DEPARTMENT OF ARCHAEOLOGY Document a Praehist orica XL VII Document a Praehist orica XL VII EDITOR Mihael Budja ISSN 1408–967X (Print) ISSN 1854–2492 (Online) LJUBLJANA 2020 DOCUMENTA PRAEHISTORICA XLVII (2020) Urednika/Editors: Prof. Dr. Mihael Budja, urednik/editor, mihael.budja@ff.uni-lj.si Bojan Kambiè, tehnièni urednik/technical editor, bojan.kambic@amis.net Uredniški odbor/Editorial board: Maja Andriè, Institute of Archaeology, ZRC SAZU, Ljubljana, Slovenia Mihael Budja, University of Ljubljana, Faculty of Arts, Slovenia Canan Çakirlar, University of Groningen, Faculty of Arts, Netherlands Ekaterina Dolbunova, The State Hermitage Museum, The department of archaeology of Eastern Europe and Siberia, Saint-Petersburg, Russian Federation Ya-Mei Hou, Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropolgy, Chinese Academy of Sciences, Beijing, China Dimitrij Mlekuž Vrhovnik, University of Ljubljana, Faculty of Arts, Slovenia; Institute for the protection of the cultural heritage of Slovenia, Ljubljana, Slovenia Simona Petru, University of Ljubljana, Faculty of Arts, Slovenia Žiga Šmit, University of Ljubljana, Faculty of mathematics and physics, Slovenia Katherine Willis, University of Oxford, United Kingdom Andreja Žibrat Gašpariè, University of Ljubljana, Faculty of Arts, Slovenia To delo je ponujeno pod licenco Creative Commons Priznanje avtorstva-Deljenje pod enakimi pogoji 4.0 Mednarodna licenca/This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. 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The publication is freely available in digital form at https://revije.ff.uni-lj.si/DocumentaPraehistorica CONTENTS Jan Apel, Jan Stora Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea Guram Chkhatarashvili, Valery Manko 28 Kobuleti site> the evidence of Early Holocene occupation in Western Georgia Anna Belfer-Cohen, Nigel Goring-Morris 36 From the Epipalaeolithic into the earliest Neolithic (PPNA) in the South Levant Bill Finlayson, Cheryl A. Makarewicz 54 Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic Necmi Karul 76 The beginning of the Neolithic in southeast Anatolia> Upper Tigris Basin Özlem Çevik, Osman Vuruskan 96 Ulucak Höyük> the pottery emergence in Western Anatolia Tanya Dzhanfezova, Chris Doherty, and Ma³gorzata Grêbska-Kulow 110 Understanding diversity in Early Neolithic pottery production> a study case from Southwest Bulgaria Witold Gumiñski 126 The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland Dragana Rajkovi., Selena Vitezovi. 156 The Star;evo culture horizon at the site of Kne/evi Vinogradi (eastern Croatia)> lithic and osseous industries Héctor Martínez-Grau, Reto Jagher, F. Xavier Oms, Joan Anton Barceló, Salvador Pardo-Gordó, and Ferran Antolín 170 Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic and during the Early Neolithic in the NW of the Mediterranean and Switzerland (c. 6200–4600 cal BC)prospects Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du.an Bori., and Niccolo Mazzucco 192 Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites Aleksandr Vybornov, Konstantin Andreev, Anatoly Somov, and Marianna Kulkova 222 The Neolithic evolution and cultural transformations in the Povolzhye region (Eastern Europe) S³awomir Kadrow 232 The concept of the ‘stage of reduction and concentration of settlements’ in Neolithic studies> demography, settlements and social conflict Danny Rosenberg, Eli Buchman, Sariel Shalev, and Shay Bar 246 A large copper artefacts assemblage of Fazael, Jordan Valley> new evidence of Late Chalcolithic copper metallurgy in the southern Levant Hatice Gönül Yalçin 262 Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia Danai Chondrou 286 Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic northern Greece Juan Jesús Padilla Fernández, Eva Alarcón García, Alejandra García García, Luis Arboledas Martínez, Auxilio Moreno Onorato, Francisco Contreras Cortés, and Linda Chapon 312 Between the hearth and the store> pottery specialisation and use in the Argaric Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (Spain) Laura Vico Triguero, Jesús Gámiz Caro, Francisco Martín Peinado, Alejandra García García, Eva Alarcón García, Francisco Contreras Cortés, and María Auxiliadora Moreno Onorato 330 The Argaric pottery from burial at Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> production technology and functionality Alexandra Ion 348 Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic settlements Dariusz Manasterski, Katarzyna Januszek, Adam Wawrusiewicz, and Aleksandra Klecha 374 Bell Beaker cultural package in the East European periphery of the phenomenon> a case of ritual features in north-eastern Poland Ana Maria Silva 390 The megalithic builders> new data on old bones from Megalitho do Facho (Figueira da Foz, Portugal) Eleni Vasileiou 404 Revisiting prebuilding Dodona Muzaffer Gursoy, Seryk Akylbek, and Kopjasar Jetibaev 412 The Sarmatian ‘horseback-riding’ burial tradition> examples from West Kazakhstan Maja Andri. 420 Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) in the 4th millennium cal BC Babak Shaikh Baikloo Islam, Ahmad Chaychi Amirkhiz, and Kamal Al-Din Niknami 446 Late Holocene climatic events, the main factor of the cultural decline in North Central Iran during the Bronze Age Ray J. Rivers, Tim S. Evans 462 How do we avoid imposing the present on the past when modelling spatial interactions| Michael Kempf 476 Fables of the past> landscape (re-)constructions and the bias in the data Marko .kori., Aleksej Ki.juhas 494 Habitat selection and the evolutionary aesthetics of landscape preference Chiara G. M. Girotto 508 Are we creating our past| Exploring theory building, geospatial statistics, and the recon­ struction of the function of fortified Urnfield culture settlements Aleksandr Diachenko, Iwona Sobkowiak-Tabaka, and Sergej Ryzhov 522 Approaching the unification and diversity of pottery assemblages> the case of Western Tripolye culture ceramics in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve, 4100–3600 cal BC Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough 536 Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration Andrey V. Tabarev, Irina S. Zhushchikhovskaya, and Darya A. Ivanova 560 On the term ‘Jo—mon’ and the contribution of Russian scholars to Jo—mon studies 572 Book review 5 Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea Jan Apel, Jan Stora Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies, Stockholm University, Stockholm, SE jan.apel@ark.su.se< jan.stora@ofl.su.se ABSTRACT – Mesolithic pioneers reached Gotland around 9200 cal BP and adopted seal-hunting. The subsistence economy was flexible, and the importance of freshwater fish is reflected in the location of settlements and available stable isotope data. Overgrowing lakes provided an impor­tant subsistence base, and marine resources were mainly related to raw material needs. The nar­rower breadth of resources is reflected in the osseous production, where implements were made from seal bones. The lithic technology exhibits local adaptations over time – in the form of a sim­plification of the technology – that we relate to sedentism and increases in risk management and external networks. KEY WORDS – lithic technology; osseous technology; marine adaptation; seal exploitation; Stora Förvar; Mesolithic Dinami;ne prilagoditve mezolitskih pionirjev na obmo;ju Gotlanda ob Baltskem morju IZVLE.EK – Mezolitski pionirji so dosegli Gotland ok. leta 9200 pr. n. .t. in so prevzeli lov na tjul­nje. Njihovo samooskrbno gospodarstvo je bilo pro.no, pomen sladkovodnih rib pa se ka.e tako v lokacijah naselbin kot podatkih o stabilnih izotopih. Zara..ena jezera so nudila pomembno osno­vo pre.ivetja in morski viri so bili predvsem povezani s potrebo po surovinah. Slab.e dostopni visi se ka.ejo v produkciji kostnih izdelkov, ki so bili izdelani iz tjulnjevih kosti. Kamnita orodja pa ka.ejo lokalne prilagoditve skozi .as – v obliki poenostavljanja tehnologije -, ki jih povezujemo s stalnim na.inom .ivljenja in pove.anjem upravljanja tveganj ter zunanjih omre.ij. KLJU.NE BESEDE – tehnologija izdelave kamnitih orodij; tehnologija izdelave ko..enih orodij; pri­lagoditev na morje; izkori..anje tjulnjev; Stora Förvar; mezolitik Introduction The aim of the project “The Pioneer Settlements of with rich cultural layers containing the earliest evi-Gotland” was to achieve a deeper knowledge and dence of humans on Gotland. Here we summarize understanding of the oldest Mesolithic settlements the most important implications of understanding of on the island of Gotland in the Baltic Sea (Fig. 1). By the pioneer settlements on the island of Gotland. combining renewed investigations of archaeological The present study is based on an earlier summary materials from old sites with new excavations of presented in Swedish (Apel, Stora 2017) that has selected sites the goal was to present a novel view been complemented with additional information. of the first pioneers of Gotland and their relations to groups on the mainland. A central site for the pro-The island of Gotland was one of the last unexplored ject was the cave site of Stora Förvar located on Sto-territories in Scandinavia and the Baltic area that ra Karlsö, a small island c. 5km west of Gotland, was colonized by humans during the post-glacial pe- DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.1 Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea riod. The pioneer settlement phase of Gotland ex­tends between 9200 and 7600 cal BP. Gotland rose out of the Baltic Ice Lake in the pre-Boreal period and was never connected to the mainland. Since the island is positioned 80 km from the nearest main­land, i.e. the Swedish east coast, large terrestrial mammals were not present on the island until hare and fox appeared during the Middle and Late Meso­lithic period (Ahlgren et al. 2016; Lindkvist, Pos­snert 1997), possibly introduced to by humans. The environment and climate in the Baltic Sea area was undergoing major changes at the time of the initial pioneer settlements. During the Late Boreal time (9200-8200 BP), Gotland was covered by a light forest consisting mainly of pine in the coastal areas and birch, elm, oak and hazel at the fertile soils of the inland (Pahlsson 1977; Österholm 1989.14). The annual average temperature was similar to that of today, but with slightly cooler winters and warm­er summers. The Baltic Sea was a freshwater lake, the Ancylus Lake, but a gradually rising tempera­ture meant that the Atlantic sea level rose and after about 8500 BP, salt water flowed into the Baltic Sea through Öresund (Andrén et al. 2011). These large-scale changes are important for understanding the development and character of the environment and the settlements, even if in the present work we are examining a specific region. In this paper we summa­rize our results of the research project against the background of previous arguments and interpreta­tions of the Mesolithic period in the Baltic region. Chronology of the cave Stora Förvar The cave site Stora Förvar has been a key site and frame of reference for Stone Age research in Scandi­navia, despite the fact that the place in many respects is unique. The cave was excavated between 1888 and 1893 by Lars Kolmodin, a schoolteacher from Visby, and Hjalmar Stolpe, one of Sweden’s foremost field archaeologists in the late 19th century (Schnittger, Rydh 1940). The cave is c. 25m deep and the origi­nal cultural layer, which was over 4m thick, was ex­cavated in sections (A-I) and in 0.3 meter spits (a Swedish foot) (Schnittger, Rydh 1940). The stratigraphy in the cave was obviously formed over a long period of time, but it was still difficult to establish a relative chronology. For a long time the stratigraphic integrity of the cave was questioned, partly because of the original excavation method, but also because of how the finds had been handled after the excavations (see Lidén 1942; Rydbeck 1950; Althin 1951). However, subsequent research has cla­ rified the stratigraphic conditions (Knape, Ericson 1988; Lindqvist, Possnert 1997; 1999; Apel, Stora 2017; 2018; Apel et al. 2017; Boethius et al. 2017; Landeschi et al. 2017; 2018). An important aim of the project has been to evalu­ate the integrity and character of the Mesolithic cul­tural layers in the cave. Therefore, a small excava­tion in the cave floor was conducted in the summer of 2013 (Apel et al. 2015) (Fig. 2). On previous vis­its seal bones and worked flint had been observed in the soil between the stones in the cave floor, and this indicated that there could be preserved pockets of cultural layers that were not excavated during the original excavation. The purpose of our new field­work was thus to investigate this more closely. Three small test pits (Fig. 2) were excavated, two of which were located at the bottom of the cave and found to contain intact Mesolithic layers. The culture layers in the test pits were water sieved in 4 and 2mm meshes, and the findings were collected in units of 0.5x0.5m and in 5cm spits. Using a mobile 3D scanner, a digital, three-dimensional model was created of the cave (Landeschi et al. 2017; 2018; Lundström 2016). The purpose of the model was to reconstruct the cultural sequence documented in the original excavation, and thus give us an opportunity to more closely link archaeological finds to their ori­ginal positions in the cultural layer. The cultural la­yers in the two inner test pits consisted of sand and soot. In several places, lime originating from the Jan Apel, Jan Stora cave’s walls had infiltrated the cultural layer, thus preserving pockets and lenses of cultural layers. The existence of intact pockets with remnants of Stone-Age finds and soil matrix in the cave floor was an important finding which offers new opportunities to obtain important information about the early use of the cave. A series of radiocarbon dates of finds from the bot­tom layers of the stratigraphy of the cave date to the period 9200–7800 cal BP (Apel et al. 2017; Lind-qvist, Possnert 1999; Landeschi et al. 2018). Thus, the cave was used during the early and middle Me­solithic periods but from the late Mesolithic period there is an approximately 2000-year long hiatus in the sequence. The cave was not in use again until the early Neolithic period (c. 6000 cal BP) and on­wards. In connection with the 2013 excavation, six radiocarbon dates were analysed: A seal bone and a human tooth from Trench 2 and a salmon bone from Trench 3 were dated to the interval 9200–9000 cal BP (Apel et al. 2015; Apel, Stora 2018; Apel et al. 2017; Boethius et al. 2017). Four additional sam­ples of seal and sheep bones collected in situ in lime­stone concretions in the cave walls were also se­lected for radiocarbon dating. These dates confirmed that the lower meter of the stratigraphic sequence can be dated to the earliest Mesolithic phase, while samples from c. 1.2m and upwards are of younger age (Apel et al. 2015). Thus, the transition in the stratigraphy between the Mesolithic and Neolithic phases should appear somewhere between 0.6–1.2m above the cave floor, depending on location in the cave. As the cave floor slopes towards the mouth, the Mesolithic layers are thicker there while thin­ner at the end of the cave. This is further confirmed by a digital analysis of the distribution of ceramics in the cave sequence (Landeschi et al. 2018; Lund-ström 2016) and also by analysis of the animal bones in different parts of the cave (Apel, Stora 2018). A summed probability distribution model of all available radiocarbon dates from the cave sug­gests that the hiatus may have been somewhat shorter than previously estimated, probably around 1400 years (Fig. 3). We thus have a better idea than before about the stratigraphic and chronological conditions in the lower layers of the cave. However, the upper layers from the Late Stone Age to the Iron Age/Middle Ages are not yet as well investigated or documented. Stratigraphic integrity and observations of the 2013 survey at the Stora Förvar cave During the 2013 excavation, stone and flint artifacts, burnt clay and pottery, bones of animals and hu­mans were recovered (see Apel et al. 2015). The flint consisted mainly of local Ordovician flint, but some fragments in south Scandinavian flint were also found. A large proportion of cores and flakes with cortex indicate that beach pebbles were used as raw material. Approximately 8.5kg of bone material was collected, and the bones of seals and hare, fish and birds but also occasional domestic animals such as sheep/goats, cattle and pigs were recovered. These last mentioned bones are obviously recent intrusions that were deposited in the cave floor after the pri­mary excavations. A few skull fragments, a milk tooth and fragmented foot bones from humans were also recovered. The tooth was dated to c. 9300–9200 cal BP (BETA-399029, 8420±40 (–300 years to compen­sate for the freshwater effect); Apel et al. 2017), one of the oldest dates of a human bone from Stora För-var and Gotland. In the material from 2013, grey seals and ringed seals are most common, while harp seals were not identified with certainty. This is in good agreement with previous observations of the faunal assembla­ges in the Mesolithic layers (Pira 1926; Possnert, Lindqvist 1997). The fish bone material contains a few elements of (large) salmon, which are common Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea on Mesolithic sites but unusual on Neolithic ones (e.g., the middle Neo­lithic Pitted Ware culture sites). An important observation that testifies to the integrity of the recovered poc­kets with Mesolithic finds and layers is that some long bones from young grey seals with conjoining unfused and loose epiphyses were recovered. As these parts of the elements were found in close proximity to each other, extensive (post-depositional) disturbance does not appear to have occurred. The refitting of two flint blades is another indication of stra­tigraphic integrity (Fig. 4). However, occasional finds of pottery and bones from domestic animals and cod from later periods show that the lowest layers in the inner part of the cave consist of a palimpsest. Moreover, artefacts made of sheep/goat bone have been identified in the old find material, although they appeared in the top layers of the stra­tigraphy, see below. These finds may actually be old intrusions, but perhaps more likely they were tram­pled into the soil after the excavations. The excava­tions in 2013 together with more detailed analyses of the archaeological finds from the first excavations show that the finds from Stora Förvar provide the most important frame for chronological analyses. The other sites on the island of Gotland, even with considerably smaller amounts of finds, may be com­pared and associated with the cave sequence, but they also complement the chronology of the settle­ment. The lithic technology on Gotland during the Mesolithic The stone finds from the 2013 excavation provide interesting insights into the character of the settle­ment. Two flake cores in local flint testify to a re­duction technique similar to that of the technology group 2 of the younger Maglemosian culture of southern Scandinavia (upper part of Figure 4; see Sorensen 2006). These are cores with flat, unpre­pared platforms, and with about 70° external plat­form angles and step-fractures on the reduction sur­face. These features suggest the use of a direct tech­nique with soft hammer percussion; probably a ham-merstone in sand- or limestone or less likely a ham­mer of moose/red deer antler. Two of the blades re­covered during the investigations have been possi­ble to refit, indicating that knapping occurred in the cave itself, and also the integrity of the cultural layer. Interestingly, flint technology seems to have been simplified in the cave, and in Gotland in general, during the course of the earliest settlement phase (Apel, Stora 2017). Finds of cores and blades/flakes from the original excavation mostly consist of local flint cores reduced with a rudimentary hard platform technique (see lower part of Figure 4). There is thus a transition from the so-called techno group 2 to 1 in Gotland during the early and middle Mesolithic. This con­trasts with the situation in southern Scandinavia where the development goes from techno group 1 to techno group 2 during pre-Boreal and Boreal times (Sorensen 2006). From a lithic technology perspective, this is exciting. The blade technique of techno group 2 is more complex than that of tech-no group 1 and requires more know-how and more sophisticated knapping tools, and thus it is reason­able to ask why this change happened. There are dif­ferent views about the circumstances that affect and control the degree of technological complexity of hunter-gatherers. A basic premise is that the trans­mission and passing down of technological knowl­edge between generations is costly. It must, so to speak, ‘pay off’, and for hunter-gatherers’ this greater profitability may be related to efforts that directly affect food procurement and resource acquisition. Some research has emphasized the importance of mobility for the maintenance of complex techni­ques. According to this approach, it is advantageous to use more complex technologies, often in the form of compound tools, when moving around the land­scape. Conversely, it is advantageous to simplify tech­ Jan Apel, Jan Stora nologies when you become more resilient and se­dentary, and closer to raw materials and food re­sources (Binford 1980; Kelly 1995.77ff; Hertell, Tal­lavaara 2011). It has also been pointed out that technological complexity co-varies with risk: in situ­ations where the chances of failure are high, there are incentives to invest in more complex technolo­gies that reduce this risk. And vice versa: when there is a low risk of failure, it is more advantageous to ‘simplify’ technologies (Torrence 2001; Collard et al. 2013). Several researchers have pointed out that the con­ditions for the maintenance and dissemination of complex technologies also depends on the relative size of the population and its external network (Hen-rich 2004 2010; Riede 2009b; Powell et al. 2009). Groups that are large enough and have large exter­nal social networks tend to be able to maintain com­plex technologies, while small groups are at greater risk of losing technological and cultural knowledge over time. How, then, should we understand the change in the Gotlandic flint and stone tool technology? One pos­sibility is that the smaller size and different quality of the lithic raw material on Gotland may have lim­ited the possibilities in the craft. There are some in­teresting parallels to this in the osseous craft. The small size of the beach pebbles would then possibly have posed problems as regards to reproducing the technology over time. However, concerning the raw material size and quality, the situation at the island of Bornholm was similar but the technological deve­lopment was different. On Bornholm for instance, another large island in the Baltic Sea, the only avail­able flint source is kugleflint, similar in size and quality to the Gotlandic Ordovician flint. In a study of the development of the stone tool technology of Bornholm it was concluded that the development of the craft over time follows the Maglemosian techno­logical concept, even if the size of the cores, blades and microliths is reduced in the middle and later Maglemosian phases (Casati, Sorensen 2009.247). The production of sophisticated blade cores in raw materials of different sizes and lesser quality than South Scandinavian flint is also known from eastern central Sweden, where microblade cores and handle cores were produced in local materials such as por­phyry, jasper, ash tuff, different quartzites and even quartz (Apel et al. 1996; Guinard 277.280ff). Thus, it is unlikely that differences in raw material alone would be responsible for the technological changes on Gotland. Another possibility is that the transition and actual­ly the technological ‘simplification’ we see over time is due to a combination of the above-mentioned fac­tors. When groups moved to Gotland and came to live there for most of the year, mobility decreased. Given that the Gotland lakes were very rich in re­sources, consisting of both fish and flora, and large colonies of marine mammals, the conditions for hunting and foraging should have been good. This may have promoted a trend towards simpler tech­nological solutions. It can also be assumed that the first pioneers of this new environment probably had reduced opportunities to maintain external social networks. Perhaps this was also a contributing fac­tor to the change seen in the development of lithic technology? The bone technology and osseous production on Gotland in light of the finds from Stora För-var Descriptions of the types and quantities of osseous implements in the different sections and layers of the cave are found in the original publication by Bror Schnittger and Hanna Rydh. They report a total of 548 bone and antler artefacts from the cave (Schnit­tger, Rydh 1940.64) and provide photographs of a Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea total of 199 and drawings of five different imple­ments. Noteworthy are the high numbers of awls and the small number of formal ‘type’ artefacts, where the harpoons are the most important ones. The original publication reports 51 ‘harpoons’, two slotted bone points (fagelpilar), two arrowheads, one spearhead, 11 daggers, 12 fishing implements, 375 awls (or ‘points’), 15 adzes, 20 polishers/flatte­ners (glättare), two saw-toothed artefacts, 15 wild boar teeth (11 knives and two awls), seven animal teeth (mostly pendants and ‘a few’ awls), three hand­les, two whistles, 10 needles, four pendants (bone), three bone rings, and an unspecified number of ‘worked’ bones. This adds up to 535 items, appar­ently excluding the 13(?) ‘worked’ pieces needed to reach the reported number of 548. Schnittger and Rydh also commented upon stratigra­phic observations, i.e. the commonness of harpoons in section G6. In earlier research a few Gotlandic finds have gained most attention, namely one find of a slotted bone point recovered in the body of a male in a Mesolithic burial at Stora Bjers on Gotland and two other finds from the Stora Förvar cave on Stora Karlsö (see Apel, Stora 2017). The two slotted points at Stora Förvar were also recovered in sec­tion G, in layers 6 and 7, i.e. around 180–210cm down in the stratigraphy of the cave. They have been discussed extensively but here it is enough to note that they do not seem to belong to the oldest pioneer Mesolithic settlement. Schnittger and Rydh (1940) noted morphological similarities between some of the harpoons and a spearhead and other finds in the Baltic area. We will not expand further on the discussion on the chronology and typology of various implements here, as the circumstances have changed with the use of exact dating methods. A sample of bone tools (N=207) recovered in the sec­tions E and F of Stora Förvar, and stored at the Swe­dish History Museum (SHM) in Stockholm, was ana­lysed in an earlier study (Apel, Stora 2018). There we evaluated which species and elements had been chosen as raw materials for the osseous production. Implements made of seal bones were most common in the deeper layers of the cave, while ones made of bones of domestic animals became more common in the upper layers (Apel, Stora 2018.Tab. 11.2). This was in good agreement with the earlier observations on the distribution of harpoons and fishhooks, which was taken as an indication that there had been chan­ges in the hunting pattern and the general resource utilization patterns over time at the site (e.g., Clarke 1946; 1976; Pira 1926). The observations correlat­ed well also with the general composition of the fau­nal assemblage through the stratigraphy of the cave, such as the appearance of bones from harp seal and other Atlantic species that indicated a change to more marine conditions and greater salinity in the Baltic Sea (Clarke 1946; 1976; Pira 1926; Apel, Sto­ra 2018.283-287). Osseous implements at Stora Förvar on Stora Karlsö The data on the osseous implements are presented in the find presentation of the original publication (Schnittger, Rydh 1940.29-60). In the present work we have examined the data and recorded informa­tion on 572 different osseous elements, Tables 1 and 2. There are some discrepancies between the numbers provided in the find description and the summary (Schnittger, Rydh 1940.64-67), but this is not critical to obtain an impression of the assem­blage. The implements are described in connection to the finds of each section and layer, and this con­tains information on the type, dimensions (length), and in many cases the element and/or species that the implement is made of. The information on the artefacts varies but it is most detailed on those that exhibited ‘type morphology’, such as harpoons, and especially on those that have been photographed. For quite a few items the information includes a com­parison and a reference of similarity to a photogra­phed item. This is especially valuable for the inter­pretation on the many awls that in most cases were made of a seal or pig bone. According to Schnittger and Rydh (1940.64), 62 awls were made of seal fi­bulas, 19 made of metapodials of sheep (?, with one goat?), and 19 of pig fibulas. Bird bone had been used for nine awls, and there are five radii, two ul­nae and two humeri. The osteological information on the implements was provided by Adolf Pira, and in some cases by Hjalmar Stolpe (Schnittger, Rydh 1940.64). There were 36 bone harpoons and 14 made of antler. According to our documentation and interpretation of the data in the original publication, we have grouped the implements into 31 categories, as shown in Tables 1 and 2. Most common are awls fol­lowed by harpoons, adzes and needles, and then many examples of items represented by only a few specimens. Noteworthy are the concentration of har­poons to the levels 5 and 6, and the more dispersed stratigraphic occurrence of awls. Moreover, imple­ments that belong to the Iron Age or even medieval period are found in the upper parts of the stratigra­phy. The stratigraphic distribution of the species Jan Apel, Jan Stora used as raw material for the osseous implements show that the domestic animals are concentrated in the upper part of the stratigraphy, while seal bones become more common in the deeper layer, as shown in Table 2. In rough terms, the implements recorded in layers 1–4 belong to the Iron Age, possibly even Bronze Age, or younger. The finds in layers 5–8/9 are from the Late Mesolithic, Neolithic and possibly Bronze Age and, finally, the finds in layer 9/10 and deeper are mainly from the Mesolithic. If we consider how the osseous implements were shaped and produced, they may be divided into five different categories based on the level of modifica­tion of the raw material (Figs. 5 to 7). Again, the ob­servations have been compiled from the original publication and we limit the presentation to levels 5 and deeper (Tab. 3). We here distinguish between the categories element, long bone (shaft), tool, tooth knife, and tooth pendant (Tab. 3). An additional ca­tegory is element/long bone, where it has not been possible to make a certain judgement of which ele­ment had been used as a raw material based on the information available in the original publication (Schnittger, Rydh 1940). The division is not exclu­sive, as different types of implements occur in the same category and similar types of implements are found in different categories. Still, the division illu­minates general aspects of the osseous craft and our specific focus is on the layers 9/10 and deeper in order to comment on the Mesolithic osseous craft. All awls seen in Figure 5.A have been made from fibula and tibia of seal, i.e. elements where only the diaphysis has been modified, shaped, and partly polished, and the tip sharpened. The epiphyseal end of the awls is most often modified only slightly, and it is thus possible to determine from which specific element the implement was made from. Therefore, the items in this category are skeletal elements for which most often only the working edge – or tip – has been modified. Artefact type 1 2 3 4 1-4 4-5 5 6 7 7-8 8 9 10 11 12 13 11-12 12-14 14-15 nd Total Finger ring 3 3 Gaming piece 1 1 Comb 4 4 Whorl 1 1 Skate 1 1 2 Harpoon 1 1 15 21 4 1 1 1 1 1 47 Barbed point\harpoon 1 1 2 Notched point 1 2 1 4 Arrowhead\point 1 1 Slotted bone point 1 1 2 Point 1 1 2 1 5 Point\awl 3 1 1 5 Awl 1 9 11 25 1 41 58 44 2 32 46 33 23 17 4 11 1 3 2 364 Awl| 1 1 2 Dagger\awl 1 1 1 1 1 5 Adze 2 1 1 2 2 1 5 1 15 Adze+awl 3 3 Needle 1 1 3 1 1 2 2 11 Double needle\awl\hook 3 1 2 6 Boar tusk 1 7 1 3 1 1 1 15 Bone tube 2 2 Fishhook 3 1 1 1 6 Tool 2 7 1 2 1 1 1 3 18 Tool| 1 1 2 2 1 1 4 1 1 1 15 Pendant 1 1 Pendant| 1 1 2 Tooth pendant 1 1 2 2 2 8 Tube\bead 1 1 Tube| 1 1 Worked bone 1 1 5 3 4 3 1 1 19 Raw material| 1 1 Total 11 14 17 28 6 3 73 108 61 2 42 62 55 29 22 5 21 6 3 4 572 Tab. 1. Identified artefact types among bone tools in different layers of Stora Karlsö according to the ori­ginal publication (Schnittger, Rydh 1940.Ch. 5); NISP number of identified specimens. There may be some discrepancies in the data due to problems of interpretation. Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea The awls/points in Figure 6.E have all been made from long bone (shafts). It is still possible to deter­mine that it was made from a long bone but not from which specific element. The long bones have often been split or splintered. They often exhibit fresh fractures and the working edge has been shaped and often carefully polished. Occasionally both ends have been shaped and modified. The cate­gory is important as it is often possible to determine whether the implement was made from an element of seal or not, which is of interest at Stora Förvar. Bones of terrestrial mammals probably had to be brought to Gotland, or else the implements were brought there. Considering the ‘lack’ of waste prod­ucts in the cave the latter alternative may be more plausible. The awl in Figure 7.C was made from a long bone of a large mammal (ungulate). The barbed item in Figure 5.C represents a tool, where most of the surface has been modified. On tools it is (most often) possible to determine only whether it has been made of bone or antler and not which specific element has been used. The needle in Figure 6.A and the awl/point of antler in Figure 7.A, though it was recovered in G7, may also be conside­red a tools, as the whole surface of each item has been modified and shaped. Two types of implements made from teeth have been found at Stora Förvar. The first category com­prises wild boar tusks where the tip of the tooth ex­hibits modifications and traces of wear. The identi­fication as wild boar is reasonable, but it has not been possible to assess this in detail. There may be a danger that some of the (wild boar) implements are later (Neolithic) intrusions in the older layers, and thus may originate from domestic pigs. The ra­ther homogeneous pattern of modification of the tip of the teeth suggest they were produced in a similar craft context, probably chronologically restricted to the Mesolithic. Schnittger and Rydh (1940) labelled these items as knives, and the term has been re­tained here even if the implements were probably used in various ways. Finally, a few teeth, most often seal canines, that had been used as pendants were identified. The osseous craft on Stora Karlsö The two traditions or techno groups of lithic blade production mentioned above are also linked to diffe­rences in osseous production (Bergsvik, David 2014; David, Kjällquist 2018; Gummesson 2018; Gum-messon et al. 2019). It is thus possible to relate the osseous craft and bone technology found on Got-land, and especially that of Stora Förvar, to that found on mainland sites. This is not the place for an extensive review, but a comparison to recent studies of osseous craft and technology on three Mesolithic sites in Sweden is sufficient to contextualize the Got-landic finds and craft. There are a few sites from the 1 2 3 4 1-4 4-5 5 6 7 7-8 8 9 10 11 12 13 11-12 12-14 14-15 nd Total Grey seal 1 1 Ringed seal 1 5 1 1 1 1 10 Seal 2 2 1 2 4 22 12 6 8 15 12 2 1 1 3 3 96 Elk 1 1 Cervid 1 1 9 1 12 Cattle 1 1 Horse 1 1 2 Large mammal 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 2 10 Pig 1 2 13 1 2 4 1 1 3 2 30 Pig| 3 3 Sheep\goat 4 6 5 1 2 1 2 21 Ungulate 1 1 1 2 5 Red fox 1 1 Hare 1 2 3 Small mammal 1 1 2 Bird 2 3 1 3 11 9 3 1 1 2 1 37 Eagle 1 1 Mammal 9 11 4 13 4 51 47 26 2 19 37 23 10 9 2 13 2 1 283 Unidentified 3 9 8 7 2 4 6 4 7 2 1 53 Total 11 14 17 28 6 3 73 108 61 2 42 62 55 29 22 5 21 6 3 4 572 Tab. 2. Identified species among the artefacts in different layers of Stora Karlsö according to the origi­nal publication (Schnittger, Rydh 1940); NISP number of identified specimens. There may be some discre­pancies in the data due to problems of interpretation as some, but not all, identifications were possible to verify based on the text and the photographs. Jan Apel, Jan Stora Modification\tool type 4-5 5 6 7 7-8 8 9 10 11 12 13 11-12 12-14 14-15 Total Element Harpoon 1 2 3 Adze 1 1 3 5 Dagger\awl 1 1 1 3 Awl 6 29 17 7 13 15 13 7 2 5 1 2 117 Tool 1 4 1 6 Tool| 2 2 4 Bone tube\handle| 2 2 Worked bone 1 1 Long bone shaft m. Harpoon 2 2 Adze 1 1 2 1 2 1 8 Adze+awl 3 3 Dagger\awl 1 1 2 Fishhook 3 1 1 5 Awl 25 17 14 8 8 12 5 5 6 1 101 Double needle\awl\hook 3 1 2 6 Point 1 1 2 Point\awl 3 1 4 Needle 1 1 2 2 6 Tool 1 1 2 4 Tool| 1 1 2 1 1 1 7 Pendant 1 1 Pendant| 1 1 2 Element\Long bone Barbed point\harpoon 1 1 Boar tusk 1 1 Awl 10 12 12 2 17 25 6 5 5 2 96 Point 1 1 2 Point\awl 1 1 Needle 2 1 3 Tool 2 1 2 1 1 7 Tube\bead 1 1 Worked bone 4 3 4 3 1 1 16 Tool Harpoon 12 19 4 1 1 1 1 39 Barbed point\harpoon 1 1 Notched point 2 1 3 Slotted bone point 1 1 2 Arrowhead\point 1 1 Fishhook 1 1 Awl 1 1 Point 1 1 Tool 1 1 Tooth knife Boar tusk 7 1 3 1 1 13 Tooth pendant Tooth pendant 1 2 2 2 7 Total 3 73 108 61 2 42 62 55 29 22 5 21 6 3 492 Tab. 3. Level of modification of osseous tools in different layers (5–15) at Stora Förvar according to information in the original publication (Schnittger, Rydh 1940); NISP number of identified specimens. Definition of the categories is found in the text. Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea Late Boreal and Early Atlantic periods with preserved finds of osseous craft, such as Ringsjöholm in Scania (Gum­messon et al. 2019), Sunnansund in Blekinge (David, Kjällquist 2018), and Strandvägen in Östergötland (Gummes-son 2018; Gummesson et al. 2019). The first two of these sites are dated to around 9500–8000 BP, i.e. the time when the pioneer settlement had reac­hed Gotland while Strandvägen is slight­ly younger, c. 8000-6500 BP, i.e. the pe­riod during the hiatus of the settlements on Gotland. The bone tools found at Stora Karlsö illuminate aspects of the utilization of animal resources, namely the specific choices of raw material for osseous production. Fig. 5. A nine awls recovered in section F and layer 10. All made of seal fibulas except the one labelled a which was made When comparing the assemblage of os-of a tibia. B tooth pendant made of canine from grey seal from seous artefacts from Stora Karlsö to section F, layer 10. C tip of bilaterally barbed point (harpoon) recovered in section F, layer 9. It was probably made from a those on the mainland settlements it is grey seal tibia. D crural bone (tibia and fibula) of a seal, mod- immediately evident how different, in ern reference. The long and slender diaphysis of the two ele- many aspects, the bone technology was ments were the most important raw material for osseous pro- on Gotland. The finds from the two sec- duction at Stora Förvar. tions, E and F, are here compared to the other assemblages. These finds were studied at SHM, tool production is reflected (Tab. 4). The importance with the faunal remains (from section F) the focus of red deer (Cervus elaphus), roe deer (Capreolus of osteological analysis. First, when examining the capreolus), but also wild boar (Sus scrofa) on Meso-raw materials used for the osseous craft in the old-lithic sites is evident as bones from these are the est layers of the cave, the difference in availability most common on Ringsjön and Sunnansund as raw of prey animals and, thus, suitable raw material for materials. In addition, on the more northerly locat- Fig. 6. A needle made from a long bone with a completely polished surface that hinders an identifica­tion of the element it was made from. Recovered in F12. B awl/ne­edle made from fibula of an adult seal where the tip is crudely shaped. The tool has probably been reshap­ed. Recovered in F8. C awl made of a tibia of a seal where the tip is cru­dely shaped and a large surface with cancellous bone visible. Reco­vered in F9. D awl made of tibia of an adult ringed seal. The tip is well polished. Note the damaged tip. Re­covered in F9. E awls/points made from long bones (shafts) that have been split or splintered. The bones exhibit fresh fractures and the work­ing edge has been shaped and of­ten carefully polished. Occasionally both ends have been shaped and modified. Three of the implements have been made of long bones of ter­restrial mammals, not seals. The implement labelled “a” is from a bird. Recovered in E9. F awls, made of the distal part of the tibia of a hare (a) and from the tibia of a ringed seal (b). Recovered in F8. Jan Apel, Jan Stora ed Strandvägen, the skeletal ele­ments of Elk (Alces alces) were also an important raw material. The spe­cies that provided skeletal elements for tools production at Stora Förvar were seals, but some finds of bones of large ungulates, cervids and pos­sibly wild boar also occur. The oc­currence of sheep/goats among the Mesolithic finds is an obvious recent intrusion (see Apel, Stora 2018 for more details). The layers F9-F8 mark a transitional horizon between the Early and Middle Mesolithic and Late Mesolithic/Neolithic finds. Note the appearance of harpoons, fishhooks, and boar tusk implements that most likely mainly belong to the chronolo­gically younger finds. The difference in osseous raw mate-a similar implement as in A (a), unknown type, possibly a shaft rial availability may be seen as a pa-part from a fishhook or needle/awl (b). Two awls made from the tibia (c) and fibula (d) of a seal. Note the polish and damaged rallel to the different availability of working edge of d. The implement was possibly discarded as it be­ (good) lithic raw material that the came too short during use. All items found in E11. C large imple- pioneer settlements also faced but ment (awl/point) made of the long bone of a large mammal, not evidently adapted to. It seems that seal. The working end is polished and shaped. Recovered in E11. the craft to a high degree considered the prerequisites of the raw material. Some level of simplification is evident, in a similar manner to that seen for lithic technology. The osseous craft produc­ed a rather specific and limited set of tools at Stora Förvar. At the same time, however, we might con­sider this a specialization. The lack of large ungulates on Gotland forced the pioneers to select seal bones as a raw material for osseous production. The skeletal elements are not suitable as raw material in the same manner as cer­tain elements of ungulates such as metapodia, radii and to some extent also femur and humerus or ant­ler of cervids. Still, seal bones were the most com­mon raw material, which apparently put some strain and limitations to the craft. Considering the mor­phology of seal bones, it is actually only the tibia and fibula, which in seals are proximally fused to form the crural bone, and the ribs, that are long and slender. Most other elements are small, irregular and often with curved outlines which make them difficult to use. Teeth have commonly been extracted from the seal jaws, especially the canine teeth that were used as pendants or possibly dress ornaments. We may note that seals are represented with one im­plement only on Sunnansund, a tooth pendant. Bird bones were used more frequently at Stora Förvar than at the other sites. That seems to be a local adaptation, but may also be a preference to utilize the often hard but thinner bone structure of bird bones (Figs. 5–7). Bones of mountain hare exhibit si­milar properties, as do those of many small-sized mammals. The finds of tools and artefacts made of antler and (long) bones of large ungulates in the cave most probably represent imported tools, or tools made from raw material that was imported to Gotland. The frequency of different tools is markedly differ­ent on the sites (Tab. 5). Slotted items are the most common category on Ringsjöholm (11%) and Sun-nansund (33%) while barbed points are most com­mon at Strandvägen (30%), followed by plain bone points (12%). This difference has been discussed at some length (see Gummesson et al. 2018 and refe­rences therein), but for Stora Karlsö the almost com­plete absence of these categories of tools is of inte­rest. Awls are the most common category at Stora Förvar, both in the oldest Mesolithic layers (78%) and the Late Mesolithic/Neolithic (66%) layers among the analysed osseous implements at SHM. The fre­quency of awls is 70% in all Mesolithic layers accord­ing to the data in the original publication (Schnit­tger, Rydh 1940). Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea Pendants are more common in the assemblages from Ringsjöholm (8%) and Sunnansund (12%) than at Stora Förvar (3%) and Strandvägen (1%). Ringsjö­holm exhibits slightly more varied material than Sunnansund, but this may be related to the differ­ence in sample size. Strandvägen has the most var­ied and rich material of osseous implements, which also may be related to the larger sample size. How­ever, the difference in the composition of the mate­rial at Strandvägen is still noteworthy, as many ele­ments seen on the older sites have been retained here (Gummesson et al. 2018), while they disap­peared on the Gotlandic sites. The assemblage of osseous tools at Stora Förvar has to be considered as less variable than those on the other three sites. This is seen in the more limited number of species used as a source for raw mate­rials and also in the smaller variability of tool types. Finally, it may be noted that the assemblage from Stora Förvar lacks waste products. This, however, is not completely true, as a few of the artefacts appear to be preforms while other implements have obvi­ously been modified and re-shaped, possibly on site. Also, there is a category of items classified as ‘work­ed pieces’ by Schnittger and Rydh (1940.64), i.e. smaller fragments with traces of polishing or other marks from the production. Biased recovery may probably have contributed to a certain loss of small fragments and, thus, presumably waste products, but it is not only the smallest waste products that are lacking in the assemblage. Waste products were also absent among the finds from the 2013 excava­tions where water sieving was employed. It may be concluded that the osseous production here was rather different than at the other sites. As seal bones are not well suited as raw material for tool produc­tion the pioneers had locally different availability and access to good bone raw material for tool pro­duction, in contrast to the situation on the settle­ments on the mainland. We need to consider diffe­rent reasons for the differences, as there was surely some degree of shortage with regard to local avail­ability of raw materials, e.g., elements of ungulates, but at the same time maybe the hunting of seals did not require the larger implements and points that have been identified on the mainland sites. This issue cannot be resolved here, but we acknowledge that there are no simple explanations to this. Ringsjöholm Sunnansund Stora Förvar, E\F9-13 Stora Förvar, E\F5-8 Stora Förvar, 9–13 (1940) Strandvägen Alces alces 2 35 Bos primigenius 1 Capreolus capreolus 12 7(9) 30 Cervidae 9 5 2 3 13 Cervus elaphus 26 9(11) 281 Bos taurus 2 Ovis aries\Capra hircus 2 4 2 Sus scrofa 11 2 3 4 9 24 Large ungulate\mammal 6 38(46) +12 16 14 4 381 Ungulate 3 2 Ursus arctos 2 1 Felis silvestris 1 Meles meles 1 Lutra lutra 1 Martes martes 3 Small carnivore 4 Carnivora 2 Halichoerus grypus 1 11 1 1 Phoca hispida 19 6 8 Phoca sp. 38 6 42 Castor fiber 1 Lepus timidus 3 1 2 Aves 12 9 8 11 Unidentified mammal 234 1 9 11 119 691 Total 316 70(89) 115 61 197 1468 Tab. 4. Identified species used as sources of skeletal elements for osseous craft on different sites. Data for Ringsjöholm and Strandvägen is found in Gummesson et al. (2019.Tab. 3), for Sunnansund in David and Kjällquist (2018.Appendix 9.1), and for Stora Förvar, 9–13 (1940) in Schnittger and Rydh (1940). The finds from Stora Förvar E/F were analysed at SHM in Stockholm. Jan Apel, Jan Stora A new interpretation of the earliest Gotland settlements In previous research, the rich occurrence of marine mammal bones (seals) in the cultural layers of the Mesolithic settlements was interpreted as reflecting the main driver of the colonization of Gotland (Pi­ra 1926; Schnittger, Rydh 1940; Clark 1976; Öster­holm 1989; Lindqvist, Possnert 1999; Wallin, Sten 2007; Andersson 2016). This is not surprising con­sidering that over 1000kg of seal bones have been collected in the Mesolithic layers from Stora Förvar, and bones of seals also dominate the other faunal assemblages on Mesolithic sites (Apel, Stora 2018). One important exception to this is Ericson’s study which highlights the importance of fish for the set­tlements, even if this mostly concerns the Atlantic (i.e. Late Mesolithic) and Subboreal (Neolithic) con­ditions and is also related to taphonomy, mainly the preservation bias favouring seal bones (Ericson 1989). An early study that also warrants attention is that of Welinder, who emphasized the importance of the lake environments and thus fish resources for the Mesolithic settlements in South Scandinavia (We­linder 1978). Other important studies focus atten­tion on the recovery bias, especially for Gotland (Jo­hansson, Larje 1993; Lindqvist 1997; Olson, Wal­ther 2007). More recent research has shown that freshwater fish were an important resource for Me­solithic settlements in many regions of Northern Eu- Type of implement Ringsjöholm Sunnansund Stora Förvar, Stora Förvar, Stora Förvar, Strandvägen E\F10-13 E\F5-9 9–13 (1940) Heavy-duty tools 2 Barbed point 6 2 2 446 Harpoon head 1 1 5 8 3 14 Slotted bone point 34 14 43 Plain bone point 5 180 Arrowhead 1 8 Spearhead 1 16 Notched point 1 1 Bone point, unspec. 17 1 3 Needle\pin 15 3 2 4 35 Slotted dagger 8 Ulna dagger 1 1 Awl 7 4904013771 Double awl 2 2 3 Chisel 6 53 Knife 3 5 Wedge 1 Navette 7 Fishhook 1 11 3 1 Gorge 3 Pressure flaker 8 33 Antler axe\adze\mattock 3 10 Bone adze 1 5 1 7 Antler club 6 Club (bone) 1 Antler shaft 4 Antler sleeve 3 Decorated antler object 6 Stopper\cork 3 Knife\scraper, boar tusk 2 5 7 Enamel tool 1 2 13 Beads\pearls\pendant 26 5 5 13 Handle-like 2 Unidentified antler object 14 2 31 Unidentified 174 6 3 4 22 447 Osseous implements, total 316 43 115 61 197 1468 Waste (+unfinished) 977 34 2185 Tab. 5. Identified types of osseous implements on different sites. Data for Ringsjöholm and Strandvägen is found in Gummesson et al. (2019.Tabs. 1–2) for Sunnansund in David and Kjällquist (2018.Appen­dix 9.1), and for Stora Förvar, 9–13 (1940) in Schnittger and Rydh (1940). The finds from Stora Förvar E/F were analysed at SHM in Stockholm. Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea rope. In Scandinavia, this is evident both in light of the composition of the site refuse faunas (see Boe­thius 2017; Boethius, Ahlström 2018) and analyses of stable isotopes of human remains (Eriksson et al. 2018). The pioneers of Gotland, with a probable origin in mainland and coastal environments, should have been well aware of these resources, but – as mentioned above – the importance of fish was not the focus of the early research. However, the island of Gotland was actually rich in lake environments (see Apel, Stora 2018). In light of the new knowl­edge about Mesolithic subsistence patterns and adap­tive dynamics, we wanted to scrutinize the interpre­tations on the subsistence of the pioneer settlements on Gotland. In earlier publications we have focused attention on prey choice in the exploitation of seals (Apel, Stora 2018), the importance of freshwater fish for the pioneer settlements (Apel, Stora 2018; Boe­thius et al. 2017), and the general chronology and character of the demographic development (Apel et al. 2017). Seal hunting During all periods of the Mesolithic, seal hunting on Gotland was focused mainly on the youngest seals of both grey seal (Halichoerus grypus) and ringed seal (Phoca hispida) that were hunted during late winter and early spring, but initially also later in the year. The hunting season at Stora Karlsö initially ap­pears to have been more than six months long, but was then shortened to around three months (Apel, Stora 2018). As the hunting season became shorter, grey seals of smaller body size were hunted, which in turn resulted in a smaller yield of the hunt (Fig. 5). If the breeding season of the grey seal and ringed seal was the same as today, hunting probably start­ed on the ice, but perhaps there were also colonies of grey seals on the beaches at Stora Karlsö and other places on Gotland that could be hunted ‘from land’. The ringed seal, on the other hand, is more so­litary, and judging from the age of the seals the hun­ters searched for breeding lairs and/or breathing holes in the ice. The apparent prevalence of fast ice, which is necessary for ringed seals, this far south in the Baltic Sea differs markedly from the situation today, when the species usually occurs in the north­ern parts of the Baltic basin. The seasonality patterns, prey choices, as well as the general chronological changes observed show that the seal hunting pat­terns were dynamic and unequivocally of significant importance on Gotland throughout the Mesolithic. The hunting patterns for seals underwent changes through time, and the species distribution sheds some light on the stratigraphic integrity in the cave (Landeschi et al. 2018). Of interest here is the ap­pearance of the harp seal, which entered the Baltic Sea around 6000 BP, approximately when the hia­tus in the cave ends (Bennike et al. 2008; Stora, Ericson 2004). Bones of harp seals appear in the sections and layers B6, E7, F9, G7, H7, and I5 (Apel, Stora 2018; Pira 1929). This roughly coincides with the appearance of bone harpoons and fishhooks and larger quantities of Pitted Ware culture pottery (Lan-deschi et al. 2018). Bones of domesticated animals become more common in the uppermost layers, which date to the Iron Age and Historical period (Landeschi et al. 2018). Some finds of sheep and other domestic animals are found as deep as G8 (Lindqvist, Possnert 1997). Thus, the oldest Mesoli­thic finds are found in layers deeper than 10 while late Mesolithic/Neolithic finds appear approximately in layer 9. It is important to note that in the inner parts of the cave pottery and other ‘young’ finds are found even in the bottom layers (I7 and H7). Importance of fish The site refuse faunas of the oldest Gotlandic Meso­lithic settlement sites show a large number of fish species such as various types of carp, pike, burbot and salmon (Knape, Ericson 1988; Lindqvist, Pos­snert 1999; Boethius et al. 2017). Due to the reco­very techniques used, the species representations are difficult to evaluate (see Lindqvist 1997). It is evident that the pioneers also collected various types of molluscs and hazelnuts (Munthe, Hansson 1930), in addition to hunting of seals (Pira 1926; Ericson 1989; Apel, Stora 2018), hares and foxes (Lindqvist, Possnert 1999; Ahlgren et al. 2016). Ungulates, a common prey on the mainland, were absent on Got-land. There are, however, several reasons to believe that freshwater fish played a major role for the first pioneers, and we have suggested that in fact it may have been the many shallow lakes in northern Got-land that attracted the first pioneers to the island (Apel, Stora 2017; Boethius et al. 2017). The earli­est settlement appeared on Gotland in a time of hot summers but cold winters, and the general trend for the climate was that it became warmer. The pioneer settlement came to an environment that was diffe­rent from that of the mainland, and important prey animals were absent. The fact that Gotland is an is­land that has not been in direct contact with the mainland most probably characterized the local flora and fauna. The surrounding water was a barrier for the dispersal of many species. However, the environ­ments with the lakes were familiar and perhaps much more important than previously thought. The Jan Apel, Jan Stora specific focus on seal hunting may be seen as a new element, but this element was incorporated into a larger adaptive strategy. The oldest settlements on Gotland are, admittedly, often located on the coast, but it is important to note that they are also located in direct connection with lake environments. This is also the case on the mainland (e.g., Boethius 2018). Assessing the significance of fish based on bone finds has been challenging. The finds of the older excava­tions and surveys are not reliable, mainly because water sieving or fine-mesh sieving were not adopt­ed, a problem not unique to Gotland (for a discus­sion see Boethius 2016; Enghoff 2007; Johansson, Larje 1993; Lindqvist 1997; Olson, Walther 2007; Segerberg 1999). This has been noted before (Kna­pe, Ericson 1988), but based on the results of the 2013 survey at Stora Förvar, and of the recent exca­vations at Gisslause, it is evident that fish bones are indeed are very common in Mesolithic Gotland set­tlements where water sieving has been used (Apel, Vala 2013; Apel et al. 2015; Boethius et al. 2017; Apel, Stora 2018). A more indirect but still impor­tant indication of the importance of fish in the diet is the fact that bones from the Mesolithic pioneers exhibit a reservoir effect that can be linked to a large intake of freshwater fish (Boethius et al. 2017). Fish­ing implements are rare on Gotlandic sites, but in southern Scandinavia discoveries of the net sinks, bright spots, shoals and fermentation contexts from the Boreal time further show the significant impor­tance of fishing for these communities (Andersen 1978; Boethius 2016; Hammarstrand et al. 2008; Hansson et al. 2018; Johansson 2006). Vegetable resources Hazelnuts have a high energy value and were evi­dently an important staple food during the early Holocene in northern Europe (Holst 2010.2871), and also appear on Gotlandic Mesolithic sites. How­ever, vegetables (which were also used for purpos­es other than food) are almost invisible in the archa­eological record. It has been suggested that the ra­pid spread of hazel in Northern Europe during early Boreal time may be due to the fact that humans brought it with them. As hazel appears earlier in the eastern Danish islands than in western Denmark, Iversen suggested that it might have been trans­ported by people in boats along the Oder and Wei-chsel Rivers and further up to the Dana River in the present Great Belt (Iversen 1973.62). However, it has been pointed out that there are source-critical problems that must be resolved before such an in­terpretation can be confirmed (Björkman 2007.70). Regardless, this hypothesis is particularly interest­ing for Gotland, partly because it is an island, and partly because it seems that certain wild animals were taken to the island by humans both during the Mesolithic and Neolithic, e.g., the mountain hare (Le­pus timidus) (Ahlgren et al. 2017), hedgehog (Eri-naceaus europaeus) (Fraser et al. 2012) and pos­sibly also pig (Sus scrofa) (Jonsson 1986). It is a tempting thought that the first pioneers would have brought hazelnuts and other nuts to create nurtured hazel environments near the places of the settlements. However, perhaps a more sensible in­terpretation, which does not exclude the role of hu­mans, is that the hazel had already been spread to the island by birds, and that the pioneers favoured it by clearing areas near the settlements and tend­ing the bushes. It has been suggested that hazelnut was favoured by contemporary hunter-gatherers in southern Scandinavia (Regnell, Ekblom 2001.266). It was not only an important food, but could also be used for trapping devices and arrow shafts. Another edible plant that was abundant in the many shallow, overgrown Gotland lakes during Boreal times is the bulrush (Typha). Seeds have been found on millstones from a 25 000-year-old site in Bilanci-no near Florence, Italy (Aranguren et al. 2015), which shows that European hunter-gatherers knew of and used the plant quite early. It is productive and can be eaten fresh (the young stalk), while the seed capsule and roots can also be ground into flour, boiled or roasted, and may very well have been used as a carbohydrate source. According to calculations made by the Swedish Defence Force in the 1980s, roots of phragmites could support large parts of the Swedish population in the event of an emergency (Persson 1999.175), and it has been pointed out that phragmites and clover (Trifolium) may have been used as food during the Mesolithic period (Larsson 1978.186). The shallow lakes of northern Gotland during Bo-real times should have had large populations of yel­low water-lily (Nuphar lutea) that could have been used by the pioneers. Seeds of yellow water-lily have been collected at contemporaneous settlements at Holmegaard’s bog in Denmark (Broholm 1931.19) and are also known from recent excavations of a Mesolithic site in Ageröd, southern Sweden (Boethi-us et al. 2020). Yellow water-lily, for example, was the most important traditional food for the Klamath Indians in Oregon, which fed on fishing, hunting and, above all, on the collection of yellow water-lily Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea in shallow, overgrown lakes from stock boats (Co-ville 1902). There are archaeological indications that wild apples were collected at Boreal settlements around Ringsjön in Skane, and it is likely that rasp­berries and other berries also were included in the Boreal diet (oral information from Arne Sjöström, Department of Archaeology, and the History of Anti­quity, Lund University, see Boethius et al. 2020). Changing environments and adaptive dynamics on Mesolithic Gotland Seal bones also occur in Mesolithic site refuse faunas on the coasts of the Baltic Sea, but these exhibit a more varied species representation including terres­trial species, and especially different ungulates (see Magnell 2006; Magnell et al. 2020), with these spe­cies missing on Gotland. Thus, the subsistence base on Gotland – or actually the terrestrial fauna – pro­bably lacked important elements of variation and diversity that could have affected the Mesolithic set­tlements, not necessarily in deterministic terms but still affecting regional and specific adaptive dynam­ics. It is evident from the zooarchaeological analyses of the site refuse faunas of the Gotlandic Mesolithic sites that even if seal bones do indeed occur in high numbers, other resources had to be exploited. More­over, the Gotlandic settlement and adaptive strate­gies might have been sensitive and had to be res­ponsive to the recurrent changes in environmental conditions we know took place. The changes in sa­linity of the Baltic Sea and general climatic trends of the period may actually have been especially impor­tant for the seals. The predictable boreal climate changed drastically about 8200 years ago in connection with a rapid cooling that occurred in the northern hemisphere and then lasted for hundreds of years (Manninen 2014). This cold period affected population devel­opment and the place of residence in much of north­ern Europe, Denmark and Sweden (Riede 2009a). At Gotland, the temperature decrease is seen in a 10 000-year temperature curve above the average temperature in July in the lake Tingstäde Träsk (Mör­ner, Wallin 1977), and also as a marked reduction in pine and increase in birch in the pollen diagrams at the transition between pollen zones VI and VII (Boreal/Atlantic period) (Pahlsson 1977). These changes have previously been interpreted as a result of the Ancylus transgression (Österholm 1989.14), but since it reached its maximum already in pre-Bo-real time it is more reasonable that they should be associated with the 8200 BP cold event. In Blekinge and Estonia, geologists have documented sediments from this period suggesting high cyclonic activity in the Baltic Sea area, with severe storms as a result (Berglund et al. 2004; Veski et al. 2004). The cold event at 8200 BP probably affected the Mesolithic settlements on Gotland. When the effect of the cold period subsided, the temperature rose rapidly, and about 8000 years ago lime and ash appear in the Gotland pollen diagrams (Pahlsson 1977; Mörner, Wallin 1977). The warm­er and more humid climate during the Atlantic pe­riod lead to the development establishment of a dense oak mixed forest on the island. However, the rise in temperature created a rapid melting of ice at the poles and a rise in sea levels, and in the Baltic Sea this lead to the first Littorina transgression rea­ching its maximum 7600 years ago (Risberg et al. 2007). The transgression raised the sea level by over 4m and Mesolithic settlements close to the shoreline on Gotland, such as Gisslause, Svalings and Stra, were flooded and overlain by thick layers of lime­stone (Munthe 1940). The transgression did not really reach the Stora Förvar estuary, which is today about 21m asl (Schnittger, Rydh 1940.19), but the sea level certainly affected the conditions for hunt­ing marine mammals on the beach below the cave. In addition, the beach vegetation changed. However, the changes should not have significantly affected the conditions of the seal populations, although the higher salinity and thus higher productivity should have benefited them. As indicated by the data presented above, it was not only the hunting of seals that determined the set­tlement and activity patterns during the Mesolithic in Gotland (see Ericson 1989). We also see traces of other activities that fall into other seasons, such as fishing, exploitation of birds and not least hazelnut shells. The chronologically earlier settlements on Gotland were always located close to lakes, even though they had a coastal location. Probably the most important consequence of the sea level rise was that the coastal lakes were flooded with salt water. With this, the environments in which the old­est settlements were located changed. The settle­ments on the main Gotland island that have been radiocarbon dated to the Atlantic era, i.e. Svalings, Visborgs Kungsladugard and Norrbys, are now fac­ing the salty Littorina Sea, but without close contact with lakes. Activity on Stora Karlsö seems to be slow­ing down, although the location of the site was dif­ferent from those of the other settlements. The seal hunting patterns are also changed. Up to 50% of the Jan Apel, Jan Stora hunted seals now consist of ringed seals, a species that is more difficult to hunt and is also smaller than the grey seal. At Norrbys, the discovery of one of the earliest finds of a harpoon suggests that seal hunt­ing had become more sophisticated by the early Atlantic period, as harpoons are missing from the chronologically earlier Late Boreal settlements. We may note that the production of harpoons would have been difficult using seal bones as raw materi­al. One harpoon recovered in G7 at Stora Förvar is made of the mandibula of a grey seal (Schnittger, Rydh 1940.Pl I.3). Seals had been hunted with other techniques during the older period, and perhaps they were clubbed on the ice or beaches. Active hunting in open water does not seem to have been common (Apel, Stora 2018). The image of the first pioneer settlements on Got-land is a complex one. Hunter-gatherers are often defined by the fact that, unlike farmers, they do not produce their own food but instead survive by hunt­ing, foraging and collecting existing species in the environment. The first pioneers seem to defy this image. By transporting hares and perhaps even fox­es to Gotland and thus creating populations that could be hunted and possibly also by nurturing the growth of hazel, they may have mastered and chan­ged the environment to their own advantage. The hares and foxes would also have produced raw ma­terial for the osseous craft, in addition to furs and meat. The presence of eagle bones at Gisslause (Mun-the, Hansson 1930; Apel, Vala 2013) and Stora För-var (Lindqvist, Possnert 1999) is an indication that the main competitor for the hares may have been guarded, but here also the bones of the birds were apparently desired for bone craft and, possibly, more so than on mainland sites. The often-emphasized importance of seal hunting needs to be scrutinized even further. To this we can add the large-scale consumption of inland fish, which in itself should have been based on mass fishing with advanced techniques in the growing shallow lakes of northern Gotland and also in their outlets to the Ancylus Lake. This important environment was probably greatly influenced by the changes in the natural conditions, and this may be the main cause of the decline in activities we can note during the late Mesolithic on Gotland. The increasing tem­peratures should have given people better opportu­nities in the interior of the island, but a more marked expansion to these areas apparently occurred later than was previously believed. The so-called ‘axe’ set­tlements that are situated in the interior parts and were earlier interpreted as being from the Late Me­solithic seem to date either to the Early Atlantic era (e.g., Norrbys) or later to the Mesolithic/Neolithic (e.g., Ajvide and Nasume). A source critical factor that needs consideration is that few of these sites have been archaeologically investigated and dated. The hiatus in settlement ac­tivities also needs further attention, but it is evident that the earlier development halted. Of importance is that there are no secure finds of Ertebölle pottery on Gotland (dated to c. 7300-6000 BP), which rein­forces the impression of more sporadic visits to Got-land in the Late Mesolithic (Atlantic period) than in earlier times, but also after c. 6000 BP. Perhaps the 8200 BP cold event and subsequent transgression contributed to a fairly extensive demographic rest­ructuring in the Scandinavian hunter-gatherer groups, which would probably have also affected the coastal groups. If so, it is not difficult to imagine that the remaining human groups in Scandinavia concentrat­ed in the (richer) mainland environments with good communication routes – but perhaps also with lakes with fish resources that were not affected by the impact of the Litorina Sea. The Strandvägen site in Östergötland may be one such example. The more peripheral environments, such as Gotland, which during the most productive phase of Late Boreal time offered favourable conditions with rich lakes and large seal colonies, seem to have been aban­doned or used only sporadically for a long period of up to 2000 years. After this, what had once been im­portant on the islands no longer seems to have at­tracted people there. Dynamic adaptations of the Mesolithic pioneers of Gotland in the Baltic Sea References Ahlgren H., Norén K., Angerbjörn A., and Lidén K. 2016. Multiple prehistoric introductions of the mountain hare (Lepus timidus) on a remote island, as revealed by an­cient DNA. 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Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Kobuleti site> the evidence of Early Holocene occupation in Western Georgia Guram Chkhatarashvili1, Valery Manko2 1 Department of Stone Age, Ajara Museum, Batumi, GA gurami.chxa87@yahoo.com 2 Institute of Archaeology of National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine, Kyiv, UA valery_manko@yahoo.com ABSTRACT – In the 1970–1980s the fieldwork in the Kobuleti Village revealed more than 30 000 ar­tefacts associated with the Early Neolithic period. However, recent fieldwork in Kobuleti, carried out by the authors, demonstrated that the cultural layers of the site belong to the Early Holocene period. The stone industry of the site has indicated the use of blank removal. The conic and bullet shaped cores were used in order to get bladelets and microblades. The complex of flint and obsidian tools consists of numerous retouched blades, bladelets and microblades, burins, and chisels. There are series of bladelets and microblades with abrupt retouch. Generally speaking, the typology of the complex indicates that the site was used as a temporary hunting camp. KEY WORDS – Kobuleti; Early Holocene period; hunter-gatherers; stone tools; migration Najdi[;e Kobuleti> dokaz o zgodnje holocenski poselitvi v zahodni Gruziji IZVLE.EK – V 70. in 80. letih 20. stoletja so pri izkopavanjih v vasi Kobuleti odkrili ve. kot 30 000 najdb iz obdobja zgodnjega neolitika. Novej.a izkopavanja, ki so potekala pod vodstvom obeh avtor­jev, so pokazala, da lahko kulturne plasti postavimo v .as zgodnjega holocena. Na najdi..u so ohra­njeni dokazi o uporabi odstranjevanja polizdelkov kot del produkcije kamnitih izdelkov. Koni.no in kroglasto oblikovana jedra so uporabljali za izdelavo klin in mikroklinic. Kompleksni zbir orodij iz ro.enca in obsidiana je sestavljen iz .tevilnih retu.iranih klin, klinic in mikroklinic in razli.nih dlet. Nekatere kline in mikroklinice imajo sledove strmih retu.. Na splo.no tipologija tega zbira ka.e na to, da je bil prostor uporabljen kot za.asni lovski tabor. KLJU.NE BESEDE – Kobuleti; zgodnji holocen; lovci in nabiralci; kamnita orodja; migracije Introduction The Kobuleti site is located in western Georgia (Fig. their culture originated in the areas of primary neo­1). This area belongs to one of the regions of the lithization (Arimura et al. 2009; Kadowaki et al. South Caucasus, situated by the Black Sea. This area 2016). played an important role in the development of the neolithization processes in Eastern Europe. The South Concurrently, we observe that the process of migra-Caucasus used to be a transit region through which tion to Caucasus from Anatolia, Iran, and Iraq had the Neolithic innovations from the Near East were begun long before the development of the Neolithic transmitted. Recently a large number of Early Holo-culture. The Trialetian Kotias Klde complex (Meshve­cene sites on the territory of Armenia and Georgia liani et al. 2007) gives us some evidence of the mi-has been studied, and their materials indicate that gration from Anatolia. Its complex is similar to Hal- DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.2 Kobuleti site> the evidence of Early Holocene occupation in Western Georgia lan Çemi (Rosenberg 1994) in North-East Anatolia and indicates the movement of Trialetian Early Holo­cene inhabitants from Anatolia to the South Cauca­sus. Excavations of the Kobuleti site have determined that this case was not the only one, since the mate­rials from Kobuleti reflect an undoubted connection with the migration of the Early M’lefaatien popula­tion, which was also still in the Pre-pottery phase of development. The site became known in 1960 as a result of re­search by Nino Berdzenishvili and Lamara. Nebierid­ze (Berdzenishvili, Nebieridze 1964). However, ex­cavations were only undertaken many years later, between 1971–1986. These were carried out by Ser-go Gogitidze, who uncovered about 600m2 of the site (Gogitidze 2008). The result was a collection of stone artefacts (more than 30 000), including about 2000 tools. The research results were published, but this publication left numerous questions unanswered. The author was unable to ascertain the cultural affiliation of the site, failed to establish the stratigraphy of the site, or to determine the connection between the in-depth artefacts and materials of the Stone Age. Materials from this site have been associated with the Early Neolithic in Georgian historiography, al­though there are no reasons for this. Excavations of the site were resumed by the expedi­tion of the Batumi Shota Rustaveli State University in 2019. The authors of this article studied an area of 32m2. The geographical position of Kobuleti The Kobuleti site is located on the territory of the Kobuleti Village in Adjara (Georgia), on a cape on the left bank of the Kintrishi River. The cape, sur­rounded by two riverbeds, occupies an area of about 50x50m, towering 16–25m above the river level. The cape is situated 60m a.s.l. The cape is composed of basalt rocks (Fig. 2), and only its upper part is as­sociated with sediments of the paleo-soils layer. Geographically, the site is situated on the Colchis Plain, which occupies a part of the coastal territory. The Kintrishi River flows along the southern part of the plain, at the very boundary with the foothills. Currently, the Colchis Plain belongs to the subtro­pical climate zone, but this does not mean that the climate was the same at the beginning of the Holo­cene, when the site was abandoned. At the beginning of the Holocene the territory of Western Georgia was characterized by a rather temperate climate; co­niferous species of trees, including fir, spruce, and pine, were widespread. The inhabitants of the site, the­refore, had chosen a strategical­ly convenient place for settle­ment, only 15km from the sea coast, on the banks of a river flowing into the Black Sea, on the boundary of two landscape zones – the valley and the foot­hills. Stratigraphy of the site During the excavations Gogitid­ze paid little attention to strati­graphy. He pointed out that the discoveries were related to the bottom of the humus layer on top of a brown loam layer at the depth of 0.5–1.0m. Gogitid­ze’s descriptions indicated that the site is not stratified. How­ever, in 2019, in the central part of the cape, we managed to find an area with clearly defined stratigraphy. We were able to Guram Chkhatarashvili, Valery Manko make a trench in an area with a con­centration of basalt stones, which had created a kind of stratigraphic trap for deposits. As a result, we were able to distinguish layers of loams of various shades of brown under a layer of humus. We re­corded the following stratigraphy in the central part of the excavation site: . 0–0.2m: a layer of black humus with sand; . 0.2–0.3m: a layer of dark brown loam with an admixture of humus; . 0.3–0.45m: a layer of brown loam; . 0.45–0.65m: a layer of light brown loam with a large amount of basalt gravel; . Below 0.65m: a layer of yellow loam. The cultural layer was found in the brown loam la­yer, while the yellow loam layer was absolutely ste­rile. The stratigraphic layer 2 had been the most af­fected by various kinds of destruction, including flushing and using the land for agriculture. Never­theless, the lower boundary of the layer was deter­mined very clearly. The layer contained many basalt stones, and its lower boundary made it possible to clearly separate complexes of different time periods. The same method enabled us to separate the strati­graphic layers 3 and 4. Thus layers 2–4 are cultural layers of different time periods. The cultural layers have been assigned the following numeration: 0 (layer 2), 1 (layer 3) and 2 (layer 4). In the process of the excavations we disco­vered 12 pits with diameters of 0.7–0.9m and depth of up to 0.5m. Pit 5 is connected to layer 0, pit 6 to layer 1, and pits 1–4, 7–12 were connected to cultu­ral layer 2 (Figs. 3, 4). Therefore, we can see that the site had existed for a very long period of time, enough for the deposition of a layer of brown loams with a depth of up to 0.45m. The chipped stone industry We will summarize the information about the stone industry from the site. A total of 1533 artefacts have been discovered, 938 made of flint and 595 made of obsidian (see Table 1). The technique of blank removal is used to obtain blades and microblades by the method of manual pressing. Out of the 625 blade blanks and their seg­ments, only 25 are associated with blades. We have discovered 194 bladelets and 139 microblades. The absolute majority of bladelets and microblades have a width of 0.5–1.2cm. To obtain such bladelets and microblades, bullet shaped cores were used (Fig. 5.1). The discoveries of round tablets are also asso­ciated with the same cores (Fig. 5.2), with the nega­tives from removing flakes to correct the working platform. In general, we can say that flint flaking occurred mainly outside the site. This theory is supported by the evidence of the ratio of blades and flakes. There are more blades presented than flakes. This fact in­dicates that most of the artefacts were brought to the site already ready. Only a small number of bla­delets and microblades were produced on the terri­tory of the site (it is important to note that the pro­portions of blades and flakes on our excavation area are similar to the proportions found by Gogitidze). This conclusion is supported by having discovered only an extremely small number of flakes, chips and chunks. They are also smaller than the blades. This suggests that the site was visited periodically, and that the base camp of the visitors was in a different place. There are 262 tools in the complex, 105 of them made of flint and 157 made of obsidian. The most numerous are the retouched blades, bladelets and microblades, as well as their segments (89). Most such artefacts have a small semi-steep retouch along the edge (Fig. 5.28,31), but there are some with alter­native retouching (Fig. 5.22). There are a lot of bla­des with notches (27). There also are marked arte-facts with single wide notches (Fig. 5.25) and arte­ Kobuleti site> the evidence of Early Holocene occupation in Western Georgia facts with 2–3 edge notches (Fig. 5.26–27,29–30, 33–35). The burins are presented in a large series (62), and are characterized by great typological diversity. There are some burins on truncated facetted blades (Fig. 5.11,13–15), including bilateral burins (Fig. 5.14). There are many angle burins on broken blades (Fig. 5.12,16,19,24), such burins are often double (Fig. 5. 12,16). There also is a symmetrical dihedral burin (Fig. 5.23). All of the listed burins are made on bla­des. All the transverse (Fig.5.22) and dihedral angle burins (Fig.5.17–21) are made on flakes. There is one combined tool: a burin on a truncated facetted blade-endscraper. There are very few scrapers (15) in comparison to burins. All of them are made on flakes and are end-scrapers (Fig. 5.3–7). There is a series of chisels (15) made on massive segments of blades (Fig. 5.9–10). Some of the retouched flakes were probably used as scrapers and chisels (9). Truncated blades were also found (19), including blades with oblique truncation (Fig. 5.8.37) and a negative of a microburin spall on a blade with ob­lique truncation (Fig. 5.36). We can observe quite a representative complex as­sociated with hunting tools. This is a series of blade-lets and microblades (25) with abrupt retouch. These artefacts fall into two groups according to the width of the working blank. These are microblades and bla­delets with a thickness of about 1mm (Fig. 5.38, 40,42–47, 51–54,57–58), and massive microblades and bladelets with a thickness of up to 3mm (Fig. 5.39,41,48–50,55–56). We have concluded, based on the results of a use-wear analysis, that these artefacts are associated with hunting tools. We don’t see any traces on the edges of these tools that would indicate intensively using them as knives. On the other hand, we observe the traces on the retouching surfaces of these tools, indicating that they were inserted into the bone ar­tefacts. In our opinion, the backed bladelets and mi-croblades with abrupt retouch were made to be in­serted into bone points. We know of discoveries of such points in Early Holocene complexes of the South Caucasus. For example, such a point was found in the Early Holocene complex of Kvachara (Bader, Tsereteli 1989.Fig. 62.20). The use-wear analysis of flint and obsidian artefacts was carried out in the laboratory of Traceological Department at Georgian National Museum. The arte-facts were studied in two stages. The first was the microscopic study of the surface of the sample. Dif­ferent types of completely natural traces are left on the surface (lines, scratches, polishes, blunts, etc.) of the tools after usage (Semenov 1957; Semenov, Korobkova 1983), for the study of which binocular (MBS-9) and metallographic (Olympus) microscopes were used. The second stage of the research con­cerns the functional analysis of artefacts, which re­sults in the classification (Korobkova 1987; Esaki-ya 2005) of tools, on the basis of which the econo­my, its leading and secondary industries, site func­tions, economic characteristics and so forth are re­vealed. In general, the typology of the complex indicates that the site was used as a temporary hunting logistic camp, and very few production activities were car­ried out here. Guram Chkhatarashvili, Valery Manko Fig. 5. Kobuleti: lithic artefacts. Flint: 1–2, 4–9, 11, 14–18, 20–21, 23–28, 32; obsidian: 3, 10, 12–13, 19, 22, 29–31, 33–58. Kobuleti site> the evidence of Early Holocene occupation in Western Georgia Cultural affiliation of the site The question of the origin of the Kobuleti industry cannot be solved as it is based only on the local ma­terials. At the end of the Pleistocene, there was sim­ply no single industry on the territory of South Cau­casus that could have had a connection with the Ko­buleti complex. When we compare the M’lefaat industry with the Ko­buleti complex, we must refer to the materials of the earliest M’lefaatien sites. This is because the appea­rance of the Kobuleti industry was not accompanied by starting cattle breeding and agriculture. Mean­while, traces of cattle breeding in the M’lefaat com­plexes can be traced back to the 9th millennium BC (Zeder 2008). Therefore, only migrants during the very beginning of the Holocene could have brought the traditions of a hunting society. Because of this, it is essential for us to compare the materials of Ko­buleti with the complexes of M’lefaat (Dittermore 1983), Karim Shahir (Howe 1983), and the lower la­yers of Chaga Sefid (Hole 1977). We can see a deve­loped pressure technique in the materials of these sites. Based on the use of conical and bullet-shaped cores, we observe a combination of types of trun­cated blades and bladelets with abrupt-retouched edges. Other types of tools (burins, scrapers, notch tools) are also common within Type the Kobuleti industry. It is worth rek Culture with the same characteristics of the co­nical cores and tools developed from the first half of the Preboreal (Manko 2013; 2015). At the same time, we must understand that M’lefa­atian migration did not lead to the spread of animal domestication in the region, since at the beginning of the Holocene carriers of the M’lefaatian industry also did not practice reproductive economy methods (Zeder 2008). Possible M’lefaat migration to the Caucasus The theoretical basis for the search for arguments about the possibility of migration and its starting and ending points was the theory of Lev S. Klein (1999) about the archaeological criteria of migra­tions. Klein gives the basic criteria of migration in archaeology as legality (complex similarity of two complexes of cultures of the initial and final point of migration), unpreparedness (spontaneity, abrupt change of cultures) and a contact in time and space. He believes that the simultaneous application of all the criteria is excessive, because it can only happen in an ideal situation, when the archaeologist has a comprehensive source base. However, when ana­lysing the migration of the M’lefaatian population to the territory of Western Georgia, we can apply all Flint % Obsidian % Total % cores 2 0.21 1 0.17 3 0.20 noting that the burins with bila- tablets 3 0.32 1 0.17 4 0.26 teral forms are similar in both blades 17 1.81 8 1.34 25 1.63 cultures. In addition, the Early bladelets 110 11.73 84 14.12 194 12.65 M’lefaatian sites are undoubtedly microblades 83 8.85 76 12.77 159 10.37 older than Kobuleti, since almost flakes 180 19.19 92 15.46 272 17.74 all of the listed sites are dated as primary flakes 5 0.53 1 0.17 6 0.39 the Final Pleistocene. At the mo- chunks 156 16.63 65 10.92 221 14.42 ment, we have only one absolute chips 271 28.89 107 17.98 378 24.66 date for Kobuleti (layer 2, pit 7): burin spalls 6 0.64 3 0.50 9 0.59 8670±100 uncal BP (SPb-3084). tools burins 105 32 11.19 30.48 157 30 26.39 19.11 262 62 17.09 23.66 scrapers 6 5.71 9 5.73 15 5.73 Thus, the industry of Kobuleti and burin-endscraper 1 0.95 0 0.00 1 0.38 the early M’lefaat have many simi- chisels 9 8.57 6 3.82 15 5.73 larities, so we can presume there retouched flakes 5 4.76 4 2.55 9 3.44 was a migration of some of the M’lefaatian population to the ter- retouched blades, bladelets, microblades 30 28.57 59 37.58 89 33.97 ritory of the South Caucasus. notched blades, bladelets, microblades 10 9.52 17 10.83 27 10.31 This migration was the first step in the spread of the pressing flak­ing techniques in South Caucasus truncated blades, bladelets, microblades microblades with abrupt retouch 7 5 6.67 4.76 12 20 7.64 12.74 19 25 7.25 9.54 and the South of Eastern Europe total 938 100\61.19 595 100\38.81 1533 100 (Crimea, the Steppe zone of Ukra­ ine and Moldova), where the Kuk- Tab. 1. Kobuleti: typology of flint and obsidian artefacts. Guram Chkhatarashvili, Valery Manko three criteria. Of course, we cannot consider the ap­plication of all the criteria excessive, because we only have stone tools for analysis. We estimate the similarity of Kobuleti with M’lefaat complexes as almost complete. We find the follow­ing types of artefacts that are common: . Conical cores for obtaining bladelets and micro-blades with the use of the pressing technique; . Bladelets and microblades with abrupt retouch; truncated facetted bladelets; . Blades with flat ventral retouch; . Bilateral burins on truncated facetted blades; . Occasional use of the microburin technique in the process of truncating faceting. The criterion of spontaneity is also almost ideal. In the territory of Western Georgia, the emergence of the Kobuleti industry comes as a surprise. The cul­ture appears in fully completed form at the begin­ning of the Holocene. The previous development of the archaeological cultures of Western Georgia does not allow us to study the participation of some groups of the indigenous population in the genesis of the Kobuleti industry. The development of the pressing technique was an innovative feature that was not characteristic of any of the previous archa­eological cultures of the Caucasus. Absolutely innovative were the forms of cores and hunting weapons. The only archaeological culture that could theoretically act as a precursor to the Ko­buleti industry was the Epigravettian, which disap­peared in the Western Caucasus before the advent of the Kobuleti industry. Even if we assume that some part of the Epigravettian population was in­volved in the formation of the Kobuleti industry, the huge number of innovative features cannot explain it. Moreover, one of the latest sites of the Caucasus, the Kasoghsky Cave, has no signs of using pressing flaking technologies to obtain blades (Golovanova, Doronichev 2012). Thus, the spontaneity of the emergence of the Kobuleti industry in Georgia is un­questionable. The criterion of contact in time and space can also be traced. The available absolute dates convincing­ly show that the M’lefaat industry appeared earlier than the Kobuleti industry, but also coexisted with it. Such chronological evidence indicates that the migration vector could be directed only from the ter­ritory of Iran and Iraq to the territory of Georgia. Mapping of the oldest complexes of all three indu­stries clearly shows the route of the movement of mi­grants, on which there were no significant obstacles. Thus, we have all the theoretical prerequisites to draw conclusions about the possibility of global mi­gration of the M’lefaatian population in the Cauca­sus. Conclusions The migration of the M’lefaat population led to the spread of the pressing technique, first to the territo­ry of Western Georgia, and then to the territory of Ukraine and Moldova (the so-called Kukrek Culture). Later, the carriers of this technology became the founders of the Neolithic culture on the territory of the South Caucasus and the south of Eastern Europe. In Georgia, the sites of Anaseuli 1 and 2, Gurianta (Nebieridze 1972), Darkveti layer 6 (Korobkova 1996) appeared when the Kobuleti traditions were developing on the Neolithic stage. On the territory of Ukraine, Neolithic Sursk and Donetsk cultures appeared on the basis of the Kukrek culture. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This work was supported by the Batumi Shota Ru-staveli State University [grant number: 02-12/19]. Special thanks to the Emeritus Professor of the Ba-tumi Shota Rustaveli State University, Amiran Kakhi­dze, for the invaluable consultations. Kobuleti site> the evidence of Early Holocene occupation in Western Georgia References Arimura M., Chataigner C., and Gasparyan B. 2009. Kmlo 2. An Early Holocene Site in Armenia. Neo-Lithic 2009(2): 17–19. Bader N. O., Tsereteli L. D. 1989. Mezolit Kavkaza. In L. V. 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Maison de l’Ori­ent et de la Méditerranée. Lyon: 243–278. back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) From the Epipalaeolithic into the earliest Neolithic (PPNA) in the South Levant Anna Belfer-Cohen, Nigel Goring-Morris Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Jerusalem, IL anna.belfer-cohen@mail.huji.ac.il< nigel.goring-morris@mail.huji.ac.il ABSTRACT – This paper examines the nature of initial neolithisation indications during the terminal Pleistocene and earliest Holocene in the Southern Levant. This interval corresponds to a period of significant and geographically variable environmental changes in the region. Various lines of evi­dence are provided to demonstrate the long durée (15 000 years) character of interactions during ~ the Early, Middle and Late Epipalaeolithic that were instrumental to the emergence of the fully-fledged agricultural life ways in the later phases of the Early Neolithic (PPNB). KEY WORDS – Southern Levant; Epipalaeolithic; Natufian; Early Neolithic; cultural continuity Od epipaleolitika do najzgodnej[ega neolitika (PPNA) v ju/ni Levanti IZVLE.EK – V .lanku raziskujemo naravo kazalcev za.etne neolitizacije v .asu kon.nega pleistoce­na in najzgodnej.ega holocena na obmo.ju ju.ne Levante. V tem .asu je pri.lo do pomembnih, ven­dar geografsko razli.nih okoljskih sprememb v regiji. Ponujamo razli.ne dokaze o dolgoro.ni (ok. 15 000 let) naravi interakcij v .asu zgodnjega, srednjega in poznega epipaleolitika, ki so bili klju.ni pri oblikovanju razvitih na.inov poljedelstva v kasnej.ih obdobjih zgodnjega neolitika (PPNB). KLJU.NE BESEDE – ju.na Levanta; epipaleolitik; Natufijska kultura; zgodnji neolitik; kulturna konti­ nuiteta Introduction Since the inception of research in Southwest Asia, the unique ‘bridging’ role of the Natufian culture1 , between the ‘Palaeolithic’ and the ‘Neolithic’ (with all that such a role implies) has been widely acknow­ledged (Garrod 1932; Neuville 1934). The ‘inter­mediate’ nature of this entity – representing the shift from the preceding groups of mobile hunter-gatherers towards the following settled farming so­cieties, especially in the Mediterranean zone – is re­flected in many aspects of its material culture and lifeways (Fig. 1). There is, for the first time, evidence of long-term, semi-sedentary basecamp sites with substantial, durable structures accompanied by a largely microlithic knapped industry (Palaeolithic in nature), together with a heavy-duty component and sickle blades (heralding the chipped stone traditions of the Neolithic). Other distinctive features include cemeteries exhibiting complex burial rites, extensive groundstone and bone tool assemblages, and the ap­pearance of artistic and symbolic manifestations as constant components of the material culture reper­toire (see Bar-Yosef, Valla 1991; 2013; Cauvin 2000; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2013a; Grosman, Mun­ro 2017; Nishiaki et al. 2017; Shaham 2014; Ye-shurun et al. 2014). Yet, after many years of systematic research the ter­minology and processes involved in the transforma­ 1 Originally considered as ‘Mesolithic’, nowadays it is attributed to the ‘Late Epipalaeolithic’ period, see Table 1. DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.3 From the Epipalaeolithic into the earliest Neolithic (PPNA) in the South Levant tion from the latest Natufian to the first Neolithic entities, namely the Pre-Pottery Neolithic A (PPNA; incorporating at least two cultural entities, the ‘Khia­mian’ and the ‘Sultanian’) has been contentious and hotly debated (e.g., Abbes 2014; Bar-Yosef et al. 2010; Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris 1996; Crow-foot-Payne 1976; Garfinkel 1996; Gopher, Barkai 1997; Kuijt 1996, 1997; Nadel 1990; Ronen, Leche­vallier 1999). Additionally, there has been increas­ing awareness that, at least in the Southern Levant, the criteria that justified the use of the term ‘Neoli­thic Revolution’ actually became apparent only with the shift from PPNA to PPNB (Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2011a; 2016; and see below). Initially, as is often the case in archaeology, it was assumed that the Neolithic ‘package’ was ‘exotic’ (i.e. allochthonous), having arrived from somewhere outside the region, as it was assumed that major changes as a rule occurred through external ‘stimuli’ (e.g., Kenyon 1957). Later, it was believed that du­ring the latest Natufian phase there was a reversion to more mobile life-ways, brought about mostly due to the ‘forcing’ conditions of the sup­posedly harsh climatic Younger Dr-yas event (e.g., Grosman, Belfer-Co­hen 2002; Moore et al. 2020). Still, it was assumed that the local Neoli­thic rose from the ‘ashes’ of the de­clining Natufian, without going into the specifics of how this came about, or the relation of the local southern Neolithic to the emergence of early Neolithic phenomena in the north­ern Levant (Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris 2014; Cauvin 2000; Mellaart 1975). That the local Neolithic rep­resents Natufian survival, ‘by-the­skin-of-their-teeth’, is strengthened also by the presence of only a few sites with a unbroken Natufian – Neo­lithic sequence and the fact that most PPNA occurrences are found in dif­ferent locations from the preceding major Natufian base camps (see Bel-fer-Cohen, Goring-Morris 2010; Go-ring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2016 for details and references). Current research has clearly demonstrated that there is solid evidence for local, in situ continuity between the two cultural manifestations. This is re­flected by recent investigations of several ‘Epi-Na­tufian’ and ‘Khiamian’ settlements in the Mediterra­nean zone.2 Sites are mostly located at low eleva­tions at the edge of the lower Jordan valley, i.e. Sa­libiya IX, Gilgal II, Huruk Musa and Nahal Ein Gev II (Dag, Goring-Morris 2010; Eitam et al. 2015; Enoch-Shilo, Bar-Yosef 1997; Grosman et al. 2016; Rosen­berg et al. 2010) and in the low-lying areas west of the central hill range, i.e. Nahal Oren, Tel Bareqet, Tzur Nathan, Kaizer, Qula and Hatoula (Grosman, Goren-Inbar 2007; Herzlinger et al. 2013; Khalaily, Marder 2010; Lechevallier, Ronen 1994; Marder et al. 2007; Paz et al. 2009; Ronen, Lechevallier 1991; Stekelis, Yisraely 1963; Zbenovich 2006), all dating to the interval of c. 12 500–11 600 cal BP. The ar­chaeology of those sites provides solid evidence of 2 In the southern desert margins there appears to have been a virtual hiatus between the end of the Epipalaeolithic Harifian enti­ty (= local variant of the Late/Final Natufian) and the initial PPNB (Goring-Morris 1991). Though see also the ‘Epi-Harifian’ of Abu Madi I in southern Sinai (Pomerantz-Greenblat 2014). Anna Belfer-Cohen, Nigel Goring-Morris local, endemic developments ‘bridging’ the end of the Natufian complex foragers’ existence and the emergence of larger, clearly sedentary PPNA (Sulta-nian) settlements. In attempting to understand the dynamics that ope­rated to enable the appearance of what is consider­ed to represent the initial Neolithic, it is necessary to refer to the Early and Middle Epipalaeolithic. In­deed, quite a number of ‘Natufian-cum-Neolithic’ cha­racteristics appear much earlier, already by the Early Epipalaeolithic, with the onset of the Last Glacial Ma­ximum (LGM; and see Table 1). This said, we shall present rather briefly the processes believed to be in­strumental in shaping the Natufian entity, and which apparently continued into the Neolithic. Clearly, some of what will be presented is rather speculative, but we do rely on evidence to that effect in the ar­chaeological record. We should clarify that we ad­here to and point out the separation between long­term and short-term trends taking place throughout the entire Epipalaeolithic sequence. The Early and Middle Epipalaeolithic (Figs. 2, 4) The effects of the LGM appear to have differed be­tween the Mediterranean zone (cold and wet) and areas further to the south (cold and dry) due to changes in the configuration, tracks and intensities of the winter storms (‘Cyprus lows’) over the eastern Mediterranean (Bar-Matthews et al. 1999; Enzel et al. 2008; though see Miebach et al. 2016). With the onset of the Early Epipalaeolithic, c. 25 000 cal BP, a long-term trend of steady demographic growth is notable in the Southern Levant, continuing thereafter (Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2011a.Fig. 2; Gros-man 2005; Stutz et al. 2009). Concurrent with the increase in population there was shrinkage in the scale and scope of the ranges/territories of specific Epipalaeolithic groups, when a variety of different entities can be identified based upon the stylistic pro­clivities of the chipped stone assemblages (Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris 2011; Goring-Morris 1995; Leplongeon, Goring-Morris 2018; Marder, Goring-Morris in press). These processes were not linearly accumulative, since they were also affected by chang­ing environmental circumstances, including the glo­bal rise of sea levels and the drop in Lake Lisan lev­els reflecting significant changes in the ratio if pre­cipitation vs. evaporation (Lisker et al. 2010; Torf-stein et al. 2013). With the beginning of an amelioration following the LGM, c. 20/19 000 cal BP, the formerly arid south ‘opened up’, and the Middle Epipalaeolithic entities emerged, expanding throughout the Levant (Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2019). It was against this back­ground of long durée processes that short-term trends were observed amongst the more specific and immediate interactions of the various mobile foraging groups inhabiting the region. It is in the context of the early Epipalaeolithic Mas-raqan entity (Tab. 1) that there is already direct evi­dence for the extensive use of small-grained seeds and the cultivation and harvesting of cereals in the Southern Levant (Arranz-Otaeguia et al. 2016; Gro-man-Yaroslavski et al. 2016; Piperno et al. 2004; Snir et al. 2015a; 2015b). Although this evidence derives from only one site, Ohalo II, it can be rea­sonably assumed that these practices occurred on a small-scale in other (Early and Middle) Epipalaeoli­thic communities, at least in the Mediterranean re­gion. This is also the period when quantities of pounding and grinding stones are first documented (Belfer-Cohen, Hovers 2005; Rosenberg 2008). The sizes of mobile bands of Palaeolithic foragers are commonly thought to comprise 25 individuals. In ~ order to sustain genetically viable populations, the minimum mating pool should have included 250 ~ individuals, necessitating contacts with 10 other ~ groups, at least on a periodic basis (Birdsell 1968; Wiessner 1974; Wobst 1975). The presence of mas­sive aggregation sites, i.e. Kharaneh IV and Jilat 6 (Garrard, Byrd 2013; Maher, Conkey 2019; Maher et al. 2011; 2016), spanning the later Early and the beginning of the Middle Epipalaeolithic (c. 19 500– Period Cultural Entities cal BP Duration Years Early Epipalaeolithic Masraqan, Nebekian, Kebaran, Nizzanan ~25 000–19 000 ~6000 Middle Epipalaeolithic Geometric Kebaran, Mushabian, Ramonian ~18 500–15 000 ~3500 Late Epipalaeolithic Natufian, Terminal Ramonian, Harifian ~15 000–11 650 ~3350 PPNA Khiamian, Sultanian ~11 650–10 600 ~1050 PPNB Early, Middle, Late, Final PPNB ~10 600–8350 ~2250 Tab. 1. Chronological scheme of terminal Pleistocene and early Holocene cultural entities in the South­ern Levant. From the Epipalaeolithic into the earliest Neolithic (PPNA) in the South Levant 18 500 cal BP), encompassing several sociocultural entities in eastern Transjordan, are clearly impor­tant in this regard. They by far exceed the sizes of earlier or indeed contemporary occupations else­where in the Southern Levant. This novel means of social interaction would have fostered groups’ ties at a larger scale than previously (Belfer-Cohen, Go-ring-Morris 2017). Formerly thought to be strategically located for the interception of migratory herds of gazelle, recent preliminary isotopic evidence indicates that the prey were non-migratory, and instead thrived in large herds within the local steppic environment (Hen-ton et al. 2017; 2018). Nevertheless, the size and scope of the occupations do indicate the (seasonal?) aggregation of bands from throughout much of the region, as reflected in the large quantities of marine molluscs recovered, which derive from both the Red and Mediterranean Seas (Rich­ter et al. 2011; and see Byrd et al. 2016 for modelling of the ranges of such groups). The various archaeological en­tities (identified on the basis of stylistic techno-typological crite­ria) of the Early and Middle Epi-palaeolithic are generally de- Fig. 2. Artistic and symbolic items from the Levantine Epi-palaeolithic. Early Epipalaeo­lithic: A Urkan-e-Rubb II; B Qa­shish; C–D Kharaneh IV; O Ji­ita. Late Epipalaeolithic (Early & Late Natufian): E Wadi Ham-meh 27; F, G, R, V Eynan (Ain Mallaha); H, U el-Wad; I Upper Besor 6; J, L Hayonim Cave; K, P, S Fazael VI; M Raqefet Cave; N Hayonim Terrace; T Nahal Ein Gev II; (Harifian) Q Ramat Harif. After: Copeland, Hours 1977; Edwards et al. 2013; Gar-rod 1936–1937; Garrod, Bate 1937; Hovers 1990; Maher et al. 2012a; 2012b; Noy 1986; Perrot 1960; 1966; Rosenberg et al. 2020; Valla 2019; Valla et al. 2012; Yaroshevich et al. 2016. Photos: Nigel Goring-Morris, Gabi Laron, Alexander Marshack – Archives of Insti­tute of Archaeology, The He­brew University of Jerusalem. Note different scales. marcated both chronologically and geographically; the latter is especially observable when comparing the Mediterranean and the arid areas of the South­ern Levant. Thus one can follow through the archa­eological record the spatial movements of groups pertaining to one entity or the other (e.g., Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris 2011). With the shift to the Middle Epipalaeolithic, as environmental conditions improved, the Geometric Kebaran techno-complex was initially dispersed throughout the northern and Southern Levant (Bar-Yosef, Belfer-Cohen 1989; Bar-Yosef, Meadow 1995; Goring-Morris 1987; 1995). Coevally, the earlier phase of the Mushabian techno-complex was restricted only to the Negev and Sinai. Later, the Geometric Kebarans seemingly disappear­ed from the south, in our opinion ‘evicted’ by the Mushabians and their descendants, the Ramonians, albeit while continuing to thrive in the north within the Mediterranean zone (Goring-Morris 1987; 1995). Anna Belfer-Cohen, Nigel Goring-Morris Matters changed, however, with the emergence of the Late Epipalaeolithic Natufian, which apparently spread throughout the Southern and Northern Le­vant, with observable adjustments to the particula­rities of each phytogeographic zone (as reflected in the different phases and facies of the entity) (Ashke­nazy 2014; Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris 2013). Though most of the material culture remains from the Early and Middle Epipalaeolithic are the lithic as­semblages, the retrieved material also comprises bone tools, a groundstone industry, ochre and shells as well as artistic-cum-symbolic manifestations, which though rare, are more frequent than in the preced­ing Upper Palaeolithic entities (e.g., Gregg et al. 2011; Hovers 1990; Kaufman 1999; Muheisen 1988; Rabinovich, Nadel 1995; Richter et al. 2011; Yaroshevich et al. 2016; and see Belfer-Cohen, Go-ring-Morris in press). The Late Epipalaeolithic (Figs. 1–4) It seems that the encounters during the later Middle Epipalaeolithic between the Geometric Kebarans and the Mushabians/Ramonians were instrumental in the emergence of the Natufian techno-complex (dated to the Late Epipalaeolithic, from c. 15 000 cal BP onwards), with its distinctive features, to be found throughout the Southern Levant and beyond. How did this come about? We hypothesize that the Geometric Kebarans were ‘pushed out’ of the Negev and Sinai in the south, where they are seemingly documented for only a short duration, retreating northwards into the Medi­terranean zone, back to their ‘ancestral’ territories that they traditionally shared with those Geometric Kebaran bands which had continued to exploit the lusher regions of the Southern Levant, perhaps ‘bear­ing with them gifts’ from the south (also see below). Under such circumstances (Mediterranean Geomet­ric Kebaran communities facing the presence of Geo­metric Kebaran ‘refugees’ from the south), there would have been two options: . Either the ‘newcomers’ were rejected and left to their ‘gruesome’ fate; or, . They were accepted by the local communities, with whom they most probably continued to have shared a mating pool. We believe that the available prima facie archaeo­logical evidence tends to favour the latter scenario. Accordingly, individual Geometric Kebaran group sizes increased, requiring re-alignments in the spa­tial configurations of their territories, reflecting high­er population densities and contraction into smaller territories than previously (Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris 2013; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2013a). While there is no evidence in the Mediterranean zone for aggregation sites on the scale seen previ­ously during the earlier Epipalaeolithic (see above)3 , it seems that still other social mechanisms would have had to be initiated in order to ensure inter-com­munity contacts and thus retain a sufficiently large mating pool. Indeed one can observe certain characteristics that clearly derived from the south and were incorporat­ed into the Natufian cultural repertoire, being intro­duced (rather than ‘imposed’), individually or within single groups. An obvious example of this is the use of the microburin technique (mbt) in some Natufian sites, while absent from others (Bar-Yosef, Valla 1979; Henry 1974). Indeed, we believe that the mbt – used systematically during the Nebekian, Nizzanan and Mushabian (and including in the Negev/Sinai and eastern Transjordan) to shape microliths, but unknown in the Mediterranean Kebaran and Geo­metric Kebaran, was now introduced to some Medi­terranean Natufian communities.4 It seems that there was a need to deal both with the ‘external’ changes in groups’ subsistence resources (necessitated by changes in territory sizes and pop­ulation densities), as well as with the ‘inner’ social alterations affected by increased numbers of group members, some of whom were the ‘newcomers’ from the south. Even though the changes affected some groups more than others, overall one can ob­serve a ‘domino’ effect that ultimately impacted the entity as a whole. Signalling and symbolling incre­ased significantly, as is apparent in the rich assem­blages of artistic manifestations in many Natufian sites (e.g., Major 2018; Nadel, Langyel 2009; Orrel­ 3 In the semi-arid Negev highlands, the Rosh Horesha/Saflulim site complex may represent a Late Natufian aggregation site (Goring-Morris et al. 1999) that likely reflects the more mobile adaptation of this local facies due to environmental factors as opposed to coeval Natufian communities in the Mediterranean zone. 4 While, as a rule the Geometric Kebarans did not use the mbt technique habitually, there are sporadic instances in the Negev of un­usual assemblages with Geometric Kebaran-like typological forms, i.e. trapeze/rectangle variants, fabricated using the mbt at Shlu-hat Qeren II, amongst other sites (Goring-Morris 1987.170). From the Epipalaeolithic into the earliest Neolithic (PPNA) in the South Levant le 2014; and references therein). All of these may contribute to ex­plaining the appearance of those novel elements distinguishing the Natufian from its predecessors, making it unique among the Epi-palaeolithic entities; still, some of these elements continued to be shared with the immediately en­suing Neolithic (PPNA – c. 11 600 cal BP). At the same time, the Natufians retained features and character­istics of their preceding ances­tors. Moreover, detailed studies have revealed that, in fact, quite a few of the ‘Neolithic hallmarks’ are deeply rooted in the cultural realms of the Epipalaeolithic en­tities, even the earlier ones (Go­ring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2016; Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris in press). It seems that by following the di­stinct and specific trajectory of the evolution of Natufian ‘exis­tence’, we can start to unwrap the beginnings of the PPNA. Thus one can observe in the Natufian that: . As communities became in­ creasingly sedentary there were opportunities to accumu­ late more ‘stuff’ (i.e. material belongings). . As communities increased in size there was a ne­ cessity to develop novel social mechanisms to regulate the increasingly complex nature of inter­ personal, intra-community and inter-community interactions. . The growing intra- and inter-group densities dic­ tated more marked distinctions among the vari­ ous communities comprising the Natufian entity as a whole. Most immediately, many of these phenomena were expressed in the archaeological record, including a desire for ‘exotics’, and investments in the decora­tive and symbolic aspects of both non-utilitarian and mundane artefacts. The latter was expressed, among other ways, by the distinct stylistic ‘signatures’ of specific communities (Belfer-Cohen 1991; Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris 2013; Noy, Brimer 1980; Ro- senberg et al. 2020; Shaham 2014; Shaham, Bel-fer-Cohen 2013; Shaham, Grosman 2019; Torres et al. 2020). The processes enumerated above continued into the PPNA, evolving and changing through time (as had already occurred during the course of the 4000 year sequence of the Natufian), accompanied by increas­ed interactions with entities further afield (e.g., Kha­laily, Valla 2013). Indeed, similarities and continuities are manifested in a wide range of material culture realms. Thus with regard to the constructed environment a num­ber of architectural concepts continued, with the ongoing use of semi-subterranean circular structu­res. Indeed, it was only with the transition to the Pre-Pottery Neolithic B (PPNB) that the shift to quadri­lateral concepts in the Mediterranean zone is observ­ Anna Belfer-Cohen, Nigel Goring-Morris ed, culminating in the Middle PPNB (e.g., Banning 1998; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2013b). We be­lieve that the appearance of obvious communal structures in the PPNA is, in a way, the culmination of mostly social processes evolving during the course of the Natufian. A unique Natufian phenomenon observed in the Me­diterranean region is the ‘return to the caves’ (Bar-Yosef, Martin 1981; Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris 2009; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2010), namely the intensive use of caves for special activities, e.g., burial grounds, ceremonies, feasting, etc., as illus­trated by the Hilazon Tachtit cave (Grosman, Mun­ro 2007, 2016; Grosman et al. 2008; Munro, Gros-man 2010), Hayonim cave (Belfer-Cohen, Bar-Yosef 2012) and Raqefet cave (Nadel et al. 2013). Perhaps this restricted use of caves by members of particular Natufian groups reflects com­ munal activities that would later take place during the Neolithic in communal, ‘pub­lic’ buildings (see Hayden 2012). Indeed it is of interest to note that during the Natu­fian, large-scale structures are first observed in its early sta­ges; yet they disappear from Fig. 4. Epipalaeolithic excha­nge items. A-B, G-H, J-L Natu­fian; C, F Harifian; D, E Keba-ran and Geometric Kebaran. A Kebara Cave (flint ‘luna­tes’); B Hayonim Cave, Eynan and el-Wad (jewelry – bone, shells and exotic minerals); C Shluhat Harif (green meta­morphic handstone); D, E Ka­raneh IV (marine – Red and Mediterranean Seas – mollu­scs); F Ramat Harif (turquo­ise pendant); G Hayonim Cave (Mediterranean scapho-pod beads); H-I Eynan (obsi­dian blade/bladelets and exo­tic green stone ornaments); J Hayonim Cave; K Eynan; L Kebara Cave (non-local ba­salt groundstone items). Pho­tos after: Bar-Yosef Mayer, Zohar 2010; Khalaily, Valla 2013; Maher et al. 2012a; Ri­chter et al. 2011; Archives of Institute of Archaeology, The Hebrew University of Jerusa­lem. Note different scales. the later architectural repertoire, perhaps replaced by the activities in the caves, as the examples above all pertain to the Late/Final Natufian. It is of interest to note that the kiva-type structure, O75, at PPNA Wadi Faynan 16 (WF16) provides similarities with the large-scale structures at (early) Natufian Eynan (L131) and Wadi Hammeh 27 (Edwards 2013; Fin-layson et al. 2011; Haklay, Gopher 2015; Mithen et al. 2018; Valla 1988). Clearly, continuity is also ob­served in the artistic manifestations (Shaham, Gros-man 2019). The funerary practices provide an apt example of such a clear continuity between the Natufian and PPNA. Mostly because of the detailed data available, but also because these practices reflect processes and beliefs that are not impacted directly by the physical surroundings (as opposed to the more mundane as­ From the Epipalaeolithic into the earliest Neolithic (PPNA) in the South Levant pects of daily existence, such as the availability of food resources). Clearly there were various proces­ses already developing during the course of the Na-tufian (suffice it to note the disappearance of dec­orated burials in the Late, as opposed to the Early Natufian, and the rise in the practice of skull re­moval). Cemeteries emerged in designated areas within Natufian habitation sites, a phenomenon al­ready apparent in its initial stages in the Geometric Kebaran (Maher et al. 2011). By the Natufian, the funerary practices included dedicated architecture, as exemplified by the funerary structure of ‘Habita­tion’ 1 at Eynan (Ain Mallaha), which is quite diffe­rent from domestic structures with its plastered bench and upright monoliths (Perrot, Ladiray 1988). It is during the later Natufian that dedicated burial sites emerged, e.g., Hilazon Tachtit, Raqefet and Na-hal Oren (Grosman, Munro 2016; Nadel et al. 2013; Noy 1993). In terms of actual burial practices, PPNA burials fol­low patterns already documented during the Natu­fian – namely a variety of burial positions: single and multiple, primary (sometimes disturbed) and se­condary burials; sometimes with grave markers; se­lective skull removal; few, if any personal decora­tions; re-arrangements of human bones; and unique burials (Croucher 2012; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Co­hen 2013c; and references therein; and see Fig. 3). Additionally, certain Natufian and PPNA funerary practices appear to herald subsequent developments during the PPNB, i.e. the likely appearance of foun­dation burials, as exemplified at Natufian Hilazon Tachtit (Grosman, Munro 2016) and PPNA Burial F8(298) at WF16 (Mithen et al. 2015). There are also other practices heralding the PPN, namely the use of ‘pasty’, plaster-type material to encase and/or cover burials, e.g., Natufian Nahal Ein Gev II (Frie-sem et al. 2019; Grosman et al. 2016) and PPNA WF16 (Mithen et al. 2015). Continuity of practices is observed through cases of ‘basket’ and ‘bundle’ burials, the use of stone ‘pil­lows’ in graves, the decorative pigmentation of skulls, joint human/animal burials, as well as evidence for funerary feasting. Natufian examples of the above derive from Eynan (Perrot, Ladiray 1988), Nahal Ein Gev II (Grosman et al. 2016), Azraq 18 (Boc­quentin, Garrard 2016), Shubayka 1 (Richter et al. 2019), Hayonim Terrace (Valla 2012), and Hilazon Tachtit (Munro, Grosman 2010); the PPNA exam­ples derive mainly from the site of WF16 (Mithen et al. 2015). In addition, the ‘sitting’ graves in the ce­metery area at PPNA Hammeh are somewhat rem­iniscent of both those at the Early Epipalaeolithic Ain Qasiyah, Natufian Hayonim cave and the later PPNB burials at Tell Hallula on the Euphrates (Bel-fer-Cohen 1988; Guerrero et al. 2009; Makarewicz, Rose 2011; Richter et al. 2010). Practices observed even earlier, in the Early Epipa­laeolithic levels of Kharaneh IV (Maher et al. 2011; 2012a) are the introduction of animal horn cores as head adornments, found also in Natufian Eynan (Perrot, Ladiray 1988; and see Figure 3.H), and at PPNA Hatoula (Le Mort 1994; Goring-Morris, Bel-fer-Cohen 2011b)5 . Another feature, quite enigma­tic, relates to intentionally holed/pierced skulls, whe­ther with a sizeable or narrow bored hole, observ­ed as isolated cases all through the Natufian-PPNA­PPNB sequence. One parsimonious hypothesis claims that the holes were intentionally bored post-mortem for suspending the skulls, based on observations made on a PPNB plastered skull from Jericho (Flet­cher 2016). Intentional drilling of skulls (rather than excavation accidents) was also observed on Early Natufian (H25 at el-W, see Weinstein-Evron 2009) and Late Natufian individuals (H23 at Nahal Oren, see Dupouy-Madre, Crognier 1973), and has been reported in a number of personal observations6 . The rich symbolic/artistic repertoire of the Natufian (e.g., Major 2018 and references therein) can be de­scribed, for our purposes, as reflecting three compo­nents: . general ‘Natufian’ features through time (phases); . local, site specific and regional particularities (fa­ cies); and . long durée features evolving through time that continued into the Neolithic. Illustrations of the latter include the appearance of artistic manifestations observed in Late Natufian sites in the Jordan Valley incorporating the use of 5 The accompaniment of horn cores with burials is documented both, earlier in the Late Upper Palaeolithic, at Nahal Ein Gev I (Arens-burg 1977) and later in the PPNB (Locus 1304) at Kfar HaHoresh associated with a skull cache (pers. obs.). 6 A human cranium with a drilled hole in the parietal (for suspension?) was described from a LPPNB multiple grave (Loc. 1155) at Kfar HaHoresh (Simmons et al. 2007.17, Fig. 13b). This skull formed part of a deliberate spatial arrangement, perhaps in the form of a depiction. It also demonstrated evidence for perimortal trauma indicating that the individual may have been a victim of ho­micide. More recently, a similar phenomenon of a drilled skull was published from PPN Göbekli Tepe, supposedly as an innova­tion (Gresky et al. 2017). Anna Belfer-Cohen, Nigel Goring-Morris soft limestone/chalk as raw material, or incised pat­terns on bone and stone (e.g., Grosman et al. 2016; Hershman, Belfer-Cohen 2010; Shaham, Grosman 2019; and references therein), bead-spacers (Bar-Yosef Mayer 2010) and the appearance of green beads (Bar-Yosef Mayer, Porat 2008). Accordingly, it seems likely that both the material culture of the Natufian and PPNA designate continuity and change pertaining to signalling and symbolism of a long durée nature, most probably indicating the lengthy process of the transformation before, and in paral­lel to, the economic ‘turn-over’ to fully agricultural practices. Additionally, while there is already evidence dur­ing the earlier Epipalaeolithic for long distance ex­change, e.g., marine molluscs (Bar-Yosef Mayer, Zo­har 2010; Richter et al. 2011), during the course of the Natufian the range of items and sources involv­ed in long-distance exchange increased significantly; this includes basalt for groundstone tools (Wein-stein-Evron et al. 2001), flint (Delage 2013, 2018) and obsidian (Khalaily, Valla 2013), as well as green stone (Bar-Yosef-Mayer, Porat 2008). Source areas include the Nile Valley, Transjordan, the Mediterra­nean and Red Seas, western Sinai, northwestern Saudi Arabia, Cappadocia, as well as sources closer to home (Belfer-Cohen, Goring-Morris in press; Go-ring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen in press). Concluding remarks In exploring the shift in the Southern Levant from the Epipalaeolithic to the Neolithic we have suggest­ed an apparent continuity, illustrating it with a few examples. Clearly, however, when checking the ac­cumulating archaeological data, it becomes obvious that the processes of change were incremental and of long durée, the initial roots of which can be traced right back to at least the Early Epipalaeolithic, almost ten millennia prior to the emergence of the Natu­fian. Still, during the long and winding course of the Natufian and after, during the PPNA, cultural proces­ses demonstrate major changes in life-ways in com­parison to the preceding Palaeolithic. This is reflect­ed at the level of the individual community, as well as within the region as a whole, and beyond. Ultima­tely, the available evidence indicates that the ‘ar­chaic’ villages of the PPNA ‘Sultanian’ should be viewed as the culmination of developments begin­ning with the emergence of the Natufian, c. 15 000 cal BP ago, setting the backdrop against which the fully fledged agricultural villages of the subsequent PPNB emerged. We have focused on data pertaining to Natufian – PPNA continuity, primarily within the Mediterra­nean ‘core area’ (i.e. a ‘linear’, to some degree, pro­cess), ignoring other contemporaneous develop­ments taking place farther afield in neighbouring areas, such as the appearance of the Harifian entity (c. 12 650–11 650 cal BP), with its particular adap­tations to the arid Negev and Sinai (Goring-Morris 1991; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2013a). While geographically marginal, environmental chan­ges in this area (i.e. the Younger Dryas event at 12 900–11 600 cal BP) may have triggered proces­ses the impact of which reverberated throughout the broader region. Even if the Mediterranean zone it­self was not involved (i.e. did not suffer from wors­ening conditions except to a limited degree, if at all), the phenomena taking place in the neighbouring, more arid, regions may also have indirectly impacted the Mediterranean zone. Indeed, we believe that the dynamics of such phenomena played a significant role in developments portraying the neolithisation processes (e.g., Watkins 2013), including actual movements of populations, such as the Late Epipa­laeolithic/Early Neolithic colonization of Cyprus (Clarke 2014; Simmons 2014). These processes in­troduced new lifeways, new spiritual paradigms, and, when moving into territories already settled by in­digenous populations, invoking what may be view­ed as the cultural parallel of the biological force of ‘hybridization vigour’. Summing up all of the above, based on both the ar­chaeological record and the way we currently un­derstand cultural evolution (Henrich 2016 and refe­rences therein), one can conclude by stating that the Southern Levantine Neolithic phenomenon can be said to have arisen from the ‘ashes’ of the Natufian. It was triggered by processes, such as the tighten­ing of previously established social networks, with distant ‘cousins’ from the periphery of the Natufian domain joining their kin in the Mediterranean re­gion, in much the same manner as had occurred ear­lier with the transition from the Middle to the Late Epipalaeolithic (see above), emphasizing the notion that one must indeed be aware that not every change comes about through external triggers, and we have to take into consideration the impact of local dyna­mics and the effects of their accumulation. We believe that this is a recurrent phenomenon, noted in diverse, far-flung regions, with different chronologies. 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In­tensification and sedentism in the terminal Pleistocene Natufian sequence of el-Wad Terrace (Israel). Journal of Human Evolution 70: 16–35. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jhevol.2014.02.011 Zbenovich V. 2006. Salvage excavations at a Pre-Pottery Neolithic site at Modi'in. ‘Atiqot 51: 1–15. Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic Bill Finlayson 1, Cheryl A. Makarewicz2 1 Department of Social Sciences, Oxford Brookes University, Oxford, UK wfinlayson@brookes.ac.uk 2 Institute of Prehistoric and Protohistoric Archaeology, Kiel University, Kiel, DE c.makarewicz@ufg.uni-kiel.de ABSTRACT – Recent excavations in Jordan have demonstrated a long sequence of development from the late Pleistocene Epipalaeolithic through the early Holocene Pre-Pottery Neolithic. Superficially, the growing body of social and subsistence evidence suggests Neolithic communities emerged from traditions rooted in the early Epipalaeolithic. However, while developments such as the construction of shelters, population aggregation, and subsistence intensification may be essential for the emer­gence of a Southwest Asian Neolithic, they are typical of contemporary hunter-gatherer societies and not inherently Neolithic. Notably, the Neolithic in Southwest Asia was not a homogenous entity, but instead supported diverse expressions of subsistence, symbolic behaviours, and cultural trajectories across the region. To understand the emergence and development of the Neolithic, we need to exam­ine this richly diverse history and its many constituent pathways. KEY WORDS – Neolithic; Epipalaeolithic; Jordan; hunter-gatherer Onkraj Jordana> raznolikosti predkerami;nega neolitika IZVLE.EK – Nedavna izkopavanja v Jordanski dolini so pokazala dolgo sekvenco razvoja od pozno pleistocenskega epipaleolitika do zgodnje holocenskega predkerami.nega neolitika. Na prvi pogled vedno ve. podatkov o dru.bi in eksistenci ka.e na to, da so se neolitske skupnosti razvile iz tradicij, ki imajo korenine v zgodnjem epipaleolitiku. Medtem ko so pojavi, kot je postavitev zavetij, zdru.e­vanje ljudi in okrepitev na.inov pre.ivetja, klju.ni za pojav neolitika v jugozahodni Aziji, gre ven­darle za tipi.ne vzorce sodobnih zdru.b lovcev in nabiralcev in ti pojavi sami po sebi niso neolitski. Neolitik v jugozahodni Aziji ne predstavlja homogene entitete, ampak vklju.uje raznolike izraze pre-.ivetja, simbolnega vedenja in kulturnih poti na tem obmo.ju. Za razumevanje pojava in razvoja neolitika moramo preu.iti to bogato raznoliko zgodovino in njene .tevilne sestavne poti. KLJU.NE BESEDE – neolitik; epipaleolitik; Jordanska dolina; lovci-nabiralci Conceptualizing the Neolithic The region to the East of the Jordan Valley has often the Epipalaeolithic. It lies far away from the early been cast as marginal to the emergence of farming Neolithic ‘golden triangle’ of the northern Levant as-societies associated with Neolithic lifeways, perceiv-sociated with the wild progenitors of plant and ani-ed as located on, or beyond, the fringe of the core mal domesticates, as well as culturally rich in sym-Mediterranean zone where intensification in the ex-bolic art (Koz³owski, Aurenche 2005). In this con-ploitation of food resources was underway during text, Neolithic innovations, even populations, have DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.4 Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic been often assumed to have arrived east of the Jor­dan from either west of the Jordan or from the northern Levant (Bar-Yosef 2000; Cauvin 2000; most specifically in Late PPNB colonization: Gebel 2004). In contrast to such views, recent research has shown that this area east of the Jordan was very much an active part of the Southwest Asian Neolithic transition, populated by indigenous communities who appear to have been experimenting with their own innovations (Finlayson, Makarewicz 2017). Here, distinctive local developments engaged with every part of the Neolithic transformation, including subsistence, demography, society, and ideology, pro­viding a useful counterpoint to established narratives and thus highlighting the need for a re-assessment of our perception of the Neolithic as a unitary pheno­menon. As such, the region east of the Jordan Valley contributes to our understanding of the fundamen­tal change in the course of human history that is termed the Neolithic. The conventional and widely accepted idea of the Neolithic is still based on Childe’s early 20th century definition that it affected all parts of life, a subsis­tence dimension comprised of a farming economy based on domesticated plants and animals, as well as storage of surplus and a system of delayed return of resources, novel social developments to organise larger, more sedentary populations with new mecha­nisms for the coordination of collective activities, and an ideological shift to focus on fertility (Childe 1934; Zeder 2009; Finlayson 2013). In a European context, where this package largely arrived ready-made, such a definition of the Neolithic as an archa­eological phase remains relatively useful. However, in Southwest Asia it has become an increasingly poor match to the Neolithic as phase, a dislocation starting from the mid-20th century identification of a ‘pre-Pottery’ Neolithic (Kenyon 1959). Here, the defini­tion provided by Childe becomes the endpoint of a complex autochthonous development process where different elements of the package evolved at diffe­rent rates and times in different places. Childe him­self was more concerned with process and revolution than static endpoint, as he made “no distinction between the origins of agriculture and the spread of farming economies” (Brami 2019.30). Several problems arise from the resulting tension between definition and process. Firstly, much of the period described as ‘the Neolithic’ in Southwest Asia does not fully achieve the definition of the Neolithic as described above, especially regarding a fully devel­oped farming economy. Secondly, having a period defined by its endpoint makes it hard to avoid teleo­logical approaches that try to identify successful steps in the development process, ticking them off against the shopping list represented by the pack­age of Neolithic traits. Thirdly, it leads to a circular­ity of argument in many synthetic accounts of the Neolithic, where a ‘prime mover’, typically demogra­phic pressure, has been argued as both evidence of development and its cause (e.g., Binford 1968; Co­hen 1977; Flannery 1969; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2008; Redding 1988; Rindos 1984). This dislocation between evidence and narrative has become more evident in the context of a substantial growth in empirical knowledge of the Neolithic in Southwest Asia that has taken place over recent years, with the discovery of new sites, progressively more refined excavation techniques, and the effec­tive deployment of new archaeological scientific ana­lytical approaches. It has become increasingly clear that the process that led to the Neolithic was not simply a single trajectory led by one centre of inno­vation but entailed multiple pathways that involved numerous geographic loci over time, including, for example, the late Epipalaeolithic Mediterranean woodland zone, the early Neolithic Middle Euphra­tes, and later Neolithic Anatolia (Rollefson, Gebel 2004). This recognition of the importance of regional de­velopments has not been accompanied by any sub­stantive revision to the widely-accepted use of a Childean concept of the Neolithic. Despite over a de­cade of discussion regarding a multi-centred, poly-centric, or uncentred Neolithic (Rollefson, Gebel 2004), synthetic descriptions of the Neolithic still focus on the common factors that define the Neoli­thic as a package. Even where variable local patterns of development are identified, for example in the processes of plant or animal domestication, those that can be classified as components of the Neolithic end-point are prioritized. This is seen, for example, in the recent genomic research on barley domesti­cation, which confirms multiple centres of domes­tication within a mosaic pattern across the region (Pankin et al. 2018; Poets et al. 2015). What does not appear to readily contribute to the existing con­cept of the Neolithic is downplayed. For example, east of the Jordan, recognition of the ideological component of Childe’s package has led to an em­phasis on symbolic ritual where it can be identified, as in the shrines and temples of ‘Ain Ghazal, but vir­tually no mention is made of their absence from every other Late PPNB site in the region (Rollefson 2004; 2005) (see Figure 1 for a map of all Neolithic Bill Finlayson, Cheryl A. Makarewicz sites east of the Jordan Valley mentioned in text). Similarly, the almost complete absence of plastered skulls east of the Jordan is not taken as an interest­ing variation on Neolithic behaviour that might cast light on the social and ideological transformations taking place, but has instead been largely ignored within what is described as a broader Levantine de­velopment (cf. Kuijt 2000; 2008b; Makarewicz, Fin-layson 2018). In both these cases, the absence of overt symbolism is not part of the anticipated pack­age, is therefore not discussed, and thus evades fur­ther scrutiny so that important regional variation is smoothed over and even homogenized. This blend­ing of regional developments into the conventional paradigm of the Neolithic in effect subverts the con­cept of a multi-centric Neolithization process. Our understanding that there were multiple pathways re­quires that we recognize diversity and do not focus solely on developments that will subsequently coa­lesce into a Neolithic package. The region east of the Jordan provides a case study that emphasizes the importance of diversity at the local, regional, sub-re­gional, and even site scales. In a similar manner, a Neolithic that is largely defined in terms of becoming Neolithic also in­vites a search for the earliest manifestation of the Neolithic process. As such, any develop­ment that with hindsight con­tributes to neolithisation pro­cesses is made part of the pro­cess of becoming Neolithic and prioritized in our accounts. Consequently, Epipalaeolithic developments are measured against Neolithic traits to see if they can be incorporated into what is now described as a long or slow Neolithic (Hodder 2018; Watkins 2018). For example, recent research focus­ing on the early Epipalaeolithic site of Kharaneh IV east of the Jordan Valley has argued that traits conventionally associat­ed with the Neolithic, such as the scale and permanence of community, began to develop over a long period in the Late Pleistocene, suggesting that “this trajectory of intensifica­tion culminated, inevitably, in food production” (Maher et al. 2012.78). By de­scribing such elements of Epipalaeolithic lifeways as precocious elements that inevitably foreshadow the Neolithic, the Neolithic as part of long-term human evolutionary trajectories is, unsurprisingly, confirm­ed. Furthermore, by extending the chronology of the Neolithic to incorporate these early developments, as proposed in the extended Neolithics of Ian Hod-der or Trevor Watkins, risks declaring all change as preparatory to the Neolithic. Instead, thinking about such Epipalaeolithic behaviour should be considered within the context of hunter-gatherer adaptations, as it would be in other prehistoric contexts around the world (and see Maher, Conkey 2019 for such an approach). This would provide more fruitful avenues to understanding human behaviour, rather than a priori inclusion as part of a teleologically framed Neolithic. Our understanding of the Neolithic transition in the southern Levant, including the area east of the Jor­dan Valley has been largely directed by ‘prime-mo­ver’ models that invoke demographic pressure, cli- Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic mate change, and the solutions adopted to resolve stresses induced by these factors (e.g., Binford 1968; Cohen 1977; Flannery 1969; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2008; Redding 1988; Rindos 1984; Sterelny, Watkins 2015). Flannery’s Broad Spectrum Revolu­tion provided a central model for late Pleistocene hunter-gatherer subsistence intensification, under­stood as laying the grounds for the domestication of plants and animals in parallel to additional demo­graphic pressure on resources created by increasing sedentism and population. More intensive resource exploitation, which enabled population growth and sedentism, was underpinned by the growth of social complexity within hunter-gatherer societies (Flan­nery 1972; Keeley 1988). The social and ideological components captured by the term ‘complexity’ there­fore became essential aspects of how the Neolithic is conceptualized. The transition to food production which lies at the core of the transformation allows a distinction to be made between complex, intensi­fying hunter-gatherers on the one hand, and farmers and pastoralists on the other. Unfortunately, most descriptions of complex hunter-gatherer societies treat them as watered down versions of farming so­cieties (e.g., Bender 1985). It has been convincingly argued that the terminology has primarily been used to move the boundary between hunting and gathering and farming to absorb intermediate groups as hunter-gatherers (Smith 2001). This places them in a transitional evolutionary stage which masks the potential range of behavioural adaptations within hunter-gatherer societies independent of any evolu­tionary connection to the Neolithic (Lightfoot et al. 2011). As argued by Artemova, no hunter-gatherer society in the ethnographic present shows any signs of making the sort of transitions seen in the Natu­fian or early Neolithic (Artemova 2020), placing these past societies outside our common contempo­rary understanding of hunter-gatherers. Modern hun­ter-gatherers, part of the modern world, make poor analogues for the earliest developments in food pro­duction. Demographic pressure, whether contributing to re­source or social stresses, continues to be employed by many scholars as an underlying causal factor in the development of a Neolithic package. Several re­cent influential models, developed largely on evi­dence from the northern Levant and Anatolia, pre­suppose that the principal drivers of these complex economic and social changes arose from social, ideo­logical, psychological, or cognitive developments, in turn occurring largely as mechanisms to cope with new demographic stresses produced by living close to so many people (Cauvin 1994; 2000; Hodder 2005). Kim Sterelny and Trevor Watkins (Sterelny, Watkins 2015) see demographic change pushing all other subsistence and symbolic developments, and they build their idea of cultural niche construction on an understanding of a long-term rise in popula­tion density and the scale of co-resident communi­ties spanning the period from 22 000 to 8500 cal BP. They draw heavily on the work of Robin Dunbar (Dunbar 1998), who has argued that living togeth­er in large groups (over 150 individuals), requires new mechanisms to enable people to manage the complexity of economic and social relations beyond what can be achieved via one-to-one relations. Evidence for this underpinning demographic explo­sion has been argued as visible in the apparent growth in number and scale of settlements through the Epipaleolithic and Neolithic, and also in a trend towards more substantial architectural forms gen­erally assumed to equate to greater permanence of settlement (Kuijt 2000; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2011). Settlement size and the density of sites in the landscape are explicitly treated as proxies for popu­lation dynamics in Southwest Asian Neolithic archa­eology although it is clear that throughout Southwest Asia, Neolithic settlement distribution densities and architecture varied over time in different areas (Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2011). A fundamental plank of these demographic arguments is the as­sumption that Neolithic settlements are primarily sedentary residential bases, where the principal ar­chitectural components are houses, and that these settlements have good analogues in the modern Middle East, providing straightforward correlations for population size estimates (Wilson 1988; Byrd 2000). Recent fieldwork has called into question the assumption that such architecture is predominately residential (e.g., Kuijt, Finlayson 2009; Finlayson et al. 2011b), and the conception of the Neolithic as a long transitional period makes any analogy with mo­dern farming communities hard to sustain. Here, we will use the evidence from east of the Jor­dan Valley to argue that while this area was an ac­tive part of the Southwest Asian transition to farm­ing, for most of the period there is no clear evidence for demographic pressure as either a causal or con­sequent factor. The size of settlements here, as op­posed to their structural permanence, did not mar­kedly increase until almost the final phase of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic. In contrast, we will suggest that settlement concentration at focal points in the land­scape was a desired cultural objective from the Natu­ Bill Finlayson, Cheryl A. Makarewicz fian onwards. People wanted to enhance their com­munity’s place in the landscape and achieved this through a combination of subsistence, social, and ideological strategies. The concept of ‘home’ and at­tachment to places in the landscape beyond imme­diate economic value may have been developing in hearth-centred base-camps for at least 125 000 years (Kuhn, Stiner 2019), but from the Natufian the built environment appears to have been actively used as a mechanism to support this objective. Architecture was employed to support a delayed-return storage economy, and to sustain the social structures that helped this economy function. The stone-built ar­chitecture of the Natufian may not necessarily indi­cate greater sedentism than in the preceding Epipa­laeolithic (cf. Boyd 2006), but it indicates a greater permanence of the constructions built not only to serve as containers for stores, but also for the myths and memories of society (Maher, Conkey 2019). Si­milarly, the ideological changes we can infer from architecture and mortuary evidence may arise as means to bring communities together, rather than as a coping mechanism to survive the accidental de­mands and stresses of demographic pressure gene­rated by burgeoning populations and settlements. From Epipalaeolithic to Neolithic East of the Jordan Valley The rapid climate changes that characterized the end of the Pleistocene have previously been invoked as a forcing mechanism behind developments of cul­tural and subsistence change, from the flourishing of the Early Natufian during the warm Bolling-Allerod, the subsequent and putatively more stressed mobile Late Natufian in the cold Younger Dryas, and Neoli­thic village life and farming starting with the Holo­cene (Belfer-Cohen, Bar-Yosef 2000; Moore et al. 2000; Byrd 2005a). However, the region to the east of the Jordan Valley is particularly diverse, ranging from Mediterranean woodland to desert and from highland plateau to rift valley, so that global climate change had variable, locally specific effects through­out Southwest Asia at the end of the Pleistocene (Contreras, Makarewicz 2016). Climate change through the Epipalaeolithic and into the Neolithic would have altered the location of the boundaries between some of these zones, most substantially with the eastward extension of savannah over areas now known as arid desert (Contreras, Makarewicz 2016; Richter et al. 2017; Rollefson et al. 2011). Re­cent analyses have generally downplayed the signi­ficance of both Younger Dryas and early Holocene climate change in the region, while our knowledge of the precise effects of climate change, and its chro­nological correlation with changes in human diet and society, remains imperfect (Contreras, Makarewicz 2016; Flohr et al. 2016; Stein 2014; Torfstein et al. 2013; Richter et al. 2017). At present the scale, tim­ing, and effects of climate change on human settle­ment and subsistence remain difficult to assess. The region east of the Jordan witnessed an Epipala­eolthic to Neolithic succession similar to the rest of the southern Levant, commencing with an early Epi-palaeolithic (c. 21000–14900 cal BP), comprised of various cultural or functional components largely identified from chipped stone assemblage variabil­ity. The Natufian (14 600–11750 cal BP), conven­tionally divided into an ‘Early’ and ‘Late’, based on perceived differences in settlement permanence and mobility (e.g., Bar-Yosef 2000), may perhaps be a single, heterogeneous phase east of the Jordan, il­lustrating local historical diversity, as discussed be­low. Recent work west of the Jordan has also sug­gested that the conventional two-fold Natufian divi­sion may have been overstated (Barzilai et al. 2017). The first phase that is labelled as ‘Neolithic’, the Pre-Pottery Neolithic A, appears to commence before the end of the Natufian, especially in the south of Jordan, where the site of WF16 may over­lap with the chronological range of the Harifian, a Late Natufian variant located in the Negev desert to the West (Finlayson et al. 2011a). The sub-division of the PPNA into a short initial Khiamian phase, fol­lowed by a longer Sultanian (Byrd 2005a), is not visible east of the Jordan. Instead, a long Early PPNA (c. 12 000–10 800 cal BP) appears to have been fol­lowed by a relatively short Late PPNA (10 800– 10 300 cal BP), chronologically parallel to the Early PPNB, known from a small number of sites (Finlay-son, Makarewicz 2017). The Middle PPNB (10 300– 9200 cal BP) is represented by relatively few sites east of the Jordan Valley, but there is a dramatic change in settlement visible during the Late PPNB (9200–8700 cal BP) when the number and scale of sites increases significantly. Subsistence A key feature of Epipaleolithic subsistence is the assumed importance of cereals in hunter-gatherer diets, a development frequently interpreted as a pre­cocious move towards Neolithic subsistence strate­gies that potentially promoted increased sedentism. Both intensive cereal exploitation and sedentism have been interpreted as critical ‘pre-adaptations’ leading to farming and village life (e.g., Bar-Yosef 1998; Byrd 2005a). Research at early Ohalo II awar­ Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic ded significance to the use of small seeded grass cereals in Epipaleolithic subsistence on this basis (Piperno et al. 2004). Further reliance on cereals, understood as supported by the purported appear­ance of extensive stands of cereals in the core Medi­terranean zone during the warm Bolling-Allerod, has been argued to have underpinned Early Natufian (14600–13700 cal BP) sedentism, followed by in­creased mobility returning as the climate cooled – and cereal stands decreased – during the Younger Dryas (Bar-Yosef 2000). Unfortunately, evidence to support this presumed dependence on cereals during the Natufian has always been scant, with only sparse palaeobotanical remains so far recovered. Further­more, queries have been raised over such proxy evi­dence as glossed ‘sickle’ blades (alternatively used for cutting reeds: Maeda et al. 2016), grinding stones (perhaps used for grinding acorns: McCorriston 1994; Mason 1995; Olszewski 1991), and the pos­sible absence of cereal stands from the Mediterra­nean woodland ‘core’ zone (Olszewski 1993). Recent excavations at the Natufian site of Shubayqa 1 (14 600–12 000 cal BP) in north-eastern Jordan provide clear evidence that the Natufian emerged well to the east of the Jordan Valley at the same time as it appeared in the woodland ‘core’ zone. The Natufian was spread across diverse landscapes and environments from its inception (Richter et al. 2017), confirming that Natufian communities were not dependent on any individual habitat or specific plant food source. Instead, they developed locally appropriate strategies of food procurement that enabled them to use multiple resources while at the same time maintaining low mobility. Along these lines, the exploitation of clubrush tubers, but not ce­reals, at Shubayqa 1 points to heterogeneity in Natu­fian subsistence strategies (Arranz-Otaegui et al. 2018). The limited direct archaeobotanical evidence from the Natufian indicates subsistence was not (and certainly not uniformly) reliant on cereals or legu­mes, the ‘founder-crops’ of Neolithic farming. Less than 10% of the palaeobotanical remains identified represent elements of the founder-crops, indicating that Natufian strategies did not provide an early stepping stone on a direct route to cereal domestica­tion (Arranz-Otaegui et al. 2018). On the contrary, the Natufian patterns of intensified resource exploi­tation of selected plants and animals are similar to those adopted by hunter-gatherers around the world (Woodburn 1982; Rowley-Conwy 2004; Yeomans, Richter 2018) and as described explicitly, for exam­ple, by Andrew M. T. Moore et al. (2000) and Brian Hayden (2004). Additional evidence for the origins of a delayed re­turn plant food economy, transitional to food pro­duction, has also been sought in storage technology. However, it remains unclear how far storage had developed in the Natufian. Storage pits have been reported from a number of sites, including Nahal Ein Gev II east of the Jordan (Grosman et al. 2016), but it is generally accepted that early estimates of Natu­fian storage were considerably overestimated (Bar-Yosef 1998; Olzsewski 1991). Taking into conside­ration these aspects, the ‘Early’ and ‘Late’ Natufian were not so much different adaptations to hypoth­esized climate change, but more likely at least par­tially contemporary variations resulting from Natu­fian adaptations to local resources. Intensification of local food procurement, supported by the new tech­nology of large mortars, appears as part of a wider strategy that reflected choices in ways of inhabiting the landscape that involved a stronger commitment to specific locations rather than food sources. The PPNA palaeobotanical record suggests that peo­ple inhabiting landscapes east of the Jordan Valley were active in the development of new skills and technologies that are seen widely throughout early Neolithic Southwest Asia, by now increasingly con­verging on cereal exploitation. From early within the Neolithic east of the Jordan Valley there is evi­dence of a new local and indigenous move towards food production, with a notable increasing focus on cereals (Colledge et al. 2018). Cultivation of wild cereals in the Early PPNA is also strongly suggested by the installation of granaries, as seen at Dhra’, which contained cereal phytoliths, and at WF16, as well as the volumes of chaff used as temper in mud constructions at Dhra’ and possibly at WF16 (Kuijt, Finlayson 2009; Flohr et al. 2015). The presence of both small- and large-sized barley (Hordeum sp.) grains with a smooth abscission scar present on bar­ley rachis remains recovered from Late PPNA el-Hem­meh and Zaharat edh Dhra’ 2 (ZAD2), and seeds from potential weedy taxa, suggest pre-domestica­tion cultivation had become established by the Late PPNA (Edwards et al. 2004; Meadows 2004; White, Makarewicz 2012). The relative importance of founder-crops was variable between PPN communi­ties, representing less than 10% of the palaeobota­nical remains at ZAD2, but almost 60% at el-Hem­meh, followed by a general increase throughout the Levant during the Early PPNB, when on average these plants represent just over 40% of recovered palaeobotanical remains (Arranz-Otaegui et al. 2018). Bill Finlayson, Cheryl A. Makarewicz The construction of buildings designed for storage and food processing in the PPNA (Kuijt, Finlayson 2009) illustrates the development of storage eco­nomies, and hints at new social pathways for food, where use of collective storage facilities suggests an emphasis on the sharing of foods. Sharing is consi­dered as archetypal hunter-gather behaviour, usually rigorously enforced especially with high value hunt­ed foods (Woodburn 1982; Bird-David 2005). The construction of collective storage may indicate the transfer of this hunter-gatherer sharing ethos into the delayed-return economies of early low-level food producing communities. The shift of emphasis onto the sharing of plant foods may also indicate that in the Neolithic the new harvests gained the dietary and social value previously held by meat. Intensification in plant husbandry developed further throughout the PPNB (10 500–8700 cal BP) east of the Jordan Valley, as evidenced by wheat remains bearing domesticated phenotypes alongside pre-do­mestication cultivation of barley (White, Wolff 2012), and the replacement of PPNA cup hole mortars by PPNB querns that more efficiently process cereals in bulk. Storage features were increasingly internalized within PPNB residential structures, eventually beco­ming hidden in small basement compartments by the Late PPNB, showing that the unit of sharing had changed to the household, rather than the entire community (Kuijt 2008a). This shift in the nexus of storage has been discussed in the context of delayed-return hunter-gatherer economies, allowing for the control and accumulation of goods, and is not a prac­tice limited to farming societies (Hayden 2004). The potential for control of subsistence stores provides an equivalent potential for the development of so­cial stratification and the rise of ‘aggrandizers’ with­in the community (Hayden 2004), but so far no PPN sites east of the Jordan have provided any evidence for such social stratification. One recently discovered burial at Late PPNB Ba’ja may indicate the presence of individuals with non-hereditary influence within what has been interpreted as an increasingly hete­rarchical society (Benz et al. 2019). In southern Jordan during the PPNA, there was a unique focus on hunting goats rather than gazelle, which were heavily exploited elsewhere in the south­ern Levant. The extent to which this reflects adapta­tion to local animal availability, or cultural choices, is unclear. By the Middle PPNB there is a notable change in animal exploitation, as at Beidha, where ongoing work by Cheryl Makarewicz suggests that age and sex-specific goat-harvesting practices are con­sistent with those of managed herds (also see He-cker 1982). By the Late PPNB domestic breeds of goats and sheep, likely imported from the northern Levant, were heavily exploited, although morpholo­gically wild forms of goat were still hunted (Maka­rewicz 2013). Recent analysis of faunal assembla­ges from Late PPNB sites, including es-Sifiya, el-Hem­meh, Tel Tif’dan, Ba’ja, Basta, and ‘Ain Jammam, in­dicates a varied and complex pattern of caprine ma­nagement strategies were employed, with people not only using their animals for meat but possibly also for dairy and potentially for wealth accumula­tion (Makarewicz 2009; 2013). The Late PPNB ex­pansion of people dependent on domestic animals into eastern Jordan illustrates how the new techno­logy was being developed and adapted to new en­vironmental contexts (Fujii 2009), although it is likely that hunting continued to be an important ac­tivity in the badia long after the development of pa-storalism, as can be seen in the numerous desert kite hunting traps (Abu-Azizeh, Tarawneh 2015; Wilkinson 2003; Helms, Betts 1987). Subsistence strategies east of the Jordan were tuned to local environmental conditions and resource avai­lability, with an increasing management of food re­sources over the course of the Epipalaeolithic and Neolithic. However, it is not clear that any change in subsistence before the end of the Natufian can be in­terpreted as on an inevitable track to the Neolithic. Intensification, delayed return, and the possible li­mited use of storage are not uniquely Neolithic traits but are all aspects that are present within the range of hunter-gatherer behaviours. In contrast, in the PPNA there are clear developments in the produc­tion and storage of plant foods. The development of granaries in Jordan is at the cutting edge of Neoli­thic subsistence economic developments. The extent to which PPNA communities depended on these new cultivated and stored resources is less clear. In the PPNB the focus of subsistence innovation moves to animal resources when, after initial innovation in herd management, domesticated breeds are intro­duced to the area. Again, the moment when people began to depend on domesticates and food produc­tion remains uncertain. Society and settlement The Neolithic transformation entails major changes in society, the novel social mechanisms required to structure life facing the demographic challenges of the larger and more sedentary settlements assumed to emerge in parallel with the development of farm­ing (Sterelny, Watkins 2015). Our understanding of Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic social change is closely entangled with evidence for settlement, sedentism, architecture, and population. Most early Epipalaeolithic sites are small, relatively temporary campsites. This confirms exactly what would be expected of the ‘simple hunter-gatherers’ assumed to represent human societies before the in­tensification of subsistence associated with complex hunter-gatherers, or low-level food producers (i.e. Smith 2001). Field survey in the Jordanian badia, where flint scatter sites are readily visible on de­flated desert surfaces, has located numerous small Epipalaeolithic sites (Betts 1999). Only two sites, Kharaneh IV and Jilat 6, have a markedly different, larger footprint. These sites are widely understood as aggregation locations with extended periods of intermittent but repeated occupation (Richter et al. 2011). There are brushwood shelters at Kharaneh IV, containing renewed floors and hearths, that have been argued to represent a growing relationship to place (Maher et al. 2012). The duration of their pe­riodic use is even more marked than their overall size. Kharaneh IV extends to c. 2ha and was repeat­edly occupied for over a thousand years during the Kebaran and Geometric Kebaran, while Jilat 6, ex­tending to 1.8ha, contains Nebekian, Qalkhan, and Nizzanian cultural material with occupation lasting thousands of years (Richter et al. 2013). The full areal extent of the occupations at any given moment is unknown, but was probably considerably small­er than the full surface area of the sites, which ac­cumulated as long-term palimpsests. These large ag­gregation sites with their shelters are comparable to examples ranging from the Palaeolithic to the eth­nographic present, such as the !Kung San aggrega­tion sites of the Kalahari (Lee, DeVore 1968), or the construction of log dwellings by the Yamana of Tierra del Fuego, despite their previous description as the most ‘primitive’ of hunter-gatherers (Lothrop 1928; Vidal 1999). As such, neither aggregation sites nor shelters indicate any significant, or inevitable steps on a trajectory to the Neolithic in the early Epi-palaeolithic. They are examples of common patterns of hunter-gatherer residence and mobility, often sea­sonal, where flux in the composition of residential groups is common, and while the same people rarely occupy one location permanently, long-term occupa­tion of a site is relatively common (Ingold 1999; Ste­ward 1955; Turnbull 1968). The subsequent late Epipaleolithic Natufian is con­sidered a ‘complex hunter-gatherer’ society that, de­spite its long duration, is implicitly understood as in­herently unstable due to the deteriorated climate conditions associated with the Younger Dryas and has acquired the status of a temporary transitionary period in the Neolithic process (Belfer-Cohen, Bar-Yosef 2000). Natufian sites remain rare east of the Jordan Valley, and the excavated examples including Early Natufian Wadi Hammeh 27, multi-phase Shu-bayqa 1, and Late Natufian Nahal Ein Gev II, are all small, between c. 1200 to 2000m2 (Edwards 2012; Richter et al. 2014; Grosman et al. 2016), although a halo of artefactual material around the main mound of Shubayqa may indicate the site was larger (Rich­ter et al. 2014). While other small sites have been identified around the Qa’ Shubayqa, there is no in­dication they were occupied simultaneously (Betts 1999). These rare, small sites that between them span the entire Natufian period provide no evidence of either an increase in the scale or frequency of sites in the landscape, or any indication of rising de­mographic pressure during the Natufian east of the Jordan. Population appears unlikely to have been dri­ving social change at this time. However, while population may not have increased, the sharp change in the form of architectural con­struction at Natufian settlements from the earlier Epi-palaeolithic shelters suggests a transformation in the nature of settlement was taking place, which may in­dicate that social changes were occurring. Natufian sites exhibit a range of architectural forms and con­struction techniques, but all share substantial stone-built circular architecture. The presence of one very large building at Wadi Hammeh 27 (c. 13m diame­ter) with standing stones and one decorated stone slab, and at Nahal Ein Gev II, where benches were installed along with well-constructed hearths and storage features internal to the structures, together indicate that these structures served as much more than the simple shelters of the earlier Epipalaeoli­thic. Whilst recognizing that earlier populations un­doubtedly lived in highly socialized landscapes, re­turning to the same places both many times and po­tentially for extended periods (Maher, Conkey 2019), the amount of labour required from the Na-tufian onwards to prepare the building sites, pro­cure construction materials, build, and maintain the structures, represents a significant increase over the investment in the earlier shelters. There has been a long-standing debate on the nature of sedentism in the Natufian, and in general there is no reason to assume it must have been significantly greater than in the earlier Epipalaeolithic (see Boyd 2006 for a summary of the debate). However, the emergence of stone architecture in Natufian settlements is com­bined with new large, non-portable, stone grinding Bill Finlayson, Cheryl A. Makarewicz tools, potential storage features, cemeteries, and even monumental constructions, such as at Wadi Hammeh 27. Together, these suggest a shift in how people associated with places, their conception of themselves in the landscape, and in their ability to engage collectively in long-term projects. They have gone beyond the assumed anticipation of the long­term, repeated use of locations seen in the earlier ag­gregation sites, apparently deliberately making their mark on the landscape more permanent through the use of stone architecture, and at the same time tying themselves more closely to these locations, not only in a practical sense but also potentially through the association of communal kinship to place provided by cemeteries. These traits all continued to develop in the PPNA, when architectural complexity becomes remarkably commonplace. Most Early PPNA settlements east of the Jordan were relatively small, with little evidence for either greater concentrations of population, or overall demogra­phic pressure. WF16 is similar in size to Natufian set­tlements, with the main phase of occupation encom­passing an area of c. 2000m2, while Iraq ed Dubb located in northern Jordan is c. 500m2 in size (Kuijt 2004). The overall dimensions of the site of Shara-ra, located in the lower reaches of the Wadi Hasa, have not yet been precisely determined, but again the site appears less than 2000m2 in size. Dhra’, lo­cated close to the Dead Sea, is the largest Early PPNA site known east of the Jordan Valley; it is not only under a hectare in size, but also only supported a re­latively low density of occupation with open space between buildings (Finlayson et al. 2003). Structures in PPNA settlements are generally thought to have served as places of residence, and there is a considerable literature on the Neolithic development of house and home (e.g., Wilson 1988; Watkins 1990). PPNA sites to the west of the Jordan Valley, such as Netiv Hagdud, are typically characterized by numerous near identical structures, assumed to re­present nuclear family residences (Finlayson, Maka­rewicz 2017). However, the assumption that dome­stic shelter was the primary force driving develop­ments in early architecture does not appear to hold true east of the Jordan Valley, where architecture has a much more diverse and complex history. A particular feature of this diverse architecture is that much of it appears to be communal in nature – from shared storage structures to larger public architec­ture (Finlayson et al. 2011b). This is not present at most sites to the west, and at Netiv Hagdud the evi­dence for the construction of storage features is li­mited to some small, stone lined pits, with no direct evidence for how they were used (Bar-Yosef, Gopher 1997). In the small part of Dhra’ that has been ex­cavated, three building forms have been identified, one for storage, one for food processing, and one by default assumed to be residential. If this pattern of varied building function were maintained across the site, it would indicate that the residential density, and presumably associated population, was low. At WF16 there is no obvious residential form, or stan­dard ‘house’ type, and almost every structure ap­pears different from its neighbours. The proportion of the site taken up by a single large structure (O75) at WF16 suggests that the space available for resi­dential purposes would have been only a fraction of even this small site. These Early PPNA sites continue the pattern emerging in the Natufian, of changes in the built environment that relate to social organiza­tion, and the emergence of food storage economies, but not of demographic pressure. Late PPNA sites were also relatively small. Mushash 163 located in the steppe east of the Jordanian pla­teau edge is under 3000m2 in size (Tvetmarken, Bartl 2015), and the settlement of ZAD2 encompas­ses only 2000m2, dominated by a single large struc­ture with its major axis 7m long (Edwards, House 2007). Kharaysin by the Zarqa river is a large site, but its Late PPNA component is only known from two adjacent semi-subterranean structures (Ibanez et al. 2015). The Late PPNA occupation at WF16 re­mains approximately the same size as the earlier phase of settlement. Although settlements mostly remained small east of the Jordan Valley during the PPNA, the architecture at these sites has an increasing focus on non-residen­tial buildings, a pattern that appears to have roots in the Natufian, with examples both to the west at Mallaha and east of the Jordan at Wadi Hammeh 27. Stone, or well-built pisé, architecture, communal sto­rage, and the presence of ritual and performative buildings all suggest these architectural develop­ments east of the Jordan Valley are not the result of a simple process of people settling down to tend or store cultivated crops but contain a strong element of social signalling to bind the community together. Furthermore, the presence of unique communal buildings at most of these small PPNA sites east of the Jordan provided distinctive features which were specific to individual settlements, emphasizing the individual identity of each community and its rela­tionship with place (Fig. 2). This again has historical roots in the Natufian relationship between site and Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic landscape, where the settlement became an increa­singly fixed node between land and people. There is extremely rare evidence for an Early PPNB (10 950–10 300 cal BP) entity east of the Jordan, most convincingly at the recently discovered site of Harrat Juhayra 202, identified mainly by the pres­ence of Helwan points (Fujii et al. 2020), but also at the site of Jilat 27 (Garrard, Byrd 1992), and possi­bly in the final phase of Mushash 163 (Tvetmarken, Bartl 2015). This Early PPNB presence does not ap­pear to represent a short-lived transitional phase, nor the eventual arrival of the Early PPNB from the northern Levant as part of an externally generated PPNA-PPNB transition. The radiocarbon dates from Harrat Juhayra 202 suggests it is early in the Early PPNB phase and is contemporaneous with the Late PPNA phase in southern Jordan (Fujii et al. 2020). The lack of a time lag in the appearance of the Early PPNB in Jordan, and the apparent continuity at Mushash from the Late PPNA to the Early PPNB, both argue against the introduction of the Early PPNB after it fully developed in the north. Equally, recent radiocarbon dates place Shkarat Msaied early in the Middle PPNB sequence and overlap with the conven­tional chronology of the Early PPNB (Kinzel 2013). Continuity in developments in chipped stone tech­nology in the south of Jordan and elements of archi­tectural continuity direct from the Late PPNA to the Middle PPNB further confirm there is a local deve­lopment that is distinctly different to the Early PPNB stage (Finlayson, Makarewicz 2017; Smith et al. 2016; 2019). Two distinct historical sequences ap­pear to be emerging, representing the simultaneous presence of communities with distinct cultural affilia-tions. This is significant for our growing understand­ing of Neolithic society as being far from homoge-nous, with markedly different communities living in close geographic proximity. Our knowledge of the Middle PPNB east of the Jor­dan Valley is limited to a few, albeit extensively ex­cavated, sites. In the south, both Shkarat Msaied and Beidha are small settlements, characterized by dense­ly clustered substantial architecture. Byrd estimated that Beidha extended between 1500 to 3600m2 in size, depending on the degree of erosion of its west­ern edge (Byrd 2005b). Recent work has suggested that erosion was not as extensive as previously pro­posed, however, and the lower size estimate may be more accurate (Makarewicz, Finlayson 2018). Shka-rat Msaied is c. 1000m2 in area (Kinzel et al. 2011). The architecture at Shkarat Msaied and the earliest phase (Phase A) at Beidha is circular and single roomed. In the subsequent (and still Middle PPNB) phase at Beidha, while the buildings remain single roomed, they become more rectangular, although still with rounded corners. This is similar to the ear­liest Middle PPNB phase at ‘Ain Ghazal in the north of Jordan. By the end of the Middle PPNB at both Beidha and ‘Ain Ghazal, these structures had been replaced by multi-roomed rectilinear buildings. A si­milar process appears to have taken place at Ghwayr 1, although the multi-roomed (and probably two-sto­rey) buildings there are likely to be Late PPNB in date (Simmons, Najjar 2006). Rollefson has argued that ‘Ain Ghazal is the only source of evidence for population growth in the Middle PPNB, but that even here the site remained smaller than 4–5ha (Rollef-son 2001). Preliminary reports regarding Kharaysin suggest this site may have been very large during the Middle PPNB, but so far excavations have not confirmed whether occupation covers the whole site area at any one time (Ibanez et al. 2015). There is no sign of a substantial in­crease in population, nor of demo­graphic pressure, with sites remain­ing relatively rare, and most small, until the end of the Middle PPNB. What the settlement evidence does indicate is continuing change taking place in community organization. The highly diverse, specific function buildings of the PPNA are replaced in the Middle PPNB with more stan­dard architectural forms replicated Bill Finlayson, Cheryl A. Makarewicz within the settlement, including both circular and rectangular forms. Such standardization has been widely assumed to represent common residential forms (although see Banning 2011 for a discussion of the difficulties in defining residential structures), and suggests that during this period residential ‘hou­ses’ may be emerging east of the Jordan Valley. How­ever, strong elements of community level organiza­tion were maintained, suggested by the continued use of unusually large buildings as seen at, for exam­ple, communal Building 37 at Middle PPNB Beidha, which served as an arena for daily practice, central practice, and a focal point within the village (Maka­rewicz, Finlayson 2018). A dramatic shift in settlement size and density took place around 9200 cal BP in the Late PPNB, evi­denced by the appearance of numerous large set­tlements exceeding 10ha in size, including ‘Ain Gha­zal, Wadi-Shu’eib, es-Sifiya, Khirbet Hamman, Basta, and ‘Ain Jammam (Rollefson 2004; Simmons et al. 1989; Mahasneh 1997; Rollefson, Kafafi 1985; Ge-bel et al. 2006; Waheeb, Fino 1997). Somewhat smaller Late PPNB settlements including el-Hemmeh, Hamarash, al-Khayran, Ba’ja, (Makarewicz et al. 2006; Sampson 2012; Kroot et al. 2012; Gebel, Bie­nert 1997) and settlements in the Jafr basin such as Wadi Abu Tulayha further filled out the landscape (Fujii 2009). Within these settlements, larger struc­tures become more prevalent, often with internal compartmentalization and private storage in base­ment cells, with at least one residential floor above the storage. This may reflect the continuing increase in importance of households within the community, where concealed household accumulation becomes possible as storage ceases to be public. The larger, multi-compartment buildings may indicate multi-fa­mily households. The ubiquitous use of rectilinear architecture and the frequent use of second storeys reflect a greater density of architectural packing with­in a settlement (Banning, Byrd 1987). Altogether, the increase in the number of sites, their size, and the density of architecture within them suggest that population levels finally and dramatically rose dur­ing the Late PPNB. While it has been argued that this population rise was the result of immigration from the west (Rollefson 2004; Gebel 2004), the massive stone architecture of most of these sites appears stri­kingly similar to the construction methods of indige­nous Middle PPNB sites. The multi-compartmented buildings that characterize Late PPNB settlements east of the Jordan Valley ab­sorbed and internalized many of the functions pre­viously conducted publicly in separate, but shared facilities. Late PPNB domestic architecture is domi­nated by private space, private storage, and conceal­ment (Byrd 1994). Such privacy and concealment would have reduced the opportunities for enforced sharing that arise from visible storage, and would have enabled each household to become more inde­pendent within the community, potentially indicating the rise of the household as an organizational unit within the community. Ideological change Ideological change is part of the Childean package, and the increasing materialization of ideology and ritual reported in Neolithic material culture has been described as a symbolic revolution (Cauvin 2000). This phenomenon has been interpreted variously as representing the beginning of religion, a greater materialization of relationships between people and things, and a cognitive revolution (Cauvin 2000; Hodder 2005; Watkins 2005). The evidence from east of the Jordan Valley is distinctive, lacking the naturalistic symbolism well known from the north­ern Levant, and containing a diverse series of mor­tuary practices, which raises two questions regard­ing the role of symbolism in the Neolithic transfor­mation. Firstly, do synthetic accounts conflate mul­tiple strands of symbolic behaviour evidenced from different regions and periods into a constructed ‘Neo­lithic’ symbolism made more dramatic by selecting the most spectacular examples (plastered skulls in the southern Levant, naturalistic symbolism in the northern Levant, painted walls at Çatalhöyük)? And secondly, does this readily apparent, symbolically charged material culture, the immediate focus of most research, reflect a genuinely widespread and central Neolithic phenomenon? Mortuary practice, often the most easily observed form of ritual behaviour, certainly appears heteroge-nous east of the Jordan throughout the early Neoli­thic. For example, in the PPNA at WF16 most burials were placed in a flexed sleeping position, but there was some special treatment of skulls, sometimes buried separately, occasionally painted. Secondary burials were also present, notably not following a standard practice (Mithen et al. 2015). At WF16 bu­rial appears closely linked to the buildings, with both subfloor burial and burials cut through walls, with the latter practice echoed at Dhra’. This pat­tern of diversity between and within sites contin­ues with variation in burial practice during the Mid­dle PPNB. At ‘Ain Ghazal, there are three main bur­ial types, decapitated subfloor or courtyard burials, Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic ‘trash burials’ of entire skeletons, and infant burials (Rollefson 2001), while at Wadi Shu’eib burials were commonly composed of multiple inhumations (Sim­mons et al. 1989). In the earliest phase at Beidha, most burials were placed intact on stone slabs in the accumulating rubbish inside an abandoned build­ing (Building 41) apparently dedicated to this pur­pose (Byrd 2005b), while the most striking feature at Shkarat Msaied is a mortuary structure (Building F) containing numerous multiple burials and a stone cist containing many unplastered skulls (Kinzel 2013). Adults and infants are all present in the bur­ial record, and there is no evidence of any distinc­tive association with grave goods. The communal burials of Shkarat Msaied may represent the role mortuary practice held in holding at least some com­munities together. The variation in important sym­bolic acts between sites suggests considerable vari­ation in ideological belief among communities, and such distinctive belief patterns would have been an important mechanism to enhance and maintain the independent identity of the individual community. Distinct community ideologies emphasize the impor­tance of local practices and histories in underwriting the many different Neolithic development processes that occur. One of the most iconic images of the early Neolithic in Southwest Asia is the plastered skull. The role of these plastered skulls in mortuary practice and the nature of the complete mortuary cycle to which they belong have been subject to extensive analysis and variously interpreted as evidence of skull cults and as ritual designed for social integration (Kuijt 2000; 2008b), generally assumed to be central to PPNB life. However, plastered skulls are largely limited to the southern Levant and were in use only during the Middle PPNB, a phase of about 600 years duration, but only a small part of the long-term regional Neo­lithic process. Furthermore, even within this geogra­phically and chronologically circumscribed practice, Kuijt has noted that there are locally distinct patterns to skull processing techniques (Kuijt 2008b). East of the Jordan Valley, evidence for plastered skulls has only been found at ‘Ain Ghazal and Tell Abu Suwwan in the north of Jordan, indicating not only local variation, but also that within Neolithic diver­sity there are multiple levels of local and regional connections (Makarewicz, Finlayson 2018). Apart from the mortuary data, the Neolithic east of the Jordan Valley has appeared relatively impover­ished in terms of obviously symbolically charged ar­tefacts, with the exception of the Middle PPNB plas­ter figurines from ‘Ain Ghazal. The naturalistic sym­bolism found widely through the Middle Euphrates region in the Late PPNA/EPPNB, most dramatically at Göbekli Tepe, and continuing through the PPNB to the extensive use of art in the later Neolithic site of Çatalhöyük in Anatolia has been brought together as evidence of a symbolic revolution (Cauvin 2000; Hodder 2005; Schmidt 2005). Both the Middle PPNB mortuary practices of the southern Levant west of the Jordan river and the plaster figurines of ‘Ain Ghazal have been absorbed into this dominant nar­rative of a Neolithic symbolic revolution (e.g., Cau­vin 2000). The situation east of the Jordan is in rea­lity rather different. Here, from Natufian Nahal Ein Gev II, Early PPNA WF16, and Late PPNA ZAD II the decoration of portable objects is dominated by pat­terns of lines and perforations on small pebbles, or bone plaques (Grosman et al. 2016; Edwards, House 2007). This minimalistic decoration is a long way from the naturalism of material culture to the north, although it may still have held significant symbolic value. In the Middle and Late PPNB, with the exception of ‘Ain Ghazal most sites east of the Jordan only contain limited numbers of small, sim­ple, animal figurines of uncertain ritual significance (Rollefson 2001). The materiality of symbolism is not strongly represented in the Neolithic transfor­mation east of the Jordan Valley. Despite the rich architectural record