can see in Figure 8.11, cists and pits occupy the lowest diversity range, but there is a certain amount of variation within the type. Built tombs and tumuli extend across values 1 to 9; small tholoi and chamber tombs overlap considerably. The evidence for large tholoi, although limited, seems consistent: Kapakli and especially Dimini 1 have high diversity indices, while the few golden objects left behind in Dimini 2 show that the tomb was at least moderately wealthy. For the doubtful tholos in Georgikon there is no information whatsoever, but, according to local rumour, the person who first opened it in 1917 became rich (Milojcic 1968, 1099). Thus, while a grading for the upper limit of diversity can be observed (see Figure 12), there is still considerable overlap between types. Only cists and large tholoi have more fixed positions, at the edges of the diversity scale, but even there variation within the type can be observed. It is worth examining whether states of preservation, temporal and spatial differences can account for the variation in diversity among the small tholoi and chamber tombs, for which we have more evidence. For the small tholoi, Table 8.12 shows that more than half our cases occupy the lower part of the range, but the low values are not due to poor preservation. Spatial variation can be noted: high values are concentrated in the Gritsa area and low ones in the northeastern plain. But spatial considerations leave variation within Gritsa and the wealth of Anavra unexplained. It can be suggested that variation at least within Gritsa is due to chronological factors: three of the tombs with low diversity were either only used in LHIIIC, or had their peak of deposition in the LHIIIC period. But, as we will see below, Gritsa is the site in eastern Thessaly least

117 affected by the LHIIIC decline. The diversity of goods among small tholoi can thus be connected to spatial variation, rather than to poor preservation and fluctuations through time. In the case of chamber tombs (Table 8.13), disturbance and robbing must have caused lower diversity values in the three 'poorest' cases. Still, just as for small tholoi, poor preservation cannot be the main reason for variation. Since chamber tombs are localized in the lake and coastal regions, and wealth differences exist within the Mega Monastiri cemetery, spatial variation can only account for the low value of Souphli Magoula, the only chamber tomb in the northeastern plain. Besides, chamber tombs are used within a narrow time span, basically the IIIA2-B period, and it is therefore not possible to postulate major fluctuations in the deposition of wealth. Although the evidence is too limited to be conclusive, it seems that chamber tombs are not consistently wealthy. However, it should be noticed that chamber tombs in Thessaly cover a narrower range than those in the Argolid: they are never totally devoid of valuables, but nor do they reach beyond a diversity index of 15. To conclude, while there is a grading of tombs along the upper limit of diversity, tomb types cannot be ordered in a rigid diversity scale; variation within each type creates a more complex and fluid picture. We now need to consider the relation between size and diversity for each tomb type separately. For the large tholoi, the relation between size and wealth cannot really be investigated, as the diversity of grave goods can only be established for Kapakli and Dimini 1. On the basis of this limited information, it can at least be suggested that in Thessaly we do not observe the spiral of architectural elaboration that can be seen in the Argolid as a whole and, most strikingly, in Mycenae. There is more evidence for the small tholoi, which have a wider range of size and diversity. Table 8.14 shows convincingly that there is no relation between size and diversity in the small tholoi. Chamber tombs (Table 8.15) occupy a narrower range of size and perhaps, if preservation is taken into account, a narrower range of wealth. There seems to be a closer relation between size and diversity than for small tholoi, but their number is too small to be conclusive. Thus, the limited evidence suggests that size might be related to diversity in chamber tombs, but not in small tholoi. It is time to examine the fluctuations in the deposition of wealth. As in the Argolid, the evidence will be examined by period among all the tombs in use, by

118 considering also when the wealth is deposited in each tomb, if this has been established. It has to be added that in Thessaly robbed cases are also taken into account, otherwise the number of tombs would be even smaller. The evidence for LHII (Figure 8.5, Map 8.11) comes almost exclusively from the Volos area, the robbed tholos at Georgikon being the only tomb (among those in the analysis, the unpublished Velestino chamber tomb not being included) which might have been in use during this period. The Kapakli tholos stands out, while cists and the Pefkakia built tomb occupy the lower categories. Undoubtedly, more cists with grave goods of Middle Thessalian type belong to this period, therefore in reality the distribution of wealth must have been more uneven. We have to note the concentration of both the Mycenaean burials and of wealth in the Volos area. In LHIIIA1 (Figure 8.6, Map 8.12), the gap between Kapakli and the other tombs is perhaps misleading, since Mega Monastiri A is robbed. However, even if we allow for a higher value for this tomb, the transition from the lower to the intermediate categories is still abrupt. In this period, according to the evidence we have, the Volos area seems to retain its exclusive access to prestigious goods. The distribution of types of tomb across the wealth categories does not change markedly from LHII: more cists appear in the lower categories (but we are not sure, in most cases, whether they were used in this phase), and the earliest chamber tomb in Almyros occupies the middle of the range. The earliest small tholos in Gritsa comes into use in LHIIIA1, but its valuable offerings are deposited later. The number of tombs increases markedly in LHIIIA2 (Figure 8.7, Map 8.13). The tholos Dimini 1 stands alone (or with the cleared out Dimini 2 ?) in the highest category. However, the gap between this and the intermediate categories may once more be due to robbing, as almost all of the chamber tombs and tholoi in the category 1-4 have been disturbed or robbed; for this reason, it would also be justifiable to postulate a more gradual transition between the lower and intermediate categories. The edges of the diversity range are associated with specific types: cists in the lowest category, large tholos in the highest. In this period, the intermediate categories contain only chamber tombs and small tholoi; if at least some of the robbed/disturbed tombs from the category 1-4 were to be transferred into these categories, a more consistent connection between these types and a specific range of diversity could be suggested. Although we might perhaps therefore see a more continuous distribution of wealth, differences would still be accentuated by the use of more elaborate and exclusive tombs. It is still not possible to postulate a universal association between type of tomb and diversity of goods. The situation is more complex because of spatial variation,

119 which becomes apparent in this period: richer tombs are concentrated in the coastal and lake regions. A characteristic of this period is the more widespread distribution of smaller amounts of wealth in peripheral sites, like Marmariani, Ayios Antonios and perhaps Spilia (if the small tholos there dates from LHIIIA2). We should also note a marked increase in the overall level of deposition of wealth: both the range of diversity and the number of tombs in the intermediate and high categories increase. The shape of the diversity histogram does not change markedly in the LHIIIB period (Figure 8.8, Map 8.14): there is a continuum of wealth across the intermediate and high categories and a more abrupt transition to the lowest categories (perhaps less abrupt in reality, if we take preservation into account). Cists remain in the lower groups (the number of cists appears inflated because of the inclusion of all eight Agrilia cists, which may date from this period) along with built tombs, one tumulus, and some small tholoi, all (except Gritsa 3) from sites in the interior. It is interesting that only one chamber tomb, the only one outside the lake and coast regions, now remains in the lower categories; all the others, along with some small tholoi and one built tomb, in Pharsala, are in the intermediate ones. One chamber tomb, Mega Monastiri D, and the tholos Dimini 1 occupy the higher categories. The pattern already observed in LHIIIA2 is enhanced; valuables are also found in small sites in the interior, like Pharsala and Ayios Antonios. In this period we find non-ceramic goods in the far west. Overall, spatial differentiation between coast/lake and the interior persists. In the LHIIIB period a peak in the deposition of wealth is reached, with the highest number of graves in the intermediate and higher categories. The discussion on LHIIIC will be brief, since this period is outside the scope of this study. The regions which were most prominent in the previous period, the coast and lake regions, appear totally blank (Map 8.15); it seems that in this period many burial sites were abandoned, and/or that links with southern Greece were severed. A few sites may have remained in use onn the periphery, but a complete lack of diagnostic LHIIIC objects makes their dating uncertain. There are two exceptions: the site of Gritsa in the south, which continues in use into the SM and PG periods, and the tombs in Agrilia and Hexalophos, which have their own local character and development. To summarize the main patterns in the deposition of wealth: The LHII-IIIA1 periods are characterized by a markedly uneven distribution of wealth, while in the LHIIIA2-B there is more of a continuum. A pattern of association between types of tomb and diversity of grave goods emerges, but does not constitute a rigid rule. The picture is made more complex because of spatial variation: richer tombs are

120 concentrated in the coastal and lake regions, while a scattering of poorer tombs appears in the regions of the interior. The LHIIIA2, and especially the LHIIIB, periods constitute the peak of the deposition of wealth in Thessaly. In LHIIIC the flow of prestige goods into Thessaly is disrupted. In Thessaly, therefore, we see a process of diffusion rather than centralization of wealth, but with the Volos region retaining its pre-eminent position until the onset of the LHIIIC period. 8.6 Discussion The Thessalian mortuary evidence from the late bronze age will now be summarized and discussed in connection with other kinds of evidence (e.g. settlement, pottery). 8.6.1. Cultural integration The basic regional characteristics of Thessalian mortuary practices are continuity from the MBA and attenuation of the Mycenaean mortuary forms. Both show that the Mycenaean mode of burial was adopted by the local population, rather than by settlers. The marked continuity from the MBA, seen mainly in the use of cists for single inhumations, stands in contrast to the more abrupt transformation of forms and practices in the Argolid. The same continuity can be detected in other spheres: the pottery retains many characteristic features of the MTh pottery and the highest frequency of imported wares in the coastal region anticipates similar developments in the LBA. A certain continuity can also be observed in the settlement pattern. 75% of the MBA settlements continue into the LBA (Halstead 1977, 25); some important LBA sites must already have been sizable settlements in the MBA (Feuer 1983, 49). The other characteristic of Thessaly, the attenuation of Mycenaean forms, is seen in the narrower range of disposal features, the lesser complexity of the funerary ritual and the restricted variety of grave goods and even of pottery types deposited in the graves. The local Mycenaean pottery shows the same dependence on southern prototypes and lack of original creation (Hunter 1953, 74; Feuer 1983, 191). The cultural homogeneity of Thessaly has been extensively discussed by Feuer in his work on the Mycenaean frontier in Thessaly (Feuer 1983). He emphasizes the differential integration of the coast and the interior into the Mycenaean world. Indeed, the coast is characterized by a fast adoption of Mycenaean mortuary practices and a diversity of forms, while in the interior the transmission was slow

121 and the range restricted. The question then is: is Thessaly culturally homogeneous despite its differential integration into the Mycenaean world ? Let us look at the distribution of certain practices and forms that have been considered local features. We observe the lack of standardization in cemetery organization and the persistence of single inhumation in cists across the region. Despite the fall-off in diversity, the co-existence of different tomb types, and a preference for certain ceramic types, such as alabastra, hold for the entire region. The distribution of small tholoi and cists across the whole region creates another element of unity, despite the more restricted distribution of large tholoi, chamber tombs and tumuli. We see, therefore, that the local features do not form consistent localized patterns. Furthermore, Thessalian mortuary practices are characterized by a general conformity to core area practices: the mode of disposal, the ritual practices, the funerary assemblage, all follow closely the Argive practices. Even if mortuary forms arrive and become gradually more attenuated, no consistent deviation can be observed until the graves of the northwest. If we accept that Thessaly is culturally homogeneous despite its differential integration, can we define its boundaries ? This question has also been discussed by Feuer (1983). His discussion of the demarcation between what he calls the 'border' zone, i.e. the eastern and western Thessalian plains, and the 'frontier', the mountainous regions to the north and west of the plains, is based on the frequency of occurrence of Mycenaean artefacts in burial assemblages, and on the absence of settlements in the mountains to the north and west (Feuer 1983, 186ff.). He concludes that the boundary was distinct and sharp. If the settlement evidence shows a clear demarcation, the mortuary evidence is more problematic. We have abundant information only for the Hexalophos and Agrilia graves; the few Mycenaean objects found to the north of the river Peneios come from unknown contexts (except those which were actually found in a cist, at Domenikon). Undoubtedly, Hexalophos and Agrilia constitute a separate, albeit mixed, assemblage which has connections with the Ionian islands, Epirus and Macedonia. Hexalophos and Agrilia are characterized by the use of single inhumations in cists, with or without a tumulus; by the presence of local wares, imitations of Mycenaean pottery (especially alabastra, the most common Thessalian Mycenaean shape) and bronze weapons and ornaments; and by the absence of ornaments of Mycenaean type (beads, etc.). However, it should be noted that both Hexalophos and Agrilia, and most likely the tumuli on the periphery of Thessaly, should be late LHIIIB or LHIIIC. This means that for the earlier periods we have evidence not for a strict cultural demarcation towards the interior, but rather for a progressive dilution of Mycenaean practices with local, simpler Thessalian forms.

122 We ought therefore to ask why 'Mycenaean-ness' should be expressed in different degrees across Thessaly. Is this simply a reflection of a purer Mycenaean identity in the coastal regions, or does it also result from the prevalence of different conditions in the different regions of Thessaly ? It is logical to assume that the coastal areas were receiving more pressure to conform to the practices of the culturally and politically dominant southern centres than were the areas of the interior. It is also rather unlikely that the (probably pastoralist) tribes in Pindus or western Macedonia were exerting cultural pressure on the Thessalian population. It was probably not vital in interior areas to maintain a cultural boundary through an emphasis on Mycenaean identity in burial. These are only speculations, but they suggest an explanation for the low emphasis on Mycenaean features in the interior. However, cultural considerations cannot exhaust the problem of the adoption of Mycenaean mortuary practices in Thessaly. They can explain Thessalian receptivity to Mycenaean cultural influence, but not its temporal and spatial attributes (the gradual adoption and the variation between the different subregions). In order to address these, we must move on to consider processes of social and political change. To conclude this discussion: the evidence indicates that the Mycenaean mode of burial was adopted in Thessaly by the indigenous population as an organic development, in response to the changes in the southern areas with which Thessaly shared a common cultural background. The question of the internal homogeneity of Thessaly has to take into account not only cultural, but also social and political conditions. 8.6.2. Social differentiation We have now to examine whether the adoption of Mycenaean mortuary practices was not only a symptom of cultural integration, but also an index of social developments. The question is whether the new modes of burial were used to differentiate the elite from the rest of the community. To answer this question, we would need detailed information about variation within sites. Unfortunately, the Thessalian evidence, because of the absence of large cemeteries or large excavations, is inadequate for this purpose. Nevertheless, we can make some general observations: we can examine whether a differentiating principle was at work in Thessalian mortuary practices, which forms it took and whether these forms were consistently and concurrently used, and how it developed through time and changed form across space. My analysis has so far established two main strategies of differentiation in mortuary practices:

123 a. the elaboration of the burial structure, b. the deposition of valuable items with the dead. The distribution of tomb types suggests that the elaboration of the burial structure was an important strategy of differentiation. The large tholos, except for the uncertain example in Georgikon, remained restricted to the Volos area throughout the period. The small tholos, as is indicated by its clearly smaller size and simplified construction as well as by its later appearance and more widespread distribution in the interior, was created as an adaptation of the tholos form to the locally available social force and resources. The limited numbers and localized distribution of the chamber tomb, the most common type of tomb in southern Greece, indicate its different and more socially exclusive use in Thessaly. The concentration of the built tombs in the southwestern area, where no chamber tombs and only one small tholos have so far been found, suggests that they may have been used as a substitute for these types. We should note that all these more or less elaborate types are in use, with few exceptions, in the LHIIIA2-B period. The second strategy of differentiation, the unequal deposition of wealth, must be examined in connection with tomb type. Let me summarize the observations made so far. Tomb types can be ordered along a scale of wealth by noting the highest diversity value they reach. In descending order, they are the large tholos, the chamber tomb, the small tholos, the built tomb, the tumulus, the cist and the pit. This scale, however, obscures the considerable overlap between the intermediate categories, and the different range of variation within each type. To place the tomb types in a rigid scheme, wherein each type would correspond to a level of wealth, would therefore be to oversimplify the picture. The situation is more complex and fluid than the scale suggests. We should rather ask when and where the two strategies are used concurrently. My discussion on fluctuations of wealth has indicated that in the LHII-IIIA1 there is an uneven distribution of wealth with the Kapakli tholos showing both elaboration of form and high diversity. In the LHIIIA2-B, if we allow for differential preservation, a more consistent association between tomb types and wealth levels seems to be emerging, with the Dimini tholos (or tholoi?) in the high diversity category, most small tholoi and chamber tombs in the intermediate ones, and cists in the lowest. It should be noted that of those chamber tombs and small tholoi that appear in the low category, the majority are in the northeastern area. Therefore, while there is in the LHIIIA2-B period overall a relative crystallization of rank levels, the two differentiation strategies are most consistently used in the coast and lake regions.

124 Some important patterns emerge from of this discussion: in the LHI-II period the adoption of Mycenaean practices and elaboration of mortuary forms are features exclusive to the coastal area, while as early as LHIIIA1, and certainly during LHIIIA2-B, elaborate tombs or imitations of their form, containing a certain number of valuables, appear in other parts of Thessaly. We should also note that this is the peak period for the deposition in wealth. On the basis of these observations, it can be suggested that mortuary practices were used in social strategies, and more precisely in a process of social competition, which spread and became more marked in the LHIIIA2-B period. The parallel use of differentiating strategies, the elaboration of the tholos form and the higher levels of wealth in the later tholoi in Dimini suggest that competition was strongest in the coastal area. By contrast, the regions of the interior present a more diffuse picture, in which Mycenaean mortuary practices were adopted and simplified according to the resources and social force that could be mobilized. It has been suggested that funerary practices were used in social competition, but given the present chronological resolution, our initial question cannot be answered: we cannot establish whether the initial adoption of the Mycenaean mode of burial was a strategy employed by the elite in order to secure its position. 8.6.3. Political structure We now need to discuss the political structure of Mycenaean Thessaly. Two issues will be addressed: the identification of territorial divisions in late bronze age Thessaly, and their eventual unification under a higher order centre. Feuer subdivides Thessaly into smaller units on the basis of a) settlement groupings coinciding roughly with geographical subdivisions (Feuer 1983, 92) and b) pottery exchange networks reconstructed through an analysis of surface pottery (ibid., 146). Feuer's identification of political territories in Mycenaean Thessaly is based on the assumption that a pre-state society contains in embryonic form and on a smaller scale the typical characteristics of a state society: a central place and territorial demarcation. Let us see whether this model fits the archaeological evidence. Of course, both characteristics are hard to identify without systematic fieldwork. Still, the deficiencies of the data provide a further justification for questioning Feuer's implicit assumptions. If we take the coastal region first, its centre could be located in Iolkos, even if the vicinity of Pefkakia and Dimini suggests a lower degree of centralization than that

125 found in the Argive polities. However, defining the boundaries towards the southwest and north is difficult: should we place Gritsa and the settlements in the lake region under the control of Iolkos ? The continuous scatter of settlements in the lake region includes two large settlements, Velestino and Petra -the latter most likely fortified- and two sites with chamber tombs, an early one in Velestino and a group of rather rich LHIIIA-B ones in Mega Monastiri. Neither the boundaries nor the centre of this area can be readily established. The characteristic of the northeastern area is the existence of many settlements of moderate size and importance, as well as that of several small tholoi and one chamber tomb, none of them really rich. Except for Marmariani and perhaps Gedhiki, these tombs are not associated with important settlements. This diffuse picture, and the absence of a clear centre, are impressions which can only be confirmed through more systematic research. Nevertheless, it is interesting that this settlement pattern coincides with the uniformly low level of wealth deposited in all the graves of the region. Habitation in the southwestern region is concentrated in the Enipeus valley, particularly its eastern part. The western part of the plain of Kardhitsa is very sparsely settled, but three fortified settlements may date from the Mycenaean period. Ktouri and Pharsala, the latter associated with fairly rich built tombs, are the two most important settlements yet found. The two burial sites in Othrys, (the two built tombs at Ayios Antonios and the fairly rich small tholos at Anavra) are not associated with settlements (Decourt 1990, 58). Although the eastern part of the area has a relatively clear settlement limit (the edge of the valley) and a probable centre in Pharsala (especially since the tholos at Anavra may not necessarily belong in this region), the situation in the western part is unclear. On the basis of this evidence, the division of Thessaly into demarcated political units organized around one centre seems doubtful. An important observation is that the situation differs across the region: the coastal area appears more centralized, while the northeastern area can tentatively be described as consisting of loose aggregations. The southwestern region is internally differentiated through uneven settlement density and perhaps different degrees of centralization. We now need to address the issue of the possible centralization and unification of Thessaly under Iolkos. Feuer is very cautious on this point. He suggests that if Thessaly was ever a single political entity, effective control by Iolkos must have been limited to a small (coastal and lake ?) region (Feuer 1983, 44); at any rate, unification in Thessaly must have been precarious and fragile (ibid., 175). The

126 question is whether a process towards centralization can be detected in the mortuary data. Let us first examine the adoption of elaborate burial structures. We have seen that in the LHII-IIIA1 period large and small tholoi and chamber tombs are found in the coastal area. In LHIIIA2-B large tholoi are found in Dimini, small tholoi throughout the entire region and chamber tombs in eastern Thessaly. Two points should be stressed: a) the 'vulgarization' of the tholos form, and b) the existence of elaborate tholoi outside Iolkos in the crucial LHIIIA2-B period. Both indicate that either the political power or the will to restrict elaborate graves to the 'centre' was absent from LHIIIA-B Thessaly. We have also seen that during the LHIIIA2B period more continuous distribution and dispersal of wealth from the coast to the interior took place, while the Volos area retained its pre-eminent position. These aspects of the mortuary evidence are not compatible with a trend towards political centralization. Halstead's analysis of the settlement data has reached a similar conclusion: the existence of several sites of comparable size, in certain cases found in close proximity, suggests a dispersed form of authority in LBA Thessaly (Halstead 1977, 24). To sum up my discussion of the political structure of Mycenaean Thessaly: the archaeological evidence does not support the hypothesis of politically demarcated units organized around a single centre. It indicates that there were differences in political structure between the more centralized coastal region and the interior, and also, to a lesser extent, between the different regions of the interior. The burial evidence refutes the idea of the unification of Thessaly under Iolkos in LHIIIA2-B, but emphasizes the pre-eminent position of Iolkos, or rather of the wider Volos area, throughout the period. If direct political control is excluded, how can the relations between the coast and the interior be interpreted? My suggestion is that the pre-eminence of the coastal site(s) was maintained through their close ties to the southern centres and their control over the transmission of socially valued goods to the local leaders in the interior. We have seen that valuable items were deposited first in the coastal area, and only later, over a narrower range and in smaller quantities, in the interior; also, that there are no prestige goods in the interior that are not found in the coastal area. These objects must have been imported from southern Greece, either in finished form or as raw materials, since the moulds for metalwork and simple ornaments recovered sporadically from the coastal sites (Tsountas 1908, 333-5; Theocharis 1961, 48-9;

127 Catling 1972, 14) indicate the existence of local industries. The coastal centres would have exerted control over the flow of these goods, which with the spread of the Mycenaean mode of burial were becoming important in social performance. It is interesting to note that the two other sites where wealth is concentrated in LHIIIA2-B, the Mega Monastiri cemetery and, to a lesser extent, Pharsala, are situated on routes from the Volos area to the interior (for the southwestern area and the route through the Asmaki river to the Enipeus valley see Decourt 1990, 60). By contrast, very few valuables are found in the northeastern area and the far west of Thessaly. This pattern may indicate that valuable goods reached the interior through a centralized gift-exchange system, controlled by the coastal centres. To summarize: the mortuary evidence does not support the theory of the unification of Thessaly under Iolkos. What it suggests, however, is the political pre-eminence of the coastal area through control over the means of social reproduction: the socially valued goods and the symbolic knowledge attached to them. After this discussion, the interplay between the external stimulus and the internal organic development becomes clearer. The motivating force was certainly cultural and political influence from the south, but the reasons for Thessalian receptivity must be sought in the internal social and political conditions, and not only in a similar cultural background.

128

Chapter 9. Mortuary practices in the Dodecanese 9.1. Introduction The Dodecanese consists of a group of fourteen islands in the southeastern Aegean, at an important crossroads between the Aegean, Crete and the Levant. The largest islands are Rhodes, Kos and Karpathos. There are substantial differences in productivity between the islands, Kos and Rhodes being the most fertile, while Karpathos, Kalymnos, Patmos and Astypalaia are more rugged. Not all of the islands have good natural harbours: Rhodes has no good anchorage, and Kos Town is the only protected harbour in Kos, while some of the other islands, like Kalymnos and Leros have very deep and well-protected bays. There is evidence for Mycenaean occupation in most of the islands, but its intensity seems to have been uneven. Research on the Mycenaean period has centred on Rhodes and Kos, and a recent study (Melas 1985) has presented the evidence from Karpathos, Kasos and Saria, but the rest of the islands are imperfectly known, despite the early surveys by Hope Simpson and Lazenby (1962, 1970, 1973). The mortuary evidence is impressive, but highly uneven and partial. Almost all of the information is derived from cemeteries, many of them excavated illicitly at the beginning of the century. Nevertheless, the mortuary evidence in the Dodecanese has an advantage over that in the Argolid, and certainly over that in Thessaly: two large and extensively excavated cemeteries, Ialysos in Rhodes and Eleona-Langada in Kos. The quality of the information as is not as high as it is in some of the Argive cemeteries, but the information is nevertheless consistent and systematic - some additional information from the Italian excavation notebooks has recently become available through Benzi's study of the material (Benzi 1982, 1988b; 1988c). However, there are other problems. There is no information for the tombs excavated by Biliotti in Ialysos, apart from the finds; the excavation documents of Eleona, Kos, were lost during the war, and the very bad preservation of the Langada tombs prevents the description of most of the tombs and some burials. But on the whole, these shortcomings are balanced out by the most important characteristic of the Dodecanesian mortuary record: the tight chronological control provided by ceramic studies, and in particular by Mee's recent work on the Dodecanesian material (Mee 1975, 1982). The real problems begin outside these large cemeteries: on the one hand, the Dodecanesian evidence is fairly extensive (179 tombs are included in the analysis, and 37 sites in the site register); on the other hand, our knowledge is based on the few

129 tombs which escaped looting -or, worse, on old reports mentioning tombs located or robbed. The other main problem in the Dodecanese is the almost total lack of excavated settlements. Whether Trianda was abandoned at the time when the first chamber tombs were built (Furumark 1950), or whether the LHIIIA2 to LHIIIC settlement levels are eroded away (Benzi 1988a), the end result is the same: we have no information on the dwellings of the people buried in Makra Vounara and Moschou Vounara. While the Mycenaean settlement in the Seraglio in Kos was extensively excavated before the war, the excavation records have all been lost. Fortunately, both in Trianda and in the Seraglio, new information is becoming available through new excavations by the Greek Archaeological Service (Papazoglou 1982; Marketou 1987, 1988). In the Dodecanese, the proportion of sites included in the site register, but not in the analysis, is higher than in the other regions (23 out of 37 sites). In certain sites, such as Paradhisi (2), Damatria (3), Maritsa, Kapsalovouno (4), Siana, Kymisala (12), Apollakia (14), Lardos, and Troullovouno (20), there is no information on individual tombs, either because they have been extensively looted, or because the 19th to early 20th century excavators did not leave any excavation records, or both. In other cases, the tombs have reported, but the only evidence we have for them consists of grave goods in private collections across the world, as is the case, for instance, with Fanes (7), Kritinia (11), Lachania (16), Asklipio (19) and Koskinou (23) in Rhodes, Antimacheia (25) and Asklepieion (26) in Kos, Diafani (34) in Karpathos and Pothia Perakastro in Kalymnos (37). In a few cases, the evidence consists of single, accidentally discovered and/or destroyed examples: this is the case with Tolon (5) in Rhodes, Ayia Paraskevi (27) and Eleona (28 -a site in the south and not the homonymous site near Kos Town) in Kos, Synkairos (36) in Astypalaia and Stavrou to Kefali (32) in Karpathos. Finally, only three sites (those for which the evidence is most reliable) have been included here out of those reported at a number of sites: Soroni (6), Monolithos (13) and Yenadhi, Ayia Sotira (17). Information on these sites can be found in Appendix II; their location is given on Map 9.1. Throughout the chapter, the name of the island is not given after the site name for the sites in Rhodes; the island name is always added for the sites in the other islands, except in the case of Langada in Kos which is referred to frequently. Unless specifically mentioned, all tombs referred to are chamber tombs.