of shared and communal buildings, there are very few structures that appear overtly symbolically charged through decoration. Where architecture is decorated east of the Jordan, it is done so in a relatively simple man­ner; for example, the use of parallel wave lines moulded around the bench of structure O75 at WF16 (Finlayson et al. 2011b), or the red plastered floors found in some PPNB contexts, such as Ghwayr 1 and Kharaysin (Simmons, Najjar 2006; Ibánez et al. 2015). There are exceptions, such as the probably Middle PPNB cluster of small buildings outside the main settlement at Beidha (Finlayson, Makarewicz 2018). The presence of standing stones in the centre of one structure, upright stone basins in the walls, stone-paved floors, and a large stone basin beside the building cluster have all been used to argue that this is a ritual complex (Rollefson 2005). In the Late PPNB at ‘Ain Ghazal, there are two forms of build­ings that have been identified as ritually important. Inside the settlement there are unusual circular buildings with subfloor channels, and outside the settlement large rectilinear buildings with possible altars surrounded by ‘temenos’ walls (Rollefson 2005). Both the so-called shrine at Beidha and the Bill Finlayson, Cheryl A. Makarewicz larger structures described as temples at ‘Ain Gha­zal, are highly partitioned, limiting access to the acti­vities conducted to a small number of people, possi­bly signalling a change from the preceding shared communal architecture. Special purpose ritual structures have been argued as essential to maintain community-wide values and identities to balance the emergence of powerful, in­dependent households in the Neolithic (Banning, Byrd 1987; Byrd 2000). The ‘Ain Ghazal and Beidha structures are thought to have met this need, but there are no similar structures known from any other Late PPNB settlements located east of the Jor­dan. Extrapolating the social significance of these few large structures to the wider Late PPNB is the­refore difficult. Despite the limited scale of excava­tion at most sites, the scarcity of such buildings sug­gests such formal ritual structures were not typical of Neolithic society east of the Jordan Valley and therefore neither a critical nor essential part of the Neolithic transformation. Discussion Changes in subsistence east of the Jordan appear to have followed locally divergent pathways, with the relative importance of cereals, legumes, tubers, and other plant foods appearing to vary widely on a site-by-site basis until at least the end of the PPNA. The exploitation of animals suggests that there was much local innovation in animal management until the Late PPNB, when domesticates were likely imported into the region and added to the subsistence reper­toire, although hunting continued to be important, and management of the new domesticates continued to follow local practices. This combination of local developments and practices, combined with the in­teraction with other regions indicated by the arrival of the new domesticates, is at the heart of the role played by the multiple pathways of the Neolithic. The built environment appears to have played a very visible role in structuring society and community, and it became important to inscribe the settlement in the landscape. Elsewhere in the early Neolithic, as at Göbekli Tepe and Jericho, this inscription is de­veloped into monumental architecture (a pattern seen in low-level food producing societies around the world – from the megaliths of Atlantic Europe to mound building in North America, Bender 1985). PPN settlements east of the Jordan mostly consist of tightly clustered buildings, with apparently sharply defined limits. This is seen, for example, at Beidha where the site boundary is further emphasized by a wall, separating it from the surrounding landscape, and emphasizing the transition to a built landscape, something that appears to commence in the Natu­fian. Several of the sharply defined PPNA sites in the South of Jordan, WF16, Dhra’, Sharara and el-Hemmeh are placed beside major landscape features, in dramatic landscape positions (Fig. 3). Societies with delayed-return subsistence economies may have found it increasingly important to mark terri­torial ownership of resources, and east of the Jor­dan the role of visible monuments in the landscape may have been fulfilled by the settlements them­selves, made more marked by increasingly sharply defined clusters of solid and elaborate architecture. The built environment of settlements also provides a novel means to manifest social relationships, ma­nipulate kinship history, and fix a socially construct­ed past in the landscape (Gosden, Lock 1998). In this region, architecture may be more important in changing ideology and society than the elaborate naturalistic symbolism of the northern Levant. This built environment provides the framework for the daily practices that maintain the structures of soci­ety and which can be used as an important means to negotiate change (Bourdieu 1977; Bell 1997; Weismantel 2014). The symbolic presence of the community in the landscape is further emphasized by the presence of cemeteries within these settlements. Communal architecture, in its many forms, ties com­munities together by providing the places and spa­ces that form the architectural scaffolding that fra­mes every shared activity undertaken by members of the community. This focus grew out of the his­torical context created in the Natufian. From the Na-tufian onwards investment in settlement, and the creation of community at a focal point in the land­scape, is increasingly evident. This new development does not arise out of large Epipalaeolithic hunter-gatherer aggregation sites that might have been part of a long-term process of demographic pressure (Kuijt 2000; Goring-Morris, Belfer-Cohen 2008), but emerged out of small settlements, and consequently appears unlikely to be driven by demographic pres­sure or resource stress. The generally small Early Neolithic settlements east of the Jordan Valley ap­pear to have been closely integrated communities, indicating that such communal architecture did not arise as a response to large communities requiring new ways to manage their social relationships, but rather architecture was used to help foster commu­nity solidarity, at a time when populations were still small. The strong centrifugal force continued to bring Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic people together at an even greater scale in the Late PPNB, and the attraction of focal places in the land­scape outweighed the resource and social stresses that would have been created by this dense and inti­mately clustered population. Increasingly static com­munities would have had to develop their subsis­tence strategies to avoid the resource stresses that their chosen communal way of life had created. The contribution the Natufian most obviously makes to the Neolithic narrative is in what the PPNA inhe­rits: the step away from the richly social landscape inhabited by most hunter-gatherers to a new way of living in that landscape (Boyd 2006). More perma­nent architecture not only enhanced fixed points in the landscape but also created a new built environ­ment that gradually eroded the flexibility of previ­ous architectural forms and more tightly constrained social interaction and daily practice, encouraging the development of social structures that led to commu­nity establishment. While not setting any inevitable development trend, the Natufian creates the histori­cal context that sets the stage for the Neolithic. Permanent architecture does not necessarily equate to full-time sedentism (Boyd 2006; Ingold 1999), but it clearly marks specific places. Landscapes are not simply topologies of resources they contain networks of meaning (Thomas 1993), and this engagement with places across landscapes is part of hunter- ga­therer social history, often marked by natural fea­tures (Bradley 2000), including the dramatic land­scape features that emphasize the positions of some PPNA sites. This engagement can be further recorded and inscribed by the placement of monuments (Bradley 1998), and this appears to have been one of the factors at work in Neolithic settlement. The different temporalities of everyday living and cosmo­logical experience are informed by daily practice, where biographies become enmeshed in the land­scape (Gosden, Marshall 1999). Settlement construc­tion appears to have served to inscribe history in the landscape in the Natufian and early Neolithic east of the Jordan. The settlements not only served to mark territory and ownership but they also radically changed the nature of engagement with place. The built and fixed settlements become historically situ­ated, not only enculturing the landscape but also providing a venue where performance could be used to produce history and change the relationship be­tween the community and the landscape (Kuchler 1993). The construction of venues provides new boundaries and structures for ceremonial acts, creat­ing a new spatial narrative that can produce a new ancestral and mythic history (Randall, Sassaman 2010). Many of the actions performed in the commu­nal structures east of the Jordan will have been mun­dane daily practices, but the venues will have trans­formed these into public, ceremonial acts, giving them greater weight to integrate the community (Ma­karewicz, Finlayson 2018; Gosden, Lock 1998; Con-nerton 1989). The elaboration of architecture and settlement that emerges from the Natufian appears to reflect a new world order. Fig. 3. Dramatic landscape positions of WF16 (3a), Dhra’ (3b), and el-Hemmeh (3c). All three sites are located in the right-centre of the images. WF16 is visible as a light patch on the top of the last gravel knoll before the volcanic rock formations behind; Dhra’ visible by the green sunscreen, before the vertical rock face of the edge of the rift valley; el-Hemmeh as excavation trenches open below, to the right of the striking black volcanic cone. Bill Finlayson, Cheryl A. Makarewicz Conclusion East of the Jordan, settlement, subsistence resour­ces, and ideology are intertwined within a long his­toric cultural context. The numerous new excava­tions in Jordan over the last decade have demon­strated a long and continuous sequence of develop­ment that runs from the late Pleistocene Epipalaeo­lithic through the early Holocene Pre-Pottery Neoli­thic. The intensification of subsistence economy, the increasing management of resources, and the adop­tion of components of delayed-return economics went hand-in-hand with the development of archi­tecturally more permanent settlements marking place in, and ownership of, the landscape, as well as providing facilities for storage and processing to support subsistence developments. Within the same context, the built environment was used to stress the importance of community, local community iden­tities, and community relations among landscape, resources, and sharing. The increasingly large body of architectural, social, and subsistence evidence sug­gests Neolithic communities east of the Jordan Val­ley emerged out of indigenous traditions rooted deep in the early Epipalaeolithic (Sterelny, Watkins 2015). That “many ’revolutionary’ features of the Natu­fian and subsequent Neolithic” are now recognized as earlier Epipalaeolithic developments (Maher et al. 2012.79) does not, however, mean that we should extend the Neolithic backwards to form a long or slow Neolithic, as we tick off boxes on a list of Childe’s Neolithic traits. The construction of shelters, patterns of population aggregation, and subsistence intensification including modification of the environ­ment to increase the resource base are all known from recent and modern hunter-gatherer societies. While such developments may be essential for the subsequent emergence of a southwest Asian Neoli­thic way of life, they are neither inherently nor in­evitably on track to the Neolithic. While recognizing that some ‘in-between’ societies have been labelled as ‘complex hunter-gatherers’ (Smith 2001), such societies have emerged at various points in time around the world, and generally they do not pre­sage the development of sedentary farming but re­present a range of adaptations within hunter-gathe­rer repertoires, which cannot be interpreted as tran­sitional (Rowley-Conwy 2004; Finlayson 2009). The common identification of the Natufian as a complex hunter-gatherer society may actually be misleading and draw attention away from its unique characte­ristics. In terms of long-term evolutionary development, it remains harder to identify the developments that were critical to the Neolithic, those that made it truly revolutionary, and those that created the runaway process that is widely recognized. Although signifi­cant changes are evident from the Natufian onwards, much behaviour can still be described in terms of hunter-gatherer societies. Leaving aside subsistence, and the precise balance between domesticated and wild foods, the large and complex houses of the Late PPNB, and its associated social structures, might prove a better analogue to the multi-family co-resi­dent households of the hunter-gatherers of the north­west coast than their more common comparison with the Natufian (Hayden 2004). The Late PPNB did not represent a stable farming society, and the large Late PPNB sites of the Jordanian plateau, once perceived as proto-urban (Nissen 2004), were not su­stainable, and largely decline at the end of the PPN. Late Pleistocene and early Holocene populations east of the Jordan appear to have adopted diverse trajectories within their hunter-gatherer palette, and it is only relatively late in the Neolithic sequence that these coalesce to create what we might begin to see as a farming-based society. A great variety of lifeways are accepted as integral components of contempo­rary hunter-gatherer societies, and we should be cautious in identifying such components in the past as inevitable evolutionary steps to the Neolithic. The Neolithic of Southwest Asia is a period of radical change, not forced along any particular route by a prime mover but where there were multiple locally contingent paths that innovated, interacted, and be­gan to diverge from the possibilities of hunter-gathe­rer ways of life. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors wish to thank Trevor Watkins, whose kind invitation to a workshop on the “Long Revolution: Becoming Neolithic in Southwest Asia” inspired this paper, to the participants at that workshop for ex­cellent discussions, and to Tobias Richter, who made insightful comments. Beyond the Jordan> multiformities of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic References Abu-Azizeh W., Tarawneh M. B. 2015. Out of the harra: de­sert kites in south-eastern Jordan. 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This complexity necessitates a multifaceted approach to the questions of the emergence of the Neolithic. In this regard, the data coming from Pre-Pottery Neolithic A sites in southeastern Anatolia, particularly in the Upper Tigris Basin, is remarkable. In this paper the transitional stage to the Neolithic in the region and new data from Gusir Höyük is dis­cussed according to the architectural data. KEY WORDS – PPNA; southeastern Anatolia; Upper Tigris Basin; Gusir Höyük; architecture Za;etek neolitika v jugovzhodni Anatoliji> zgornje pore;je Tigrisa IZVLE.EK – Nove raziskave na zgodnje neolitskih najdi..ih na jugovzhodu Anatolije prina.ajo nove poglede na pojav neolitskega na.ina .ivljenja v jugozahodni Aziji. Poleg tega, da prina.ajo ve. po­drobnosti o prehodu na stalni na.in .ivljenja, produkcijo hrane in tehnolo.ke inovacije, lahko z ne­davnimi raziskavami bolje razumemo tako .asovni razpon kot geografijo zadnjih lovcev in nabiral­cev ter najzgodnej.ih poljedelcev na .ir.em obmo.ju. Tako postaja podoba za.etka neolitika bolj kompleksna in tudi razdrobljena. Zaradi te kompleksnosti potrebujemo ve.plasten pristop k vpra.a­njem o pojavu neolitika. V tem oziru so podatki, ki smo jih pridobili iz najdi.. predkerami.nega neo­litika A v jugovzhodni Anatoliji, predvsem na obmo.ju zgornjega pore.ja Tigrisa, izjemni. V .lanku razpravljamo o stopnji prehoda v neolitik na tem obmo.ju ter o novih podatkih iz najdi..a Gusir Höyük, predvsem vezanih na podatke o arhitekturi. KLJU.NE BESEDE – PPNA; jugovzhodna Anatolija; zgornje pore.je Tigrisa; Gusir Höyük; arhitektura Introduction The concept of the Neolithic has changed signifi-sification based on subsistence strategies and sub-cantly since first used by John Lubbock in the mid-sistence economy with the influence of Marxist ide­19th century. Based on the distinction between raw ology in the 20th century. Accordingly, as the modes materials and technology, the concept of ‘New Stone of production change, there is a revolution in the so-Age’ was explained through diffusionist approaches, cial order to harmonize with them. In this context, and the equation of material assemblage and cul-Vere Gordon Childe describes a concept of history ture in the chronological tables specifically recom-through an evolutionist and diffusionist approach mended for Europe. This approach resulted in a clas-and proposes successive revolutions, like the Neoli- DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.5 The beginning of the Neolithic in southeast Anatolia> Upper Tigris Basin thic revolution and urban revolution (Childe 1942). In the mid-20th century, the definition of the Neoli­thic gained a more environmental and social dimen­sion. Since then, reflecting shifts in the archaeolo­gical concepts of cultures and occupation periods, the term Neolithic has also been explained through social dynamics alongside various technological and economic concepts (Hodder 1990; Bar-Yosef, Mea­dow 1995; Cauvin 2000; Kuijt 2000; Gebel 2004; Koz³owski, Aurenche 2005; Asouti 2006; Zeder et al. 2006; Watkins 2008; Zeder 2011; Fuller et al. 2011). Research on the SE Anatolian Neolithic played a cru­cial role for the definition of the concept of the Neo­lithic. In the 1960s, the research at Çayönü located in the Upper Tigris Basin provided the first empiri­cal evidence for the existence of a Neolithic culture in SE Anatolia (Braidwood et al. 1971). Actually, Ça­yönü was specifically selected for excavation in order to address the relationships between ecology and socio-cultural aspects during neolithisation. The site was excavated by a joint project of Istanbul and Chi­cago Universities’ Prehistoric Research in SE Anato­lia, focusing on the early settled life in the Eastern Taurus (Çambel, Braidwood 1980). Especially dur­ing the project’s early years, extensive surveys and some small-scale excavations were also carried out (ibid.). In this regard, Çayönü together with Jarmo created the foundation for Robert Braidwood’s def­inition of ‘Early Farming Societies’, which he used instead of the term Neolithic, and established the basis for his ‘Hilly Flanks’ theory in relation to the origins of agriculture (Braidwood 1960). After Çayönü, with the exception of Göbeklitepe, which has been under excavation since 1995 (Schmidt 2011), all the excavations in the Euphra­tes and Tigris valleys became a part of salvage operations rather than serving to explore a specific archaeological problem. Though it has to be noted that all the ex­cavations that focused mostly on the early phases of the Neolithic helped to establish an under­standing of early settled socie­ties and the process of neolithisa­tion at that so-far unknown re­gion (see Özdogan et al. 2011a; 2011b). Neolithic research in SE Anatolia key element of the subsistence economy, rather hunt­ing mammals, small animals and birds as well as fi­shing was the common activity; thus, hunting and gathering was the major source for subsistence (Pe­ters et al. 2014; Willcox, Savard 2007). Based on this, the earliest settlers can be confidently defined as hunter-gatherer communities. As it is widely ac­cepted that the production of food should have been the result, not the reason of the settled life and the social change that sedentism have brought. This per­spective brings new questions regarding the origins of settled life and its interlinked social life patterns to agriculture and animal husbandry together, with their development during Neolithization fuelled new debates (Zeder et al. 2006; Bar-Yosef, Price 2011; Gepts, Famula 2012; Zeder 2011; Fuller et al. 2011; Asouti, Fuller 2013; Peters et al. 2014; Arbuckle et al. 2016). After Çayönü, in the late 1970s and early 1980s sites such as Cafer Höyük (Cauvin et al. 2011), Hayaz (Roodenberg 1989) and Gritille (Voigt 1988), during the late 1980s and early 1990s Nevali Çori (Haupt-man 2011), Gürcütepe (Schmidt 1996) and Levzin Höyük (Yener 1994), and during the late 1990s and early 2000s Mezraa Teleilat (Özdogan 2011) and Akarçay Tepe (Özbasaran, Duru 2011) were exca­vated in the Euphrates Valley. Following on from a static period of excavations in the Tigris Valley dur­ing the 1970s and 1980s, in the 1990s Hallan Çemi (Rosenberg, Davis 1992; Rosenberg 2011a) and De-mirköy (Rosenberg, Pesnall 1998) were excavated due to the construction of Batman Dam. In the 2000s Körtik Tepe (Özkaya, Coskun 2011) Gusir Höyük (Karul 2011), Hasankeyf Höyük (Miyake et al. 2012), Boncuklu Tarla (Kodas 2018), and Sumaki Höyük (Erim-Özdogan 2011b) have been excavated within the Ilisu Dam Project. A more recent discovery in the confirms that farming was not a Fig. 1. Map of PPN sites in the Euphrates and Upper Tigris Basins. Necmi Karul Tigris Basin is Çemka Höyük, which was discovered during road construction for the Ilisu Dam (Kodas, Genç 2019). Recent excavations and surveys as part of the dam project, particularly at the Tigris River, helped us to realize that settlements such as Çayö­nü and Hallan Çemi, dated to the beginning of the Neolithic period are not unique and/or marginal northern sites. Now, many settlements that are dated to the beginning of Neolithic, are known in the Up­per Tigris Basin. In this regard, Southwest Asia, the Levant, Southeast Anatolia, Northern Mesopotamia, Central Anatolia, and the Zagros region must have been experiencing a parallel development during the Pre-Pottery Neolithic. Amongst all the common parameters in the wider region, there are also dis­tinct local differences. These local signatures are at least visible at the settlement level in SE Anatolia. The PPN sites in SE Anatolia are located in the foot­hills and low-lying regions of mountainous zones, as also suggested by Braidwood. However, there are sites such as Boytepe, Çinaz and Cafer Höyük dated to the PPNB that are located on the north facing mountainous zones of Eastern Anatolia (Whallon 1979; Bahar 1989). On the southern terraces of the Taurus, in the vicinity of Urfa, settlements such as Göbeklitepe, Karahantepe, Sefer Tepe, Hamzan Tepe, and so on (Çelik 2010; 2015) are located on hilltops or higher ground rather than lowlands or valleys. Based on recent work, PPNA sites were predominant­ly concentrated in the Tigris Valley rather than the Euphrates (Fig. 1), although – with the exception of Çayönü and Boncuklu Tarla – most of them do not have continuous occupation into the PPNB in Tigris. Additionally, by the PPNB a more solid and strong­er core seems likely to be es­tablished at the Euphrates Ba­sin extending to the Keban Basin. The similarity of Çayö­nü with the settlements in the Upper Euphrates Basin indi­cates that Çayönü might also be considered as part of the core PPNB settlements. On the other hand, PPNB layers at Boncuklu Tarla and Late PPNB occupation at Sumaki Höyük indicate that our know­ledge of the latter phases of the PPN in the Tigris Valley is still very limited. A special structure with pillars and terrazzo floors at Boncu­klu Tarla suggests that communal buildings known from the Euphrates Basin during the PPNB were also used in this area. In this case, it can be assumed that the similarities between the two regions incre­ased in the PPNB period. Until recent years Göbeklitepe was seen only as an excavated PPNA site in Euphrates Valley, one which was discovered in 1963 – when Çayönü was also discovered, as part of ‘The Joint Prehistoric Research Project of Southeast Anatolia’ (Benedict 1980.137). The greater significance of the site was revealed when the excavations first began in 1995 (Schmidt 1995; 2001; 2011). Göbeklitepe is located at c. 800m asl, on the hills of the Germus Mountains, one of the highest spots in the Euphrates Basin, and can thus be distinguished from its contemporaries in the Tig­ris Basin. The site is located on mountains surround­ing the broader Harran Valley, and situated in a rocky area further away from water sources. Under the direction of Klaus Schmidt, an uninterrupted pe­riod of excavation was carried out until 2014, and Göbeklitepe became the site which provided further details on the social and symbolic characteristics of the PPNA (Schmidt 2006). The recent excavations at Harbetsuvan and Karahantepe also show that the cultural characteristics known from Göbeklitepe can be seen in other settlements on the high plateaus sur­rounding the Harran plain. However, since the struc­tures known from the Euphrates Basin, and espe- The beginning of the Neolithic in southeast Anatolia> Upper Tigris Basin cially those at Göbeklitepe, mainly consist of special buildings, it would be more relevant to evaluate the Tigris Basin on its own. Therefore, this paper aims to present evidence from the Tigris Basin, and dis­cuss the status of the region during the emergence of settled life according to the architectural data. In this context, our main purpose is to make some eva­luations regarding the new data from Gusir Höyük. Early sites in Upper Tigris Basin The major part of our knowledge with regard to the characteristics of the PPNA relies on data collected from the Upper Tigris Basin, where the earliest set­tlements date far back to the late 11th millennium BC. Radiocarbon dates obtained from the settle­ments of Hallan Çemi1 and Körtik Tepe – exclud­ing the examples with much higher deviations – show that the first settlements emerged between the later part of the Younger Dryas and the early Holocene (Benz et al. 2015). A similar early layer is also mentioned for Çemka and Boncuklu Tarla (Kodas 2018; Kodas, Genç 2019). Moreover, at Hal-lan Çemi and Gusir Höyük the bedrock has not been reached and in most of the settlements the exca­vated phases have not been extensively dated yet. Furthermore, sites that have a similar location but have shifted place over short distances, as exempli­fied with Gusir Höyük (Qermez Dere, and Nemrik 9 to the south), create difficulties in establishing a well-defined site chronology (Karul 2011; Watkins 1992; Koz³owski, Kempisty 1990). Despite all these problems, the excavated sites at SE Anatolia demon­strate that communities that have started to settle year-round or for most of the year start to emerge at around the 10th millennium BC. As demonstrated with limited examples like Çayönü and Gusir Hö­yük, this phenomenon continued to the PPNB and also after 8800 cal BC. The major point which needs to be underlined here is about the first sedentary communities, as these have yielded several artifacts and a relatively more developed architecture, which do not have any identified predecessor within the region. Although there are layers in Körtik Tepe, Boncuklu Tarla and Çemka Höyük going down to the Epipaleolithic, it is not yet possible to discuss this period in detail as a time period (Benz et al. 2017; Kodas 2018; Kodas, Genç 2019). Even though our knowledge of the early Neolithic has improved in recent years, only three sites dated to the PPNA had been excavated in the Upper Tigris Valley until the 2000s. Among those sites, Çayönü was located in the Ergani district of Diyarbakir, in the Ergani Plain bordered by the Taurus Mountains at the north. The settlement was situated 832m above sea level, at the northern division of Bogaz­çay, which is a branch of the Tigris River (Erim-Öz­dogan 2011a.188). The Çayönü project started as a collaborative project of the Istanbul University and Chicago Oriental Institute in 1964. For a long time, the site became an exemplary settlement not only for SE Anatolia, but also for whole of the Southwest Asia, where architectural changes of the Pre-Pottery Neolithic period could be studied (Braidwood et al. 1981; Özdogan, Özdogan 1990). At Çayönü, the transformation from PPNA to PPNB and the changes during the PPNB were well noted, especially from an architectural perspective. Çayönü is one of the excep­tional sites in the region where improvements in construction techniques can be clearly identified. Hallan Çemi was located in Batman district, on the western side of the Sasson Creek, which is a branch of the Batman River that than adds to the Tigris Ri­ver. The site is situated at an elevation of about 640m on the hillside of the Sasson Mountains that are part of the Taurus Mountains (Rosenberg, Davis 1992; Rosenberg, Togul 1991.244; Peasnall 2000). It was discovered in 1990s as a part Tigris-Euphra­tes Archaeological Reconnaissance Project, which aimed to identify archaeological settlements that would stay under Batman Dam Lake. Excavations conducted between 1990– 1994 yielded 4.3m occu­pational debris dated to the early PPNA (Rosenberg et al. 1998; Rosenberg, Davis 1992.1; Rosenberg 2011a). Demirköy was found in 1989 as a part of 1 There are ongoing discussions on the early dates of Hallan Çemi, since the dates are old and there is a large range. See https://www.exoriente.org/associated_projects/ppnd_sites.php Necmi Karul the same project. The site was 540m above sea level and located near the Batman River that than adds to the Tigris (Rosenberg 2011b). It was among the settlements with levels dated to the early PPN (Al-gaze et al. 1991.181; Rosenberg, Peasnall 1998. 195). Demirköy and Hallan Çemi, which could have been sharing similar environmental conditions, are almost 40km apart. Alongside Çayönü, Hallan Çemi and Demirköy; Kör­tik Tepe, Hasankeyf Höyük, Gusir Höyük, Boncuklu Tarla and Çemka are among the other settlements with occupational phases dated to the early Pre-Pot­tery Neolithic in the Upper Tigris Basin. Most of these sites were discovered at the end of 1980s and be­ginning of the 1990s, within the scope of the Tigris-Euphrates Archaeological Reconnaissance Project (Algaze et al. 1991). However, excavations at these sites only started in the early 2000s, partially prom­pted by the Ilisu Dam Project. The excavations at Körtik Tepe started in 2000. The settlement is lo­cated at the intersection of the Tigris and Batman Ri­vers (Algaze, Rosenberg 1990; Özkaya, Coskun 2011.90). It is located c. 530m above sea level and covers an area of 100x150m with a 5.5m deep stra­tigraphy. Gusir Höyük is located near the intersec­tion of the Tigris River and Botan River, on the southern shores of the Kavaközü Creek. The mound is located beside Gusir Lake, which was a sinkhole fed by the Kavaközü stream and groundwater (Ka­rul 2011.1). The site extends to an area of 150m dia­meter and contained c. 7–8m of occupational depo­sit. The settlement is 535m asl and situated at the Taurus piedmont, which is still an advantageous po­sition regarding the rich forestry and water resour­ces nearby. Excavations at Hasankeyf Höyük were also initiated as part of the Ilisu Dam Rescue Pro­jects. The site is located near the town of Hasankeyf on the northern sections of the Tigris River. The lo­cation of the site was an old riverbed that has been formed with erosions from the Raman Mountain which later reunited with the Tigris. The mound, set at 482m asl, extends 150x9m and contains an ar­chaeological deposit of 9m (Miyake et al. 2012.3). Boncuklu Tarla is a recently identified settlement, detected during the 2008 Ilisu Dam Survey (Taski­ran, Kartal 2010). It is located about 2km west of the Tigris River and south of Nevala Maherk stream (Kodas 2018). Another recently discovered site is Çemka Höyük located 900m southeast of Boncuklu Tarla. The site sits 420m above sea level and is 65x 135m in size. The archaeological deposit at Çemka Höyük is roughly 6–7m thick (Kodas, Genç 2019). Architectural features of early sites Rescue excavations conducted simultaneously in the Upper Tigris Basin demonstrate at first sight – with­out even detailed archaeological analyses – that the settlements around the region must have been long­term ones. At latest, from the beginning of PPNA round or oval planned, semi-subterranean structures were constructed. The earliest structures could have been fulfilling more than a need for a short-term The beginning of the Neolithic in southeast Anatolia> Upper Tigris Basin stay, as indicated from the archaeologically docu­mented repair phases and maintenance. Even though it is hard to correlate the architectural phases among the settlements to establish a certain chronology, it can be argued that there are temporal and spatial differences between these settlements, which could have been occupied at the same time period. These differences are visible on the floors, stone types used for walls, masonry styles and thicknesses, as well as at the burials and construction elements. Çayönü, which is located at the most northwestern zone of the Tigris Basin, has two sub-phases at the end of the PPNA period. The oldest phase, known as the Round Building sub-phase, consisted completely of structures with circular and oval plans. The later phase directly above this, known as the Grill-plan Building sub-phase (g 1–4), contained rectangular structures in the place of the earlier circu­lar structures (Biçakçi 2001.13). In the early phase structures, excavated as two clusters at the eastern part of the mound, deposits of this phase were detected above virgin soil. Even though Grill-plan Buildings were heavily disturbed during to this peri­od, structures with different architectural plans were unearthed in the same area (Erim-Özdogan 2011.Figs. 6, 7). It is not clear yet whether these structures resem­ble different construction techniques of the same period or different sub phases, and thus whether these changes mark a signifi­cant transformation. The first settlement at Çayönü was com­posed of huts with subterranean floors that had been built into virgin soil. The huts had circular plans with c. 2m diameter and co­vered an area of 4–5m diameter (Özdogan A. 1995.82). The upper parts of the huts were made with the wattle-daub techni­que. Later, the floors of the pits were shal­lower and the huts built on stone subba­sement. During this phase, the huts were built larger and the floors were plastered with clay. One particular hut, structure ‘RA’, had a red-painted floor (Erim-Özdogan 2011a.195). Different from the other struc­tures, this hut with evidence of three ren­ovations had a stone sub-structure, with stones facing on the sides of this shallow pit (Özdogan, Özdogan 1990.68). In this phase another structure ‘BN’, differentiated form the other structures with its dimen­sions and construction techniques, was in­ terpreted as a special structure. BN has a diameter of 5m and an oval plan (Erim-Özdogan 2011a.195; Özdogan, Özdogan 1990.68). At the next occupational phase, the architecture changed significantly (Özdogan A. 1995). The cir­cular structures were replaced with rectangular and ground-level buildings. The rectangular structures, which are 10x3.5m in size, have interiors divided in three sections. The first section in the middle with the entrance had units at both sides, had a plastered floor and interior ovens. In one of the edge parti­tions there are roughly parallel, medium-sized ‘beam like’ stone rows, which were used to elevate the liv­ing floor. The carrying structure has been proposed as made out of wattle and daub supported with wo­oden beams situated outside of the floor construc­ Necmi Karul tion (Erim-Özdogan 2011a.195; Schirmer 1990). The settlement layout of this period is well defined as well. Structures were constructed parallel and close to each other, with entrances aligned to the south-southeast where the river had flowed demon­strating the pre-planning of the settlement (Özdo­gan A. 1995.Fig. 8). At Hallan Çemi, there are four layers, though as yet there has been no chance to excavate in the 4th phase (Rosenberg et al. 1998). In Phase 3, three buildings were unearthed, which might have served as houses. The walls were built with rough river stones mixed with a limestone bearing mortar. The structures were 2m diameter and built directly on ~ soil. There was no pavement on the floors of these ‘C’ plan structures. In Phase 2, five structures could be determined and four of these were excavated. Si­milar to the former phase, the walls were built with rough river stones mixed with a limestone bearing mortar. With the exception of one building, the floors were covered with sandstones. In of one of the buildings, which had a 4m diameter, a clay basin was unearthed. Unlike the other structures, the walls of this building were constructed with sandstone plaques. Among the Phase 2 buildings, two of them had a diameter of 2.5m and were built on the ground with ‘C’ or horseshoe shaped plan (Rosenberg 2011a. 62). The other two structures with 5–6m diameters have been defined as public buildings (ibid.). Both of these structures were exactly circular and almost 1m deep in the ground. The walls, which were pre­served as high as 1.5m, were made of flat sandstone slabs and creek pebbles. The post holes, with a dia­meter of 10cm, were visible on the surface of the walls. These must have been part of the wooden poles supporting the roof (Rosenberg 1994.124). On either side of the entrance there was a double wall, and the area in between them might have been used for storage (Peasnall 2000.148). Additionally, in both structures a semi-circular platform is observ­ed either on the right or left side of the entrances. The floors of the structures had a sterile layer, which was covered with a mixture of limestone, yellow sand, and chalk. This was renewed several times. Towards the centre of each structure there was a sunken circular hearth. These large structures are different from others not only for their construction but also in terms of contexts; objects of daily use (i.e. ground stones) are not found, but the excava­tors draw attention to imported obsidian and cop­per mineralization (Rosenberg 2011a.63). In one of these structures, Structure A, an aurochs skull was found that probably hung on the north wall across the entrance. During the occupation of the site, all of the struc­tures at Hallan Çemi were positioned around a court­yard with a diameter of 15m (Rosenberg 2011a. 61). Platforms with diameters of 2m and 10–40cm thick floors, made out of stone, mud, and limestone were found around these structures. These platforms were interpreted as silos covered with wattle (Rosen­berg et al. 1998.28; Rosenberg, Davis 1992). Apart from some structures, which had interior firing pla­ces, mostly exterior, clay-plastered platforms have been uncovered. In the so-called courtyard, which was stony, articulated animal remains, fire cracked rock, as well as a deliberate arrangement of sheep skulls have been recovered. Based on these findings, this area was interpreted as one for daily activities as well as being used for feasting (Rosenberg et al. 1998.30; Rosenberg, Davis 1992). In the Upper Tigris Basin, another settlement dating back to the Younger Dryas is Körtik Tepe. Six levels were identified based on architectural remains, and all structures had round plans, which can be divided into three groups. One of the prominent features of Körtik Tepe is the burials, of which there are more than 800. The first buildings had a 2.3–4m diame­ter, were semi-subterranean with packed earth floors and single row walls that consisted of small stones (Özkaya, Coskun 2011.91; Benz et al. 2015). The interior faces of the walls were surfaced, which re­sted on the wall of the pit. Round structures of 1.1– 2.1m in diameter form the second group, which had pebble paved floors. These structures were common to all building levels, and might have functioned as storage units (Özkaya, Coskun 2011.91). The third group consisted of larger (3.4–3.8m in diameter) The beginning of the Neolithic in southeast Anatolia> Upper Tigris Basin structures that were fewer in number. These were built with larger stones and plastered with clayey plaster (Özkaya, Coskun 2011.92). Although no in­terpretation was made concerning the settlement plan, it is understood that the structures were built closely to form a dense arrangement. Hasankeyf Höyük is located directly right on the banks of the Tigris River. The site contains 9m of archaeological deposit, all of which dates to the PPNA. The architecture of the two levels that are clos­est to the surface was exposed in larger areas and identified. Of these, the lower level has round struc­tures of 3.5–4.5m in diameter and 1m deep floors. One structure is larger than the other, which is 6m in diameter. Often built with flat river cobbles, walls have larger stones at the bottom and smaller ones above. The interior faces of walls were plastered with yellow-brownish clay. Except for a stone-paved floor, identifying floors has not been possible. There are no hearths or installations in the buildings. Only one of these structures was repaired multiple times, the others offered finds of animal bones, chipped stones and unworked stones (Miyake et al. 2012.5). Additionally, horns of wild sheep were found on the floor of one structure. There were several sub-floor burials, which included stone vessels with incised decorations, bead and stone plates with decorations. Structures in this layer form a dense cluster. On the layer above, a structure was found with a cir­cular floor and semi-rectangular plan with 9m long sides (Miyake et al. 2012.3). Besides its dimensions, a flat 1.5m high pillar indicated a special function of the construction. The sequential plastering on the floor indicated at least three renewals. At least 30 burials, either in normal or fixed position, were re­covered below the floor and around the structure together with burial goods similar to the earlier pha­ses. Additionally, pigments were detected on some of the bones (Miyake 2013.44, Fig. 2). Boncuklu Tarla and Çemka Höyük are the southern sites in this group. There are layers that are describ­ed as Epipaleolithic at Boncuklu Tarla, although these phases have not been published in detail yet. Still, there are layers dated to the PPNA and transition to the PPNB. A round structure with a diameter of 5m and two silos with a diameter of 1.5–2m were found in the PPNA layer. The walls of the building are thick, similar to those depicted in the upper layers at Gusir Höyük, and have a relatively shallow floor level. This layer dates to about early to mid-11th mil­lennium BC. In the transition layer there is a pub­lic building with curved corners, measuring 8–10 x 2–5m, and a clay-marl-earth-ash mixture was used for the flooring (Kodas 2018). Çemka Höyük has not been excavated yet, the perimeter of the de­struction that occurred during the road construction was cleaned and walls belonging to 2m high struc­tures were found in the sections. Medium sized sto­nes were used on the walls of these subterranean dwellings (Kodas, Genç 2019). The Late Epipaleoli­thic phase is also relevant for this site, but no pub­lished dating has been made to clarify the timing of occupation. Necmi Karul Gusir Höyük Similar to other rescue excavations, Gusir Höyük was also excavated for a brief period of time. As the radiocarbon dates (Fig. 2) and preliminary reports on chipped stone (Altinbilek-Algül 2013) show, there is coherence picture with the contemporaries, though with some differences. The site is near Gusir Lake, which is an impressive landscape, and it also fac­tored in the excavation strategy. Making use of the eroded hill near the lake, a large sector of approx. 1750m2 was excavated (Figs. 3, 4). The second sec­tor was 50m due northwest and covered approx. 800m2. Trenches on the slope that overlooked the lake revealed remains from different phases (Fig. 5). However, the fact that most structures had subter­ranean floors and there are fewer radiocarbon dates available at present make it difficult to compare structures stratigraphically. Additionally, correlating the two sectors will only be possible when the ma­terials are analysed completely, as the architectural remains and building materials are different in each building. Even though the stratigraphic sequence of the mound is not clear yet, the location, elevation, and construc­tion style of the structures allow us to make some inferences. In Gusir Höyük, a transition from the sub­terranean simple round buildings into a ground level-based quadrangle can be observed. The pit-based round structures in the lower layers have be­come shallower over time, and the corners have be­come more evident. In the earlier building the walls consisted of small stones that were irregularly laid to cover the interior of the pit, up to a height of 2m (Figs. 6; 5.Str.1). These walls show two phases of re­newal. The interiors of walls that had a thickness of 50cm were clay-plastered. When the floor was made for the first time, it was approx. 2m below the ground-level, but this was raised during the second re-building. Numerous grinding stones were found on both floors. Each floor layer has sub-floor burials. The great majority of burials were located near the walls, all were in a flexed position, and some had burial goods included. The other structure is situ­ated 4m south of the first and they are possibly con­temporaneous (Figs. 7; 5.Str. 2). A similar wall con­struction was observed in the second structure, which also had similar dimensions. However, the wall of this structure was thicker as several rows of stone were found. Due to re-building activities, the interi­or space of the structure was greatly reduced over time. Although it is hard to identify whether these walls were built at once, or at intervals, the chalk floor appears to continue under the walls, which sug­gests that the floor was contemporary with the outer wall. One to 1.5m tall stone blocks were used with­in the walls, their flat surfaces facing towards the The beginning of the Neolithic in southeast Anatolia> Upper Tigris Basin inside of the structure. Internally, there was an area with erected flat stones and a stone basin. The con­centric walls, erected stones, and renewed plaster floors suggest a special function for this building ra­ther than a habitation unit. No other structure has been dated to this phase of the settlement, which makes its interpretation more difficult. The next phase is represented only by a semi-sub­terranean structure, which is 6m in diameter (Figs. 8; 5.Str. 3). The wall consists of two rows of small stones, there were post holes at equal intervals along the wall which might have carried the super­structure, as the walls were not bearing any load. Near the centre, a 1.5m tall and roughly worked, flat stone was erected. This pillar was surrounded by an installation of numerous wild sheep horn cores, most of these horns were bihorns. The fill inside the struc­ture contained relatively thin layers, suggesting that the in-filling of the building occurred gradually over time, which might have been the result of intentio­nal filling. In the following phase, round structures with floors 1.5m below the ground-level were found (Figs. 9; 5.Str. 4). These structures are larger than the previ­ous ones, with around 9m diameter. The average wall thickness is c. 1m. Oblong river stones were used in the construction, which differentiates the structures of this phase from the rest. In one of the structures, a stone-built platform is found. On top of the platform there is a podium elevated by stones and a wild sheep horn was found on it. In the other structure (Fig. 5.Str. 5), a specially carved erected stone pillar was found. This rectangular stone block with flattened surfaces had holes on the wide and narrow edges (Fig. 10). The lower part of the pillar was set into a platform or a clay fill of at least 50cm thick. The fill inside the structure consisted of suc­cessive clayey and ashy layers, which indicates a pattern of conscious and repeated filling or frequent abandonment and re-occupation of the structure. The phase above, where the pit of the structure be­came shallower, was represented with a single struc­ture. The structure is almost 60–70cm deep with a 4m diameter. The side of the pit had been lined with flat stones. Flat stones were used to pave the floors, and a piece of concave stone plate and the pillar were characteristic of this structure. The pillar with rounded edges and a smoothed surface was 1m high, and it had probably been placed in a cavity on a stone plate. The next phase unearthed at the site has a structure (Fig. 5.Str. 7) with a unique construction technique and installations when compared to the earlier phases (Figs. 11, 12). In fact, the remains described Necmi Karul here constitute a complex of the main unit and ad­ditional rooms. The structure is 9m in diameter, has a rectangular plan with rounded edges, and the 1m thick walls of the main unit were built with stones of medium size. The sunken floor of the structure is shallower – c. 1m below the surface – compared to the earlier structures. The platform, which runs along the wall, was built of earth in the eastern half, and in its western half a mixture of earth and stone was used. The platform is about 50–60m tall and has a similar width. The side built with stones might have been plastered with clay and a wild sheep horn was left on top of it. Inside the structure, symmetrically aligned pillars were intended to form the four points of a square, but only three of them were preserved. Two of them were carved roughly and the third was carved in oval form with three rings engraved on it, and the fourth one is absent. On the east side of this central structure, facing the lake, three separate units of approximately 8 x 4–5m were added in a radial pattern (Fig. 5.Str. 8–10). These rectangular structures were on the same level and built of walls with one row of stones. Near the walls, small stones encircle postholes. These are reminiscent of the Ça­yönü Grill-plan Building sub-phase structures, which had wattle and daub construction with beams (Schir-mer 1988.144). The floors of structures were cov­ered with small river stones, and in one of these structures, along the wall, sub-floor burials were found. At points where additional units intersect the central room, passageway like openings were left between the walls of these attached structures. One of these passages is well-defined and was sloping down into the structure. At Gusir Höyük there is also evidence that shows the use of rectangular plan buildings with subterranean floor structures. The walls that were found imme­diately below the topsoil cut through structures (Fig. 5.Str.6) of earlier phases, and it is hard to determine its exact place in the stratigraphic sequence at the site. The structure (Fig. 5.Str. 11) in question is sub-square – without well-defined corners – and the floor is at least 1m below the surface (Fig. 13). The wall consisted of two rows of small river stones and showed phases of repair. In the corners, stones were not overlapping and instead they were piled to form corners. The interior of the structure was divided into rectangular units; one of these units had been plastered specially and had a pillar at one corner. There was another pillar and the nearby forehead with horns suggests the continuation of the tradi­tion from circular structures at the site. The structures exposed in the second sector at the southern part of the mound are similar to those do­cumented at Nemrik 9 (Koz³owski, Kempisty 1990. Fig. 6) and these structures illustrate another type of architecture. These had rectangular plans with rounded edges (Fig. 14). The walls were built of small river stones in two rows, at a width of 50cm. In one structure, roughly carved pillars were irreg­ularly placed at corners inside the walls or just in front of the walls. Around the structures there were stone platforms that are also found at Hasankeyf Höyük and Körtik Tepe. These platforms that were built of small river stones or broken rocks covered an area of 1–1.5m in diameter and possibly had the function of silos with a wattle and daub super­structure. On the uppermost part of the settlement, in the main sector there were different types of structures surrounded with courtyards. The common aspect of these structures in this layer is an oval plan with one end remaining open to provide access. In a well-preserved structure amongst these, the majority of the floor was covered with aligned, flat stones, and near the entrance the floor was made by tamped clay. The boundary of the structure was defined by a single row of stones. The superstructure is not known, but based on the presence of a narrow and shallow canal that encircled the structure and the re­mains of organic material it is possible to suggest that it was covered with a tent-like element. Al­though this layer has not been dated yet, it indica­tes the end of the settlement, and possibly the cessa­tion of long-term occupation at the site. There is li­mited information concerning the PPNB occupation. This phase is mixed with topsoil and has been main­ly defined by simple pit graves. The beginning of the Neolithic in southeast Anatolia> Upper Tigris Basin Discussions The settlements in SE Anatolia reveal the technolo­gical, functional, and symbolic transformation of the architectural developments in stages (see the fol­lowing for further discussions on the development of the architecture in SW Asia: Watkins 1990; 2004; Özdogan, Özdogan 1998; Biçakçi 1998, 2003; Ban­ning 1998; Özdogan 2009; 2010). Although the transformation from shelters to dwellings and the emergence of special – cultic – buildings cannot be understood only by studying the architecture of SE Anatolia with a generalized approach, as the trans­formation could follow a continuous process of near­ly 900 years in the area. In this context the Upper Tigris Basin plays crucial role in understanding the early settled societies at the beginning of Neolithic, due to density of contemporary sites located close to each other. In terms of construction, semi-subterranean struc­tures became increasingly frequent and led to ground level structures. However, at sites like Hallan Çemi the settlement started with ground level structures or at Gusir Höyük the semi-subterranean building tradition continued even after the replacement of circular plans by rectilinear plans. Within that pe­riod, another noticeable transformation in architec­ture is the transition from round to rectangular plans. The Grill-plan Building sub-phase at Çayönü signifies the sudden transformation from round to rectangular plans, which also contains rectangular, elevated floors with pavements, which are major ar­chitectural solutions. However, these advancements do not mean that the issue of building corners is resolved or achieving a wall construction that car­ried its own weight. At this stage, the rectangular plan is used only for floors whereas the superstruc­ture is wattle and daub supported by beams. Other examples of rectangular interiors allow for more ef­fective use of space, such as Çayönü, Mureybet and Jerf el Ahmar (Erim-Özdogan 2011a; Stordeur et al. 2001; 2008). At Gusir Höyük, semi-subterranean but rectangular floors and interior partitions provide evidence of a wide range of experiments at the tran­sition to rectangular structures. Although tall stone walls exist, real intersections have not been built. Without doubt, the replacement of circular with rec­tangular plans brought efficient interior partitioning of space as well as expanding the space. It has been observed that all improvements concerning rectan­gular structures and issues related to the load-bear­ing walls or roofs are resolved with the transition into PPNB as illustrated at Çayönü. In addition, the recent data from Gusir Höyük has revealed in detail the technological improvements in architecture that occurred within the PPNA. It is possible to say that selective use of construction material starts to emerge among the earliest settle­ments in the Upper Tigris Basin. For example, in the earliest phases of Gusir Höyük, Hallan Çemi, Hasan­keyf Höyük and Körtik Tepe medium and rounded river stones are used, whereas in later phases larger, flat and more suitable stones are preferred. This sug­gests that rather than randomly using resources around settlements, selective use is more likely. Clay plaster has been used on flat surfaces with the ear­liest examples of construction. In terms of preparing the floors, there are concur­rent, temporal changes. At Hallan Çemi first sand­stone slabs, then a yellow clay and chalk mixture; chalky plaster was also used in Gusir, at Hasankeyf and Gusir stone paved floors, at Demirköy, Gusir and Çayönü clay floors are observed, with evidence of the use of red pigment in one building at Çayönü. During the later phases of the PPNA, similar to wall construction, floors also show complex examples. In a way, as the floors become less sunken, the effort to work the floors increases; stone-paved or elevated floors possibly with wooden beams emerged in the Çayönü Grill-plan Building sub-phase. Another point that needs to be emphasized regarding the floors is the variation related to the functions of structures. At Gusir Höyük, Körtik Tepe, and Hasankeyf Höyük small units that are identified as silos may have been also paved for insulation. Necmi Karul Ovens, which have been considered as key to under­standing the function of the building, have been re­covered at Körtik Tepe, Hallan Çemi and Çayönü in the region. At Çayönü, during the Grill-plan Building sub-phase, where interior ovens have been recov­ered, they could be considered as an element of transformation from shelter to dwelling. Therefore, it can be argued that at the beginning of the Neoli­thic firing and cooking activities were conducted in external areas; later on, the internal areas of the houses must have been added to this transformative process. Installations such as silos and ovens, which were moved into the building interiors over time, would count as evidence of the emergence of the household concept. In SE Anatolia, the process of architectural transfor­mation during the PPNA became more pronounced during the PPNB, especially regarding the special function structures. If we exclude Göbeklitepe, it is difficult to designate the special buildings in SE Ana­tolia clearly during the PPNA. However, our observa­tions from Gusir Höyük in particular show that this kind of building has certain features. The majority of special structures are larger than domestic buildings at a given site, benches along walls, pillars embed­ded in walls or situated at the centre of units are characteristic. Apart from such technical characteris­tics, floors were generally built with greater care and there are stone basins or clay platforms inside struc­tures and animal horns were left around. In special buildings at Hallan Çemi, Gusir Höyük, Hasankeyf Höyük, and Çayönü, all these character­istics are found either all together or individually. Pillars are only found at Gusir and Hasankeyf Hö­yük, and emerged later at Çayönü and Boncuklu Tar-la. The pillars at Gusir are found at different levels and from various contexts. Here, they are known from the earliest phase onwards, but only a few pil­lars are known from structures that are known to be contemporaneous. In general, roughly carved pil­lars at an average height of 1–1.5m are located in central locations of structures or symmetrically placed in pairs of four in a complex, with the excep­tion of one example that is embedded in a wall. Such features are also known from Nemrik and Qermez Dere (Watkins 1992). The existence of pillars is re­miniscent of the Euphrates Valley, but it is clear that neither structures nor pillars are monumental like at the Euphrates sites (Peters, Schmidt 2004). In special structures, platforms along walls are only known from Hallan Çemi and Gusir Höyük (Rosen­berg 2011a.63; Karul 2011). Another feature that is common to both of these sites are horns. At Hal-lan Çemi, in a structure that is thought to be commu­nal, a complete aurochs bucranium and horns in a row were found in a courtyard. At Gusir Höyük, three structures with special functions revealed wild sheep and goat horns around a pillar and two platforms. Such horns are also found in the large structure that has been defined as a special building at Hasankeyf Höyük. The similarities and differences among settlements are not limited to architecture only, as there are nu­merous symbolic elements that make societies in a given region more similar or different. For example, all sites show intramural burials, but they were ob­served only at certain phases at Gusir Höyük, in all levels at Demirköy, Körtik Tepe, Hasankeyf, and Ça­yönü, but not known from Hallan Çemi at all. At Ça­yönü, during the Round Building sub-phase burials took place under the huts or in pit graves outside, whereas during the Grill-plan Building sub-phase primary burials were placed under courtyards or in between the parallel grill walls (Özdogan A. 1995. 84). At Gusir Höyük, burials are in domestic structu­res and not associated with special installations (Fig. 15). However, the floors of special structures at the site have not been excavated yet, and therefore it is not possible to make a definitive statement. At Ha-sankeyf Höyük, a structure that was suspected to have special functions due to the presence of seve­ral special installations that were not found in do­ The beginning of the Neolithic in southeast Anatolia> Upper Tigris Basin mestic structures, revealed 30 individuals in graves (Miyake et al. 2012.3). Burials that are common in communal buildings were first identified in the Skull Building of Çayönü, which gained a special function starting from the Channelled Building phase. The practice of burial goods is common but also va­ried. At Körtik Tepe, all burials are in flexed position and some of them had stone axes, beads, mortars, shell, bone, obsidian and flint tools, etc. as burial goods. Most of the burials, along with goods, were covered with plaster or after being left for decom­position, coated with ochre pigment and plaster (Öz­kaya et al. 2010.514). Also, there are many exam­ples from this site where skulls were decorated with complete turtle shell or animal skulls or horns (Erdal 2015.6). Similar applications are also known from Hasankeyf Höyük. Here, sub-floor flexed burials are found in addition to rich gifts such as stone vessels, beads as well as black bands on long bones (Miyake et al. 2012.3). At Demirköy, applications are similar with these previous settlements. Although there are fewer flexed burials, goods and painted bones are found. Also, the lack of skulls in some skeletons sug­gests one of the earliest examples of a skull cult (Ro­senberg 2011b.83). At Çayönü burial goods were not found in circular plan structures, but traces of red ochre were found. During the Grill-plan Building sub-phase graves, goods, and pieces of ochre were all observed (Özdogan A. 1995.84). The finds from PPNA sites in the region do not show diversity compared to finds from following periods, and their production required defined and sophisti­cated craftsmanship. One of the most common finds are stone vessels carved out of chlorite (Fig. 16). Amongst all the settlements mentioned here, regard­less of whole- or fragmentary finds, Körtik Tepe of­fers the largest collection of such vessels (Özkaya, Coskun 2011.Figs. 13–23; Rosenberg 2011a.Figs. 9–11). Globular or straight-sided forms seem to be more common among these expertly shaped vessels. Shallow incisions of geometric patterns either co­ver the whole surface or make up panels that frame a main figure. In some cases, different figures are also seen on stone vessels. Horned animals like wild sheep and goats, which are among the first domesti­cated species (Rosenberg 2011a.Fig. 11), and snakes take precedence. Centipedes, a kind of arthropod, are also frequently used motifs. Figures of humans are rare during the early phases of Neolithic, but at Körtik Tepe some stone vessels display highly styl­ized abstract human images (see Benz, Bauer 2013). At Gusir, a vessel that is carved out of a kind of mar­ble has stylized human drawings. Two pendants carved out of bone also need to be mentioned among anthropomorphic figures. Another object that may be interpreted similarly are figures of human-animal combination carved on stone plaques (Özkaya, Cos-kun 2011.Figs. 31–32). Although these representa­tions can be questioned as to whether or not they are realistic, in SE Anatolia – in the Upper Tigris Ba­sin – these representations have strong meanings for PPNA settlements. These finds, like stone vessels, are mainly from Körtik Tepe, but there are some examples known from Hasankeyf and Gusir Höyük. Figural representations on stone plaques do not look alike, but their representations share some common aspects; they are all seated, and generally depicted in profile. Almost all had prominent horns, and, on their backs there are additional elements such as wings or shells (Fig. 17). Some stones that look like plaques also have snake or spiral representations. Necmi Karul With the exception of Çayönü, all settlements have bone plaques (Özkaya, Coskun 2011.Figs. 36–37; Rosenberg 2011a.Fig. 16; Miyake 2013.45, Fig. 3). These are in the form of plaques or spatula. They have representations of horned animals such as wild sheep and goats, or arthropods like spiders and scor­pions. The most common representations for bone plaques are snake representations (Fig. 18a). Al­though beads and ornaments in PPNA are not as ela­borately worked as during the PPNB, they were made of various materials and of different types (see Özdogan E. 2016). It is worth emphasizing that the number of beads known from Körtik Tepe is much higher than from any other SW Asian settlements (Özkaya, Coskun 2011). Animal representations are more numerous than anthropomorphic ones, and the former can also be found on various other finds. Some of them are high­ly functional objects. Stone pestles and batons that have the shape of a bird or horned animal on the top are among the frequent finds in the region from Hallan Çemi, Körtik Tepe and Gusir Höyük (Rosen­berg 2011a.Figs. 12–14; Özkaya, Coskun 2011.Fig. 24–25; Karul 2011.Fig. 17) (Fig. 18b). At Nemrik 9 the pestle with the figure that has a head similar to a vulture is among the closest parallel to these finds (Koz³owski 1989.Figs. 8–9). Elements such as horns are generally highly schematized. There are also baked clay objects that probably symbolize animal heads or horns, which are commonly found at settle­ments in the region (Özkaya, Coskun 2011.Fig. 30; Rosenberg 2011a.Fig. 15; Rosenberg 2011b.Fig. 1). Polished stone shaft straighteners also have abstract representations. Some of them are decorated with deeply incised line and chevron patterns (Rosenberg 2011b.81; Özdogan A. 1995.Pls. 3–4; Özkaya, Cos-kun 2011.Figs. 26–27). Symbols appear on non-utilitarian items or objects which are strongly related with rituals and spiritual life, such as decorated stone vessels found in graves, stone or bone plaques, etc., with utilitarian objects also showing that such symbolism merged with daily life. Accordingly, we can assume that it has a signi­ficant place in the society at the beginning of settled life. Conclusion Since the beginning of archaeological research in SW Asia, the number of projects that focus on the Neolithic period has increased. There has been a growing body of evidence which makes clearer the beginning of the period in both chronological and regional terms. In SE Anatolia, especially in the northern parts of the Tigris Basin, research that takes place at nearby Neolithic settlements empha­sizes once again that any local dynamics did not lead the regional culture, but quite the opposite: the com­mon dynamics formed cultures together in the whole of SW Asia with the local differences. The chronolo­gical differences between regions such as the south­ern Levant, Euphrates or Tigris Valley may be inter­preted as the result of the intensity and focus of on­going research. These chronological differences among regions do not provide support for the argu­ment that regions with earlier dates dominated those with later dates. On the contrary, the complex chro­nological, technological, and social aspects of the common Neolithic might have provided the basis for dynamics that brought transformations. One of the most striking elements of the Upper Tig­ris Basin is the development of the architectural tech­niques. The replacement of subterranean buildings by those built on the ground level and the change from round to rectangular plans have clearly been The beginning of the Neolithic in southeast Anatolia> Upper Tigris Basin identified in the region, especially in Gusir Höyük and Çayönü. This change is not only technological but also conceptual, so the transformation from shel­ters to dwellings also refers to changes in space use and social life. In this context, architectural transfor­mation in the PPNA can reflect the adaptations of humans to settled life. Continuous change and transformation in social and technological elements is observed in the PPNA in SE Anatolia. When the process in this region is as­sessed as a whole – including the periods which pre­cede and follow it – the Tigris Basin in particular allows us to trace the development of construction techniques. The first structures in the region have completed their experimental stages. Like architec­ture, chipped and ground stone industries, as well as bone tool industry, have a similar accumulation of knowledge and knowhow. One can identify tool kits that were expertly crafted, designed for specific use, and presenting a relatively wide array of choi­ces. In particular the prominence of symbolism, its diversity and the elements used reveal similar as­pects. High quality craftsmanship and sophisticated decoration of symbols on these objects make us think that there is long history behind these sym­bols and the way they are executed. Additionally, in the Upper Tigris Valley the absence or relative scarcity of wild male animals in aggres­sive, masculine and phallic depictions is noteworthy. More commonly, a minimal zoomorphic depiction as part of the symbolic repertoire can be seen, which results in a greater divergence from the symbolism of the Euphrates Basin settlements. Monumentality is another feature that we cannot see in the Tigris area. Again, unlike the Euphrates Basin, in the Tig­ris region burials are an important part of the settle­ment, the pillars inside buildings are smaller and more roughly carved, and they may not always be placed inside special structures. Differences between the two regions underline the fact that there were different cultural formations in adjacent regions even though they can be predicted to have been in close contact. Currently, there is no sufficient evidence to create a solid picture for the early stages of hunter-gatherers in the Euphrates or Tigris Basins, which would sig­nify the transition into sedentary life through per­manent structures. Consequently, the cultural base that formed the basis of PPNA in SE Anatolia is not clearly known, probably due to lack of research. However, settlements which have Epipaleolithic la-yers in the region are the precursors of previous pe­riods. Even though we do not know as much about the periods predating the PPNA, it is possible to observe how these cultures evolved into the PPNB. The developments in rectangular building technolo­gies, the concept of a house, well-defined special buildings and designed settlements constitute the main elements of this new period. Besides this, the domestication process that is about to end, the new technologies that continue to evolve and continued elements in symbolism indicate a strong continuity and more homogeneous cultural environment in whole region. In addition to these elements during the PPNA, less developed human representations be­come more prominent in the PPNB, which may be connected to changes in the worldviews of PPNB people. It can be assumed that the humans of PPNB societies who were part of the wild world gradually became the centre of life. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The paper was originally written for a book about “The Long Revolution” initiated by Klaus Schmidt and Trevor Watkins, which could not be realized. My sincere thanks especially go to Trevor Watkins for his efforts. I would like to thank Haluk Saglamtimur for his support and encouragement for the work done in Gusir Höyük. I am very thankful to the funding of our research by the Scientific Research Projects of Is­tanbul University (Project ID 36859). I also thankful to Gonca Dardeniz Arikan and Cerren Kabukçu for the English translation and corrections. Necmi Karul References Algaze G., Rosenberg M. 1990. The Tigris Archaeological Reconnaissance Project, 1989. Arastirma Sonuçlari Top­lantisi VII: 137–162. Algaze G., Breuninger R., Lightfoot C., and Rosenberg M. 1991. The Tigris-Euphrates Archaeological Reconnaissance Project: A Preliminary Report of the 1989–1990 Seasons. Anatolica 17: 175–240. Altinbilek-Algül Ç. 2013. 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This article discusses the earliest pottery assemblage from Ulucak (6600/6500–6200 cal BC) and compares it with the later ceramic sequences at the site. Ultimately, the functional and typological developmental sequence of Neolithic pottery at Ulucak Höyük and its temporo-spatial relations with other Neolithic sites in Anatolia will be assessed. KEY WORDS – Ulucak Höyük; Neolithic; pottery; Western Anatolia; pre-ceramic Ulucak Höyük> pojav lon;enine v zahodni Anatoliji IZVLE.EK – Vse bolj je jasno, da je bilo lon.arstvo kot tehnologija sprejeto neprekinjeno v prvi .etr­tini 7. tiso.letja pr. n. .t. na .irokem obmo.ju od zgornje Mezopotamije do osrednje Anatolije in ob-mo.ja jezer. Kljub temu odsotnost lon.enine v najglobljih plasteh na najdi..u Ulucak Höyük ka.e na obstoj predkerami.ne sekvence v zahodni Anatoliji, in sicer pred ok. 6600/6500 pr. n. .t. V .lanku razpravljamo o najzgodnej.em zbiru lon.enine iz Ulucaka (6600/6500–6200 pr. n. .t.) in ga primer-jamo s kasnej.imi sekvencami keramike na tem najdi..u. Na koncu ocenjujemo funkcionalno in tipolo.ko razvojno sekvenco neolitske lon.enine na najdi..u Ulucak Höyük in njeno .asovno in pro-storsko povezavo z drugimi neolitskimi najdi..i v Anatoliji. KLJU.NE BESEDE – Ulucak Höyük; neolitik; lon.enina; zahodna Anatolija; predkerami.ni neolitik Introduction 7000 cal BC has generally been regarded as the di-braced by all Neolithic communities at the same viding line between the pre-pottery Neolithic and time in the East, such as those in the Southern Le­the pottery Neolithic in Southwest Asia. As Neolithic vant and Cyprus (Nieuwenhuyse, Campbell 2017. sites with a domestic economy in Western Anatolia 168). The basal levels of all Neolithic sites such as and further west were founded after 7000 cal BC, it Yesilova, Ege Gübre and Dedecik-Heybelitepe in has been premised that the Neolithic way of life in Western Anatolia founded after 6500 cal BC revealed these regions started with pottery as part of the Neo-pottery. However, the situation at a few sites in the lithic package. Therefore, declarations of the absence region which were founded in the first half of the of pottery in some Neolithic sites in the West are 7th millennium BC is a rather complex one. The basal met with widespread scepticism (Reingruber 2015), level of Çukuriçi Höyük (XIII) dating to 6680–6600 despite the fact that pottery technology was not em-cal BC yielded only a few ceramic sherds (Horejs DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.6 Ulucak Höyük> the pottery emergence in Western Anatolia 2019.77), while none have been found in the basal level at Ulucak (VI), exposed in Trench L13 and partly in L12 and K13. Ulucak VI consists of at least three sub-pha­ses and is dated to 6850–6500 cal BC by sixteen 14C dates (Çe­vik 2016; Çevik, Erdogu 2020). Nonetheless, a few ceramic sherds coming from a fill between Level V and the latest phase of Level VI may indicate that sporadic occur­rences of pottery at Ulucak can be dated to post-6600 cal BC. In fact, a similar situation is observ­ed in the earliest level of Ugurlu (VI) on the island of Gökçeada (Imbros). The latest phase of Ugurlu VI, dated to 6600 cal BC, yielded a number of ceramic sherds, although the earlier phase (6700 cal BC) is devoid of pottery (Erdogu 2017.79). What this indicates is that pottery techno­logy is yet unknown during the initial phase of Neo­lithic occupation (c. 6850–6600 cal BC) in Western Anatolia and possibly also at Knossos on Crete (Ef­stratiou et al. 2013). This technology was adopted by the Neolithic communities in the region at around 6600 cal BC, or slightly later. However, the term ‘Ini­tial Neolithic’ for this earliest occupational phase is more appropriate, as the pre-ceramic sequence in western Anatolia is represented by a full-fledged ag­ricultural and herding system (Çakirlar 2012). The Neolithic pottery from the later phases of Ulu­cak Höyük (Levels Vb through IV) has already been published (Çilingiroglu 2012). Thus, this paper pre­sents the earliest pottery assemblage (Vc-e) from Ulucak, dating to 6600/6500–6200 cal BC. A compa­rison with the later pottery sequence at the site is then presented. Ultimately, the developmental se­quence of the Neolithic pottery from Ulucak Höyük will then be contextualized within the wider region, including Anatolia and Northern Mesopotamia. The early ceramic sequence in Anatolia and Northern Mesopotamia: an overview The earliest pottery in Southwest Asia is dated from the 9th millennium BC through the early 8th millen­nium BC, seen at Boncuklu Höyük (c. 8300–7800 cal BC) in Central Anatolia (Fig. 1) and Kfar Haho­resh (c. 8750–7500 cal BC) in the Southern Levant (Spataro et al. 2016; Fletcher et al. 2017; Biton et al. 2014). These earliest ceramics in PPNB contexts are not frequent and generally consist of thick-walled open vessels with vegetable temper, although some sherds from Boncuklu also contain mineral inclu­sion. These early attempts of ceramic use, however, cannot be followed in the subsequent periods or in the wider region. Thus, it has been suggested that pottery became an integral part of the material world after it was adopted as a continuous technology start­ing from the beginning of the 7th millennium BC, or even somewhat earlier (Nieuwenhuyse, Campbell 2017.172). Sites which have both PPNB levels and successive levels with early ceramics suggest a strong continu­ity in material culture between the two periods (Nieuwenhuyse et al. 2010.76; Nishiaki, Le Miére 2005.57; Cruels et al. 2017.28). The earliest pottery horizon in Northern Mesopotamia and the Northern Levant is characterized by mineral tempered, bur­nished wares, dated to between 7000 and 6700 cal BC (Campbell 2017). The nature of mineral temper shows intra-site variation and mainly consists of ba­salt, calcite and carbonate. The surface colour is ge­nerally dark (grey, dark grey and black) although light colours (cream, buff, pinkish, pale and yello­wish brown) also occur. Possibly in order to distin­guish them from the later mineral tempered wares (i.e. dark faced burnished wares, DFBW) the earliest ceramics have been labelled ‘early mineral ware’ in Tell Sabi Abyad (Nieuwenhuyse et al. 2010.75; Nieu­wenhuyse 2017.19), ‘early dark ware’ in Tell Seker Al-Aheimar (Nishiaki, Le Miére 2005.61), ‘black se­ries’ in Akarçay Tepe and Tell Halula (Arimura et al. 1999.239; Cruells et al. 2017.37), ‘Kerkh Ware‘ in Tell El-Kerkh 2 (Tsuneki, Miyake 1996.114), ‘mine­ral tempered burnished ware’ in Salat Camii Yani (Miyake 2017.56) and ‘sandy ware’ in Yumuktepe (Balossi-Restelli 2004.115; 2017.84–85). The aver­age thickness of the vessel walls of this period is Özlem Çevik, Osman Vuruskan about 10mm, while the shapes are rather simple in­cluding hole-mouth convex sided bowls and hemi­spherical bowls with flat bases. Ledge handles and pierced knobs are also typical. Decoration do not appear to have been characteristic during this early stage of pottery production, although some painted sherds were recorded in Tell Sabi Abyad and Tell Se-ker Al-Aheimar (Nieuwenhuyse et al. 2010.79–80; 2017.20–21; Nishiaki, Le Miere 2005.62). This earliest pottery horizon is replaced by plant tem­pered coarse ware in Upper Mesopotamia (Akker-man et al. 2006; Nieuwenhuyse et al. 2018.12; Ari-mura et al. 2005.238–239; Özdogan 2009.30), while ‘mineral tempered dark face burnished wares’ rep­resent the dominant ware type both in Cilicia and the Northern Levant (Balossi-Restelli 2004; Odaka 2013). Although the variety of shapes and the amount of ceramics increased after around 6700 cal BC, the real quantitative increase in the pottery assemblage appears to have taken place during the last quarter of the 7th millennium onwards (Nieu­wenhuyse, Akkerman 2019.112). It is in this later period that the shapes of the vessels are also diver­sified, including distinctively articulated necked jars, carinated bowls, plates and large storage jars which show utilitarian aspects of pottery use, from storage to food preparation and drinking (Akkerman et al. 2006.147–148). ‘Red slipped/washed wares’ first ap­peared in the Amuq B horizon, although they never became an important component of the pottery as­semblage (Çilingiroglu 2009.204). With regard to decoration, impressed wares are both seen in Cilicia (Yumuktepe XXIX-XX) and Upper Mesopotamia after around 6700 cal BC, while painted decoration in­creasingly predominated starting from the last quar­ter of the 7th millennium BC onwards (Nieuwenhuy­se, Akkerman 2019.107; Tekin 2017.110; Arimura et al. 2000.237). Technological traits (mineral temper, closed shapes with handles, and burnishing) suggest that cooking may have been one of the functions of the earliest ceramics (Le Miére 2017.14; Nieuwenhuyse, Camp­bell 2017.181). However, their low frequency, re­stricted shapes and smaller capacity, suggest against their use in everyday commensality within the rou­tine domestic sphere (Nieuwenhuyse, Campbell 2017.182). Thus, even if they did function as cook­ing utensils that held food or drink, this may still have been related to a special event, with a special type of contents or for a selected number of people. In general, these early vessels are not considered to be a stage that led to a culinary revolution (Nieu­wenhuyse, Campbell 2017.182). Çatalhöyük (East) provides the early pottery se­quence in Central Anatolia, dating from the end of the 8th millennium BC onwards. The earliest cera­mic horizon (Levels XII-VIII/VII) is mainly characte­rized by plant tempered wares with thick walls, ranging 10–25mm (Last 2005; Özdöl 2012). The surface colour of this wares is buff, cream, light grey and rarely red, called ‘cream burnished ware’ or ‘cream organic ware’ (Mellaart 1966; Yalman 2006). As was the case in Upper Mesopotamia and the Northern Levant, the shapes show restricted vari­ety and mainly consist of bowls (Mellaart 1966; Özdöl 2012). Bowls with convex or straight profiles, and hemispherical bowls, are typical. Lugs and han­dles are absent, while flat bases with rounded and Ulucak Höyük> the pottery emergence in Western Anatolia Fig. 3. Drawing of Levels Vc-e in Trench L12. angular junctions are common. A few oval bases are also noted. Mineral tempered wares are first intro­duced in Level VIII/VII at around 6700/6600 cal BC, while a small percentage of light wares are part of the assemblage in Çatalhöyük (Özdöl 2014.32; Last 2005.106). Mineral tempered pottery, locally called ‘dark gritty wares’ or ‘dark standard ware’, became a dominant ware type between Levels VII-IV, although it then decreased continuously in the upper levels. This ware group is thin-walled (4–8mm) and its mi­neral temper includes quartz and various volcanic-originated minerals (Last 2005.105). Their surface colour is generally black, brown and reddish brown. Among the common shapes are hole-mouth jars with globular bodies and vertically perforated lugs, S-pro­filed collar necked jars, and also bowl types known from the earlier period (Özdöl 2014.32–38; Last 1996.116). It has been suggested that the dichotomy between dark and light surface colours in the pot­tery assemblage may reflect the functions of the pots, which generally consist of bowls and special forms (Özdöl 2012). In the upper levels (IV-I), dating to 6400/6300–6000 cal BC, bowls and lighter surface colours including cream, orange and red became more frequent. It is of particular interest that mine­ral tempered red-slipped and burnished wares be­came the dominant surface treatment in Level III, although a few red-slipped wares first appeared in Level VI (Özdöl 2008.379; Rosenstock et al. 2019. 175). Moreover, developed forms such as sharply carinated bowls with everted rims, vessels with pro­nounced ‘S’ profiles and necked jars, together with ledge handles and vertically perforated tubular lugs, ring and footed (disc) bases are also seen in Çatal­höyük IV-I (Özdöl 2014.38–39). Nonetheless, large storage jars are so far only known from the West mound sequence (Rosenstock et al. 2019.175). De­coration including incision, relief and paint is spora­dically found in Levels IV-I (Özdöl-Kutlu 2014.41– 42), although painted decoration is fully integrated into the ceramic assemblage in the sequence of West Mound in Çatalhöyük. In fact, the frequency of pot­tery is low through the Neolithic sequence at Çatal­höyük, while an increase in pottery production has been recorded in the West Mound sequence (Rosen-stock et al. 2019.175). Mineral tempered wares, however, do not seem to have been a common feature in the pottery assem­blage from Central Anatolia, as the organic tempered wares attested through the Neolithic period in Tepe­cik-Çiftlik have shown (Biçakçi et al. 2012.96–98). The pottery from the earliest levels (9–5) in Tepecik-Çiftlik, dating to the first half of the 7th millennium Özlem Çevik, Osman Vuruskan BC, is characterized by plant tem­pered wares with both dark and light surface colours. Hole-mouth bowls and bowls with straight walls are typical shapes, while handles/lugs and decoration are not recorded in this early pottery assemblage (Godon 2011.321; Bi­cakçi et al. 2012.97). A few mi­neral tempered wares, some of which have impressed decoration are thought to have been import­ed (Godon 2005.97). A small number of red-slipped sherds in Level V, which is dated slightly earlier than 6300 cal BC, has been considered as an intrusion from Level 3, where this ware type is frequently found. Level 3 (c. 6000 cal BC) marks the diversifi­cation of shapes such as carinated bowls, necked jars and large-sized storage jars (Godon 2005.95). This is also the period when the relief decoration of Levels V-IV was replaced by incised decoration, and the amount of organic temper increased in rela­tion to large-sized jars. Regarding the function of the initial pottery from Central Anatolia, a recent study on lipids suggests that both mineral and plant tempered wares from Çatalhöyük were used for cooking purposes starting from c. 6860 cal BC, although lipid residues have been found more often in dark mineral tempered wares when compared to plant tempered cream wa­res (Pitter 2013). It is interesting to note that both hole-mouth jars and bowls were used for cooking purposes. In the Lakes District region, Badema­gaci is the only site where one may infer the characteristics of the pot­tery assemblage during the early 7th millennium BC. The early horizon in Bademagaci is termed the Early Neolithic I (ENI), including Levels 9 through 5. The earliest occupation phases at Bademagaci are dated to c. 7000–6700 cal BC based on a sin­gle 14C date from EN I-8. (Duru 2012. 20). EN I levels reveal mica temper­ed wares with pink, beige, dark grey and greyish brown surface colours (Duru 2007.347; 2012.18). Their sur­face is poorly burnished. The form variety is restricted and consists of hemispherical bowls with slightly inverted or evert-ed rims and hole-mouth jars with flat bases. In ad­dition to a few vertically placed pierced lugs in Le­vels 7–5, some new forms are added such as vessels with flattened rims, sharply carinated jars and flar­ing shallow bowls. Since these developed forms have generally been recorded in Anatolia during the second half of the 7th millennium BC, this has led to the reconsideration that the pottery from Le­vels 7–5 either belong to a time-period later than mid-7th millennium BC, or these shapes were expe­rienced earlier in this region than elsewhere. Cer­tain changes occurred during the EN II period (Le­vels 4–1) in Bademagaci (Duru 2012.19). The sur­face colour tended to be darker, with tones of brown and grey. Earlier shapes continued, while the num­ber of carinated, slightly ‘S’ profile large bowls with an everted rim increased. Oval forms, disc bases and tubular lugs were introduced. Large-sized storage Ulucak Höyük> the pottery emergence in Western Anatolia jars have only been attested in the latest phase of EN II (Duru 2003. 