130 9.2. Continuity from the MBA Our knowledge of MBA burial practices in the Dodecanese is minimal: some pithos burials found, e.g. in Asklupi and Mesaria in Kos, probably belong to the end of the EBA, rather than to the MBA. The evidence points to an abrupt introduction of Mycenaean mortuary practices in LHIIB -a situation markedly dissimilar to that in the Argolid and Thessaly. It is important to note that the earlier graves do not differ in any respect from the later ones and do not show any transitional or divergent features. 9.3. Regional characteristics 9.3.1. The cemetery In the Dodecanese no intra-mural burials have ever been reported from the settlements. The extra-mural cemeteries consist almost exclusively of chamber tombs, as other types of tomb are very rare in the Dodecanese. Although single tombs are reported, the norm seemed to be larger groups of tombs, perhaps up to 20 in most sites. The cemeteries at Ialysos consist of 39 (Makra Vounara) and 90 (Moschou Vounara) tombs, the EleonaLangada cemetery consists of more than 84 tombs; large cemeteries are reported in Vaty-Apsaktiras, Siana-Kymisala and perhaps Lardos-Troullovouno, while Apollakia reportedly consists of approximately 1000 tombs. In the extensively excavated cemeteries (Ialysos, Eleona-Langada) and those where the tombs are still visible (Vaty, Apsaktiras; Apollakia, Stous Milous), the tombs are located close together following the geomorphology, rather than forming distinct groupings as they do in the Argolid. Thus, Dodecanesian cemeteries present a more homogeneous picture than do the Argive or Thessalian ones. In the cases where the associated settlements have been located, we can observe that just as in the rest of the Mycenaean world, cemeteries are located at a distance from the habitation. What is striking about the Dodecanese is that the cemeteries are in most cases located to the west (also northwest, southwest) of the settlement, with only two exceptions (Paradhisi, Asprovilo; Pigadhia, Skopi in Karpathos) which are located to the southeast of the settlement. 9.3.2 The tomb Almost all tombs in the Dodecanese are chamber tombs (Figure 9.1). Cists or pits of 'late Mycenaean' (?) date have been reported in Soroni. Only 5 graves of a different type have been found, all in Moschou Vounara (Table 9.1). They are pits or pit-like graves, but do not form a distinctive type -one may actually be a collapsed chamber tomb-, nor do they belong to the same period. Two are child burials, one is accompanied by a Cypriot juglet. In considering the external appearance of the tombs, we must mention the 8 stone blocks, carrying incised signs, found in 6 tombs in Makra

131 Vounara (Table 9.2), as they have been interpreted as markers (Maiuri 1923-4, passim). A stone block with a wedge inserted in one side, was found in another grave, along with an irregular stone, more readily explainable as being a marker. Some of these blocks were found above the door, in the dromos fill or lying on the collapsed vault debris, but it is difficult to demonstrate that they were visible after the closure of the tomb. Mee has interpreted them as altars (1982, 11). Whatever their function was, it is important to note that there are no parallels with these blocks in the Mycenaean world, nor anywhere else in the Dodecanese. The orientation of the tombs is more uniform than that in the Argolid. Tombs are generally orientated towards the east or north -only the Langada tombs are orientated towards the west. It is interesting that some tombs are cut almost parallel to rather than against the slope in order to conform to the prevailing direction within a cemetery. Thus, the almost exclusive use of chamber tombs and the relative uniformity in tomb orientation reinforces the picture of homogeneity in Dodecanesian cemeteries.

9.3.3. The mode of disposal (i) Cenotaphs ? We shall begin the presentation of the modes of disposal by examining the cases where no burials were found in the tombs. The bad preservation of the tombs and of the skeletal remains (especially in Langada), the incomplete descriptions in the old excavation reports, and the robbing of the tombs, may explain the lack of human remains in several tombs. However, there are 6 chamber tombs (Table 9.3) whose excavators positively state that human bones are absent from them. Five of these tombs are very small (smaller than 2m2), so they may belong to child burials -but it must be said that tombs of this size occur in the Dodecanese much more often than in the other regions, and can contain adults. Two tombs should be singled out. In Moschou Vounara 14, a pit -a rare feature in the Dodecanese, as we will see below- was cut along the entire surface, but the grave was found to be totally empty. Moschou Vounara 82 was according to the excavator (Jacopi 1930-31, 312-3), found intact, but empty and filled in. However, Mee (1982, 8) suggests that it may simply have been robbed. The evidence for cenotaphs is therefore inconclusive. (ii) Cremation and inhumation In the Dodecanese cremations appear towards the end of the period, but are not very common. They are found in Ialysos, in both Makra and Moschou Vounara, and in one case in Langada. They occur in chamber tombs along with inhumations, and are found in a vase, most often a globular jug, or in a pit; sometimes the vase has been placed inside a pit. It is generally accepted that the use of cremation, already evidenced in

132 LHIIIA2-B in Müsgebi, was introduced in the Dodecanese in the LHIIIC period. In recent years, however, intriguing new evidence has suggested that the practice might already have been introduced in LHIIIA-B, albeit in a slightly different form (see Map 9.3). In Vonies in Karpathos, burnt human remains and traces of a strong fire were found on the floor of the tomb, dating from LHIIIA-B. Burnt bones were found in both tombs in Synkairos in Astypalaia, again with LHIIIA-B pottery. In all three cases there were traces of a strong fire, which cannot be interpreted as fumigation (especially since fumigations are very rarely observed in Dodecanesian tombs -see below, in section 9.3.4). However, the bones were charred rather than calcinated (Melas 1985, 169). We should perhaps also admit similar evidence from the tombs Makra Vounara 19 and Kalavarda-Kaminaki Lures 1, which have so far been so far dismissed on chronological grounds. We may therefore have here a departure, albeit a rare one, from the 'typical' Mycenaean mode of burial. (iii) The inhumations In the Dodecanese, throughout the period, inhumations are the rule. Both multiple and single tombs are found, but the percentage of single (chamber) tombs is clearly higher than that in the Argolid or Thessaly (Table 9.4). Out of the 5 pits or pit-like graves of Ialysos, 3 are single, and one a double child burial, while for the fifth one there is no information. 21% of chamber tombs are single. Among the tombs with single interments, all pits and most chamber tombs contain one primary burial. There are three, not very well documented, cases of tombs containing secondary burials only: Kalavarda, Aniforos 2; Kattavia, Ayios Minas 1; Langada 42. The possibility therefore, exists, as in the Argolid, that tombs were re-opened in order to give secondary treatment to an earlier burial, but in the Dodecanese this practice is rarely observed. The distribution of primary and secondary burials in the multiple tombs (Table 9.5), if compared to that of the Argolid or Thessaly, shows an interesting picture, with a very high frequency of tombs with only primary burials, and a low number of tombs with secondary burials only. No consistent differences emerge between cemeteries or islands in this respect, but again there are cases where information is missing. This indicates that secondary treatment was much less pervasive in the Dodecanese than in the mainland. The primary burials are, on the whole, more often placed in an extended position within the chamber tombs, just as in the Argive chamber tombs. However, in this respect there are differences between the cemeteries (Table 9.6). In Ialysos, the extended position is by far the more common; the evidence from the other Rhodian cemeteries is scanty, but

133 the few burials there are all also in the extended position. By contrast, in Langada and in Mesaria in Kos the primary burials are all laid in a contracted position. The primary burials are only in a few cases deposited in a burial feature: a bench and a niche in Ialysos, a pithos outside chamber tomb Langada 58 (in the dromos ?), and in one case in a larnax in Vonies, Karpathos. The larnax is a Minoan rather than Mycenaean form, while the pithos burial can be traced both to earlier local practices and to neighbouring Crete. Just as in the Argolid, secondary burials are sometimes found scattered around rather than removed into specific features. What distinguishes the Dodecanese from the Argolid and even from Thessaly, however, is the almost total lack of burial features pits, niches, etc.- used for the secondary burials, which are, as a rule, swept into individual or mixed heaps. It seems therefore that secondary treatment was not only less frequent in the Dodecanese, but also took less varied forms. However, burial features, apparently not connected to burial remains, have sometimes been reported. Again, differences can be noted between the islands: pits are found only in Ialysos, and platforms only in Langada. It is worth observing that the placement of the burials in the Dodecanese does not seem entirely to follow the Argive pattern: the burials recorded under the 'width/length axes' category are in the majority, but are as a rule placed towards the entrance, something which does not occur regularly in the Argolid (Figure 9.2). However, the high number of unknown cases does not allow us to assess the extent of this difference. We have already observed some differences from 'typical' ( we should rather say Argive) burial practices, perhaps in the use of space within the tomb, but mostly in the high number of single and primary interments and the simpler picture of the secondary burials. If we compare Figure 9.3 (the number of burials found in each Dodecanese tomb) with Figure 7.2 (the same for the Argolid), we can see that the Dodecanesian tombs contain a much smaller number of people than the Argolid ones, with most tombs containing not more than 4 burials. This explains to a certain extent the large size of the cemeteries, but also implies an important difference in the definition of the burying group. If we combine this observation with the lack of distinct groupings in the cemeteries, we begin to acquire at least an impression of a different organizational scheme in the Dodecanesian communities. (iv) Child burials We have seen, in the Argolid in particular, that the child burials allow important insights into the organization of society. The Dodecanesian evidence has to be treated with some caution: because of the bad preservation of the skeletal material, the existence of child burials is in 9 out of the 28 cases deduced from the lack or scarcity of

134 human remains from the small size of the tomb. These will be referred to below as uncertain cases. Two among the 5 pit-like graves contain child burials: in Moschou Vounara 76, a primary infant was found, accompanied by a Cypriot juglet dating from LHIIIA, and in Moschou Vounara 81, two child burials (it is not known whether primary or secondary) were found in larnakes. All the other child burials were found in chamber tombs. In 5 certain and 9 uncertain cases, we are dealing with chamber tombs used exclusively for children (Table 9.7). These are mostly small tombs, but we will see below, in section 9.5.1, that small tombs are the rule in the Dodecanese. The level of wealth deposited with these burials presents an uneven picture: if we first consider the tombs definitively only used for children, we see that in two cases there are no offerings, and in another two a few glass-paste beads and lead wire fragments. In Makra Vounara 51, however, a knife and glass-paste beads are associated with a LHIIIA2 primary child burial. The child buried in a pithos in Langada 58 was given a bronze pin and a chisel. Child burials with secure find associations in tombs containing adults as well confirm these observations: in some cases no offerings were found, in others there were some beads, but in Makra Vounara 28 and 52 golden beads or foil ornaments were associated with the child burial. It should also be noted that the same types of pottery are deposited with both adult and child burials; neither the (rare) figurines and miniature vases, nor feeding bottles, are associated with child burials. Child burials could be primary or secondary, and even a case of cremation has been found (Moschou Vounara 71). In two cases, primary burials were placed on benches, or rather ledges, left in the rock; some pits found empty have been interpreted as containing perished child burials, and the child burial in a pithos in Langada has been mentioned already. To sum up, children were buried both separately and among adults; tombs used exclusively for children were on the whole small, but so are most Dodecanesian tombs; the level of wealth deposited with child burials is not uniformly low. The general impression is that the distinction between children and adults is less marked than in the Argolid.

9.3.4. Ritual practices (i) Ritual use of the dromos The only case of a burial possibly deposited in the dromos is the pithos burial in Langada 58. Kylix fragments are found rarely, in 5 out of 174 chamber tombs. In another 5 cases pottery, and in one case an offering table, were, perhaps purposefully, deposited in the dromos. The cases where pottery was deposited in an 'ante-chamber'

135 in between two blocking walls (Makra Vounara 19 and 24) should also be mentioned here. (ii) Removal Removal is observed in only 18 cases, but this may be a minimal figure. The evidence for removal consists of pottery in the dromos or the entrance of the tomb. In only one case was a fragmentary figurine left behind, and in one case valuable offerings were found scatttered. Human bones have never been found in the dromos or entrance. However, this does not mean that burials were never removed from the chamber, but rather that when this was done the tombs were carefully and thoroughly cleared of their contents. Indeed, in two cases (Moschou Vounara 24 and 72), only one burial was found, but the pottery belonged to two different periods. It is quite likely that some of the tombs used exclusively in the LHIIIC period were emptied and re-used. It is not possible to establish whether removal was practised in order to create space, as there is hardly any information on the amount of space used up in the tombs. In any case, all cases of removal are associated with multiple burials. It would be difficult to suggest that the intention was to take out the valuable offerings, because removal is not regularly associated with the wealthiest graves. Precisely this observation, however, could be used to suggest a more thorough removal of valuables than we seem to observe in the Argolid. Such inferences, however, can be neither proved nor disproved. The important point to note is that the evidence for removal in the Dodecanese does not conform fully to the Argive practices -but the difference, if indeed there is one, is difficult to interpret. (iii) Ritual practices No instances of animal sacrifice have been noted in the Dodecanese. A pit containing blackened earth in Makra Vounara 51 has been described as a 'sacrificial pit'. Fumigation has been observed in only 2 cases, both in Langada in Kos. A bent sword was discovered in Langada 21 in Kos. Scattered pottery was found in Vaty, Passia 1. The stone blocks which have been interpreted as altars by Andronikos (1968, 117) and Mee (1982, 11) have already been discussed above, in section 9.3.2, while addressing their possible function as markers. We see, therefore, that the Dodecanese, just like Thessaly, has little evidence for ritual practices beyond the disposal of the body. However, except in the case of the stone blocks, which all come from Ialysos, we observe no concentration of these practices in certain islands or sites. 9.3.5. The funerary assemblage

136 (i) The pottery Unlike Thessaly, the Dodecanese is characterized by a rich and varied ceramic assemblage, which has attracted a lot of attention. It is interesting that most part of the decorated pottery deposited in tombs, even the vases decorated in a distinctive style until recently considered local, is imported. The imports come in the LHIIIA period almost exclusively from the Argolid, but in the LHIIIB period from Attica and Boeotia as well (Jones 1986, 501ff.). However, in Karpathos, which is situated nearer to Crete, Minoan pottery, both imported or local, is found until at least the beginning of LHIIIB -but even there, the number of Mycenaean imports increases through time. The first characteristic of the Dodecanese is a wide range of 'complex' vases. Most prominent and common in this category are two local types, the basket vase and the brazier, both of unknown function. Multiple vases and rhyta are also found -the latter also in elaborate Minoan forms. Askoi and especially miniatures, the prevalent types in the Argolid, are rare. There are differences in distribution across the different sites -for instance, most multiple vases are found in Moschou Vounara. More important are the differences between islands, already pointed out by Mee (1982, 16-7): basket vases and braziers occur in Rhodes and in Karpathos, but rarely or not at all in Kos or Astypalaia. Discussing the range of types between sites would be a pointless exercise, considering the fragmentary and uneven information. Closed vases, just as in the Argolid, are most common in graves. The most frequently occurring types are the stirrup jar and the piriform jar, followed by the jug, in particular the globular type, and the amphoriskos. In contrast to the Argolid and Thessaly, alabastra are rare, although the square alabastra are found more widely. Within this general pattern, there are again some local differences. Piriform jars are more common in Rhodes, Karpathos and Astypalaia; amphoriskoi abound in Moschou Vounara; square alabastra are more common in Kos. In contrast to the domestic assemblage, as the limited evidence from Seraglio suggests (Mee 1975, 226), open vases in tombs are less numerous than closed ones. The kylix is by far the commonest shape; in the Dodecanese the shape remains popular even during the LHIIIC period, i.e. after its decline in the Argolid. Certain shapes that are conspicuously absent in the Argolid -such as the krater, the mug, and especially the deep bowl- are found in the Dodecanese, though not in large quantities. By contrast, the Dodecanese lacks the wide variety of cup forms that is found in the Argolid. It is interesting that no ring-handled cups are found; this may indicate that the LHIIB pottery found in the graves was actually deposited in the LHIIIA1 period, although regional preferences cannot be excluded. No major differences between the sites or the islands can be detected for the open shapes.

137 Before finishing the presentation of the ceramic assemblage, we should note that only in one case, in Langada, has an Anatolian vase been found in the tombs. (ii) Figurines Figurines are noticeably rare in the Dodecanese (Map 9.4). In Ialysos a relatively wide range of types is found, but in very small numbers; elsewhere, they are found in only 3 sites. Large wheel-made figurines, probably of Minoan origin (Mee 1982, 44), as well as figurines attached to vases, are found in the LHIIIC period. In this period, the number of figurines in Ialysos increases and they appear for the first time in Kos. Figurines do not seem often to occur in the domestic assemblage either; so far, one animal figurine has been found in mixed layers in Trianda, and one Phi-figurine in Seraglio. (iii) Valuable offerings Compared to the Argolid, the Dodecanese is, of course, characterized by a narrower and rather repetitive range of valuable offerings, but still this is more varied than the Thessalian assemblage. We have to keep in mind, however, that many sites have been extensively looted. Consequently, the emphasis here will be placed on the presence or absence of types, rather than on the range or quantity of valuables. The Dodecanese resembles Thessaly in the frequent occurrence of weapons, but also in the absence of the more ornate types. Indeed, weapons are the most widespread category (Map 9.5), but those found belong to simple, undecorated types. Spearheads, knives and cleavers-if indeed the knives and the cleavers, or perhaps razors, can be considered weapons-, are more common than daggers and swords. They are often found in sets, although not in fixed combinations. The highest concentration is seen in Ialysos, and particularly in Moschou Vounara. It is interesting that weapons have already appeared quite densely, and in a more or less wide range, in LHIIIA1-A2 (as already noted by Benzi 1988b, 61). In contrast to Thessaly, some containers made of precious materials are found, almost exclusively in Ialysos (an ostrich egg rhyton, 2 ivory pyxides, a stone lamp, about 4 bronze vases, and a glass-paste cup). In Langada only a shallow marble cup has been found; a steatite bowl, of unknown date, reportedly comes from Soroni; bronze vases have been found in Armenochori, in Patelles in Astypalaia and perhaps in Vaty (Map 9.6). Metal ornaments -mostly beads, simple rings and foil ornaments- again occur almost solely in Ialysos and Langada. The richest assemblage has been found in Ialysos, as

138 have some pieces unique in the Dodecanese: two rings with granulation and filigree decoration, elektron ornaments, and an iron bracelet. In Langada, both a narrower range and smaller quantities are found. For the rest, a handful of simple ornaments has been found in Paradhisi and Vaty in Rhodes, and in Vonies in Karpathos. The range of metal ornaments does not change markedly through time, although iron first appears in the LHIIIC period. Jewelry made from other materials occurs more widely. Once more, differences between sites can be observed: amber is exclusive to Ialysos and Langada, while faience, glass-paste and semi-precious stones are found in a few other sites. Amber occurs from LHIIIB onwards, while the quantity of ivory objects increases in LHIIIC. It is interesting that seals are not common; in LHIIIC, scarabs and cylinder seals appear, but again in small quantities. We should also consider the distribution of some objects which are common in the Argolid: whorls occur widely; tweezers are found in Ialysos and Kalavarda in Rhodes, and in Langada; lead wire fragments are found in Ialysos and Langada. Mirrors are found only in LHIIIC Ialysos, and an ivory comb is found in LHIIIC Langada. Finally, tools are relatively often found in these tombs. To summarize the observations so far: the range of valuables is much narrower than that in the Argolid, but more varied than the Thessalian assemblage. Ialysos is clearly richer, when compared to Langada or to the other, less well documented sites in Rhodes and the other islands. It is interesting to note that certain objects, such as amber, iron, and seals of eastern provenance, appear late, mostly in the LHIIIC period, where the highest diversity of valuables can be observed. To summarize the main regional characteristics: Dodecanesian cemeteries are remarkably homogeneous, as they consist almost exclusively of chamber tombs. The prevailing mode of disposal is inhumation, but cremation is introduced in LHIIIC, if not before, in LHIIIA-B. A smaller number of people are buried in the chamber tombs, and secondary treatment is less pervasive than in the Argolid. There is little evidence for ritual practices beyond the disposal of the body. Pottery, while fairly distinctive, is largely imported; finally, the range of valuable objects is more restricted than in the Argolid, but wider than that in Thessaly. 9.4. Developments through time

139 The fluctuations in the number of tombs have already been noted and discussed by Mee (1975, 1982; Benzi 1988b). As we can see in Figure 9.4, the number of tombs in use increases through LHIIIA1-A2, falls in LHIIIB and reaches a peak in LHIIIC -a pattern markedly different from those in both Argolid and Thessaly. The picture becomes sharper if we also examine the rates of construction (Figure 9.5) and abandonment (Figure 9.6) through time. LHIIB pottery has been found only in 5 tombs in Moschou Vounara, which all continue in use in LHIIIA1. This, along with the absence of ring-handled cups, reinforces the suggestion that we should place the beginnings of the cemetery in LHIIIA1, rather than in LHIIB. The number of tombs increases markedly in the LHIIIA1 period, as many new tombs are built in all the large cemeteries. At the same time, new sites appear in Rhodes and in the other islands (Map 9.7). In Rhodes, most sites are concentrated on the northwestern coast, while tombs are also found in Karpathos and Kos, but only in a few sites, some associated with large coastal settlements. The number of tombs in use grows markedly in the LHIIIA2 period and the number of new tombs reaches a peak. All the large cemeteries, except Eleona in Kos, grow considerably. However, we should also note that a number of tombs (in Ialysos and Eleona) are abandoned between the LHIIIA1 and LHIIIA2 periods. This is not surprising, because the Dodecanesian tombs generally have a much shorter period of use than the Argive ones, something that should also be connected with the small number of burials and the small size of the tombs. In Map 9.8 we can see the increase in the number of sites across the region. This can be observed especially in Rhodes: the density of sites in the northwestern coastal plain increases, and cemeteries now also appear towards the interior (Apollona, Lelos), in the south, and on the eastern coast. In Kos, more sites also appear, scattered across the island's fertile plains; the number of sites increases even in Karpathos and Astypalaia, for which our knowledge is much more limited. The LHIIIB decline affects the large cemeteries unevenly: a marked fall in numbers can be observed in Makra Vounara and Moschou Vounara; in Eleona there is a slight decrease, while the numbers of both tombs in use and new tombs in Langada actually increase. A decline can also be observed in other Rhodian cemeteries, like Kalavarda, Aniforos and Apollona, Lelos. However, it is difficult to estimate the extent of this decline across the entire island, or the region as a whole (Map 9.9), since in most sites the evidence consists of a single tomb, or only of pottery. For the same reason, it is difficult to decide whether a site is a new foundation. Even regarding the situation in Rhodes, opinion is divided: according to Mee, the southern part of Rhodes seems to be less affected (Mee 1982, 90) than Ialysos and the other northwestern sites. He therefore

140 postulates the destruction of Ialysos and other sites on the northwestern coast (1988). In contrast, Benzi (1988b, 64) suggests depopulation in most of the island. The LHIIIC period sees the peak in the number of tombs in use (Map 9.10). This is not due only to the construction of new tombs, but also to re-use and relatively high continuity between LHIIIB and LHIIIC. However, this increase is not uniform across the large sites: it is very marked in Moschou Vounara and Langada, but not in Eleona, while in Makra Vounara the number of tombs in use falls. The increase in the number of tombs, especially in Ialysos, with the re-use of earlier tombs, is a central problem in Dodecanesian prehistory, but lies outside the scope of the present discussion (extensive discussions can be found in Mee 1982, Benzi 1988b, MacDonald 1986). To summarize: if we compare the fluctuations in the numbers of tombs between the Argolid and the Dodecanese, we can observe a period of growth in both regions in LHIIIA, and divergent developments from LHIIIB onwards: the slight decline in the Argolid in LHIIIB is minimal compared to the Dodecanesian situation, while the spectacular recovery in the Dodecanese in LHIIIC presents a marked contrast to the overall decline in the Argive sites. 9.5. Categories of differentiation 9.5.1. Size Figure 9.7 shows the distribution of all tombs by size. As we can see, all the pits and pit-like tombs are very small, but the chamber tombs also cluster in the smaller categories, i.e. have normally a surface area smaller than 4.9m2. While in the Argolid the chamber tombs range between size categories 1 and 7, in the Dodecanese only 4 tombs, all in Ialysos, reach categories 4 and 5. The Langada tombs are on the whole smaller than the ones in Ialysos, but in many cases the size could not be established, because of bad preservation. No other major differences can be detected between sites. If we examine size against time, i.e. period of construction (Table 9.8), we can see that the peak in size is in LHIIIA2, while a concentration in the smaller categories can be observed in LHIIIB and a slight increase in categories 3 and 4 in LHIIIC. The only tomb in category 5 cannot be dated accurately. However, the differences between the periods are not really dramatic. In the Dodecanesian tombs we cannot observe marked changes in energy input into graves. It is important to note that the small size of the tombs indicates that they were built with a small group of people in mind. Therefore, the low numbers of burials in the Dodecanesian tombs cannot be attributed to bad preservation (contra Mee 1988, 303), but are a genuine local characteristic.

141 It would be meaningless to discuss the quality of construction in the Dodecanesian tombs when no information exists for 142 out of the 174 chamber tombs. The only case of decoration is a fascia in a rich LHIIIB tomb in Moschou Vounara. The absence of decoration accentuates the picture of homogeneity created by the exclusive use of chamber tombs and the uniformly small size of the tombs. 9.5.2. Wealth We should first examine diversity against the quantity of grave goods and the presence of more exclusive objects. We have seen that in Ialysos we find both a diverse range of goods and some exclusive objects, such as an ostrich egg rhyton, precious containers, ornate gold rings, and elektron and iron ornaments. However, all these objects, indeed all valuable objects in the Dodecanese, are found in small quantities; the accumulative ethos which characterizes the Argolid is not really observed in the Dodecanese. In Figure 9.8 we can see the distribution of all the tombs across the diversity categories. All the pits and pit-like tombs are found in the two lowest categories, while the chamber tombs span the range between 0 and 16, with a clear peak in the lowest categories. Compared to those found in the Argolid, the levels of wealth deposited in the Dodecanesian tombs are very low: the Argive chamber tombs alone reach a diversity index of 29, while in the Dodecanese only one LHIIIC tomb, Langada 10, has a diversity index of 16. Of the 10 tombs with a diversity index of 10 to 14, 5 are in Makra and 4 in Moschou Vounara, and one in Langada. The overall levels of wealth in Ialysos are higher than those in Langada, as a larger percentage of tombs is found in the categories 5 to 14 (see Table 9.9). If we set diversity of grave goods against size (Table 9.10), we can observe a correlation, which holds better for the poorer tombs and the tombs of moderate wealth the only tomb in category 15-19 is not remarkably large, and the only tomb in size category 5 has been robbed. We now need to examine the fluctuations in the deposition of wealth through time. The evidence will be presented for each period by examining the range of wealth in all tombs in use; tombs for which a peak in the deposition of wealth has been established in a different period from that under consideration, will not be taken in account. Robbed tombs are also excluded. All 3 tombs in Makra Vounara with pottery belonging to the LHIIB period are unfurnished. As they all continue in use into the LHIIIA1 period, they are included in Figure 9.9, which shows deposition of wealth in the LHIIIA1 period. Here we can see that almost all the tombs are in the two lowest diversity categories. The only tomb with a diversity category higher than 4 is in Pigadhia, Makelli in Karpathos (see Map 9.11), where, however, the peak in the deposition of valuables cannot be established. We thus observe that in the LHIIB-LHIIIA1 period, the levels of wealth deposited in the tombs

142 are very low and uniform, both in the two large cemeteries and in the few other tombs that are used at this time. The LHIIIA2 period sees a dramatic rise in the number of tombs in use, but also a general increase in deposited wealth: the peak moves up to category 1-4, while the number of tombs with a diversity index of 5 to 14 multiplies (Figure 9.10). Most of these richer tombs are in Ialysos (more are in Makra than in Moschou Vounara). One tomb in Apollona, Lelos and one in Pigadhia in Karpathos also belong in the category 5-9, but in neither can the peak in deposition really be established. The highest category, 10-14, consists of three tombs in Ialysos and one in Langada. Spatial observations beyond the two large sites are not very meaningful, since the evidence is deficient. We can only note that the 17 tombs from other sites span a diversity range between 0 and 9, but cluster in the lowest categories (0 and 1-4) (see also Map 9.12). In the LHIIIB period (Figure 9.11), the fall in the number of tombs is accompanied by a certain decrease in the level of wealth: unfurnished tombs now constitute the most numerous category and the number of tombs in the categories 5 to 14, compared to that in the LHIIIA2 period, falls. However, the decrease in numbers mostly affects the lowest categories, which indicates that most of the tombs abandoned between LHIIIA2 and LHIIIB were very poor. The 3 richer tombs are in Makra Vounara, Moschou Vounara and Langada, but only in the first one were the valuable offerings certainly deposited in LHIIIB. Among the tombs in category 5-9 are again tombs from Makra Vounara and perhaps also Moschou Vounara, and from Langada -the tomb in Pigadhia, Makelli in Karpathos, is still in use, but, as we have said, it is not possible to ascertain exactly when the valuable offerings were deposited (see Map 9.13). The LHIIIC period (Figure 9.12) sees a resurgence in the numbers of tombs and a general increase in the levels of wealth, as the number of tombs with a diversity index higher than 5 more than doubles; for the first time, one tomb has a diversity index higher than 14 (16). As the number of tombs in the poorer categories also increases, the distribution once more has a continuous, step-like shape. The richest tomb is in Langada, while the 4 tombs in the next category down are all in Ialysos. Most of the tombs from the smaller sites are in the lowest two categories, but the evidence is not reliable. Thus, throughout the period the distribution of wealth does not show any marked discontinuities or a consistent hierarchy between sites, as was the case in the Argolid, or a more or less steady fall-off, as in Thessaly. Certainly, Ialysos has the widest range of goods and a higher percentage of richer tombs, and the majority of tombs in Langada are poor, but some tombs there are as rich as -one is even richer than- the Ialysos tombs. We also have to keep in mind that most of the other cemeteries have been robbed.