559). Decoration is rarely seen, in­cluding relief and paint. Mineral tem­pered wares from Hacilar IX-VI ap­pear to have been contemporary with EN II in Bademagaci. Light sur­face colours including cream, light grey and buff dominate in the pot­tery assemblage of Hacilar IX and VIII, although red surfaces are also present (Mellaart 1970). Nonethe­less, the frequency and quality of the red-slipped burnished wares in­creased in Hacilar VII-VI. Tubular lugs, pierced knobs, oval bases and sporadic paint decoration are found starting from Level IX onwards. Painted wares increasingly became dominant after Hacilar V. The following can be inferred from the brief survey of the early pottery sequence in Anatolia and Upper Mesopotamia: . Pottery was integrated into the material culture of the wider region around 7000–6700 cal BC. This early sequence appears to have been homogeneous in terms of both the low quantity of sherds and re­stricted variety of forms consisting of mainly bowls with flat bases. Lugs and handles are not found in the earliest ceramic assemblage from Cilicia, Central Anatolia and Lakes District, although pierced knobs and ledge handles sporadically accompanied the vessels in Upper Mesopotamia. . The earliest pottery horizon started with mineral tempered wares in Upper Mesopotamia, the North­ern Levant, Cilicia and the Lakes District, while in Central Anatolia it began with plant tempered wares. Mineral temper remained the characteristic feature of the pottery assemblage throughout the Neolithic period in Cilicia and Lakes District regions, whereas it was introduced to Central Anatolia at a slightly later date, possibly more or less at the same time when plant tempered wares become dominant in Upper Mesopotamia. Nonetheless, plant temper per­sisted through the Neolithic period in the Cappado­cia region. . The early pottery sequence in the region can be characterized by both dark (brown, grey or black) and light surface colours (cream, buff, beige). Red-slipped burnished wares are a later phenomenon that were found in the late 7th (Lakes District) and early 6th millennia BC (Central Anatolia). Impressed decoration on DFBW appears to have been a main decorative technique in Cilicia and Upper Mesopota­mia (from c. 6700 cal BC onwards), while painted wares become predominant during the late 7th (Up­per Mesopotamia) and early 6th millennia BC (Lakes District and Central Anatolia). . Pottery production started in small numbers with simple shapes, and gradually developed over a few centuries. Nonetheless, it was fully integrated into the material culture after the late 7th millennium BC, as has been shown by the diversification of shapes including necked jars, carinated vessels and storage jars, as well as by variations in handles/lugs and ba­ses types. . Both technological traits and lipid analysis suggest that mineral tempered wares were used for cooking. Stratigraphical and contextual setting of the early pottery in Ulucak Ulucak Höyük is located 25km east of Izmir in west-central Turkey (Fig. 1). The Neolithic occupation at the site, which is designated by Levels VI through IV, is dated from 6850 to 5700 cal BC. As has been ex­plained above, Ulucak VI (6850–6500) is devoid of pottery. If a few body sherds are not intrusive, which can be dated to sometime around 6600–6500 cal BC, then they do not display any difference than those found in the earliest phase of Ulucak V. The earliest Özlem Çevik, Osman Vuruskan phases of Ulucak V(c-e) have been exploited in tren­ches of L13, L12 and K13, covering an area c. 135m2 (Fig. 2). These three early sub-phases of Ulucak V differed from the upper layers by the absence of clay images including figurines and stamps, and are dated to 6530–6200 cal BC, based on 33 radiocarbon sam­ples including both short- and long-lived species (Çe­vik, Erdogu 2020). Three successive building phases of Level Vc-e are stratigraphically well defined in L12, whereas open spaces with cobble-paved hearths and patchy traces of pebble paved surfaces characterized the remains uncovered in L13 and K13. As such, only the pottery assemblages from Trench L12 will be evaluated here. The earliest phase (Ve) is repre­sented by three post-framed buildings (nos. 58–59 and 40) that have common walls. In Level Vd, Buil­ding 54 was directly constructed on Building 58, while the other two buildings (40 and 59) no longer survived (Fig. 3). No building has been recovered in Level Vc, but a circular stone wall and two ovens have been recorded. All buildings of the earliest two phases were burnt. The entire inventory of Building 58 was emptied before Building 54 was erected. The burnt debris of the walls and the roof of Buildings 54 and 59 were removed. In fact, the deliberate clos­ing of these two buildings is also suggested by the structured deposits covered by lime plaster that were recovered immediately above the buildings. It is in­teresting to note that vessels were part of these buil­ding’s closing deposits. A bowl sherd (Fig. 7d), with a repairing hole, was found together with the man­dible of animal, a bone tool and a few chipped stone tools in the closing deposit of Building 59 (Ve). Be­sides two beakers and a jar with a convex body from the floor of Building 54 (Vd), a total of five pots together with scapulae and a grinding stone were found in a closing deposit of the same building. One of the two jars from this latter deposit was placed upside down, sealing the one below, possibly indi­cating some ritual role (Fig. 4). The pottery of Ulucak Early Vc-e Pottery from Ulucak Vc–e is characterized by mine­ral tempered wares with thin walls. Three main ware types can be defined according to their surface co-lours, including dark brown/grey, cream/buff and red/reddish brown (Fig. 5). However, cream/buff and dark brown/greyish brown wares dominated the pottery assemblage through the early sequence, al­though the amount of red surface colours gradually increased towards the upper layers. One may also see a sharp increase in the amount of pottery from Level Ve through to Level Vc. The total volume of excavated soil from each level is 5m3 (Ve), 7.5m3 (Vd) and 14.25m3 (Vc). Accordingly, the 88 sherds from Level Ve represent a density of about 18 sherds per cubic meter of soil, while ceramic density in Vc is more than ten times higher, at about 197 sherds per cubic meter of soil. The paste of the dark brown and grey wares is po­rous and coarse, and includes white and grey grits (Fig. 6.b-d). However, the matrix of the paste of cream/buff (Fig. 6.a) and red wares (Fig. 6.c) is less porous, while their texture is rather denser. The temper of the latter wares shows a high variety of density and typology. The core of the fabrics sug­ Ulucak Höyük> the pottery emergence in Western Anatolia gests a diversity in firing tech­niques. The cream/buff wares are fully oxidized, while brown wares are generally not fully oxidized, as has been suggest­ed by bitone cores with black and orange. Most of red-slip­ped wares are fully oxidized, although some have a black colour in the middle and orange external part. Almost all vessels are burnished from poor to medium, and generally have mottled surfaces. None­theless, from Level Vc onwards medium and fine burnished wares become frequent. Hole-mouth bowls (Fig. 7.i) and slightly S-profiled bowls with thin walls (4–9mm) and flat rounded bases are com­mon in the earliest phase (Ve) (Fig. 7.a-b; Fig. 9.a, c). Vertically placed tubular lugs are known from this phase onwards. In the subsequent levels (Vd-c) hole-mouth jars with simple, inverted and slightly everted rims, and slightly S-profiled jars with globular bod­ies, are integrated into the pottery assemblage (Fig. 8.a-d, g-k). Horizontally placed pierced knobs and tubular lugs are typical on these jars. Among the common bowl shapes are hole-mouth, hemispherical and those with straight walls (Fig. 7.c-h). Besides the bowls and jars, a few beakers (Fig. 8.e-f) were also recorded. Disc and flat bases with angular junc­tions are commonly seen (Fig. 9. b, d-g). The walls of the vessels become thicker in Level Vc (2–17mm). No decorated pottery has yet been found in the ear­lier sequence of Trench L12. However, a few red-on-cream painted sherds consisting of simple strips are known from trenches L13 and K13 (Fig. 10). These painted sherds resemble those found in Hacilar IX and VII (Mellaart 1970.Figs. 47, 49), and definitely belong to the phase earlier than Level Vb, although their precise subphase has yet to be determined. The earliest pottery from Ulucak shared certain simi­larities with those found in the Lakes District. First, pottery production in these two regions began with mineral tempered wares. Cream/buff and grey sur­face colours, and the base types (flat/disc), may be compared with the pottery from Bademagaci EN I-II layers and Hacilar IX-VIII. However, in this region there seems to have been no equivalent to the dark brown burnished wares, which are a very distinctive feature of the early pottery assemblage in Ulucak. Furthermore, the early ceramics of Ulucak differed from Hacilar IX-VI and Bademagaci EN II by the ab­sence of vessels with pronounced ‘S’ profiles, whe­reas these shapes are increasingly dominant from Ulucak Vb onwards. Straight-sided bowls and those with a slight ‘S’ profile in Ulucak are reminiscent those from at Bademagaci EN I (9–5), although the former have tubular lugs. The developed forms such as carinated vessels and flattened rim jars from Ba­demagaci EN I layers are not known from the earlier sequence of Ulucak. Nonetheless, flattened rim jars first occurred in the later phases of Ulucak V, as will be detailed below. The parallels of hole-mouth jars can be found in the wider region, including Central Anatolia (Çatalhöyük VII-IV; Özdöl 2012) and the Lakes District (Bademagaci EN I/8–5 and EN II, Duru 2012; and Hacilar IX-VI, Mellaart 1970). Additio­nally, the sporadic appearance of painted sherds in the second half of the 7th millennium BC appears to have been common in both regions. Comparing the early pottery sequence with later phases at Ulucak By taking ware types and differences in form, chro­nological value can be drawn between the earlier and later pottery sequences in Ulucak. Brown, grey and cream slipped and burnished wares with thin walls are dominant through the early sequence (Vc- e) at the site, despite sporadic occurrences of red-slipped burnished wares starting from the earliest level onwards. However, red-slipped burnished wares started to be an integral part of the pottery assem­blage (30–35%) during the period of Late V(a-b), Özlem Çevik, Osman Vuruskan from 6200 cal BC onwards. Nonetheless, a more promi­nent increase of red-slipped burnished wares (80–90%) has been attested in Ulucak IV after 6000 cal BC, when pot­tery production was special­ized (Çilingiroglu 2012). The recent discovery of a six-room­ed pottery workshop, which revealed a large number of clay loaves, unfinished coil vessels, red hematite lumps and the remains of pigmented grinding stones used for pow­dering hematite, shows that pottery production at Ulucak was a specialized activity that took place be­yond domestic units at the beginning of the 6th mil­lennium BC (Çevik 2016). Evidence from this work­shop indicates that various techniques were used to obtain red surface colours in this later period, by di­rect addition of hematite to the paste and by slip­ping. Mineral temper is characteristic through Level V, whereas plant tempered wares became part of the pottery assemblage during Level IV. In fact, during the early 6th millennium BC plant tempered paste was peculiar to ceramic production and the making of anthropomorphic figurines. The shapes of Early V(c-e) also differed from Late V(a-b). Bowls and jars with pronounced ‘S’ profiles, jars with thick flattened rims and ring bases are found starting from Ulucak Vb onwards (Fig. 11). Although slight carinations are recorded on the belly of some bowls, sharp carinated bowls are never in­tegrated into the assemblage. Tubular lugs and hor­izontally placed pierced knobs are seen throughout the Neolithic sequence at Ulucak, whereas small un-pierced knobs emerged after Vb. The capacity of the hole-mouth jars in Early V is rather low, less than 5 litres. Despite a total absence of a whole pot belong­ing to a group of jars with thick flattened rims in Vb, their capacity appears to have been higher than those from earlier hole-mouth jars. The volume of jars is significantly increased in Level IV, when dis­tinctive long-necked jars with a capacity of more than 50 litres are first attested (Çilingiroglu 2012.75). Mud plastered silos and clay boxes in Ulucak V dis­appeared, while their function was fulfilled with large-sized jars after 6000 cal BC. The general ab­sence of handles on these storage jars may suggest that they were not transported or kept in fixed loca­tions at domestic units. Besides large-sized jars with simple, sharply everted and bead rims, splaying bowls, oval forms and anthropomorphic vessels are also integrated into the assemblage in Ulucak IV. Decoration is rare and never become an important component of the Neolithic pottery in Ulucak, or for that matter in Central-Western Anatolia in general. Paint decoration is evident starting from the earliest sequence at Ulucak, while impressed wares (Va) and relief decoration (Vb) are sporadically found since the late V sequence onwards. In contrast to the in­significant number of painted sherds, the high quan­tity of red-slipped burnished wares in the early 6th millennium BC suggests that these may have been one of the media which established the symbolic network within and between the communities in Central-Western Anatolia. Regarding the function of these vessels, an analysis of organic residues from ceramics indicates that cooking was one of the functions of the Ulucak pot­tery (Özbal et al. 2013.107–108, 114). Milk lipids have been found in one of the ceramic sherds from Level IV, while eight ceramic sherds including one from the earliest sequence yielded samples with ru­minant (cattle, goat and sheep) and non-ruminant (pig) fats. It is also interesting to note that some of the ceramics appear to have been covered with bees- Ulucak Höyük> the pottery emergence in Western Anatolia Özlem Çevik, Osman Vuruskan wax, possibly to prevent the permeability of vessels, as shown by the traces from a ceramic sherd in Ulu­cak IV (Özbal 2017.224). Consequently, even at the earliest occupation phases at Ulucak ceramics seem to have met all requirements, including cooking, ser­ving, drinking, and storage to a lesser extent, de­spite the limited variety of forms and their low fre­quency. Diversification of forms, however, has been evidenced at Ulucak after the 6th millennium BC, more or less at the same time as at other Neolithic sites in Anatolia and Upper Mesopotamia. Concluding remarks The present state of evidence suggests that pottery production began in a wider area, from Upper Meso­potamia through the Lakes District region, during the first quarter of the 7th millennium BC. However, the absence of pottery and any other clay objects in the initial occupation phase (VI) at Ulucak clearly shows the presence of pre-ceramic phases in central-western Anatolia between 6850–6600 cal BC. The pre-ceramic sequence before 6600 cal BC in the Aegean is not only attested in Ulucak but also in Ugurlu, on the island of Gökçeada, and Knossos on Crete. Moreover, clay images including anthropomor­phic figurines and clay stamps were integrated into the material assemblage at Ulucak later than pot­tery, around 6250/6200 cal BC. Hence, most of the material assemblage that is conventionally known as the ‘Neolithic package’ did not ‘arrive’ at the re­gion in one instance. The Neolithization process of the region, however, is beyond the scope of this paper. The present state of evidence suggests that the initial Neolithic and adoption of pottery in the region should be considered separately. The social boundaries of the local communities in western Ana­tolia appear after the initial Neolithic to have been continuously changed through various networks. The earliest pottery from Ulucak V with its thin walls and elaborated surface treatment suggests that the technology was introduced from the outside. De­spite some peculiarities, the early pottery assemblage from Ulucak seems to be more akin to that found in the Lakes District. The origin of these mineral tem­pered wares is yet unknown, although their simulta­neous occurrence at the same time in a wider re­gion suggests multiple origins. Similar to other re­gions, pottery use at Ulucak begins with low quanti­ty items and a restricted variety of shapes. Their number and variety of forms then increase from the late 7th millennium BC onwards. Contrary to earlier assumptions, pottery was not only used for serving and storage (Çilingiroglu 2012) but also for cook­ing, and right from its inception at the site. How­ever, their low frequency during the initial phases of the Neolithic may still indicate that they were used for special occasions. The context of early ceramics at Ulucak can be assumed from their special depo­sits. Certain animal bones, grinding stones and bone tools were already part of the building closure de­posit in Level VI (Çevik 2019), while pottery was quickly integrated into this package in the following period. Thus, whole pots and sherds from the spe­cial deposits found above Buildings 59 and 54 may well have been the remains of vessels which were used for the preparation and serving of special foods and drinks during the feasting rituals of a building closure. Dark (mostly dark brown) and light (cream/buff) slipped burnished wares with less curvy profiles re­present more than 90 percent of the total ceramic assemblage during the early phases of Ulucak. Ac­cordingly, their chronological value for the third quarter of the 7th millennium BC in Central-Western Anatolia can be presumed. Nevertheless, pottery as­semblages in the same region were dominated by red-slipped burnished wares (80–90%) from 6000 cal BC onwards, when painted pottery become an im­portant component of the ceramics in Anatolia and elsewhere. Therefore, red-slipped burnished wares seem to have been a significant media for Central-Western Anatolian communities in the negotiation of their identities at an intra and inter-regional level. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The work was supported by TÜBIÿTAK fellowship (1059B1918-02282) which allowed a study period in La Sapienza University in Rome. We wish to thank Jarrad W. Paul for his kind corrections to the lan­guage in this paper. 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Late Neolithic Ceramics in Ancient Mesopotamia. Oxbow Books, Oxford & Philadelphia: 107–114. Tsuneki A., Miyake Y. 1996. The Earliest Pottery Sequence of the Levant: New Data from Tell-El Kerkh 2, Northern Syria. Paléorient 22: 109–123. Yalman N. 2006. Pottery. Çatalhöyük 2006. Archive Re­port: 181–225. Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Understanding diversity in Early Neolithic pottery production> a study case from Southwest Bulgaria Tanya Dzhanfezova 1,2, Chris Doherty 1, and Malgorzata Gre ¸bska-Kulow3 1 School of Archaeology, University of Oxford, Oxford, UK 2 St Cyril and St Methodius University of Veliko Tarnovo, BG tanya.dzhanfezova@arch.ox.ac.uk 3 Regional Museum of History, Blagoevgrad, BG ABSTRACT – By recovering and interpreting the hidden technological variability in the first pottery at Ilindentsi-Massovets, this paper reveals the innovative adaptations to local conditions that the adoption of pottery production, as a new technology, must have involved. Seventy-one samples were analysed using low-resolution binocular microscopy and high-resolution petrographic and scanning electron microscopy. The variety established within each of the major components in pottery pro­duction at the site is interpreted in the context of the local raw materials (availability) and techno­logical approaches (decision making), thus reaching beyond the traditional interpretative models that suggest large-scale uniformity in Early Neolithic pottery production across extensive European regions. KEY WORDS – pottery technology; Southeast Europe; Early Neolithic; raw materials; tradition; inno­vation Razumevanje raznolikosti v zgodnjeneolitskem lon;arstvu> [tudijski primer iz jugozahodne Bolgarije IZVLE.EK – S pridobivanjem podatkov in njihovo interpretacijo o skritih tehnolo.kih spremenljivkah pri prvih lon.enih posodah na najdi..u Ilindentsi-Massovets v .lanku predstavljamo inovativne pri­lagoditve na lokalne pogoje, ki jih je moral vklju.evati prehod na lon.arstvo kot nove tehnologije. Analizirali smo 71 vzorcev z binokularnim mikroskopom z nizko lo.ljivostjo ter s petrografskim in vrsti.nim mikroskopom z visoko lo.ljivostjo. Raznolikost, ki smo jo prepoznali pri vsaki od glavnih komponent pri izdelavi lon.enine na tem najdi..u, razlagamo v kontekstu lokalnih surovin (razpo-lo.ljivost) in tehnolo.kih pristopov (odlo.itve), s tem pa prese.emo tradicionalne interpretativne mo-dele, ki nakazujejo na obse.no enovitost v zgodnjeneolitskem lon.arstvu na obmo.ju .ir.e evropske regije. KLJU.NE BESEDE – tehnologija lon.arstva; jugovzhodna Evropa; zgodnji neolitik; surovine; tradi­cija; inovacija Introduction While numerous studies have explored how the first 2012; 2015). Pottery-making was a signature com-pottery was made at Neolithic sites, relatively little ponent of the Neolithization process in the region attention has been given to the demands that the (see Todorova, Vajsov 1993; Özdogan 2009; 2016; adoption of this introduced technology would have Çilingiroglu 2009; 2012) and involved the trans-made on its new practitioners and their responses to mission of a new technology adaptive to new set-these challenges (cf. Ingold 2000; Michelaki et al. tings. Communities would have been tasked with DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.7 Understanding diversity in Early Neolithic pottery production> a study case from Southwest Bulgaria producing stylistically acceptable and functional forms for the first time by working with the raw materials present in their local landscapes. In this paper we consider the significance of fabric diver­sity shown by the first pottery at a key site for the transmission of pottery-making during the Neolithi­zation of Southeast Europe. Specifically, this aims to establish whether the introduced technology ad­vanced conservatively with an adherence to tradi­tional production methods and materials (i.e. adoption), or whether innovative decisions were made as adjustments in response to local raw mate­rial constraints or other, non-technical preferences (adaptation), (cf. Baldi, Roux 2016; Shott 1996; Bo-gaard et al. 2017; Maran, Stockhammer 2017). The site and its pottery in the context of the Neolithization In Southeast Europe, the Neolithic way of life start­ed around 6700/6500 cal BC in the southern areas the Balkan Peninsula (Reingruber et al. 2017; Urem-Kotsou et al. 2017) and gradually spread north. The Struma River Valley has been considered as a major Neolithization route towards the Central Bal­kans, which connected the Eastern Mediterranean and the European hinterland around the end of the 7th and beginning of the 6th millennia BC (Nikolov 1989; Lichardus-Itten 1993; Todorova et al. 2007; Chohadzhiev 2007; Krauß 2011; Krauß et al. 2017). Two Early Neolithic sites are known in the Middle Struma River, south of the Kresna gorge (Fig. 1). The earliest, Kovachevo, dates to the end of the 7th millen­nium BC and had continuous development (6120– 5640 cal BC), (Demoule et al. 1994; Lichardus-It-ten et al. 2002). Thirty-five kilometres to the north, Ilindentsi-Massovets (6510±60 BP or 5500 cal BC) was settled some 500 years after the start of the Early Neolithic period in the Middle Struma River area at Kovachevo (Ia-Ib), placing it in the so-called developed stage of the Early Neolithic period in Bul­garia (5700/5600–5460 cal BC). The site is located at 246–264m above sea level, on the western slopes of the Pirin mountain and 4km east of the Struma River. This open settlement cov­ers an area of thirty decares, its cultural accumula­tion reaching between 0.50m in the west and 1m in the east, with a maximum of 1.80m in the dug structures and the ditched enclosure (Grêbska-Kulo­va et al. 2011; Grêbska-Kulow 2017.250–253; Grêb­ska-Kulow et al. 2018). Situated on agricultural land, only an area of 350m2 in the periphery of the set­tlement, located between the river and modern fields, has been excavated. Two chronological peri­ods are registered: the Early Neolithic settlement Ilindentsi I developed in the western zone of the ter­race, whereas the Middle Neolithic Ilindentsi II en­larged towards the east and north. Ilindentsi-Massovets provides an excellent opportu­nity to test biases such as the broad compositional uniformity of the first pottery and to examine the re­lative influence of conformity to traditional approa­ches versus the introduction of innovative pathways while spreading the new technology. The studied region offers a wide range of raw materials that can potentially be used for preparation of earthenware bodies and the characteristic Early Neolithic red-and­white-surface decoration. Understanding the actual choices allows us to examine the decisions made by the first Neolithic potters at the site, and what influ­enced pottery transmission. The Ilindentsi material culture reveals complete cor­relation with the later Early Neolithic stages estab­lished at Kovachevo – Kovachevo Ic-Id (see Lichar-dus-Itten et al. 2002). The site is considered to have been founded by Kovachevo groups arriving in the new region at the time when the largest settlement of Kovachevo experienced the peak of its develop­ment. The new dispersal areas towards north were carefully chosen, taking into account the mineral re­sources (marble, flint, fluorite, etc.) and topogra­phic advantages, allowing for natural connection via the Tsaparevska River Valley with the region of the Vardar River Valley. The connections with the neigh-bouring regions include the Vardar River Valley, Northern Greece, Upper Struma River Valley (the Ga-labnik group), the Star.evo culture area to the north and the Karanovo I culture to the east (Grêbska-Ku-low 2017.250–255). The data from Ilindentsi suggest much greater com­plexity of the cultural processes that developed in the Early Neolithic Struma River Valley, thus ques­tioning the models only limited to a rapid, linear and unilateral (from south to north) Neolithization process. The settlement reveals multiscalar and com­plex connections maintained in various directions, from west to east and also from north to south – a situation analogous to other areas of the Balkan Peninsula (e.g., Özdogan 2016). Considered in the context of the settlement’s multi­lateral connections and the variable abundant and suitable raw materials, an examination of the tech­ Tanya Dzhanfezova, Chris Doherty, and Mal/gorzata Gre¸bska-Kulow nical approaches used in pottery production can po­tentially expose any tension between tradition and innovation. Variation in pottery fabrics can help trace and interpret the actual decision-making that took place at progressive technological stages, rang­ing from the body clay preparation to the final sur­face treatment. The pottery White-on-red pottery is considered a hallmark of Early Neolithic Balkan production (e.g., Lichardus-Itten et al. 2002; Nikolov 2002), and dominates the decorated Ilindentsi assemblage across all archaeo­logical contexts investigated so far (Fig. 2). Three main region-specific Early Neolithic decorative styles are present at the site: (a) the Kovachevo cultural group (Kovachevo Ic-Id); (b) the Upper Thracian val­ley Karanovo I style; and (c) the Abstract style, cha­racteristic of the Upper Struma and the Vardar River Valleys and the vast area between Albania, Northern Greece, Southwest Bulgaria and the Western Rho-dopes. The Ilindentsi pottery is attributed to the syncretic Kovachevo cultural group style (Kovachevo Ic-Id). The latter was formed in the Sandanski-Petrich Val­ley – the area where the Thracian Karanovo I style and western Abstract style meet. Generally, the Ka- Fig. 1. Location of Ilindentsi (1) and Kovachevo (2) and immediate geology of the region. A excavations at Ilindentsi, Southwest Bulgaria, in the Middle Struma River Valley (looking north-eastwards). Marble white-paint raw materials outcrop in the low hills (middle distance) and as boulders on site (inset); B location and immediate geology of the Struma River Valley (Sandanski graben)(after Zagorchev 2001. Fig. 22); C stratigraphy of the Neogene Sandanski sedimentary infill (after Zagorchev 2001.Fig. 26). Map of the Balkan Peninsula by Captain Bloodcommonswiki – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons. ~ wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=675499 Understanding diversity in Early Neolithic pottery production> a study case from Southwest Bulgaria ranovo I style spreads to the east of the Struma Ri­ver Valley; it is occasionally present in the Middle, and almost missing in the Upper Struma River areas. Its typical rectilinear and reticulate painted motifs cover the vessels’ rims, bodies and pedestals. The ’Abstract’ style, on the other hand, is unknown to the east, in the Upper Thracian Valley (the Karano­vo I style area), and consists of curvilinear abstract and floral, often ‘positive-negative’ motifs, shaping compositions that cover wider areas of the bodies but are missing under the rims (cf. Nikolov 2002; Lichardus et al. 2002; Sanev 2009). This meeting of three major Early Neolithic white-painted pottery styles in the southern Middle Stru-ma River Valley provides an opportunity to examine the degree to which the raw material used for the first pottery at a site (Ilin­dentsi) was influenced by existing tra­ditions or involved innovation. Apart from being emblematic for the period in the region, the ‘white-on-red-slip’ surface decoration represents the possibly longest technological chain, thus allowing for investigation of nu­merous technological stages and the choices of artisans. As this style of pot­tery spread across the region, potters at each site would have had to make three fundamental raw material selec­tions to make a successful pot. . The first requirement would have been to choose a body clay including any organic or mineral tem­per deemed necessary for performance or cultu­ral purposes. Any inclusions, whether temper or not, would have had to be prevented from reach­ing the outer surface to avoid degrading the re­quired red surface decoration. . There is a series of choices regarding the red sur­face. For example, this can result from careful burnishing or from rubbing in a little ochre. Al­ternatively, a higher quality red surface could be achieved by applying a red clay slip, again with the option to enhance this with ochre increments or other combinations. . Finally, a suitable white pigment would be need­ed to complete the decoration – i.e. the choice of white-paint material (considering its quality to be used and preserved), and how to apply it. Table 1 illustrates how these possible choices com­bine to offer a variety of ways of making white-on-red pottery at any new site in the region. Even this minimalist breakdown highlights the risks of as­suming that the first pots at successive Neolithic sites were always made conservatively – i.e. in the same way as in the earlier sites in the region or homeland. In this simple outline there are many possible ways (64, i.e. 4x4x4) by which body, red surface and white paint options could be combined – and the complexity would rapidly expand by con­sidering the many other variables in the overall pro­duction sequence (temper sources, temper quanti­ties, firing schedule, etc.). Given such a wide range of choices, it seems valid to ask just what happens when pottery is transmit­ted into new areas and raw-material landscapes and/or into new communities? Should it simply be Tanya Dzhanfezova, Chris Doherty, and Mal/gorzata Gre¸bska-Kulow assumed that the first pots at the Neolithic settle­ments would have been made exactly the same way as in the earlier sites in the region or homeland, or would there be freedom to innovate, perhaps in res­ponse to the availability or performance of different raw materials? This line of enquiry is justified through indications from other sites where local conditions required the first potters in the new region to innovate. For exam­ple, a pilot study of the earliest Neolithic pottery at Dzhulyunitsa in Central North Bulgaria (Dzhanfezo­va et al. 2014; 2015) showed that the bodies were made from a type of clay (loess-derived) that potters arriving from the Anatolian heartlands (see Mathie-son et al. 2018) could not have been familiar with. It was the relatively high concentrations of very fine­ly divided potassium mica in the loess that enhanced surface vitrification during firing, and allowed a sim­ple burnished surface to appear as if having high-quality slips, regionally termed ‘engobe’ (see Elenski 2006). Furthermore, although mainly locally derived, a few white paints have mineralogy that could not have been sourced within the local Lower Danubian corridor (Dzhanfezova et al. 2014). The site of Dzhu­lyunitsa therefore demonstrates the skilful but lar­gely invisible adaptation to local raw materials by the potters in their visually successful re-creation of the authentic pottery style. The perhaps unexpected evidence of the occasional intra-regional movement of these early wares also reminds us that technology transfer in the Neolithic was not necessarily a uni­directional process. Located on another major Neoli­thization routeway, the Struma River Valley in South­west Bulgaria, Ilindentsi provides an ideal opportu­nity to further test the role of innovation as pottery making advanced. The traditional approach to studying prehistoric ce­ramic assemblages is to establish the production se­quence, the chaîne opératoire (cf. Darvill 2009). However, this does little to take us beyond the es­sential mechanics of how pottery was made. In this paper we interpret raw material use as expressed through the resultant fabrics of the sites’ first pottery to ask why a pot was made the way it was. Materials and methods Understanding the decisions involved when making pottery for the first time in a new region requires that we reconstruct the full range of choices that could have been made by the potters. Unless we have some understanding of the number of options that could have been selected, it is not possible to interpret the significance of observed fabric variation in a pottery assemblage. For example, it is obvious that a narrow range of fabrics in an area with a di­verse range of raw materials can mean something very different than the same in an area of more uni­form geology. Interpreting the decision making implicit in early pottery-making begins with reconstructing the full range of choices that could have been made to pro­vide the context within which the actual selection was made. This involves a multi-stage approach. The availability of raw materials in the area around Ilin­dentsi has to be modelled from existing geological maps and publications (see below), and verified by site visits and sampling. The earliest Ilindentsi pot­tery fabrics than have to be analysed to determine which of these possible raw materials were used and in what combinations. Sampling and analysis Excavations at Ilindentsi have yielded 45 669 cera­mic fragments (800 569 kilograms) including 941 white-painted pottery sherds (Grêbska-Kulow et al. forthcoming). Seventy-one of these were visually selected on the basis of key stylistic and technologi­cal variables, including: macro fabrics, wall thickness, surface treatment, painted decoration style and the quality of the white paint. The sampled sherds were usually too small, or represented wall fragments, thus hampering the reconstruction of the shape or dimensions of the vessels. As only the periphery of the settlement has been investigated, quantitative correlations are not considered feasible at this stage. The surfaces and fresh breaks of the sherds (Tab. 2) were first examined under a stereoscopic microscope (Wild M400) to determine the general inclusions and matrix characteristics, the stratigraphy of the deco­ration, the type and quality of the white pigments. Correspondingly, 20 selected fragments were pre­pared as standard vertical thin sections and exam­ined petrographically, using a Leica DM 2500P pola-rising microscope. These were supplemented where necessary by loose grain mounts made by dispersing detached pigment fragments in immersion oil (Hut­chison Cuff 1996). A more detailed compositional and micro-textural analysis of the ceramic bodies, red colour treatment and white-painted decoration was performed on 21 polished epoxy resin blocks, using a Jeol 5910 scanning electron microscope with an Oxford Instruments INCA 300 energy dispersive x-ray spectrometer (SEM-EDX). Operating conditions Understanding diversity in Early Neolithic pottery production> a study case from Southwest Bulgaria were varied to suit the target area and task (spot ana­lysis, backscatter imaging or X-ray mapping), with conditions for a typical spot analysis being 15vN, 2nA and a 150 seconds count time. The raw materials geology of Ilindentsi The site of Ilindentsi (Fig. 1a) is located on the east side of a major north-south valley corresponding to a down-faulted block (the Struma Graben) which is flanked on its east and west side by low mountain blocks of older crystalline rock (Zagorchev 2001), (Fig. 1b). The graben is infilled with relatively young (Neogene) terrestrial sediments that were deposited by the north-south flowing proto-Struma river and by lateral inputs of weathered material from the flank­ing horsts. Stratigraphically, these sediments are sub­divided into three formations on the basis of their relative proportions of conglomerates, sands, silty clays and less frequent fine clays. There is significant overlap, but broadly the formations coarsen upwards to the east (Westaway 2006). The composition of the Neogene sediments directly reflects the geology of the confining uplands, being the breakdown products of predominantly medi­um-grade regional metamorphic rocks (schists, am-phibolites, calc-silicates, marble and gneisses, gran­ites and granitoids) (Zagorchev 2001). The north-south horst-graben-horst structure is defined by ma­jor fault zones that give rise to local tectonisation of the parent rocks (this being represented in the Neo­gene sediments infilling the graben valley). Along the axis of the valley, the Struma River has deposited a thinner cover of Quaternary alluvium with slope deposits locally developed where the gradient steepens. Both lie above the Neogene formations with which they are compositionally similar, having been de­rived from the same parent rocks. The Ilindentsi geology thus provided three possible clay sources for exploitation by the early Ilindentsi potters. These are: (1) the Neogene alluvial and proluvial sedi­ments that lie at shallow depths at all points in the Struma Valley and would have been readily accessible; (2) Quaternary alluvium associated with the Struma River and its small tributaries; (3) Quaternary surface se­diments (colluvium) and soils. Of these three, the Neogene sediments of the Sandanski formation are the most ac­cessible option, as they lie directly beneath the site. Also, being represented by alter­nating thin beds of differing sand-silt-clay ratios (Fig. 1c) they would provide an op­portunity for the potters to fine-tune the performance properties of the vessels by targeting specific beds. Almost all Neogene clayey sediments would be red-firing, as they are non-calcareous on account of their granitoid and schist-dominated parentage. It is important to note that, being predomi­nantly colluvial in origin, these potential pottery clays do not show the morphologi­cal characteristics (overall angularity, sphe­ricity, degree of sorting, particle size distri­bution) typical of alluvial sediments. This is an important consideration when it comes S# Context ID Method S# Context ID Method 1 C5-46 OM, TS, SEM 37 C4-8 OM 2 C4-11 OM, TS 38 C5-9 OM 3 C4-7 OM, TS, SEM 39 C5-9 OM 4 C4-7 OM, SEM 40 A3-4 OM, TS 5 B5-8 OM, TS, SEM 41 B5-6 OM 6 C5-42 OM, TS, SEM 42 C5 OM 7 A5-2 OM, SEM 43 B4-13 OM 8 B4-2 OM 44 C4 OM 9 H5-2 OM 45 B4-1 OM 10 B5-18 OM, TS 46 – OM 11 B5-12 OM 47 A5-7 OM 12 B5-12 OM 48 A5-11 OM 13 B4-11 OM, SEM 49 A5-11 OM, TS 14 A3-4 OM, SEM 50 B4-4 OM, TS 15 A5-11 OM 51 C4-1 OM 16 A5-11 OM 52 C4-7 OM 17 C5-9 OM, TS 53 A3-7 OM 18 H5-2 OM 54 A5-11 OM 19 A3-4 OM, TS 55 A5-22 OM 20 C5-9 OM 56 A5-11 OM 21 C5-15 OM, TS 57 B4-3 OM 22 A3-4 OM 58 C5-9 OM 23 B5-3 OM, TS, SEM 59 B5-22 OM 24 A5-9 OM 60 C4-3 OM, TS 25 C5-45 OM 61 B5-1 OM 26 A4-41 OM, TS, SEM 62 H5-2 OM 27 A3-15 OM 63 A5-11 OM 28 C4-5 OM 64 – OM 29 B5-4 OM, TS, SEM 65 C4-1 OM 30 A3-4 OM, SEM 66 C4-11 OM, TS, SEM 31 C5-15 OM 67 C4-23 OM, TS, SEM 32 A3-4 OM, SEM 68 D4-16 OM, SEM 33 C4-8 OM, TS, SEM 69 C4-5 OM, TS, SEM 34 B5-6 OM, SEM 70 B5-15 OM, SEM 35 C4-3 OM 71 A5-11 OM, SEM 36 H5-9 OM Tab. 2. Studied fragments from Ilindentsi-Massovets. Tanya Dzhanfezova, Chris Doherty, and Mal/gorzata Gre¸bska-Kulow to deciding whether Ilindentsi pottery fabrics have been tempered or not. Better quality red clay is also present as occasional fine beds within the Neogene Valley infill, and could be accessed as the latter was worked for bodies and red slips. The geological reports indicate that over­all the Neogene sequence reddens towards its east­ern border (the Kalimantsi Formation, Fig. 1c), thus the use of these better red clays may have required an additional short journey. Ochre sources would have been available along the fault zones that bor­der the Struma Valley as hematite veins and encru­station along fault planes. Equally, any area of local­ly enhanced weathering of any iron mineral-bearing rock, such as the amphibolites on the west side of the Struma, or derived boulders thereof, would rot down to an iron-rich clay (saprolite) suitable for a low-grade red ochre. A generic assumption would probably be that the white slip or paint would be limestone-based, since limestones and related lithologies (chalks and lime-rich clay or ‘marl’) are generally by far the easiest and most abundant sources of white pigments. How­ever, for most of the Struma Valley the high quality (i.e. high whiteness) carbonate sources are the hard, crystalline marbles mainly restricted to along the western side of the mountainous Pirin horst. Ilin­dentsi, however, is an interesting exception, beca­use it does have a very localized deposit of re-work­ed white marble at lower elevations close to the site – the Ilindentsi Formation (Westaway 2006). The distinctive cliffs around the modern town are resis­tant outcrops of a very coarse, chaotic marble-dom­inated conglomerate (olistotrome) that was trans­ported from upland outcrops by landslides during the late Neogene (Zagorchev 2001). Both the talc-bearing marble boulders and the marble-derived matrix of these ultra-coarse conglomerates would be possible sources of white paint for the Ilindentsi potters. Two other potential sources of non-carbonate white paint sources are also present, though in very restric­ted quantities. The first is the highly localized talc serpentine-magnesium amphibole assemblages asso­ciated either with calc-silicate members within the metamorphic horsts, or with the very localized gre­enstones (meta-ophiolite) bodies. The second, more widespread though less pure alternative source of white paint, points to the veins or segregation of mica and/or altered feldspars with the older crystal­line rocks that flank the Struma graben. When the use of these three possible body clays and three or four possible white paints is consider­ed with the different ways white-on-red ware can be constructed (Tab. 1), it is clear that there was poten­tially a lot of variation for making the first pottery at Ilindentsi. As such, the possibility for on-site in­novation would have been very real and a conserva­tive approach for transmission of fixed pottery-mak­ing to this location should not be assumed as the only possible option. Decoding the Ilindentsi pottery fabrics in this local raw material context provides the opportunity to identify whether tradition or in­novation prevailed, especially given the presence of several stylistic variations. First results The body fabrics Petrographic analysis shows that the Ilindentsi pot­tery assemblage has a continuous range of mineral fabrics dominated by medium to high-grade regional metamorphic facies and granitic material (Fig. 3). Compositionally, the fabrics are consistent with the geology of the higher ground that immediately bor­ders the Struma River valley. The combined inclu­sions population and microtextures indicate that these clays are from the finer members of the Neo­gene sediments which are exposed at shallow depth at Ilindentsi and elsewhere. Any detailed fabric clas­sification made on the basis of either composition of microtexture would be somewhat arbitrary since there is a complete continuum. In terms of decision making by the Neolithic potters, these Neogene sandy clays form essentially one very broad fabric group. Furthermore, the Struma River valley wide distribution of the Neogene infill means that there is no unique provenance signal that would allow us to determine precisely where the body clays were being worked from. The only notable exception here, which does quali­fy as a separate fabric, is represented by a few rela­tively fine buff-coloured sherds that stand out from their coarser and red-firing (when oxidized) coun­terparts. These represent true alluvial sediments and are not associated with the modern Struma River but its Neogene predecessor (Fig. 3c). Their use sig­nals a definite decision having been taken, since they would not develop a quality red surface on fir­ing. The main points arising from the body fabrics of the analysed 71 samples are: Understanding diversity in Early Neolithic pottery production> a study case from Southwest Bulgaria . All mineral inclusions are natural. No mineral temper has been added. . All fabrics are consistent with the locally avail­able Neogene sediments. . All fabrics have essentially the same inclusion types and clay type. Proportions differ as a natu­ral continuum. Most are members of a single fab­ric group. . Most fabrics are sandy. The inclusion vs. clay ma­trix ratio is high (estimated above 3:1). . Some, including few paler, buff-coloured fabrics, have organic inclusions. Quantities vary, but are nearly always low (1 to 20%). . The organic containing fabrics also have numer­ous mineral inclusions. In some cases, these are finer (than those in the fragments without orga­nic inclusions) and show evidence of alluvial working. It is justified to consider them as a se­cond though minor fabric group. . A relatively wide range of clay paste inclusion vs. matrix ratios were clearly acceptable. This points to: (1) no attempt to be selective when digging clay; (2) no attempts to achieving a standard fab­ric, say for optimized performance. If the clay worked, that was sufficient. The red surface treatment Allowing for post-depositional modifications, four main different red surface treatments have been ob­served (cf. Middleton 1987). These are indicative of different intentions and sequences in preparing the surface and obtaining the red-colour finish (Fig. 4). The most fundamental difference pointing towards dissimilar actions of the artisans is between the ac­tual red engobe, the main distinction being in the presence of a general compositional planar bound­ary. In Group 1, the red surface was produced simply by the oxidized outer surface of the body: there being no difference in chemical composition between the body and the outer red surface. The composition and distribution of mineral grains in the red oxidation zone correspond to those observed immediately be­low the red layer (Fig. 4b). Group 2 contains fragments with a burnished sur­face in which there is a slight change in chemical composition towards the outer surface, most notably a small increase in iron. This could either result from simple densification of the outer surface by the me­chanical action of burnishing, or represents surface enhancement by the addition of ochre (Fig. 4f). Group 3 sherds have a definite red slip (Fig. 4a). Un­like Group 2 there is a marked chemical difference between the body and red layer. The latter contains fewer inclusions, most probably due to simple elutia­tion, and shows a clear and planar boundary against the body. Group 4 shows a red engobe, but in this case the body outer surface was worked with a tool beforehand, re­sulting in a slip/body interface boun­dary that is sharp but not planar (Fig. 4c-e). Using the same approach, the result may vary in thickness, con­sistency, etc. producing thicker and wider (Fig. 4c) or thinner and finer red layers (Fig. 4d). Thus, it may be a layer proceeded by conspicuous tooling (i.e. an extra step in the pre­paration of the surface finish) or a layer of dense body with sharp boun­dary which was just pressed on with­out the tooling. Fig. 3. Typical Ilindentsi fabrics. All inclusions are natural, no ad­ded mineral temper. Plain polarized light, magnification x50. A Despite the possible group bounda- large potassium feldspar and clay pellet in poorly sorted angular ries crossover, making only the end sandy matrix; B detail of tectonized granite inclusion; C sporadic members of the category easily re- organic inclusions, low frequency suggests natural, not temper; D iron-rich variety possibly from fault zone (eastern margin of San-cognizable, this is an interesting ca-danski graben). tegory suggesting the use of two dif­ Tanya Dzhanfezova, Chris Doherty, and Mal/gorzata Gre¸bska-Kulow ferent raw materials – the body clay and red ochre/ clay to produce the red surface, without the one being derivative of the other. White-painted decoration The low-power microscopy indicates that the white paint differs considerably in terms of the raw mate­rials used, its uniformity and the method of applica­tion. The outer appearance of the paint varies be­tween lustrous, glittery and matt, with the paint lay­er either strongly adhering to the red surface or being more friable and loose. The thinner white paints are more homogenous and have fewer breaks, whereas the thicker ones tend to be grainy and less continuous. Allowing for post-production degrada­tion, these differences point to variable paint visco­ sities and degrees of dispersion of the white particles. The shades of white vary between very bright or yellowish white to dark grey (Munsell codes 10YR 8/1 – 7.5 YR 8/2 – 10 YR 6/1). Some fragments show a clear and high-contrast white paint-red surface boundary, whereas on others the white paint edges are more gradational and blurred. Most white paints contain a few residual coarser inclusions (up to 0.5mm) that have survived processing. Immersion-oil grain mounts of the latter and thin sections of the complete sherds exa­mined using a research-grade petro-graphic microscope confirmed the presence of two fundamental white paint groups at Ilindentsi: (1) marble-based and (2) mica-based. The marble-based white paints (Group 1, n=4, Fig. 4b; Fig. 5a-c) have a fine calcareous matrix and contain a range of residual angular crystalline calcite grains (<0.5mm), with the larger grains exhibiting well-developed clea­vage traces. Petrographic criteria for identifying marble are: (1) the com­plete absence of any sedimentary tex­tures (clastic, biogenic, cement phase, etc.), which precludes the well-crys­talline calcite being a coarse diagenic sparite; (2) the presence of a variable magnesium-equilibrated non-carbon­ate impurity assemblage of talc, mag­nesium chlorite and serpentine and in some cases magnesium carbonate (dolomite). Two further subgroups are recognized. Group 1a (n=2) is characterized by relatively fine-grained evenly-distributed calcite (marble) grains with occa­sional large (<0.3mm) talc laths that show little or no evidence of mechanical disturbance despite their low hardness (Fig. 5a). Group 1b (n=2) is characte­rized by talc-serpentine grains which are both larger and more abundant than the associated marble. Here the latter are supported by a calcareous matrix with finer talc and chlorite/serpentine grains (Fig. 5b). The Group 2 paints are mica-based (n=28, Fig. 4a,c, d,e; Fig. 5d-f). Scanning electron microscopy with energy dispersive analysis provides further details Fig. 4. Contrasting surface decorations. Plain polarized light, ma­gnification x100. A Mica-based white paint and red slip derivative of the body clay; B marble-based white paint and red surface re­sulting from oxidation; C mica-based white paste and thick red im­pressed slip with tooling; D mica-based white paste and thin red impressed slip with possible tooling; E very thin mica-based white paste and thin impressed red slip, note large iron-rich segregation in the body; F clay-rich fabric with burnished red surface, body and surface compositionally continuous. Understanding diversity in Early Neolithic pottery production> a study case from Southwest Bulgaria for the group, the detail being largely beyond the resolution of optical microscopy. These are diocta­hedral potassium micas, but they consistently show significant alkali loss and concomitant hydroxyla­tion; they are in the process of being transformed into hydromica, and occasionally to kaolinite. Two subgroups can be distinguished on the basis of their microtextures. In the larger subgroup the potassi­um micas show partial expansion of their layers (diagnostic fan-shaped terminations with potassium loss) as a result of weathering (hydroxylation and kaolinization) (Fig. 5e,f). A less common variety has much finer mica grains in which sub-grains are non-orientated, that is they show less evidence of a me­tamorphic parentage and less evidence of weather­ing. Carbonate is completely absent from the Group 2 white paints or is present in very minor amounts that can be considered as a background. Fig. 5. Details of variable white paints (SEM backscatter micropho­tographs, false colour emphasizes compositional contrast). A gra­nular marble variety (in green) showing large talc flake on sur­face (in orange); B granular marble variety (in green) with mag­nesium chlorite flake (in orange-brown); C granular marble vari­ety, thick slip showing poorly sorted angular marble with talk and serpentine; D mica-based white paint, low contrast in false colour; E micaceous white paint showing microgranular texture; F potas­sium mica undergoing weathering, edges hydrating to give fan form with incipient kaolinite. According to our preliminary observations, the ob­served technological types do not associate with any particular ceramic categories, shapes or sizes (see also Spataro 2006; 2011; 2019). At present, a cor­respondence between the technological approaches and the specific decorative style has also not been observed. Discussion The aim of this paper is to understand diversity in the Ilindentsi pottery production, using the raw ma­terials to look at the balance between adoption (re­ceived tradition) and adaptation (innovation). The body fabrics vary widely, though their differences are mainly in the proportions and shape characteris­tics of a common set of mineral and rock fragments that collectively point to essentially the same local source rocks. On first appearance this fabric diversity could suggest complexity of production. For exam­ple, it might suggest a period of ex­perimentation as pots are being made at the site for the first time; or it could signal the involvement of se­veral potters, each using a slightly different clay; or a single potter using a variety of sources. These would be valid interpretations, since three different white-on-red styles are represented at Ilindentsi, so a standard body should not be expe­cted. However, having demonstrated that Ilindentsi is located directly on thick deposits of Neogene sands, silts and clay that are present as relatively thin alternating beds, the body fab­ric variation can be more easily ex­plained. The observed fabric varia­tion is natural and simply reflects the same action rather than indicating complex decision making. Because of the frequently alternating sedi­ment beds, the single act of digging a clay pit would be capable of pro­ducing the observed fabric variation, as combinations of clay beds were encountered and batched each time clay for pottery was dug. Therefore, apart from the organic-tempered fabrics (already known in Tanya Dzhanfezova, Chris Doherty, and Mal/gorzata Gre¸bska-Kulow the earliest Early Neolithic Balkan sites), the potters appear to have been following a single decision – that is to collect the finer clays immediately avail­able at the site below the surface soil and use these without further mineral tempering. As Ilindentsi is considered to have been populated by expansion of the earlier Kovachevo community, and the Kovache­vo potters used essentially the same Neogene clays without special tempering (see Lichardus-Itten et al. 2002), there seems to be a direct continuation of how to make pottery bodies at Ilindentsi and no temptation to change this by adding mineral temper. The situation is slightly different with the organic in­clusions. These are found in about thirty per cent of the examined 71 Ilindentsi sherds, but mostly in very small amounts (<5%), usually registered microsco­pically, and often represented by only a few larger plant fragments (<2 mm). When found at such low levels, these non-temper inclusions were either ori­ginally present in the near-surface clay deposits or became entrained during pottery making. However, there are some fabrics with significantly larger quan­tities of organic inclusions (around 30%), in which the organic material is finely divided and uniformly distributed. Representing about 10% of the studied fragments in the assemblage, these fabrics are inter­preted as having been intentionally tempered with plant material. Interestingly, even these tempered fabrics also have the usual high concentration of mineral inclusions, which would suggest that the or­ganic temper was not an entirely functional require­ment, since the pots made with just the same sandy clay performed perfectly well. Organic tempering at Ilindentsi represents a less common way of making a suitable pottery body, but it cannot be claimed this was an innovation to work around technological limitations of the local clay, since the latter already had natural sand inclusions as not to need (organic) temper. Furthermore, just as there is no correspondence between the presence of organic temper and the fineness of the natural clay, there is no correlation with the type and qual­ity of the final surface decoration either. Although most organic tempered fragments have a plain sur­face, the organic tempered white-painted and very high-quality red slipped fragments show that there are no strict rules for the use of organic tempered clay for making either fine painted or unpainted coarse vessels. The production of the red surface at the site shows wider decision making, as four different types are observed. Group 1 represents the simplest, least-ef­fort approach that involved just a light burnishing to produce a red surface on oxidation during firing. The Group 2 surfaces are also burnished but are of a higher quality, indicating a higher investment in time to create a better burnish since the underlying body clays are essentially the same as those of Group 1, and do not naturally develop a higher polish with­out a greater effort. There is also a tentative sugges­tion in some cases that small increments of red ochre may have been rubbed into the surface, which clear­ly would point to greater investment of time and perhaps ‘special’ materials, though the evidence is still equivocal here. To produce the Group 3 red sur­faces, the potters have committed to refining a red slip either from the body clay or from redder clays interbedded with the local sources. The reward is a much higher quality surface, both in colour and re­flectance terms, because the slip better hides any body inclusions that might otherwise disrupt the red surface. Finally, Group 4 shows attempts to further improve the basic red slip effect. In these cases, there is clear evidence that unlike Group 3, here the body surface had been lightly tooled or scraped, presu­mably to produce a better adhesion between slip and body, and so a more durable finish. Whereas the Group 3 slips show a planar contact against the body, the Group 4 boundaries are irregular in the in­fill holes, where the scraping has pulled out inclu­sions from the outer surface of the body. The variety of technical approaches for making the red surfaces at this site could be interpreted in seve­ral ways: (1) as an indication of the production of various craftsmen, each associated with different pot­tery traditions; (2) as a presence of ‘imported’ wares from other sites nearby – though the mineralogy of the body inclusions means that this would still be within the Struma River Valley; (3) as a gradually changing, very slight chronological progression – perhaps as the potters became more skilled; (4) as evidence for experimentation. Work is ongoing to resolve these possibilities. While the exact reasons for this diversity of red sur­face production for Ilindentsi cannot be easily pin­ned down, we can conclude that several different approaches were accepted, provided these gave the desired effect. This suggests that fixed rules on how the ‘red slip’ should be made were not transferred to Ilindentsi as part of a pottery-making package. In­novations, or at least different ways of enhancing the locally available red-surface raw material, were acceptable and certainly, there was more experimen­ Understanding diversity in Early Neolithic pottery production> a study case from Southwest Bulgaria tation with the red surfaces than with the body pre­paration (cf. the more complex body clays proces­sing in Neolithic Greece in Dimoula et al. 2014; Pen-tedeka, Kotsakis 2014; Dimoula 2017; Urem-Kot-sou et al. 2014; 2017; Saridaki et al. 2019). Still, whether these variable red surfaces involved true local innovation is difficult to conclude, given the presumed high mobility of the Ilindentsi population in all directions and the active multilateral connec­tions with other sites that also produced red-slipped wares (see Grêbska-Kulova et al. 2017). The true local innovation is a more convincingly de­monstrated by the white paints. Previous work on pottery from Kovachevo and Ilindentsi has identi­fied the white-paint raw materials as ‘white clay’ (Grêbska-Kulova et al. 2011.32, 36; Lichardus-Itten et al. 2002), though exactly what this term refers to is not clarified. According to the observations in our current study, the main white paint at Ilindentsi is based on altered mica or sericite, which is broadly equivalent to the term ‘white clay’ paint. We can go further by asking where this white paint would have been sourced from and what degree of processing, if any, would its use have required of the potters. The simplest possibility would be that the white mica is made from ground rocks which are themselves mica-rich, specifically the mica schists and gneisses that form the bulk of the medium- to high-grade metamorphic uplands (i.e. the Pirin and Ograzhden horsts) that flank the Struma River Valley (Sandan-ski graben) to east and west, respectively. The un­derstanding that such rock could be ground to pro­duce a very serviceable white paint would translate to a readily portable decorative tradition, given the widespread availability of this parent rock near all points in the Sandanski graben, and indeed across the metamorphic terrains of Southwest Bulgaria and Northeast Greece in general. If so, the use of a mica-based white paint from ground rocks would not be an Ilindentsi innovation. However, our SEM-EDA observations argue against a fresh rock source. A consistent feature of these white paint mica grains is their partial loss of potas­sium and a tendency for the interlayer spaces to in­crease to give fan-shaped terminations (Fig. 5e, f). Both features suggest the in situ weathering of pri­mary dioctahedral mica, which, through the alkali loss, is gradually being replaced by kaolinite. The de­licate fan-shaped morphologies point to a complete lack of transportation, which leads us to suggest that these white micas were worked from weathered out­crops of schist or mica-granite or, more likely, given the lack of iron-staining and the presence of incip­ient kaolinization, from highly leached sections of the Neogene Sandanski formation. Such conditions are found near Ilindentsi, where these loose and po­rous sandy sediments are exposed and deeply in­cised by the west-flowing tributaries of the Struma River, an example of which flows just past the site. The resulting steep gradients and low water table provide the ideal conditions for leaching the gran­ite and schist derived micas in situ, involving the mechanical transport that would disrupt the delicate hydromica fans. The petrography therefore suggests that for the main white paint group the Ilindentsi potters were making selective use of these highly leached micaceous beds of the Neogene formations. This mica-based white paint technique at Ilindentsi could have been a continuation (adoption) of a Ko­vachevo technique, as the latter site is earlier than Ilindentsi and also lies on the same Neogene sedi­ments. The review of the white-paint raw material land­scape around Ilindentsi suggests that the two mar-ble-based white paints could be interpreted in sev­eral ways. They could represent the acquisition of marble and the addition of two different (but relat­ed) combinations of ‘impurities’. This would imply a special journey or an extra stage in the overall chaîne opératoire, since the usual talc-based rocks (‘greenstones’) are not immediately local and have a very limited outcrop. A second possibility is that the talc-based impurities were introduced acciden­tally, as a by-product of crushing and grinding mar­ble to produce a white ground. The impurity assem­blage of talc, serpentine and magnesium chlorite could also be introduced by using low-grade green-stone tools to process the marble. However, the larg­er and very fragile talc laths were observed to show no evidence of mechanical damage (Fig. 5a). Finally, these impurities may have been present in the mar­ble collected and processed by the potters, and the two groups simply may refer to the opportunistic use of available material, and thus that the potters were unaware of the presence of these talc-serpen-tine-chlorite impurities as they were primarily after crystalline (sparkly) calcite. Detailed petrographic analysis supports the latter possibility and is an example of true local innova­tion. Our preliminary observations indicate that the marble-based white slips are present in the preced­ing site of Kovachevo, with source material being the in situ marble outcrops that are nearby. Being Tanya Dzhanfezova, Chris Doherty, and Mal/gorzata Gre¸bska-Kulow impure, this marble contains talc as a sporadically distributed impurity, and the working of such mate­rial would give the Group 1a marble-based paints – whose use at Ilindentsi is merely a continuity (adop­tion) of this Kovachevo tradition. As Figure 1a clear­ly shows, large white boulders of marble are actual­ly found across the excavation area and would have been very convenient to use. However, the Group 1b white paints are an Ilinden­tsi specialty. The levels of talc and serpentine in these paints exceed that expected, if marble boul­ders were simply being worked. Talc could have been added as a supplement, perhaps to increase the sparkly appearance, but this may not have been necessary. As discussed above, the marble source at Ilindentsi is not an undisturbed primary metamor­phic rock but an ultra-coarse landslide deposit (the Ilindentsi Member) that forms easily accessible low cliffs (Fig. 1), consisting of fractured boulders of marble set in a powdery matrix of marble-derived sediment. The latter, which is not present at the ear­lier Kovachevo, is naturally talc-enriched and seems to have been targeted as a highly localized source for the Group 1b white paint raw material. Conclusion Conventional chaîne opératoire studies focus on how the first artifacts were made, but the questions that need to be asked are why they were made this way and what this implies in terms of craft transfer. The approach advocated here for Ilindentsi is based on the observed variation in pottery production com­pared within the raw material context, and thus the choice available to the potter, with a focus on the three major components of the white-on-red painted ware – the body, surface and white paint. This brings us closer to the task of distinguishing the processes of technology adoption or adaptation, in­cluding any experimental phase. If pottery-making was adopted without any local innovation, we can look at the ways in which bodies, red surface and white paints were combined to point to the source of technological transfer. However, if local innovation was dominant, and traditional approaches discarded, this would argue for pottery moving involving an experimental stage. Furthermore, this also opens new avenues for consideration of the reasons for such local modifications of traditional ‘recipes’. This review shows that, from a purely raw-materi­als basis, the Ilindentsi artisans had a choice of var­ious raw materials, hence the opportunity for expe­rimentation to produce their pottery – i.e. they could have either adopted or adapted the received tech­nology. The detailed study of Ilindentsi pottery, con­sidered in the context of the individual settlement local geology, shows a wide variety of technical ap­proaches and raw-material choices. This allows us to assess the interplay between tradition and inno­vation in pottery production, acknowledging that the real complexity would have even be greater. For example, we also consider the concept of ‘quality’ – whether this is defined by whiteness of the paint or its ability to stick. Equally, we could relate these ma­terial choices to distance, such as whether a special journey was necessary to acquire them. Further complexity is introduced when the three dif­ferent decorative styles are considered. There is no correspondence between the individual technologi­cal approaches and specific ornamental styles, and this refers to each of the three major components – body fabrics, red surfaces and white paints. No ob­vious correlation was established between the dec­orative styles and specific body types, nor with spe­cific red-surface treatment or white-paint raw mate­rials. Strict combinations between the various com­ponents or ‘recipes’ are missing, and no obvious cor­relation is registered between the raw materials used and the quality of the vessels (if we define this in terms of vessels’ thickness or surface appearance). In a broader archaeological context, the results cor­respond with the assumption that Ilindentsi is clo­sely related to Kovachevo (the parent site), but is also widely open in all directions, despite the sur­rounding mountain ridges. The similarities with Ko­vachevo lay in the concept of shaping the settlement space (the system of ditches and the special orga­nization of the households), the architecture, the white-painted style, and a series of technologies, in­cluding the prevailing mica-based white-paint recipe and the marble working. At the same time, various ‘material culture’ aspects (Grêbska-Kulow et al. forth­coming) reveal that the site maintained active con­tacts in all directions – northern Greece to the south, the Thracian valley to the east and the Vardar River valley to the north-west. The latter, most probably, also relates to the presence of several decorative styles and a variety of technological approaches to make the Early Neolithic pottery at Ilindentsi. The demonstrated variability of the white-on-red painted wares (traditionally considered as a techno­logically consistent group), and the high number of Understanding diversity in Early Neolithic pottery production> a study case from Southwest Bulgaria possible combinations between the three main com-and adaptation, which could be hidden in each of ponents of the category, reveal the complexity of these three major components, has the potential to this early technology, characteristic for broad Euro-reveal technological transfer and inter-site relations pean areas. Exploring the tension between adoption within Early Neolithic context. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This project has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and Innovation Programme under the Marie Sk³odowska Curie Grant Agreement No 798143 – the MINERVA project ‘Mapping intentionality: demonstrating innovation in Neolithic pottery uptake in the Eastern Balkans’ (H2020-MSCA-IF-2017). The first results were presented at the 25th Annual Meeting of the European Association of Archaeologists in Bern, Switzer­land, 4–7 September 2019 (Dzhanfezova, Doherty 2019; Dzhanfezova, Grêbska-Kulow 2019). . References Baldi J., Roux V. 2016. The innovation of the potter’s wheel: A comparative perspective between Mesopotamia and the southern Levant. Levant 48: 236–253. Bogaard A., Filipovi. D., Fairbairn A., Green L., Stroud E., Fuller D., and Charles M. 2017. Agricultural innovation and resilience in a long-lived early farming community: the 1500-year sequence at Neolithic-early Chalcolithic Ça­talhöyük, central Anatolia. Anatolian studies 67: 1–28. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0066154617000072 Chohadzhiev St. 2007. Neolithic and Chalcolithic Cul­tures in the Struma River Basin. Faber. Veliko Tarnovo. Çilingiroglu Ç. 2009. Neolithic red slipped and burnished wares: recognizing their broad distribution. In H. Saglam­timur, E. Abay, Ü. Aylin, A. Batmaz, F. Dedeoglu, M. Erda-kiran, M. 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Special Publications 260(1): 557–590. Zagorchev I. 2001. Introduction to the geology of SW Bul­garia. Geologica Balcanica 31: 3–52. Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland Witold Gumin´ ski Department of Archaeology, Warsaw University, Warsaw, PL czesia.witek@gmail.com ABSTRACT – The article presents the earliest ceramics of the site Szczepanki, north-eastern Poland, belonging to the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture, which existed in the south-east Baltic region. The pre­sented pottery come from the Late Atlantic layers, dated 5600–5100 conv BP. The pottery is discussed regarding the technology, morphological details, vessel forms and ornamentation. Each of the ele­ments shows multidirectional influences or similarities with the Western and the Eastern Para-Neo­lithic, as well as the Danubian cultures and the TRB. However, a specific characteristic of the early Zedmar pottery relies on mixing features of various origins or traditions, creating a new and pecu­liar technology and style. KEY WORDS – pottery; Para-Neolithic; Zedmar culture; Szczepanki site Najstarej[a lon;enina para-neolitske kulture Zedmar na najdi[;u Szczepanki, Mazurija, SV Poljska IZVLE.EK – V .lanku predstavljamo najstarej.o keramiko na najdi..u Szczepanki, severovzhodna Poljska, ki je ume..ena v para-neolitsko kulturo Zedmar, ki je bila raz.irjena na obmo.ju jugovzhod­nega Baltika. Predstavljena lon.enina je iz poznoatlantske plasti, ki je datirana med 5600 in 5100 pred sedanjostjo. Lon.nenino smo opazovali na podlagi zna.ilnosti tehnologije, morfologije, oblik po-sod in okrasa. Vsak od elementov ka.e ve.smerne vplive ali podobnosti z zahodnim in vzhodnim para-neolitikom kot tudi z donavskimi kulturami in s kulturo lijakastih .a. (TRB). Vendar pa se po­sebna zna.ilnost lon.enine zgodnje kulture Zedmar opira na me.anje lastnosti razli.nega izbora in tradicij, kar ustvarja novo in posebno tehnologijo in slog. KLJU.NE BESEDE – lon.enina; para-neolitik; kultura Zedmar; najdi..e Szczepanki Introduction The Para-Neolithic1 Zedmar culture that existed in tinuing the hunter-gatherer economy, settlement sys-the south-east Baltic region (Fig. 1) was a descen-tem, burial customs and manufacturing of tools, as dent of the regional Mesolithic of the Maglemosian well as producing pottery (Gumiñski 1995; 1998; tradition in Masuria and the Prussian Lowland, con-1999a; 1999b; 2001; 2004; 2012; Gumiñski, Bugaj­ 1 The term ‘Para-Neolithic’ is a synonym of the ‘Sub-Neolithic’ or the ‘Mesolithic with pottery’, and in Eastern Europe is usually named the ‘Forest Neolithic’ or even as just the ‘Neolithic’. However, in European archaeology the Neolithic is generally concerned as the Stone Age farming economy that always co-occurs with pottery (apart from the Pre-Pottery Neolithic in the Near East). The term ‘Forest Neolithic’ is also confusing because in Eastern Europe pottery appears at hunter-gatherer sites in the steppe zone as well as in the arctic. Besides, proper Neolithic sites in Middle Europe were surrounded by forest as well, and what would be the antonym to the ‘Forest Neolithic’? The ‘Field Neolithic’ (?) sounds ridiculous. ‘Mesolithic pottery’ is the good term, although it relates only to pottery and does not define the whole culture. The prefix ‘sub-’ means below, under, or diminution, which does not correspond well with the meaning of the term. The prefix ‘para-’ means beside, near, like, almost, similar to, not exact­ly, quasi, and thus the ‘Para-Neolithic’ seems to be best fitted to the general status of the phenomenon, because it occur near­by and contemporary with the (real) Neolithic, and only the presence of ceramics make it similar to the proper Neolithic. DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.8 The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland ska 2016; Gumiñski, Michniewicz 2003). The pot­tery of the Zedmar culture stands out from all other Para-Neolithic cultures in Western, North and Eastern Europe with regard to elements such as the use of flat bottoms and S-shaped profiles for all vessels. Such features make this pottery more similar to the pure Neolithic mode than to the Para-Neolithic, although all researchers accept that Zedmar ceramics as well as the whole Zedmar culture is of the Para-Neolithic character. On the other hand, the status of this culture has been seen in various ways. In the first half of the 20th century, both Zedmar sites and similar stray finds from the former Eastern Prussia were com­pared mainly with the Ertebolle (e.g., Gaerte 1927; Kilian 1938). From the 1980s on, some archaeolo­gists connected the Zedmar culture with the Narva culture as a separate ‘Zedmar type’ (Girininkas 1994; Kempisty 1986; Kukawka 2010), others in­cluded Zedmar with the Neman culture, or consid­ered it as a hybrid between Narva and Neman (Ri­mantiene 1992). It is unaccountable, however, why many scholars ignore the presence of Zedmar cul­ture in relevant archaeological discussions concern­ing the Para-Neolithic in the circum-Baltic region, even though there three new sites have been exca­vated in recent decades (Gumiñski 1999b; 2001; Gumiñski, Fiedorczuk 1990; Timofeev 1991; 1996; 1998; Timofeev et al. 1994). In fact, the Zedmar cul­ture is a separate phenomenon that occurred just on the geographical border of Western and Eastern Fig. 1. The range of the Zed-mar culture (green spot) and other contemporaneous cul­tures whose similarities with the Zedmar ware are discus­sed – the names in green are of the Western Para-Neoli­thic, the names in blue of the Eastern Para-Neolithic, in brown the South-eastern Pa-ra-Neolithic, in red the Danu­bian cultures, and in grey the Funnel Beaker culture (TRB). The dotted line be­tween the deltas of the Ne-man and Danube shows the general geographic division of western and eastern Eu­rope. Abbreviations of the sites of the Zedmar culture: Europe, and on the civilizational frontier between the Western and Eastern Mesolithic traditions (the Maglemosian and Kundaian, respectively) on the one hand and the southern farmers on the other (Fig. 1). The site Szczepanki and neighbouring site Dudka are located on two islands of the former Staœwin Lake in the Great Masurian Lakeland (Figs. 2, 3). Together with Zedmar A and D, Utinoie Boloto on the Prus­sian Lowland and possibly Pribrezhnoye on the Vis­tula Lagoon (Kaliningrad district of Russia), they are the only excavated sites of the Zedmar culture (Fig. 1) (Gaerte 1927; Gumiñski 1999a; 1999b; 2001; 2004; 2012; Gumiñski, Fiedorczuk 1988; 1990; Ti-mofeev 1983; 1991; 1996; Zalcman 2016). The chronology of the Dudka and Szczepanki sites is based on stratigraphy and relevant radiocarbon dates, 44 from Dudka and 11 from Szczepanki. Apart from the settlement of the Late Palaeolithic and Me­solithic times (Gumiñski 1995; 1999a; 2004; 2008; 2012; Gumiñski, Michniewicz 2003), four succes­sive chronological periods of the Para-Neolithic have been distinguished: . Early Zedmar, radiocarbon dated 5600–5100 conv BP (c. 4500–4000 cal BC), corresponds to the second half of the late Atlantic period (l.AT). . Classic Zedmar, dated 5100–4700 conv BP (c. 4000–3500 cal BC), relates to the turn of the At­ lantic and Subboreal periods (AT/SB). Witold Gumin´ski . Post-Zedmar, dated 4700–4200 conv BP (c. 3500– 2800 cal BC), occurs in the early Subboreal peri­ od (e.SB). . Late (Para-) Neolithic, dated 4200–3700 conv BP (c. 2800–2000 cal BC), relates to the turn of early and middle Subboreal (e/m.SB). The last period should be treated as the Para-Neoli­thic too, since the economic and settlement system are still based on hunting and gathering, though the pottery have Late Neolithic features including cord ornamentation (Gumiñski 1997a; 1997b; 1998; 1999a; 2004; 2012). The current paper discusses Para-Neolithic pottery of the early Zedmar layers (period) from the Szcze­panki site, excluding imports from the classic Neo­lithic cultures such as the Brzeœ.-Kujawski culture or the early Funnel Beaker culture (TRB) (Gumiñski 2011). The presented ceramics come from the south­eastern part of sector ‘E’ of the Szczepanki settle­ment, i.e. from the area close to the island bank and neighbouring littoral zone of the lake (Figs. 3, 4). There are well distinguished and substantially thick layers of the late Atlantic period (l.AT) in which ce­ramics appear for the first time (looking from the bottom). It is worth emphasizing that this part of the site has yielded the largest-ever homogenous collection of the early Zedmar pottery, amounting to over three thousand pieces of vessels, from which a considerable number are preserved in relatively large fragments (Tab. 1). This allows to reconstruct the forms of vessels and to correlate them with par­ticular elements of ornamentation (Fig. 4). Chronology The early Zedmar pottery from sector ‘E’ was distin­guished exclusively on the basis of the stratigraph­ic position of finds, and it comes from two coinci­dent layers. These are grey-brown peat with sand, gravel and stones (layer B.5) on the island bank (Fig. 5a), which turns into a brown-black peaty coarse-grained detritus with wood and some stones (layer L.5) in the littoral zone (Fig. 5b) (Gumiñski 2004.Fig. 5–6; 2018.Fig. 2). It should be emphasized that pottery at Szczepanki, as well as at Dudka, ap­pears from a certain level (depth) of the layers dated to the second half of the Atlantic period (middle-late AT) or to the late Atlantic (l.AT). The chronology of the early Zedmar pottery at Szcze­panki, sector ‘E’, assigns two 14C dates. The oldest date obtained from the food-crust on a sherd with­out ornament, which was found in trench EZ in the grey- brown peat with sand and gravel (B.5) just at the lowest level in which ceramics appeared (Figs. 4, 5a), is 5580±40 BP conv (c. 4495–4345 cal BC2 , Poz-9384). The upper range of the early Zedmar period is 5089 ±31 BP conv (c. 3965–3800 cal BC, OxA-26652), which was obtained from a bone implement made of roe deer tibia found in trench ER at the transition of the detritus (L.5) and brown-black peat (L.4) (Figs. 4, 5b). The peat la­yer (L.4) accumulated at the turn of the Atlantic and Subboreal (AT/SB), and corresponds to the classic Zed-mar period (Gumiñski 2018.272, Fig. 2). It is worth noting that the oldest date for the pottery at Szczepanki (5580±40 BP conv.), although ob­tained from food-crust, is very close to the dates obtained for the earliest pottery at Dudka, with both dates derived from charcoal, at 5540±60 BP conv (Gd-5365) and 5520±40 BP conv (Ki-5723) (Gumiñski 1999a. 51, 74, Tab. 1; 2008.Fig. 3). Next, the dates from both sites are at least one hundred radiocarbon years older 2 The calibration of a particular date is given according to the OxCal 4.4 programme, two-sigma (95.4%), and rounded by five years. The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland Fig. 3. The Szczepanki site with marked excavated sectors-trenches (map made by W. Gumiñski). Site Number of sherds Shell temper Other organic and grog tempers No temper First technological group – without grit Second technological group – with grit Szczepanki E 3077 22% 47% 1% 70% 30% Dudka 290 40% 2% 1% 43% 57% than the earliest dates con-a.s.l. cerning pottery at the two Zedmar sites. At Zedmar A they are 5440±90 (Le-1389) and 5280±50 BP conv (Bln­2162), both from charcoal, and at Zedmar D they are 5360±130 (Ua-2383), 5280± 80 (Ua-2384) and 5230±100 BP conv (Ua-2382), each from food-crust (Timofeev et al. 1994; 1995). It follows that in the case of the Zedmar pot­tery any reservoir effect does not impact the radiocarbon dates derived from food-crust. This is additionally demon­strated by the stable isotopic analysis of ceramic residue extracted from Zedmar pot­tery from the Dudka and Szczepanki sites. More pre­cisely, the individual sherds of 85 sampled ceramic pieces show evidence of the food processing based on freshwater fishes (Robson et al. 2020). The Zedmar culture belongs to the Western Para-Neolithic complex of the Maglemosian tradition, si­milar to the Ertebolle and Swifterbant cultures (Fig. 1). The culture includes economy and settlement sys­tems, bone and antler implements, stone and flint tools, as well as burial rites and art. The Zedmar pot­tery, in general, is also much more similar to that of the Ertebolle and Swifterbant, than to the Narva or Neman wares, representing the Eastern Para-Neoli­thic (Fig. 1). The introduction of pottery within the Western Para-Neolithic was not simultaneous. At first, ceramic ap­peared in the Swifterbant culture, around 6100 BP conv (c. 5200 cal BC), and then in the Ertebolle. It then appeared at about 5900–5700 BP (c. 4800 cal BC) in north-eastern Germany and Polish Pomerania (Tanowo, Koszalin Dzier¿êcino, D¹bki, Rzucewo), somewhat later in the Danish Ertebolle 5700–5600 BP (c. 4700 cal BC) and next on Bornholm and in southern Sweden, around 5500–5400 BP (c. 4400– 4300 cal BC). Roughly at the same time pottery ap­peared in the Zedmar culture, a little earlier in Ma-suria, about 5600 BP (c. 4500 cal BC) and then on the Prussian Lowland around 5400 BP (c. 4300 cal BC) (Andersen 2011; Gumiñski 1999a; Hallgren 2004; Hartz, Lübke 2006; Jennbert 2011; Kotula 2015; Louwe Kooijmans 2011; Raemaekers 2005; de Roever 2004; Timofeev et al. 1994; 1995). Such a chrono-geographic spread of the earliest pot­tery suggests that the inspiration for producing ce­ramic within the Western Para-Neolithic came gen­erally from the South and West, rather than from the East. It is noteworthy that within the Eastern Para-Neolithic, i.e. in the Narva, Neman, Dnieper-Donets and other cultures extended farther to the Northeast, East and Southeast (Fig. 1), pottery ap­peared about one thousand years earlier, or even more, than in the Zedmar culture (Antanaitis-Ja­cobs, Girininkas 2002; Dolukhanov et al. 2009; Loze 1988; 1993; Kriiska et al. 2017; Mazurkevich, Dolbunova 2015; Mazurkevich et al. eds. 2016; Pie-zonka 2015; Pili.iauskas 2002; Timofeev 1998). This presents a strong argument that the Zedmar Tab. 1. Main types of temper and technological groups within the early Zedmar pottery from sector ‘E’ at Szczepanki and from Dudka. Pottery comes from the littoral and bank zones only. Data for Dudka after Chrobak (2004). Witold Gumin´ski culture belonged to another hunter-gatherer world than the East European Para-Neolithic. It is signifi­cant that the Szczepanki and Dudka sites, represent­ing a pure well-defined Zedmar culture, lie very close (hardly 50km away) to the coherent extent of the Eastern Para-Neolithic, i.e. from the large Neman cul­ture sites, such as Soœnia, Stacze, Gr¹dy Woniecko, WoŸna Wieœ, Katra or Dubi.ai. Similarly, Utinoie Bo-loto, which is located on the north-eastern range of the Zedmar culture, lies close to the extent of the Narva culture (Fig. 1). This suggests that the border between the West and East hunter-gatherer worlds was strong enough to restrain the spreading of the idea of pottery production for several hundred years. Technology The Zedmar pottery distinguishes itself as very flim­sy, and it has specific, though very diverse techno­logy. Its main distinctive characteristics are organic tempers, very poor baking, generally careless pro­duction regarding the symmetry of vessels, surface treatment and ornamentation (e.g., Figs. 6d, 7f, 8g, l-n, 9j, 10j, 11d, g, 12d, 13a, 14n, 15j). The assignation Zedmar ware to the particular tech­nological group or type is not so easy, because most sherds contain two or three different tempering agents mixed together. Moreover, each given temper could appear in very dissimilar proportions – from clearly dominant to a trace or uncertain presence. Based on macroscopic observations, the lack of or presence of grit (crashed rock) temper is the clear­est possible division. The first case defines the first technological group, while the presence of grit de­fines the second group. Organic tempers, however, are present in both groups. In the first group (Figs. 6–13) temper components and the ratios among them vary significantly (Tab. 1). The most common are short filamentous traces previously considered as negatives of animal hair, now interpreted as coming from a swamp or marsh horsetail (Equisetum fluviatile or E. palustre) (Gu­miñski 2012.95, 140). The next consist naturally crumbled mussel shells, which often co-occur with the horsetail. Both components were added to the clay together with limy gyttja, so this pottery is oily to the touch and as a rule steel grey. It is worth not- Fig. 4. Sector ‘E’ at Szczepan­ki. The pottery discussed in this study comes from shaded trenches covering the littoral and bank zone. The intensity of the grey colour is propor­tional to the frequency of the early Zedmar ceramic frag­ments (from 5 to c. 500) per 10m2 (see legend). Bigger parts of particular vessels are marked at the finding spot as follows: 1 vessel with horizon­tal row(s) of oblong or dots imprints, 2 vessel with hori­zontal rows of diagonal im­prints that change direction in each subsequent stripe, 3 vessel with corrugated rim and row(s) of imprints only on the belly, 4 vessel orna­mented with corrugation only on the rim, 5 vessel with horizontal grooves, 6 rows of imprints covering the whole upper part of the vessel, 7 im­prints around the bottom, 8 vertical tracks of imprints, 9 vertical grooves, 10 diagonal alternate tracks of imprints, 11 diagonal alternate engraved double or triple lines in the mode of succes­sive letters A, 12 rhomboidal net engraved pattern, 13 unornamented vessel. Marks in blue indicate ves­sels from the first technological group, in brown from the second group. 