143

To sum up: the LHIIIA1 period is characterized by a uniformly low level of wealth, while the increase of wealth in LHIIIA2 brings into relief more marked differences between the tombs. In LHIIIB a decrease can be observed (although it is not as dramatic as has previously been thought) as the number of both rich and poor tombs falls. In LHIIIC, in clear contrast to the Argolid and the Dodecanese, we see an overall increase in wealth, which accompanies a general rise in the number of tombs. 9.6. Discussion 9.6.1. Cultural integration The use of multiple inhumations, accompanied by the same types of grave goods as are found in the rest of the southern Aegean, leaves no doubt that the Dodecanesian funerary customs conform in general to the practices on the southern mainland. The first question we need to ask is whether the mortuary record betrays the presence of Mycenaean settlers in the Dodecanese, as suggested by Mee (1982, 1988a). Let us sum up the evidence. Inhumations are the rule in the Dodecanese, but cremations appear, certainly in LHIIIC and perhaps, albeit in a slightly different form, already in LHIIIA2-B, in sites located far apart: Vonies in Karpathos, Synkairos in Astypalaia, and probably also Makra Vounara and Kalavarda in Rhodes; the cremations in Müsgebi should also be added to this list. The high percentage of single chamber tombs and, among the multiple graves, the frequency of cases containing primary interments only, suggest that the secondary treatment was less widespread in the Dodecanese than in the Argolid. The lack of burial pits, an ubiquitous feature on the mainland, is another divergent feature. We have observed that the use of space within the tomb presents a local peculiarity, with more emphasis on the positioning of the body towards the entrance. While the frequency and spatial distribution of this practice cannot be established, it is interesting that the tombs in each site are often consistently orientated towards the same, most often eastern or northern, direction. We should note that certain features which are local to the Dodecanese -the stone blocks (though found only in Ialysos), the use of the basket vase and the brazier- appear in LHIIIA2 onwards; they are therefore later divergent developments, rather than traditional forms providing continuity with the earlier period. The evidence for ritual practices beyond the disposal of the body is limited in the Dodecanese, but the absence of animal remains in tombs is particularly striking. However, the most surprising aspect of the Dodecanesian tombs is the scarcity of figurines, especially in the LHIIIA-B period. Certainly we can observe an attenuation of the Argive forms, just as in Thessaly, in the narrower range of tomb types and burial features and the lesser complexity of the mortuary ritual. However, the Dodecanesian evidence also shows differences from the

144 Argive practices -they may be subtle, but they are most obvious in practices that have a deep cultural significance: the mode of disposal, the ritual surrounding the disposal of the body, the use of symbolic objects, and perhaps the ordering of space. These differences cannot be reconciled with the presence of settlers -not that the possibility of settlers need be totally excluded. The Mycenaean influence on Dodecanesian practices is very pervasive; the evidence points out that the Mycenaean mode of burial must have been adopted by the local population. If the Dodecanesian mortuary practices reveal a local culture, the second question is: are we dealing with a culturally homogeneous group ? Let us first examine the distribution of those features that have been considered local. It has already been pointed out that neither the LHIIIC nor the 'partial' LHIIIA-B cremations are confined to one site or island. The frequent occurrence of single tombs and primary burials is observed in different cemeteries across the region; pits are everywhere exceptional. While the evidence for the use of space within the tomb is at best uneven, it can at least be pointed out that the observation of a consistent and often eastern direction holds for most sites. The overall simplification of the mortuary ritual the narrower range of tombs and burial features, the meagre evidence for other ritual practices- is observed in all sites. The scarcity of figurines is a general phenomenon. We see, therefore, that several elements denote an overall cultural unity. It is worth also considering the ceramic evidence, which has been studied in such depth. Certain features of the Dodecanesian funerary assemblage are shared by all sites: the wide range of 'complex' vases, the frequency of stirrup jars and kylikes, the general rarity of certain characteristic Argive types, such as alabastra, askoi, miniatures and various cup forms, and the presence of kraters, mugs and deep bowls which are not common in the Argive tombs, all underline this overall unity. However, there are differences as well: for instance, a difference in the position of the primary burials has been detected between Ialysos, and perhaps the whole of Rhodes, and Kos; spatial differences have been detected in the type of burial features used, primarily between Rhodes and Kos; braziers and basket vases occur in Rhodes and Karpathos, but not, or rarely, in Kos and Astypalaia; and the pottery evidence points to the existence of different preferences between the islands. We should, of course, keep in mind the unevenness of the information; while some differences have been noted between the two major cemeteries, we cannot establish whether these hold for the islands as a whole. Still, it is important to note that the spatial variation is of a nature different from that in the other regions: we are not dealing here with the hierarchically ordered decrease in diversity of forms and practices which, despite the overall unity in the modes of disposal, characterizes the Argolid, nor with the steady attenuation of features observed in Thessaly. The fragmentary evidence points to some localization of

145 features, but, at this stage at least, these differences seem to be contained within an overriding unity. The next question is whether we can circumscribe this cultural entity, and whether it is defined by clear boundaries. We shall examine two interfaces: the island of Karpathos, which because of its position, has close links to Crete, and the island of Astypalaia, which is nearer to the Cyclades. The evidence from Karpathos has been widely discussed (Mee 1975, 320; Melas 1985), since the gradual infiltration of Mycenaean imports into the Minoan assemblage can be very clearly followed in the ceramic assemblage. If we examine the burial evidence, we note that of the two chamber tombs in Karpathos, the one in Vonies contained a larnax, a Minoan feature. Only two larnakes were found in the much larger cemetery at Ialysos. It must be stressed that domestic Minoan pottery is reported in the associated settlement (Mee 1975, 320ff.). However, going back to funerary practices, we should also note the LHIIIA-B partial cremation. The evidence is both fragmentary and complex, but suggests that at least on this side there was no emphasis on maintaining a strict cultural boundary. The evidence from Astypalaia is less indicative. The pottery gives us some clues: no braziers or basket vases are found in Armenochori or Synkairos; however, some types preferred in the Dodecanesian tombs, such as kraters, deep bowls, and mugs, are present. The burial evidence is poor, but again we should note the LHIIIA-B 'partial' cremation in Synkairos. However, these are only disjointed observations, made in an attempt to combine the ceramic and scarce burial evidence. The existence and nature of boundaries around or including a Dodecanesian cultural entity cannot really be discussed here. Only a special study which would place the Dodecanese more in its local context, by examining its relations with Crete, the Cyclades, the islands of the eastern Aegean and, of course, the Anatolian coast, would be able to address these questions. To sum up the discussion: the subtle but numerous differences from Argive practices suggest that Mycenaean mortuary practices were adopted by the local population. Local differences between the sites have been noted, but typically Dodecanesian features are generally found across the entire region, which suggests the existence of a shared culture. However, the extent and distinctiveness of this cultural entity, if indeed it is one, vis à vis its neighbours, cannot be addressed here.

9.6.2. Social differentiation The first question we need to address is whether everyone was given formal burial in the Mycenaean Dodecanese. This question is connected with another one: was the Mycenaean mode of burial adopted by an elite ? Certainly tombs with LHIIB pottery are

146 few, and all are concentrated in Moschou Vounara, but it has been argued above that they may belong to the LHIIIA1 period. It has to be noted that they are all unfurnished, and not particularly large. In the LHIIIA1 period, the use of chamber tombs spreads across Rhodes and the other islands (Map 9.7); in many cases, but not always, the new sites are located near exchange routes. The period is characterized by very low levels of wealth. On the basis of this evidence, it is difficult to argue that the use of chamber tombs was the prerogative of an elite. The size and density of sites in the LHIIIA2-B periods has been taken as an indication of the expansion of the Mycenaeans (Mee 1982, 83-4, 88), or of a further influx of settlers (Benzi 1988b, 62), but for reasons presented in the previous section, it is suggested that this growth in numbers in fact indicates the further infiltration of Mycenaean influence into local practices, as more people, perhaps entire communities, were buried in chamber tombs (of course, demographic growth could be another factor). It can therefore be argued that, at least in LHIIIA2-B, Mycenaean mortuary practices were adopted by the entire local population. The situation in LHIIB-IIIA1 is more uncertain; only a segment of the population was buried in the Mycenaean way, but this group certainly did not distinguish itself further with large burial structures or rich grave goods. The second question we need to address is whether the mortuary record gives us some evidence for an organizational scheme different from the ones we have encountered so far. Indeed, certain differences from the Argolid have emerged: the organization of cemeteries in relatively large and dense groups rather than the smaller groupings of the Argive cemeteries; the use of smaller tombs, built with a smaller group in mind, as can be seen in the low number of interments; the lack of emphasis on the distinction between children and adults. We have to be clear, however, that we cannot know whether these structures had a formal correspondence to the organization of the living communities, especially since we know virtually nothing about the organization of the settlements. We have, however, to try to understand the principles underlying the patterns of the mortuary record. The main characteristic of the Dodecanesian mortuary practices is their homogeneity, revealed in almost every aspect of the evidence: the lack of alternative disposal modes (e.g. intra-mural graves), the organization of the cemeteries, the almost exclusive use of chamber tombs, the more consistent orientation of tombs within one site, the narrow range of burial features, the relatively uniform treatment of all interments within one tomb, the invariably small size of tombs, their lack of decoration and finally, in the low levels of wealth and the relatively continuous distribution of wealth across the tombs. This constitutes a marked contrast to the Argive obsession with hierarchy and the Thessalian heterogeneity of forms.

147

The problem is how to interpret this relative uniformity. Again, we cannot simply infer a less differentiated social structure; it is obvious that differences exist in the mortuary record, particularly in the array of goods deposited with the dead, but these were not reinforced by more elaborate burial structures or more complex modes of disposal. Moreover, we may know very little about the social structure in the MBA-early LBA Dodecanese, but the mere existence of one polythyron in Trianda (Marketou 1988, 30) suggests that differentiation existed in the Dodecanesian communities, and that this was given material expression through the elaboration of the domestic context. This in itself is important: we should keep in mind that the elaboration of the mortuary sphere was not a characteristic of the Minoan culture, which certainly influenced the Dodecanese during the MBA; nor do the few burial pithoi of EBA-MBA date in the Dodecanese suggest that there was a local tradition in mortuary elaboration. However, the relative austerity of the Dodecanesian graves cannot be explained through cultural differences alone. If it could, we should expect not only a uniformly low and narrow level of wealth across cemeteries and islands, but also no fluctuations in the deposition of wealth through time. The evidence has shown low levels of wealth in LHIIIA1, an increase in LHIIIA2, a relative but not very marked decline in LHIIIB, and a remarkable increase in LHIIIC. We should also note that, while there are fluctuations in the deposition of wealth, we do not observe in the Dodecanese a process of elaboration through time, either in the burial structure, or in the funerary assemblage (it should be noted that there is a wider range of goods in LHIIIC, but the discussion here is mainly about the LHIIIA-B periods). There are two possibilities: either Dodecanesian society had a stable structure, which did not require agonistic displays, or competition was in some way checked. The discussion cannot be concluded at this point, as we have reached the limits of inferences made solely on the basis of the mortuary data. We will return to the question of Dodecanesian homogeneity in the final discussion, where it will be placed in its wider historical context. However, one important point has so far come out of the discussion: that different organizational schemes might underlie similar mortuary forms in the three regions.

9.6.3. The political structure If the discussion on social differentiation did not reach any firm conclusions, the examination of the political structure of the Mycenaean Dodecanese is a virtually impossible task: almost all our evidence comes from two main cemeteries, while our knowledge of the other sites is extremely limited.

148 Still, some points can be made. It must first be pointed out that the cultural homogeneity noted in the Dodecanese does not necessarily imply political unity inspired or imposed by Rhodes, as suggested tentatively by Melas (1988, 118). The evidence is deficient, but we can gain a glimpse into political relations in the Dodecanese by comparing the two main sites, Ialysos and Eleona-Langada. If we compare levels of wealth between the two sites in the LHIIIA1 period, we note that they are low in both sites, but that in Ialysos has more furnished tombs and a wider range of goods. In LHIIIA2 there is a general increase in the levels of wealth, which accentuates the differences between the two sites: most of the richer tombs are in Ialysos, where a remarkably wide range of grave goods can be observed. In Langada, only some simple weapons and faience, stone and glass-beads are found. The situation changes somewhat in LHIIIB: in Ialysos the number of rich tombs falls, and the range of valuables diminishes; exotic objects such as the ostrich egg rhyton, the elektron ornaments and the ornate golden ring do not occur any more. By contrast, in Langada during this period the number of all tombs, including richer ones, increases; the range of valuables is enriched, but still consists of weapons and some small ornaments. Despite the divergent developments, Ialysos remains richer. In LHIIIC, there is again a rise in the number of tombs in Ialysos, and the diversity of valuables reaches, or even surpasses, the LHIIIA2 levels. The most marked change from the previous period can be seen in Langada: the range of valuables more than doubles compared to LHIIIA2-B and more exclusive objects such as golden and silver ornaments, and notably objects of eastern provenance, i.e. ivory, scarabs and cylinder seals, appear for the first time. What can we conclude from this comparison ? Undoubtedly, there is an uneven distribution of wealth, but the sometimes divergent developments in the two sites, and especially the modest but steady increase in wealth in Langada, do not support the theory of political control of Langada by Ialysos. If evidence for political control of other islands by Ialysos is at present lacking, can the proposition of political domination of Rhodes by Ialysos be supported by the data ? Unfortunately, this question cannot be answered. The fact that the LHIIIB regression in Ialysos can also be observed in other sites, mostly in the northwestern area, suggests that Ialysos shared a common fate with these sites (as well as with Müsgebi in Karia), but that southern Rhodes participated in this to a lesser extent. But both the extent and the intensity of this regression are debated (Mee 1982, 88; Benzi 1988b, 65), and of course, the causes of the phenomenon are obscure, although the unsettled conditions in this period emphasized by Mee (1982, 1988b) must have played a role. It is better to admit that we simply cannot provide an answer. Anyway, Ialysos' pre-eminence was not only the product of internal processes. The early appearance of Mycenaean features in this strategically located site, the constant

149 supply of imported pottery, manufactured until LHIIIB in the Argolid especially for export to the Dodecanese, and the rise of Ialysos at the time of the biggest Mycenaean expansion into the eastern Mediterranean, suggest a very close relationship between the Dodecanese and the Peloponnesian centres, most notably the Argolid. Of course, this has been pointed out already. Mee (1982, 85) emphasizes the benefits that the Dodecanese would have derived from its position, and proposes that it must have taken an active role in trade, but does not specify what this role might involve. As chemical analyses have demonstrated most pottery in the Levant to be from the Peloponnese (Mee 1982, 86) and the quantity of Rhodian pottery to be negligible (Hope-Simpson and Lazenby 1973, 178), the Dodecanese seems to have played the perhaps profitable but not really active role of the intermediary in commodity trade. The patterns of the deposition of valuables in Dodecanesian graves provide some further insights into the problem. Let us examine the evidence for LHIIIA2-B: in this period, objects of eastern Mediterranean provenance are very scarce, and only an ostrich egg rhyton from Ialysos can be dated to this period. In contrast, in LHIIIC, at a time when the palatial system had collapsed and the levels of wealth in the Argolid had dropped considerably, ivory, scarabs, and cylinder seals appear for the first time, even in sites outside Ialysos and Langada. Of course, we cannot preclude the possibility of the circulation of these objects in the domestic sphere, but the pattern seems noteworthy. If indeed the Dodecanesian communities only had access to these goods after the mechanisms which ensured the centralization of wealth to the palatial centres dissolved, then it can be suggested that during the LHIIIA-B period the mainland centres were successful in controlling the flow of goods from the east and in restricting the access of the Dodecanesian communities to this wealth. Here, the discussion once more widens beyond the Dodecanese. In the next chapter, the causes and the consequences of the special relationship between Ialysos and the Argolid will be discussed in the wider context of political relations in the Aegean during the LBA.