14 and 15 borderlines dividing the island shore and lake waters. Black dots mark the spots from which a sample for 14C dating was taken (plan made by W. Gumiñski). The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland Fig. 5a. Szczepanki, trench EQ, western cross-section. Layers and related periods: B.1 black peaty soil, B.2 dark grey or dark brown loose decomposed peat with patches of sand (the Late Neolithic, e/m.SB), B.3 black granular peat (the post-Zedmar, e.SB), B.4 brownish-black peat with addition of sand (the classic Zedmar, AT/ SB), B.5 grey-brown peat with sand, gravel and stones (the early Zedmar, l.AT), B.6 dark grey-brown mulish peat (the Late Mesolithic, e-m.AT), B.7 sand and gravel with crumble brown peat (the Early Mesolithic, BO), B.8 dark brownish-grey mulish peat (the Early Mesolithic, PB), B.9 eolian sand spotted with brown peat and illu­viated ortstein (the Late Palaeolithic, YD), B.10 light grey sandy calcareous gyttja (the Late Pa­laeolithic, YD), B.11 white-grey calcareous gyt­tja with lime gravel (the Late Palaeolithic, AL). (photos by W. Gumiñski) Fig. 5b. Szczepanki, trench EQ, eastern cross-section. Layers and related periods: L.1 black peat, L.2 brown-black decomposed peat (the Late Neolithic, e/m.SB), L.3 blue-black sapropel (the post-Zedmar, e.SB), L.4 brownish-black peat with some wood (the classic Zedmar, AT/SB), L.5 brown-black peaty coarse-grained detritus with wood and some stones (the early Zedmar, l.AT), L.6 dark brownish- grey gyttja with fine-grained detritus (the Late Mesolithic, e-m.AT), L.7 light grey-beige gyttja (the Early Mesolithic, BO-PB) (photos by W. Gumiñski). a b ing that the pottery with clearly visible shell tem­per (Figs. 6a,b,g, 7a,b,e, 8j,l, 9a,l,p, 10a,c,f,n, 11a,h, 12a,f) accounts for only 22% of the early Zedmar ceramic at Szczepanki (Tab. 1). This is almost half of that seen at the neighbouring site Dudka, where shells occurred in 40% of the early Zedmar pottery (Tab. 1). In the classic Zedmar period at Dudka, as well as at sites Zedmar A and Utinoie Boloto, shells were even the dominant kind of temper (Gumiñski, Fiedorczuk 1990.54; Timofeev 1991.16, 21; Timo­feev et al. 1995.22). The ceramics of the first technological group could also be tempered with a grog (chamotte), which was usually mixed with other components (Figs. 7g, 8n, 9f-k, 10d,i, 12d). In turn, c. 1% of pottery has no vi­sible temper (Figs. 11c, 12k, Tab. 1). Such ceramics are very lightly baked, very soft, light, dry and floury to the touch, and particularly brittle and prone to pulverising. They occur only in layers of the early Zedmar period, similarly to at Dudka (Tab. 1). In the second technological group the coarse grit occurs with plant admixture, and specifically torn grass, sometimes with the addition of horsetail or chamotte, but it never contains shells. This pottery is comparatively hard, though particularly brittle and easy to crumble up (Figs. 14, 15). Such ceram­ics account for 30% of that found for the early Zed-mar period, and appears from the very beginning simultaneously with the first technological group (Tab. 1). It then becomes gradually less common, and eventually rare in the classic Zedmar period. A similar tendency occurs at Dudka, though in the early Zedmar it was the most common technology there, seen in 57% of finds (Tab. 1). At site A in Zed-mar, pottery tempered with crushed rock occurred from the beginning and together with pottery tem­pered with shells (Timofeev 1990.143; 1991.16; Timofeev et al. 1995.22). Sand was not applied as a temper in the early Zed-mar period, neither at Dudka nor at Szczepanki. It was rarely used in the classic Zedmar period, but it became common in the post-Zedmar and in Late Neolithic. Surprisingly, about two thirds of the pot­tery at site D in Zedmar was tempered with sand and grit, which was sometimes accompanied by plant admixture (Timofeev et al. 1995.22). The two major technological groups of the Zedmar ware, distinguished on the basis of the temper, are Witold Gumin´ski significantly diverse in other aspects as well. In the first group both surfaces of vessels are often inten­sively rubbed (Figs. 5b, 8g,i,j, 9a,c,g,j,o, 10n, 11e, 12h). Their negatives could be as distinguished as an ornament, which is in contrast very slightly im­pressed just in this technological group (Figs. 8j-l,n, 9j,n,q, 10j,l, 11e, 12b-d,k, 13a,b), although there are some exceptions (Fig. 7e,j). In the second technolo­gical group (with the grit temper) the rubbed sur­faces are rare and weak (Figs. 14f,h,o, 15o), whereas ornaments in this group are usually deeply impress­ed (Figs. 14a,e-i,o, 15g,h,j-l,o). It is interesting that pottery from the neighbouring Dudka site is gene­rally not rubbed, regardless of the temper (Gumiñ­ski, Fiedorczuk 1988.140). Most of the Zedmar vessels at Szczepanki were made with the H-joins coil technique, and only some of the first technological group, particularly on those examples with the grog temper, reveal the N-joins technique (Fig. 11d). Fig. 6. Szczepanki, sector ‘E’, early Zedmar pottery of the first technological group, pots with longitudi­nal imprints (scale 1:3). Note for Figures 6–15: below each vessel fragment is given the following: the name of trench, number of find(s) in the trench and the depth (photos and table made by W. Gumiñski, K. Bugajska). The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland Measurable features The thickness of vessel walls in the first technolo­gical group is usually 7–8mm, although thicker ones of c. 10mm (Figs. 6c, 7c,e, 8b,l, 12e) and thin-walled vessels of 4–5mm also occur (Figs. 7g, 9a,b,j, 10a,e,k, 12i,j, 13b). Vessels tempered with grit (the second group) are rather thick-walled, mainly from 8–10mm, but thinner walls of 6mm (Fig. 14k,n) and thicker of up to 15mm (Fig. 15d) are present too. Vessels were generally large. The diameters of the rims usually range between 26 and 44cm, but most often, they are 28–32cm and c. 38cm (Fig. 16). Some vessels were very large, with a diameter of 40–50cm or perhaps more. However, the reading of dimen- Fig. 7. Szczepanki, sector ‘E’, early Zedmar pottery of the first technological group, pots (scale 1:3)(pho­tos and table made by W. Gumiñski, K. Bugajska). Witold Gumin´ski sions should be taken with caution, because many rims are significantly lopsided and some of them are almost straight (Figs. 8d, 9g-j, 10g,h, 11g, 12e, 15j). Still bearing this in mind, the capacity of most ves­sels could have been 20–35 litters, taking into ac­count that their height was similar to the diameters of the rim and the belly, and that the diameter of the bottom was one third to one quarter that of the rim (Figs. 7f, 10i-n, 13a, 14p). Small and medium vessels with a rim diameter up to 20cm are more frequent in the first technological group than in the second, 14:2 or 20.5% compared to 6.5%, respectively. Moreover, markedly small ves- Fig. 8. Szczepanki, sector ‘E’, early Zedmar pottery of the first technological group, vessels ornamented with horizontal stripe of imprints or horizontal grooves (scale 1:3)(photos and table made by W. Gumiñ­ski, K. Bugajska). The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland sels with the rim diameters 8–15cm were made ex­clusively with organic tempers (Fig. 16). Clearly large vessels, over 40cm in diameter, are also more fre­quent within the first group, though the disparity be­tween both groups is smaller, at 14:5 or 20.5% and 16%, respectively. Pottery forms and morphological details Generally, all vessels have S-shaped profiles. They consist of four standard segments (parts): flat bot­tom, the widening lower belly part, the narrowing upper belly part (shoulder), and the leaning neck (Gumiñski 1989.40–7, Figs. 14–18). Bellies were usually weakly bulged, although there are some ex­ceptions (Figs. 7f, g, 11h). All bottoms found in the early Zedmar layers at Szczepanki, as well as at Dudka, are flat. Moreover, most of them have an additional foot, i.e. protrud­ing around the bottom stressing its flatness (Figs. 7f, 10i,n, 14p) (Gumiñski 1999b.Pl. 28; 2001.Fig. 8; 2004.Figs. 21l, 23m,n, 25r). Another interesting feature of some bottoms is their concave base (Fig. 10i,k). A characteristic detail of the neck rims is their thick­ening or tucking of the outside edge that forms a kind of mantel (Figs. 6a,f,g, 7b-f, 8a-c,f,k, 9a,c-e,g,h, m,o-q, 10f, 11d,g, 12e,j, 14f,g,j,k,o, 15a,c,d,f-j,l,m,o,q). Pots – i.e. vessels of similar or slightly smaller dia­meter of the rim than the belly and related or some­what larger height – are the most common kind of vessel. They have S-shaped profiles and short, lean­ing necks (Figs. 6, 7, 8a-g, 11a,b,d,g,h, 12d,e,g, 14c,d, f-h,j,k,m,o, 15a-q). Some pots have single or double furrow(s) and/or bumps around the slightly thick­ened neck (Figs. 6d, 7i, 11a, 14o, 15a-c). Pots with such details occur also at site A in Zedmar, and be­came frequent in the classic Zedmar period at Szcze­panki (Gaerte 1927.Fig. 263; Gumiñski 2001.Figs. 2, 5; 2011.155–158, Fig. 5; Timofeev 1990.Fig. 5). Surprisingly, this feature does not occur at neigh-bouring sites – neither at Dudka, nor at Zedmar D (Gumiñski 1999b.Pls. 25–28; 2001.Figs. 2, 4–6). Beakers – which have a distinctly leaning funnel-like neck and a diameter of the rim that larger than the diameter of the belly and the vessel height – are the second most common kind of vessel at Szczepanki. Although sufficiently preserved parts of vessels which definitely represent beakers are sparse (Figs. 8m,n, 9p, 13a,b), there are much more fragments of typically funnel-like leaning necks. The profile of the beaker neck could be concave (Figs. 9a-e,o-q, 10a-c, f,g), straight (Figs. 8m, 9i, 10e,h, 11c, 14a,e,i, 15r), S-shaped (Figs. 8k, 9g,j,l,n, 10d) or convex (Figs. 9f,k, 13a,b). At least some beakers have distinctly high­lighted necks (Figs. 8k,m, 9i,k, 11c, 13a,b). Cups are the third and considerably less frequent kind of vessel at Szczepanki. They are generally small, and proportionally low and wide, with lean­ing necks (Figs. 12a-c,h-k, 13c,d, 14n). It is likely that all cups were ornamented. In the pottery assemblage discussed in this study there are no bowls, although one rim could come from a bowl, or from a beaker (Fig. 9f). There are also neither oblong bowls (so-called ‘lamps’) nor plates, although single pieces of such forms were found at other places of the Szczepanki site (Gumiñ­ski 2004.Fig. 23i; 2011.Figs. 3r, 4A). Handles do not occur within the Zedmar ware at all (Gumiñski 1999b; 2001). While handles appear at Szczepanki, Dudka and both Zedmar sites, they are exclusively on vessels imported from the proper Neolithic cultures (Gumiñski 1997b; 2004.Figs. 23a, 25j; 2011.Fig. 6; 2012.Fig. 6q). Two vessel fragments have holes below the rim, which were pushed out while still in the elastic (not burnt) form (Figs. 9o, 15r). They were probably made for a functional purpose, possibly to fasten a leather covering, rather than being just set around the rim as an ornament. Besides, there are also a Site, zone Period of Excavated Total number Number of % of Zedmar area of sherds ornamented ornamented Szczepanki E, littoral + bank early c.190m2 3077 379 12,3 Szczepanki E, littoral + bank classic c.190m2 1107 109 9,5 Szczepanki E, settlement early + classic c.100m2 3242 181 5,6 Dudka, littoral + bank early c.190m2 290 16 5,5 Tab. 2. Intensity of ornamentation in different zones and periods at Szczepanki sector ‘E’ and at Dudka. Data for Dudka after Chrobak (2004). Witold Gumin´ski few sherds with a drilled hole that was most likely made for fixing cracked vessels (Figs. 9p, 11c). Frequency of ornamentation Generally, the Zedmar pottery is rarely ornamented. In the discussed early Zedmar assemblage from the littoral and bank zone of sector ‘E’ at Szczepanki, just 12.3% of sherds have an ornament (Tab. 2, Fig. 4). In the same zone but within layers dated to the classic Zedmar period, i.e. B.4-L.4 (Fig. 5a,b), the share of ornamented sherds is still lower, at 9.5% (Tab. 2). Next, on the island ground in the proper settlement area of sector ‘E’, ornamented sherds comprise only 5.6% of the total (Tab. 2), though this refers to the early and classic Zedmar periods toge- Fig. 9. Szczepanki, sector ‘E’, early Zedmar pottery of the first technological group, necks of beakers and pots (scale 1:3)(photos and table made byW. Gumiñski, K. Bugajska). The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland ther, since separation of particular layers in this part of the site is less exact and perhaps even impossi­ble. Anyway, it could be concluded that the inten­sity of ornamentation in Zedmar pottery generally decreased with time. On the other hand, at the neigh-bouring Dudka site ornamented sherds from well-distinguished and radiocarbon-dated early Zedmar layers of the littoral and bank zone account for only 5.5% of the total (Tab. 2), which is two and a half times less than at Szczepanki from the same period and zone. This discrepancy is difficult to interpret. The first possibility is that it could come simply from strictly local or even individual inclinations. The second, that it could arise from the practice of marking ves­sels with certain ornamentation as belonging to a particular individual or family. This seems to be more reasonable at Szczepanki with regard to the restricted settlement area there (Figs. 3, 4) com­pared with the much more extensive and flat area on the Dudka island (Gumiñski 1999a.Figs. 6, 7). The third potential scenario is that the mentioned part of the lakeshore at Szczepanki was used for ceremonial deposits of pottery. The highest density of ceramic pieces per square meter being there, and their common presence as large fragments, both sup­port this suggestion (Fig. 4). Moreover, the most nu­merous and entirely preserved finds of other catego­ries, such as amber and bone adornments or stone and antler axes, were also found in the same place (Fig. 17). It is worth noting, that the location with a considerable amount of such finds occurred several meters away from the edge of the dry ground area of the island (Fig. 4). Besides, big wooden logs that are remnants from a primitive scaffolding platform were found only in the north-eastern part of sector ‘E’ (trenches EH, EL, ER, ES, FG, EI and FF) (Fig. 4) and occurred in layer L.4 belonging to the later, classic Zedmar period (Wacnik et al. 2020.ESM Fig. 5). Therefore, it seems to be less likely that the high­est density of the early Zedmar pottery in the south­eastern part of the sector ‘E’ (trenches EQ, FB, FC) resulted from the place for washing dishes that was located there (Fig. 4). Motifs and patterns of ornamentation Five main ornamentation motifs can be distinguished in the early Zedmar ware. The most common is the round horizontal stripe on the given segment (part) of the vessel. Such stripes could consist of from one to four rows of simple imprints (Figs. 6–7, 8a-j, 9h­q, 10a-h,j-n, 12h-j, 13b-d, 14a-h,o, 15h,q), and even­tually grooves (Fig. 8k-n), which were made with a nail, finger, stick, or stamp. The stamps are oblong, round, rectangular or of compound pattern. The lat­ter can resemble an ear of a grass, a small animal paw-print, a caterpillar or a denticulated human nail (Figs. 8g-j, 9n,p,q, 14b). Horizontal stripe(s) can occur on different parts of the vessel. Going from the top, the first ornament­ed zone could be the inner part of the neck, which is particularly frequent only in the discussed col­lection from Szczepanki (Figs. 6b,d,f, 7e,f, 8g, 9m, 10c-e, 11h, 12a,c,k, 15j,q). It is interesting that such ornamentation also occurs on the lightly leaning necks, so it was weakly visible. Moreover, the orna­ment inside the neck was most often imprinted with another tool or in a different pattern than that on the outer side of the vessel (Figs. 6b,d,f, 7e,f, 9m, 10c, 11h, 12a,c,k, 15q). At least in four cases the or­nament inside does not go round the neck, but cov­ers only a part of it, or the stripe of imprints was interrupted (Figs. 6b,d, 7f, 12a). On one vessel two rows of nail imprints change the pattern – the up­per row consists of simple vertical nail-prints, whe­reas the lower one is in the form of a zigzag that turns into multiple X-patterns. Both rows are par­tially blurred and then vanish (Fig. 7f). The horizontal stripe on the vessel rim is the most frequent ornament, since it occurs on 75% of rims and is often the only decorated zone. The ornament on the rim could have the form of diagonal or trans­verse corrugations or imprints made with a stick, finger, nail, simple stamp (Figs. 6–15) or a complex stamp (Figs. 6a,b,g, 7b,f,g, 8f, 9e,n,p,q, 11g, 14d,f, h,o). It is interesting that such elaborate imprints appear more often on the edge of the rim than on the flat surface of the vessel, which is ornamented in other ways, as a rule with a simple stamp or a nail (Figs. 6a,b,g, 7b,f,g, 8f, 11g, 14f,h,o). It is worth not­ing that this style is almost absent at the neighbou-ring Dudka site, whereas it is found at site A in Zed-mar (Gumiñski 1999b.Pls. 25–28; 2001.Figs. 2, 4–6; Timofeev 1990.Fig. 5). The outer part of the neck was the third vessel zone ornamented with a horizontal stripe. The row(s) of imprints or eventually horizontal grooves (Fig. 8k­ n) (Gumiñski 2012.Fig. 6e) could be placed on the neck in three different positions. One of them is the base of the neck (Figs. 6d,f, 7f,g, 8a-c,e-i,k,m, 9h-n,p, q, 13d, 14a,d), while the second is on the upper part of the neck below the rim, which occurs mainly on beakers (Figs. 6g, 7d,e, 8d, 10c,d, 12h, 14b,c,f-h), Witold Gumin´ski and the third position is seen with rows of imprints covering the whole width (height) of the neck (Figs. 6a-c,e, 8l, 10a,b,e-h, 12i-k). A horizontal stripe could also appear on the upper belly part, with three variants found. In the first, horizontal rows go as a follow-on from the base of the neck and cover only the top part of the upper belly (Figs. 6d,f, 7g, 8h,i,m,n, 13d). In the second, horizontal rows occur alone on the maximum protu­berance of the belly or they are clearly separated from the upper ones (Figs. 6a,g, 7f, 8a,f,j, 13b,c, 14h,o). In the third variant, at most four horizontal rows evenly cover the upper belly part, though they are sparsely placed (Figs. 8g,n, 12i). The form of im­prints on the upper belly part is the same as on the neck. It is worth noting that the diagonal imprints of the longitudinal stamp or nail, which appear in two successive horizontal rows, are usually set in op­posite directions in each pair of rows (Figs. 6b-e, 7f,g, 10a,b, 13c). It is interesting that such a style is very rare at the neighbouring site of Dudka, but it is common on the Zedmar sites from the Prussian Low­land (Gumiñski 1999b.Pls. 25–28; 2001.Figs. 2, 4–6; Timofeev 1983.Figs. 1, 2; 1990.Fig. 6; 1991. Fig. 6). Moreover, such a style of alternating longitu­dinal imprints was common in the eastern concen­tration of finds in Utinoie Boloto, whereas it is al­most absent at the western part of the site (Timofeev 1983.Figs. 1, 2; compare Fig. 3). The horizontal stripe of imprints could also occur around the bottom (Figs. 7f, 10j-n). Moreover, orna­mentation appears on the underneath bottom too, and goes around and across it (Fig. 10j). Ornaments on the bottom are generally typical for the Zedmar ware, although those placed just on the bottom base are much more frequent in the Prussian Lowland, at Utinoie Boloto, Zedmar A and D (Gaerte 1927. Figs. 17–23; Gumiñski 2001.142, Fig. 8; 2004.Figs. 21l, 23n, 25s; Timofeev 1983.Fig. 1; 1991.Fig. 5). The second ornamental motif (after the horizontal stripes) consists of single or double vertical tracks of imprints or wide grooves sparsely distributed around the vessel and usually going from the neck to the up- The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland per belly part (Figs. 11a,d,g, 14n, 15i-p). This motif is particularly characteristic for the early Zedmar pot­tery, although it is not very frequent and in the Prus­sian Lowland appears mainly at the site Zedmar D (Gaerte 1927.Figs. 134–135, 259–261; Gumiñski 1999b.Pls. 25, 28; 2001.Figs. 2, 6; 2004.Fig. 21j; 2012.Fig. 6; Gumiñski, Fiedorczuk 1988.Fig. 18; 1990.Fig. 3:1; Kilian 1938.Figs. 2, 4–6; Timofeev 1991.Fig.6; Timofeev et al. 1995.Fig. 5). Single or double alternate diagonal tracks of imprints of a nail or simple stamp are the third ornamental motif among the earliest pottery at Szczepanki. They go between the neck and maximal bulge of the belly and create a wide-spreading zigzag or raftered mo­tif. It occurs in two variants – among horizontal rows of similar imprints (Fig. 11c,h,i) or alone (Figs. 11 b,d-f, 13a). A related pattern, resembling the letter A, was made with double or triple parallel engraved lines going close to each other (Figs. 12a-c,e,f, 14i,k). Both patterns appear mainly in the early Zedmar pe­riod (Gaerte 1927.Figs. 13, 27, 260; Gumiñski 1999b.62, Pl. 26; 2001.135, Figs. 6, 7; 2004.Figs. 21f,k, 23f, 24o; 2011.Fig. 2; 2012.97, 140, Fig. 6; Gumiñski, Fiedorczuk 1990.Figs. 3:7,8, 4:1,6; Ti-mofeev 1979.Fig. 2; 1991.Fig. 5, 6; 1996.Fig. 51). The fourth ornamental motif consists of parallel triple grooves, which generally go down and break at an angle on the turn of the neck and the belly, Witold Gumin´ski and such bunches were mirrored and repeated after intervals (not preserved on this sherd) (Fig. 14l). This ornament is recorded only on one sherd, but even so, its presence is notable, because such a pat­tern had already appeared on the ceramic import from the Bug-Dniesterian culture, which was found in sector ‘A’ on the eastern foreland of Szczepanki island (Fig. 3) (Gumiñski 2012.98, 140, Fig. 6a). The last, fifth decoration motif occurring in the early Zedmar ware at Szczepanki is a rhomboidal net made with intersecting diagonal engraved lines cov­ering the upper part of the vessel (Figs. 12d,g, 14j). It is interesting that a somewhat intermediate pat­tern between the net and the above-mentioned let­ter A motif also appears in the early Zedmar pottery (Fig. 12e) (Gumiñski 2001.Fig. 6o,p,s,t). The full net pattern still occurred in the classic Zedmar period at Szczepanki and other Zedmar culture sites, although generally it was not frequent. Similarities and differences between both main technological groups of Zedmar ware As mentioned above, pottery with grit and plant tem­per, i.e. the second technological group, is different from the rest in terms of certain features of the ves­sel forms and ornamentation. On the other hand, sherds of the second group are considerably less nu­merous than those of the first group (in the ratio 3:7) (Tab. 1), so the probability of a particular vessel type or ornamentation appearing is accordingly lower. Anyway, within the second group there are also bea­kers (Figs. 14a-c,e,i, 15e,r) and even small cups (Fig. 14n), as well as flat bottoms with a foot (Fig. 14p) or vessels with a row of holes below the rim (Fig. 15r). Generally, the motifs of ornamentation are similar in both groups, including the less common ones. In the second group, for instance, there are also verti­cal tracks of imprints (Fig. 15i-l, n-p) and vertical grooves (Figs. 14n, 15m), as well as the letter A mo­tif and the net pattern (Fig. 14i-k). On the other hand, diagonal tracks of imprints and horizontal grooves probably occur only in the first group. In contrast, round and rectangular stamps, as well as imprints made with a finger, are distinctly more fre­quent in the second technological group (Figs. 14a, e-h,o, 15e-q), whereas oblong stamps and nail im­prints, very common in the first group, are rare in the second (Figs. 14b,c, 15q). In conclusion, in both technological groups the same motifs of ornamentation occur, although with diffe- The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland rent frequencies. Similarly, some details of patterns, such as the outline of stamps, are typical only for a particular group. The early pottery from Szczepanki toward other Zedmar culture sites Although the early Zedmar pottery from Szczepanki relates well in all respects to the Zedmar culture ware, there are some strictly local features. Con­cerning technology, the shell temper, as well as the grit admixture, are almost two times less frequent at Szczepanki than at Dudka (Tab. 1). In turn, the grog temper appears at Szczepanki already in the early Zedmar, while at the neighbouring Dudka site only in the classic Zedmar (Gumiñski 2001.134). Intense rubbed surfaces are quite common at Szczepanki, whereas at Dudka and other Zedmar sites they are rare and lightly visible. Regarding vessel details, bumps and furrows around the neck of pots appeared at Szczepanki in the early Zedmar and became quite frequent in the classic pe­riod (Gumiñski 2011.Fig. 5; 2018.Fig. 3f). This kind of neck also occured at Zedmar A, while it was prac­tically absent at Dudka, Zedmar D and Utinoie Bo-loto. Next, the mantels outside the edge of the rim are common at Szczepanki and Dudka, but they are only occasionally present at other Zedmar sites. By contrast, bottoms with the highlighted foot evident­ly dominated the Zedmar ware of the Prussian Low­land, while at Szczepanki and Dudka only about half the bottoms have this (Gaerte1927.Figs. 17–23; Gu­miñski 1999b.Pls. 25–28; 2001.Figs. 2, 4–6, 8; 2004. Pls. 31–35; 2016.Figs. 2, 7; Gumiñski, Fiedorczuk 1990.Fig. 3; Timofeev 1983.Fig.1; 1990.Fig. 5; 1991. Fig.5; 1996.Fig. 51). With regard to ornamentation, compound stamps, especially imprinted on the rim edge, occur at Szcze­panki and Zedmar A, while at Dudka and other Zed-mar sites they are nearly absent (Gumiñski 1999b; 2001; Timofeev 1990; 1991). Ornaments inside the neck, which present a different shape (pattern) than on the rest of the vessel, occur exclusively at Szcze­panki. The manner in which oblong diagonal im­prints go in opposite directions in each pair of rows is particularly common at Szczepanki. It also occurs at Zedmar sites from the Prussian Lowland, but at Dudka as well as at the western concentration of Utio­noie Boloto it is very rare (Gumiñski 1999b; 2001; Timofeev 1983.Fig. 3; 1990.Fig. 6; 1991.Fig. 6). Taking into account these differences between sites, it could be concluded that each Zedmar site reveals its own local or even individual tendency to apply­ing certain technological formula and stylistic fea­tures. Some of them might be considered as insigni­ficant details, but others seem to be of importance. Overall, it indicates that differences among particu­lar assemblages of Zedmar pottery arose from the local determinants rather than from the chronolo­gical changes. Discussion The early Zedmar pottery from the south-eastern part of Szczepanki settlement is the largest homoge-nous assemblage of the Zedmar culture ware known so far. Generally, it indicates an eclectic and com­plex genesis regarding technology, morphological details, vessel forms and ornamentation. Each of these ceramic components show analogies to com­pletely different cultural traditions (Fig. 1, Tab. 3). Technology The substantially diversified technology of the early Zedmar ceramics (Tabs. 1, 3) is one of the crucial points suggesting their multi-directional origin. How­ever, the particular technology of the Zedmar pot­tery does not involve a separate style, neither in ves­sel forms and morphology details nor in ornamenta­tion. Motifs and certain patterns are generally the same in both main technological groups, though some differences are noticeable between them, they concern details and reveal tendencies rather than detached manners. For instance, nail imprints and oblong stamps occur mainly in the first technological group (tempered exclusively with organic agents), while round and rectangular stamps and finger im­prints are typical for the second group (containing grit temper). Other features, such as slightly thick­er walls and a lack of small vessels in the second technological group, most likely arose from techni­cal determinants or the intended purpose of vessels, and not from different traditions. It seems that inspirations to produce pottery in the Zedmar culture came from different directions simul­taneously, and the Zedmar people transformed them significantly to their own specific style. This is in op­position to the case of the Funnel Beaker culture (TRB) sites in the Che³mno Land and Kuyavia in north-central Poland (south-west from the range of the Zedmar culture, Fig. 1), where the clearly out­standing vessels of the foreign Narva culture style regarding technology (including shell temper), forms (egg-like vessels) and ornamentation (covering the whole vessel) co-occurred with the classic TRB cera­mics (Kukawka 2010). Thus, in the TRB of Che³mno Witold Gumin´ski Feature Early Zedmar* Ertebolle S, P** Swifter-bant Narva Neman Dubi;ai Dnieper-Donets LBK, Early Danubian BKC, Late Danubian TRB*** various combined tempers +++ ++ + + + ++ plant temper +++ ZD+ + ++ ++ ++ +++ + shell temper ++ ZD+ bone+ +++ + ++ K-C + grit (crushed rock) temper + ZD++ +++ ++ + +++ ++ N-W +++ grog (chamotte) temper Sz++ Du+ + + + + + S-E+++ sand temper – ZD++ + + + ++ ++ virtually no temper Sz, Du + + ++ intense rubbed surfaces Sz++ Du + +++ +++ + very deep impressed ornaments + P+ + + +++ barely visible ornamentation + Sz++ ++ ++ thin-walled vessels + + + ++ ++ ++ ++ thick-walled vessels + +++ + + flat bottoms +++ S+ ++ + ++ ++ +++ +++ protruding bottoms (with a foot) ++ S+ + + + concave base of bottom ++ ++ S-E+++ leaning out necks +++ +++ +++ + + + + +++ +++ mantel outside the edge of rim Sz, Du ++ + + bump\furrow(s) around the neck Sz + ZA+ + ++ + + S-E+++ row of holes around the rim + P++ + + +++ + S-shaped profiled vessels +++ +++ ++ + ++ ++ + ++ +++ pots +++ + ++ + ++ +++ + +++ beakers ++ +++ ++ + + +++ small cups + + + + + ++ + scanty ornamentation ++ +++ ++ + ++ ++ round stripe on the vessel part +++ +++ ++ + + + ++ ++ nail and finger imprints +++ ++ + ++ + +++ round and square stamps ++ + ++ + + + ++ oblong stamp imprints ++ ++ ++ + + ++ + +++ compound stamps imprints Sz ++ Du +++ +++ ++ ‘caterpillar’ stamp Sz+ Du +++ + + ‘denticulated nail’ stamp Sz+ Du + +++ ++ various stamps on certain vessel + Sz++ ++ ++ +++ +++ inside neck ornamentation Sz++ Du+ ++ ++ corrugation of the rim edge +++ ++ ++ ++ ++ ++ ++ stripe of imprints below the rim + ++ ++ + +++ stripe on the base of neck ++ ++ + +++ horizontal engravings on neck + + + + longitudinal imprints in opposite direction in each pair of rows ++ Du ++ +++ stripe on bulge or on upper belly ++ + +++ separate stripe around bottom ++ S+ + base of bottom ornamented ++ Sz+ + + ++ + + sparse vertical tracks of imprints ++ ++ ++ + sparse vertical grooves ++ + ++ + alternate diagonal imprints ++ + + + ++ parallel diagonal engraved lines ++ + +++ parallel go down grooves broken + ++ rhomboidal net pattern ++ + +++ + + Tab. 3. Pottery features of the Zedmar ware and other cultures. Key: +++ very common, dominating fea­ture, ++ occurring, + scarce, Du virtually lack. *Early Zedmar sites: Du Dudka, Sz Szczepanki, ZA Zedmar A, ZD Zedmar D, **S Ertebolle in Sweden and Bornholm, P Pomeranian ‘Ertebolle’, ***N-W north-west from Masuria, K-C Kuyavia and Che³mno Land, S-E south-eastern group of the TRB. The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland Land a type of vessel specific for the Narva culture was adopted as an entirely moulded product. The simultaneous usage of pottery tempered with several different kinds of agents, which clearly di­vide the Zedmar ware into at least two distinguish­ing technological groups, can be compared with the ‘fine’ and ‘coarse’ ware of the Early Neolithic of the Balkan-Danubian tradition, including the Linear Band Pottery (LBK). However, unlike in the Zedmar, this dichotomy also included ornamentation and was no longer used at the time when the Zedmar pottery appeared c. 5600 BP conv (about 4500 cal BC). On the other hand, the use of shell temper in the Zedmar ware, which is alien in the Danubian cul­tures, is commonly considered as originating with the Narva culture, where it was very common (Ber­zin. 2008; Gumiñski, Fiedorczuk 1990; Jaanits 1965; Kriiska et al. 2017; Kukawka 2010; Loze 1988; 1993; Rimantiene 1992; 2005; Timofeev 1991; Vankina 1970). It should be emphasized, however, that shells were also used in the Early Para-Neolithic and Neolithic of south-eastern Europe, for instance in the Bug-Dniesterian and Dnieper-Do­netsian cultures (Fig. 1, Tab. 3) (.erny. 1996; Da­nilenko 1969; 1985; Dolukhanov et al. 2009; Mar­kevi. 1974; Telegin 1968). Therefore, the presence of shell temper within Zed-mar pottery is not necessarily of Narva origin, especially since the obtaining and treat­ment of shells was different in both cultures. In the Nar­va ware, as well as in the si­milar TRB pottery of Kuyavia and Che³mno Land, (hard) shells were mechanically cru­shed, whereas in the Zedmar ware from Dudka and Szcze­panki they were naturally crumbled and applied toge­ther with a gyttja (Daszkie­wicz et al. 2014; Gumiñski 2012.95). Anyway, the shell temper as such should not be taken as a decisive argument for the determination of tech­nological inspirations within the Zedmar ware. It is worth stressing that shells co-occur with horsetail (Equisetum) temper in most of the early Zedmar ceramics, at least at Szczepanki and Dudka, which makes such a mixture specific and exceptional. Moreover, the contribution of shells and other kinds of temper varies considerably between Zedmar sites, even those located on the same lake (Tabs. 1, 3). The same can be said with regard to the rubbing of vessel surfaces, which in the very pronounced form occurs almost exclusively in the first technological group at Szczepanki. Rubbed surfaces are common in the early Narva and Neman pottery (Tab. 3) (Char­niauski 1979; 2011; Isaienko 1976; Loze 1988; 1993; 2000; 2001; Marcinkevi.iute 2016; Pili.iau-skas 2002; Tkachou 2018). It is worth noting that at the Neman culture sites in north-eastern Poland (Fig. 1) pottery with intensely rubbed surfaces is tempered with grit and has deeply impressed orna­mentation (Kempisty 1984/1988; Kempisty, Sulgo­stowska 1991; Kempisty, Wiêckowska 1983; Wa­wrusiewicz et al. 2017), the exact opposite to the combination at Szczepanki. The flat bottom vessel with clearly visible shell temper and intensely rub­bed surfaces (Fig. 10n) which was found in the low­est ceramic level at Szczepanki is another good exam­ple for the mixing of traits of different origins. Shells can indicate a Narva or Dnieper-Donets origin, and rubbing Narva or Neman, but flat bottoms certainly originate from none of these, since they were totally Witold Gumin´ski absent in the contemporary Eastern Para-Neolithic wares. This example is a good illustration of the pe­culiarity of Zedmar pottery, in which traits of com­pletely different origin co-occur in a single vessel. With regard to technology, it should be emphasised that the precise formula of Zedmar technology is not a simple copy of any other culture, neither Danubian nor Narvian ware, Neman or Dnieper-Donetsian. In­terestingly, the Zedmar technology is distinctly dif­ferent from that of the Ertebolle regarding temper and forming the walls of vessels, but in many points is similar to the Swifterbant ware (Tab. 3). Each of the Zedmar ceramic technologies has its own speci­ficity, such as the additional admixture of horsetail temper, as well as very poor baking and generally The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland sloppy production. Besides, the preference for a par­ticular technology, such as the composition of tem­per or rubbing, could have very local range, limited to even just one site of a given micro-region, as it is in the case of Szczepanki and Dudka (Tabs. 1, 3) or sites A and D in Zedmar. Therefore, the prevalence of a given technology, apart from some exceptions such as the lack of temper in the early period or sand temper in the late Zedmar, does not have chro­nological value, but it results rather from the func­tion of vessels, or from strictly-local or even indivi­dual preferences. Vessel forms and morphological details A poor set of forms and the lack of handles link the Zedmar pottery with the widespread Para-Neolithic ware. In the Zedmar however, egg-like, biconical, or cylindrical vessels with pointed bottoms and with­out necks do not occur at all, whereas they were typical for the Eastern Para-Neolithic including the Narva, Neman and Dnieper-Donets cultures (Fig. 1) (Charniauski 1979; 2011; Dolukhanov et al. 2009; Gumiñski 1999b; Isaienko 1976; Jaanits 1965; Kempisty 1986; Kriiska et al. 2017; Loze 1988; 1993; Oshibkina S. V. (ed.). 1996; Piezonka 2015; Rimantiene 1992; Telegin 1968; Timofeev 1998; Tkachou 2018; Vankina 1970). Instead, generally S-profiled vessels and leaning necks, in particular in beakers, connect Zedmar ceramics with the West­ern Para-Neolithic cultures, i.e. with the Ertebolle and Swifterbant, and then with the TRB, in which markedly funnel-like necks became a leading form. This suggests a common origin and similar standards for the pottery in these western type cultures. On the other hand, the presence of flat bottoms only, additionally highlighted with protruding feet or concave bases, is a thoroughly Neolithic feature that is also included in the late Danubian or south­eastern TRB. Admittedly, flat bottoms also occurred (although not exclusively) in the very early Para-Neolithic of the South-Eastern and Eastern Europe, but such pottery disappeared there around one thou­sand years before the beginning of the Zedmar cul­ture, and it happen at least one thousand kilometres away from its territory (Mazurkevich, Dolbunova 2015; Mazurkevich et al. 2013; Mazurkevich et al. eds. 2016). Besides, flat bottoms also appeared in some sites of the south range of the late Narva cul­ture, such as at .ventoji or Kretuonas and .emaiti.­ke (Fig. 1), but this was certainly much later than the early Zedmar. Farther north, e.g. at Sarnate and sites in Lubana Lake basin, flat bottoms do not occur at all (Berzin. 2008; Girininkas 1990; Loze 1988; 1993; 2000; 2001; Rimantiene 1992; 2005; Timo­feev 1990; 1998; Vankina 1970). The bumps or furrow(s) around the thickened necks of pots, which occur only at Szczepanki and Zedmar A, are likely of south-eastern provenance, since they occur in some of the south-eastern Danubian groups and in the Dnieper-Donets culture, and were parti­cularly common in the south-eastern group of the TRB (Gumiñski 1989.Figs. 26–29; 2011.155–158, Fig. 5; Telegin 1968.Figs. 26, 29, 41, 44, 46; Telegin, Titova 1998). Next, the mantel outside the edge of the rim, which is particularly frequent at Szczepanki and Dudka, but less common in the Zedmar ware of Prussian Low­land, may have regional Masurian or wider Polish Plain origin, since it also appears on some Danubian vessels from north-central Poland (Gumiñski 2001. 135, Fig. 7). It is worth noting that the opposite treat­ment of the rim, i.e. thickening of the inside part of the rim edge and its diagonal truncation, were parti­cularly common in the Narva culture (Berzin. 2008; Gumiñski 1999b; Loze 1988; 1993; Marcinkevi.iu­te 2005; 2010; Rimantiene 2005; Vankina 1970). Row of holes below the rim or alternately holes and bulbs made with very deep impressions from the other side of the vessel (Figs. 7e, 9o, 15r) are in fact sporadic in the Zedmar pottery, and in the proper Ertebolle (Tab. 3). In contrast, this is the most dis­tinctive feature for the Neman culture and related groups (Charniauski 1979; 2011; Isaienko 1976; Kempisty 1984/1988; 1986; Kempisty, Sulgostow-ska 1991; Kempisty, Wiêckowska 1983; Pili.iau-skas 2002; Tkachou 2018; Wawrusiewicz 2013; Wawrusiewicz et al. 2017). It is interesting that this style is common again further northwest, at the Para-Neolithic sites of Polish Pomerania (Fig. 1) (Galiñski 2012; Ilkiewicz 1989; 1997; Kotula 2015), which also links that pottery with the Neman culture (Kotu-la 2015; Timofeev 1998.Fig. 4). It should be added, however, that a row of holes around the rim appears even within the Swifterbant culture, including at outermost sites such as Hüde Dümmer or Bazel (Fig. 1) (Crombe et al. 2015; Kampffmeyer 1983; Rae-maekers 2005). A simple pot with a slightly S-profile, flat bottom and short leaning neck with a thickened or tucked rim is a very common form of vessel in the early Zedmar. It could have been adopted from the south­eastern Para-Neolithic, particularly from the Dnieper-Donets culture, where comparable pots occurred Witold Gumin´ski earlier than the beginning of the Zedmar culture. It is significant that those pots are similarly ornament­ed, i.e. with horizontal rows of oblong diagonal im­prints, in which they change direction in each pair of rows. However, in the Dnieper-Donetsian ware such a pattern covered almost the whole surface of the pot (Telegin 1968; Telegin, Titova 1998). Be­sides, such pots with the characteristic thickened or tucked rim were the most frequent type of vessel within the south-eastern TRB, although this cultural group was rather younger than the earliest Zedmar (Gumiñski 1989; 2011). On the other hand, similar S-profiled pots, mostly with pointed or rounded bot­toms, are also common in the Swifterbant culture (Reamaekers 2015; Reamaekers, de Roever 2010; de Roever 2004). The early Zedmar beakers are similar to those of the Ertebolle, Swifterbant and the early TRB; although in the Ertebolle they have exclusively pointed bot­toms and in the Swifterbant usually pointed or rounded ones (Andersen 1998; 2011; Galiñski 2012; Gumiñski 2001.Fig. 3; Gumiñski, Fiedorczuk 1988. Fig. 18; Jennbert 2011; Koch 1998; Kotula 2015; Reamaekers 2015; Reamaekers, de Roever 2010; de Roever 2004). Cups are a considerably less common kind of vessel in Zedmar ceramics. Similar forms also appeared in the Swifterbant culture and in the TRB, and in each case they probably derive from the Danubian cul­tures. Everywhere, cups are relatively small, slightly S-profiled, and proportionally low and wide. Some The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland of the early Zedmar cups from Szczepanki addi­tionally distinguish themselves by a lack of temper or by ornaments with diagonal alternately engraved lines resembling a sequence of letters A or similar tracks of nail imprints (Fig. 12a-c,k) (Gumiñski 2012. Fig. 6b). These traits additionally link the Zedmar cups with the Danubian original. Other cups, with horizontal rows of imprints on the bulge of the belly or on the base of neck (Fig. 13c,d) are ornamented in a similar manner to that seen in the Brzeœ.-Kujaw-ski culture. However, this is not a simple copy, since the particular pattern of this motif, i.e. rows of al­ternate diagonal nail imprints, is in the pure Zedmar style (Fig. 13c), and not in the Brzeœ.-Kujawski mode. To conclude, beakers are generally of the western style, as in the Ertebolle, Swifterbant and TRB, but cups are most likely of the Danubian origin. In turn, pots could derive from the south-east, mainly from the Dnieper-Donets culture. On the other hand, re­lated pots occurred in the Swifterbant culture as well. In turn, mantels outside the edge of the rim and pro­truding bottoms with a foot could be indigenous Zedmar inventions. Ornamentation The Zedmar pottery generally has restrained orna­mentation, like the Ertebolle, Swifterbant and early TRB, or else like the Late Danubian, including the Brzeœ.-Kujawski culture (Tabs. 2, 3). In contrast, in the Eastern Para-Neolithic, apart from much earlier periods than the early Zedmar, ornaments usually overlay the entire surface of the vessel. For instance, at the Swifterbant S4 site 5.6% of sherds were dec­orated (Raemaekers et al. 2020.25), just as at the Dudka and at Szczepanki settlement area (Tab. 2), whereas at the Sarnate site in Latvia (Fig. 1) 81% of the early-middle Narva vessels were ornamented, and 37% in the late Narva (Berzin. 2008.Tab. 4). Most ornamental motifs and patterns as well as techniques and tools of ornamentation that occurred at Szczepanki were also applied in the above-mentioned cultures with west­ern or southern roots (Tab. 3). The most common early Zed-mar motif is the round hori­zontal stripe of imprints going on the concrete part of the ves­sel, mainly on the neck. The location of the ornament is crucial in the search for inspi­rations. If a row or rows of imprints are located just on the base of the neck or on the maximum protu­berance of the belly, they are just like in the Brzeœ.-Kujawski ware. However, imprints on the neck be­low the rim are typical for the Western Para-Neolithic and then the TRB, whereas stripes covering a greater part of the neck occur again in the Ertebolle and Swifterbant. There are, however, some particular patterns, which could come from the Eastern Para-Neolithic, and these concern the following motifs: a pair of rows with alternating diagonal imprints, various stamps on certain vessel, very deep imprints or in contrast barely visible ornamentation, or else compound stamps. Regarding further details, a compound stamp known as a ‘caterpillar’ was common in the Narva culture (Loze 1988; 2000; 2001; Marcinkevi.iute 2005; 2010; Rimantiene 2005; Vankina 1970), while the use of a ‘denticulated nail’ is typical for the early Neman and Dnieper-Donets wares (Char­niauski 1979; 2011; Isaienko 1976; Telegin 1968; Telegin, Titova 1998; Tkachou 2018). It should be stressed, however, that both compound stamps as well as very deep imprints were rare in the Zedmar culture. Moreover, the comb ornamentation that is common within the North-eastern and Eastern Para-Neolithic is completely absent in the Zedmar. Corrugated rims are the most widespread ornamen­tation within the whole Para-Neolithic, though they also occurs in the Brzeœ.-Kujawski culture. However, as a sole ornament on the vessel they are particu­larly frequent in the Western Para-Neolithic, i.e. in the Swifterbant, Ertebolle and Zedmar (Andersen 2011; Crombe et al. 2015; Galiñski 2012; Gumiñski 1999b; 2001; Kampffmeyer 1988; Kotula 2015; Louwe Kooijmans 2011; Raemaekers, de Roever 2010; de Roever 2004). Next, imprints on the inner Witold Gumin´ski part of the neck could arrive from the Narva culture, though this form of ornamentation was widespread in the Swifterbant pottery as well (Tab. 3). Ornamented bottoms, including their bases, are typ­ical for the Zedmar ware. They also appear in some Neolithic cultures in central Poland beginning with the LBK and later Danubian, though they are rare (Gumiñski 2001.142, Fig. 7). On the other hand, or­naments on flat bottoms also occurred in the very early Eastern Para-Neolithic, mainly in the Dnieper-Donets and Upper Volga cultures, though flat bot­toms as such were not common there (Mazurkevich et al. 2013.Fig. 8; Telegin 1968.Figs. 32, 33; Tele-gin, Titova 1998.Fig.7). It is worth stressing, how­ever, that ornamented flat bottoms, at least from Zamostje 2, are about one thousand years older than the early Zedmar ware and the distance between both assemblages is approximately one thousand kilometres (Fig. 1). Vertical tracks of imprints or similar wide grooves distributed sparsely and with intervals around the vessel are one of the most distinguishing motifs for the Zedmar pottery and the whole Western Para-Neolithic, and to some extent for the earliest TRB. However, these patterns are not prevalent there (An­dersen 1998.Fig. 24; Gaerte1927.Figs. 134–135, 259–261; Gumiñski 1999b.Pls. 25, 28; 2001.Figs. 2, 3, 6; 2004.Fig. 21j; 2012.Fig. 6b; Gumiñski, Fiedor­czuk 1988.Fig. 18; 1990.Fig. 3:1; Ilkiewicz 1997. Fig. 17; Kampffmeyer 1988.Taf. 5, 6, 12, 18, 21, 22, 44, 48; Kilian 1938.Figs. 2, 4–6; Koch 1998.Figs. 48, 63, Pl. 56; Kotula 2015.Figs. 10, 11, 18; Raemaekers 1999.Figs. 3.4, 10, 17, 23, 24, 29; Raemaekers, de Roever 2010.Fig. 7; Schwabedissen 1981.Fig. 8; Timofeev 1991.Fig.6; Timofeev et al. 1995.Fig. 5). A remarkable type of Zedmar orna­ment is the raftered or wide-spread­ing zigzag motif formed by alternate diagonal tracks of imprints, or by si­milarly double or triple parallel-en­graved lines set in the shape of se­quential letters A. Both patterns clearly refer to the early Danubian, including LBK, especially if imprints were made with a nail (Gaerte 1927. Figs. 13, 27, 260; Gumiñski 1999b. 62, Pl. 26; 2001.135, Figs. 6, 7; 2004.Fig. 21; 2011.Fig. 2; 2012.97, 140, Fig. 6; Timofeev 1979.Fig. 2; 1991.Figs. 5, 6; 1996.Fig. 51). Although such orna­mentation occurs mostly in the early Zedmar period, there is a time-break of almost five hundred years between both cultures. Besides, it should be empha­sized that imports of the LBK pottery or other typ­ical Early Danubian artefacts did not appear at the Zedmar culture sites at all. Moreover, the earliest Da­nubian imports come from the Brzeœ.-Kujawski cul­ture (Fig. 1), and they occurred exclusively at Szcze­panki (Gumiñski 2011). Similar chronological difficulty appears with regard to the ornamentation composed of (repeated) triple parallel vertical grooves with diagonal breaks (Fig. 14l). Such patterns were typical for the Bug-Dnieste­rian ware (Fig.1) (.erny. 1996.Figs. 2, 21; Danilen­ko 1969.Figs. 39, 43, 98, 104, 115, 117, 120, 127; 1985.Fig. 32; Markevi. 1974.Figs. 17, 48, 65), al­though this early Para-Neolithic culture has almost vanished when the Zedmar pottery was just begin­ning (Dolukhanov et al. 2009; Haskevych et al. 2019). The rhomboidal net pattern covering the upper part of a vessel is most likely of Neman culture origin, since it was particularly common in this culture and related groups, and occurred in other far-eastern Para-Neolithic cultures. It is worth noting, however, that the net pattern also appeared on occasion in the Danish Ertebolle and even in the LBK of north-central Poland (Tab. 3) (Charniauski 1979; 2011; Gumiñski 2001.Fig. 7h,k; Haskevych et al. 2019. Fig.13; Isaienko 1976; Kotula 2015; Pili.iauskas The oldest pottery of the Para-Neolithic Zedmar culture at the site Szczepanki, Masuria, NE-Poland 2002; Rimantiene 1992; Telegin 1968; Telegin, Ti-tova 1998; Tkachou 2018; Wawrusiewicz 2013). In conclusion, the inspirations for ornamentation in the Zedmar pottery derived from various directions and traditions, although those typical for the West­ern Para-Neolithic, TRB and Danubian cultures are considerably prevailing over those of the Eastern Para-Neolithic (Fig. 1, Tab. 3). Moreover, the motifs, patterns and details of ornamentation in the early Zedmar pottery also show a particular eclecticism. The question of substantial intensiveness of ornamentation The peculiarity of the focal assemblage of the early Zedmar pottery from Szczepanki is the relatively fre­quent ornamentation, which is over two times more common than at the adjacent proper settlement area of the site and similarly more frequent than in the same period and zone at the neighbouring Dudka site (Tab. 2). Moreover, the total number of sherds is ten times higher at Szczepanki ‘E’ than at Dudka from the corresponding time, zone and size of exca­vated area; at both sites it was c. 190m2 (Tab. 2). Therefore, it seems likely that at Szczepanki pottery was thrown into the lake purposely, the more so as most sherds were found several meters away from the island shore (Fig. 4). Besides, a significant num­ber of vessels had been probably broken before they were thrown into the lake, because there are many missing pieces from certain better preserved vessels, and additionally there are lots of solitary sherds of other different vessels. It is worth emphasizing that the state of ceramic preservation in the littoral zone is similar, and generally good, with often well-pre­served food-crust. Taking into account that such ce­ramics are heavy and large, any pieces of a given vessel that were thrown into the water among reeds would immediately sink to the boggy bottom and remain there. It is significant that within the same littoral zone the density of ceramic finds is up to 100-times higher in the south-eastern part of the sec­tor ‘E’ (trenches EQ, FB and FC) than in the north­ern part (trenches ES, ET, FG), and the distance be­tween them is scarcely 10 meters (Fig. 4). Therefore, it seems likely that the unusually numerous ceramic fragments in this place are due to a special votive zone, which was located just on this part of lake-shore (Figs. 4, 17). If so, this could also be the rea­son for the high rate of ornamentation, because pot­tery used for ceremonial purposes could have been selected according to the presence of the relevant decoration. The last suggestion is supported by some specific patterns that appeared exclusively at the south-east­ern part of the Szczepanki site. One of these is the corrugation of the rim edge made with a compound stamp that differs from such stamps applied on the outer side of the vessel, which was in contrast quite simple. The next peculiarity is the ornamentation in­side the neck that is dissimilar and more compound than on the rest of the vessel, and additionally it ap­pears on the slightly leaning necks, so the ornament is barely visible. Besides, some such patterns cover only part of the neck circumference, and in one case the array of stripes was changed and partly delibe­rately blurred (Fig. 7f). Such strictly local and exact variants of ornamenta­tion occurred on several vessels from the given part of sector ‘E’ (Fig. 4), while other motifs appeared in different zones of the settlement. Assuming the con­temporaneity of pottery from such clusters, it seems likely that some patterns could be the markings of vessels belonging to a particular owner or family. General and final considerations The early Zedmar pottery from Szczepanki repre­sents one of the regional styles of the Western Para-Neolithic, to which the Ertebolle and Swifterbant cul­tures also belong (Fig. 1). The Zedmar ceramics, however, indicate a very complex genesis and have a far more eclectic character than the pottery of the above-mentioned cultures. The Zedmar ware, apart from common features with the Western Para-Neo­lithic, reveals similarities with three other traditions: (i) the Danubian Neolithic including LBK and the Brzeœ.-Kujawski culture, (ii) the Funnel Beaker cul­ture (TRB), (iii) the Eastern Para-Neolithic, mainly of Neman, Narva and Dnieper-Donets cultures (Fig. 1, Tab. 3). However, the early Zedmar pottery is nei­ther a simple hybrid of the above-mentioned cul­tures nor peripheral to any of them, because it re­presents a separate and specific integrated style re­garding technology, vessel forms and ornamenta­tion. Moreover, some components are likely of an indigenous Zedmar cultural origin, such as a horse­tail temper, bottoms with a foot, or a mantel outside the edge of the rim neck. A very good example for the peculiarity of the early Zedmar ware is one of the best-preserved vessels from Szczepanki (Figs. 13a, 17). This is an extra-small beaker with a leaning neck resembling a distinctive form for the early TRB. Its ornamentation is unusu­ally scant even for the Zedmar pottery, since it oc­ Witold Gumin´ski curs only on one side (view) of the upper belly part. It is difficult to state why the Zedmar pottery pre-The pattern is comprised of two alternate diagonal sents such a mix of styles. In my opinion, it could re-tracks of nail imprints, as it occurs also in the Early sult from two main reasons. The first is the general Danubian pottery, and the same third track going cultural-geographical location just on the border be-vertical between them, which is in turn typical for tween west and east Europe and thus the western the early Zedmar, or broader, for the Western Para-and eastern cultural traditions (Fig. 1). Moreover, Neolithic. An identical arrangement appeared al-the southern early farming civilization reached the ready on the fragment of a cup, which was found at range of the hunter-gatherer Masurian community the lowest ceramic level at the separate dwelling from the west and south. The second reason is the site on the eastern foreland of the Szczepanki island, relatively very late-stage period when the Zedmar in the sector ‘A’ (Fig. 3) (Gumiñski 2012.Fig. 6b). pottery began to form. The Zedmar culture, and That fragment is abundantly shell tempered, as was thereby the Masuria and Prussian Lowland, was per-common in the Zedmar, Narva and Dnieper-Donets haps the latest region in the middle of Europe in wares, and has a very intense rubbed surface, what which pottery was introduced, regarding both the was typical for the Neman and Narva cultures. There-Para-Neolithic and the ‘real’ Neolithic worlds. There­fore, while both vessels have exactly the same orna-fore, the indigenous Zedmar community was sur­ment, they represent entirely different technologies rounded by many various ceramic modes, styles and and vessel forms. technological formulas. As such, it depended only on the mentality of the Zedmar people which of To conclude, the co-occurrence of varied traits of these many possible ceramic standards were used. completely different traditions is the peculiar fea­ture of the early Zedmar pottery. However, it seems Another question is why the TRB appeared on the that in the early Zedmar ware more similarities are area previously occupied by both the Swifterbant related to the Western and Southern pottery styles and the Ertebolle cultures, but not on the territory than to the Eastern ones. It should be emphasized of the Zedmar culture (Fig. 1). I believe it is possible that this conclusion refers only to the pottery, and that this arose from the general economic reasons. does not apply to other areas of the Zedmar culture In the territory taken by the TRB, a farming econo-as such, including settlement system, economy, bu-my appeared simultaneously with the new style of rial custom, art and tool manufacturing. 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C. M. Raemaekers, J. P. de Roever (eds.), Swifterbant S4 (the Netherlands). Occupation and exploitation of a Neolithic levee site (c. 4300–4000 cal. BC). Groningen Archaeological Studies Vol. 36. Barkhuis/University of Groningen. Groningen: 24–33. Witold Gumin´ski Raemaekers D. C. M, de Roever J. P. 2010. The Swifter-bant pottery tradition (5000–3400 BC) Matters of fact and matters of interest. In B. Vanmontfort, L. Louwe Kooij-mans, L. Amkreutz, and L. Verhart (eds.), Pots, Farmers and Foragers. Pottery traditions and social interaction in the earliest Neolithic of the Lower Rhine Area. Leiden University Press. Leiden: 135–149. Rimantiene R. 1992. The Neolithic of the Eastern Baltic. Journal of the World Prehistory 6 (1): 97–143. 2005. Die Steinzeitfischer an der Ostseelagune in Li-tauen. Forschungen in .ventoji und Butinge. Litaui­sches Nationalmuseum. Vilnius. Robson H., Gumiñski W., Lucquin A., Dolbunova E., Eriks-son G., Meadows J., Heron C., and Craig O. 2020. Para-Neolithic pottery use: Organic residue analysis of ceram­ics from Dudka and Szczepanki. In Meso’2020 – Tenth In­ternational Conference on the Mesolithic in Europe 7– 11 Sep 2020, Toulouse, France (presentation paper). de Roever J. P. 2004. Swifterbant-aardewerk. Een ana­lyse van de neolithische nederzettingen bij Swifterbant, 5e millennium voor Christus. Groningen Archaeological Studies. Vol. 2. Rijksuniversiteit Groningen. Barkhuis. Gro­ningen. Schwabedissen H. 1981. Ertebolle/Ellerbek – Mesolithi­kum oder Neolithikum? In B. Gramsch (ed.), Mesolithi­kum in Europa. 2. Internationales Symposium Potsdam, 1978. Veröffentlichungen des Museums für Ur- und Früh­geschichte Potsdam 14/15. Deutscher Verlag der Wissen­schaften. Berlin: 129–142. Telegin D. Ja. 1968. Dnipro-Donec’ka kul’tura. Naukova Dumka. Kjiv. (in Ukrainian) Telegin D. Ja., Titova E. N. 1998. Poseleniia dnepro-done­ckoj etnokulturnoj obshchnosti epohi neolita. Nacional’­naia Akademiia Nauk Ukrainy. Institut Arheologii. Nauko­va Dumka. Kiev. (in Russian) Timofeev V. I. 1979. Pamiatniki kamiennogo vieka vosto­chnoj chasti Kaliningradskoi Oblasti. Kratkie Soobshche­niya 157: 61–69. (in Russian) 1983. Keramika neoliticheskogo poseleniya Utinoie Bo-loto I. Kratkie Soobshcheniya 173: 103–108. (in Rus­sian) 1990. On the links of the East Baltic Neolithic and the Funnel Beaker Culture. In D. Jankowska (ed.), Die Trich­terbecherkultur. Neue Forschungen und Hypothesen. Teil I. Material des Internationalen Symposiums Dyma­czewo, 20–24 September 1988. Instytut Prahistorii Uni­wersytetu im. Adama Mickiewicza w Poznaniu. Zak³ad Archeologii Wielkopolski IHKM PAN w Poznaniu. Poz­nañ: 135–149. 1991. Neolithic Sites of the Zedmar Type in the South­east Baltic Area. In K. Jennbert, L. Larsson, P. Rolf, and B. Wyszomirska-Werbart (eds.), Regions and Reflec­tions. In Honour of Marta Strömberg. Acta Archaeolo­gica Lundensia. Series in 8°, No. 20. Lund: 15–26. 1996. Pamiatniki tipa Cedmar. In S. V. Oshibkina (ed.), Arheologiya. Neolit Severnoy Evrazii. Nauka. Moskva: 162–165. (in Russian) 1998. The Beginning of the Neolithic in the Eastern Bal­tic. In M. Zvelebil, R. Dennell, and L. Domañska (eds.), Harvesting the Sea, Farming the Forest. The Emer­gence of Neolithic Societies in the Baltic Region. Shef­field Academy Press. Sheffield: 225–236. Timofeev V. I., Zaitseva G. I., and Possnert G. 1994. The radiocarbon chronology of Zedmar Neolithic culture in the South-Eastern Baltic area. Œwiatowit XXXIX: 125–134. 1995. Neolithic Ceramic Chronology in the South-East­ern Baltic Area in view of 14C Accelerator Datings. Forn­vännen 90: 19–28. Tkachou A. 2018. Early Neolithic pottery from western Belarus. Archaeologia Baltica 25: 82–99. http://dx.doi.org/10.15181/ab.v25i0.1832 Vankina L. V. 1970. Torfianikovaia stoianka Sarnate. Muzei Istorii Latvijskoj SSR. Zinatne. Riga. (in Russian) Wacnik A., Gumiñski W., Cywa K., and Bugajska K. 2020. Forests and foragers: exploitation of wood resources by Mesolithic and para-Neolithic societies in northeastern Po­land. Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 29: 717– 736. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00334-020-00778-y Wawrusiewicz A. 2013. Ceramika typu Soko³ówek na Pod-lasiu i jej znaczenie w rozwoju spo³ecznoœci subneolity­cznych Polski pó³nocno-wschodniej. Studia i Materia³y do Badañ nad Neolitem i Wczesn¹ Epok¹ Br¹zu na Ma-zowszu i Podlasiu III: 5–24. Wawrusiewicz A., Kalicki T., PrzeŸdziecki M., Fr¹czek M., and Manasterski D. 2017. Gr¹dy-Woniecko. Ostatni ³owcy­zbieracze znad œrodkowej Narwi. Muzeum Podlaskie w Bia³ymstoku. Bia³ystok. Zalcman E. 2016. Nahodki materialov cedmarskoy kul’­tury na poberez’e Vislinskogo zaliva. Studia i Materia³y do Badañ nad Neolitem i Wczesn¹ Epok¹ Br¹zu na Ma-zowszu i Podlasiu VI: 5–21. (in Russian). back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) The Star;evo culture horizon at the site of Kne/evi Vinogradi (eastern Croatia)> lithic and osseous industries Dragana Rajkovic´ 1, Selena Vitezovic´ 2 1 Archaeological Museum Osijek, Osijek, HR dragana.rajkovic@amo.hr 2 Institute of Archaeology, Beograd, RS s.vitezovic@ai.ac.rs ABSTRACT – The region of Slavonia in eastern Croatia represents the westernmost area inhabited by the communities of the Star.evo culture, part of the Star.evo-Körös-Cris cultural complex. This region was intensively inhabited during the period between 6200 and 5500 cal BC, and numerous sites were excavated. Some of the aspects of the lives of these communities, however, are still insufficiently explored, in particular the economy and craft production. In this paper we will focus on lithic and osseous tool assemblages from the site of Kne.evi Vinogradi-Osnovna .kola. The Star.evo cultural horizon has only yielded small assemblages of lithic and osseous tools, but they show some interest­ing technological and typological traits. KEY WORDS – Star.evo-Körös-Cris culture; eastern Croatia; ground stone industry; osseous industry; Neolithic technology Kulturni horizont Star;evo na najdi[;u Kne/evi Vinogradi (vzhodna Hrva[ka)> kamnite in kostne najdbe IZVLE.EK – Slavonija v vzhodni Hrva.ki predstavlja najbolj zahodno obmo.je, ki so ga poseljevale skupnosti kulture Star.evo, ki je del kulturnega kompleksa Star.evo-Körös-Çris. Obmo.je je bilo in-tenzivno poseljeno v .asu med 6200 in 5500 pr. n. .t., izkopane pa so bila tudi .tevilna najdi..a iz tega obdobja. Nekateri vidiki .ivljenja teh skupnosti so .e vedno premalo raziskani, zlasti gospodar­stvo in obrtna proizvodnja. V .lanku se osredoto.amo na zbire kamnitih in kostnih orodij iz najdi.­.a Kne.evi Vinogradi-Osnovna .kola. Iz kulturnega horizonta Star.evo je ohranjen sicer le manj.i zbir kamnitih in kostnih orodij, kljub temu pa ka.ejo na nekaj zanimivih tehnolo.kih in tipolo.kih last-nosti. KLJU.NE BESEDE – kultura Star.evo-Körös-Çris; vzhodna Hrva.ka; tehnologija glajenih orodij; tehno­logija kostnih izdelkov; neolitska tehnologija Introduction The region of Slavonia in eastern Croatia represents Sarva., Pepelane, and Stari Perkovci, among others the westernmost area inhabited by communities of (Dimitrijevi. 1979; Minichreiter 1992; 2007; .o.i. the Star.evo culture, part of the Star.evo-Körös-Cris Klind.i., Hr.ak 2014). cultural complex. Absolute dates place the Star.evo culture in the period between 6200 and 5500 cal On a wide territory occupied by Star.evo culture BCE (Whittle et al. 2002). During this period this re-communities, regional differences may be observed gion was intensively inhabited, and numerous sites in the material culture and related settlement pat-have been excavated, including Zadubravlje, Galovo, terns, subsistence practices, economic organization, DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.9 The Star;evo culture horizon at the site of Kne/evi Vinogradi (eastern Croatia)> lithic and osseous industries and other aspect of life. The attention of researchers has mainly focused on the style of pottery and other clay objects (figurines, altars), while diverse aspects of subsistence and the economy have been less ex­plored. In order to study raw material procurement, the organization of craft production and other as­pects of the economy, lithic and osseous industries are particularly important. The assemblages of ground and chipped stone tools have been analysed and published in detail from a only limited number of sites (e.g., .o.i. 2007; Te.ak Gregl 2007; Rajko­vi. 2019), while bone tools are virtually unknown, except for a few artefacts briefly mentioned or pub­lished in catalogues. The organization of production within settlements and possible locations of acti-vity/working areas have, however, seldom been the focus of research. Among rare exceptions can be mentioned the site of Galovo, where an interpreta­tion has been offered for one of the excavated fea­tures being a working pit (Minichreiter 2008). How­ever, detailed analyses of the lithic and stone assem­blages were not included in this study. Further re­search needs to be done to better understand the or-ganisation of production and other aspects of the economy and everyday activities among the Star.e­vo culture communities. This paper will present the results of the analyses of ground stone and bone assemblages from the site of Kne.evi Vinogradi, and the data they provide on the craft production in this settlement. The site of Kne.evi Vinogradi – Osnovna .kola The prehistoric site of Kne.evi Vinogradi – Osnovna .kola is situated within the pre-sent-day village of Kne.evi Vino-gradi, 11km from Beli Manastir, in Osijek-Baranja county, in east­ern Croatia (Fig. 1). The site is lo­cated on the slopes of Bansko brdo, on the edges of the marsh which spread up to an ancient course of the Danube River (Mi-nichreiter 1992.15; Rajkovi. 2014). The site was first noted in 1979, when the Museum of Slavonia in Osijek obtained a chance find of a Neolithic figurine. The research on the site was carried out in se­veral small-scale rescue excava-of the local primary school (hence the label of the site Kne.evi Vinogradi – Osnovna .kola) (Minich­reiter 1992.15; .imi. 1983; 1986a; 1986b; 1986c; 1987). The first excavation campaigns were carried out in the 1980s. Several trenches, covering a total surface of 136m2, were excavated, positioned to the south­east from the primary school. These excavations en­compassed the north-western part of the settlement. Some layers contained no features, but portable finds only, and just one semi dug-out dwelling was disco­vered, of irregular shape, approx. 4 x 4.5m. In 2003, rescue excavations were carried out on the area of the sport hall of the school and the total excavated area was approx. 140m2 (.imi. 1983; 1986a; 1986b; 1986c; 1987). Excavations revealed a multi-layered Neolithic site, and the traits of the pottery finds, as well as abso­lute dates obtained for this site, suggest that it was occupied by communities belonging to the Early Neo­lithic Star.evo culture, Late Neolithic Sopot and Vin­.a cultures. Some of the features, unfortunately, were not completely excavated, since the excavated area was dictated by their rescue character, and also the overall interpretation is complicated by the presence of some layers with mixed material (Minichreiter 1992.15; Rajkovi. 2014). The Star.evo cultural horizon at Kne.evi Vino-gradi Several excavation layers and features were inter­preted as remains of the Early Neolithic Star.evo cul­ tion campaigns on the location Fig. 1. The location of the site of Kne.evi Vinogradi – Osnovna .kola. Dragana Rajkovic´, Selena Vitezovic´ ture settlement, some of them only partially exam­ined, due to the rescue nature of excavations. The following features were attributed to the Star.evo culture1: . Unit 21, sq. 7 and its extension represent a cultu­ral layer with Star.evo culture portable finds, widespread on almost the entire surface of the trench, except for the south-eastern extension. . Unit 35, sq. 9 represents a cultural layer with rich findings of Star.evo culture portable material, and into this layer was dug one large pit, also with Star.evo material. . Unit 45/46, sq. 9 represents a part of a larger pit-dwelling; its edges were noted on the north and west, while it continued further on other sides. The most interesting finds of the Star.evo horizon were discovered in this unit, including decorated ceramic findings, a zoomorphic figurine and a frag­mented altar. . Unit 47/49, sq. 8 represents a pit with Star.evo culture pottery. . Unit 50/51, sq. 7 represents a pit-dwelling with several rooms and postholes, but with limited amount of portable finds. . Unit 56/57, sq. 12 represents a refuse pit with Star.evo culture pottery. Portable finds from these units include pottery, figu­rines and other clay objects, as well as lithic and os­seous artefacts. Pottery finds include globular pots and bowls, as well as footed bowls. They were dec­orated with barbotine, ornaments made by impres­sion and by plastic modelling. Some of the vessels have painted decoration, mainly linear motifs such as vertical and horizontal lines made by black paint on a reddish-brownish surface, but also spiral mo­tifs, made after firing. The colour of vessels ranges from red-brownish to dark-brownish nuances. Other clay finds include weights and spindle whorls, discs, altars, zoomorphic and anthropomorphic figurines, as well as bucranion-shaped artefacts (Figs. 2, 3). Al­tars are rectangular or circular in shape and often have incised decoration (Rajkovi. 2014). The analysis of faunal remains shows that domestic animals prevailed, and the species represented are cattle, sheep, goats, and pigs. The remains of wild species were found in small quantities and they in­clude red deer, roe deer, and just a few bones of other species.2 Other finds include lithic and osseous artefacts, as analysed in this text. The absolute dates obtained for the site of Kne.evi Vi-nogradi fall among the earliest obtained for the Star­.evo culture in its entire distribution area (for other Star.evo culture dates, see Whittle et al. 2002). Three bones of Bos taurus from two different contexts were analysed, and they provided the following results: . sample U 21 – SUERC-73546 (GU43988)/unit 56/ 57 is dated into 7077±31 BP (6015–5897 cal BC); . sample U 22 – SUERC-73547 (GU43989)/unit 45/ 46 is dated into 7029±31 BP (5989–5846 cal BC); and . sample U 23 – SUERC-73551 (GU43990)/unit 45/ 46, is dated into 7043±31 BP (6001–5873 cal BC)3. Pottery finds were previously interpreted as belong­ing to the Spiraloid A phase according to the chro­nological classification of Stojan Dimitrijevi. (Dimi­trijevi., 1979.247; Minichreiter 1992.15). However, AMS dates obtained for the site suggest the Star.e­vo culture lasted for a longer period in this area, and future analyses will probably offer a revised chrono­logical framework for the Star.evo culture in the re­gion. Ground stone industry The amount of ground stone artefacts is rather small, only seven items can be securely placed into the Star.evo cultural horizon (Rajkovi. 2019). Artefacts 1 The preliminary analysis of the material was done by the first excavator, J. .imi., and further continued by authors of this text (see also Rajkovi. 2019; Vitezovi., Rajkovi. 2017). 2 The analysis of faunal remains was done by Jane Sanford Gaastra, publication pending. 3 The dates were obtained at the Scottish Universities Environmental Research Centre as part of the project Transmission of Inno­vations comparison and modelling of early farming and associated technologies in Europe (EUROFARM). The Star;evo culture horizon at the site of Kne/evi Vinogradi (eastern Croatia)> lithic and osseous industries were classified and analysed following the typologi­cal classification and methodological framework de­fined by Dragana Antonovi. (1992; 2003; 2014). Raw material determination and observation of ma­nufacturing and use-wear traces were carried out with a hand lens, with up to 60x magnification, and raw materials were also analysed on an Axioscope Zeiss microscope, with a magnification of up to 500x (Rajkovi. 2019). Artefacts include one adze, made from calcarenite, one chisel, made from calcite, one mallet from quar­tzite, one fragmented tool for which it was not pos­sible to determine the type, and three pieces of de­bris (Tab. 1). The adze was found in unit 35, and it is only par­tially preserved, i.e. only its dorsal side. Typologi­cally, this object falls into the group of adzes that have a distal end wider than the proximal one. On its surface there is a considerable amount of concre­ tions. The mallet was discovered within unit 45/46 (Fig. 4). It was made from quartzite and was executed on a na­tural pebble. Typologically, it belongs to the type of mallets with parallel side edges. Particularly interesting is the chisel, found in unit 56/57, that can be clas­sified into the type of chisels with pa­rallel side edges (Fig. 5). The cross section of its side is rectangular and its dimensions are quite small (12.13 x 39 x 13mm). It was made from cal­cite of whitish-yellowish colour and with a transparent structure. Items made from this raw material are known from Star.evo cultural layers at the site of Divostin in central Ser- Unit no. bia (Antonovi. 2003.49) and Donja Branjevina in the region of Ba.ka, also situated in the Pannonian plain (Antonovi. 2003; 2005). This raw material is usually associated with serpentinite and white lime­stones as one of the main raw materials for the pro­duction of decorative objects (Antonovi. 2003.49, 90).4 Calcite was used for decorative items in the Late Neolithic Vin.a culture as well, notably on the site of Vin.a – Belo Brdo, where it was used for pro­duction of figurines and pendants (Antonovi. 2003. 127). The chisel from Kne.evi Vinogradi bears no traces of use nor hafting, and we may assume its pur­pose was not functional. The pieces of debris are in fact fragments from once complete artefacts, formed as a result of their use, and were recovered from every unit. Osseous industry Approximately 90 artefacts were singled out either during excavations or subsequent examination of faunal remains, and forty of them can be securely placed into stratigraphic units ascribed to the settle­ment of the Star.evo culture (Vitezovi., Rajkovi. 2017). Artefacts were classified and analysed follow­ing the typological classification and methodologi­cal framework outlined by Selena Vitezovi. (2016a and references therein). Analytical criteria for the technological and functional interpretation of manu­facture and use-wear traces were established based upon the work of numerous authors (Campana Lithic tools Osseous tools Unit 35 Adze (calcarenite) (n = 1) Awl (n = 2) Debris from use (unidentfied Needle (n = 1) raw material) (n = 1) Spatula (n = 3) Small punching tool (n = 1) Bracelet (n = 1) Unit 45\46 Mallet (quartzite) (n = 1) Awl (n = 5) Unidentified tool (unidentfied Heavy point (n = 2) raw material) (n = 1) Needle (n = 4) Debris from use Knife (n = 2) (quartzite) (n = 1) Chisel (n = 1) Burnishing tools (n = 2) Small punching tool (n = 1) Decorative item (n = 1) Non-utilitarian item (n = 1) Manufacturing debris (n = 2) Unit 56\57 Chisel (calcite) (n = 1) Awl (n = 5) Debris from use (unidentfied Needle (n = 2) raw material) (n = 1) Manufacturing debris (n = 4) Tab. 1. Lithic and osseous artefacts discovered within Star.evo culture units. 4 Despite the white colour, this is not to be confused with so-called ’light white rocks’, frequently used by Vin.a culture craftsper­sons (cf. Antonovi. 2003). Dragana Rajkovic´, Selena Vitezovic´ 1989; Christidou 1999; Christidou, Legrand 2005; Legrand, Sidéra 2006; Legrand 2007; Maigrot 2003; Newcomer 1974; Peltier 1986; Semenov 1976). Iden­tification of manufacturing and use-wear traces were carried out with a hand lens, with up to 30x magni­fication. Stratigraphic unit 35 Eight osseous artefacts were recovered in this unit (Tab. 1). Pointed tools include two medium-sized points (awls) and one fine-pointed tool or needle. One awl was made out an irregular splinter from a long bone of a medium or large mammal. It has traces of bur­nishing and polishing with a fine-grained abrasive tool in its distal portion, and its distal end is a sharp, pointed tip. The other awl was made from sheep/ goat metapodial bone; the bone was longitudinally split and it has small portion of proximal epiphysis preserved on the base. The entire artefact is slender, fine and has a very fine pointed tip at the distal end. The needle was made from a long bone segment, probably of a medium-sized mammal; the basal part is damaged and it has fine, sharp point at the distal end. Traces of manufacture – scraping with a fine chipped stone tool and traces of polishing with abra­sive tool – may be noted on its surfaces. Burnishing tools include three spatulae, all made from ribs of large mammals, most likely all from Bos (Fig. 6). Two were made from split ribs, from one bone plate; one has a rounded working edge, the other a straighter one. The third spatula was made from an unsplit rib, with a rounded working edge. All these tools show very intensive traces of use, a very high level of polish and shine and worn surfa­ces with very few or no striations at all, suggesting they were used on soft, organic materials, most like- ly leather (cf. Christidou, Legrand 2005; Legrand 2007; Maigrot 2003; Peltier 1986). One small percussion tool was recovered, a small punch or perhaps a retouching tool, made from red deer antler tine, badly preserved, with surfaces co­vered in concretions. On the tip, slightly modified, can be noted traces of intensive use – a blunted tip, horizontal short incisions and grooves. The most attractive find is a fragmented bracelet, made from a marine mollusc shell Glycymeris (Fig. 7). The bracelet was made by cutting the valve of the shell, and the outer segment was transformed into a circular object, either in the shape of a closed or open bracelet. Both ends are broken. Due to con­cretions on its surface, it was not possible to exam­ine if there are any traces of manufacture or use. Mollusc shells are not frequent in the Star.evo cul­ture assemblages, although similar bracelets were found at Star.evo-Grad (Vitezovi. 2013a). Stratigraphic unit 45/46 The richest and at the same time most interesting assemblage comes from this unit, with a total of 19 items. In addition to these 19 artefacts, two more tools can be attributed to this unit; the documenta­tion from excavations shows they were discovered within the same square, no. 9 (extension) and at the same depth.5 Pointed tools include medium-sized points (awls), heavy points and fine-pointed tools (needles). Five awls were discovered, produced from sheep/goat metapodial bones; the bones were longitudinally split and then modified by cutting and scraping with a chipped stone tool and by burnishing and polish­ing with an abrasive tool into a pointed artefact (Fig. 8). Some of them have epiphysis preserved at the basal part. On two of them this epiphysis was also smoothed and abraded, i.e. the abrasion is not limi­ted to the modification of side edges and distal parts, but extends on the entire length of the artefact. This suggests two techniques for obtaining blanks were used: one manufacture by first sawing the metapo­dia in half and then abrading it, and the other the technique when bone is first abraded and then saw­ing is applied (cf. Sidéra 2005; Vitezovi. 2011; 2016b.128). The third technique characteristic of the Star.evo culture assemblages, manufacture using abrasion only, was not noted within this assem­ 5 For these two artefacts either the unit number was omitted on the label by mistake, or the excavators were not sure whether the location where they were recovered should also be attributed to this unit. They have technological and typological traits charac­teristic of the Star.evo culture bone industry (cf. Vitezovi. 2011; 2013a; 2016b), and this is why they were included here. The Star;evo culture horizon at the site of Kne/evi Vinogradi (eastern Croatia)> lithic and osseous industries blage, although this may be due to the rather small sample size. Traces of use observed on all these awls include po­lish, shine and occasionally fine striations, suggest­ing they were used for work on soft, organic mate­rials, such as plant fibres, leathers and hides (cf. Christidou, Legrand 2005; Legrand 2007; Maigrot 2003; Peltier 1986). On some of the awls addition­al traces of abrasion on the distal ends were noted, partially covering use-wear traces, and providing evi­dence of sharpening or repair. Two heavy points were recovered, both made of large mammal metapodial bones, probably both from Bos. The first one is completely preserved; it was made from the proximal segment of a longitudi­nally split long bone by cutting with a chipped stone tool and by abrasion. The entire artefact is polished from use, and traces of burnishing in the distal por­tion reveal episode(s) of repair. The other heavy point is similar, only its distal end is fragmented. Four needles were noted, made from medium-sized mammal long bones, probably the metapodial bones or sheep/goats. They have large portions of their surfaces burnished with some fine-grained abrasive tool, and fine, slender, sharp tips at the distal ends. Use-wear traces consist of polish and shine. Two small cutting tools (knives) were found, both made from segments of boar tusks, and both frag­mented. Tusks were split and segments shaped by scraping with chipped stone tools and by abrasion. They are more or less crescent-shaped, with one of the edges heavily used, chipped and with striations from use. One small chisel was discovered, with very unusual characteristics (Fig. 9). The artefact is completely preserved, made of the diaphysis segment of some large mammal’s long bone, perhaps the metapodial or tibia. Its dimensions are 50 x 20mm. The tool is almost completely regularly rectangular, and only the mesial part is slightly widened. The basal part is straight, as is the working edge, which is 15mm wide; the bone is thinned on the outer side and the edge itself is slightly chipped, worn from use, but still sharp. The object is also carefully burnished, with traces from some fine-grained abrasive means on all of its surfaces (side edges, outer and inner sur­face). The most surprising detail is the negative of a partially executed large perforation on the inner (dorsal) surface, showing that it was, in fact, pro­duced from manufacturing debris from the produc­tion of decorative items. This unfinished perforation had a diameter of 12mm and falls into the group of large perforations made by a hollow tool, characte­ristic for the Star.evo-Körös-Cris osseous industries, used in the production of decorative plates and appli­cations (Vitezovi. 2013b and references therein). One fragmented tool made from Bos tibia was dis­covered, most likely used as a spatula-chisel. The bone was longitudinally split; it has a small portion of epiphysis preserved at the basal part and the di­stal end is damaged. It has preserved traces of manu- Dragana Rajkovic´, Selena Vitezovic´ facture – grooving and cutting with a chipped stone tool and traces of burnishing – and traces of use – high polish and shine, as well as fine striations on almost the entire surface. One particularly large scraping tool was also disco­vered, 170mm long and 36mm wide, made out of a large segment of Bos rib. The artefact is almost com­pletely preserved, only the base is slightly damaged. The rib was not split, but on the lower surface the second bone plate is abraded up to 40mm of its length. The working edge is rounded, around 28mm wide, and very intensively worn, chipped and dam­aged from use. Similar scrapers, made from very large rib segments, were discovered at a few other Star.evo culture sites, including the site of Donja Bra-njevina in the Ba.ka region (Serbia), situated relati­vely close to Kne.evi Vinogradi (bone artefacts from Donja Branjevina were first published in Karman-ski 2005; subsequently analysed in detail and re­vised in Vitezovi. 2011). Within this unit there was also one artefact made of red deer antler tine, heavily damaged from concre­tions on its surface. The basal part bears traces of transversal cutting by grooving and sawing. The na­tural tip of the antler was modified and the working tip is actually a small circular surface approx. 15mm in diameter. Traces of use can be observed – the working end is worn, battered and with damage from use. This item was a small punching tool. The most unusual bone object was made from a segment of long bone from a large mammal, most likely from a Bos metapodial bone (Fig. 10). Its shape resembles the letter T, and such an object is also called a bucrania amulet, otherwise made out of clay and widespread on other Star.evo culture sites across the Balkans (such as Donja Branjevina – Kar­manski 2005; Grivac – Bogdanovi. 2008.t. 6.8; Bla­gotin – Vukovi. 2005; see also Stankovi. 1992 and references therein), and also found at Kne.evi Vino-gradi (Rajkovi. 2014) (Fig. 3). In fact, this bone bu-cranion can be considered as unique with regard to being made from this raw material – and although there are occasional mentions of these items being made from bones, this must be taken with caution, since they are not published in detail (without ade­quate photographs), and some bones may have a natural T-shape (for example, some fish bones). This artefact’s dimensions are 78 x 19mm and it is almost complete; only the ends of the upper part (the – on the T) are slightly damaged. The lower part narrows slightly, its maximum width is 12mm, but it is not pointed at the distal end. The blank was extracted by grooving from two sides (inner and outer) until the grooves met. The side edges were subsequently burnished by some fine-grained abra­sive tool. Traces in negative from scraping with a chipped stone tool are visible on the outer surface of the object, while the inner surface (the side of the medullary cavity) has traces of fine burnishing. Po­lish and shine may be observed on this artefact; they are more or less evenly spread, which suggests they are the result of handling and manipulation (cf. d’Er­rico 1993). There are no traces of this item being used as tool (it does not have a part that might have been active, such as a working edge or tip), and there are no traces of it being, for example, suspended or attached by string in any way. However, while this artefact was not utilitarian, it also seems that it was not used as an ornament on an everyday basis or it was in use for only a short period of time before it entered the archaeological record. It most likely served as a decorative and/or as an object of status, prestige and/or it may have had apotropaic or other ritual purposes. The Star;evo culture horizon at the site of Kne/evi Vinogradi (eastern Croatia)> lithic and osseous industries One fragmented decorative plaque or application was also discovered in this unit (Fig. 11). It was made out of a segment of a large mammal long bone. It is fragmented, but we may assume its orig­inal shape was more or less rectangular. On it we may notice one complete and three fragmented per­forations, positioned very close to one another and roughly aligned. The entire artefact has very fine manufacturing traces; its edges were very carefully cut by transversal grooving and sawing, and both edges and surfaces were subsequently burnished and polished with an abrasive tool. Perforations were made by drilling from both sides, and their dia­meter is 5–6mm. Perforations do not have visible traces of wear, but the entire object does have pol­ish, shine and fine striations from use. Pieces of manufacturing debris were also recovered – a long bone segment with traces of transversal cut­ting and one elongated long bone splinter with traces of cutting with a chipped stone tool, probably a blank from some pointed tool. Stratigraphic unit 56/57 Eleven artefacts were discovered within this unit, belonging to two typological groups – pointed tools (Fig. 12) and manufacturing debris. Three awls were found, with technological and typo­logical characteristics close to those recovered in unit 45/46 (Fig. 12.left). They were produced from longitudinally split sheep/goat metapodials with dis­tal epiphysis preserved at the base, produced by a combination of sawing and abrasion, and with fine, sharp tips, polished from use. One unusual awl was made from a segment of a larger long bone; it has both ends pointed but only one has traces of use (polished, worn surfaces). The entire artefact is care­fully burnished and polished. The unusual shape of the basal part was perhaps to enable hafting or make it easier. Two needles were discovered (Fig. 12.right); both made from splinters of medium-sized mammal long bones and fine traces of polishing and burnishing are visible on them. The tips are very fine, slender points, polished from use. Four pieces of manufacturing debris were recovered – different long bone segments with traces of trans­versal and longitudinal cutting, burnishing, and po­lishing. Some of them are in fact semi-finished items, intended for pointed tools and one probably for an ornamental piece. Techno-typological traits of osseous artefacts The technological and typological characteristics of these osseous artefacts correspond well with the traits observed within other osseous assemblages of the Star.evo culture (cf. Vitezovi. 2011; 2013a; 2016b), and also have analogies within Körös and Cris industries (Beldiman 2007; Beldiman, Sztancs 2011; Makkay 1990; Tóth 2012). The raw materials used at Kne.evi Vinogradi – Os-novna .kola were predominantly bones – long bones (mainly metapodial bones) and ribs from sheep/ goats and cattle (all the unidentified medium-sized and large mammals were probably sheep/goats and cattle, judging by the faunal record), followed by small quantities of boar tusks and red deer antler tines. Only one artefact was made from an exotic raw material, an ornament made from Glycymeris shell. The technology of manufacture shows the same traits as other Star.evo culture osseous industries. Parti­cular attention should be paid to the presence of ma­nufacturing techniques such as the transversal divi­sion of bones by grooving and sawing, the making of large perforations with a hollow tool, the produc­tion of awls from metapodial bones by the combined technique of cutting with a chipped stone tool and abrasion, and modifications of antlers by transversal grooving and sawing (see also Vitezovi. 2013a; 2016b). Typologically, the artefacts recovered at the site of Kne.evi Vinogradi – Osnovna .kola have parallels Dragana Rajkovic´, Selena Vitezovic´ in other Star.evo-Körös-Cris assemblages – awls made from metapodial bones, spatulae made from rib segments (in particular the large spatula from an unsplit rib), small punching tools made from antler tines, etc. (Beldiman 2007; Vitezovi. 2011; 2013a). The absence of some of the characteristic techno-types (cf. Vitezovi. 2016b), namely spatula-spoons made from Bos metapodials, and awls made from small ruminant metapodials by use of abrasion, may be a regional trait, but also the result of the small size of the assemblage. The small chisel made from bone is quite remark­able, both because of its small dimensions and fine production (albeit made from debris segment). The specific characteristics of the Kne.evi Vinogradi as­semblage are visible among non-utilitarian and orna­mental items. Quite remarkable is the presence of the unusual, even unique T-shaped, bucranion-re­sembling non-utilitarian item, otherwise widespread when made of a different raw material (clay). More­over, the fragmented application with several perfo­rations does not have exact parallels among Star.e-vo-Körös-Cris osseous items. It is interesting to note the limited typological reper­toire – predominantly awls and needles (with only a few heavy points), small cutting tools and diverse burnishing tools, probably all of them used on the same material (soft organic materials of plant or ani­mal origin), just for different stages of production. Furthermore, there are only two small percussion tools – there are no heavy duty cutting nor percus­sion tools (such as hammers or axes, for example). Hunting and fishing gear is also absent. There are only a few ornaments, and these are fragmented, and just one non-utilitarian item. On the other hand, there are several examples of not only manufacturing debris, but also of almost finished, non-used items. Discussion Ground stone artefacts were discovered in small quantities, and therefore little can be said on their typological and technological traits. Typologically and technologically, they do not show any drastic differences in comparison with other ground stone industries of the Star.evo culture (Antonovi. 2003; Rajkovi. 2019). It is interesting, however, to note the use of whitish calcite for the production of a small item; furthermore, this item was most proba­bly not a tool used in everyday activities, but had some other function – decorative, prestigious, and/or ritual. Osseous artefacts also show typological and techno­logical characteristics common to other osseous as­semblages of the Star.evo culture (Vitezovi. 2011; 2013a; 2016b). However, there are few interesting, novel traits they display. A small bone chisel, unique in terms of its size and careful manufacture, raises interesting questions on the production, reuse and recycling of debris. The bucranion or T-shaped non-utilitarian item is thus far unique in the entire Star­.evo-Körös-Cris cultural complex, and does not have parallels in other osseous industries in the south-east­ern Europe nor Anatolia. The fragmented application The Star;evo culture horizon at the site of Kne/evi Vinogradi (eastern Croatia)> lithic and osseous industries with several perforations is also a unique find. The presence of a bracelet made from a marine mollusc shell is important, since mollusc shell ornaments are very rare in the Star.evo culture (cf. Vitezovi. 2011; 2013a), and this confirms that these raw materials were already in use for decorative purposes among the Early Neolithic communities in the regions distant from the sea. These artefacts also provide some data for the inter­pretation of the function of some of the features, of the site’s organisation and use of space, in particular regarding units 35, 45/46 and 56/57 and regarding the possible location of activity/working areas (Tab. 1). Within unit 35 were found one stone adze and one piece of lithic debris, as well as eight bone artefacts, all heavily used and worn, suggesting this was pro­bably an activity area. Both pointed and burnishing tools were used for working on soft, organic mate­rials, probably leather, while the punching tool was probably used as a retouching tool, perhaps to repair chipped stone artefacts during work. The broken bracelet may simply represent a lost item, but there is also a possibility that it was intended for repair and that is why it was in the activity area. Unit 45/46, interpreted as a pit-dwelling, which yield­ed the most interesting ceramic artefacts, also pro­vided interesting lithic and osseous items. Lithic tools from this unit include three items, one mallet, one tool of unidentified type and one debris seg­ment. Bone artefacts include pointed and burnishing tools, all with traces of use on soft, organic materi­als, and the presence of a somewhat more diverse typological repertoire suggests they were used in different stages of production. All these artefacts in­dicate that within this feature was at least one, and perhaps several, activity areas. However, at this stage of research it is not possible to determine whether this feature was used only as some sort of workshop or working area, or if it also served for habitation (for cooking, eating, sleeping …); further analyses of the remaining finds associated with this unit are thus needed. It is interesting to note that the other Star.evo cul­ture feature interpreted as a pit-dwelling, namely unit 50/51, contained no ground stone nor osseous artefacts, thus suggesting differences in the mode of use and function of these two structures. Unit 56/57 was interpreted as a refuse pit. Only a few osseous artefacts were recovered in this unit and they are of a limited typological repertoire – only pointed tools and manufacturing debris. One piece of debris of a stone artefact was also found here, as well as a unique calcite chisel, suggesting it was discarded after it was no longer needed or used. Dragana Rajkovic´, Selena Vitezovic´ Conclusion Assemblages of ground stone and lithic artefacts re­covered from the site of Kne.evi Vinogradi – Osnov­na .kola are rather small, but interesting in terms of the raw materials and typological repertoire used. They share common techno-typological traits with assemblages from other Star.evo culture sites, but also have some locally specific traits, including a uni­que calcite chisel and T-shaped bone non-utilitarian object, among other items. Their analyses showed that the Star.evo culture communities that inhabited the settlement of Kne.evi Vinogradi – Osnovna .kola practiced diverse daily activities, which included the manufacture of osseous artefacts and diverse goods from plant materials, leathers and hides. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We would like to thank Marc Vander Linden and Jane Sanford Gaastra for providing the AMS dates and permission to use them (project Transmission of Innovations comparison and modelling of early farm­ing and associated technologies in Europe – EURO­FARM), and Jane Sanford Gaastra for sharing the preliminary data on the faunal analysis. . References Antonovi. D. 1992. Predmeti od gla.anog kamena iz Vin.e. Centar za arheolo.ka istra.ivanja, Filozofski fakul­tet. 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Programme and abstract book. Janos Pannonius Museum Pécs and Institute of Ar­chaeology, Research Centre for the Humanities of the Hungarian Academy of Scences. Pécs and Budapest: 14. Vukovi. J. 2005. The Blagotin amulets and their place in the early Neolithic of the central Balkans. Glasnik Srp­skog arheolo.kog dru.tva 21: 27–44. Whittle A., Bartosiewicz L., Bori. D., Pettit P., and Richards M. 2002. In the beginning: new radiocarbon dates for the Early Neolithic in northern Serbia and south-east Hun­gary. Antaeus 25: 63–117. Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic and during the Early Neolithic in the NW of the Mediterranean and Switzerland (c. 6200–4600 cal BC) Héctor Martínez-Grau1, Reto Jagher 1, F. Xavier Oms2, Joan Anton Barceló 3, Salvador Pardo-Gordó4,5, and Ferran Antolín 1 1 Integrative Prehistoric and Archaeological Science (IPAS), Department of Environmental Sciences, University of Basel, Basel, CH hector.martinezgrau@unibas.ch< reto.jagher@unibas.ch< ferran.antolin@unibas.ch 2 Seminar on Prehistoric Studies and Research (SERP), Department of Prehistory, Ancient History and Archeology, University of Barcelona, Barcelona, ES oms@ub.edu 3 Laboratory of Quantitative Archeology (LAQU), Department of Prehistory, Autonomous University of Barcelona, Bellaterra, ES juanantonio.barcelo@uab.cat 4 Department of Prehistory, Ancient History and Archeology, University of Valencia, Valencia, ES 5 Archeological Research Group in the Mediterranean and Middle East (GRAMPO), Department of Prehistory, Autonomous University of Barcelona, Bellaterra, ES salvador.pardo@uv.es ABSTRACT – The goal of this paper is to discuss the validity of radiocarbon dates as a source of know­ledge for explaining social dynamics over a large region and a long period of time. We have care­fully selected c. 1000 14C dates for the time interval 8000–4000 cal BC within the northwestern Me­diterranean area (NE Iberian Peninsula, SE France, N Italy) and Switzerland. Using statistical ana­lysis, we have modelled the summed probability distribution of those dates for each of the analysed ecoregion and discussed the rhythms of neolithisation in these regions and the probability of social contact between previous Mesolithic and new Neolithic populations. KEY WORDS – Mesolithic-Neolithic transition; 14C; chrono-geostatistics; Bayesian analysis; GIS Globalni procesi, regionalna dinamika| Radiokarbonski podatki kot nadomestek dru/benih dinamik ob koncu mezolitika in v ;asu zgodnjega neolitika v SZ Sredozemlju in {vici (ok. 6200–4600 pr. n. [t.) IZVLE.EK – Namen tega prispevka je razpravljati o veljavnosti radiokarbonskih datumov kot vira znanja, s katerimi razlagamo .irjenje dru.benih dinamik na ve.jem obmo.ju in v dalj.em .asovnem obdobju. Skrbno smo izbrali ok. 1000 14C datumov, ki sodijo v .asovno obdobje med 8000-4000 pr. n. .t. na obmo.ju severozahodnega Sredozemlja (SV Iberski polotok, JV Francija, S Italija) in v .vici. S pomo.jo statisti.ne analize smo za te datume modelirali vsoto porazdelitve verjetnosti za vsako od analiziranih ekoregij, v razpravi pa se osredoto.amo na ritme neolitizacije na teh obmo.jih ter na verjetnosti socialnih stikov med prej.njimi mezolitskimi in novimi neolitskimi populacijami. KLJU.NE BESEDE – prehod med mezolitikom in neolitikom; 14C; krono-geostratistika; Bayesova ana­liza; GIS DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.10 Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic ... Introduction The historical change from hunter-gatherer to farmer economy is one of the main historical transforma­tions in human behaviour. In Europe, this change happened as a consequence of the arrival of farming populations originating from southwest Asia. This process started in the Aegean around 6500 BC and lasted for about 2500 years. Hunter-gatherer popu­lations inhabited Europe at that time, and despite the fact that the spread of farming seems to be a global process, the diverse ecological, topographic, climatological and social contexts might have re­sulted in a mosaic of regional dynamics. Several theo­ries aiming to explain this process have been pro­posed over time. These range from a migration mo­del, where population waves were the main agent of change (Cavalli-Sforza, Cavalli-Sforza 1995; Childe 1925) to proposals emphasizing an endogenous ori­gin of the Neolithic way of life (Cruz Berrocal 2012; Pluciennik 1998). Currently, the hypothesis with greatest acceptance is the so-called diffusionist or in-tegrationist model. With this, some degree of inter­action and coexistence between the last hunter-ga­therers and the first farmers is expected in most parts of Europe (Bernabeu Aubán, Martí 2014; Bo-gucki 1996; Guilaine 1976; 2000–2001; Zilhao 2001; Zvelebil 1986; 2000), although there were some exceptions (Morales, Oms 2012). In any case, it is important to take into account the extremely low density of the hunter-gatherer population in most areas of Europe (Shennan 2018), which makes its related archaeological record virtually invisible. For more than 50 years this topic has often been studied using radiocarbon data. John Grahame Dou­glas Clark (1965) presented the first historical ap­proach to the Euroasiatic neolithisation process by plotting on a map the earliest evidence for agricul­tural activities, as estimated by the available radio­carbon dates at that time. The study focused on the Danubian route from the Near East, and also consi­dered other parts such as the Mediterranean route, and some isolated points in Northern Africa. With this model, Clark gave statistical validity to the hypo­theses based only on material culture, brought for­ward by other pioneering scientists since the begin­nings of the 20th century. The classical Albert J. Ammerman and Luigi L. Cavalli-Sforza (1971) wave of advance model that was cha­racterized by an assumed homogenous and regular spread of innovations and adaptations, can be criti­cized on the basis of more thorough and precise chronological coverage and better understanding of the complexity of the interactions of farmers with different environments and indigenous populations. This process is now understood as arrhythmic, with phases of both stasis (Guilaine 2000–2001) and ac­celeration (Isern et al. 2017), and the integration of local dynamics is required to understand the global processes (Fort 2018). Recent genetic studies (particularly with whole-ge­nome analyses) have revealed interactions between local hunter-gatherer and incoming farming popula­tions (Villalba-Mouco et al. 2019). Even contacts be­tween Neolithic populations from the Mediterranean and Central European regions have been suggested by aDNA of human bones (García-Martínez de La-grán et al. 2018). Therefore, from our point of view and as highlighted in previous works (e.g., Perrin et al. 2009), it would be misleading to understand the process of the adoption of farming economies without taking into account the last hunter-gatherer indigenous groups. In the same way, we cannot as­sume the absolute independence of the central Eu­ropean and the Mediterranean routes of neolithisa­tion. It is in this sense that the SNF-Funded AgriChange project (Antolín et al. 2018) investigates the area between the northwestern Mediterranean region (NE Iberian Peninsula, SE France and North Italy) and Switzerland. This area potentially covers the contact zone between the Danubian and the Mediterranean routes of neolithisation from the Near East, and thus potentially different patterns of interaction with di­verse indigenous hunter-gatherer groups. It is an in­tensively investigated area but it suffers from either a very local/regional focus or a strictly western Me­diterranean or Centro-European perspective, which we want to avoid in this paper. In order to grasp the end of the Mesolithic and the whole neolithisation process, we consider the timeframe between 8000 and 4000 cal BC. The aim of this paper is to trace where, when and how the transition phenomena between Mesolithic and Early Neolithic groups took place in the region mentioned above. The questions we intend to solve in this paper are as follows: (i) Can a robust radiocarbon dataset for a global region al­low us to define different local scenarios of interac­tion for the neolithisation process? (ii) Was neolithi­sation a homogeneous process all along this region? Our premise is that interaction took place when evi­dence of hunter-gatherer and farming populations are found together at the same place and at the same moment. The problem lies, obviously, on the incom­ Héctor Martínez-Grau, Reto Jagher, F. Xavier Oms, Joan Anton Barceló, Salvador Pardo-Gordó, and Ferran Antolín plete nature of the archaeological record itself, be­cause in many circumstances one of these popula­tions may be archaeologically invisible. The results of our investigation are consequently limited by the availability of well-dated archaeological contexts. Undated or unreliably dated archaeological contexts have not been included in this discussion. If the ab­solute quantity of dated contexts was too small, the study would have no meaning. However, given the high number of dated contexts in our database, we can assume the studied sample is a representative unbiased sample of the original population. In that sense, we have followed suggestions in the specia­lized literature about the minimum number of radio­carbon dated archaeological contexts for population inferences (Williams 2012). Study area and archaeological framework The study area of this paper stretches between the mouth of the Ebro River, the Po River and the up­per Rhine River, thus encompassing the northwest Mediterranean area and Switzerland. In order to overcome any limitations derived from modern po­litical borders, we have subdivided the study area into 14 ecologically circumscribed regions, termed ecoregions (Fig. 1). They have been defined accord­ing to the modelled potential vegetation and climate (Brus et al. 2012; Hijmans et al. 2005 and Supple­mentary Material 1 at http://dx.doi.org/10.4312/dp. 47.10) and using criteria established by the Euro­pean Environment Agency (2017). Topography and geography were also considered, and thus coastal areas and river valleys have been emphasized since they facilitate rapid movement. On the other side, mountain ranges above 1000m asl have been inte­grated into single units, since archaeological evi­dence in these environments is at the moment very sparse and we can assume very irregular human mo­vement and interaction. Those ecoregions can be integrated into four main biotopes: mountains, coastal areas, valleys and their low-elevation hinterlands. In the late Mesolithic context, two different cultural spheres can be defined, according to differences in their respective technocomplexes: there is a techno­logical tradition present in the Alps, Apennines, Jura, Swiss plateau, Rhone valley, shores of the Adriatic Sea, and Mediterranean coast north of parallel 43°, and a different one in the southern Pre-Pyrenees, Pyrenees, and Mediterranean shores south of paral­lel 43° (Fig. 2). Fig. 1. Study area with the defined ecoregions. Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic ... For the northern part of the studied area, the peri­od is traditionally integrated into a so-called ‘2nd Mesolithic’, and it has been characterized by the pre­sence of trapezoidal arrow points in archaeological assemblages. This characteristic lithic industry is the consequence of blades obtained from the knapping of big cores, and a successive modification of lami­nar supports (Perrin, Defranould 2016). The distri­bution of sites for this technocomplex is represent­ed in Supplementary Material 2 at http://dx.doi.org/ 10.4312/dp.47.10. On the other hand, in the southwestern parts of our study area – the Mediterranean shores south of pa­rallel 43°, the southern Pre-Pyrenees and Pyrenees – the lithic industry is quite different. Archaeological assemblages are characterized by the presence of notches and denticulates obtained from rough flakes (Martínez-Moreno et al. 2006; Vaquero 2006). This is the so-called ‘Mesolític d’Osques i Denticulats’. We must stress that this seems to be a local phenome­non, since archaeological sites along the Ebro valley, for instance, show a different lithic industry with different features, more similar to the geometric la­minar items typical of the northern regions (e.g., Ca-bezo de la Cruz, Rodanés, Picazo 2013; Forcas II, Utrilla, Mazo 2014; Valcervera, Utrilla et al. 2016). Starting with the beginning of Early Neolithic cultur­al traditions, lithic industry homogeneity disappears and we find instead significantly greater diversity and regionalization. Pottery is now the most visible innovation, although similarities between some of these groups may be observed in other technologi­cal and economic aspects (Fig. 2). Along the north-western Mediterranean shores, small nuclei of occupation are characterized by the Im­pressa type of pottery (e.g., Guilaine, Manen 2005; Manen et al. 2019a) first, and the Cardial style later. During the latter phase, there is a visible expansion in the number of sites and occupied areas (Manen 2002). In comparison, along the Adriatic Sea shores the Impressa pottery documented is of a particular type (Biagi 2003). In the same area, and also along the Po valley, up to six different technocomplexes are recognizable: the Fagnigola, Fiorano, Vho, Ga-ban, and Isolino groups (Pessina, Tiné 2008; Star-nini et al. 2018). We will refer to all of them under the label Neolitico Inferiore Padano Alpino (from now on, NIPA), although we are aware of the com­plex settlement history of this region. An undefined NIPA is attributed to the canton of Ticino in Switzer­land, in the southern slopes of the Alps (Stöckli 2016). Only in the northernmost parts of our study area, around the Upper Rhine ecoregions, is there LBK evidence (Stöckli 2016), suggesting a possible relationship between the Central European and the Mediterranean penetration routes of early farming economies. Also related with the interaction between north and south zones, in the upper course of the Rhone River, La Hoguette pottery has been documented in some sites, although the interpretation of this remains con­troversial (Manen, Mazurie De Keroualin 2003). The Néolithique Ancien Valaisan (NAV), in the upper stretch of the Rhone valley, between Lake Geneva and the Alps, seems to be related to the complex in­teraction networks between differentiated zones (Gallay et al. 1983). Review: contact Mesolithic-Neolithic popula­tions in the study region For a long time, archaeologists have debated the evi­dence of contact between hunter-gatherer and farm­ing populations. It is difficult to present hard facts that prove exchanges or influences, because the available record is scarce and well-dated, undis­turbed contexts that can contribute to this discus­sion have not been available up to now. We do not intend to do a thorough review here, but it is neces­sary to summarize the state of the art on this issue. In the northeastern Iberian Peninsula, previous eva­luations of the current radiocarbon evidence sug­gest that no contact between the last Mesolithic and first Neolithic populations was possible due to a marked chronological hiatus between Mesolithic cha­racteristic lithic industries and the assemblages with characteristic Neolithic pottery (Morales, Oms 2012). However, this conclusion is not considered as defi­nitive by all researchers, and it is still open to debate. Some authors argue about taphonomic bias affect­ing the archaeological record of the 7th millennium (Oms et al. 2018b). In some cave deposits, tentati­vely assigned to Mesolithic chronology, remains of domesticated plants or animals have been localized. In the absence of radiocarbon dates, this data has been speculatively interpreted either as contamina­tion or evidence of mixed economies, depending on the theoretical assumptions of the scholars. As an example, in Can Sadurní Cave (Blasco et al. 2011) cereal grains have been reported in Mesolithic layers c.19 and c.20. These have been regarded as contami­nation from superposed Neolithic deposits, which are particularly rich in cereal remains (layer c.18) (Anto­ Héctor Martínez-Grau, Reto Jagher, F. Xavier Oms, Joan Anton Barceló, Salvador Pardo-Gordó, and Ferran Antolín Fig. 2. Map with the Mesolithic (top) and Early Neolithic (bottom) technocomplexes of the study area. NAV – Néolithique Ancien Valaisan; NIPA – Neolitico Inferiore Padano Alpino. Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic ... lín 2008; Antolín, Buxó 2011). We have dated two of these cereal grains from Mesolithic contexts, and the results confirmed that both were contaminations from layer c.18, dated to c. 5400 cal BC1 . In the Adriatic shores of northern Italy and the Me­diterranean shores of southern France and Liguria, a similar scenario has been observed. Mesolithic groups abandoned at least some of the coastal areas before the arrival of the first Neolithic groups (Binder et al. 2017b; Starnini et al. 2018), although it is unclear if some groups of Mesolithic populations remained in some spots of eastern Ligurian and the Maritime Alps. Former hypotheses regarding cultivation or herding practices in Mesolithic contexts – mostly in cave sites – are being disregarded by most scientists (Binder et al. 2008). In Switzerland, there is evidence regarding a possi­ble contact between late Mesolithic and early Neoli­thic groups (Erny-Rodmann et al. 1997; Tinner et al. 2007). In this area, as we will discuss below, some authors suggest the acculturation of local Mesolithic groups, who could be responsible for the first agri­cultural practices and the acquisition of knowledge with regard to pottery technology. One of the most remarkable finds is the pintadera recovered in La Souche rockshelter (Mauvilly et al. 2008), with a date associated to the second half of the 7th mil­lennium cal BC2 . Unfortunately, the reliability of this date does not fulfil our quality criteria (see the ma­terial and methods section) and we cannot be sure that the pintadera has such an old chronology. The closest parallels for this object should be looked for in the first Neolithic settlements of the southern Balkans, and there are no other similar objects in our study region until much younger periods (e.g., the first half of the 5th millennium cal BC in Arene Candide). A complete evaluation of the chronology of pollen evidence of early farming practice would have re­quired a different methodology, and it is out of the scope of this paper. The fact is that very early (c. 6200–5800 cal BC) cereal-type pollen grains have been documented in Switzerland and other regions of our study area, such as the Ligurian coast (Bin­der et al. 2018; Binder 2018). Such findings are as problematic as the discovery of wheat DNA in off-site sedimentary cores in the English Channel (Smith et al. 2015): the evidence is scarce and inconclu­sive, and the absence of a well-defined settlement context (reaping tools, charred cereal grains, etc.) prevents its use as a direct evidence of local agri­culture. The 6.2ka BC climatic event has been considered as a potential factor explaining the abandonment of the area by hunter-gatherer populations (Berger, Guilaine 2009). Nevertheless, recent revisions of the paleoenvironmental, geological and archaeolo­gical records suggest that this event had no global climatic impact, but limited and regional impact only (Magny et al. 2003), with different consequences at different places (Alley, Ágústsdóttir 2005). There­fore, considering the current state of research, the absence of late Mesolithic sites cannot be explained in terms of adverse climatic conditions on a global scale. Material and methods This paper builds upon the radiocarbon database that we are generating within the framework of the AgriChange Project. In addition to a systematic dat­ing program of new sites – details of which are out of the scope of this paper – we have critically re­viewed all published Neolithic dates for the study re­gion in order to better understand the chronology of the adoption of farming technology in the area. The critical analysis of already published dates con­cerns, among other features, the reliability of the radiocarbon estimate. There are archaeological cri­teria for deciding this reliability, but there is also an additional criterion based on the standard error of the estimate. The higher the error, the less the re­liability of the date. Often, archaeologists define the acceptance of a radiocarbon date in absolute terms (e.g., dates with a lab error (standard deviation) <100). Problems can arise when the time range of the studied period is long. A standard error of 100 years is not as relevant when considering a time range of 2500 years or another of 800 years. We have thus followed an acceptance criterion relative to the central tendency of the estimate before calibration: % = (SD/BP) x 100 where SD is the standard deviation of the BP lab es­timation before calibration. In this way, we have de­fined three degrees of accuracy: those with highest precision (equal or lower than 0.99%), medium pre­cision (1–1.99%) and lowest precision (equal or high­er than 2%) (Fig. 6). 1 ETH-88890, 6451±26, sa, A / ETH-88891, 6434±26, Triticum dicoccum. 2 Ua-33243, 7225±60, charcoal Héctor Martínez-Grau, Reto Jagher, F. Xavier Oms, Joan Anton Barceló, Salvador Pardo-Gordó, and Ferran Antolín The radiocarbon database and filtering criteria For each date, we refer to the published bibliogra­phic reference for archaeological criteria of rele­vance. When this primary reference could not be consulted, we relied upon the information coming from secondary references quoting the original one (e.g., Pearce 2013; Stöckli 2016) or we used infor­mation from the database containing that dated sample (Perrin 2019). The following aspects were considered as filtering criteria. Disturbed archaeological contexts This refers to the stratigraphic relationships of the archaeological context the dated sample comes from (Bernabeu Aubán 2006; Zilhao 2001; 2011). It has required a detailed site-by-site analysis of postdepo­sitional, taphonomic and stratigraphic issues (as far as the publications give details of these issues) to consider possible stratigraphic inversions and/or con­taminations (Bernabeu Aubán et al. 1999; 2001). Charcoal samples In order to avoid the ‘old-wood effect’ (Zilhao 2001), we have only considered charcoal fragments identi­fied as branches, twigs or the innermost parts of the growth rings coming from open contexts. However, we have not discarded unidentified charcoal frag­ments from clearly defined spatial structures such as hearths, because we understand this charcoal as the most reliable source to date the event. No burnt bones The implications of using dates from burnt bones in a chronological model are similar to the ‘old-wood effect’ (Olsen et al. 2008; Pardo-Gordó 2015), and therefore we have avoided samples from this kind of material. No marine reservoir effect We have discarded samples of marine origin (mala­cofauna and ictiofauna) and any other item consi­dered to have had a high maritime contribution. Several works have addressed this problem (Alves et al. 2018; Ascough et al. 2005; Soares, Dias 2006), concluding that the reservoir effect fluctuates in space and time, and the variation in the calculation of the reservoir effect is still highly significant. Taxonomic identification This is important to identify short-lived samples, but also to be sure that we are dating samples directly re­ 3 Summed Probability Density 4 Kernel Density lated to activities of farming or hunting-gathering and not some random natural element present in a site for unknown reasons. It may involve the use of the ZooMS technic (Buckley et al. 2010) to define whether a bone sample corresponds to a wild or do­mestic goat, for instance (Martins et al. 2015). Laboratory effect A critical evaluation of the result provided by the la­boratory is also essential, and any errors or systema­tic offset produced by laboratories has been taken into account to filter out dates (Lull et al. 2015; Niel­sen 2009; Sjögren 2011). Statistical methods To analyse the radiocarbon dated samples retained for explanation, we have used methods based on the summation of probability density distributions (SPD3 and KDE models4 ) and Bayesian statistics (Ba­yes 1764). We use OxCal v4.3.2 (Bronk Ramsey 2017) and the IntCal13 calibration curve for terres­trial samples (Reimer et al. 2013). We have followed the most recent methodology for summarizing dated contexts using the SPD method and its variants for answering relevant hypotheses about long-term social dynamics (Armit et al. 2013; Kerr, McCormick 2014; Shennan et al. 2013; Silva, Vander Linden 2017), also taking into account criti­cal approaches to the method (see Contreras, Mea­dows 2014; Williams 2012). The degree of the relia­bility of the statistical results has been plotted in the graphs for their critical evaluation. Limitations implicit with the SPD method are: . excessively noisy results that are difficult to ex­plain; . an over-smoothing of data, when statistical techni­ques are used to remove random noise; . failure to address the random variation and the effects of the calibration curve irregularity, unless SPD analysis is combined with other forms of Ba­yesian analysis. These issues, and a possible solution, were addressed by Bronk Ramsey (2017) with the introduction of Kernel Density Estimation (KDE) (in OxCal 4.3.2., the KDE_Model command). This attempts to narrow the final probabilistic distribution taking into ac­count the variation of measurement uncertainty, and the variation correlated with peaks and valleys Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic ... in the calibration curve. In our case, to define the proper temporal range of the last Mesolithic popula­tions and the first Early Neolithic occupations in each region and to test for potential phases of coexi­stence, we have defined different Bayesian models of two partially overlapped phases, assuming a tra­pezoidal distribution for each one (Bronk Ramsey 2009; Lee, Ramsey 2012). The same approach was considered in previous investigations of the same hi­storical problem (Binder et al. 2017a; Manen et al. 2019a; Oms et al. 2016). We add the assumption of a trapezoidal distribution model to take into account the most probable hypothesis of change as a non-abrupt transformation (Lee, Ramsey 2012). To visu­alize the results, the youngest Mesolithic sites and the oldest Early Neolithic sites in each ecoregion, based on the results of the Bayesian analysis, have been plotted separately in a series of maps tempo­rally organized, with one time step every 200 years, beginning in 6200 cal BC and ending in 4600 cal BC. Maps have been created using the ArcMap 10.6 soft­ware (ESRI 2018). Results A total of 948 radiocarbon dated archaeological con­texts has been recovered from the bibliographic de­scription of 187 different sites (Tab. 1 and Supple­mentary Material 3 at http://dx.doi.org/10.4312/dp. 47.10). At a general scale, c. 40% of the radiocarbon dates have passed our filtering criteria for quality and reliability. Around 75% of retained dates can be assigned to Neolithic contexts, and the remaining 25% to Mesoli­thic occupations, according to the nature of the pub­lished archaeological material. We have no reliable radiocarbon dates in the Upper Rhine ecoregion. Five ecoregions (Alps, Jura, Mediterranean shores north of parallel 43°, southern Pre-Pyrenees and Swiss Plateau) concentrate c. 75% of the retained Mesolithic dates. Eight-five percent of these are con­centrated in the Alps, Mediterranean shores north of parallel 43°, the Rhone valley and Swiss Plateau; however, reliable radiocarbon dates are scarce in the Jura and both Pre-Pyrenees. No reliable dates were found in the Adriatic shores, Apennines, High Rhine, Po valley, Pyrenees and Mediterranean shores south of parallel 43°. Sixty-five percent of the reliable radiocarbon dated contexts assigned to the Early Neolithic come from archaeological sites in the Alps, Mediterranean shores and Po and Rhone valleys. The best represented eco-regions are the Mediterranean shores, the Rhone and Po valleys and the northern Pre-Pyrenees, concen­trating c. 85% of the retained Early Neolithic dates. Chronostatistical analysis – Summed Probabi­lity Density distribution We have calculated the summed probability density distribution (SPD) for each ecoregion and period. Each graph plots three curves in Figure 3, corres­ponding to the different accuracy ratios mentioned in the previous section (red: it shows all the avail­able radiocarbon dates; green: it shows selected dates with medium degree of precision; blue: it shows selected dates with high degree of precision; for all the graphs see Supplementary Material 4 at http://dx.doi.org/10. 4312/dp.47.10). The goal was to observe in SPDs the effects of filtering criteria and the accuracy degrees depending on the magnitude of lab error. In this way, we may decide whether the minimization of accuracy and reliability of dates – and hence the maximization of the number of re­tained dates for analysis – produced larger biases than the ones produced by other methodological in­accuracies. In Figure 3 we show as an example the case of the number of dates and their accuracy levels for the Mesolithic occupations in the Alps. The results are very similar in all groups. When dis­carding the dates that have not passed the filtering criteria – those with the lowest accuracy – the result­ing distribution is more robust, reducing ambiguity and uncertainty by pruning excessively long tails. Fig. 3. Distribution dates for the Alps as an example of an SPD. Lines = unfiltered data (red); filtered data with an accuracy between 0–1.99 (green); filtered data with an accuracy between 0–0.99 (blue). Héctor Martínez-Grau, Reto Jagher, F. Xavier Oms, Joan Anton Barceló, Salvador Pardo-Gordó, and Ferran Antolín Chronostatistical analysis – Kernel Density Es­timation Considering preliminary results and the inherent sta­tistical limitations of the SPD methodology, we have applied the KDE technique to the datasets constitut­ed by the most precise dates (SD L0.99) (Fig. 4; for all graphs and table results see Supplementary Mate­rial 5 and 8 at http://dx.doi.org/10.4312/dp.47.10). A common trend is detectable when analysing the KDE results for the Mesolithic dated contexts. In all those cases where enough dates were available to create a model, most of the high peaks created by the SPD appear to be the result of spurious effects of noise (random or correlated with the wiggles of the calibration curve). Likewise, the long tails of the SPD distributions are pruned. In the case of KDE results of dated contexts assigned to the Early Neolithic, and hence to the beginnings of farming economy, a similar pattern arises, com­patible with the trend observed in the KDE analysis of the Mesolithic dates joint distribution. Given that the temporal range of the early farming period is shorter that the temporal range of the last hunter-gatherer occupations, the smoothing of the statisti­cal distribution is more marked. In any case, the results are somewhat different at different ecoregions. Where the Mesolithic occupa­tions are well represented and well dated, it is pos­sible to observe chronologically differentiated hun­ter-gatherer occupations, and not only a chronologi­cally uniform distribution. The KDE distribution sig­nals the highest probability of occupation in the Jura, Mediterranean shores south of parallel 43°, and the Swiss Plateau. In the early farming distributions with large datasets we see how the distributions are quite similar. There is a high probability increase in a short time at the extreme µ–., a robust and well-defined µ and a de­crease in the gradual probability over a considerable time at the end of the µ+. extreme. Chronostatistical analysis – Bayesian Bayesian analysis5 (for details see Supplementary Material 6 at http://dx.doi.org/10.4312/dp.47.10) makes it possible to better determine the precise time interval when the latest Mesolithic and the first Early Neolithic occupations occurred, and whether some degree of contemporaneity – and hence sup­posed cultural contact – between both populations is possible in terms of radiocarbon evidence. Plotting the boundary for the end of the Mesolithic time range and the boundary for the start of the Neolithic time inter­val, and using the means and standard deviations associated with such temporal boundaries, we have defined two different scenarios: regions where the first evidence of farming economy is not contemporary with Mesoli­thic occupations, regions where the first evidence of farming eco­nomy appears to be partially contemporaneous with Mesoli­thic occupations in the area. In some cases, we have not been able to establish any scenario due to the lack of reliably dated archaeological contexts that could be assigned to Mesolithic or Neolithic occupations (Fig. 5). Graphs without any relevant overlapping in the time inter­vals for each dominant econo- 5 All models are statistically valid. However, Adriatic shores, High Rhine, Po valley, Pyrenees and Mediterranean shores south of pa­rallel 43° only have reliable early Neolithic dates (see Supplementary Material 9 at http://dx.doi.org/10.4312/dp.47.10). Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic ... my (hunter-gatherer and farming) can be interpret­ed in a more straightforward manner than those in which distributions partially overlap. Such overlap­ping might be a mere spurious statistical side effect of probability intervals with extremely long tails. Therefore, KDE and SPD plots must be interpreted with care, as hypothetical or potential scenarios. The areas without any temporal overlap between the last hunter-gatherers and the first farmers are the Mediterranean shores north of parallel 43° and the northern and southern Pre-Pyrenees. In this last region, there is a temporal hiatus of 500 years between the last hunter-gatherers and first farmers, whereas this temporal difference is reduced to 100 years north of the Pyrenees. It is important to re­mark that this difference could be the consequence of the older age of early farming along Mediterra­nean shores north of parallel 43°. In the northern Pre-Pyrenees, Mesolithic occupations seem to end at a later date than in other regions. A time interval overlapping scenario of c. 100 and 300 years, respectively, seems evident in the Rhone valley and Alps ecoregions. Here, the earliest farming evidence is as old as in the southern regions, but hunter-gatherer sites subsist until a younger age, which generates the observed overlap in their res­pective time intervals. In the Jura and Swiss Plateau cases, as suggested by the SPDs, a possible overlap can be detected. How­ever, there are not enough reliable dates to make a Bayesian model, and thus the conclusion is hardly definitive. Along Mediterranean shores south of parallel 43° and the Adriatic shores, but also in the Po valley, Apennines and possibly also in the High Rhine as well, the end of the Mesolithic occupations could not be fixed but the presence of early farming occupa­tions is very clear. The most probable explanation of this fact is the abandonment of the region by local hunter-gatherers well before the arrival of early farmers. Nevertheless, it is important to take into account that the absence of evidence is not neces­sarily an evidence of absence. Geospatial analysis We have created a series of maps separated every 200 years based on the results of the Bayesian ana­lysis, to test whether the temporal contemporaneity of the last hunter-gatherers and early farmers was evidence of coexistence on a reasonably small spatial scale. In the first map, which refers to the time step 6200– 6000 cal BC (Fig. 6a), before the adoption of any Fig. 5. Bayesian results. In the map is highlighted the possible relation between the last Mesolithic and the first Neolithic groups by ecoregion. Héctor Martínez-Grau, Reto Jagher, F. Xavier Oms, Joan Anton Barceló, Salvador Pardo-Gordó, and Ferran Antolín attributes of early farming, we see only hunter-ga­therer occupations in the Rhone valley and Alps – Baume de Montclus (Perrin et al. 2009), Lalo (Mar-chand, Perrin 2017), Grande Rivoire (Nicod et al. 2010) and Château d’Oex (Crotti et al. 2016). In the next time step (6000–5800 cal BC, Fig. 6b), only Me­solithic occupations are detected in mountain areas of Alps and Pyrenees, and their surroundings – Gran­de Rivoire (Perrin 2019), Château d’Oex (Nielsen 2009.143), abri du Roc de Dourgne (Perrin 2019), and Abri La Souche (Mauvilly et al. 2008). The earliest farming evidence is depicted for the first time in the third time step (5800–5600 cal BC, Fig. 6c), along the Mediterranean shores north of pa­rallel 43° (Languedoc, Provence- and Liguria), where Impressa type pottery appears in open-air and rock­shelter/cave sites like Peiro Signado and Pont de Ro­que-Haute (Binder et al. 2017b; Briois, Manen 2003), San Sebastiano di Perti (Biagi, Starnini 2016), Abri Pendimoun (Binder et al. 2017b), and Arene Candi­de (Maggi, Chella 1999). At the same time step, Me­solithic occupations continue in the northern areas of the Alps (Abri La Souche, Mauvilly et al. 2008) and the Jura (a Daupharde, Séara et al. 2002). Between 5600–5400 cal BC (Fig. 6d) Neolithic occu­pations continue along the Mediterranean shores north of parallel 43°, and appear for the first time along the Mediterranean shores south of parallel 43°, and in the Rhone and Po valleys. There are still Me­solithic occupations in the lower part of the Rhone valley, Baume de Montclus (Binder et al. 2017a), and in the alpine foothills near this valley, Grande Rivoire (Nicod, Picavet 2011). There is a relevant increase in the number of dated contexts assigned to the Neolithic in the 5th time step, 5400–5200 cal BC (Fig. 6e). This growth of evi­dence is well-attested along the Mediterranean coast, both north and south of parallel 43°, with the be­ginning of a clear expansion towards their hinter­lands. There is also the earliest evidence of Neolithic occupations in the alpine foothills closest to the Rhone valley, the Grande Rivoire (Perrin 2019), and in the Po valley, Isolino Virginia (Banchieri 2009). In addition, Neolithic occupations are also document­ed for the first time in the Apennines, as Cecima (Starnini et al. 2018), and in the Adriatic shores, at Piancada (Skeates, Whitehouse 1999). In the Swiss Plateau, at Abri La Souche (Guidez 2018), there are still Mesolithic occupations. The growth and territorial expansion of Mediterra­nean and Adriatic Neolithic occupations continues in the next time step, 5200–5000 cal BC (Fig. 6f). At this moment, evidence of farming economy is well attested in relatively remote areas like Grotte du Gardon (Voruz, Perrin 2009), located in the area between the upper Rhone valley and the Jura moun­tains, or Cova Colomera (Oms 2008) in the southern Pre-Pyrenees. Contemporaneous Mesolithic occupa­tions are documented in the Alps, at Alp Hermettji (Curdy et al. 1998), and in the Swiss Plateau, at Abri La Souche (Mauvilly et al. 2008). In the next time steps (5000–4600 cal BC, Figs. 6g, 6h), Neolithic groups expanded until occupying al­most the entire study area. Methodological discussion Regarding the strict selection criteria applied to the dataset, the most accurate models have been obta­ined using only the dates with an SD/BP ratio L0.99. The noise created by the excess of unreliable dates is notorious, particularly in the tails of the probabi­lity distributions, where the highest accuracy is need­ed. Nevertheless, restricting the analysis only to highest quality dates implies the absence of data for Fig. 6. Geographical distribution of the sites with radiocarbon dates of the last Mesolithic and the first Early Neolithic occupations in the NW Mediterranean and Switzerland between 6200–4600 cal BC: AA Arma dell’Aquila, AC Arene Candide, aD a Daupharde, AH Alp Hermettji, Ai Aigle, APe Abri de Pendimoun, Apa Aspres del Paradis, AS Abri la Souche, AU Abri Unterkobel, BF baume de Fontbrégoua, BMc Baume de Montclus, BMg Balma Margineda, BO Baume d’Oullins, BR Baume de Ronze, BSP Bauma de Serrat del Pont, Ca Camprafaud, CBl Coll Blanc, Cbo Cova Bonica, CC Cova Colomera, Ce Cecima, CE Cova de l’Espe­rit, CF Les Coves del Fem, CFi Turó de Can Filua, CFo Cova Foradada, CFr Cova del Frare, Cgu Cova de la Guineu, CGr Cova Gran, ChO Château d’Oex, CR Can Roqueta II, CS Can Sadurní, CSL Cova de Sant Llo­renç, CVd Cova del Vidre, Cvi Centre Ville, EC El Cavet, ET El Toll, FaP Font aux Pigeons, FC Fornace Cap-puccini, FdR Font del Ros, FJ abri de Font-Juvénal, FMo Fiorano Modenese, FMa Font Major, Ga Gazel, GG Grotte du Gardon, GL Grotte Lombard, GR La Grande Rivoire, GV Les Guixeres, IC Ile de Correge, IV Isoli-no Virginia, JC Jean Cros, La Lalo, LB Le Baratin, LD La Draga, LG Lugo di Grezzana, LR Lugo di Roma-gna, LS La Serreta, MB Le Mourre de la Barque, MN Mas Neuf, PB Les Petites Bâties, Pi Piancada, PRH Pont de Roque-Haute, PS Peiro Signado, PU Pavia di Udine, PVM Plaça Vila de Madrid, RD abri du Roc de Dour-gne, Sa Sammardenchia, SPC Sant Pau del Camp, SSP San Sebastiano di Perti, Ta Tai, Va Valer, Vh Vho, Vi Villandro, VP Vinya d’en Pau. Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic ... Héctor Martínez-Grau, Reto Jagher, F. Xavier Oms, Joan Anton Barceló, Salvador Pardo-Gordó, and Ferran Antolín some ecoregions. This is a problem in the case of Me­solithic occupations along the Adriatic shores, in the High Rhine, Po valley, Pyrenees, Apennines and Me­diterranean shores south of parallel 43°. In the same way, there are only a few reliable dated Neolithic sites in the Jura, Swiss Plateau, Pyrenees, High Rhine and Apennines. The beginning of the Neolithic in those areas is very uncertain. Consequently, we cannot ex­clude that some of the explanatory models presented in the previous section are biased and historical ex­planation of the transition from hunting-gathering to early farming will be only tentative until the quality and quantity of chronological knowledge improves. Comparison of the density of summed dates and potential periods of hunter-gatherer and farmer coexistence To sum up our results using Bayesian analysis of high accuracy radiocarbon dated archaeological con­texts, we can say: the earliest farming communities appeared at first in very limited areas, always near the coast, and within a relative short time interval of c. 200 years. Cultural contact or interaction be­tween the last hunter-gatherer populations and these new first farming communities has not been detect­ed where the Neolithic is older, in the Mediterra­nean shores north of parallel 43°. A short hiatus of c. 100 years between the last hunter-gatherer occu­pations (dated to c. 5900 cal BC) and the first farm­ing sites (dated to c. 5800 cal BC) can be detected in this area, which can be explained in terms of a Neolithic colonization of an abandoned region. In the neighbouring Pre-Pyrenean ecoregions, both south and north of the Pyrenees, and even in the central Pyrenees region, this period without appar­ent occupation between the last Mesolithic and ear­liest Neolithic would be longer, c. 500 years, given the later entry in these territories of populations with a farming economy. This situation has already been highlighted by other authors, especially for the southern Pre-Pyrenees (Oms et al. 2018b). Current data also suggests the probability of the hy­pothesis of no co-existence between hunter-gatherers in the Po valley and along Adriatic shores. This hypo­thesis is very dependent on the lack of properly dated contexts, however. Here, the period of apparent aban­donment can be situated around 5500–5400 cal BC. One of the reasons why no late Mesolithic occupa­tions have been identified in these areas may be of a taphonomic nature, related to erosive processes such as those detected along the Po valley (Starnini et al. 2018), due to several hard affections during the Atlantic climatic period (Antonioli et al. 2009). Both the Po valley and the Adriatic coast share similar se­dimentological patterns and geomorphological cha­racteristics that make it quite complicated to deter­mine whether the absence of data actually reflects the contemporaneous absence of human activity. The coexistence of hunting-gathering and farming communities can only be suggested in the Rhone valley and the Alps. In the first one, available reli­able radiocarbon dates indicate an interval of 100 years, around 5500 cal BC, and mainly focused on the lower Rhone valley, during which Mesolithic and Neolithic sites seem to be synchronous. In the Alps, this period of coexistence would have been longer, around 300 years, and a bit later, between 5400 and 5100 cal BC. However, data for the Rhone valley comes from very few sites, such as the Montclus, Oullins and Ronze shelters, all of which are in the lower Rhone valley area. Unfortunately, there are not enough reliable late Mesolithic dates to confirm this hypothetical coexistence or even cultural con­tact. In the upper part of Rhone valley, and probably also in the Jura, there is a similar lack of reliable ar­chaeological information. The possible coexistence period would have occurred a bit later than in the lower valley. In the Alps the data comes mainly from La Grande Rivoire and Alp Hermetjji, two very diffe­rent sites. While Alp Hermetjji is in the middle of the Alps, above 2000m asl, La Grande Rivoire is located in an area of lower altitude, at 1000m asl and very close to the middle/upper Rhone valley. Consequent­ly, this last site seems to be more related to what happened in the Rhone, with earlier Neolithic occu­pations and shorter coexistence, rather than the si­tuation in the central Alps area. Alp Hermatjji proves that hunter-gatherer groups in the innermost areas of the central Alps lasted for a longer time, due to less pressure, both ecological and social, and the later arrival of populations with farming economies. Interpretation of geospatial patterns: contact zones, interaction, non-interaction If we focus on the Mesolithic sites, as depicted in Fi­gure 6, we can suggest, hypothetically, that Mesoli­thic groups abandoned coastal areas well before 6000 cal BC, moving towards the interior and mountains. What we cannot prove for the moment, given the existing reliable chronometric information, is whe­ther they retreated because of the arrival of a new population or as a consequence of climatic factors negatively affecting coastal areas. Did the new Holo­ Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic ... cene climate conditions make a purely hunter-gath­erer way of life in the coastal territories impossible, forcing these populations to migrate to the hinter­lands? Or was it due to Neolithic populations push­ing them back to these hinterlands because they were primarily interested in the coastal lands? In order to better evaluate the advance of Neolithic populations, an Empirical Bayesian kriging interpo­lation (Krivoruchko, Gribov 2019) has been calcu­lated (Fig. 7, and Supplementary Material 7 and 10 at http://dx.doi.org/10.4312/ dp.47.10). At a macro-scale level, the Mediterranean drift of the expansion of farming (the new Neolithic communi­ties) becomes obvious and its impact in the studied territory is readily traceable using radiocarbon dates. If we take a more regional look, more nuanced trends, rhythms and speeds are detectable. According to our data, there are four foci for the spread of farming practices: the Gulf of Lion and the Gulf of Genoa, c. 5800–5700 cal BC, and the northern part of the Adriatic Sea and the central Ca­talan shores, c. 5600–5500 cal BC. This reinforces previous observations on the maritime route for the entry of Neolithic populations (e.g., Isern et al. 2017; Zilhao 2001). Such trends also suggest that the neolithisation of the Po valley arrived from the east, from earlier communities along the Adriatic coast. There is also some probability that some po­pulations entered the Po valley from the west, across the Apennines, but at a slower speed. This suggests that the maritime spread of the Neolithic would have been split into two different drifts from the Sa-lento Peninsula, one towards the Adriatic Sea, and another one towards the Ionic and Tyrrhenian seas (Guilaine et al. 2016; Natali, Forgia 2018). Although we still need more and better data, the Adriatic drift seems to have been slower than the Tyrrhenian drift, reaching its northernmost shores later than the first arrival of farming at the Ligurian coast. The Tyrrhenian drift also had a more multi­dimensional nature, with different final destinations (Gulf of Lion and in the Gulf of the Genoa (Gabri­ele et al. 2019; Fig. 6). The Levantine area of Ibe­rian Peninsula, south of our study area, should also be considered as a preliminary destination of the same route (Bernabeu Aubán et al. 2003; 2009). Fig. 7. Interpolated map model for the neolithisation process in the western Mediterranean and Switzer­land. Each isochron represents an average of c. 80 years. (The points refer to the dated sites used for the interpolation – see Supplementary Material 10 at http://dx.doi.org/10.4312/dp.47.10). Héctor Martínez-Grau, Reto Jagher, F. Xavier Oms, Joan Anton Barceló, Salvador Pardo-Gordó, and Ferran Antolín This has been named the leapfrog model of colo­nization, based on a discontinuous settlement pat­tern with a non-continuous littoral distribution (Bin­der 2013; Zilhao 1993). Eventually, the Mediterra­nean drift from the Gulf of Lion continued towards the central Catalan shores. After the first arrival to the coast, and also at diffe­rent directions and with different speeds, an expan­sion towards the interior occurred. Both the spread from the Adriatic shores and from the Mediterranean shores south of parallel 43° towards their respective hinterlands seem to have been a rapid and contin­uous advance. Neolithic populations coming from the Adriatic coast occupied the Po valley up until the southern alpine lakes area, the southern foothills of the Alps and some parts of the Apennines. Those from the Mediterranean shores south of parallel 43° mainly occupied the littoral and pre-littoral corridors, as well as the southern Pre-Pyrenees and some parts of the Pyrenees (Oms et al. 2018a). The relationship of these areas with Neolithic sites further south (Ala-cant), which started a bit earlier c. 5700 cal BC, is still a matter of further research (Bernabeu Aubán et al. 2003; 2009). On the other hand, two differentiated expansion pro­cesses can be detected from the northern shores of the Mediterranean towards its hinterland. From the Gulf of Lion, Neolithic populations seem to have ex­panded towards the west, to the northern Pre-Pyre­nees and some areas of the Pyrenees. This expansion would have been slow and over a reduced area. From the Gulf of Genoa, the expansion adopted an eastern direction, towards the Apennines and the easternmost areas of the Po valley (Starnini et al. 2018). The colonization of the Rhone valley and ex­pansion towards further north is more likely to have originated from the Gulf of Genoa than the Gulf of Lion. However, the evidence that it was a very fast spread (Perrin 2008) suggests that the Rhone cor­ridor may have been used by both original popula­tions as an access to the hinterland. The fast expan­sion of farming groups along the valley only decele­rated when arriving to the southern Jura and the ac­cess to the Swiss Plateau (Hafner, Suter 2003). The northern alpine areas probably witnessed the arrival of Neolithic farmers coming from the north, con­nected to the LBK groups (e.g., Zizers et al. 2012). Global processes, regional dynamics? The last hunter-gatherer communities confronted changing climate and environmental conditions at the beginning of the Holocene, which probably af­fected their ways of acquiring subsistence and the necessary raw materials. The archaeological record suggests that their economic activity was specialized in the hunting of small animals that were probably less available with diminishing forests and the open­ing of woodland in Early Holocene (Battentier et al. 2018). The arrival of people with a different way of life and specific needs for their economic and so­cial reproduction also negatively affected local inha­bitants of Western European regions. A combination of both factors pushed the last Mesolithic groups back from coastal and pre-coastal areas into hinter­land and mountain zones. At a date around 5100 cal BC, residual hunter-gatherer groups only subsisted in the more marginal areas of the Alpine mountains, with an associated technocomplex that had not ex­perimented with any relevant developments in more than two millennia. All this means that neolithisation in the northwest­ern Mediterranean was an exogenous process, in which original hunter-gatherer local populations had no relevant role. The fact that the hypothesis of strict contemporaneity and possible coexistence has support only in a few areas gives more support to this statement. Nevertheless, current data suggests that the process of neolithisation was not homogeneous all across Western Europe. The arrival of new farming popu­lations of southwestern Asian ancestry into Central Europe following the Danube route was very much circumscribed by the use of a specific kind of soil – loess soil – adapted to a specific kind of farming economy. This kind of soil has only been detected in few parts of our study area, notably in its northern­most part. Our data allows us to consider as much more probable a general trend moving from the south and east towards the north and west for un­derstanding the new colonization of the region from the Ebro River to the Po River, and from the Medi­terranean coast towards the Pyrenees and Alps. The Mediterranean expansion route was therefore more decisive for this region. With these results, the pos­sibility of contacts between LBK and cardial groups as suggested from human genetic data obtained in the Pyrenees seems to be unlikely (García-Martínez de Lagránet et al. 2018). One of the main characteristics of the earliest Neo­lithic sites in Western Mediterranean is their estab­lishment along the seashores and influence areas. Our data reveal that the process was fairly similar, Global processes, regional dynamics| Radiocarbon data as a proxy for social dynamics at the end of the Mesolithic ... but with particular local dynamics in the Gulfs of Lion and Genoa, central Catalan coasts and the northern part of Adriatic shores (Manen et al. 2019a; 2019b). Expansion towards the closest interior territories from these pioneer areas was somewhat different in Provence and the Ligurian zones than on the Ca­talan coast. In this last territory, data suggest a deep abandonment of the area prior the arrival of the new population, and therefore the expansion towards the interior was faster and more intense than in areas were local groups of hunter-gatherers subsisted, like in the northern Pre-Pyrenees, upper Rhone valley and pre-alpine areas. Nevertheless, this explanation may be biased if we do not take into account the possible disturbance of the archaeological record in a time of ecological and climatic turmoil. A similar phenomenon could have developed along the northern coast of the Adriatic Sea and in the Po valley, where Neolithic occupations seem to occur in an almost unsettled territory. However, the density of archaeological sites is very low – lower than in northeastern Iberian Peninsula – and the hypothesis remains untested. In the Valais and Geneva regions, beyond the Rhone valley, Neolithic evidence is attested c. 5400–5300 cal BC (cardial/Epicardial and La Hoguette). These groups would have been the main agents for the expansion of farming economy towards the Jura and Swiss Plateau areas. The connections between these sites and the original groups with Cardial pottery from the Mediterranean coast has already been high­lighted (Manen, Mazurie De Keroualin 2003). The lack of a single uniform scenario in the study area leads us to conclude that to understand the neolithisation process we should always take into account local dynamics. More intensive research is thus needed to identify late hunter-gatherer groups; however, existing radiocarbon dates seem to be enough for suggesting the general traits of the pro­cess. This preliminary hypothesis can be evaluated using additional information (archaeological mate­rial or aDNA from human remains). Therefore, we cannot exclude the possibility of an admixture of new faming populations with local hunter-gatherer communities at some places (see Shennan 2018 for a recent global review). Conclusions In this paper we have used a selection of highly pre­cise and reliable radiocarbon dates to investigate the regional rhythms of neolithisation in a specific part of Western Europe. The analysis shows that broad-scale approaches can hardly grasp the historical sce­nario of the beginning of farming in the region, but broad trends are necessary in order to detect local specificities. We have argued the relevance of diffe­rent mechanisms of expansion and adoption of in­novations at a local scale, subdividing the study area into different regions with homogenous ecological features. We know that the quantity and quality of data is not yet what we would need for a reliable historical explanation. This is particularly clear for the Mesolithic in the north-eastern Iberian Peninsula and northern Italy, and for the Early Neolithic in the northern parts of our study area. From the chrono- and geostatistical interpretation of available radiocarbon dates, we have been able to define the chronological boundaries of the Mesoli­thic and Neolithic in each region. The possibilities of potential coexistence and interaction between hun­ter-gatherer and farming populations has also been asserted. This scenario is more probable in the north­ern parts of the study area, in the Rhone valley and around the Alps. Mesolithic communities relocated at some moment, abandoning the coastal territories and remaining in the hinterlands and mountains. Whether this process started well before the arrival of new populations with a different economic system is still unclear in many parts of our study area. Our investigation also confirms that Early Neolithic com­munities were founded earlier along the coasts, ex­panding later towards the interior. We observed that despite a clear global trend towards territorial ex­pansion, Neolithic colonization had different spatial and temporal dynamics, due to the local geograph­ical conditions, the possible presence of local hun­ter-gatherer populations and the limitations and local needs of farming populations in their initial hotspots. Further research has already been designed for eva­luating these preliminary results. We intend to ana­lyse archaeobotanical and archaeozoological data from the same study area, using the same division in ecological areas. The idea is to consider how the distribution and accessibility of resources at a local scale may have affected the possibilities of coexis­tence between hunter-gatherers and farmers in the early days of agriculture and herding. Héctor Martínez-Grau, Reto Jagher, F. Xavier Oms, Joan Anton Barceló, Salvador Pardo-Gordó, and Ferran Antolín ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We thank Berta Morell for sharing the database generated during her PhD (2019) and to the anonymous revie­wers for their critical comments, which greatly improved this paper. This research took place under the project funded by the Swiss National Science Foundation entitled “Small seeds for large purposes: an integrated approach to agricultural change and climate during the Neolithic in Western Europe” (Agri Change Project, SNSF Profes­sorship grant number: PP00P1_170515, PI: F. Antolín). . References Alley R. B., Ágústsdóttir A. M. 2005. The 8k event: cause and consequences of a major Holocene abrupt climate change. Quaternary Science Reviews 24(10): 1123– 1149. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.quascirev.2004.12.004 Alves E. Q., Macario K., Ascough P., and Bronk Ramsey C. 2018. The Worldwide Marine Radiocarbon Reservoir Ef­fect: Definitions, Mechanisms and Prospects. 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Cambridge: 57–79. back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites Paolo Biagi1, Elisabetta Starnini 2, Du[an Boric´ 3, and Niccolo Mazzucco 4 1 Department of Asian and North African Studies (DSAAM), Ca’ Foscari University, Venice, IT pavelius@unive.it 2 Department of Civilizations and Forms of Knowledge (DFCS), University of Pisa, IT elisabetta.starnini@unipi.it 3 The Italian Academy for Advanced Studies in America, Columbia University, New York, USA db2128@columbia.edu 4 Archaeology of Social Dynamics (ASD), Spanish National Research Council (CSIC), Institución Milá y Fontanals (IMF), Barcelona, ES nmazzucco@imf.csic.es ABSTRACT – Around the mid-19th century, several groups of archaeologists active in northern Italy discovered a few sites characterized by the presence of ‘hut-floors’ or ‘pit-dwellings’ (fondi di capan­na), which they attributed to a well-defined period of their Stone Age sequence. Research in the cen­tral Po Plain of Lombardy was resumed in the 1970s, allowing one to attribute some of the older discoveries to the Early Neolithic Vho cultural aspect. The scope of the excavations, which started on one of the Vho di Piadena sites in 1974, was to interpret the function of the previously discovered features, establish their radiocarbon chronology, and compare the finds with those of the Fiorano culture distributed across the eastern regions of the Po Plain. The main goal of this paper is to pro­vide an international audience with novel information about one of the still poorly known Early Neolithic cultural aspects of northern Italy, namely that of the Vho. KEY WORDS – North Italy; Po Plain; Early Neolithic; Vho sites; pit-dwelling sites; radiocarbon dating Zgodnje neolitska naselbina v Padski ni/ini (severna Italija)> Vho in druga podobna najdi[;a IZVLE.EK – V sredini 19. stoletja so .tevilne skupine arheologov, ki so delovale v severni Italiji, od­krile nekaj najdi.., za katere so bile zna.ilne zemljanke (it. fondi di capanna), ki so jih pripisali do-bro definiranemu obdobju njihove sekvence v kameni dobi. Raziskave so se na obmo.ju osrednje Padske ni.ine v Lombardiji nadaljevale v 70. letih 20. stoletja in so pokazale, da lahko starej.a od­kritja pripi.emo zgodnje neolitski kulturi Vho. Namen izkopavanj, ki so se za.ela na enem od naj­di.. na obmo.ju Vho di Piadena leta 1974, je bil razlo.iti namen teh struktur, dolo.iti njihovo ra­diokarbonsko kronologijo in primerjati najdbe s kulturo Fiorano, ki je razprostranjena na vzhodnih obmo.jih Padske ni.ine. Glavni namen na.ega .lanka je, da mednarodnemu ob.instvu predstavimo najnovej.e podatke o tej sicer slab.e poznani zgodnje neolitski kulturi Vho iz obmo.ja severne Italije. KLJU.NE BESEDE – severna Italija; Padska ni.ina; zgodnji neolitik; najdi..a kulture Vho; najdi..a z zemljankami; radiokarbonsko datiranje DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.11 Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites Introduction It is during the last decade that some scholars began to recognize that northern Italy plays a key role in prehistoric research, since this region acts as an in­terface between the Mediterranean world and con­tinental Europe (Pearce 2013.10). Despite this, the origin and spread of the first farming communities in this territory have always been less of a focus for international scholars compared with southern Italy (Mazurié de Keroualin 2003). The first up-to-date synthesis on the beginnings of the Neolithic in the Po Plain was published only recently (Starnini et al. 2018). To give an example, in his synthetic monograph en­titled The Early Mediterranean Village, Agency, Ma­terial Culture, and Social Change in Neolithic Italy, John Robb shows the location of Vho in one of his maps (Robb 2007.31.Fig. 3), though he avoids dis­cussing the topic, since he admits that northern Italy does not fall into the core area of his study. In his book, Vho is briefly mentioned again when discus­sing Early Neolithic figurines (Robb 2007.49.Fig. 6.d, 53). Rightly complaining about the shortage of radiocarbon dates, Robb provides the reader with a table of the Early Neolithic cultures based on ‘typi­cal’ ceramic chronology (Robb 2007.167.Tab. 16) where the north Italian Early Neolithic is represent­ed only by Emilia-Romagna Impressed/Linear wares. We suggest that by ‘Impressed’ this author meant the Adriatic aspect of the Impressed Ware culture, while by ‘Linear’ he most probably refers to the Fio­rano culture, although this term is not explicitly mentioned. Some of the Fio­rano vessels, in particular the characteristic carinated han­dled cups, are indeed decorat­ed with motifs composed of paired grooved lines and wheat-like impressions (chic-chi di grano), though they have nothing in common with the typical decorative patterns of the more famous Central European Linear Pottery cul­ture (henceforth LBK) (see e.g., Tringham 1971.Figs. 21 and 22). Therefore, it is nec­essary to pay attention when writing about linear motifs, though we know that the LBK hypothesis has been inherited from Antonio Mario Radmilli, who, back in the 1970s suggested certain cultural aspects that flourished in some regions of north and central Italy, namely those of Fiorano, Sasso and Sar­teano, derived from the transalpine LBK (Radmilli 1972.150). Moreover, in the chronological chart of Neolithic Europe recently published by Sarunas Mi-lisauskas the only mentioned Early Neolithic culture of northern Italy is that of Fiorano (Milisauskas 2011.154.Fig. 7.1). More discussion about Vho, Fio­rano and related cultures can, however, be found in a synthesis provided by Caroline Malone (2003.Tab. 1, 243, 263.Fig. 5). A further problem regards nomenclature. Mark Pearce (2013.159), another Anglo-Saxon author, dis­cusses the radiocarbon chronology for the spread of the Neolithic in the Po Valley and notes that Ita­lian scholars distinguished several Early Neolithic ‘groups’ or ‘facies’ (Vho, Fiorano, Gaban, Fagnigola, Isolino, etc.) almost exclusively based on ceramic vessel forms and decorations (see Bagolini, Biagi 1977; 1979), as well as on the characteristics of the knapped stone assemblages (Bagolini, Biagi 1987). Pearce suggests that these groups should be called cultural aspects. However, the same author correct­ly observes that the terms ‘group’ or ‘facies’ have been employed simply to avoid the term culture (Pearce 2013.159), though this problem was already taken into serious consideration and discussed in 1976, when the new research at Vho had just start­ed (Bagolini, Biagi 1976.56). It is difficult to contradict the claim that “traditio­nally, the cultures of Neolithic Italy have been de- Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco fined through ceramics, rather than other crite­ria of economic, environmental, or technological distinction … Ceramics and, to a lesser extent, li­thics provide ample scope for involved and high­ly focused debates on the cultural sequence of Neo­lithic Italy, often without much regard to time scales. This typological research tradition owes much to the Germanic tradition of typology, and to the study methods of Classical material. How­ever, fragmentary pottery is not necessarily the most appropriate material upon which to write the history of Neolithic Italy, when many other re­levant factors should be included in the overall in­terpretation” (Malone 2003.272). In effect, the traditional culture-historical approach applied by Italian prehistorians to develop cultural sequences based on pottery styles and their relative chronology (Pessina, Tiné 2008) received several critiques, and undoubtedly shows severe limitations (Malone 2003.274; Robb 2007.161–162). In parti­cular, regarding northern Italy, in his ‘rethinking’ of the Early Neolithic, Pearce (2013.8) rightly points out that the last synthesis on this important topic was the monographic work written by Bernardino Bagolini 40 years ago (Bagolini 1980). In his vol­ume, Bagolini described different ceramic styles of the Early Neolithic of northern Italy as ‘groups’ and Fiorano as a ‘culture’ (Bagolini 1980.97), following Fernando Malavolti’s original definition (Malavolti 1953.4). Other authors simply justify the use of the term ‘culture’ for the early phases of prehistory since “… archa­eological traces of human groups living in such a remote past are re­latively scarce and do not enable us to identify social, political and ethnical entities, which produced, in a given time and space, a speci­fic material culture” (Danckers et al. 2019.9). Moreover, these authors admit that the terms ‘facies’ and ‘cul­ture’ are often presented in the nar­rative as categories of analysis, more or less explicitly as real historical agents. After 40 years, several problems and questions proposed in Bagolini’s first synthesis have remained substantial­ly unanswered (Bagolini 1980). The reason for this mainly relates to the lack of any systematic programme of radiocarbon dating aimed at building up a reliable chronological seriation, the various terminations of formerly on­going and planned research agendas, and the disper­sal of knowledge due to the proliferation of several small rescue projects, and the slow process or absen­ce of post-fieldwork analysis, study and publication of the results of old excavations (see e.g., Steffé, Degasperi 2019). At present, some of the basic issues regarding the Neolithization of the Po Valley remain unsolved. Among these are the origins of this cultural pheno­menon, as well as the organization and social dimen­sions of settlements, of which we know very little. Some authors still think that we have to invoke a lo­cal Mesolithic background (Binder 2000.128; Ga­briele, Tozzi 2017), despite the absence of any reli­able evidence, as already reported two decades ago (Biagi 2001.81). There is also the fact that the cera­mic pyrotechnology of the Early Neolithic Po Valley cultures is quite advanced and varied (Starnini et al. 2018.313; Pallecchi 2019), unequivocally being the result of generations of people who transmitted tech­nical skills, not to mention the sudden appearance of polished stone technology and new elements in sub­sistence practices, such as the presence of different species of domesticated cereals and animals, or ma­terial and spiritual culture, such as clay figurines (Bagolini, Biagi 1977a). Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites Lawrence H. Barfield and Antonio M. Radmilli were the first to suggest that the origin of the Fiorano cul­ture might be sought in central Italy (Barfield 1972; Radmilli 1972), recognizing some parallels with the Sasso cultural aspect (Grifoni Cremonesi, Radmilli 2000–2001) and the Adriatic Impressed Ware cultu­res (Broglio, Lollini 1963). Further, the central Ita­lian Ripoli culture (Cremonesi 1965) probably play­ed an important role in the development of the Fio­rano culture and the origin of the Neolithization pro­cess in the Po Valley (Barfield 1972.193). This is confirmed by the presence of figulina painted and unpainted wares (Spataro 2009), beside certain si­milarities that can be observed between the Fiorano and the Ripoli I style pottery (Cremonesi 1965; 1974; Barfield 1981.32). More precisely the figulina ware is a characteristic product of the Early and Mid­dle Neolithic cultures of both Adriatic coastlines. It is a very specific type of pottery with very fine or fine inclusions and pink to cream or orange surfaces (Teoch et al. 2014.353), potsherds of which have also been recovered in northern Italy. This paper discusses some problems regarding three Early Neolithic sites attributed to the Vho culture, which were excavated by two of the present authors (PB and ES) between the 1970s and the 1990s in southern Lombardy: Vho di Piadena-Campo Cere-sole, Ostiano-Dugali Alti, and Isorella-Cascina Boc­che. The results achieved from the excavations and preliminary study of the materials contribute to im­proving our knowledge on the beginnings of the Neolithic in the central Po Plain, defining the chro­nological framework, and framing it in the wider context of the Neolithic archaeology of southern Eu­rope. Moreover, this paper describes the way these Early Neolithic sites were discovered, excavated, and interpreted by 19th-century archaeologists, and the reasons why they have been important in prehisto­ric archaeology ever since. Therefore, the main goal of this contribution is to provide an international audience with novel infor­mation about one of the still poorly known Early Neolithic cultural aspects of northern Italy, namely that of the Vho culture group. Research history Italy has played an important role in the study of European prehistory since the middle of the 19th century. In this country, prehistoric archaeology was called palaeoethnology (paleo-etnologia) under the influence of the French Academic tradition, or the ‘New Science’, the study of which began to develop in that period (Guidi 1988.27; Cova 2010). In those years, heterogeneous groups mainly composed of scientists, among whom were geologists and natu­ralists, though also humanists, positivists, illumin­ists and Catholics, were attracted by the discovery of very ancient remains taking place in various Euro­pean countries, and by the new theories put forward by Charles Lyell and Charles Darwin (Guidi 1988. 25– 29; Trigger 1989.92–94). Some important discoveries attracted the attention of groups of prehistorians who were active in north Italy, and in Parma and Reggio Emilia in particular: (1) the impressive number of prehistoric mounds di­stributed along the Via Emilia Roman road that cros­ses the Po Plain from east to west. Locally, they were called ‘terramare or terremare’ because of the cha­racteristics of their very dark, organogenic, greasy soil deposit, used as a fertilizer by local farmers (Strobel, Pigorini 1864; Chierici 1871; Munro 1890; 1912; Desittere 1997); (2) the presence of lake-dwel­lings along the ancient shores of the pre-alpine lakes and their related intermorainic basins (Gastaldi 1865; Lioy 1876; Chierici 1879a; Keller 1886; Ca-stelfranco 1912); and (3) the discovery of the so-call­ed fondi di capanna (‘hut-floor’ foundations or ‘pit-dwelling’ structures) (see Barfield 1972.189) in the central Po Plain (Pigorini 1875; Chierici 1877a) that took place in 1866 by Gaetano Chierici during the excavation at the settlement of Roteglia in the pro­vince of Reggio Emilia (Malavolti 1956.6). These sun­ken pit-structures were common, especially in some areas of Emilia and southern Lombardy, though they Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco were also known, for example, in central Italy, in the Vibrata Valley in the Abruzzi, where they were disco­vered at Belvedere in 1870 (Rosa 1871. 42–45; see also Malavolti 1956.7; Radmilli 1977.265–335). The fondi di capanna problem was widely debated in Italy for about a century, until the results of the excavations carried out at Rivoli Veronese in the Adige Valley were published (Barfield, Bagolini 1976.14–16). The study of the pit-structures brought to light at Rivoli, and their comparison with other pits excavated from other European Neolithic settle­ments showed that they are to be interpreted as “sto­rage pits lying inside or outside huts” (Barfield, Bagolini 1976.14) and not as habitation structures, as suggested by many authors (see Radmilli 1967; Cavulli 2008.94–95; Cattani 2009). Moreover, some of the deep pits were interpreted as ‘hut floor-grave’ structures (capanne-sepolcri) by some authors because their deeper part had been excavated just below the ‘pit-dwelling’ floor, and in a few cases they contained a globular pot or flask in the centre of the lowermost fill rich in charcoal and ash (see Chierici 1879b; Laviosa Zambotti 1943.92). In 1873, Luigi Pigorini announced the discovery of four oval and circular ‘hut-floor’ foundations along the banks of the River Crostolo near Albinea in Emi­lia (Malavolti 1953.4). The structures were exca­vated by Chierici, who wrote a very detailed descrip­tion of their shape, black filling rich in charcoal frag­ments, and archaeological material culture remains. Among the finds, he listed more than 1800 knapped stone artefacts, nine polished greenstone tools, five sandstone polishers, 20 small chert stones, fragments of at least 100 ceramic vessels, animal bones and teeth. He also reported the absence of cereal seeds and grinding stones (Chierici 1875a). Other ‘hut-floor’ sites were discovered in the following years in the same region at Rivaltella, Calerno, Castelnuovo di Sotto, and Campegine (Chierici 1879b; Malavolti 1953) (Fig. 1). Thanks to these discoveries, Chierici attributed the sites to “a perfectly defined period of the Stone Age ... that finds parallels in the Vibrata Valley, though so far nowhere it has been distinctively described” (Chierici 1875a.109–110, translated from the orig­inal in Italian). He also observed that the pit struc­tures were always located at the top of low hillocks, surrounded by lowlands intersected by small streams and marshy areas. Moreover, he clearly stated that the stratigraphic position of the ‘pit-dwelling’ sites Fig. 4. Distribution map of the areas and the struc­tures excavated at Vho-Campo Ceresole between 1977 and 1979 showing the radiocarbon-dated structures (red dots), the presence of clay figuri­nes (blue squares), and natural tree-root features (ringgruben) (yellow dots) (drawing by P. Biagi and E. Starnini). had lain at the bottom of the archaeological sequence that had been defined in those days in Emilia (Chie­rici 1877b). Later, the same author compared these features with those excavated in other regions of northern and central Italy. Chierici also analysed the most important characteristics of the knapped stone assemblages retrieved from the ‘pit-dwelling’ sites in Reggio Emilia province, focussing on a complex of c. 800 artefacts. More precisely, he was the first to in­terpret and describe the method employed for the production of the most typical knapped stone tools, namely the rhomboid geometrics and the characte­ristics of their manufacture residuals – the microbu­rins as we call them now (Chierici 1875b; Gori 1932), which he attributed to a precise period of his Stone Age sequence (Chierici 1876). Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites A few years later, groups of prehistoric ‘hut-floor’ sites, very similar to those excavated in Emilia, be­gan also to be discovered around Vho di Piadena, a small rural village in southern Lombardy, though we know that structures of this type had already been noticed in the same region at least since 1875 (Pigorini 1875; Barocelli 1970.22). The first archa­eological research around Vho was carried out by Pompeo Castelfranco, Giacomo Locatelli, Francesco Orefici, and Antonio Parazzi (Parazzi 1890; Castel­franco 1892; 1894). This research led to the disco­very of six ‘hut-floor’ sites at Campo Costiere, Cam-po Guercio, Campo Cappellino, Campo del Ponte, and Campo Cinque Fili (Fig. 2). Their excavation yielded assemblages very similar to those recovered a few years before in Emilia by Chierici and his col­leagues (Bagolini, Biagi 1975). The only exception was the structure discovered at Campo Donegallo, excavated by Orefici in 1893, with the finds un­doubtedly belonging to a different Stone Age cultu­ral aspect (Castelfranco 1894; Barfield 1975). The locations of all of the abovementioned Vho sites share the same geomorphologic characteristics. They are situated on hydromorphic clayey soils at the top of Late Pleistocene terraces of the Main Le­vel of the Lombard Plain that extends south of the Oglio River, close to its confluence with the Po (Bar­ker et al. 1987.110). South and east of Vho, the ter­races are from three to six metres higher than the surrounding plain, and slowly degrade toward the south (Bagolini, Biagi 1975.Fig. 1a). The aforementioned 19th-century archaeologists ac­curately described the structures, their fill and the material culture and faunal remains they uncovered from the Vho sites. A few more structures were ex­cavated at Campo Sera-Mattina and Campo del Pon­te in the early 1960s (Pasquali 1961; Fusco 1964), while the first modern research at the neighbouring site of Campo Ceresole began in November 1974 and fieldwork seasons continued until the autumn of 1979. The excavations covered an area of c. 3000m2 (Fig. 3). They led to the discovery of 69 pit structures of different shapes and sizes (Bagolini et al. 1987), five of which were radiocarbon-dated (see Fig. 4). Thanks to the results achieved from the excavations, the most important characteristics of the Vho cultural aspect were defined for the first time (Biagi 1980.79–85; Barker et al. 1987). They were later compared with those of other Early Neo­lithic complexes of northern Italy, Fiorano in Emilia, in particular (Laviosa Zambotti 1943.95; Malavolti 1953; Barfield 1972). Nevertheless, it is important to remind readers that the 1975 paper on Vho (Bagolini, Biagi 1975) was conceived as a first attempt to show the important role that the Early Neolithic sites played in the study of the prehistory of northern Italy since the 19th century, to reprint part of original texts taken from century-old papers describing the discoveries made in those years, and to publish for the first time all of the archaeological material brought to light by Castelfranco, Locatelli, Orefici, Antonio Parazzi, and Pellegrino Strobel in 1890 and 1891. At present, these materials are stored in the collections of many national and local museums, and sometimes it is dif­ficult to access them. Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco The sites Vho – Campo Ceresole (Cremona) Parazzi was the first to carry out excavations at Cam-po Costiere in 1890 (Fig. 2.1). This author provided us with a very detailed description of the two ‘pit-dwellings’ he excavated, as well as of the finds he recovered, among which are fragments of ceramic vessels, knapped stone artefacts, polished stone tools, and bones (Parazzi 1890). Campo Costiere is located c. 500m east of the present village of Vho, at the northernmost edge of the fluvial terrace fac­ing the old bed of the Oglio River to the north. The ancient river course is marked by a steep escarp­ment some 10m high. In the autumn of the same year, Castelfranco excavated another site, called Campo Costiere Fondo Orefici, located c. 300m north-east of the previous one (Fig. 2.2) (Castelfran-co 1892). Both sites yielded a rich assemblage of archaeological finds, among which are fragments of light yellowish figulina ware and long end scrap­ers made from chert. Both items are almost entirely absent from all the other Neolithic sites excavated around Vho (see Bagolini, Biagi 1987.Figs. 2–6). During the same year, Orefici excavated another ‘hut-floor’ at Campo Guercio, c. 2km south of Campo Co-stiere (Fig. 2.3). Excavations were also conducted in the 8-shaped shallow pit structure discovered at Campo Cappellino (Castelfranco 1892) (Fig. 2.5). Again in 1890, Castelfranco and Orefici uncovered another 8-shaped ‘hut-floor’ foundation and one cy­lindrical, deep well at Campo del Ponte (Fig. 2.4). The research at this site was resumed in 1963 by Vincenzo Fusco (1964). The 19th-century excava­tions at Vho were concluded in 1891 at Campo Cin­que Fili (Castefranco 1892). This site, the southern­most ever recovered in the area, is located c. 3km south of the old Oglio riverbank, east of the locality called Corte Bel Giardino (Fig. 2.6) (Bagolini, Bia­gi 1975.Fig. 1a). The characteristics of the structures brought to light in the 19th century and their cultural attribution started to be reconsidered only in the 1970s (Ba-golini, Biagi 1975.110–116). The so-called ‘hut-floors’, uncovered during the first studies, are rep­resented by a great variety of types among which are circular, elongated, and 8-shaped shallow fea­tures, as well as deep wells (Bagolini, Biagi 1975. Fig. 38). Among the latter are almost cylindrical types, one of which was excavated at Campo del Ponte. This feature was accurately described by Ca-stelfranco, who reports the presence of a horizon- Fig. 7. Vho-Campo Ceresole. Part of the 1978 exca­vation area with two ringgruben in the foreground and a Roman canal in the centre (top), part of the 1979 excavations area with Pit LXI, in the fore­ground (bottom), and a grey stripe, possibly a straight palisade, in the centre (photographs by P. Biagi, autumn 1978 and 1979). tal layer of planks and posts at a depth of c. 3m, which he interpreted as the remains of a wooden structure. The function of a second similar structure, c. 50cm below, was to seal the lowermost part of the well whose fill was very poor in archaeological finds (Castefranco 1892). The research at Vho was resumed in 1960 by local amateurs, who excavated one ‘hut-floor’ at Campo Sera-Mattina (Fig. 2.7) (Pasquali 1961). As mention­ed before, excavations were reopened in 1970 and 1974 in the neighbouring Campo Ceresole, and con­tinued till 1979 (Fig. 2.8). The investigations were extended to at least 3000m2, though from the pres­ence of dark soil marks on the surface of both Cam-po Sera-Mattina and Campo Ceresole, we can infer that the entire Neolithic site covered a surface of c. 35 000m2 (Fig. 5). The 1974–1979 excavations led to the discovery of 69 structures, among which are pits of different shapes and sizes, with narrow, elon­gated structures (Fig. 7 bottom), one probable deep well dug down to reach the water table (Pit XVIII; Fig. 6), a few postholes, and tree-root remains (ring­ Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites Fig. 8. Vho-Campo Ceresole. Shallow Pit XXII with the distribution of finds recovered during excavation. Excavation grid of 1m. The structure has yielded two radiocarbon dates (Bln-3135 and GrM­15259) (after Bagolini et al. 1977.Fig. 20). gruben) (Fig. 7 top), and the foundations of one pro­bable straight palisade (Fig. 7 bottom) (Bagolini et al. 1987.456). The characteristics and functions of some of these features have recently been rediscuss­ed (Pearce 2008). The location of the 1970–1979 excavations, the di­stribution of the different underground features, and the position of the five radiocarbon-dated features are shown in Figure 4. It is important to point out that the 1977–1979 wide trenches were purposely opened in an area of Campo Ceresole that had ne­ver shown any evidence of anthropogenic dark soil marks on its surface, as the main scope of the exca­vations was to check for the presence of real habi­tation structures. A preliminary study of the shape, content, and fill of the excavated features has shown that none of them can be interpreted as a habitation structure (Pearce 2003.44). This topic has already been dis­cussed by Barfield in the context of the study area (Barfield 1975), even though the idea of these fea­tures representing habitation structures was strong­ly supported by some Italian archaeo- PIT XXII logists in the 1980s (Tiné 1987.324), despite the fact that in the context of N ^ European prehistory this issue had already been clarified by Vere G. Childe back in the 1940s (1949). Moreover, some of the Vho structures were refilled two or three times, as shown by the profiles of Pits V (Ba-golini, Biagi 1976.Fig. 4) and XXXII (Pearce 2008.Fig. 3). One shallow feature, Pit XXII, yielded an almost complete vessel in a horizontal posi­tion (Fig. 8) (Bagolini et al. 1977. Tav. IV.1). One complete polished axe/adze made of omphacitite (Star­nini et al. 2004.Fig. 5.7) was collec­ted from the bottom of Pit III; it was partly covered by calcareous concre­tions (castracane), which formed after its deposition exactly in the cen­tre of the structure (Bagolini, Biagi 1976.Fig. 17.3). Other narrow, elon­gated structures seem to have fol­lowed some kind of alignment (see Fig. 4, LIV, LVI and LVII) (see Bagoli­ni et al. 1977.Fig. 6). These elongated features are identical to those inter­preted as ‘structured depositions’ or ‘sacrificial pits’, which find parallels in other European contexts (e.g., Makkay 1987; Pearce 2008). Ostiano – Dugali Alti (Cremona) The area around Ostiano has been well known for decades due to the presence of archaeological sites and isolated finds (Barocelli 1971). The Neolithic settlement of Dugali Alti is located c. 5.5km north-northeast of Ostiano, c. 2km east of the present course of the Scolo Galbuggine, which flows into the Oglio River some 6km to the south, west of the village itself (Marchetti 1995.Fig. 3) (Fig. 1.2). At present, the area looks like a flat terrace 45m asl. However, according to the locals, the original land­scape was characterized by low hillocks until World War II, and it was later levelled for agricultural pur­poses. The site was discovered in 1979 by local ama­teur archaeologists, while excavations were carried out here in 1980 and 1981. The excavations led to the discovery of three pit structures of very different shapes and sizes (Fig. 9 top), two of which were ra­diocarbon-dated. The uppermost fills of these pits were partly damaged by ploughing. They all yielded the remains of characteristic Early Neolithic Vho ma­ Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco terial culture, which have already been published in an edited monograph (Biagi 1995). Isorella – Cascina Bocche (Brescia) Finally, the site of Isorella was discovered acciden­tally in 1992, after deep ploughing in a crop field near Cascina Bocche, a farmstead south of the vil­lage (Perini, Starnini 1995; Starnini 1995a). The site is located on the gravelly unit of the Middle Lombard Plain, c. 23km north of Vho di Piadena as the crow flies (Fig. 1.1). In 1993, just after its disco­very, a group of local amateurs started illicit excava­tions on a wide dark soil mark rich in artefacts brought to light by ploughing (Fig. 9 bottom). There­fore, it was necessary to organize rescue interven­tion to collect the dispersed artefacts and carry out stratigraphic excavations, directed by one of the au­thors (ES) in 1997. This short fieldwork season brought to light the remains of a large, shallow pit, filled with a very dark, organogenic soil, containing a rich assemblage of artefacts and bioarchaeological remains (Starnini et al. 2000; Perini et al. 2001; 2002; Bon et al. 2006). Environmental setting and subsistence economy The problems regarding the distribution and loca­tion of Neolithic sites in the central Po Plain have been discussed in a few papers written mainly in the 1980s and 1990s (Cremaschi 1983; 1990; Barker et al. 1987; Biagi et al. 1993). The distribution of the Vho sites in the central Po Plain north of the ri­ver itself seems to have always followed the same pattern. However, a few differences have been no­ticed over the last two decades, expanding our un­derstanding in a previously unexpected way. Isorella is a typical example. We know that two of the sites discussed in this paper, namely Vho and Ostiano, are located at the top of slightly higher elevations surrounded either by marshes (Cattani 1975) or lowlands intersected by nowadays dissected rivers and streams, as Chierici already observed in Emilia more than a century ago (see above Chierici 1877a). Moreover, we know that in this part of the Plain, north of the Po River, the sites are always ‘exposed’ (Chierici 1875a.104), which means they are visible from the surface. This is due to thousands of years of deforestation, erosion, and agriculture practices, which have taken place with different levels of in­tensity since at least the Bronze Age (Barker et al. 1987; Sereni 1989). Vho and Ostiano are both located on the hydromor­phic clayey soils of the Late Pleistocene Main Level Fig. 9. Ostiano-Dugali Alti, Pit I at the end of the excavation (top), and Pit 1 of Isorella-Cascina Boc­che (bottom). Note that the upper part of both structures is eroded. Note also the difference in the soil texture inside which the two structures were dug (photographs by P. Biagi, 1980, and E. Star-nini, 1997). of the Plain (Biagi et al. 1983.165; Cremaschi 1987. Appen. 6), considered not ideal for Early Neolithic agricultural practices. According to the results of soil micromorphological analyses, the settlements were built in a woodland environment (Macphail 1995; Ottomano 1998), though the soil and anthracologi-cal studies suggest that the “sites would reflect short-period occupations with a low impact on the local vegetation cover” (Nisbet 2013). Moreover, they were built at the edge of alluvial terraces, close to ancient riverbanks, showing that the ‘conquest of the terraces’ had not taken place at the time, but slightly later during the Middle Neolithic when for­est clearance and settlement density increased no­tably (Cremaschi 1983; Barker et al. 1987). This ob­servation would suggest that Early Neolithic defor­estation was restricted to a few zones close to fresh­water courses (Biagi et al. 1983.167). The fluvial net­work most probably represented the easiest way to move in such a difficult, thick woodland environ­ment, composed mainly of ash (Fraxinus excelsior) and oak trees (Quercus sp.) (Bagolini et al. 1987. 463; Castelletti, Maspero 1990–1991). This picture, which we can apply to Vho settlements and other sites known in the lower regions of the Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites Main Level of the Plain, contrasts with the discovery of a few sites of this cultural aspect on the gravelly soils of the Middle and Upper Lombard Plain, as well as along the pre-Alpine spring zone (see Starnini et al. 2004.58). Moreover, we know little about the suggested “short period occupations”, and the ex­tensive excavations carried out at Campo Ceresole cannot help us answer the question given the prob­lematic interpretation of the distribution of the pit structures, although in no case do these features in­tersect. Groups of features and alignments are un­doubtedly present, even though our knowledge re­mains incomplete as the upper part of the deposit into which they were dug is almost everywhere com­pletely eroded. Agriculture was practised at all of the three Vho cul­ture sites considered in this paper, as is shown by both archaeobotanical and material culture proxies. The former are represented by a few charred cary­ opses of Hordeum vulgare, Triticum monococcum, T. dicoccum, and T. aestivum/durum/turgidum (Maspero, Castiglioni 2009. Tab. 1), while the latter are epitomized in agricultural implements, among which are sickles and grinding stones (Biagi 1995; Starnini 1995b; Starnini et al. 2018.Fig. 5). Hus­bandry is also confirmed by the presence of domes­ticated animals, mainly cattle, sheep/goats, and most probably domesticated pigs, though hunting seems to have played an important role in the acquisition of meat at both Vho and Ostiano. However, it should be repeated that the available osteological assem­blages from the three sites are poorly preserved and quite fragmentary (Barker 1983; Clark 1995; Bon et al. 2006). Radiocarbon chronology At present, only 15 radiocarbon dates are available from the sites discussed in this paper: eight come Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco Fig. 11. Bayesian mod­els with posterior distri­butions of radiocarbon measurements for Vho-Campo Ceresole (n=8) top, Ostiano-Dugali Alti (n=3) centre, and Isorel­la-Cascina Bocche (n=4) bottom produced using IntCal20 on OxCal 4.4 (Reimer et al. 2020). For the radiocarbon measu­rements, distributions in outline are the results of simple radiocarbon cali­brations, solid distribu­tions are the output from the chronological model. Animal bones (blue); charred seeds (magen­ta); charcoal (green) (plots by D. Bori.). Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites from Vho, three from Ostia-no, and four from Isorella (Tab. 1). Four dates are con­ventional, while the others are AMS (six) or AMS-MICA­DAS (five). Most dated sam­ples are either caryopses of domesticated cereals (four) or identified bone elements and teeth of domesticated animals (four Bos sp., and four Ovis/ Capra), which have intentio­nally been selected for dating to improve our knowledge about the spread of farming in the central Po Plain. Hereafter are presented the outcomes of the calibration of radiocarbon measurement and Bayesian modelling (Figs. 10–12). Some authors have recently pointed out possible methodological problems of the latter approach when dis­cussing absolute chronologies, including problems with the calibration curve, suggesting that all presently available models are insecure (We-ninger et al. 2015; Strien 2017; 2019; Weninger 2019; 2020). These caveats are very important, due to the inaccuracies of the calibration curve within the so-called LBK plateau, the interval 5300–5100 cal BC (Weninger 2019). Exactly within this inter­val falls the corresponding 5200–5000 cal BC period discussed in this paper (Fig. 10). We note that im­portant overall improvements of the calibration curve have been made in the recently released IntCal20 (Reimer et al. 2020). We should also acknowledge that there are differences of opinion on this topic among relevant authors, and an explicit response to the abovementioned criticism of the Bayesian mo-delling approach has also been voiced, restating the robustness of radiocarbon dating results in general and the validity of Bayesian statistics for archaeolo­gical inferences (Bánffy et al. 2018). The calibrated results presented here have been cal­culated using the curve of Reimer et al. (2020) and the computer program OxCal (v. 4.4). The ranges cited in the text are quoted with the end points rounded outwards to five years as the error terms are greater than 15 radiocarbon years. The ranges in plain type have been calculated according to the ma-ximum intercept method. The ranges quoted in ital­ics are posterior density estimates derived from the Bayesian modelling. Two or more measurements coming from a single feature (at all three sites these were pits) were modelled together within a phase. The calibrated probability distributions shown in the figures have been calculated using the probabi­lity method (Bronk Ramsey 2009). The Bayesian modelling indicates that the start of occupation at Vho-Campo Ceresole (eight measure­ments, Fig. 11 top) began in 5380–5045 cal BC (95% probability; Start Vho-Campo Ceresole), probably in 5240–5085 cal BC (68% probability) and it end­ed in 4895–4555 cal BC (95% probability; End Vho-Campo Ceresole), probably in 4825–4680 cal BC (68% probability). The estimates suggest that the site was in use for 200–760 years (95% proba­bility), probably between 305–555 years (68% pro­bability). There is a good agreement index for all modelled measurements (Amodel=96.3). The start of occupation at Ostiano-Dugali Alti (three measurements, Fig. 11 centre) began in 5630–5035 cal BC (95% probability; Start Ostiano-Dugali Alti), probably in 5250–5070 cal BC (68% probability) Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco and it ended in 5205–4535 cal BC (95% probability; End Ostiano-Dugali Alti), pro­bably in 5180–4930 cal BC (68% probabi­lity). The estimates suggest that the site was in use for 0–990 years (95% probability), probably between 0–285 years (68% proba­bility). There is a good agreement index for all modelled measurements (Amodel=97). The start of occupation at Isorella-Cascina Bocche (four measurements, Fig. 11 bot­tom) began in 6190–5120 cal BC (95% pro­bability; Start Isorella), probably in 5540– 5220 cal BC (68% probability) and it end­ed in 4795–3665 cal BC (95% probability; End Isorella), probably in 4755–4420 cal BC (68% probability). The estimates sug­gest that the site was in use for 425–2175 years (95% probability), probably between 540–1135 years (68% probability). There is a good agreement index for all modelled measurements (Amodel=101.2). It seems that based on three measurements Ostiano can indeed be dated within the last two centuries of the 6th millennium cal BC but the occupation at Isorella certainly start­ed before 5200 cal BC. Likewise, at both Vho and Isorella the occupation certainly continued after 5000 cal BC – until at least 4790 cal BC at Isorella and 4900 cal BC at Vho. At present, the number of available dates is rather small, which limits our ability to provide more than rough outlines of the chronological framework. Fur­ther work is thus necessary and should involve a ca­reful selection of samples on short-lived entities from a variety of features for radiocarbon dating. Only in this way can more clarity and precision be achieved in the absolute dating of all three sites. Concerning Isorella, discussing the dates from an archaeological point of view and considering possi­ble taphonomic processes in the light of the above-mentioned caveats, OxA-35333 could be considered too old, whereas OxA-23072 and GrN-23645 are too young for its occupation to be attributable to the Vho culture. A possible explanation for these younger dates could be a reoccupation of the site during the Square-Mouthed Pottery culture, the archaeological traces of which (palaeosurfaces, structures, ceramics, and lithics) may have been completely eroded due to post-depositional taphonomic processes. OxA­35333 appears too early for the feature it is dating, and only further measurements on carefully selected samples from this and other features from Isorella could resolve this conundrum. The OxCal plot of individually calibrated and not modelled dates shown in Figure 12 highlights the ca­libration interval (grey stripe) between 5200 and 5000 cal BC, which relates to the expected timespan covered by the Vho cultural aspect (Starnini et al. 2018.Fig. 2). This chronological trend has already been observed in the case of the Vho and Fiorano sites plotted to­gether (see Starnini et al. 2018.Tab. 1 and Fig. 2) and seems robust. However, it is interesting to point out that the results from three single emmer cary­opses from the Fiorano culture site of Lugo di Roma-gna yielded homogeneous dates, slightly earlier than ours, from 6262±38 BP (OxA-23071) to 6212±32 BP (OxA-19735), though the general complex of dates from the same settlement is comparable to that ob­tained from the three Vho sites under discussion (see Steffé 2019.Figs. 3 and 4). This observation can also be extended to Lugo di Grezzana, a Fiorano culture site in the Veneto pre-Alps (Pedrotti et al. 2015). Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites Also, in this case, the number of measurements that antedate those from Vho by a few decades is remar­kable. The general impression is that the Vho culture sites in Lombardy, and also those in Piedmont and west­ern Emilia in general, are slightly more recent than those of the Fiorano culture that flourished in Emi­lia and Romagna (see Starnini et al. 2018.Tab. 1). If this pattern is confirmed, it can help us follow the spread of Neolithization from the south-eastern edge to the western regions of the Po Plain. Moreover, thanks to the available subsistence economy data, we can assume that farming was fully developed in this region by the end of the seventh millennium BP. This is shown by the presence of at least seven spe­cies of domesticated cereals (Rottoli 2019), as well as domesticated animals, among which cattle played an important role. The data presented above con­trast with the widely accepted assumption that the “full Neolithic only arrived in the fifth millenni­um” cal BC (Pearce 2013.209–217). This may be because until the end of the 1980s our knowledge regarding Neolithic agriculture and husbandry, in general, was very scarce (see Evett, Renfrew 1971; Jarman et al. 1982.Tab. 23; Barker 1985.117). Recently, a new set of six radiocarbon dates from short-life cereal samples (unidentified caryopses) were published from Pit 104 excavated at the site of Ripoli (Pessina et al. 2016.173), where Fiorano style potsherds have also been recovered. They fall between 6242±45 BP (LTL-12738A) and 6145±45 BP (LTL-12734A). These dates are consistent with the OxA- dates obtained from three charred emmer caryopses from the Fiorano culture habitation struc­ture and one related pit excavated at Lugo di Roma-gna (Steffé 2019.Fig. 5). As reported above, they slightly precede most of the results so far obtained from the Vho culture sites in south Lombardy, though potsherds of characteristic Fiorano style ceramics have been recovered from the radiocarbon-dated Pits XVIII and XXXII at Vho-Campo Ceresole (Fig. 20) and also from Pit 1 at Isorella-Cascina Bocche (Fig. 21). Material culture The opinion expressed by Malone (2003.274) accord­ing to which “generally speaking, Italian scholars have mostly focussed their research on typological aspects of prehistoric pottery production, thus ne­ Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco Site name Coordinates Altitude asl Structure Dated material Lab. n. 14 C BP d 13C ‰ d 15N ‰ C>N Calibr. BC (95% conf.) Posterior density estim. (95% prob. cal BC) References Isorella Cascina Bocche 45°17’44.0”N 10°19’54.6”E +53m Pit 1 Ovis\Capra humerus OxA­35333 6290 ±34 –21.7 4.8 3.3 5360–5205 5335–5205 (90.3%) or 5165–5120 (3.7%) or 5095–5075 (1.4%) This paper Isorella Cascina Bocche 45°17’44.0”N 10°19’54.6”E +53m Pit 1 charred caryopsis, Triticum aestivum OxA­19737 6183 ±33 –23.378 – – 5280–5010 5220–5010 Starnini et al. 2018.Tab.1 Isorella Cascina Bocche 45°17’44.0”N 10°19’54.6”E +53m Pit 1 charred caryopsis, Triticum monococcum OxA­23072 5850 ±34 –25.25 – – 4800–4605 4830–4820 (0.7%) or 4800–4650 (89.5%) or 4645–4610 (45.3%) Starnini et al. 2018.Tab.1 Isorella Cascina Bocche 45°17’44.0”N 10°19’54.6”E +53m Pit 1 charcoal GrN­23645* 5850 ±80 –24.61 – – 4935–4500 4935–4915 (1.0%) or 4910–4545 (94%) Starnini 1995a.232 Ostiano Dugali Alti 45°14’27”N 10°16’08"E +46m Pit I Fraxinus sp. and Quercus sp. Bln­2795* 6090 ±100 – – – 5300–4780 5225–4855 (95.1%) or 4865–4855 (0.3%) Biagi, Nisbet 1987.14 Ostiano Dugali Alti 45°14’27”N 10°16’08”E +46m Pit I Bos sp. humerus GrM­12416 6184 ±18 –21.00 ±0.05 5.17 ±0.10 3.3 5215–5050 5215–5200 (3.48%) or 5190–5045 (91.6%) This paper Ostiano Dugali Alti 45°14’26”N 10°16’07”E +46m Pit III Ovis\Capra femur GrM­15257 6130 ±25 –22.55 ±0.16 5.67 ±0.10 3.3 5210–4990 5210–4995 This paper Vhó Campo Ceresole 45°06’54”N 10°24’35”E +30m Pit XVIII Fraxinus sp. and Quercus sp. I-11445* 6170 ±110 – – – 5365–4835 5225–4830 (94.7%) or 4820–4800 (0.7%) Biagi 1979.35 Vhó Campo Ceresole 45°06’54”N 10°24’35”E +30m Pit XVIII charred caryopsis Hordeum sativum OxA­21358 6122 ±38 –26.32 – – 5210–4945 5210–5145 (11.6%) or 5140–4940 (83.8%) This paper Vhó Campo Ceresole 45°06'53"N 10°24’36”E +30m Pit XXII\B Ovis\Capra tooth OxA-X­2504-57 6090 ±55 –23.0 8.9 3.4 5210–4845 5205–5160 (45.2%) or 5135–4840 (90.3%) This paper Vhó Campo Ceresole 45°06’53”N 10°24’36”E +30m Pit XXII\B Ovis\Capra metatarsus OxA­27418 6127 ±35 –22.4 6.6 3.2 5210–4950 5210–5145 (12.1%) or 5140–4945 (83.3%) This paper Vhó Campo Ceresole 45°06’54”N 10°24’39”E +30m Pit XXIX Bos sp. molar GrM­12690 5895 ±35 –21.87 ±0.15 6.74 ±0.10 3.1 4800–4685 4905–4865 (8.8%) or 4850–4710 (86.6%) This paper Vhó Campo Ceresole 45°06’54”N 10°24’38”E +30m Pit XXXII charcoal Bln­3135* 5930 ±50 – – – 4945–4700 4945–4715 Biagi, Nisbet 1987.14 Vhó Campo Ceresole 45°06'54"N 10°24'38"E +30m Pit XXXII Bos sp. molar GrM­15259 6190 ±25 –22.17 ±0.16 7.82 ±0.10 3.2 5220–5040 5215–5200 (42.3%) or 5190–5035 (93.2%) This paper Vhó Campo Ceresole 45°06’54”N 10°24’37”E +30m Pit XL Bos sp. molar GrM­12418 6090 ±18 –21.02 ±0.05 7.99 ±0.10 3.2 5205–4940 5200–5190 (0.6%) or 5055–4935 (94.8%) This paper Tab. 1. Radiocarbon dates from the three Early Neolithic Vho culture sites of Lombardy discussed in this paper (* conventional radiocarbon dates pre-AMS).Calibrated dates BC (95%) are calculated using the IntCal20 calibration curve (Reimer et al. 2020) and the computer program OxCal (v. 4.4); posterior den­sity estimates (95%) have been calculated using the Bayesian probability method (Bronk Ramsey 2009). Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites glecting features like the technological aspects of pottery manufacture, raw material acquisition, pottery functions and the social implications of the production process”, is still valid, although during the last two decades new projects actually began to investigate these aspects (Capelli et al. 2017; Gabri­ele, Tozzi 2017; Gomart et al. 2017). Since its definition in 1975 (Bagolini, Biagi 1975), the Vho cultural aspect has been distinguished from the Fiorano culture mainly on the characteristics of some vessel forms and decorations that are peculiar to the former. The most typical ceramic shapes and decorations are pedestalled (Fig. 13.2; Fig. 14) and tulip-shaped vessels (Fig. 13.3), and thin, scratched linear decorations (Fig. 13.1 and 3; Fig. 15.2) on fine and medium wares. Moreover, the medium and coarse wares are represented by deep tronco-coni­cal, handled vessels with a thick base (Fig. 16), hand­led cups (Figs. 17 and 18) globular necked flasks (Fig. 19), often decorated with vertical or oblique finger-impressed plastic cordons, more rarely with paired grooved lines (Bagolini, Biagi 1979). How­ever, some traits of the pottery production are shared between the two cultures: first of all, techno­logical choices regarding the recipes for the prepa­ration of the paste, among which is the use of cha­motte as temper, the production of at least three ware types (fine, medium, coarse), the use of diffe­rent, albeit local, clay sources (Mannoni 1995; Pal-lecchi 2019), the occurrence of a few figulina ware vessels (Bagolini, Biagi 1975.Fig. 36), and the pre­sence of carinated handled cups with characteristic ‘Fiorano’ decorative patterns (Fig. 20; Fig. 21.1–7). In contrast, according to our knowledge the produc­tion of terracotta statuettes with mushroom heads, in one case double-headed, (Fig. 22) seems to have been restricted to the Vho cultural aspect (Bagolini, Biagi 1977a; see also Biagi 1994; 1996a). The lithic assemblages of the Vho and Fiorano cultural aspects share many identical features. The knapped stone tool-kit of both cultural aspects is made from flint varieties of the pre-Alpine Lessini Hills sources (Barfield 1994.Fig. 7; 2004) and the eastern moraines of the Lake Garda amphitheatre, that were distributed throughout the entire Po Plain (Bagolini, Biagi 1987.Fig. 8). The existence of a net­work of pre-Alpine flint distribution, involving pro­duction areas and consumer sites, and including the circulation of finished products and/or skilled knap­pers, has been proposed (Pessina 2000; 2006; San-taniello et al. 2020). At Ostiano-Dugali Alti, all pha­ses of lithic reduction were documented locally, in-cluding decortication phases (Biagi et al. 1995), sug­gesting that unworked nodules of pre-Alpine flint were brought to the site. Nevertheless, this does not stand in opposition with the introduction of pre­pared pre-forms, as both strategies may have coex­isted in the same site. In the current state of re­search, is not possible to assess whether the circu­lation of raw materials was associated with itinerant specialist craftsmen or whether each site controlled flint knapping activities locally. New data are also emerging on heat-treatment tech­niques. Recently, heat-treatment of Scaglia Rossa has been attested at the site of La Vela di Trento in the Adige Valley (Santaniello et al. 2016). Based on pre­liminary data, heat treatment was most likely also used at Ostiano-Dugali Alti and Isorella-Cascina Boc­che, as indicated by the heat-induced lustre on seve­ral core and flake removals. However, archaeometric analyses are needed to further test the implementa­tion and extension of this practice at Vho sites. The knapped stone assemblages of Vho and Fiorano sites are also characterized by a general uniformity from a technological and typological point of view. Based on technological studies, it has been argued Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco that blade blanks were produced by employing in­direct percussion with an antler punch and by pres­sure, though the latter was used only during the la­test phase of the debitage process (Del Santo 2019; Santaniello et al. 2020). The microburin technique was systematically employed for segmenting blades and bladelets during the production of rhomboid geometrics. Characteristic tools are burins on a side notch (so-called ‘Ripabianca burins’), long end scra­pers with steep front, straight perforators, sickle in­serts (Mazzucco et al. 2020), rhomboid geometrics, and bladelets with a semi-abrupt, sinuous retouch (Bagolini, Biagi 1987.431) (Fig. 23). Both at Vho-Campo Ceresole and Ostiano-Dugali Alti, burins on a side notch are generally made on thick cortical or semi-cortical blades produced dur­ing the first phases of lithic reduction, as was also observed at Lugo di Grezzana (Santaniello et al. 2020). Different typologies of burins are document­ed even though all of them show a very similar func­tional pattern. The functional edge is generally the edge created by the burin blow, a step edge suitable for scraping resistant materials such as bone and hard wood, as demonstrated by use-wear analysis (Fig. 24.a-b). The function of rhomboid tools is still debated. Some of these might have been used as cut-ting implements (Voytek 1995), whereas others show characteristic projectile impact fractures, as attested at Sammardenchia in the Friuli Plain (Zig­giotti 2006; 2010). Regarding sickle inserts, the pre­sence of two different types of inserts is remarkable, with either oblique or parallel gloss. Diagonal glossed inserts are typical of the Impressed Ware and Catig­nano culture assemblages; they were obtained by breaking bladelets or small blades and hafting them obliquely in the sickle handle to form a serrated edge. This type is well attested at Ostiano-Dugali Alti and Vho-Campo Ceresole (Fig. 24.c). In contrast, Isorella-Cascina Bocche is characterized by sickle inserts on wider blades, hafted parallel to the sickle handle, so as to form a straight cutting edge (Fig. 24.d). This type of insert was found in other Vho culture assemblages, such as Brignano Frascata, in a few Fiorano industries (Lugo di Grez­zana, Fiorano Modenese), at the sites of the Friuli Plain (Fagnigola, Sammardenchia), and at Danilo cul­ture sites in Middle Dalmatia (Pokrovnik, Danilo-Bi­tinj, Vrbica, Kriva.e) (Mazzucco et al. 2018; 2020). Therefore, it is conceivable that the latter type of harvesting tool represents an eastern influence, in­troduced in the Po Plain from this region of the Bal­kans not earlier than 6300±25 BP (PSU-5292/UCI- Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites AMS-116204) and 6290±20 BP (PSU-5615/UCIAMS­127397) (5350-5200 cal BC) (Mazzucco et al. 2018). In conclusion, the knapped stone assemblages from Vho culture sites show strong similarities with those of Fiorano and, to a lesser extent, with Friuli assem­blages, from technological, typological, and functio­nal points of view. This can be understood in the framework of highly-connected Neolithic communi­ties, sharing raw materials, technical behaviours and innovations, as well as stylistic influences. Regarding the polished stone tools, high-pressure metamorphic rocks from western Alpine sources (Starnini et al. 2004) were employed to produce cutting- edged tools (Fig. 23.51, 53). Other varieties of softer ‘greenstones’ are the raw materials used for the manufacture of arm rings (Fig. 23.52), ano­ther shared type of artefact, most probably epitomi­zing ways of identity construction and/or social dif­ferentiation (Micheli 2017; 2019.569–575; Ribero, Starnini 2019). To sum up, comparing the whole material culture package of the two aforementioned cultural aspects, common traits are indeed more numerous than diffe­rences. Therefore, this evidence along with a robust radiocarbon chronology would support the suggest­ed interpretation according to which Vho culture sites may represent a slightly later spread of the Early Neolithic Fiorano culture towards the western part of the Po Plain. Discussion Owing to the very limited amount of data currently available for the Early Neolithic settlement structures of the Po Plain, new research is necessary to explore wider areas, following strategies similar to those carried out in central Europe in investigating the Li­near Pottery Culture settlement organization (Pavlù et al. 2017; Meadows et al. 2019). They should em­ploy systematic surveys, remote sensing, and geophy­sical prospections to visualize the spatial configura­tion of the Vho settlements. In this respect, the variable geomorphological cha­racteristics of the Po Plain landscapes are to be con­sidered. North of the Po River, archaeological depo­sits of Early Neolithic sites are exposed to surface erosion caused by terracing and deep ploughing, while south of the river many Neolithic sites are buried by metres of colluvial sediments (Barker et Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco al. 1987.110). Typical examples are the sites of Fiorano Modenese (Malavolti 1953) and Lugo di Romagna, which were only discover­ed thanks to the opening of deep clay quar­ries for brick manufacture (Steffé, Degasperi 2019). The lack of obsidian artefacts at Vho sites is a proxy for the absence of relationships with the Mediterranean maritime network, despite the modest circulation of marine shells used as personal ornaments. However, some of these shell objects were undoubtedly ob­tained from fossil specimens retrieved from Tertiary deposits (Starnini et al. 2000; Mi-cheli 2005). In contrast, a tight and capillary connective network between Vho and Fio­rano communities was undoubtedly active down the Po River and its tributaries, along which Alpine metamorphic ‘greenstones’ and pre-Alpine, mainly Lessini flint circulated in two different directions: from west to east in the case of greenstones, and from north-east to south and west in the case of flint mater­ial (Moser 2000). Proxies of these riverine connections can be seen in close similarities observable in knapped stone assemblages and in pottery production regarding their style, techno-typological characteristics, and raw material choices. Regarding polished stone tools, the occurrence of cutting-edged implements (axes and adzes) is al­ways scarce. For example, the large shallow pit ex­cavated at Isorella yielded only one fragment of an axe-butt (Fig. 23.51), while the more extensive ex­cavations carried out at Vho-Campo Ceresole and Ostiano-Dugali Alti returned only a small number of polished greenstone artefacts (Starnini 1995b; Starnini et al. 2004). In contrast, it is important to note that a much larger quantity of cutting-edged tools was produced, used, and discarded by the 4th millennium cal BC Middle Neolithic Square-Mouthed Pottery culture communities, who settled approxi­mately the same territory previously inhabited by Early Neolithic Vho and Fiorano culture farmers (Malone 2003.172). This quantitative difference re­inforces the impression that during the Early Neoli­thic human impact on the woodland cover was lim­ited, and clearance was applied most probably only to open spaces for building various infrastructural features in villages (Cremaschi 1983). This interpre­tation is in accordance with the anthracological data at our disposal (see Rottoli, Castiglioni 2009). Funerary practices are elusive, and so far Vho cul­ture sites have not yielded a single burial or grave­yard. In contrast, we have records of the possible existence of two crouched burials from the Fiorano culture sites of Calerno (at present lost) and Sant’­Ilario d’Enza (at Chierici Reggio Emilia Museum). They were excavated by Chierici in the 1800s (Chie­rici 1879c), though the second is still undated. More recently, remains of a foetus have been retrieved from a posthole of the habitation structure at Lugo di Romagna (Mazzucchi, Fontana 2019). Moreover, burnt fragments of a child’s skeleton were retrieved from a pit just east of the same house, below its lo­wermost pavement, though it remains undated (De-gasperi, Steffé 2019.141), making its chrono-cultu­ral attribution uncertain. In any case, these finds are insufficient to provide a clear picture of the for­mal burial rituals of the period. In contrast, we have unique expressions of symbolic items from Vho among which is a clay double-headed human fi­gurine (Fig. 22.6). Fragments of very similar ‘mush­room-headed’ specimens, and their lower body parts, have been found beside the eponymous site of Vho, Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites from other sites of the same culture as far as Pied­mont in the west (Fig. 22.3). Another original aspect of the Vho culture, albeit shared with that of Fiora-no, and possibly connected with social status, is the production and use of polished stone disc-shaped arm-rings (Fig. 23.52) (Ribero, Starnini 2019). Conclusion To interpret the role played by the Po Plain in the Neolithization of Southern Europe, a few points me­rit discussion, among which is the origin of the Fio­rano and Vho cultural aspects and their importance in this unique microregion, located midway between the Mediterranean and Continental Europe. In this respect, we have to emphasize the geographic uniqueness of the territory that is bounded by the Alps in the west and north, and the northern fringes of the Apennines in the south (Barker 1985. 112). The Po River drains an area of about 75 000km2 and flows in a west-east direction for 652km, receiv­ing water and sediments from 141 tributaries and with a complex palaeogeographic history (Bruno et al. 2017). The Po Plain is open in the east towards three very different geographic entities. These are, from north to south, (1) the Friuli Plain, (2) the Ad­riatic Sea, and (3) the Italian Peninsula (see Fig. 1). In particular, the upper Adriatic Sea coastline was affected by dramatic changes from the beginning of the Holocene, with transgressions up to 30km land­ward of the present shoreline position punctuated by episodes of rapid sea-level rise, separated by pe­riods of sea-level stillstand (Amorosi et al. 2008; An-tonioli et al. 2009). We also have to consider that the northern­most edge of both the Adriatic and Tyrrhe­nian Seas delimits the spread of the Fiorano and Vho aspects. Moreover, we have to point out that the spread of Neolithization along the coasts of the Adriatic and Tyrrhenian Seas took place in very different ways (Biagi, Star-nini 2016; Guilaine 2018). In both cases our knowledge is limited by the lack of any programmatic research strategies and is conditioned by complex environmen­tal factors. The radiocarbon chronology of the Neolithization process has improved slightly during the last 20 years, with the exception of a few specific areas (Pearce 2013; Binder et al. 2017). Regarding the alleged components that may have contributed to the origin of the Po Plain Neolithic, at present we know that (1) the northernmost spread of the Dalmatian Danilo culture reached the eastern part of the Friuli Plain but did not enter the Po Plain (Biagi 1996b); (2) the LBK phenomenon did not move southwards across the Alps; in contrast, it stopped roughly around the Vienna basin (Stadler, Kotova 2010); and (3) the Tyrrhe­nian Impressed Ware culture was probably mainly a maritime coastal phenomenon, with limited and sporadic inland penetration along river valleys, of which we know far too little at least regarding the north-western Tyrrhe­nian coast and Liguria in particular (Biagi, Starnini 2016; Guilaine et al. 2016). Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco 53) and Isorella-Cascina Bocche (7–9, 12, 15, 16, 17, 26, 32–37, 41–43, 46–51). Burins on a side notch (1–6, 10, 11, 15), long end scrapers (7–9), straight perforators (13, 14, 16–22), blades with a sinuous edge (23–27), sickles (28–34), retouched bladelets (12, 35), cores (36, 37), rhomboids (38–47), microbu­rins (48–50), polished stone axes/adzes (51 and 53), and polished stone ring (52). Early Neolithic settlement of the Po Plain (northern Italy)> Vho and related sites The available data suggest that the aforementioned three components played no role in the origin of the Po Plain Neolithic (see Biagi et al. 1993; Biagi 1996a. 53; 2005). More­over, we know that the spread of the Impressed Ware Neolithic along the two Adriatic coasts took place with different modalities and speeds (Bia­gi, Spataro 2002). The distribution of the Adriatic Impressed Ware sites is not limited to the coastline, since set­tlements of this aspect are known well into the interior of both central Italy (Pessina 2002.118; Pearce 2013. 124–144; Radi, Petrinelli Pannoc­chia 2018) and Dalmatia (Forenba-her, Miracle 2005; Pearce 2013.94– 106). Moreover, the same cultural as­pect did not spread north of the line delimited by the Po River delta to the west, and the southern coast of the Istrian Peninsula to the east. Why? For the moment, we have no explanation, nor any evidence to suggest one, ex­cept for a possible role played by sub­sidence and transgression and allu­vial sedimentation affecting the visi­bility of a large portion of the early-middle Holocene land surface, now buried by metres of sediments (Bruno et al. 2017). The Po Plain is located in the centre of this complex picture and remains poorly researched. It is crossed by the Po River from west to east and its tri­butaries flow from north to south and in the opposite direction. Its geomor­phology is inhomogeneous and varies according to latitude, longitude and process formations. Moreover, the plain landscape has been greatly af­fected by human impact since prehi­story, including medieval and modern agricultural practices (Cremaschi 1987; Sereni 1989; Starnini et al. 2018.302). Fig. 24. Selection of use-wear analyses from the Vho sites: a-b bu-rins on a side notch from Vho-Campo Ceresole. Note the presence of the typical bevel-edge polish produced from working bone/ antler. c complete sickle insert showing a diagonal gloss from Ostiano-Dugali Alti. Note the diagonal distribution of the gloss (c1), covering the distal fracture (c2). d fragmentary sickle in­sert showing a parallel gloss from Isorella-Cascina Bocche. Note the presence of the typical cereal polish. The insert has succes­sively been reused from scraping activities (d2) (photographs by N. Mazzucco). These observations are necessary to interpret the contrast, the available data suggest that its roots are complexity of the phenomenon and the reasons why to be sought in central-eastern Italy, most probably the three aforementioned cultural entities (Danilo, in the territory where the Ripoli and Catignano cul-LBK, and Tyrrhenian Impressed Ware) did not play tural aspects flourished (Tozzi, Zamagni 2003). This any role in the Neolithization of the study region. In can be suggested based on the techno-typological Paolo Biagi, Elisabetta Starnini, Du[an Boric´, and Niccolo Mazzucco characteristics of the material culture assemblages, tion of households or groups of households through-notwithstanding the scarcity of radiocarbon dates out the Po Plain, as recently hypothesized to explain (Pearce 2013.Tab. 4.45). the LBK phenomenon in Central Europe (Hofmann 2020). If this hypothesis proves robust and Hof-Moreover, it is important to emphasize that the al-mann’s (2020) model is also applicable in the case leged relationships/contacts/influences with the LBK of the study region, the Early Neolithic societies of world (see Bagolini 1987.190–191), previously ba-the Po Valley may have practised female exogamy, sed almost exclusively on generic similarities of pot-which would explain the substantial uniformity of tery ornamentations, are to be excluded in light of pottery production at the macroregional scale, both the evidence of the respective material cultures. On in terms of style and technology. However, in order the other hand, the Early Neolithic of the Po Plain to test the model of migration as a constant in the indeed belongs to the second continental wave of social behaviour in the north Italian Neolithic we the European Neolithic expansion of which also the need more archaeological and stable isotopic data, LBK was part (see Bogucki 2003; Mazurié de Ke-and the latter unfortunately remains non-existent in roulain 2003), otherwise called the ‘Second Tempe-our case study. rate Neolithic’ (Gheorghiu 2008). ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS A recent review of the LBK settlement pattern in the One of the authors (PB) wants to thank all people Upper Danube region revealed considerable perso-who took part in the 1974–1979 excavations at Vho­nal mobility coupled with a very high settlement dy-Campo Ceresole and the 1980–1981 seasons at Ostia­namic that appear to have been integral compo-no-Dugali Alti, and the local institutions that support-nents of the LBK cultural model (Pechtl 2020). The ed the research and contributed to achieving the re-LBK chronology (c. 5500–4900 cal BC) overlaps that sults presented in this paper. of the Po Valley Early Neolithic cultural aspects un-The authors are very grateful to Professor C. Bonsall of Edinburgh University for the revision of the origi­ der discussion (Starnini et al. 2018.Fig. 2). nal English text, and Dr. T. Fantuzzi for the develop­ ment of the OxCal plots of Figs. 10 and 12. Therefore, we can suggest that similar cultural de- For OxA-X-2504-57, OxA-27418, and OxA-35333, we velopmental stages were reached in Europe at a glo- acknowledge the funding provided by the Oxford Ra- bal scale at this time, and that the substantial uni­ diocarbon Accelerator Service/NRCF dating pro- formity of the Vho and Fiorano material culture re- gramme (NS 2011/2/9) to DB. sults from personal and group mobility, or the migra- . References Amorosi A., Fontana A., Antonioli F., Primon S., and Bon­desan A. 2008. 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Atti del Mu-seo Friulano di Storia Naturale 32: 99–110. back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) The Neolithic evolution and cultural transformations in the Povolzhye region (Eastern Europe) Aleksandr Vybornov1, Konstantin Andreev1, Anatoly Somov1, and Marianna Kulkova2 1 Samara State University of Social Sciences and Education, Samara, RU vibornov_kin@mail.ru 2 Russian State Pedagogical University, St. Petersburg, RU ABSTRACT – The article is devoted to the analysis of Neolithic cultures in the Povolzhye region. Several synchronic archaeological complexes were compared. New data about the development and cultur­al changes of Neolithic communities were obtained. The processes of transition in the development of Neolithic cultures of the Povolzhye region were considered. KEY WORDS – Neolithic; Volga region; pottery; evolution of cultural processes, transformation, chro­nology Neolitska evolucija in kulturne spremembe v pore;ju reke Volge (Vzhodna Evropa) IZVLE.EK – V .lanku predstavljamo analizo neolitskih kultur iz pore.ja reke Volge. Primerjali smo ve. so.asnih arheolo.kih kompleksov. Pridobili smo tudi nove podatke o razvoju in kulturnih spre­membah neolitskih skupnosti. Obravnavali smo procese tranzicije v razvoju neolitskih kultur na obmo.ju Volge. KLJU.NE BESEDE – neolitik; obmo.je Volge; lon.enine; evolucija kulturnih procesov; spremembe; kro­ nologija Introduction The territory under consideration is characterised by several landscape zones: the semi-arid zone of the Northern Cis-Caspian, steppe of the Low Volga basin, forest-steppe and forest zones of the Middle Volga basin (Fig. 1). They differ in their environ-mental-climatic conditions. According to the results of pollen analysis for the studied sites in different regions, there were no cardinal differentiations dur­ing the Neolithic period nor in the present time (Mor­gunova 1997; Vasiliev et al. 1989; Yudin 2004). The Neolithic cultures that existed in these condi­tions have differences in their identities. Earlier in­vestigations paid attention to the study of the tech­nology of pottery, the typology of the stone inven­tory, the construction of dwellings, household pro­cesses, and so on. However, this the evolutionary and transformational factors of cultural develop­ment have not been considered yet, although recent work on the determination of the chronological fra­meworks of Neolithic sites in the Povolzhye region have made this possible. We thus have the opportu­nity to answer questions about the reasons and me­chanisms of evolution and change in the Neolithic cultures in this region. Materials and methods Many multidisciplinary methods of analysis have been applied to materials from archaeological sites in studied area, such as: typology (Vybornov 2008), stratigraphy (Koltsov 2005; Yudin 2004; Kulkova et DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.12 The Neolithic evolution and cultural transformations in the Povolzhye region (Eastern Europe) al. 2019), analysis of pottery technology (Vasilieva 1999; 2011; Bobrinsky, Vasilieva 2012; Vybornov, Vasilieva 2013), radiocarbon dating (Vybornov et al. 2017; 2018), archaeozoology (Vybornov et al. 2015), geochemistry (Kulkova et al. 2019), and pol­len analysis (Morgunova 1995; Yudin 2004; Vybor­nov 2008). The materials of the Neolithic cultures from the ar­chaeological sites of Povolzhye have been compre­hensively studied in the decades from the 1980s to the present time. The artefacts from the sites of the Northern Cis-Caspian region, like Kugat IV (Koma­rov, Kozin 1989), Kairshak III (Vasiliev et al. 1989), Tenteksor (Vasiliev et al. 1986), and Zhekalgan (Ko­zin 1989), were investigated. The Kairshak-Tentek­sorskaya culture was distinguished by I. B. Vasiliev (Vasiliev et al. 1988). More recently, the Baibek site belonging to this culture was discovered by Tatiana Yu. Grechkina et al. (2014). The pottery of the Kair­shak-Tenteksorskaya culture is characterised by flat-bottom vessels. In the early stage the ornamentation was presented by dash lines and separated pricks (Fig. 2). In the later period the ornamentation came in the form of pricks in the retreated technique (Fig. 3). Stone implements are represented by slabs and flakes. In the earlier stage segments prevailed (Fig. 4), while trapezes with processing on all external surfaces appeared in the later stage (Fig. 5). The dwelling structures have a circular form. In the north-eastern Cis-Caspian the Dzhangar and Tu-Buzgu-Huduk sites were studied (Koltsov 2004). On the basis of material culture of these site the Dzhngarskaya culture was distin­guished (Koltsov 2004). The ceram­ics are presented by flat-bottom pot­tery. The ornamentation is in form of triangular pricks in the retreated technique (Fig. 6). The stone imple­ments are presented by slabs and flakes. Segments, trapezes and par­allelograms prevailed in all period of development of this culture (Fig. 7). The dwelling structures have a circu­lar form. In the steppe zone of the Low Volga region, the Orlovka (Mamonov 1976) and Varfolomeevka (Yudin 1988) sites were investigated, and the Or-on the basis of this work (Yudin 2004). The Algay site was found relatively recently (Yudin et al. 2016). The pottery is characterised by flat-bottom vessels ornamented with triangular pricks in the retreated technique (Fig. 8). The stone implements are pre­sented by slabs and flakes. Segments prevailed in the early stage, while in the later stage trapezes with processing on all external surface were developed (Fig. 9). The dwelling structures have a rectangular form. In the forest-steppe zone of the Middle Povolzhye region the Staro-Elshanian II (Vasiliev et al. 1977), Ivanovskaya (Morgunova 1995) and Chekalino IV (Mamonov 1995) sites were studied. The Elshanian culture was determined on the basis of archaeolo­gical materials from these sites (Vasiliev, Vybornov 1988; Mamonov 1999). Subsequently the sites of Vyunovo ozero I (Berezina et al. 2013) and Utuzh I (Andreev et al. 2015) were discovered. The vessels have both pointed and flat bottoms. Several vessels have no ornamentation, but others have a row of pits or strokes under the corolla (Fig. 10). The stone implements are presented by slabs and flakes. The points of arrows have a petiolar shape (Fig. 11). The dwelling structures have a rectangular form. Later, the Srednevolzhskaya Neolithic culture spread in this region (Vasiliev, Vybornov 1988). The reference lovskaya culture was distinguished Fig. 1. The map of the Neolithic cultures in the Povolzhye region. Aleksandr Vybornov, Konstantin Andreev, Anatoly Somov, and Marianna Kulkova sites of this culture are the Vilova­tovskaya (Vasiliev et al. 1980), the Iliinskaya (Mamonov 1988), and the Lebyazhinka IV site (Vybornov et al. 2007). At the present time the Kalmi­kovka I site is still being excavated (Andreev et al. 2017). The pottery has flat bottoms, while the decora­tion was done by a tooth stamp and with help of the prick technique (Fig. 12). Stone implements are represent­ed by slabs and flakes. The dwelling structures have a rectangular form. In order to better understand the Neolithic cultural processes in this region their chronological frame­works should be determined. The series of radio­carbon dates for all archaeological sites were thus obtained, and this allowed us to determine that the Northern-Cis-Caspian culture developed from c. 6500 to 5500 cal BC, while the cultures in the North-West­ern Cis-Caspian existed from c. 6300 to 5500 cal BC. The development of the cultures in the steppe zone of the Low Volga River region continued from c. 6500 to 5300 cal BC. In the Middle Volga basin the Elshanian culture is dated from c. 6500 to 5500 cal BC, and the following Srednevolzhskaya culture was developed from c. 5500 to 4800 cal BC (Vybornov et al. 2017; Vybornov et al. 2018a; 2018b). According to some researchers (Yudin 200; Koltsov 2005), one of the main factors of cultural change in the North-Western Cis-Caspian region and in the steppe of the Low Povolzhye was the appearance of domestication. However, the results of the archaeo-zoological analysis of materials from Neolithic sites in the region showed that all the bones belong to wild animals (Vybornov et al. 2015). Moreover, lipid analysis of charred food crusts from Neolithic pot­tery of these sites did not determine any traces of milk production (Vybornov 2018b). At the same time the typological analysis shows obvious eviden­ces of changes in the ceramic and stone inventory. The technique and technological analysis of pottery gives additional information about these changes (Bobrinsky 1978; Bobrinsky, Vasilieva 2012; Vy­bornov, Vasilieva 2013). Results and discussion The criteria used to distinguish between the Meso­lithic and Neolithic in the Russian archaeological school are established on the basis of the appear­ance of new technologies in the tool industry and ce­ramic manufacture. A comparison of the stone inventories of the Meso­ lithic and the Early Neolithic complexes from the Northern and North-Western Cis-Cas­pian shows close similarities. This allows us to suggest that the formation of the Early Neolithic in this region was a re­sult of the evolution of the local Mesoli­thic communities (Koltsov 2005; Vybor­nov 2008). The pottery from the earli­est sites have both pointed and flat bot­toms. It is important to note that there are ceramics with similar technological features but with some differences in the same region (pottery from the North­ern Cis-Caspian, for example). This could be evidence for a complex process in the initial stage of ceramic manufacture. Later, c. 6200 cal BC, the flat-bottom The Neolithic evolution and cultural transformations in the Povolzhye region (Eastern Europe) vessels became the dominant shape of pottery. Silt with a lot of shells was used for ceramic manufac­ture. According to some authors (Vasilieva 1999) this ceramic paste is the most ancient technology – proto-ceramics. Silt clay is a good material for the hand manufacture of pottery in the early stage. Silt clay can contain shells and some amount of sand. There are different percentages of natural sand in the silt clay. The development of the ceramic tra­dition can also be considered from the perspective of the use of raw materials. The process of pottery manufacture develops with the use of silt clay with a lower sand content than in the earlier stage. For example, the content of sand in the silt clay used in the ceramic paste of pottery from the Kugat site is 100%, from the Kairshak III site it is 41%, and from the Tenteksor site it is only 4%. This shows dynamic transformations of ceramic manufacture from the Early to the Late Neolithic. The decoration of pottery changed from the dash technique to the prick retreated technique, as seen in pottery from the Baibek site, and this may be evi­dence of evolution rather than external influences, and the stone inventory also confirms an evolutio­nary process. We register the replacement of one geometric microlithic type (segments) in earlier com­plexes for other type (trapezes with processing on all external surface) in the later stage. In the collec­tions of stone artefacts of the Kairshak I sites there are trapezes with characteristics of later types (Vy­bornov, Kozin 1988). Most likely such a variant of development is connected with the territorial speci­fics of the Northern Cis-Caspian region, a steppe re­gion that was not attractive to communities, espe­cially in the periods of aridization. Therefore, the development of the Neolithic culture in this region was due to evolution and not external effects. Another process of Neolithic development was re­vealed in the Northern-Western Cis-Caspian region. The earliest pottery here is characterised by some typological features like pits under the corolla and pointed bottoms, characteristics that are absent in neighbouring regions. They are thus not stable in­dicators, and this is evidence of the unstable tradi­tion in the initial phase followed by a process of evo­lution. Characteristics of the pottery, like pricked ornamentation in a retreated technique, mark the autochthonous process of development, as those cul­tures of neighbouring regions lacked such typolog­ical features around c. 6300 cal BC. In the second stage of development vessels with flat bottoms ves­ sels appeared in the Dzhangarskaya culture, and these were common during the earliest Neolithic stage in this region. At the same time, the second stage pottery not only had typical pricked ornamentation, but also streaked ornamentation in com­bination with separated pricks of oval shapes (Fig. 6.3). These charac­teristics are typically of the Kair­shak type of pottery, and confirm the appearance of carriers of this culture on the right shore of the Volga. In this case we cannot exclude the pos­sibility of external influences on the cultural changes found here. Aleksandr Vybornov, Konstantin Andreev, Anatoly Somov, and Marianna Kulkova In the northern steppe zone of the Low Povolzhye the Neolithic cultures could be formed on the local Mesolithic basis, with similarities to the Istayskaya group of the Mesolithic period in the North­ern Cis-Caspian region. This is support­ed by complexes of the Istayskii type in the basin of Bol’shoy and Malii Uzen’ (Lastovskii, Komarov 1988). Unfortu­nately, very early Neolithic sites which are similar to the Kugat or the Tu-Buzgu-Khuduk have not yet been found. On other hand, the pottery from the bottom layer of the Varfolome­evskaya site, dated to c. 6500 cal BC, was made using the Northern-Cis-Caspian technology from silt raw materials (Vasilieva, Vybornov 2016). The system of pottery decoration by dashes, and the dominance of segments among other microliths on this site, con­firm that the primary influence was from southern regions. In the first stage of development the pottery technology shows the use of silt raw materials, while in the second stage silt loam is used, followed by clay. By contrast, in the Northern Cis-Caspian region ceramics were made from silt raw material through­out the Neolithic period (Vasilieva, Vybornov 2016). The Neolithic process in the Low Volga basin shows a clear evolution, with no evidence of the cultural influence of other societies in the materials of the Orlovskaya culture. Moreover, no cultures have been found in adjacent regions that show any develop­ment of a ceramic technology similar to one from the Low Volga basin. This can probably be explained by the landscape conditions of this area, which is in a dry steppe zone exposed to climatic aridization in some periods of the Holocene (Kulkova et al. 2019). Because of such an adverse environment the com­munities of the Orlovskaya culture were isolated and not influenced by other cultural impulses. In the materials of the Northern, North-Western Cis-Caspian and the Low Povolzhye from the later stage of the Neolithic period there is pottery with a thick­ening of the corolla on the inner part of vessels (Figs. 6, 8). The simultaneous appearance of this type of pottery in different regions could be inter­preted as a result of cultural relationships. However, there are some problems with this thesis. For exam­ple, the percentage of items with a thickness of up­per part of corolla in the Cis-Caspian region does not exceed 1%, while in the materials of the Later Orlovskaya culture this figure is 20%. The shapes of the thicknesses in section of the Tenteksor and Dzhangar pottery are oval and small, while the co­rolla thicknesses of the Orlovskii pottery has a rec­tangle form and large size. The Orlovskii type of pottery has decoration on the corolla’s thickness, but the Cis-Caspian pottery does not. There are dif­ferences in the chronology of the appearance of this element. In the Cis-Caspian region this element ap­peared around 5500 cal BC, while in the Low Volga basin on the Varfolomeevka site this element was developed about 5700 cal BC. Therefore we can sug­gest that this technological element appeared inde­pendently in different regions as a result of the evo­lution of a ceramic manufacture. In the forest-steppe of the Middle Povolzhye region in the early stage of the Elshanian culture (6500– 5800 cal BC) the vessels are characterised by a pro­file form, pointed bottoms, and row of pits under the corolla (Fig. 10.1–4). The technology has some differences from the ceramic pastes of pottery from the Cis-Caspian sites, which consisted of silt com­posed of shells, but the ceramics from the Povol­zhye sites were made of loam, which was sometimes tempered by grog (Vasilieva 2011). This last techno­logy is more elaborated, and this can be considered The Neolithic evolution and cultural transformations in the Povolzhye region (Eastern Europe) as due to relationships among communities from dif­ferent regions, and not the evolution of local Meso­lithic societies (Vasilieva, Vybornov 2016). Around 6200 cal BC this type of pottery was developed not only in the Samara Povolzhye but also in the basin of the Sura river. These vessels have some differen­ces in comparison with the Elshanian pottery (Vasi­lieva, Vybornov 2014), which can be explained by adaptation of pottery technology among the local Mesolithic community. In the second stage (5700– 5500 cal BC) of the development of Elshanian pot­tery in the Samara-Sok region the pointed bottom vessels gave way to flat bottom vessels (Fig. 10.5). In the Sura river basin, profiled undecorated vessels with pointed bottoms were developed until c. 5500 cal BC. Such ceramics were produced without changes for some 700 years, and thus it can be concluded that in this region without any external impacts the earliest ceramic tradition of the Elshanian cul­ture was preserved. This is an example of the evolution of pottery technology. On the other hand, the Samara-Sok basin is located in closed con­tact with the Low Povolzhye steppe region. The appear­ance of communities from the southern region to the forest-steppe zone began in the Me­solithic period. Therefore the appearance of the flat bottom vessels in the forest-steppe zone could be explained by cultural changes that occurred as a result of contacts with steppe societies. Vessels with flat bottoms were found at the Krasniy Gorodok and the Ilin­skaya sites (Vasilieva, Vybornov 2016a). Groups following the Elsha­nian cultural traditions saved spe­cific elements of pottery manufac­ture without visible changes. These people did not have contact with migrants from southern regions, al­though some southern traditions ap­peared in this region at this time. There are several characteristics of syncretic vessels, which are southern characteristics like flat bottoms and some percent­age of crushed shells in the ceramic paste. The pro­duction process in the Low Volga region also conclu­des with a combination of dashes with oval pricks. At end of the later stage of development, the Elsha­nian culture became a basis for the formation of new Srednevolzhskaya culture. This process cannot be attributed to evolution, because some vessels have been found in the Samara-Sura basin that are similar to both pottery from the Low Volga basin and the Northern Cis-Caspian region (Vasiliev et al. 1980; Vasilieva, Vybornov 2012; Vybornov et al. 2007). This is not due to the borrowing of pottery but the result of the direct penetration of individ- Aleksandr Vybornov, Konstantin Andreev, Anatoly Somov, and Marianna Kulkova ual groups from southern regions to the forest-steppe Povolzhye region. The segments and trape­zes with pretreatment of all the external surfaces are typical for the forest-steppe southern sites. They are the markers of geometric microliths of the Orlov­skaya culture of the steppe Povolzhye. Several ves­sels from the southern parts of the forest steppe Po-volzhye and decorated with pricks were manufac­tured in accordance with the style of the later stage of Elshanian ceramics. Other samples were made with using ceramic paste tempered with shells, as in the Northern Cas-Caspian region (Vasilieva, Vybor­nov 2013; 2016a). In other words, the genesis of the Srednevolzhskaya culture is not one of a process of evolution, but rather the result of cultural syncre­tism. Both the cultural components existed at the same time. The later Elshanian complexes are dated to the interval from c. 5700 to 5500 cal BC, while the Tenteksor and Later Orlovskaya cultures were developed from c. 5700 to 5300 cal BC (Vybornov et al. 2018). The climatic factors, such as aridization of the semi-arid and steppe regions of the Povolzh-ye, were triggers for migration into the forest-steppe areas (Kulkova et al. 2019). In the later periods some groups of the later Elshanian stage and the earlier Srednevolzhskaya stage penetrated into the southern periphery of the forest zone of the Middle Povolzhye region (Vybornov 2008). It could thus be possible that cultural factors im­pacted on the development of the local Mesolithic people, although at present this remains under dis­cussion. Conclusions The complex analysis of the ma­terials from several areas of the Povolzhye shows evidence of dif­ferent variants of evolutionary development and transformation as a result of cultural influences. In the initial stage in the North­ern and North-Western Cis-Cas­pian regions the ceramics and stone inventory developed on an autochthonous basis, and then evolved from this. In the North­ern Cis-Caspian region the isolat­ed development of the Neolithic culture occurred during the whole period, because of the local envi­ronmental conditions. The Dzhan­garskaya culture, in spite of its evolutionary development, was also in part trans­formed under influence of the Kairshak traditions. The Orlovaskaya culture of the steppe Povolzhye was formed due to southern cultural impulses that were triggered by aridization, although its further development occurred due to evolution because of the resulting territorial isolation. The appearance of the Elshanian culture in the forest-steppe zone of the Povolzhye region occurred as a result of migrations of people from Middle Asia, and thus its cultural com­ponents had been formed earlier in this region. Separate groups of people penetrated in the region of the Sura river, and their cultural traditions deve­loped without any changes over a long period in this area. In the eastern part of the forest-steppe of The Neolithic evolution and cultural transformations in the Povolzhye region (Eastern Europe) the Povolzhye, and in the second stage of develop­ment, the Elshanian culture changed because of cul­tural impulses from the steppe Povolzhye. 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Goncharstvo naseleniya Severnogo Prikaspiya v epohu neolita. Voprosy arheologii Povol-zh’ya 1: 72–96. (in Russian) 2011. Ranneneoliticheskoe goncharstvo Volgo-Ural’ya (po materialam elshanskoj kul’tury). Arheologiya, etno­grafiya i antropologiya Evrazii 2(48): 70–81. (in Rus­sian) Vasilieva I. N., Vybornov A. A. 2012. Neolitichesky kera­michesky kompleks Vilovatovskoj stoyanki: morfologiya i tekhnologiya. Arheologicheskie pamyatniki Orenburzh’­ya 10: 23–42. (in Russian) 2013. Morfologiya i tekhnologiya neoliticheskoj kera­miki stoyanki Lebyazhinka IV v Samarskom Povolzh’e. Arheologiya vostochnoevropejskoj lesostepi 3: 52–70. (in Russian) 2014. Neoliticheskoe goncharstvo Sursko-Mokshansko-go mezhdurech’ya. Samarsky nauchnyj vestnik 3(8): 35–53. (in Russian) 2016. Vremya poyavleniya i dinamika rasprostraneniya neoliticheskih keramicheskih tradicy v Povolzh’e. Povol­zhskaya Arheologiya 3(17): 135–151. (in Russian) 2016a. Neolitichesky keramichesky kompleks Il’inskoj stoyanki: datirovka i tekhnologiya. Arheologicheskie pamyatniki Orenburzh’ya 12: 5–20. (in Russian) Vybornov A. A. 2008. Neolit Volgo-Kam’ya. Samara State Pedagogical University Press. Samara. (in Russian) Vybornov A. A., Andreev K. M., Kulkova M. A., and Filip-psen B. 2018a. Radiouglerodnaya hronologiya neolita Volgo-Kam’ya. Ural’sky istorichesky vestnik 3(60): 66– 77. (in Russian) Vybornov A., Kosintsev P., and Kulkova M. 2015. The Ori­gin of Farming in Lower Volga Region. Documenta Prae­historica 42: 67–75. https://doi.org/10.4312/dp.42.3 Vybornov A. A., Kozin E. V. 1988. Neoliticheskaya stoy­anka Kairshak I v Severnom Prikaspii. In Arheologiche­skie kul’tury Severnogo Prikaspiya. Kuibyshev State Pe­dagogical Institute Press. Kujbyshev: 92–105. (in Russian) Vybornov A., Kulkova M., Andreev K., and Nesterov E. 2017. Radiocarbon chronology of the Neolithic in the Po-volzhye (Eastern Europe). Documenta Praehistorica 44: 224–239. https://doi.org/10.4312/dp.44.14 Vybornov A., Kulkova M., Kosintsev P., Platonov V., Pla­tonov S., Phillipsen B., and Nesterov E. 2018b. Diet And Chronology Of Neolithic-Eneolithic Cultures (From 6500 To 4700 Cal Bc) In The Low Volga Basin. Radiocarbon 6: 1597–1610. https://doi.org/10.1017/RDC.2018.95 Vybornov A. A., Mamonov A. E., Korolev A. I., and Ovchin­nikova N. V. 2007. Neoliticheskaya keramika stoyanki Le-byazhinka IV v lesostepnom Povolzh’e. Vestnik Samar­skogo gosudarstvennogo pedagogicheskogo universite­ta: 107–155. (in Russian) Vybornov A., Vasilieva I. 2013. Interdisciplinary research of the Neolithic Volga-Kama pottery. Documenta Praehi­storica 40: 165–173. https://doi.org/10.4312/dp.40.13 Yudin A. I. 1988. Varfolomeevskaya neoliticheskaya sto­yanka. In Arheologicheskie kul’tury Severnogo Prikas­piya. Kuibyshev State Pedagogical Institute Press. Kuiby­shev: 142–172. (in Russian) 2004. Varfolomeevskaya stoyanka i neolit stepnogo Povolzh’ya. Saratov State University Press. Saratov. (in Russian) Yudin A. I., Vybornov A. A., Vasilieva I. N., Kosincev P. A., Kulkova M. A., Goslar T., Phillipsen B., and Barackov A. V. 2016. Neoliticheskaya stoyanka Algaj v Nizhnem Povol­zh’e. Samarsky nauchnyj vestnik 3(16): 61–68. (in Rus­sian) back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) The concept of the ‘stage of reduction and concentration of settlements’ in Neolithic studies> demography, settlements and social conflict Sl/awomir Kadrow Institute of Archaeology, University of Rzeszów, Rzeszów, PL slawekkadrow@gmail.com ABSTRACT – The paper analyses the meaning of the ‘stage of reduction and concentration of settle­ments’ and its place in the evolving structure of a Neolithic settlement system. It considers whether this stage of the development of the settlement system was a specific event, limited only to the evo­lution of a Funnel Beaker Culture settlement in south-eastern Poland, or whether it was a structural element in other areas too. Analysis of the collected cases, representing various geographical zones, cultural traditions and time horizons, allows us to formulate a thesis that describes the transforma­tion of large settlements (from central places to the stage of reduction and concentration) were caused by internal social conflicts, rather than by climate or economic changes. KEY WORDS – Neolithic; settlement system; social crisis; Poland; conflict; central places Koncept ‘stopnje zmanj[anja in koncentracije naselbin’ pri neolitskih [tudijah> demografija, naselbine in dru/beni konflikt IZVLE.EK – V .lanku raziskujemo pomen ‘stopnje zmanj.anja in koncentracij naselbin’ in njeno me-sto v razvijajo.i se strukturi neolitskega sistema poselitve. Razpravljamo, ali ta stopnja razvoja siste-ma poselitve predstavlja specifi.en pojav, vezan le na evolucijo naselbin kulture lijakastih .a. na jugovzhodu Poljske, ali pa gre za strukturni element, ki se pojavlja tudi na drugih obmo.jih. Z ana­lizo teh zbranih primerov, ki predstavljajo razli.ne geografske predele, kulturne tradicije in .asovna obdobja, oblikujemo tezo, ki opisuje preoblikovanje velikih naselbin (iz centralnih prostorov v stop-njo zmanj.anja in koncentracije) kot posledico notranjih dru.benih konfliktov, in ne kot posledico podnebnih ali gospodarskih sprememb. KLJU.NE BESEDE – neolitik; naselbinski sistemi; dru.bena kriza; Poljska; konflikt; centralni prostor Introduction Janusz Kruk and Sarunas Milisauskas, describing the Culture (hereafter: FB-BC) date to the period 3300– central Funnel Beaker Culture (hereafter: FBC) set-2900/2800 cal BC. In a previous period (3700–3300 tlement at Bronocice determined its last stage as a cal BC) this number reached 105. More than 50% ‘stage of reduction and concentration of settlements’ of the entire population was concentrated at the one (Kruk, Milisauskas 1999.174–176). Around approx. site of Bronocice (Kruk, Milisauskas 1999.175). In 3300 cal BC most large (central) settlements of the the middle of the 4th millennium BC, the region sus-FBC in Central Europe disappeared. In the Bronoci-tained a population of approx. 6200 people, and at ce region, only 12 sites of the Funnel Beaker-Baden 2900/2800 cal BC only a little more than 1000. DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.13 The concept of the ‘stage of reduction and concentration of settlements’ in Neolithic studies> demography, settlements and social conflict Ecological factors seem inadequate to explain this crisis and the loss of 75% of the population. The in­habitants continued to cultivate cereals and garden crops, and there were large enough grazing areas for cattle and sheep. Some burial data (a mass grave of 17 individuals) point to an anomalous catastroph­ic event, either natural (such as an epidemic) or social (a massacre). Perhaps war and the invasion of a Corded Ware Culture (hereafter: CWC) popula­tion could be a factor in this (Kruk, Milisauskas 1999.175–176). While certain phenomena point to a deepening cri­sis and the complete disappearance of the settle­ment structures of the FB-BC population, they do not explain the factors that triggered the reduction phase and the onset of the crisis. The present article looks for an answer to this question. Were these en­vironmental factors (climate changes, epidemics) or socio-cultural (wars, internal crises) ones? To answer this question, I will analyse, in addition to Bronocice, two other cases of central settlements, where the appearance of the stage of reduction and concentration of settlements has also been observed. One is an early Eneolithic settlement of Brzeœ. Ku-jawski culture (late Danubian Brzeœ. Kujawski Cul­ture – hereafter: BKC) at Os³onki in the Polish Low­lands, and the other is Iwanowice (Babia Góra site) settlement of an Early Bronze Age Mierzanowice cul­ture (hereafter: MC) from the loess uplands (Fig. 1). Os³onki settlement – BKC (late Danubian) – Po­lish Lowlands (Fig. 1) General information The settlements at Os³onki and Brzeœ. Kujawski are located in the central part of the Polish Lowlands on the border of two macro-regions: The Toruñ-Ebers­walde Glacial Valley and Great Poland-Kuyavia Lake District (Grygiel 2004.111, 136–138). It is a region of the Radziejów Plain covered with black soil (Gry­giel 2004.111, 136–138). Such a geographical loca­tion facilitated the establishment of multidirection­al cultural contacts. The settlement at Os³onki was thoroughly explored in the years 1989–1994 (Grygiel 2008.475), and thus provides more valuable data than the settle­ment at Brzeœ. Kujawski, studied in the years 1933– 1939 and 1952 (Ja¿d¿ewski 1938; Grygiel 2008.15). The twin settlements of the BKC at Os³onki (site 1) and Brzeœ. Kujawski (sites 3, 4 and 5) have been fully published (Grygiel 2004.9–138; 2008). These settlements developed during the period 4550– 4150 cal BC. The settlement micro-region at Os³onki consists of one cen­tral settlement and seven smaller satellite settlements. They are located around the central settlement on an area with a radius not exceeding 5km. At a distance of 8km to the east there is a similar mi-croregion of the central settle­ment at Brzeœ. Kujawski (Gry­giel 2008.11–13, Fig. 1). The settlement at Os³onki was founded on a previously un­inhabited area smaller than half a hectare. In the first phase of its evolution (4550– 4450 cal BC) there were seve­ral (four or five) small houses with a length of 10–12m with shallow foundation ditches. The dead were buried near their homes (Grygiel 2008. 992, Fig. 404). Sl/awomir Kadrow In the period from 4450 to 4300 cal BC (the second classic phase), the settlement developed quickly, and reached its maximum size of over 2ha. Numerous large houses with a length of up to 40m were placed in two rows. Their foundation ditches were now very deep (up to 1m). According to the published map (Grygiel 2008.Fig. 404), at least 15 houses might have been inhabited at the same time. Around 4300 cal BC (the turn of the second and third phases) several houses were burned and some inhabitants murdered. (Grygiel 2008.l.c.) Demography Ryszard Grygiel, the leader of the excavations at Os³onki and author of a comprehensive scientific publication on them (Grygiel 2008), has not yet pre­sented a broader analysis of the size of the popu­lation inhabiting the settlement and the entire set­tlement microregion BKC at Os³onki. Throughout the development of the settlement and the micro-region, the basic settlement unit was a household cluster, inhabited by a multigenerational family (see Grygiel 1986; 2008.119, 1919–1924). The published map of the settlement at Os³onki (Grygiel 2008.Fig. 404) shows that in the first phase the population of the BKC lived in four or five houses, in the second phase (classic) in 14–15 houses, and in third phase (late) in 8–9 houses. The situation on the twin settle­ments at Brzeœ. Kujawski (Grygiel 2008.Fig. 7) could have been similar. Multiplying the number of houses by the number of members of each family living in one house, we get an image of the change in the dynamics of the size of the population living at Os³onki and its approxi­mate size in the various stages of the development of the BKC. Assuming that a multigenerational fam­ily (consisting of at least children, parents and grand-parents) had a minimum of five members (and pro­bably twice as many considering the large size of houses in the classic and late stages), we get the fol­lowing population sizes at Os³onki: in the first phase 20–25 people, second phase 140–150, and in third phase 80–90 (Fig. 2). Archaeological description of the BKC social crisis on central settlements It is difficult to determine the direct cause of the great catastrophe that occurred around 4300 cal BC. At the time, there was a sudden event throughout the whole Brzeœ. Kujawski and Os³onki region which can be seen in the evidence of numerous fires, as seen at all sites of the BKC in related to the trape­zoidal houses (Grygiel 2008.1942). All the dwellings were probably damaged at the same time. This hap­pened to the central settlements and satellite ones when the settlement microregions reached their ma­ximal spatial range and their populations were the biggest. The attackers probably came from the peri­phery of the BKC (Grygiel 2008.1943). After the attack, both central settlements (Os³onki and Brzeœ. Kujawski) returned to their original func­tions. However, many of the satellite settlements and some smaller cemeteries were completely aban­doned. The inhabitants began to build fortifications on both central settlements, which consisted of di­tches and wooden palisades. Only a few houses con­tinued to be used. Some crafts continued (such as the working of antlers and bones), but the import of copper and its metallurgy completely stopped. More­over, imported chocolate and Jurassic flint were re­placed by local erratic flint, although amber contin­ued to arrive from outside the region (Grygiel 2008. 1944). Richly decorated bone ornaments also completely disappeared and were replaced by simple speci­mens. Profound changes appeared in burial rituals, with graves dominated by skeletons laid straight on their backs with the heads oriented to the south, instead of gender differentiated burials with bodies deposited in graves in contracted positions: men on the right side and women on the left. The graves as­sociated with the new rite are usually discovered in various pits, including rubbish and storage pits. Ani­mal graves also appeared for the first time (Grygiel 2008.944). As a result of internal social conflict, the communities of the BKC underwent very serious transformations. A process of change in the pottery forms and technology began. In effect the emergence of the earliest phases of the Globular Amphorae Cul­ The concept of the ‘stage of reduction and concentration of settlements’ in Neolithic studies> demography, settlements and social conflict ture (hereafter: GAC) took place (Czerniak 1994; Grygiel 2008). Bronocice (FBC and FB-BC) Loess Uplands (Fig. 1) General information The site at Bronocice was excavated in 1974–1979 (Kruk, Milisauskas 1985.109) and produced re­mains from many Neolithic cultures, including FBC, Lublin-Volhynian (hereafter: L-VC), FB-BC and CWC (see Milisuaskas et al. 2016.19). The site is located on the western margins of the Lesser Poland loess Uplands. It rises above the Nidzica River valley, a left tributary of the Vistula (Kruk et al. 1996.15–17). The Bronocice settlement microregion in the time of the FBC (phases BR II and BR III) consisted of 105 sites in the area with a radius of 10km around the central settlement with an area about 52ha (Kruk et al. 1996.28–33, Fig. 7, Tab. 5). The number of FB­BC (phases BR IV and BR V) sites in this area de­creased rapidly to 12 (Kruk et al. 1996.33, Fig. 8). The sequence of FBC and FB-BC settlement and chro­nological stages (during 3900–2900/2800 cal BC) at Broncice has been reported in several articles (e.g., Kruk, Milisauskas 1981) and in some mono­graphs (Kruk et al. 1996; 2018; Kruk, Milisauskas 1999; 2018; Milisauskas et al. 2016). Demography Estimations of the population size in the subsequent phases of the FBC and FB-BC settlement in Bronoci­ce (Kruk et al. 1996.36–40, 113–114, Tab. 7; Mili­sauskas et al. 2016, Tab. 2) were made utilizing Na­roll’s method (Naroll 1962). It was assumed that on average 24 people lived on 1ha of the settlement’s area. From 3700 to 2900/2800 cal BC, the settle­ment in Bronocice was inhabited without any long breaks. In the BR II phase, the area of the settlement was 8ha. In the next BR III phase, the area of the settlement increased to 21ha. The largest size was in the BR IV phase, when the settlement reached an area of 26ha. In the last phase of occu­pation by the population of the FB­BC, an area of 17ha was inhabited. The number of residents on the set­tlement in Bronocice throughout this period ranged from 192 (BR II), through 504 (BR III) and 624 (BR IV), to 408 (BR V) (Milisauskas et al. 2016.Tab. 2). When the aforementioned population of the settle­ment in Bronocice was determined at various stages of its development (Kruk et al. 1996), slightly dif­ferent calculations of the duration of these phases were used than in recent publications (e.g., Milisaus­kas et al. 2016; Kruk et al. 2018). With the un­changed estimation of the inhabited area, the dura­tion of consecutive phases changed significantly. We see an increase in the duration of the BR IV phase and the shortening of the duration of the BR III phase. I believe that it is necessary to re-evaluate the population of these phases again. In addition to the size of the inhabited area, the estimated size of the population must also be influenced by the number of objects from a given phase for a given period of time. Thus, extending the duration of the BR IV phase must result in a corresponding reduction in the estimated number of inhabitants, and shorten­ing the BR III phase with a corresponding increase in that number (Fig. 3). Archaeological description of changes at the Bronocice central settlement of the FBC and FB-BC Probably the beginning of the site’s occupation, Bro-nocice was connected with modest traces of the Ma­lice Culture in the form of a few pottery redeposi­tions and human bones (perhaps from destroyed graves) in settlements pits of the oldest FBC commu­nity in part C of the site (Milisauskas et al. 2016. 59). This Malice Culture episode was older than 3900 cal BC. During the FBC BR I occupation phase (dated to 3900–3800 cal BC; cf. Kruk, Milisauskas 2018.79– 85, Tab. 19; Kruk et al. 2018, Tab. 7) there were only traces of a small settlement in part C of the site, and no burials of this culture were found dated to this period (Milisauskas et al. 2016.60, 61). Sl/awomir Kadrow During the next period (3800–3700 cal BC) the site was occupied by a L-VC community. The settlement was fortified with a ditch, earthen ramparts and wo­oden palisade. In some settlement pits of this culture human bones were discovered (possibly redeposits from destroyed Malice Culture graves). One double skeleton grave of L-VC was discovered on the settle­ment area (Milisauskas et al. 2016.89–92, Figs. 2, 3). In the BR II and BR III phases a cemetery of the FBC was established and then used in part C of the site. At the same time the settlement area was concen­trated first in part A and then in parts A and B. The coexistence of the cemetery (Part C) and settlement (parts A and B) lasted a few centuries (from 3700 to 3300 cal BC; cf. Kruk et al. 1996, Fig. 4; Milisaus­kas et al. 2016.62, 63). In the next BR IV and BR V phases of the FB-BC (3300–2900 cal BC) a cemetery completely ceased to function, and in its place a kraal for cattle was es­tablished. At the same time there was a change in the pottery style, as classic FBC pottery was replaced by Baden-like wares. Graves were scattered in the area of settlement and consisted of a different set of bu­rial traditions (Milisauskas et al. 2016.63, 64). After the completion of the Bronocice settlement in phases BR IV and BR V, two more graves were de­posited. One of them belonged to the Baden culture (hereafter: BC) and the other one to the CWC. Iwanowice (the MC) Loess Uplands (Fig. 1) General information In 1967–1969 and 1971–1973 excavations at the Iwanowice, Babia Góra site were carried out (Mach­nikowie 1973; Kadrow 1991a.640). The site, 8ha in area, is located on the borderland between Cracow­Czêstochowa and the Miechów Uplands, 20km north of Cracow on a hill spur overlooking the D³ubnia Ri­ver valley. The area of the site is covered by a loess mantle (Kadrow 1991a.641). The Iwanowice settlement microregion in the Early Bronze Age was very compact and consisted of five settlements (Iwanowice – Babia Góra I, II and III, Gó­ra Klin and Góra Wysy³ek sites) in the centre and 108 settlement traces (mainly single finds made of local flint) in the area with a radius of 10km around the central settlement (Iwanowice, Babia Góra I, II and III sites) with an area of about 3.5ha (Machni­kowie, Kaczanowski 1987; Kadrow 1995.33–43, Figs. 10–13). People first settled the Babia Góra site at Iwanowice as early as the beginning of the Neolithic until the Hallstatt period. However, the most intensive traces of occupation date back to the Early Bronze Age (2300/2200–1600 cal BC) communities of the MC (Kadrow 1991a.641). It is the largest settlement of this culture (Kadrow 1991; 1995.22–43), which was associated with an extensive cemetery of over 150 graves (Kadrow, Machnikowa, Machnik 1992). Several assumptions were adopted with regard to the research programme. First, that the features dis­covered could be ordered to produce a reconstruc­tion of some aspects of the original building com­plexes (referred to as ‘house clusters’). Multifaceted analysis of ceramics from stratified se­diments of trapezoidal pits (serving as cellars – cf. Kadrow 1991.62–71) and their spatial relationships made it possible to define the term ‘building phase’ as the shortest archaeologically identifiable period (60–80 years) in the development of the settlement (Kadrow 1991.76–77). Given a suitable chronological yardstick – building phases – for transformations in the pattern of settle­ment on the Babia Góra site at Iwanowice, an attempt was made to reconstruct the original form and area of household clusters – the basic functional units of permanent settlement (Kadrow 1991a.647–649). During the early MC stage (building phases Iw 1 and Iw 2) the settlement seems to have been relatively populous (with numerous house clusters) occupying a closely built up, restricted area (with small distan­ces between house clusters). At the turn of building phases Iw 2 and Iw 3 Babia Góra site at Iwanowice was divided into two functionally different parts: a settlement and cemetery (Kadrow et al. 1995.205). Towards the end of the classic stage of the MC (buil­ding phases Iw 4 and Iw 5) the number of inhabi­tants declined (fewer house clusters – cf. Kadrow 1991a.Tab. 2), while the settlement spread out over a proportionally larger area (larger distances between house clusters). During phases Iw 1 – Iw 5 the settle­ment was inhabited by the same population, while in building phases Iw 6 and Iw 7 two different waves of settlers had arrived, continuing the traditions of different local groups of the MC from adjacent terri­tories (Kadrow 1991a.649). Demography To estimate the population size of the Iwanowice Babia Góra settlement (Kadrow 1991.87–90) the The concept of the ‘stage of reduction and concentration of settlements’ in Neolithic studies> demography, settlements and social conflict following rules were adopted: (a) minimal, func­tional units of stable settlement (house clusters) were inhabited by minimal units of the community (families), (b) one family consisted of 2.18 children, two parents and 0.2 grandparents (Czerniak, Pion-tek 1980). The obtained values (Kadrow 1991.Tab. 31) were then multiplied by a coefficient correcting the discrepancies arising from the incomplete and varying degree of investigations of the settlement. The number of inhabitants in consecutive (1–7) buil­ding phases (from 2200 to 1600 cal BC) assumed the following values: 1: 70–87, 2: 90–113, 3: 59–80, 4: 32–40, 5: 21–27, 6: 16–20 and 7: 60–75 (Kadrow 1991.Tab. 32). These figures should be treated as minimal estimations (Kadrow 1991.87), and the evaluations of the MC population size (based on set­tlement data – cf. Fig. 4) were confirmed by the re­sults of the cemetery analysis (Kadrow, Machniko­wa, Machnik 1992.82–84; Kadrow et al. 1995.208– 210, Fig. 10). Archaeological description of changes to the ‘Babia Góra’ site at Iwanowice among MC communities The Early Bronze Age MC communities appeared at Iwanowice for the first time at about 2300 cal BC. They left traces of transitional settlements. Stable settlement was founded 100 years later and asso­ciated with the beginning of the early phase of the MC. The Babia Góra site was inhabited for a very long time, with one break at about 1800–1750 cal BC. The end of the Early Bronze Age occupation took place at 1600 cal BC (Kadrow 1991). At about 2050 cal BC, at the turn of the early and classic phases of the MC, the space of the site under­went a serious reorganisation. At this time the cen­tral ditch described as Feature 117 appeared, which has been dated to the same period as the beginning of the cemetery. North-east of that feature the settle­ment remained inhabited, while the cemetery was built at the other side of the ditch. The reorganiza­tion of the settlement area at the site was accompa­nied by distinct changes in certain elements of fu­neral rites in western Lesser Poland. Graves located at small cemeteries from the early phase usually contained one ceramic vessel, most often a mug (cf. Machnik 1978.35–40). The cemetery at Babia Góra, dated to the classic and late phases (except for grave LXXXV, the only grave from the very beginning of the classic phase), had graves with no ceramic burial goods at all (Kadrow, Machnikowa, Machnik 1992. 74, Tab. XII: 1). Changes of that kind have not been recorded in other areas of the MC, where burial goods continued to include vessels (Kadrow, Machnik 1997.Fig. 23), sometimes even more frequently than in the early phase. Considerable changes have also been documented in animal burials at Babia Góra in Iwanowice at the turn of the early and classic phases. Thirteen burials of animals deposited in settlement pits, mostly cattle, have all been dated to the classic and late phases (Kadrow, Makowicz-Poliszot 2000.276–278). The sudden change in the layout of the Babia Góra II site was accompanied by significant changes in the forms of ceramics, especially in their ornamentation. Ornamentation with cord impressions was aban­doned in western Lesser Poland at the turn of the early and classic phases of the MC. Pots began to do­minate, becoming practically the only vessel form used by inhabitants of the Babia Góra settlement in the classic phase of the MC (Kadrow 1991.63–65, Fig. 36). Changes in the methods of production of ceramic vessels were more gradual, although by no means slow (Kadrow 1991.62–63, Fig. 36). At the same time, the number of in­habitants of the Babia Góra settle­ment in Iwanowice gradually de­clined, while the area of the settle­ment remained constant. In effect, the buildings became more dispers­ed as the distances between house­holds increased (Kadrow 1991.79– 86). The initial regular layout, lenti­cular at the beginning (cf. Kadrow 1991.Fig. 52), evolved into an irre­ Sl/awomir Kadrow gular arrangement resembling an amorphous cloud of households (Kadrow 1991.Fig. 53). Triggers of settlement and demographic chan­ges at Os³onki, Bronocice and Iwanowice Theories to detect social crises Among the many possible ways of interpreting the remains of material culture in terms of paleosocio-logy, Robert Wuthnow’s theory of cultural analysis (Wuthnow 1987) seems to be one of the most effec­tive (Kadrow 2016). It enables the identification of crisis situations, usually accompanied by violence, the effect of which is a change in culture or a cultu­ral change. Wuthnow proposed a dynamic model of cultural structure whose central point is moral order, consi­sting first of all of ritual and ideology, symbols and institutions. Mutual interactions and the relation­ships among these elements of cultural structure de­termine the dynamics of moral order and, simulta­neously, culture itself and social structure (Wuth-now 1987). The functioning of rituals and symbols (but not their meaning) is directly accessible for ar­chaeological observation, while ideology and social institutions are indirectly available, because they are related to the functioning of symbols and rituals. A diversity and intensification of ritual practices is an indicator of increasing uncertainty in the commu­nity. In turn, uncertainty is a symptom of a crisis si­tuation. Rituals (archaeologically observable) are de­signed to reduce uncertainty and restore social sta­bility. So they are archaeologically clear symptom of social crisis, which can often be accompanied by va­rious forms of violence. Armed conflicts occur espe­cially in a situation of deepening uncertainty when ritual practices are not able to remedy it. Many theories posit that the outbreak of conflict re­sults from uncertainty and disruption to the moral order (Wuthnow 1987), also called a dysfunction of the social system (Johnson 1982). The source could be external military pressure or aggression, or some­times only infiltration of foreign people. However, these are necessary but insufficient conditions for conflict (rebellion, revolution, violence, etc.) to break out. Another necessary condition is the rise of a com­pelling leader (Weber 2002; Johnson 1982), owing his power to personal charisma. The sources of social conflict usually lie within the community. The primary reason for sociocultural dy­namics (conflicts, changes) is a gap between the pro-gramme and the actual implementation of moral order. In other words, social conflicts are caused by the ‘natural’ differences between practice and theory in social life, i.e. between the system of accepted norms and its everyday implementation. To identify periods of deep internal social crises at some archaeological sites, it is also helpful to refer to Pierre Nora’s (1996) idea of Les lieux de memo-ire – ‘sites of memory’. Sites of memory are long-term points for the crystal­lization of collective memory and identity, constitu­tive for many generations. They are part of the areas social, cultural and political customs (François, Schulze 2001.686). The most basic form of memory is the remembrance of the dead. The farther we go back in the past, the greater was the attachment to the dead and ances­tors. Remembering the dead creates community, and through its relationships with the dead a communi­ty confirms its identity (Assmann 2008.76–79). Therefore cemeteries, in particular, as sites of me­mory that served for every community a purpose to remember (store) and transfer key phenomena from the past to define their identity (Assmann 2008. 