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Part III Chapter 10: General discussion There are two main historical questions addressed in this thesis: 1. the causes and consequences of the transformation of mortuary practices in the transition to the LBA. 2. the relation between internal social and political developments in the Argolid, and the expansion of the Mycenaean cultural assemblage into the Aegean. This question contains a further problem: the similarities and differences in the incorporation of the two peripheral areas, Thessaly and the Dodecanese, into the Mycenaean world. 10.1. The transformation of mortuary practices at the transition to LBA At the beginning of the presentation of the Argive evidence, it was concluded that the transition to the LBA saw both continuity with and rupture from the traditional MH mortuary practices. In order to explain the changes, we need to understand the significance of the funerary forms and practices of the Mycenaean period. 10.1.1. Mortuary forms and practices in the LBA Two main aspects of Mycenaean funerary practices will be discussed here: (i) the use of formal disposal areas, and (ii) the secondary treatment of the dead. (i) The distanciation of the disposal area can already be observed in the late MH period, in the increasing use of extra-mural cemeteries. This trend is accentuated in the transition to the LH period, when a widespread decline in intra-mural burials can be noted. While the demarcation of the funerary area can already be detected in MH, e.g. in the tumuli or the use of groupings in the extra-mural cemeteries, thereafter much more emphasis is gradually put on the restriction of access: in the Grave Circles through the perivolos; in the tholoi and chamber tombs, through a new tomb design: the narrow passage and entrance leading to a subterranean vault. Thus, the group using the Grave Circle or the burial structure is more rigidly defined. At the same time, there is an increasing emphasis on setting up boundaries between the living and the dead: in the shaft-graves through the elaborate roofing system; in the chamber and the tholos tomb through the blocking wall and the filled in dromos. The boundary itself is further emphasized through the elaboration of the

151 facade in the chamber tomb and tholos and through the special 'threshold' rituals, like the 'farewell toast', or, in the case of the shaft-graves, the 'funerary meal'. The cases of unfinished dromoi, where only offerings and no burials were placed, indicate that such places had been set apart, perhaps consecrated through some kind of preliminary rites. Therefore, in the Mycenaean period we can observe a concern with the conceptual boundary between life and death, and a stricter categorization of space into funerary/ritual and domestic. (ii) The re-use of earlier graves is already attested to in MH, but only rarely. In the Mycenaean period, the secondary treatment of the dead becomes the norm: from the shaft-graves to the chamber tombs, the practice, while never fully standardized, and not carried out in every case, becomes increasingly formalized. We can reconstruct the basic sequence of the mortuary rites: the primary burial must have taken place shortly after death, after the deceased had been washed, anointed and dressed up. After a certain period had elapsed, most probably after the decomposition of the flesh, the tomb was re-opened and the earlier burials were disarticulated and removed from their original positions, then swept away to a heap or placed in a pit, niche, etc., either inside the chamber or in the dromos. The offerings were sometimes broken or scattered, sometimes even removed from the grave, but in many cases placed with the disarticulated remains. It is immediately obvious how this description fits the scheme proposed by Hertz (Hertz 1960 -outlined in chapter 2.2) of the mortuary ritual as a rite of passage. In the Mycenaean rites we can recognize the tripartite scheme of separation (primary burial: the soul is separated from the body, the mourners from the rest of society), transition (decomposition of the body: journey of the soul, liminal period for mourners) and final reintegration (secondary treatment: the soul reaches the world of the ancestors, the mourners are freed from their seclusion), which signals life's victory over death. Of course, we cannot fully substantiate a belief in the existence of the soul -the archaeological evidence cannot reach that far into the cognitive schemes of vanished societies. However, it is very probable that the Mycenaeans believed in some form of immaterial existence after death: the breaking and scattering of the offerings, probably during the secondary treatment, mean that the Mycenaeans were aware of the conflict of material dealings with an immaterial world. Using anthropological models is an essential method for the interpretation of material remains. However, it is also important to note a disparity with the classic anthropological examples of secondary treatment, like the Merina of Madagaskar (Bloch 1971). In the Mycenaean tombs, the disarticulated burials are not fully

152 mixed together; within the same tomb we can observe differential treatment, which results in an uneven preservation of individuality. At the same time, those differences are contained within the 'family' tomb, and therefore, the secondary treatment also signals the wider unity of the burying group, which includes the ancestors and the mourning survivors. Thus, the secondary treatment defines the person in both its cognitive and social aspect. The secondary treatment simultaneously creates a new temporal scheme in social life: the discontinuity of death is immersed in a cyclical scheme of regeneration; death is equated with birth and is thus assimilated into life. We should mention here that a similarity has been noted between the shape of the tombs and that of the female womb (Goodison 1989, 85). The tripartite scheme is not only observed in the sequence of the burial rites. It can also be detected in the tomb design: the shaft in the shaft-grave, and the dromos in the chamber and tholos tomb, can be considered liminal areas to which earlier burials and offerings are removed, and where they are scattered -the disposal of children and 'poor' adult burials in the dromos and the entrance may be related to this distinction. The new dimensions of time and space come together in the multiple tombs, which are designed to be used for centuries: they are the containers of the ancestors and of future generations, of both the past and the future of the group, in a fixed place. Thus, the multiple tombs define a main organizational cell of Mycenaean society and express its certitude of, or at least claim on, permanence. This link is even more emphasized in the monumental tholos, a heavy, material construction which denies transience and decay and displays the wealth and prestige of the group using it. We see, therefore, that the design of the multiple tombs is not merely functional (Vermeule 1979, 51), but arises from, and gives material expression to, a complex set of beliefs. The discussion has so far suggested that Mycenaean behaviour towards the dead was neither irreverent (Mylonas 1966, 113), nor practical and sensible (Vermeule 1979, 56). The Mycenaean attitudes to death appear complex; the funerary realm seems to evoke both abhorrence and fascination. This ambiguous attitude to death is encapsulated in the contradiction between the elaboration and the confinement of the funerary realm: in the use of stelai and increasingly deep shaft-graves, or in the monumentality of the concealed tholos. The mortuary sphere is elaborated upon and heavily ritualized, but at the same time distanced and hedged about;in a word, it is feared.

153 All aspects of the mortuary ritual, the distanciation and demarcation of the cemeteries, the tripartite scheme underlying the funerary rites, the complex ritual practices -the sacrifice of animals, the presentation of offerings and libations, the purifications- have one main purpose: to control the dangerous force, the mortuary pollution, which emanates from the recent dead. Pollution is not simply physical revulsion from the decomposing corpse (contra Wells 1990, 137); it is a state of moral contagion and impurity, a participation in the fate of the decomposing body and the wandering soul, which can only be resolved through a gradual sequence of rites that ensure the transformation of the deceased into a benevolent ancestral spirit. The question we need to ask is, why this sudden intensity of pollution beliefs -why does the boundary between life and death acquire such an emphasis in the transition to the LBA? At the end of the theoretical discussion on mortuary ritual in chapter 2.2, it was suggested that ideas of pollution proliferate in times of internal fluid conditions and external pressures on the group's boundaries. We therefore need to examine internal conditions on the southern mainland at the end of the MBA, and its political relations with neighbouring cultures. 10.1.2 Explaining the transformation. The picture of the mainland in the end of the MBA, as described in chapter 5.1, is certainly one of instability and crisis. The transformation of mortuary practices reaches beyond the Shaft Graves of Mycenae and the Messenian tholoi, as rich offerings are found in other sites as well (in shaft-like graves in Kephalovryso, Peristeria and Nichoria in Messenia, and in cists and pits in Corinth and Thebes), while the use of extra-mural graves and the practice of re-use are observed in an increasing number of sites. Beyond the mortuary practices, a whole series of shifts and re-arrangements in different spheres of life can be observed: a change in the organization of space, with previously domestic areas being used as cemeteries (Lerna, Asine, perhaps Pefkakia in Thessaly?); a change in the settlement pattern, with areas previously unoccupied (e.g. the Nemea area) now being settled; perhaps an increase in the number of settlements, which might reflect the dissolution of the nucleated settlement pattern of the MBA; shifts in the importance of settlements (Mycenae gains in importance, while Lerna, and perhaps Asine and Argos, seems to decline), increased mobility and intensification of trade contacts. Generally, the period is characterized by a diffuse sense of instability and change, of which only some elements have been given here, as the period, despite a recent monograph (Dietz 1991) and a conference (Laffineur 1989), is still imperfectly understood. The important point to note is that the changes do not involve only an elite in

154 Mycenae, or only the Argolid; even if the new wealth and the use of more labourconsuming tomb types are the most conspicuous symptoms, the rest of the evidence demonstrates that the changes were felt by the entire population. In this period, MMIII, and in particular in LMIA, we can observe a general and uniform intensification of the Minoan influence in the Cyclades and the Dodecanese (as argued in chapter 5.2.1.). This is obvious not only in the increase of trading contacts, the introduction of Minoan technology and the accentuation of stylistic influences, but also by now in the adoption of Minoan practices (recording in Linear A, use of the Minoan weight system, use of conical cups), the elaboration of the domestic sphere (frescoes, polythyra, ashlar masonry, gypsum slabs) and even the adoption of certain elements of the Minoan cult (pillar crypt, lustral basin, domestic shrines, horns of consecration, bronze figurines, Minoan cultic equipment). While the local features should not be undermined, this period is that of the strongest Minoan influence in the Aegean, and the Golden Age of Minoan Crete under the New Palaces. I propose that these three aspects of the historical developments should be linked together. I see the crisis and instability in the mainland as the result of mounting political or ideological pressure by the New Palaces, which was by MHIII directed against the mainland as well as against the other regions of the Aegean.. In order to support this proposition, we should first examine why the Minoan infiltration of the Aegean should affect the regions of the mainland. First, we should repeat the conclusion reached in chapter 5.2.2: despite the substantial, but uneven, evidence of Minoan imports, and the manufacture of local imitations of Cretan ceramics at a few sites, there is no evidence for Minoan cultural influence on the mainland before MHIII. I have emphasized that this was not due to the mainland's isolation: recent research has established that in early the MBA a series of perhaps localized and overlapping exchange networks was already operating between the mainland, Aegina and the Cyclades, and even further afield. On the mainland, there is evidence for direct contact with Aegina and the Cyclades, but the Minoan imports might have reached the mainland through Aiginetan or Cycladic traders. However, even the absence of direct contacts with the growing power in the Aegean (which we cannot substantiate anyway) would not fully explain the cultural -not necessarily economic- introvertedness of the MH societies. Some cultural reasons may be at play here -the remark made in the theoretical discussion in chapter 4.2.2, that cultural resistivity is observed in societies where access to basic rights and resources is conditional upon overt conformity to group values, remains only a theoretically appealing hypothesis.

155

In the theoretical discussion on change in chapter 4.2.2, it was stressed that the expansionist politics of a state affect not only the regions that are annexed, but also those that either escape or resist assimilation. The uneven imposition or penetration of state mechanisms in the various regions creates an imbalance between these regions, as it upsets the traditional segmentary trade and alliance networks. The networks operating between the mainland and its neighbouring areas may have been complex and localized, and there is evidence for uneven participation by the different sites in them: foreign imports and local imitations are found widely in Lerna, in smaller quantities in Tiryns and Asine, and not at all in smaller inland sites (the situation in Mycenae and Argos is obscure due to the state of publication). Some objects which could be considered valuable, like the Kamares pottery, must have entered the mainland through these networks. The growing affluence of the Cycladic sites and Aegina during the MBA, and their connection with the Minoan centres, must have created an imbalance in the relations between these areas and the mainland. These disruptions must have been more acutely felt in the Argolid, the region which seems to have had the most dense contacts with the Aegean during this period (the evidence for external contacts is also strong in A. Stefanos, in Laconia, but we have no information concerning the organization of trade in the region as a whole). Once more following the theoretical discussion in chapter 4.2.2, it can be postulated that the consequences of the imbalances were more severe for the local leaders, who occupied the interstices of the alliance networks. In the discussion of the historical framework, in chapter 5.2, it was suggested that the ascent of the New Palaces in Crete saw a change in the nature of the relations between Crete and the other areas in the Aegean. In this period, there is an increasing emphasis upon Minoan ideological/political influence over the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. It is at this time that valuable objects of Minoan origin or Minoan inspiration appear in Mycenae and in the Messenian sites. How can we explain the timing of this new development? It must be mentioned that a wider shift in the orientation of Minoan contacts beyond the Aegean has been proposed for this period. It has been suggested that contacts with the Near East and Cyprus declined, while closer relations were established with Egypt. However, this suggestion is part of a complex debate, in which the interpretation of the archaeological evidence (Moody and Lukerman 1985, Branigan 1989, 68) is complicated by the reference to the Kefti people in Egyptian documents and the depictions of gift-bearing people from the Aegean in Egyptian monuments)-a debate which lies beyond the scope of this study.

156 We must therefore restrict ourselves to the developments in the Aegean, even if they may not provide a full explanation. The important point we need to note is that the climax in the ideological/political influence of the Minoan palaces in the Aegean coincides with a stricter control over the flow of resources into the Minoan palatial centres (Branigan 1989). How this was effected- whether the 'Minoanized' sites in the Cyclades, the Dodecanese and the Anatolian coast were colonies, emporia, politically dominated or only culturally influenced by the Minoan centres- is irrelevant to the present discussion. And yet at this time we see unprecedented amounts of wealth in the mainland and in particular in Mycenae. There are two possibilities: either the mainland centres acquired this wealth by force, i.e. through successful raiding or war expeditions, or they acquired it by gift exchange, through the establishment of 'diplomatic' relations between at least Mycenae and the Minoan centres. We will probably never know the answer to this problem, but the two possibilities are not mutually exclusive; gift exchange averts war, and war may be the result of unsuccessful gift exchange. Warfare may have given an initial advantage to Mycenae, making relations desirable to the Minoan centres, but the endurance of the preeminence of Mycenae must have relied on more than success in war. How Mycenae established its central position in this new political scene is another question that cannot really be answered. However, some points can be made. The answer does not seem to lie in agricultural potential, even if the possibility of Mycenae's early control of the Nemea Valley (Davis 1988) should be kept in mind. Nor can its position be considered strategic -or at least, Mycenae is not any more strategically placed than Argos for the control of the Argive plain, and it is certainly less well situated for external contacts than Lerna. It should be pointed out that explanations for the orientations of trade in Aegean prehistory have too often emphasized economic considerations, i.e. the existence of special resources. But we have to keep in mind that gift exchange is not primarily about the exchange of economic resources; it assumed the function of political treaties or diplomatic relations before the appearance of international laws. Consequently, acquiring a strategic position in gift exchange relies not only on agricultural wealth or special resources, but a) also on the historical conjuncture, the specific constellation of power relations and b) strategic skills in excluding competitors. I suggest that the rise of Mycenae was not based on the management of local economic resources alone, but also on the elimination of Lerna and Aegina, which had so far the strongest connections with Minoan Crete. Of course, these comments are not meant as an answer to the problem, but it is important to place exchange in its wider political and historical context (Voutsaki 1992).

157 10.1.3. The consequences on the mainland Whatever the reasons behind the closer relationship between Mycenae and the Minoan centres, its consequences are of most relevance here. It has been argued above that the internal structures on the mainland must already have been affected by the regional imbalance created by the uneven penetration of the Minoan influence. The intrusion of foreign goods must have caused serious disruption to the segmentary networks of exchange and the local sumptuary laws. Imported objects, and prestige objects in particular, carry with them foreign principles of evaluation. The Minoan goods introduced into the mainland the idea of differentiation through the specialization and aesthetic elaboration of the material culture - features which, if we judge from the recovered remains of the MH period, were totally lacking in the mainland. This new scale of material values was clearly opposed to the traditional social order of the less differentiated, kin-based MH society. The consequences were felt beyond the sites and regions that might have established direct political relations with the Minoan centres; in the LHI period valuable goods appear, or we can presume their existence, in Lerna, Asine, Prosymna and other regions which were previously isolated. There is a general emphasis on differentiation, expressed through the new mode of burial as it spreads across the different regions. This means that once a destabilizing factor was introduced, through the more privileged relations of some sites with external centres of power, the whole of the southern mainland was drawn into change, albeit at different rates and to varying degrees. But the new wealth did not just circulate; it was deposited in graves. We must now examine the significance of the lavish disposal of wealth in the mortuary sphere, a practice which has become a main concern of this thesis. The theoretical discussion in chapter 3.3 has stated the essence of conspicuous consumption: prestige is derived not only through the acquisition, but also through the ritualized disposal of wealth, i.e. the negation of its utility; social value, that is, prestige, is created through the destruction of economic value. In a certain way, conspicuous consumption levels out economic differences: it can thus be said to continue the negation of material distinctions which was tentatively postulated for the MH period in chapter 5.1. But at the same time, it reverses it. The deposition of valuable items freezes their circulation and excludes others from gaining possession of them. We have seen that the appearance of wealth in the mainland coincides with an increased emphasis on descent and the stricter demarcation of the burying group through the introduction of multiple tombs. I therefore suggest that when valuable objects were deposited in multiple tombs in

158 the beginning of the Mycenaean period, they were seen as being retained within the 'family', which also included the ancestors. This allowed the symbolic appropriation of wealth, as well as social fragmentation and asymmetry. A crucial element of change was introduced into the social structure of the late MH societies: the ritualized deposition of goods created and institutionalized the notion of property, the basis of differentiation. Conspicuous consumption thus set up a new mode of prestige, where status was defined through the acquisition and disposal of signs. The new mode of social evaluation runs counter to the kin order and the relations based on descent -and yet we see that it is formed in the mortuary practices, at the moment when they are transformed through an increasing emphasis on descent. I suggest that this shows the process of competition between two competing social principles: the traditional kin order and the new scale of material values. The traditional order attempts to contain the new wealth within traditional structures, based, as chapter 5.1 has suggested, on descent and ascribed kin roles. Thus, conspicuous consumption gives outward expression to and perhaps resolves the internal contradiction in late MH society between the new wealth and the traditional descent-based status system. We could therefore conclude that what we see in the Shaft Graves in Mycenae is not only an elite displaying its newly acquired wealth, but a dramatic and tense conflict between two ideological principles. Therefore, conspicuous consumption in the mortuary sphere still partakes of the traditional structures, while at the same time containing the seed of the later institutionalisation of succession that must have been one of the prerequisites for the emergence of the palatial system. So far, conspicuous consumption has been discussed in connection with the creation and institutionalisation of differentiation. However, conspicuous consumption is closely associated with the definition of social and cultural identity. Let us concentrate on the notion of the deposition of wealth with the dead. This implies that the deceased is still seen as having rights over certain items. We have seen in the discussion about inheritance and transmission, in chapter 2.2, that the gradual sequence of the mortuary ritual has to resolve the conflict between paying the deceased's share to them and, at the same time, gradually divesting them of their rights. The deposition of wealth is therefore not simply an act of display on the part of the survivors, but is a moral obligation: by paying due respect to the dead and negating the utility and materiality of goods, the survivors acquire prestige, which is, as it were, handed down from the ancestors. We must here return to the definition of prestige which was given in chapter 3.3: prestige in pre-

159 modern societies is based not only on material wealth or physical strength, but also on moral conduct. The deposition of offerings, whether valuables or pottery, in Mycenaean graves is not a perquisite of the richer graves; it is a moral norm that pervades the entire population. This might explain why the transformation of mortuary practices was so deep and rapid: it involved not simply the adoption of new display strategies by an elite, but a deeper and global redefinition of obligations towards the dead. Another point merits attention: the choice of offerings with which the dead were buried. The association of different kinds of offerings with the male and female burials in the Shaft Graves. The lack of age and sex data and the practice of multiple interments do not allow us to extend this observation to other graves or periods, but the pattern is significant, especially if contrasted to the situation in the MH period, where the grave offerings do not correlate with the sex of the burial (until the MHIII period, where weapons are increasingly associated with male burials -see chapter 5.1). In the shaft graves, men were buried with large numbers of weapons and metal vases, as well as some precious containers, ornaments and seals, while women were laid out in the grave with elaborate jewelry, fewer metal vases, precious containers and some seals, but no weapons. The important question is not whether these objects were the material possessions of the dead, or whether they corresponded to clearly defined roles in life -neither question can really be answered. It is proposed here that these objects are part of the self-representation and the definition of culturally defined gender roles through culturally valued activities. We could make some suggestions as to the activities valued among men: they are buried with weapons, among which the ones which were used for close combat were aesthetically embellished, sometimes with scenes of combat or the hunt, which are duplicated on the stelai. What is emphasized in Mycenaean iconography is not really warfare, but the physical strength and courage necessary in close combat. We might therefore already see in the heaps of swords deposited in the Shaft Graves, and in the early Mycenaean obsession with combat scenes, the establishment, or at least the outward expression, of an agonistic ethos, a moral scheme which was to be glorified in the Homeric epics. Thus, conspicuous consumption reaches beyond social competition to the moral norms, within which gender roles are contained; it defines both the social and the moral person in an agonistic society, that is, in a society where the play of distinction and difference is internalized through the moral norms. This emphasis on moral norms and cultural definitions might seem inappropriate in the case of the Shaft Grave assemblage: after all, many objects are of Minoan origin or Minoan inspiration. However, the uses to which objects are put matter more than their places of manufacture or their stylistic affinities. Weapons, like all

160 valuables on the mainland, are deposited in graves, while the deposition of wealth with the dead has already declined in Crete with the onset of the Protopalatial period. While military scenes and weapons are to be found in Crete, perhaps even in the crucial MMIII period (in the Poros tomb, Lembessi 1967, Kilian-Dirlmeier 1988, 165), their rarity in Crete, and their density on the mainland from the Shaft Grave era onwards, demonstrates that they express a helladic characteristic. Thus through their deposition with the dead foreign objects are incorporated into the local norms. The assertion of a separate identity is not only seen in the mortuary practices, but can also be observed in most aspects of the early Mycenaean cultural production: Minoan elements may be adopted, but they are redefined within the local idiom or given a different cultural emphasis. To sum up the discussion on conspicuous consumption: it has been argued that ostentatious wealth in the mortuary sphere was an important mechanism for the creation and institutionalization of difference. At the same time, the practice played an important role in the definition and assertion of Mycenaean cultural values. To conclude the discussion of the transformation of mortuary practices at the end of the MH period: the political and ideological pressure exerted by the Minoan New Palaces eroded the traditional order, and was met by a transformation of social practices and a parallel intensification and assertion of a separate identity. The two processes, the increased emphasis on social differentiation and the transformation of cultural identity do not stand in a cause-effect relationship, but are the two aspects of the wider structural transformation that took place in the southern mainland in the end of the MBA: the re-definition of both internal and external boundaries.

10.2. Relations between core and periphery in the Mycenaean world: expansion and centralization The political developments of the Mycenaean period will be discussed in two sections. In the first, the growing social and political competition between the mainland centres will be placed in its wider Aegean context.

161 In the second section, the evidence for the Mycenaean expansion in the Aegean and the eastern Mediterranean will be discussed against the internal process of centralization which led to the emergence of the palatial centres. 10.2.1. The LHI-II period The suggestion has been made that the transition to the LH period saw the introduction of a new criterion of social evaluation: the acquisition, display and disposal of prestige objects. If these prestige objects were to retain their value, access to them had to be restricted. Indeed, the MHIII-LHI period in the Argolid sees a very marked concentration of wealth in Mycenae. However, the LHII period sees the deposition of wealth peak with several 'lesser centres', as I have called them, emerging in this period. Mycenae, with six tholoi in use during this period, must still retain its preeminent position. Thus, a hierarchical pattern emerges, with a concentration of wealth in Mycenae, high levels in the larger sites and little in the few smaller sites. We see, therefore, two motions in the distribution of wealth: one centripetal, with Mycenae retaining the highest levels of wealth and, and one centrifugal, towards, but not reaching further than, the larger centres. This implies that the motion of valuables was controlled. But, as has been pointed out in the theoretical discussion on value and exchange (chapter 3.1), enclaving provides a target for diversion and intrusion. We can also assume that at this stage the traditional networks of exchange and alliances were still operating; therefore Mycenae must have been re-distributing wealth to the local leaders in order to ensure their support and allegiance. Whether there was also active competition through the lesser centres manufacturing prestige objects locally or obtaining them directly from external sources, cannot be ascertained. The important point is that the power structure still appears to be unstable and contestable; as was argued in the discussion on the political structure of the Argolid (chapter 7.6.2), the political system had not yet reached the level of centralization required to retain exclusivity in the use of prestige artefacts. This picture is reinforced by patterns in the use and elaboration of the tholoi. Their concentration and spiralling architectural elaboration in Mycenae, already observable in this period, indicates a tense and competitive situation, even within the main centre. Presumably at the same time at which the tholos is introduced in Mycenae (an earlier date, however, for the appearance of the type in Mycenae cannot really be excluded), it also appears in another three sites, one of them being Kazarma, a peripheral site, which soon afterwards slides back into obscurity. However, the number of tholoi built is already falling in the LHIIB period. This unstable situation is further emphasized by the short length of use of the tholoi: while they have been described above (section 10.1.1) as 'built to last', they

162 remain in use for a much shorter period than do the chamber tombs. Through the patterns in the construction and abandonment of tholoi, an unstable and tense picture is emerging: Mycenae attempts to consolidate its pre-eminent position, but this still meets with resistance and contest from the other larger sites on the plain. It is proposed here that the elaboration of mortuary practices does not show the establishment of a hierarchical system, but rather the process of hierarchization, still ridden with conflicts and tensions. We have argued that control over prestige objects was an important strategy of exclusion. However, we still need to discuss how this was effected. We have seen that the deposition of wealth is a) highly formalized (i.e. restricted in the mortuary context -the only other instance is the ritual deposit at the sanctuary of Apollo Maleatas), b) ritualized, and c) associated with exclusive artefacts (e.g. the tholoi). The patterning in the deposition of wealth allows us to infer that circulation was also controlled. On the basis of the discussion on gift exchange in chapter 3, it can be proposed that valuables in Mycenaean times were being exchanged in a formalized gift exchange system, where the more exclusive goods were exchanged within a separate sphere. Thus, one method of restricting access to valuable objects has been proposed: the establishment of a closed circuit of gift exchange. For aspiring leaders, it became essential to acquire a position in this network. But in order to acquire control over the entire internal network, it became essential also to control the external supply. Thus at some point it became of paramount importance to extend the network of alliances to areas that occupied strategic positions on the exchange routes. In the discussion on the Mycenaean expansion to the Aegean (chapter 5.3), we have noted that for the LHI-II period there are some indications of Mycenaean trade with the Aegean, the regions of the Adriatic and perhaps Troy -but the evidence is minimal compared to that for the LHIII period. We should keep in mind that the Aegean remained within the Minoan sphere of influence until the fall of the Minoan palaces in LMIB. Therefore, during this period, at least until LHIIA, it was probably still impossible for any of the Mycenaean centres to establish political relations with distant areas, let alone exert control over the exchange networks beyond the mainland: not only were internal conditions unstable, but as we have seen above, the Minoans were exerting, more than ever before, a close control over the Aegean. It is perhaps significant that this limited trade was prinicipally directed towards areas that did not have close links with Minoan Crete: the Italian sites and perhaps Troy.

163 10.2.2. The LHIIIA-LHIIIB period The evidence for the LHIIIA-B period will be discussed in two sections; first, the nature of the relations between the Argolid and the two peripheral areas, Thessaly and the Dodecanese, will be examined. In the second part, the relation between the expansion to the Aegean and internal conditions will be discussed. (i) Thessaly and the Dodecanese: two different modes of integration to the Mycenaean world. We should begin by noting the similarities between the two regions: in both, the adoption of Mycenaean mortuary practices is a spatially uneven process. In Thessaly, the differences are between the coast and the interior; in the Dodecanese, between Rhodes and the other islands. However, while Thessaly shows a more or less steady fall-off in the density and diversity of Mycenaean features, the Dodecanese presents more fragmented and localized patterns. A main difference between the two regions is their cultural background: Thessaly during the MBA shows many basic similarities with the southern mainland, while the Dodecanese, before it is absorbed into the Minoan sphere of influence, displays a mixture of Aegean and Anatolian features. The mode of introduction of the Mycenaean mortuary practices varies: in Thessaly, there is a clear continuity from the local practices, in the Dodecanese a complete and sudden discontinuity. A differential adaptation of the Mycenaean practices can be observed: in Thessaly there is an attenuation of Mycenaean forms, but also an overall consistence with practices in the core areas; in the Dodecanese there are many subtle deviations from the mainland practices. Thessaly is characterized by extreme heterogeneity of forms throughout the period; the Dodecanese by marked homogeneity. In Thessaly there are many tholoi, while none have so far been found in the Dodecanese. The Mycenaean pottery in Thessaly is mostly local, while in the Dodecanese it is imported -primarily from the Argolid.

If we compare the two periods through time, we can gain a clearer picture of the developments in each. In LHI-II, Mycenaean mortuary practices are adopted in the coastal area of Thessaly and the Kapakli tholos is in use. The amounts of LHIIB pottery in the Ialysos graves are very small; I have therefore proposed that this pottery might have been deposited in LHIIIA1. In LHIIIA1 the Mycenaean mode of burial spreads both in Thessaly and in the Dodecanese, but the tombs in Karpathos still display Minoan influence. In the

164 Dodecanese the levels of wealth are remarkably low, while in Thessaly they do not change markedly from the LHII period. In LHIIIA2 there is a significant increase in the number of tombs in the Dodecanese, as well as a wider spread of Mycenaean mortuary practices; the same can be noted in Thessaly, but on a more modest scale. There is an overall increase of wealth in Thessaly, and two new tholoi are most probably built in this period. In the Dodecanese there is a general increase in wealth, most noticeable in Ialysos; it is striking that the tombs in other sites display a much poorer range of goods. In LHIIIB divergent developments set in: in Thessaly, there is a further increase in the number of tombs, while the levels of wealth do not change markedly from the previous period. In the Dodecanese there is a fall in the number of tombs and a decrease in wealth; both, however, affect Rhodes more than Kos. The divergence becomes even more marked in LHIIIC: in Thessaly, there is a total decline; in the Dodecanese, a peak both in the number of tombs in use and in the deposition of wealth in the tombs. The range of valuables widens everywhere, and for the first time objects of eastern provenance are found in sites other than Ialysos. How can these differences be interpreted ? I propose the following explanation: that in Thessaly the adoption and development of Mycenaean mortuary practices are part of a gradual, smooth and organic process of integration into the Mycenaean world, originating both in cultural similarities with the south and in elite emulation. By contrast, the abrupt introduction of the Mycenaean practices in the Dodecanese, and in Rhodes in particular, was part of a deliberate action on the part of the mainland, most probably Argive, centres which denotes interference in local matters, probably in order to take over the previously Minoan networks of exchange and alliances with the eastern Mediterranean. Let us see which aspects of the evidence become more intelligible through this proposition. In the Dodecanese, the appearance of the Mycenaean influence in LHIIIA1, if indeed this date is accepted, coincides with the emergence of the palatial system. A directional link between the Argive centres and Rhodes, intended to control the alliances and exchanges between the Argolid and the eastern Mediterranean, would explain the fluctuations and spatial patterns in the deposition of wealth: the appearance of exclusive goods (golden, silver and elektron ornaments, amber) in LHIIIA2-B only in Ialysos, and their wider distribution across Rhodes and the entire region in LHIIIC, when the palatial system and the mechanisms that ensured the centralization of wealth towards the palatial sites had collapsed. Furthermore, palatial control over the flow of valuables and raw materials from the Eastern Mediterranean through the Dodecanese is indicated by the almost total absence of

165 objects of eastern provenance in the Dodecanese in LHIIIA2-B (except for one ostrich egg rhyton in Ialysos) and the sudden and relatively widespread appearance of ivory, scarabs and cylinder seals in LHIIIC. Generally, palatial control over local matters, at least in Rhodes, is indicated by the relatively low levels of wealth (for a region which is supposed to be situated on crucial exchange routes) and the absence of tholoi. The rarity of seals in the Dodecanese may also be telling. Finally, the homogeneity of the Dodecanesian mortuary forms is easier to understand if local competition was checked by an external force. It could be argued, of course, that the LHIIIA2-B period sees a decline in the deposition of wealth and a restriction of the use of tholoi in the Argolid as well -but if we make this connection, we implicitly put the Dodecanese in the same position as the lesser Argive centres, i.e. progressively more under the control of the palatial sites, and thereby reinforce the argument proposed here. In addition, a closer relationship between the Argolid and the Dodecanese can be postulated, because of the regression observed in both areas, although to different extents, in LHIIIB. This hypothesis is reinforced by the manufacture of pottery in the Argolid especially for export to the Dodecanese, in a style hitherto considered Dodecanesian. If we now consider Thessaly, a different picture emerges: there is a more gradual adoption of the Mycenaean practices, already observable before the onset of the palatial era, and a continual increase in the number of tombs and in the deposition of wealth, until LHIIIA2-B. The deposition of wealth shows a gradual fall-off from the coast to the interior rather than an exclusive concentration. The existence of both large tholoi, even in the LHIIIA2-B period, and local adaptations, suggests no external interference and independent development. Generally, the situation in Thessaly is the product of local competition and a pre-existing pattern of uneven integration into the developments in the Aegean. We have, therefore, reconstructed on the basis of mortuary practices two different modes of integration into the Mycenaean world and two divergent trajectories. (ii) Expansion and centralization: the developments in the Argolid The discussion of the situation in LHI-II Argolid has suggested that the Mycenaean expansion into and beyond the Aegean was limited both because of the Minoan presence and because of internal competition. It was also pointed out that this competition would have been more or less resolved once one centre managed to acquire control of external supplies and relations. The discussion about the Dodecanese suggested a link between the emergence of the palatial system and the appearance of Mycenaean influence in the Dodecanese. It can therefore be suggested that the Argive centres ensured control over the flow of wealth, and consequently control of a whole system of alliances and diplomatic relations, by

166 imposing some form of political domination on, at least, Rhodes. One method of ensuring the pooling of wealth into the centre was thereby established. However, this wealth would be funnelled down the social and political hierarchy unless the very arena of opposition and contest, the lavish disposal of wealth at funerals, was eliminated. Indeed, in LHIIIA2-B Argolid we have observed the restriction of competitive practices and the use of tholoi by the palatial elites. The result was not only a markedly asymmetrical distribution of wealth, but also an asymmetrical distribution of opportunities for social performance and display. This undermined the position of the local leaders and eroded the autonomy of their communities. Here we observe two parallel and mutually reinforcing methods of centralizing wealth: the establishment of directional trade through areas of strategic importance, and the elimination of internal opposition. The maintenance of the palatial system had to rely on the strictly controlled centripetal motion of resources. It is possible, however, that this over-centralization was too rigid to survive for very long. At least, the LHIIIB perturbations might point in this direction. To sum up: the discussion suggested the existence of different political processes in each region. The evidence from three regions indicated that there was no political unity in the Mycenaean world, but the peripheral areas showed different degrees of dependence on the palatial centres. It was further proposed that the expansion into the Aegean was an integral part of the formation and consolidation of the Mycenaean palatial centres. However, this expansion was uneven and had different consequences in different regions.

167

...l' étude qui s' achève aparaisse aussi bien comme le point de départ d'une enquête nouvelle. Vernant, Introduction, Problèmes de la guerre en Grèce ancienne, 30 Chapter 11: Conclusions It is time to recapitulate and summarize the main issues addressed in this study: how to approach and study mortuary practices; how to conceptualize and explain change. My position throughout this study has been that mortuary practices are not simply an outward expression of the rank structure of society, nor only an arena for the legitimation of social interests. I have proposed that mortuary practices have an active role in social life: they create social reality by defining the person and shaping its perception of the world. I have argued that they do so by creating the temporal and spatial schemes that divide and order the universe; by defining the person in its cognitive, social and moral aspects; by creating and reproducing differentiation through the transmission of rights and assets. Their role can be summarized in one phrase: they create both identity and difference -and this is where their centrality lies. Mortuary analysis should not restrict itself to the reconstruction of social organization. Mortuary practices embody cultural values and mythical divisions; and it is only through them, indirectly, that we can glimpse the principles governing social life. I suggest that the main goal and value of mortuary analysis lies in the identification of the generative principles that underlie and pervade the cognitive schemes, the cultural norms, the material classifications and the social categories in any one society. This is only possible if the mortuary practices are placed in their total social context, i.e. examined against the cultural tradition, the historical context and the political strategies. This has here been attempted for Mycenaean mortuary practices. It has been argued that Mycenaean mortuary practices are pervaded by a social logic which emphasizes difference and separation. All aspects of the mortuary practices -the demarcation of the funerary area and the spatial segregation of tombs; the use of different tomb types and the tomb design; the variety in size, construction and decoration of the graves; the range, quantity and aesthetic elaboration of grave goods; the stricter

168 definition of the burying group; the variety of forms of secondary treatment within the same tomb, the separation between children and adults and, perhaps, the different representations of male and female roles- all these obsessively repeat and reinforce this message of categorization and differentiation, of setting and maintaining boundaries and fine distinctions. The elaboration of the mortuary sphere in the Mycenaean period became a main strategy of exclusion and inclusion within a competitive social and political system; it was used in order both to bolster and to contest the new power relations and it was finally mobilised in the centralization of power and resources that formed the basis of the palatial system. At the same time, themes of unity and continuity pervade the mortuary ritual: the use of multiple tombs emphasize continuity, permanence and common descent; the tripartite sequence of the mortuary ritual reaches its climax and fulfills its purpose in the final stage of reintegration, where the unity of the burying group or of the wider community is extolled; the cyclical temporal scheme creates continuity by equating death with birth. Most importantly, the mortuary ritual embodies and gives expression to cognitive schemes and moral norms, i.e. to assets central to the self-definition of cultural identity, at the time when these were threatened by the intrusion of foreign elements. Mortuary practices in the Mycenaean period became a medium in which a distinctive cultural idiom was formulated and a separate identity asserted. The elaboration of the mortuary practices was more than an act of display or a strategy of power; its purpose was to surround death with a complex ritual order, and assimilate it into the cultural universe. Thus, the theoretical tenet of the dual role of mortuary practices in creating difference and identity enhances our understanding of the Mycenaean case. My approach to the explanation of change starts from one basic tenet: that we cannot construct general models or offer universal explanations of change. Change is historical and contingent, rooted always in specific circumstances. This study has demonstrated that even within one cultural entity, and contained within a wider process of change, there exist different social and political processes, arising partly from different cultural orientations, but primarily from differential integration into a wider network of political relations and exchanges. The development towards centralization that we have followed in the Argolid cannot be applied to Thessaly, nor to the Dodecanese. The whole approach to change in this study has been shaped by the problems that are specific to the Mycenaean situation. The general remarks that follow might prove useful or relevant in other cases, but they are certainly not intended as universal explanations.

169 My work on the Mycenaean case has led me to believe that change cannot be examined within a closed, self-contained unit. This does not mean that the causes of change are always situated outside the social system, but rather that change should be conceived of as the internalization and redefinition of external stimuli. I have proposed that we must study interaction alongside its counterpart, cultural demarcation; that group identity will be emphasized, if necessary constructed, when external pressures threaten the integrity of the group and the traditional structures. I have argued that mortuary practices provide one medium to do so. We must also consider that change does not come about through the imposition of more efficient economic and political mechanisms on a political vacuum. Change comes about not only through a fusion of external and internal conditions, but also through the mediation of the new elements through traditional structures: it is effected through the internal transformation of the traditional social practices. Conspicuous consumption, a practice associated with collective ceremonies and values, can be turned into a strategy which initiates accumulation, social fragmentation and asymmetry. Gift exchange, a practice sealing parity, can be imperceptibly transformed into a strategy of subordination and hierarchization. It has been argued that change is not the inevitable outcome of economic growth. Change can take a dialectic course through the manipulation of the sumptuary practices and demand, which instigate productivity and economic growth. I have argued that the main changes on the southern mainland at the end of the MBA are to be seen in the introduction of new sumptuary practices, i.e. the conspicuous consumption of wealth and the general elaboration of the mortuary sphere, and that intensification of production, economic growth and increase in population can be observed after the transformation of the mortuary practices. Finally, the emergence of differentiation is not the unfolding of a pre-existing potential, but a tense and unstable process. Political structures arise from and meet resistance in the conflicts between competing groups. The elaboration of mortuary forms in the early Mycenaean period has been interpreted as a constant refinement of tactics of exclusion and intrusion, of assertion and contestation of the still fragile social order. The most important point, however, is that the transformation of the introverted, austere MH society to the expansionist and ebullient Mycenaean culture did not involve simply the emergence of stratification. My main argument has that this period saw a wider structural transformation, which contained, but could not be reduced to social change. Let me summarize the main aspects of this transformation. It has been argued that the transition to the LBA saw an increased emphasis on the segregation and categorization of space; a more formalized temporal scheme,

170 punctuated by intervals; a stronger emphasis on the fragmentation of the social body through the emphasis on the 'family', but also a subtle categorisation within it through the differential treatment of burials; a stricter separation between children and adults and, perhaps, a more rigid representation of gender roles; a stricter definition of material values, and, of course, a stronger emphasis on social differentiation based on the acquisition and disposal of material values. We see that we are not dealing with social change alone, but with a deeper transformation of all the mental schemes that order the cultural world. It is argued here, against the systemic view, that differentiation (except in extreme cases of subjugation) cannot be imposed; against the Marxist position, that asymmetry does not only need to become acceptable, masked or euphemized. I propose that differentiation, when based on principles outside the traditional kin order, has first of all to become conceivable; asymmetry and separation have to enter and alter the logical schemes through which the person and the world are perceived. In the Mycenaean case, the establishment of social asymmetry and a competitive political system are only part of a wider change, of this new cultural obsession with categorization, separation and difference. The causes of change have been posited in the external pressure on the group's boundaries and the penetration of foreign goods and systems of evaluation, which eroded the traditional power structures. This partial dissolution of external boundaries was counteracted by the mobilization of a wider and more inclusive cultural identity. Has the initial and, it has been argued, very decisive, cultural transformation been fully explained ? The impetus has been located both in the effects of, and in the cultural resistance to, the expansionist political/ideological pressures of the Minoan New Palaces. However, many aspects of this change remain obscure. This fact is not only a product of our deficient knowledge about the MH background, the contents of the Minoan ideological pressure, the wider conditions in the eastern Mediterranean or, the contribution of the Cyclades or of Aegina, nor only of the limitations of space within a doctoral thesis. There is the conceptual difficulty of unravelling the complexities of intermingled factors and contingency, the impossibility -and perhaps absurdity- of establishing causal linkages in phenomena that we have fragmented and we have defined as social, political, cultural, moral, but that were perceived and experienced as one through simple gestures and practices in every day life. However, the aim of this study was not to explain this wider change, but something less ambitious: to interpret the transformation and operation of mortuary practices. It is hoped that this study has contributed to an understanding of what

171 happened at the beginning of the Mycenaean period -not merely passive acceptance of the Minoan influence, not the emergence of an elite or of social complexity, but a wider cultural crisis among the societies of the southern mainland, which made them redefine their external and internal boundaries, their main cultural characteristics and social principles. The new cultural emphasis on difference and segregation came to pervade the entire social life and became the basis of an asymmetrical social formation and, eventually, of a centralized political system.

1

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