76–79). Social crisis on central settlements of Os³onki in the light of Robert Wuthnow’s theory of cul­tural analysis The roots of the events described above, i.e. a mili­tary crisis resulting in the destruction of the central settlements in Os³onki and in Brzeœ. Kujawski, may be found in phases I and II of the BKC (Kadrow 2016.116). The most important element determining the inte­grity and distinctiveness of the BKC was its socio­economic organisation, founded on the idea of a settlement consisting of solid trapezoid houses. This concept came from the ‘Stroke-Ornamented (post-Lbk) – Rössen’ environment, where one can trace their full evolution. The original, local ‘invention’ was a homestead (house with a yard), where the dead were buried. The already mentioned import of copper products (in the II phase) from the south­western groups of the Lengyel culture – through the Jordanów culture – adds to the particular image of the BKC (Grygiel 2008). The concept of the ‘stage of reduction and concentration of settlements’ in Neolithic studies> demography, settlements and social conflict At the beginning and in the early phase of the BKC, the part of the population that formed an ideologi­cal movement promoting the ideological synthesis of various cultural traditions (conservative and Neo­lithic in nature, as shown by longhouses, extended families living in trapezoidal houses as the main form of social organisation, burials in house yards, certain elements of ceramics) and of progressive, quite Eneolithic traditions (characterized by gender-diversified funeral rites, and by a sudden increase in the production of symbolic or prestige goods) won against other movements that supported cultural particularisms (cf. Kadrow 2016.118). This is discernible in the organisation of central set­tlements surrounded by satellites and in the fact that the production, use and deposition of symbolic or prestige goods, as well as the ritualization of every­day life, was focused on the central settlements, while the satellite settlements were mostly con­cerned with food acquisition and production, i.e. agriculture and animal husbandry (Grygiel 2008; Kadrow 2016.118). The moral order which stabilized the complex forms of social life in the classic phase of the BKC was sup­ported by a great sociocultural effort, as evidenced by the intensity of a wide range of unified ritual ac­tivities. The activities, which legitimized and en­forced the sociocultural status quo, must have been organized by social groups (extended families) who benefited from them, such as the inhabitants of the two central settlements (Kadrow 2016.118). The intensification of the symbolic activities and the ritualization of everyday life indirectly point to the strength of particularistic decentralist tendencies still noticeable in the communities inhabiting the central settlements. They also show that the moral order of the classic BKC engendered some unrest, which is known to be a necessary though insufficient condi­tion for crisis. Moreover, the archaeological materi­al suggests that the new social structure, a unique original sociocultural experiment, took unstable forms which were not rooted enough in the cultural memory of the communities. It heralded inevitable internal social conflict (Kadrow 2016.118–119). The insular character of Eneolithic settlement in a sea of conservative Neolithic communities, as well as the symptoms of social tensions described above, increased the probability of reaction and return to the egalitarian forms of sociocultural life. This led to the emergence of culturally new communities, known as the GAC (Czerniak 1994; Grygiel 2008; Kadrow 2016.119). Social crisis in the Bronocice central settle­ment of the FBC in light of Robert Wuthnow’s theory of cultural analysis and Pierre Nora’s idea of ‘sites of memory’ On part C at Bronocice one can observe the entire sequence of mutual discontinuations of Danubian and FBC traditions. A Malice culture (Danubian) com­munity probably first settled this place, and buried their dead here too. At the beginning of the 4th mil­lennium BC the FBC group established a small set­tlement and destroyed the graves of their Danubian predecessors (‘hostile’ takeover = discontinuation of tradition and identity of inhabitants). Later, in the period 3800–3700 cal BC, another Danubian (L-VC) group of people entered the site and founded here a fairly large fortified settlement (a ‘hostile’ take­over?). New FBC settlers (arriving at c. 3700 cal BC) again took the site and definitively stopped this last Danu­bian (L-VC) settlement episode here. They founded the burial place on the former Danubian fortified settlement (a ‘hostile’ takeover?). Until 3700 cal BC there was a sequence of conflicts in Bronocice between culturally (and also ethnical­ly?) different communities belonging to two differ­ent Danubian (southern) and FBC (northern) tra­ditions. The result of a merger of earlier traditions (with the dominant northern one) formed a stable social sys­tem characteristic of a unit, called by archaeologists as an ‘SE group’ of FBC. Stabilization of social life and lack of uncertainty in the moral order of these communities caused a low intensity of ritual activ­ities and only very slow changes (BR II and III pha­ses; 3700–3300 cal BC) in the style of ceramics, as well as the immutability of settlement patterns and the economic base. In BR III phase (3500–3300 cal BC) in Bronocice ap­peared the first, innumerous imitations of pottery of the BC, representatives of which started to immi­grate to areas located in the SW of the described set­tlement (Zastawny 2015.Fig. 2A). At the turn of pha­ses BR III and BR IV (c. 3300 cal BC) there was a very serious reorganisation of settlement space in Part C of the Bronocice site. On the former cemetery area a kraal for cattle was established. There is no evidence of external invasion or military interven­ Sl/awomir Kadrow tion. Reorganisation of the settlement space and the accompanying change in culture (FBC pottery was replaced by FB-BC ceramic; multiplicity of forms of human burials; the dissemination of the custom of burying animals in their graves; concentration of the settlement network on a regional scale) occurred within the same community. However, the destruc­tion of a cemetery, a very important space (site of memory) for cultivation of local traditions and iden­tity of the community inhabiting this settlement, means that there was a break in these two spheres of culture (i.e. in tradition and identity). This could only happen as a result of deep social conflict (something like a revolution or reforma­tion). The conflict must have been building up for a long time (equal to the duration of the phase BR III). The component parts of this conflict were compet­ing ideologies whose bearers and exponents had to be relevant institutions – created by extended fami­lies or lineages. They manifested themselves by dif­ferent symbols and used them to appeal to different sources of tradition. One of the ideologies and its ac­companying institutions continued the FBC tradi­tions and the second one BC traditions, borrowed or imitated from neighbouring peoples. The newly created socio-cultural system (FB-BC) was not as stable as the preceding system of classical FBC. Social uncertainty had to be stabilized and legiti­mized by intensified ritual practices (as seen in the increasing number of new forms of human and ani­mal graves and burial rituals). Social crisis at the ‘Babia Góra’ settlement at Iwanowice in the light of Robert Wuthnow’s theory of cultural analysis At 2300 cal BC the area of Babia Góra in Iwanowi­ce was briefly penetrated by small groups of people, possibly by isolated families. At 2200 cal BC, a slight­ly larger group, consisting of up to 10 families, es­tablished a permanent settlement there in a regular lenticular shape. The settlement was inhabited con­tinuously for the next 350–400 years, its size and shape varying over time (Kadrow 1991.Tabs. XLI– XLVI). Before the settlement was established, the dominant form of organisation over the entire area of the MC was that of small mobile groups of people (families) moving on their own within large settlement re­gions. Their economy was probably based on animal husbandry. The cultural specificity of these people was determined by two traditions: a local one relat­ed to the CWC and an external one made up of ele­ments of the Bell Beaker culture (hereafter: BBC). The CWC tradition was related to funeral rites and vessels ornamented with cord impressions; the BBC tradition involved mugs and copper daggers as de­terminants of the social status of a certain group of men. The moral order of the oldest (Proto-Mierzano­wice phase = building phase 0) community synthe­sized the social obligations (norms) defined by the ideologies of those two cultural traditions. These were dramatized in rituals, which included not only funeral rites, but also many diverse symbols, e.g., or­naments on ceramics (cf. Kadrow 2017). The moral order of the community in building phase 0 did not last long. Dynamic internal processes of an indeterminate nature, resulting in the establish­ment of large permanent settlements, sudden demo­graphic development and accompanying changes in economy (animal husbandry enriched by agricul­ture) and society (dominant family groups replaced by local or village groups) must have been condi­tioned by the competition between two social mo­vements promoting the ideologies mentioned above, together with the rituals that dramatized them. In the next period (building phases 1-2 – 2200–2050 cal BC), the social movement and its ideology – drawing increasingly on and developing the CWC tradition – gradually eliminated the BBC elements. This process is noticeable in archaeological materi­als as a growing percentage of more and more ela­borate cord ornamentation on pottery and the in­troduction of an original, local method of producing ceramic vessels (Kadrow 2017). The process described above was accompanied by growing uncertainty reflected in the intensification of ritual activities, which was expressed in the in­creasing frequency of cord ornaments on vessels and the growing elaboration of decorative motifs made with the technique of cord impressions (Kadrow 1991.62–65, Figs. 36–38, Tab. XXVI). About 2050 cal BC, the gradual evolutionary chan­ges inside the system were suddenly and dramati­cally stopped. Within a short time, inhabitants of the Babia Góra settlement in Iwanowice abandoned pottery ornamentation with cord impressions and radically limited the number of vessel forms they pro­duced and used (Kadrow 1991.Tabs. XXIX–XXXIII). Crucially, the inhabited area was thoroughly reor­ganised (building phases 3–5). The main part of the The concept of the ‘stage of reduction and concentration of settlements’ in Neolithic studies> demography, settlements and social conflict settlement was divided into two segments: a settle­ment and a cemetery. Simultaneously, changes were introduced to the old rituals (Kadrow 2017). That moment of profound changes is synchronised with the turn of the early and classic phases of the MC (the turn of building phases 2 and 3). There are no grounds for assuming that the transformations were triggered by the arrival of a large group of a new population or by armed invaders. Archaeologi­cally observable traits of material culture and of so­ciocultural behaviours, such as economy, settlement rules, flint working, methods of pottery production and the vast majority of funeral rites, were mostly of a mild evolutionary kind (Kadrow 2017). The changes, therefore, had the character of a local coup determined by internal processes, ideological in nature, caused by local, probably institutionalised social movements. The empirically proven effective­ness of those movements would be difficult to postu­late without positing their necessary institutionalisa­tion. The social movements recommended ‘a return to the roots’ through references to various elements of the BBC ideology, as shown by the clear predomi­nance of undecorated pots with knobs on their necks or rims (Kadrow 1991.Tabs. XXIX–XXXIII). Cera­mics of that type were already used at the close of the early phase (Kadrow 1991.Tab. XXVIII), but they had no local models. Similar forms have been noted in BBC settlement complexes in vast areas of Europe, particularly in Moravia, not very far from Iwanowice (cf. vessel types no. 10, 23–25, 38 in Besse 2003.Fig. 46, 105). Discussion and conclusions In recent times there is increasing evidence for glo­bal climatic changes, contrary to the opinion of Ja­nusz Kruk expressed more than 40 years ago (Kruk 1973). Among many others, there are several exam­ples of evidence for synchronised climate change across vast areas: a 1470-year cycle of climatic chan­ges in the North Atlantic area (Kubatzki 2010), syn­chronous climatic and environmental changes in the large area of Eurasian steppe and forest-steppe belt (Kremenetski 2003), and simultaneous phases of increased fluvial activities in various types of ri­ver valleys all over Central and Eastern Europe (Ka­licki 1997; 2006), to name a few (e.g., Magny 1993; Dreslerova 1995 etc.). Archaeologists used to look for correlations between settlement and demographic changes and climate fluctuations. For example, the following dependency is postulated among climate and LBK-populations: periods of decreased or irregularly spaced rainfall are contemporaneous to periods of population de­cline, while periods of increased rainfall may have favoured population growth (Gronenborn et al. 2014). Other specialists maintain, for example, that a period of cooling c. 3825–3650 cal BC resulted in the fracturing of Eneolithic complexes in Romania and stimulated adaptation to more mobile systems of settlement and subsistence. However, a contem­poraneous alternative response involved large-scale migrations to peripheral regions, including the es­tablishment of the Tripolye giant-settlements in Cen­tral Ukraine (Diachenko, Menotti 2012; Harper 2017; Diachenko 2019). However, in the cases described here, the chronol­ogy of social crises does not correlate exactly with either the periods of wetting and cooling of the cli­mate, or with drier and warmer periods (Fig. 5), readable throughout the European continent (acc. to Kremenetski 2003; Kalicki 2006). More impor­tantly, the crises described in this paper did not co­ver larger territories. They are legible only in some settlement centres, while in others the continuation of old development trends is observed. These chan­ges are registered in various geographical, environ­ment, cultural and chronological contexts. The cases discussed in this article indicate that the stage of reduction and concentration of settlements in their evolution occurs only in cases of settlements which functioned as central places. The largest set­tlements in their own (micro-) regions (cf. Os³onki: Grygiel 2008.7–9, 475–476, Fig. 1, 401; Bronocice: Milisauskas, Kruk 1984; Diachenko et al. 2016. Fig. 4; Iwanowice: Kadrow 1995.33–45, Fig. 11) functioned as such. The existence of a central place is not limited only to one time horizon. The socio­cultural structures of the communities which inhab­ited these settlements were more complex (which does not always mean more hierarchical) in compa­rison with other communities in the region. Their functioning was not limited to only one environ­mental zone, i.e. to loess uplands. The transition from the stage of central places to the stage of reduction and concentration of settlements always happened during the time of maximal demo­graphic development (Figs. 2–4). In all of the descri­bed cases this transition was provoked by social con­flicts. The emergence, development and fall of these sites were not related to climate changes (Fig. 5). Sl/awomir Kadrow There is a connection between the depth of a crisis and the severity of the social conflict and its effect in the form of cultural change or change in culture. In the case of the acute and bloody conflict in Os³onki, the effect was a cultural change, i.e. a transi­tion from the BKC into GAC. In both the other, milder conflict cases, the effect was a change in culture (Bro-nocice case – transition from classic FBC into FB-BC; Iwanowice case – transition from early to classic phase of MC). the Rzeszów Neolithic settlement region in south­ eastern Poland (Kadrow 2020). A similar course The correlation of the process generating the stage and character of evolution may also be detected in of reduction and concentration of settlements with the socio-cultural process in Okoli.te in Bosnia (e.g., population growth, the intensification of ritual prac-Arponen et al. 2015; Müller 2016), although that tices and signs of the crisis and the resulting depo-study was carried out in the spirit of a theory diffe­pulation and cultural change has been observed in rent to the one presented in this article. . References Arponen V. P. J., Müller J., Hofmann R., Furholt M., Ribei­ro A., Horn C., and Hintz M. 2015. Using the Capability Approach to Conceptualise Inequality in Archaeology: the Case of the Late Neolithic Bosnian Site Okoli.te c. 5200– 4600 BCE. Journal of Archaeological Methods and Theory 23: 541–560. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10816-015-9252-0 Assmann J. 2008. Pamiê. kulturowa. Pismo, zapamiêty­wanie i polityczna to¿samoœ. w cywilizacjach staro¿yt­nych. 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Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) A large copper artefacts assemblage of Fazael, Jordan Valley> new evidence of Late Chalcolithic copper metallurgy in the southern Levant Danny Rosenberg 1, Eli Buchman 2, Sariel Shalev 3, and Shay Bar 2 1 Laboratory for Ground Stone Tools Research, Zinman Institute of Archaeology, University of Haifa, Haifa, IL drosenberg@research.haifa.ac.il 2 Zinman Institute of Archaeology, University of Haifa, Haifa, IL eli_buchman@yahoo.com< bar.inbal.shay@gmail.com 3 Department of Archaeology, University of Haifa, Haifa, IL sariel.shalev@univ.haifa.ac.il ABSTRACT – Late Chalcolithic metallurgy developed in the southern Levant simultaneously with other crafts and new social institutions, reflecting advances in social organization, cults and technology. Until recently, copper items were mostly found in the Negev and Judean Desert, while other areas, specifically the Jordan Valley, were considered poor, with limited copper finds. Recent excavations at Late Chalcolithic Fazael in the Jordan Valley yielded dozens of copper items that allow for the first time a comprehensive study of copper items from this area. The assemblage is one of the largest of any site in the Late Chalcolithic period and includes most of the known components of the Late Chal­colithic copper industry. The current paper presents the new metallurgical discoveries from the Fazael Basin and discusses their significance to our understanding of the Late Chalcolithic copper industry. KEY WORDS – Fazael; Late Chalcolithic; copper metallurgy; Jordan Valley Velik zbir najdb iz najdi[;a Fazael v dolini reke Jordan> novi dokazi o pozno halkolitski metalurgiji bakra v ju/ni Levanti IZVLE.EK – Pozno halkolitska metalurgija se je razvila v ju.ni Levanti so.asno z drugimi obrtmi in novimi dru.benimi in.titucijami, kar odra.a napredek v dru.beni organizaciji, kultu in tehnologiji. Do nedavnega so bakrene predmete ve.inoma na.li v Negevski in Judejski pu..avi, medtem ko so druga obmo.ja, med njimi zlasti dolina reke Jordan, veljala za prostor z omejenimi najdbami iz bak­ra. Nedavno so izkopavanja na pozno halkolitskem najdi..u Fazael v dolini reke Jordan prinesla na desetine bakrenih predmetov, ki nam prvi. omogo.ajo celovito .tudijo bakrenih izdelkov s tega ob-mo.ja. Ta zbir je eden najve.jih iz kateregakoli najdi..a iz .asa poznega halkolitika in vklju.uje ve.i-no znanih sestavnih delov industrije bakra iz tega obdobja. V .lanku predstavljamo nove izsledke o metalurgiji bakra iz bazena Fazael in razpravljamo o pomenu teh najdb pri razumevanju te indus­trije v poznem halkolitiku. KLJU.NE BESEDE – Fazael; pozni halkolitik; metalurgija bakra; dolina reke Jordan DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.14 A large copper artefacts assemblage of Fazael, Jordan Valley> new evidence of Late Chalcolithic copper metallurgy in the southern Levant Introduction The Late Chalcolithic period of the southern Levant (c. 4500–3900 cal BC) marks significant changes from its predecessors, specifically within various aspects of social organization, subsistence economy, cult and religion (van den Brink 1998; Gilead 1988; Ilan, Rowan 2012; Joffe, Dessel 1995; Levy 1986; 2014; Perrot 1955a; Rowan, Ilan 2007; Sha­lem 2015), and technologies (e.g., Albright 1932; Ben-Yosef et al. 2016; Bourke 2001; Gilead 1992; Rosenberg et al. 2016; Rowan, Golden 2009). With­in this system there is increased evidence for the development of craft specialization, apparent prima­rily in the appearance of metallurgy (e.g., Golden 2009), standardized ceramics (Roux 2003; Kerner 2010), specific components in the flint (e.g., Gilead et al. 2004; Rosen 1983; 1993; Rosenberg, Shimel­mitz 2017; Vardi 2011) and ground stone tool as­semblages (e.g., Chasan, Rosenberg 2018; 2019; Chasan et al. 2019; Rosenberg et al. 2016; Rowan 1998), and probably also in the production of ivory objects and figurines (Perrot 1959a; Rosenberg, Chasan in press). The chronology of the Late Chalcolithic is debated, but it seems that if we accept the Ghassulian as the main entity of this period then we can divided this time span into two phases (e.g., Gilead 2011; Go.i. 2015): the earlier phase (c. 4500–4300/4200 cal BC) that consists of most strata at Teleilat Ghassul (and sites in the northwestern Negev such as Gilat, a few of the Nahal Besor sites, and Grar) and the later phase (c. 4300/4200–3900 cal BC) which is repre­sented by sites along Nahal Beer Sheva (Gilead 2011; Go.i. 2015). Most of the sites in the Fazael Basin may be attributed to this later phase (see below). This later phase is characterized by extensive metal­lurgical activities (Eldar, Baumgarten 1985; Perrot 1955b; Shalev, Northover 1987; Shugar 2000), while the earlier sites show no such finds and were thus ascribed as ‘premetallic’ (Golden 2010). Metallurgy seems to be the most sophisticated among the Late Chalcolithic technologies, exemplifying the extraordinary achievements of the Late Chalcolithic communities, including a high investment in raw material acquisition and technological knowhow. These Late Chalcolithic advances were unparalleled among other cultures in the area and those of the succeeding Early Bronze Age I. Furthermore, it seems that at least some of the copper objects were cultic paraphernalia that were integrated into the Late Chalcolithic cultic practices with little or no utilita­rian function (e.g., Bar-Adon 1980; Ben-Yosef et al. 2016; Go.i. 2015; Go.i., Gilead 2015 and see Sha­lem 2015 for further discussion about the motifs de­picted in copper artefacts). Late Chalcolithic metallurgy comprised two discrete production techniques that refer to the later stages production, namely the open cast technique, usually using pure copper, probably originating from Fay-nan (Adams, Genz 1995; Golden 2010; Hauptmann 1989; 2007; Shalev 1991; 2008; Shugar 2003; Shu-gar, Gohm 2001), and the considerably more sophi­sticated ‘lost wax’ technique, frequently using non­local copper-based alloys with significant arsenic, nickel, and antimony content (Golden 2010; Goren 2014; Key 1980; Levy 1993; Levy, Shalev 1989; Levy et al. 2008; Shalev 1991; 2008; Shalev, Northover 1987; 1993; Shugar 2000; Tadmor et al. 1995). Other metals found at Late Chalcolithic sites in the southern Levant include gold, electrum (Shalev 1993), and lead (Ben-Yosef et al. 2016; Yahalom-Mack et al. 2015). While tools such as axes, chisels, and awls were typically made using relatively pure local copper, other objects, such as maceheads, stan­dards, and crowns were commonly made of copper alloys (Shalev 2008). The origin of these copper al­loys is currently unknown; however, the nearest suit­able ores are in the Trans-Caucasus and Azerbaijan, more than 1500km from the sites where these ob­jects were found (however see also Shugar 2018; Zwicker 1977). While some studies suggest that cop­per production took place at the Beer Sheva sites (Shugar 2000; 2018), recent studies (Goren 2008; 2014) suggest that the final production of the cop­per artefacts occurred closer to the copper sources, possibly in the Judean Desert. Intriguingly, until recently most of the knowledge regarding Late Chalcolithic copper objects stemmed from several sites in the southern parts of Israel (the Negev, Shephelah, and Judean Desert) and a few sites in Jordan. However, little or no copper was found in other areas, including the Golan Heights, the Galilee, the northern Coastal Plain, and parts of the Jordan Valley (Buchman 2018; Rowan, Golden 2009; Shalev 2008). Thus, it seems that our current knowledge regarding the copper industry of the Late Chalcolithic period is focused on a relatively limited geographic region, while other regions still call for further research and analyses. Recent excavations at Late Chalcolithic Fazael in the Jordan Valley yielded dozens of copper items that allow for the first time a comprehensive study of such objects from this area. The assemblage is one of the largest of any site Danny Rosenberg, Eli Buchman, Sariel Shalev, and Shay Bar in the Late Chalcolithic period, and includes most of the known components of the Late Chalcolithic copper industry. The Late Chalcolithic of the Fazael Basin Fazael is located in the Fazael Basin, in the central Jordan Valley (Fig. 1). The site was first described briefly by Nelson Glueck (1951). Salvage excava­tions were later conducted in the eastern part of the area by Yosef Porath (1985) and Yuval Peleg (2000). The area was then surveyed in the frame­work of the Manasseh Hill Country Survey (Zertal, Bar 2019) and further explored in the Fazael Valley Regional Project in the last 12 years (Bar 2013; 2014). Fazael is in fact a concentration of sites (Fig. 2) along the northern terrace of Wadi Fazael. While Fazael 1 was ascribed to an earlier phase of the Late Chalcolithic and Fazael 4 to the Early Bronze Age I, Fazael 2, 5, and 7 (regarded as separate sites within one large site) were attributed to the late phase of the Late Chalcolithic period, based on the lithic, pot­tery, and ground stone tool assemblages (Bar 2013; 2014; Bar et al. 2013; 2014; 2015). Fazael 2, 5, and 7 also yielded copper items. Interestingly, in two of the three sites (Fazael 2 and 7) Canaanean blades, a characteristic of the Early Bronze Age, were found (Pinsky 2019), although produced using Late Chal­colithic technology (Pinsky 2019; see also Bar, Win­ter 2010; Rowan, Levy 1994 in this regards). Fazael 2 is located in the northern area of the greater Late Chalcolithic Fazael site (Bar et al. 2013). Stra­tum II of this three-stratum site was dated to a late stage in the Late Chalcolithic continuum, with radio­metric dates falling within the 1st century of the 4th millennium BC (Bar 2014.319–320). The main fea­ture discovered in Stratum II is a large courtyard house, covering an area of approx. 620m2. The court­yard itself is 560m2 in area (28x20m), bounded by 80–100cm thick stone walls. Most of the courtyard has not yet been excavated. One broad room (62m2; 4x15.5m) was found abutting the southeastern sec­tion of the courtyard. The room was divided into two large cells, and its entrance faced east. At least five successive beaten-earth floors were detected, all abutting the room’s walls, implying a long period of habitation. The second room was excavated in the western part of the courtyard. It was 60m2 in area (4x15m) and divided into two large cells. An entrance flanked by two standing monoliths was set at the southern part of the room. This room was built in the early phase of Stratum 2, and in the later phase of this stratum it went out of use, becoming part of the main courtyard. The pottery assemblage matches other contemporaneous sites, although churns were not recovered, only one cornet was found, and the flint assemblage is also typical of the Late Chalcolithic, but with notable evidence for the presence of the Canaanean industry (Bar, Winter 2010; Pinsky 2019). Fazael 5 is located at the middle of the presumed area of the ancient settlement (Fig. 2), c. 250m south­east of Fazael 2, and c. 70m west of Fazael 7. The area of this site was estimated to be 3ha. (Bar et al. 2015). Three layers were identified (Stratum I–III). Stratum I consists of two pits cutting most of the eastern part of a building identified in Stratum II. The finds in these pits are similar to the Stratum II assemblages, and therefore suggest that the pits were A large copper artefacts assemblage of Fazael, Jordan Valley> new evidence of Late Chalcolithic copper metallurgy in the southern Levant Fig. 2. The Fazael sites. formed close to the abandonment of the Stratum II building. Stratum III was discovered in two trench­es below the foundations of the Stratum II building. Pottery dated to the Late Chalcolithic period was found, but there were no architectural remains apart from a single ash pit. It seems that there was some activity here before the construction of the Stratum II broad room. Two large courtyard houses were do­cumented in Fazael 5, including a large broad room in Stratum II, the main habitation level of the site (Bar et al. 2015). The pottery assemblage of Stratum II has many parallels to other Late Chalcolithic sites (churns and cornets, however, are missing altogeth­er), and the flint assemblage is also typical of the pe­riod (Pinsky 2019). Fazael 7, east of Fazael 5, exposed one of the largest architectural complexes ever uncovered in the south Levantine Late Chalcolithic (Bar et al. 2017). The architectural elements were designated Stratum II, as they are stratigraphically below a flimsy con­struction attributed to the Roman period (Stratum I). Two probes below the Stratum II foundation lev­els revealed Late Chalcolithic remains which pre­date the large architectural complex and were thus designated as Stratum III (Bar et al. 2017). The architectural complex in Stratum II is unique, dissi­milar to typical Late Chalcolithic broad room struc­tures, like those found at Fazael 2 and Fazael 5. The architectural complex was likely roofed, and it con­sists of four almost identical rectangular rooms cre­ Danny Rosenberg, Eli Buchman, Sariel Shalev, and Shay Bar ated by the division of two roughly square units (Fig. 2). Its overall dimensions, about 8 x 15m and 120m2, make it one of the largest Late Chalcolithic structures in the southern Levant. The structure is massively built, with walls about 1m thick, pre­served to more than 1m high in places and typical­ly made of two rows of medium and large-sized field-stones with smaller stones and sediment in between. This is surrounded by three wide courtyards, which contain a subsidiary structure and adjoin the main structure on the east and north, altogether covering an area of about 1300m2. The pottery assemblage of Stratum II parallels other Late Chalcolithic sites (however, here also it lacks some of the common types such as churns and cornets), and the flint as­semblage is also typical of the period, but with pre­sence of Canaanean blades (Pinsky 2019). A large group of copper items and a few related finds were noted (Buchman 2018). These mark an important discovery and the first copper finds found in this area. Moreover, the assemblage is one of the largest Late Chalcolithic copper assemblages in southern Levant (with only the ‘Cave of the Trea­sure’ in the Judean Desert and sites in the Beer Sheva Basin having more). The present paper focuses on Late Chalcolithic metalworking in the Fazael Basin. While the chemical and isotopic analyses are ongo­ing, we present here the assemblage and offer pre­liminary insights, discussing their significance to our understanding of the management of copper items during the Late Chalcolithic period in the southern Levant. Methodology The copper artefacts from Fazael were found during the 2007–2018 excavation seasons. The items were handpicked during the excavations, sometimes using the aid of a metal detector, or during sifting (5mm mesh) of the sediments. These were documented, cleaned, and studied at the Zinman Institute of Ar­chaeology in the University of Haifa. The cleaning process was performed by plastic media blasting (PMB), using plastic particles 50 microns in size with Barcol hardness values of 40–60. The artefacts were cleaned with a Model-2 Ze- laboratory scales with ±0.01g accuracy. The artefacts were then typologically classified and measured. While chemical data were collected (with pXRF) to classify the artefacts into chemical groups, this ana­lysis should be regarded as preliminary, and a more thorough chemical analysis that includes stable lead isotope analysis that can further characterize the as­semblage and its origin is ongoing. The Fazael copper industry Altogether 52 copper artefacts and seven copper-re­lated artefacts (crucibles and burnt glazed sediments with no metal processing remains) were found at Fa-zael (2, 5, and 7, see Tables 1–3). These were main­ly found at Fazael 2, featuring the largest excavated area so far (n = 34 copper items), but also at Fazael 5 (n = 4) and Fazael 7 (n = 14). Five crucibles and two burnt glazed sediments containing no metal processing remains were also found at Fazael 2. Ex­cluding these, no additional tools related to metal­lurgy or high temperature fire sources have yet to be exposed at any of the Fazael sites. Among the copper artefacts found, only three were found com­plete (a chisel, a standard, and a macehead); the rest are fragments or pieces and chunks of copper items. As these sites are near one another and represent segments of one larger site, we present and discuss the three assemblages as a single assemblage. Following the common terminology (Bar-Adon 1980; Klimscha 2013; Levy, Shalev 1989; Shalev 2008), Fazael’s copper assemblage (Tab. 2) includes ‘utilitarian’ objects as well as ‘prestige’ objects. These include chisels, axes/chisels, and picks/awls, as well as crown fragments, maceheads, and standards. Also included are unidentified copper tool fragments and Site Copper items Crucibles Burnt glazed sediments Total Fazael 2 34 5 2 41 Fazael 5 4 4 Fazael 7 14 14 Total 52 5 2 59 Tab. 1. Distribution of copper and related artefacts at the Fazael sites. ro Production Instrument (CYSTRIP®). After clean­ing, morphometric data was obtained from each ar­tefact using digital calipers with ±0.0mm accuracy, and Site Celts Maceheads Crowns Standards Unidentified fragments Chunks Total Fazael 2 3 2 6 5 6 12 34 Fazael 5 2 1 1 4 Fazael 7 1 1 2 1 9 14 Total 6 3 8 6 8 21 52 each find was weighed with Tab. 2. Distribution of types in the copper assemblages of the Fazael sites. A large copper artefacts assemblage of Fazael, Jordan Valley> new evidence of Late Chalcolithic copper metallurgy in the southern Levant Cat. No. Type Site Fig. No. Dimensions (mm) Weight (g) l w t d 207 axe Fazael 2 4.3 23.40 16.41 4.35 9.68 234 axe Fazael 2 4.4 25.64 16.76 7.96 15.24 240 axe Fazael 2 4.1 145.70 12.71 5.96 113.10 502* axe Fazael 5 8 54.40 22.50 4.30 503* awl Fazael 5 8 102.00 8.50 701 chisel Fazael 7 4.2 140.34 10.61 3.38–6.89 108.92 202 macehead Fazael 2 5.1 27.30 27.30 49.10 34.50 241 macehead Fazael 2 5.2 40.73 36.27 55.60 44.20 704 macehead Fazael 7 5.3 40.52 40.63 206.42 201 crown Fazael 2 6.1 61.60 49.10 6.60 53.80 210 crown Fazael 2 6.2 14.35 17.16 7.79 6.54 230 crown Fazael 2 6.3 31.2 25.56 3.95 15.26 231 crown Fazael 2 6.4 39.29 49.10 5.31 32.71 232 crown Fazael 2 6.8 29.48 23.93 3.30 10.04 238 crown Fazael 2 6.5 33.09 32.38 7.46 17.78 702** crown Fazael 7 6.6 38.04 1.81–12.65 2.34–4.09 9.08 705 crown Fazael 7 6.7 50.69 29.54 32.15 67.12 203 standard Fazael 2 7.1 23.50 3.3 34.70 41.90 204 standard Fazael 2 7.2 39.96 12.90 6.74 9.76 209 standard Fazael 2 7.3 18.17 5.32 5.08 5.32 211 standard Fazael 2 7.4 14.06 20.10 5.06 7.46 217 standard Fazael 2 7.5 31.34 11.09 5.54 9.78 501* standard Fazael 5 8 67.90 38.3 206 unidentified fragment Fazael 2 9.1 20.48 19.10 6.80 9.42 212 unidentified fragment Fazael 2 9.2 14.17 20.21 3.50 2.81 216 unidentified fragment Fazael 2 9.3 10.57 7.7 4.93 1.36 220 unidentified fragment Fazael 2 9.4 31.66 22.25 12.07 26.11 233 unidentified fragment Fazael 2 9.5 24.86 24.25 8.68 22.08 239 unidentified fragment Fazael 2 9.6 11.53 10.21 5.56 1.2 504* unidentified fragment Fazael 5 8 703 unidentified fragment Fazael 7 9.7 10.5 0.79 3.11 2.4 205 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.1 35.84 12.82 7.11 8.92 208 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.2 20.27 16.22 8.32 9.28 213 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.3 19.34 11.96 8.72 6.32 214 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.4 11.23 7.84 6.27 2.14 215 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.5 11.43 7.3 5.59 1.18 218 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.6 14.1 9.13 3.25 1.52 226 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.7 21.61 4.73 5.66 0.92 227 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.8 8.84 4.45 2.76 0.22 235 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.9 11.45 7.64 4.75 1.02 236 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.10 4.22 25.71 7.32 4.22 237 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.11 9.58 8.96 2.96 0.22 242 copper chunk Fazael 2 10.12 16.70 9.83 7.60 2.26 706 copper chunk Fazael 7 10.13 7.89 3.66 3.29 0.10 707 copper chunk Fazael 7 10.14 15.55 9.66 5.11 0.68 708 copper chunk Fazael 7 11.1 50.29 25.71 4.81 17.86 709 copper chunk Fazael 7 11.2 29.20 16.35 8.93 6.40 710 copper chunk Fazael 7 11.3 13.56 6.26 4.51 0.34 711 copper chunk Fazael 7 11.4 7.38 5.10 2.35 0.10 712 copper chunk Fazael 7 11.5 13.66 5.42 4.15 0.24 713 copper chunk Fazael 7 11.6 10.59 9.02 5.43 0.54 714 copper chunk Fazael 7 11.7 11.84 9.79 3.39 0.42 * Part of the items found together as a group in Fazael 5 ** Ibex horn| Tab. 3. The copper assemblages of Fazael. Danny Rosenberg, Eli Buchman, Sariel Shalev, and Shay Bar copper chunks of various sizes, shapes, and weights. A rare find from Fazael 5 is a standard in which a chisel, awl, and an unidentified bent item were in­serted. Spatial distribution of the copper items Copper artefacts were found in various loci at Fa-zael 2. Some of these were found in primary con­texts in the rooms and courtyard (Fig. 3). Of note is Locus 225, where three copper artefacts, four cru­cible fragments, and the two slags were found. The fifth crucible fragment, without traces of copper or slag, was found in the north-eastern room that also yielded an axe, two unidentified copper objects frag­ments, and four copper chunks. The interior room yielded seven items: three crown fragments, a chisel fragment, a macehead fragment, fragments of an un­identified copper tool, and a copper chunk. A frag­ment of a standard was found hidden in wall W270. The standard with the three inserted items from Fazael 5 was found in the southern cell of a broad room, the only room so far excavated at this site. At Fazael 7, most of the copper artefacts were found in two rooms of the southwestern building, the main structure excavated in this area. Axes and an awl Of these, two are whole. All items in this group are characterized by a cutting edge that is wider than the body (Fig. 4, Tab. 3). Both items found at Fa-zael 5 – an axe and an awl – were inserted in the standard. Similar items were found at other Late Chalcolithic sites in the southern Levant and reflect a somewhat limited number of types and sub-types Fig. 3. Distribution of copper items at Fazael 2. A large copper artefacts assemblage of Fazael, Jordan Valley> new evidence of Late Chalcolithic copper metallurgy in the southern Levant (e.g., Bar-Adon 1980; Ben-Yosef et al. 2016; van den Brink et al. 2016; Eldar, Baumgarten 1985; Klimscha 2013; Lee 1973; Namdar et al. 2004; Per-rot 1955a; 1959b; Segal, Goren 2013; Segal, Ka­menski 2002). Maceheads Three maceheads were recovered (Fig. 5, Tab. 3): two fragments and one complete item. The two macehead fragments (Fig. 5.1–2) are globular, and the complete item is piriform (Fig. 5.3). No core ma­terial survived in the holes. Similar items were found at other Late Chalcolithic sites in the southern Le­vant, reflecting a preference for specific morpholo­gies (e.g., Bar-Adon 1980; Ben-Yosef et al. 2016; Dothan 1959; Golden 2010; Goren 2008; Namdar et al. 2004; Perrot 1955b; 1959b; Segal, Goren 2013; Segal, Kamenski 2002 and see Sebbanne 2009). Crowns Seven flat slightly convex fragments that seem to be parts of crowns (Fig. 6.1–7) were found (Tab. 3) although not in all examples it is entirely clear that this are in fact crown fragments. A single ibex horn (Fig. 6.8) that was probably part of a crown (or a standard, see Bar-Adon 1980) was also found. The crown rims appear to have a rounded end, facing outward and at least one may bear some kind of de­coration (e.g., Fig. 6.4). Similar finds were found at only limited additional sites (Golden 2010; Klim­scha 2013). Standards Five standard fragments and one complete standard were found (Figs. 7 and 8, Tab. 3). Two fragments were parts of upper and lower disc-shaped rims with a short straight plain neck and a hollow cylindrical shaft (Fig. 7.1,4). Three other fragments were parts of a straight hollow cylindrical shaft. No decoration was observed on any of the external surfaces. Stan­dards were found at a few addi­tional Late Chalcolithic sites in the southern Levant (e.g., Bar-Adon 1980; Golden 2010; Do-than 1959; Eldar, Baumgarten 1985; Israel et al. 2014; Klim­scha 2013; Lee 1973; Milevski et al. 2013; Perrot 1955b; Shalev 1996). The complete standard from Fa-zael 5 (Fig. 8) contained a chisel, awl, and a bent item with a rec­tangular section that were insert-ed into the standard through the base (the chisel and awl protrude). The standard’s base was pressed, preventing the inserted items from falling out. The upper area of the standard has an opening. The stan­dard is adorned with a large protruding nose and two eyes with three or four eyelashes. A horizontal groove encircled the body near the base. This stan­dard bears some resemblance to the famous figu­rine-standard from the Cave of the Treasure (Bar-Adon 1980.49); however, clear stylistic differences in the standard morphology and figure design are Danny Rosenberg, Eli Buchman, Sariel Shalev, and Shay Bar noted as well, including two elongated pro­trusions on the sides (ears?), the remains of a third one on the back of the head, and a potential mouth. Unidentified fragments These comprise fragments and various cop­per pieces that could not be included in the former groups (Fig. 9, Tab. 3). These frag­ments vary in size, shape, and density. One of these is a bent fragment that was found in­side the standard at Fazael 5 (seen through the hole in the standard head and in an X-ray image). Copper chunks Copper chunks could be remnants of the cast­ing process (Figs. 10 and 11, Tab. 3). They are of various sizes and shapes. Crucibles Among the pottery assemblage of Fazael 2, there are five crucible fragments (Fig. 12, Tab. 4). The Fazael crucibles are similar to finds from the Negev (Eldar, Baumgarten 1985; Notis et al. 1984; Shalev, Northover 1987). Four of the cru­cible fragments were found in close proximity to in­stallation Locus 225, located in one of the western rooms of Fazael 2, and they contained slag and cop­per remains. The fifth crucible fragment was found on the eastern side of Fazael 2 and contained no slag. Burnt glazed sediments The two burnt glazed sediments (Fig. 13) are char­acterized by melted or partially melted local sedi­ment that contacted an extremely hot heat source (for similar burnt glazed sediments see Notis et al. 1984; Shalev, Northover 1987). These were found in installation Locus 225 (which contained no signs of fire or ash remains). They are porous, and the cross-section is black in colour. Preliminary chemical analysis of the copper artefacts While still preliminary, it seems that the copper ar­tefacts from Fazael show a clear division into two main chemical groups (Buchman 2018). The groups are characterized by the absence or differences in quantities of elements in the copper alloys. Group I Fig. 7. Copper standards. A large copper artefacts assemblage of Fazael, Jordan Valley> new evidence of Late Chalcolithic copper metallurgy in the southern Levant Cat. Dimension (mm) Internal wall Depth no. inner rim external rim coating (mm) diameter diameter 221 58.60 82.00 slag 45.30 222 slag 223 65.00 81.00 slag + copper 43.65 224 65.40 87.80 slag 225 Tab. 4. Crucibles. is characterized mainly by copper and iron, while arsenic, antimony, and nickel are absent. The con­centration of iron and iron oxides depends mainly on the purity of the copper in the alloy. Group II is characterized by copper alloys, and it can be further separated based on typology and chemical composi­tion (see Buchman 2018). In a few artefacts in this group, the concentration of some elements (e.g., ar­senic, bismuth, lead, and antimony) seems higher than in the natural ores, however, in general the average concentrations of antimony, arsenic, lead, and nickel are lower than those found in natural ore (Buchman 2018). The lack of control over the cop­per composition of some of these (nine items) pro­duced copper alloys that differed from those pro­duced directly from the copper ore, and seems to sug­gest recycling of copper artefacts (Buchman 2018). Most of the analysed ‘prestige’ objects at Fazael have lead concentrations higher than about 0.5wt.% and the artefacts that generally contain high lead concen­trations lack one of the other elements (nickel, arse­nic, or antimony). In this regard, Miriam Tadmor et al. (1995) suggested that the exotic copper-arsenic-antimony alloys were chosen to facilitate production using the lost wax technique, which requires highly fluid liquid metal that can be obtained using alloys. The metallic lead was probably obtained from dif-ferent sources than the polymetallic ore used for the copper-arsenic-antimony alloys (e.g., Yahalom-Mack et al. 2015). Our preliminary chemical analysis also seems to suggest that in the Fazael copper assem­blage some artefacts have lead or bismuth added to pure copper or copper alloys. This may have been used to improve the quality of the final alloys; alter­natively, this may represent a break in the trade of Fig. 9. Unidentified fragments of copper items. Danny Rosenberg, Eli Buchman, Sariel Shalev, and Shay Bar copper-arsenic-antimony al­loys and an attempt to find al­ternatives (see also Ben-Yo­sef et al. 2016). At Fazael, four items contain lead in concen­trations above 1.2wt.%. How­ever, only one item (an uni­dentified tool fragment) con­tains mainly copper and lead, while another item, a chunk, contains 2.76wt.% bismuth. The distinction between cop­per objects with more ‘utilita­rian’ characteristics and more prestigious and less utilitarian forms is still debated (e.g., Barkai 2011; Golden 2009; Kerner 2001; Potazkin, Bar-Avi 1980; Shalev, Northover 1987). Our preliminary che­mical study shows that the traditional classification of copper items into these two typological groups, characteri­zed by different manufactur­ing techniques and chemical compositions (e.g., Key 1980; Shalev 1991; Shalev, Northover 1993; Tadmor et al. 1995), does not al­ways apply. This pattern, while characteristic of most of the Late Chalcolithic copper industry, is challenged by the presence of copper items (such as a few of the Fazael objects) that are commonly as­sociated with one functional group (‘utilitarian’ or ‘prestige’) yet are produced from ore typically asso­ciated with the other functional group. Similar exam­ples are observed at Giv’at Ha-Oranim (Namdar et al. 2004), Peqi’in Cave (Segal, Goren 2013), and the Cave of the Sandal (Segal, Kaminski 2002). It is in­teresting to note that most of the objects that cross the proposed guidelines are (unalloyed) maceheads, and this may relate to their function. Discussion and conclusion The new information accumulated from the recent excavations in the Late Chalcolithic Fazael Basin sites adds critical evidence for the disper­sal of copper metallurgy into the Jor­dan Valley and furthers our under­standing of this time span and its re­flection in this region. The Fazael sites are characterized by large court-yard structures, pottery assemblages that lack cer­tain key components (e.g., churns and cornets), mi­nimal basalt vessels, Canaanean blades typical of the Early Bronze Age and the later stages of the Late Chalcolithic period (Pinsky 2019; Rosen 1997), per­forated discs that are found mainly in the Golan, northern Jordan Valley, and Galilee (see Rosenberg, Shimelmitz 2017), and the general absence of bifa­cial tools and ivory objects, the later are found main­ly in southern Israel (see Rosenberg, Chasan in press). Based on the available data, all three sites (Fazael 2, 5, and 7) had a phase that pre-dates the construction of the large courtyard houses. Notably, in the more extensively researched sites of Fazael 2 and 7 these layers were rich in finds, including com- A large copper artefacts assemblage of Fazael, Jordan Valley> new evidence of Late Chalcolithic copper metallurgy in the southern Levant plete vessels and a few copper artefacts. Although we should be cautious in stating this, as the division between the pre-architecture and the main architec­ture phases is not always clear, this suggests that cop­per artefacts may have been present in the Fazael Basin sites before the onset of the major construc­tion phases. The significance of the new copper assemblage found at Late Chalcolithic sites in the Fazael Basin lays in its size and geographic location, as well as in its com­position and chemical attributes. The assemblage is currently one of the largest copper assemblages for the Late Chalcolithic period in the southern Levant, and Fazael is the richest site in copper objects be­yond the borders of the northern Negev and the Ju-dean Desert. The Fazael assemblage reveals that ty­pologically varied copper objects and waste mate­rials (e.g., copper chunks) found their way to Fazael, probably as scrap metal, reflecting the complexity of this industry in the region at the very end of the Late Chalcolithic period. The results of the current study and our preliminary chemical analysis indicate that Fazael is the first Late Chalcolithic site in the Jordan Valley with evidence for a local metallurgical indus­try, one that probably involved the recycling of cop­per items that were produced or, at least in some cases, brought from elsewhere to Fazael when they went out of use. This conclusion is based on the large number of fragments and pieces of copper objects, as only a few items were found whole or undam­aged, and on our preliminary chemical analysis. It is further supported by the many copper chunks found as well as the presence of the crucibles and burnt glazed sediments. Thus, the results suggest that the Fazael Basin was well integrated into the circulation of copper objects during the very end of the Late Chalcolithic period, and Fazael also seems to have been an important site for copper objects that were no longer suitable for use in their original function, possibly in cultic activities. While the social, economic, and technical mechanisms behind the extensive metallurgical in­dustry must await further study of the site, the pre­sent study reflects the complexity and centrality of the copper industry in the Fazael Basin. The copper assemblage found at Fazael expands the distribution of Late Chalcolithic copper metallurgy into an area nearly devoid of copper objects, while the typologi- Danny Rosenberg, Eli Buchman, Sariel Shalev, and Shay Bar cal variability and discard patterns of the assem­blage, its size, and chemical characteristics suggest that Fazael was an important depot in the produc-tion/recycling of copper objects during the period. This accumulated data combined with the massive architecture suggests that the site, located along the main trading routes, had special significance within the Late Chalcolithic social and economic systems. . ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We would like to thank S. Haad, A. Regev-Gisis, and R. Chasan for all their help with the graphics and to J. Tresman for perusing and editing the text. We also would like to thank anonymous reviewers for their most helpful comments. References Adams R. B., Genz H. 1995. 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London: 13–26. back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia Hatice Gönül Yalçin Institute for Archaeological Sciences, Ruhr University Bochum, Deutsches Bergbaumuseum Bochum, Bochum, DE goenuel.yalcin@bergbaumuseum.de ABSTRACT – The longevity of the Kura-Araxes culture is an archaeological phenomenon in the Cau­casus and Near East. Over the course of a millennium, this culture spread from its origins in Eastern Anatolia, the Transcaucasia and northwest Iran to Southeastern Anatolia, northern Syria, Palestine and Israel. Named after the settlement mound Karaz near Erzurum, the Karaz culture is a widely established Turkish term for the Kura-Araxes culture. In Palestine and Israel, this culture is called Khirbet-Kerak. Apart from the striking small finds and special architectural features, it has a special pottery with characteristics that remained almost uniform in its area of distribution. Situated in the Altinova plain in Eastern Anatolia, Tepecik was also home for this significant culture. Today, this set­tlement mound lies under the waters of the Keban Dam in Elazig. Yet its strategic location on a tri­butary of the Euphrates enabled the emergence and development of various cultures. At this settle­ment, archaeologists documented the Karaz culture that occurred in an almost unbroken cultural sequence from the Late Chalcolithic up to the beginnings of the Middle Bronze Age. Thus, Tepecik is one of the most significant prehistoric settlements within the distribution area of the Kura-Araxes/Ka-raz/Khirbet Kerak culture in the Near East. This paper presents the Karaz pottery from Tepecik as well as the possible development of the Karaz culture in the course of the Early Bronze Age at this settlement. KEY WORDS – Late Chalcolithic; Early Bronze Age; Kura-Araxes/Karaz/Khirbet Kerak culture; Karaz pottery; Keban Dam Project; Tepecik Naselbinska gomila Tepecik in kultura Karaz v vzhodni Anatoliji IZVLE.EK – Dolgo.ivost kulture Kura-Araxes je arheolo.ki fenomen na obmo.ju Kavkaza in Bli.nje­ga vzhoda. Skozi tiso.letje se je ta kultura raz.irila od izvornih obmo.ij v vzhodni Anatoliji, v Za­kavkazju in v severozahodnem Iranu do jugovzhodne Anatolije, severne Sirije, Palestine in Izraela. Kultura Karaz je bila poimenovana po naselbinski gomili Karaz pri Erzurumu in predstavlja dobro uveljavljen tur.ki termin za kulturo Kura-Araxes. V Palestini in Izraelu pa se ta kultura imenuje Khirbet-Kerak. Poleg presenetljivih majhnih najdb in posebnih arhitekturnih zna.ilnosti ima kultu­ra .e posebno lon.enino z zna.ilnostmi, ki so ostale skoraj nespremenjene na celotnem obmo.ju raz-.irjenosti. Najdi..e Tepecik, ki se nahaja v ni.ini Altinova v vzhodni Anatoliji, je prav tako pred­stavljalo dom tej pomembni kulturi. Danes je celotni najdi..e pod vodo za jezom Keban v pokrajini Elazig. Strate.ka lega naselbine na pritoku Evfrata je omogo.ila nastanek in razvoj razli.nih kultur. Tukaj so arheologi dokumentirali kulturo Karaz, ki se pojavlja v skoraj nepretrgani kulturni sek­venci od poznega halkolitika do za.etka srednje bronaste dobe. To postavlja Tepecik na mesto ene bolj pomembnih prazgodovinskih naselbin znotraj obmo.ja raz.irjenosti kulture Kura-Araxes/Ka-raz/Khirbet Kerak na Bli.njem vzhodu. V .lanku predstavljamo lon.enino tipa Karaz iz Tepecika kot tudi mo.en razvoj kulture Karaz v .asu zgodnje bronaste dobe na najdi..u. KLJU.NE BESEDE – pozni halkolitik; zgodnja bronasta doba; kultura Kura-Araxes/Karaz/Khirbet Kerak; lon.enina tipa Karaz; projekt jeza Keban; Tepecik DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.15 Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia Preface The present work is a brief and updated summary of the dissertation completed in 2012 at the Philipps University of Marburg (Germany) with the title ‘The Karaz Pottery of Tepecik in Eastern Anatolia’, which was published in German in the same year. It is based on the excavation results of the years 1968– 1974. The interim reports of these excavations have been brought out in annual Keban Project publica­tions, yet a final evaluation is still pending. For this reason the results presented here, especially the stra­tigraphic and chronological interpretations, should be regarded as preliminary. However, the Karaz phe­nomenon has recently become the subject of archa­eological investigations again. Thus, there is a need to re-examine the role of Tepecik and its Karaz pot­tery in an article written in English, in order to make the issues under discussion accessible to a broad sci­entific research community. This is especially the case when we consider that the final publication of the Tepecik is still pending, though more than fifty years have passed since the last excavations. Since the archaeological data of Tepecik is not completely accessible for researchers, insufficient and someti­mes incorrect information circulates in the publica­tions that compare some early material from Tepecik with the finds of other contemporary settlements. When writing this paper, care was taken to consider Fig. 1. The distribution area of the Kura-Araxes/Karaz/Khirbet Khe­rak culture in Transcaucasia and the Near East (Yalçin 2012). 1 Altin­tepe; 2 Amiranis Gora; 3 Ararat; 4 Armavir Blur; 5 Arslantepe; 6 As-van; 7 Beshtasheni and Tetri-Tsa­qaro; 8 Kargamis; 9 Çatal Höyük; 10 Tell Chuera; 11 Ernis and Dilka-ya; 12 Goey Tepe; 13 Godin Tepe; 14 Haftavan; 15 Hama; 16 Horsa­tepe; 17 Hornavil; 18 Horomhan; 19 Degirmende; 20 Iremir; 21 Isa-köy; 22 Tell el-Djudeyde; 23 Kara-kuru; 24 Karaz, Pulur, Güzelova and Sos Höyük; 25 Kiketi, Didube and Kvatzchelebi; 26 Korucutepe; 27 Hayaz Höyük and Hassek Hö­yük; 28 Kurban Höyük; 29 Kültepe; 30 Lugove; 31 Norsuntepe; 32 Pu-lur-Sakyol; 33 Kal’at err-Rus; 34 Ras Shamra; 35 Shengavit; 36 Shresh Blur; 37 Sivrikaya; 38 Tell Suqas; 39 Tabar el-Akrad; 40 Tell T’ayinat; 41 Tülintepe and Tepecik; 42 Tria­leti; 43 Yanik Tepe; 44 Yayci; 45 the latest literature as well as the most recent hypo­theses regarding the complex interplay among the interregional cultural landscapes where this impor­tant prehistoric culture spread. The paper is dedicated to my teacher and mentor, Ufuk Esin, head of the excavations of Tepecik and one of the most important pioneers of Anatolian archaeology, who left us far too early. Introduction The Karaz culture is a widely established Turkish term for the Kura-Araxes culture named after the settlement mound Karaz that is located some 16km western-northwest of Erzurum in Eastern Anatolia (Kosay, Turfan 1959.349). However, this Anatolian variant cannot be considered as exactly the same culture as the Kura-Araxes culture of Transcaucasia. It is rather a mixture of different cultural traditions of Anatolia, but also of the southern Caucasia in Late Chalcolithic and the Early Bronze Age (Palumbi 2017.124–125). Occurring in Northeastern, Eastern and Southeastern Anatolia, overarching the north central plateau of Anatolia, the Karaz culture repre­sents a long-lived culture that persisted over one mil­lennium (Fig. 1) (Burney 1958; Kosay 1977; 1979; Yalçin 2012.257–298; Isikli 201; Steadman et al. 2008; 2015). Zülfübulak; 46 Tell es-Shuna; 47 Affula; 48 Khirbet Kerak; 49 Jericho; 50 Bad edh-Dahra; 51 Köhne Sha­har; 52 Basur Höyük; 53 Alucra-Gavur Kalesi; 54 Çadir Höyük. Hatice Gönül Yalçin The Kura-Araxes/Khirbet Kerak/Karaz culture The history of research, dispersal theories and dating We owe the discovery of the Kura-Araxes culture to the wealthy archaeology enthusiasts who collected a red-black polished pottery in the Southern Cauca­sus region during the second half of the 19th centu­ry (Sagona 2014b.23–24). This pottery was the sub­ject of archaeological research, as Boris Alekseevich Kuftin (1941) started to excavate in the Trialeti re­gion and found the same pottery again. After the study of the finds in the Museum of Tbilisi in Geor­gia as well as the finds from the other excavations such as Beshteshani, Ozni or Shengavit, he suggest­ed a particular dating and circulation area for this pottery (Sagona 2014a; 2014b). In Transcaucasia, the culture associated with this typical pottery was called Kura-Araxes, since its settlements were en­countered between the rivers Kura and Araxes (Yal-çin 2012.39–42; Sagona 2014b.22–23). In the late 1920s, archaeologists became aware of a comparable culture in the Southern Levant, as Wil­liam F. Albright (1926) reported on a red-black, po­lished pottery with striking shapes and ornaments during his investigations in Khirbet Kerak. Recorded in many Levantine settlements, the culture associ­ated with this pottery was then called Khirbet Ke­rak (Sagona 2014b.22–23). In Southeastern Anato­lia, settlements in the Amuq plain and Tabara el-Akrad on the present Turkish-Syrian border also provided similar pottery finds (Hood 1951; Braid-wood, Braidwood 1960.518). As research progres­sed, it turned out that the culture and pottery found in Khirbet Kerak differ in details from the Kura-Ara­xes culture and pottery, as in Anatolia. Yet in this early phase of research, common roots seemed to be reasonable to the archaeologists. In 1935, following the excavations in Alacahöyük, Hamit Z. Kosay (1938.170, 173) recognized simila­rities between the Early Bronze Age pottery found here and the Kura Araxes pottery, as well as the Khirbet Kerak ceramics, thus identifying cultural relations between Central Anatolia, Transcaucasia and the Levant. Shortly after the surveys of Kiliç Kökten (1952) in Northeastern and Eastern Anato­lia in the 1940s and 1950s, and the excavations in the settlement mound Karaz, the presence of an Eastern Anatolian culture that showed common fea­tures with the Kura Araxes culture became obvious. Thus, for the first time the term ‘Karaz culture’ ap­peared (Kosay, Turfan 1959.359, 360). After Char­les A. Burney’s survey in 1957 and the publication of the Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age pottery from this, the ubiquitous presence of the Karaz cul­ture in Eastern Anatolia became more apparent (Burney 1958). In 1968, the rescue excavations start­ed at the floodplain of the Keban Dam near Elazig, in Eastern Anatolia. This rescue project marked a turning point in Anatolian prehistory. During the course of the excavations, Karaz culture, its pottery, small finds and architecture were documented in many settlements in the Elazig and Altinova plains (Yalçin 2012.39–55). Being aware of this vast cultural distribution, addi­tional archaeological work gave insight on the deve­lopment stages of the Karaz culture, which was dis­covered in the Mus plain and around the Van Lake (Kozbe 1990; Rothman, Kozbe 1997; Sagona 2000). The excavations at Arslantepe in the Malatya plain are important milestones of research in Eastern Ana­tolia. At Arslantepe, investigations into this culture have proceeded from the 1980s onwards (Frangi-pane 2001; 2014). Sos Höyük near Erzurum repre­sents another important site in Northeastern Anato­lia (Sagona 2000; 2014a; 2014b), which is more related to the original Kura-Araxes culture because of its geographical position. Besides Arslantepe, the excavations at Sos Höyük support the research of the Karaz culture with numerous 14C dates (Sago­na 2000.333–336; 2014a.39, Tab. 3; Frangipane 2019.73, Tab. 1). Further investigations attempting to reveal the origins of this culture are continuing in the Erzurum Region (Isikli 2015). During the rescue excavations at the reservoir of the Karakaya and Karababa dams in Southeastern Ana­tolia in the last two decades of the 20th century, and further excavations in Southeastern Anatolia, more evidence of the Karaz culture was unearthed. Yet, Karaz pottery did not appear in large quantities at the sites. Special finds were enough to testify to the spread of this culture in Southeastern Anatolia or to regions on the modern Syro-Turkish border. Like­wise, these finds suggested the encounter of the Syro-Mesopotamian cultures with the Transcaucasian Kura-Araxes and Karaz culture (Yalçin 2012.289– 293). Nowadays, within the framework of further archae­ological investigations, we know that the Karaz cul­ture infiltrated also into the eastern part of Central Anatolia and interacted with the local people of this region. Here we encounter the typical Karaz pottery Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia near Yildizeli in Sivas (Ökse 1993). Excavations in Çadirhöyük near Yozgat yielded the characteristic relics of this culture and pinpointed the cultural rela­tions between Central and Eastern Anatolia from the Late Chalcolithic on (Palumbi 2007.46, 47; Stead-man et al. 2008.50). According to the latest inves­tigations, we can demonstrate the expansion of the Karaz culture into the Eastern Black-Sea region as well, as the latest excavations near Ordu and Gire-sun provided the pottery and architecture of this culture (Kaymakçi 2017.28–30, 32). Furthermore, the influences of this culture spread to the eastern­most part of Southeastern Anatolia, such as Basur Höyük near Siirt. At the Early Bronze Age I cemetery of this site, dated to 3100–2900 cal BC, typical Ka­raz pottery and metal finds were found in some cist-graves (Saglamtimur 2017.10.Fig. 10; Saglamtimur et al. 2019.205, 211). Archaeologists were not aware of the presence of the Karaz culture in Anatolia until the mid-1950s. Because of some similarities, Sinclair Hood (1951. 116), Ruth Amiran (1952.91) and Winifred Lamb (1954.31) compared the Early Bronze Age pottery of Alacahöyük with the ceramics of the Khirbet-Ke­rak culture in the Levant. Robert J. Braidwood pos­tulated a common origin for the Khirbet Kerak pot­tery of the Amuq plain and the Early Bronze Age pottery of Alacahöyük (Braidwood, Braidwood 1960.518; Palumbi 2007.39). After the excavations in Tabara el-Akrad, Hood (1951. 113, 117, 118) stated that the Khirbet Kerak people had brought their pottery tradition from the Kura plain to Syria, thus spreading it to the south. In the 1970s, Ian A. Todd (1973.181–189) and Marilyn Kelly-Buccellati (1974) postulated interregional trade as the cause of this spread. In the 1980s, Amiran (1989.9–10) suggested that the peoples of this cul­ture invaded the south in order to conquer new lands and establish new settlements. At the beginning of our century, further dispersal theories were developed. Marcella Frangipane (2001. 4) saw the reasons for the dispersal of the culture in a short-term power vacuum caused by a political crisis in Eastern Anatolia at the end of the Late Chal­colithic. Already during period VII, and especially VI A, interactions with different groups of people, such as those from Central Anatolia and pastoralists or semi-sedentary people from northern mountainous regions, coming from Northeastern Anatolia and Southern Transcaucasia, existed at Arslantepe. The interests of these populations must have come into conflict with those of the ruling authorities around 3200 cal BC, as the centralized Late Uruk system of Arslantepe VI A collapsed completely, which lead to a regional crisis. After the downfall of the central administrative apparatus in Arslantepe, new tran­shumant groups, probably with Northeastern Anato­lian and Southern Transcaucasian origins settled in Arslantepe VI B1 around 3200–3100 cal BC (Fran­gipane 2019.86, 87). The newcomers used both a red-black polished, Kura-Araxes like pottery and the wheel-made pottery of the Late Uruk period (Fran­gipane 2001.4, 8; 2014.176). However, in the fol­lowing period VI B2 (3100–2800 cal BC), local se­dentary agriculturalists founded a rather simple vil­lage with the cultural tradition of the Post-Uruk pe­riod and regained possession of the settlement (Frangipane 2019.89). Likewise, in this period the inhabitants kept using both the red-black pottery of Transcaucasian origin and the wheel-made pottery of the Late Uruk tradition. In Arslantepe the red-black pottery tradition continued in periods VI C and VI D until the end of the Early Bronze Age. Pierre de Miroschedji (2000.264) considered that Khirbet-Kerak pottery in the Levant was the product of migratory metalworkers, having arrived there from Anatolia and spreading the knowledge of both metallurgy and their pottery. Being a prestige object, this pottery probably complied with the demands of the regional elites. Graham Philip (1999.44–45) suggested tracing the presence of the Khirbet Kerak culture in the Levant back to seaborne connections following the coastal eastern Mediterranean routes. Using their original pottery and adopting a conscious sign of class diffe­rentiation, Khirbet Kerak people probably took a stand against the local population who had a diffe­rent cultural style and pottery tradition (Philip 1999. 45; Greenberg 2007.267). Recently, Raphael Green­berg supported the conventional diffusion theory from the north to the south, which, in his opinion, took place gradually over centuries. He noted that in Khirbet Kerak this pottery appeared around 2850 cal BC for the first time (Greenberg et al. 2012. 100–102) suggesting an arrival around the very be­ginning of the Early Bronze Age II. Recent studies have reverted to the diffusion theory via trade routes, indicating that trade in raw mate­rials such as salt, obsidian, metal or livestock fa-voured the spread of this culture (Breniquet, Michel 2014.1–3; Palumbi 2017). Peoples of the Kura-Ara­xes culture, those who were trading in wool, prob­ Hatice Gönül Yalçin ably met the needs of Mesopotamian textile manu­facturers. In this way, their cultural elements may have infiltrated the related societies (Alizadeh et al. 2018.128). Nowadays, new finds are shifting the view concern­ing the origin and spread of this culture from a uni­fied perception to a dynamic cultural interplay among the Caucasus, Central and Eastern Anatolia, North­eastern Iran, Syro-Mesopotamia, and the Levant. The Kura-Araxes culture is increasingly seen as a collec­tion of processes that were formed over the course of centuries in the context of social, economic and religious interactions (Batiuk, Rothman 2007.1–9; Sagona 2014a.23–25). Until the end of the 20th century, the absolute dates of the Transcaucasian settlements were missing, so that they were mostly dated comparatively. Thus, with only a few 14C dates the beginning of the Kura-Araxes culture in Transcaucasia and Eastern Anato­lia was put to the second half of the 4th millennium BC (Sagona 2000.332–333; Dschaparidze 2001.95). For the arrival of this culture in Southeastern Anato­lia and the Levant, a date about 2800–2700 cal BC has been accepted (Braidwood, Braidwood 1960. 259 ff.; Maisler et al. 1952.165; De Miroschedji 2000; Greenberg et al. 2012.98; Palumbi, Chataig­ner 2014.254). Today there are enough absolute dates from Transcaucasia, North-Central and Eastern Anatolia, Northwestern Iran and the Levant (Palum-bi, Chataigner 2014.248, Fig. 1; Sagona 2014a.37, 39, Tabs. 2, 3; Steadman et al. 2015.90, Tab. 1; Frangipane 2019.73, Tab. 1). The old non-calibrat­ed 14C dates from Anatolia were also made available (Üncü 2010), while researchers are increasingly working to secure their finds with 14C dates (Philip, Millard 2000; Badalyan 2014.78, 79, 83; Sagona 2014a.25–29, 37–39; Steadman et al. 2015.90, Tab. 1; Alizadeh et al. 2018.131). Thus, according to cur­rent knowledge the earliest evidence for this culture in the northern dispersal area has already emerged from about 3500 cal BC onwards, becoming well es­tablished by 3300 cal BC (Palumbi 2008; Sagona 2014a.25). During the 3rd millennium BC, the cul­ture spread through a vast region in the Near East (Sagona 2014a.25, 29; Isikli 2015.242; Palumbi, Chataigner 2014.248, Fig. 1; Alizadeh et al. 2018. 464, 474, 475). This culture disappeared gradually in the Levant, e.g., in Khirbet Kerak from 2400 cal BC onwards (Greenberg et al. 2012.89, 103), while its pottery remained in use in Eastern Anatolia until about 1800 cal BC (Yalçin 2012.23, 358, 364; Sago-na 2014a.25). The characteristics of the culture The people of this culture inhabited the fertile and high-elevated plains or valleys. Contrary to earlier views, early communities of this culture, especially during the Early Bronze Age I, seem to be sedentary rather than being highly mobile (Frangipane 2014; Sagona 2014a.42). Maintaining agriculture and keeping livestock, they might have been transhu­mant from time to time. Circular wattle and daub buildings, rectangular mudbrick houses with round­ed corners and wooden pillars, and large rectangu­lar house complexes are the typical architectural fea­tures in the distribution area of this culture (Maisler et al. 1952.171–172; Burney 1961.141 ff.; Haupt­mann 1976.76, 78; 2000; Yalçin 2012.29; Yakar 2020) (Fig. 2). Fire and its symbolism must have played an impor­tant role in this culture (Kosay 1976.27, 28; Takaog­lu 2000; Balossi 2015.147; Simonian, Rothman 2015.27–30), and thus we notice a horseshoe-shaped hearth, sometimes decorated with anthropomorphic depictions that probably have a relation to this sym­bolism. From this type of hearth the typical portable andirons of the Karaz/Kura-Araxes/Khirbet Kerak culture were developed (Lamb 1954.23; Haupt­mann 1979.70–72; Balossi 2015.140). The hearths with anthropomorphic depictions on protrusions on both sides, as found in Cinis Höyük near Erzurum and Pulur-Sakyol X near Tunceli in Eastern Anatolia, are the best examples of this type of hearth (Kosay 1976.Pl. 38; Takaoglu 2000) (Fig. 3). It is important to note that comparable hearths were also found in Kusura in Western Anatolia (Lamb 1937.37, Pl. V), and more recently in Seyitömer Höyük near Kütahya in the levels dated to the Early Bronze Age III and Middle Bronze Age (Bilgen, Bilgen 2015.77, Fig. 81). In the 1950s, Lamb (1954.22) pointed out that there might have been cultural relations between the inner part of Western, Central and Eastern Ana­tolia. She referred to the similarity of pottery and hearths between Kusura, Alacahöyük and Karaz (Lamb 1954.22, 31–32). In the light of our current knowledge, Lamb’s assumption seems to make more sense, as we are more and more aware of the rela­tionships between North-Central and Eastern Anato­lia since the Late Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age (Çaliskan Akgül 2012). According to Mehmet Özdo­gan (2000.499), the relations seem to begin already in the Chalcolithic and are reflected in the local black polished pottery at the end of this period. Thus, it may also be appropriate to ask whether certain com­ponents, such as this type of hearth, came from East­ern to Western Anatolia, along with some metallur­ Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia Fig. 2. The typical architectural features of the Kura-Araxes/Karaz/Khirbet Kherak culture (Yalçin 2011.33, Abb. 1). a Kültepe (near Nakhichevan); b Shengavit (Armenia); c Kvatzkhelebi (Georgia); d Arslantepe VI B2; e Arslantepe VI D; f Pulur-Sakyol; g Tepecik EBA I-III; h Norsuntepe EBA III; i settlements of Amuq val­ley (EBA II): Tell el-Djudeide; j Norsuntepe EBA II [a-c Parzinger 2000.Abb. 3.1–3.3 (Kültepe, Shengavit, Kvatzkhelebi – early phases); d and e Frangipane 2004.106, 148, 149 (Arslantepe VI B and VI D); fKosay 1976.Pl. 120 (Pulur-Sakyol X); g Esin 1982.Pl. 108 (Tepecik EBA I-III); h Hauptmann 1982.Taf. 30 (Norsun­tepe EBA III); i Braidwood, Braidwood 1960.261, Fig. 196 (Amuq H); j Hauptmann 1979.Taf. 37 (Norsuntepe EBA II)]. Hatice Gönül Yalçin gical innovations, as part of a ‘cultural package’, as Antonio Sagona (2014a.26–27) recently claimed (Kelly-Buccellati 1990.119; Fidan et al. 2015.82). The burials of the Karaz/Kura-Araxes culture are ei­ther single or collective inhumations. There are also burials in kurgans (Kushnareva 1997; Palumbi, Chataigner 2014.249; Saglamtimur 2019). Taking numerous sites found during the archaeological in­vestigations into account, in Eastern Anatolia there is only limited evidence for simple inhumations con­sisting of pits and stone-cist graves, but not for kur­gans (Altunkaynak et al. 2018.80–84). On this point, the cist grave from Arslantepe VI B1 is worth not­ing. A rather young man of high social rank was buried here, surrounded by rich grave goods. Obvi­ously, his loyalties accompanied him in the afterlife. According to the rich grave goods composed of pot­tery, metal weapons and other metal objects, this grave testifies to an encounter with a culture influ­enced by Kura-Araxes people and the local Late Uruk culture at the end of Late Chalcolithic and beginning of the Early Bronze Age I, respectively (Frangipane 2000.450, 469; 2019). Seven spearheads and a short sword belonging to the hoard from Tülintepe in the Altinova plain may also have originally come from a cist grave. This hoard seems to be approximately contemporary with the metal finds from the cist grave of Arslantepe that was recently dated to 3100– 3000 cal BC by Frangipane (2019.87), and present­ed evidence of profound metallurgical knowledge with regard to dealing with different metals, such as arsenical copper and tinned copper surfaces (Yalçin, Yalçin 2009.127). Using arsenical copper in order to achieve glittering metal surfaces or tin for decorative purposes are thus important features of the Karaz-/Ku-ra-Araxes culture (Yalçin, Yalçin 2009; Greenberg et al. 2012.101). The latest excavations in Basur Hö­yük yielded seventeen burials in a cemetery that consists of stone cist graves and simple earthen pits, which are dated between 3100–2900 cal BC (Saglamtimur et al. 2019. 205). Unlike the single burial inside the cist grave from Arslantepe, mul­tiple burials have been found in the majority of the graves at Basur Hö­yük. Some of the various metal ob­jects and pottery found inside the graves can be compared with the finds from the ‘Royal Tomb’ of Ars­lantepe VI B1. A handmade, initially black, dark or buff, and in the subsequent periods rather red-black polished pot­tery with typical forms is the most significant fea­ture of this culture. Having formerly defined the Kura Araxes culture by this red-black polished pot­tery, scholars today increasingly tend to distinguish between older, dark monochrome ceramics and red-black polished pottery of the following phases in Transcaucasia and Eastern Anatolia. Nevertheless, Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia considering the common shapes in these regions there seems to have been a consensus in styling the pottery during the Early Bronze Age when this cul­ture was flourishing (Sagona 2014a.30–32) (Fig. 4). The relief decoration characteristic of this pottery consists mostly of double spirals, stylized animal de­pictions, bold concentric circles and knobs, as well as grooves and dimples (Sagona 1984; Yalçin 2012. 239–240). In the Late Chalcolithic and the Early Bronze Age I, this relief decoration was used rather sporadically and strikingly on the surfaces of the vessels, being elabo­rated in the Early Bronze Age III, es­pecially in Eastern Anatolia (Sago­na 2014a.32). Incised decoration in geometric patterns also appears. In Eastern Anatolia and Northwestern Iran, the incisions were filled with white encrustation in the Late Chal­colithic and the Early Bronze Age I (Yalçin 2012.131, 132). Graphite slip is another decoration technique that we observe on the vessels of Transcaucasia and Eastern Anatolia from the beginning of the Early Bronze Age (Sagona 2000.336; Yal-çin 2012.138–140). Globular bowls, jugs, pots, drinking cups, and storage vessels with tall straight necks, rail rim vessels, baking plates and trays, cylindrical potstands, sieves, lids and special handles called Nakhichevan lugs are among the shapes and attach­ments of this pottery. At the same time, the pottery shapes point to the dietary practices of this culture, which were probably based on animal and dairy pro­ducts on the one hand, and agricultural products like cereals on the other (Ali­zadeh et al. 2018.128). The special small finds include clay ani­mal figurines and plastically decorated clay stamps, combs made from bone, convex-based arrowheads made of ob­sidian and flint, as well as metal finds. Among the finds there are also metal je­wellery or weapons like double spiral headed needles, diadems and spear­heads (Yalçin, Yalçin 2009; Yalçin 2012.31) (Fig. 5). Crucibles, moulds and tuyéres that are occasionally found at the settlements indicate the metallurgi­cal activities that were practiced by the people of the Kura-Araxes/Karaz culture (Alizadeh et al. 2018. 131–133, Figs. 4–6). Tepecik, an Eastern Anatolian settlement mound of the Karaz culture Tepecik was located 31km east of the Elazig pro­vince in the Altinova plain in Eastern Anatolia. To­day it is under the water of the Keban Dam (Fig. 6). The settlement mound with an extension of about Hatice Gönül Yalçin 200 to 300m rose almost 17m above the plain (Esin 1974; Yalçin 2012.33). It was ex­cavated between 1968–1974 (Esin 1970. 159, 160; Yalçin 2012.67) (Fig. 7). Stratigraphy and architecture Despite the extensive excavations, the stra­tigraphy of Tepecik is rather challenging (Erim 1982; Yalçin 2012). The final publi­cation of the excavations is still pending, and an adjustment of the stratigraphy from dif­ferent trenches has not yet been accomp­lished. According to the preliminary reports and unpublished masters and PhD theses, a cultural sequence from the Late Neolithic to the Medieval Ages was brought out that con­sists of 29 levels (Yener 1974; Biçakçi 1982; Erim 1982; Yalçin 2012.68) (Fig. 8). Two deep soundings provided information on the older periods from the Late Neolithic to the Early Bronze Age I-II. In the ‘deep trench 8 O’ at the northeastern slope of the settle­ment mound, the Chalcolithic Period, the Early Bronze Age I and the transition to the Early Bronze Age II were encountered above a thin layer of the Late Neolithic. At the south­western slope of the settlement mound, ano­ther ‘deep trench’ called ‘15 K’ was opened, where the transitional periods from the Late Chalcolithic to the Early Bronze Age I and from the Early Bronze Age I to II were documented. The architectural finds were poor in both ‘8 O’ and ‘15 K’, yet the pottery finds abundant (Yalçin 2012. 68, 71, 73, 74). At the southern slope of Tepecik, parts of a fortification wall dated to the Early Bronze Ages I and II were excavated. Inside the fortress walls, with jagged protrusions, the remains of some rectangular buildings came to light (Esin 1972.156; 1974.133; Yalçin 2012.75). A corresponding stea­tite seal from Tarsus Gözlükule in Southern Anatolia dated the fortification wall to the Early Bronze Age II (Esin 1972.145). In the course of the Early Bronze Age, the settlement expanded to the north and reach­ed its final extent in the Early Bronze Age III (Fig. 9). In the Early Bronze Age III, the rectangular architec­tural plan prevailed in Tepecik. Agglutinating mud-brick houses were built on narrow streets that some­times had two floors (Yalçin 2012.74–85). The build­ings consisted of several rooms with hearth installa­tions and rectangular clay benches in front of the walls. Some rooms in larger buildings were probably used as workshops, storage rooms, to prepare meals, and as dining rooms for common meals (Esin 1974; Yalçin 2012.353–354). Pottery, grinding stones, ob­sidian, flint and bone instruments, copper and stone beads, metal needles, cereal stamps and animal figu­rines are among the finds. The settlement of the Early Bronze Age III suffered several fire disasters on different architectural levels, and there is no indica­tion of martial attacks that would have caused these (Esin 1982; Yalçin 2012.83). In the Middle and Late Bronze Ages, the inhabitants resettled the settlement of the Early Bronze Age III. On the northwestern slope and on the west of the settlement mound there was a thorough stratigra­phy of these periods (Esin 1982; Yalçin 2012.68, 70). The most recent settlement phase was on top of Tepecik at the western and southwestern part, where an Iron Age settlement and a medieval cemetery were excavated. The Uruk sector was located to the west of the set­tlement mound (Fig. 10). Here, the Late Chalcolithic, the transition from Late Chalcolithic to the Early Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia Bronze Age I and the Early Bronze Age I were excavated in five archaeo-logic layers. In ‘level 3’, the excava­tions revealed a typical tripartite building of the Late Uruk Period, which was destroyed by a devastat­ing fire as in Arslantepe VI A (Yal-çin 2012.86–87) (Fig. 10). In this building complex, at the corner of a larger room, the remains of a hearth as well as copper ore and leftovers of slags were found (Esin 1982.109, Pl. 62/1–3). According to Ufuk Esin (1982) and the research of the au­thor of the current paper, the early occurrence of the Karaz pottery was also documented in ‘level 3’. This pottery was found together with the Late Uruk and Central Anatolian type pottery that can be compared with the contemporary finds from Arslan­tepe VI A. Besides the settlement in Arslantepe VI A, the Late Chalcolithic settlement in the Uruk sector of Te-pecik offers important evidence da­ted to the Late Uruk Period in Ana­tolia, bearing both the wheel-made Late Uruk pottery and Central Anato­lian type pottery, and the early Karaz pottery (Fran­gipane 2012.238; Palumbi 2017.124). In the poor­ly preserved layer 2, several pits came to light. The content of one pit testified to metallurgical activi­ties at the transition from Late Chalcolithic to Early Bronze Age I. Dated to the Early Bronze Age I, layer 1 displayed a stone foundation in the east-west di­rection. Several rectangular rooms bordered this foundation. Karaz sherds, as well as chaff-faced and light-coloured pottery of the Late Uruk period, were exposed together on the floors. (Yalçin 2012.86). Thus, we can probably conclude that this was a new settlement with simple houses of light construction, as in Arslantepe VI B1 (Palumbi 2017.120). This could indicate the arrival of new settlers, perhaps pastoralists, who benefited from the decline of the Late Uruk inhabitants. The Early Bronze Age stratigraphy of Tepecik is based on ceramic comparisons with the settlements of the Elazig and Malatya plains. As is usually the case with many old excavations, there is a lack of absolute dates in Tepecik. In the Uruk sector, the 14C samples of ‘level 3’ yielded a calibrated age of 3644–3376 cal BC (Esin 1985). We can thus put the end of the Late Chalcolithic Period at approx. 3300 cal BC. There are only two calibrated 14C dates from the settlement mound, which came from ‘level 4’ of ‘trench 12 K’. These dates are 4119±62 cal BP (2880–2490 cal BC) and 3980±70 cal BP (2850– 2200 cal BC). Thus, this level is dated to the Early Bronze Age I/Early Bronze Age II and the Early Bronze Age III (Esin 1985; Üncü 2010.269). Furthermore, the 14C dates of Arslantepe were ap­plied to the settlements in the Elazig and Malatya plains, as was the case in Tepecik, putting them into a certain time range. According to Frangipane (2019. 73, Tab. 1) the following calibrated 14C dates are in use for the time being: Arslantepe VII (Late Chal­colithic 3–4) 3900–3400 cal BC, VI A (Late Chalcoli­thic 5) 3400–3200 cal BC, VI B1–VI B2 (Early Bronze Age I) 3200–2800 cal BC, VI C (Early Bronze Age II) 2750–2500 cal BC, and VI D (Early Bronze Age III) 2500–2200 cal BC. The prehistoric pottery of Tepecik In Tepecik there are different groups of prehistoric ceramics, including the dark faced burnished ware of the Late Neolithic or pottery groups of the Chal­colithic Period, such as the Halaf, Obeid and Uruk ceramics (Esin 1982.115). The fabrics of the Early Hatice Gönül Yalçin Bronze Age account for most of the items in the entire pottery assemblage of the settlement mound. The Uruk pottery, the Central Anatolian type wares and the early Karaz pottery are among the pottery groups of Late Chalcolithic and the beginning of the Early Bronze Age. There are wheel-made Mesopota­mian wares such as simple ware, reserved slip ware and metallic ware that remained in use in the course of the Early Bronze Age. Both simple ware and re­served slip ware appear in Tepecik from the Late Chalcolithic onwards. They continued to an increa­singly lesser extent until the end of the Early Bronze Age III. About the end of the Early Bronze Age II, the Syro-Mesopotamian metallic ware arrived at Te-pecik (Yalçin 2012.73, 75, 77, 85). From the Early Bronze Age II on a local painted ware appeared in Tepecik, which was native to the Elazig and Malatya plains (Marro 2000). On the origins of the Karaz pottery in Tepecik Tepecik is the only settlement in the Altinova plain, where the apparently continuous development of Karaz pottery (Fig. 11) was detected based on the stratigraphy, though we also have some evidence for an early stage in the neighbouring settlements Norsuntepe and Korucutepe (Hauptmann 1982. 54; Yalçin 2012.265–270). In the deep ‘trench 8 O’, excavations yielded dark faced burnished ware from the ‘29th level’ onwards, which has, according to some scho­lars, its origins in the Neolithic of Anatolia (Braidwood, Braidwood 1960; Mellaart 1967; Esin 1993). This is a medium-fine ware predomi­nantly tempered with sand and chaff that has dark surfaces, but also on the exterior reddish-brown and on the interior black polished surfaces. Starting in the Late Neolithic the pro­duction of this ware had its peak in the Early Chalcolithic Period, and it lasted until the beginning of Early Bronze Age I in Tepecik, likewise in Tülintepe (Özdogan 2020). According to Güven Arsebük (1979), a local ware of the Early Chalcolithic Period, called mica-slip ware, appear­ed together with the dark faced bur­nished ware in layer 25 of the deep ‘trench 8 O’. It is also tempered with chaff and sand, and likewise was present in Altinova in both Norsun­tepe and Tülintepe at the same pe­riod (Arsebük 1979.85; Yalçin 2012.249). Together with the dark faced burnished ware, it existed in small quantities until the end of the Early Chalcolithic. The fabric is of a light reddish or reddish brown co-lour. Mica was added to the water-diluted clay intentionally in order to produce a shiny micaceous slip that looks like a polish (Arsebük 1979. 85, 90, Fig. 3, Pl. 47). The shapes are almost identical to those of the dark faced burnished ware. At this point, it is important to note that Sagona Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia (2014a.30) describes similar features for Late Sioni ware in Transcaucasia towards the end of the 4th millennium BC that also occurs in Agri. The features mentioned by Sagona also seem to conform to the mica-slipped ware from the Altinova plain. However, the probable relationship between these wares has not yet been studied. According to Arsebük (1979.85–86), at the end of the Late Chalcolithic, besides these two aforemen­tioned wares, early Karaz ware appeared in layer 21 of the deep ‘trench 8 O’, which has the same man­ufacturing features and similar shapes. The surface colours of the sherds vary between light or dark brown, pale pink, buff and black. Red colour on the exterior and black on the interior surface is rather rare. However, the key difference of Karaz pottery lies in the highly polished surfaces resembling the shimmering surfaces of the mica-slipped ware. Arsebük (1979.87, Fig. 6) stated that the quantity of the dark faced burnished ware decreased signifi­cantly after the disappearance of the mica-slipped ware in the Late Chalcolithic layers 20–14. Then it completely disappeared in layers 13–9 during the transition from Late Chalcolithic to the Early Bronze Age I. The Karaz pottery was the only ce­ramic group available in the Early Bronze Age I and II in the deep ‘trench 8 O’ in ‘level 8’. The similarity between these wares led Arsebük (1979.88–90) to the assumption that the early Karaz ware evolved from the dark face burnished ware in Tepecik. According to the thesis of Arsebük (1979. 88), the mica-slipped ware was probably a connecting link between these two cera­mic groups. Based on his observations, he emphasized that the Altinova plain must have been one of the original homelands of Karaz pottery (Figs. 12, 13). Sagona (2000.332, 333) drew attention to the possible coexistence of a Sioni-like pottery and the early Kura-Araxes pottery based on the Late Chalcolithic ceramics coming from Sos Höyük Va (3500/3300– 3000 cal BC). Found side-by-side with the coarse Transcaucasian Sioni pottery, there is evidence for an early form of Ku-ra-Araxes pottery that is either drab, or sometimes blackened on the exterior. Sa­gona emphasized this one-to-one resem­blance between the Late Sioni and Early Kura-Ara­xes pottery either in the Erzurum region or in Geor­gia, which bears conceptual similarities to the theory raised by Arsebük (1979) about the possible conne­ctions between dark face burnished ware and early Karaz pottery in the Altinova (Sagona 2000.333). According to Özdogan (2020.83, 84) the dark face burnished pottery was found in the context of Late Chalcolithic layers in Tepecik, as well as in the early layers of the nearby settlement mound Tülintepe. He claimed that Arsebük (1979) mistook the dark faced burnished ware and mica-slipped ware for the ancestral variants of the early Karaz pottery. Özdo­gan (2020.84) stated that during the early years of the Keban Project the cultural sequence of this re­gion was rather nebulous, and thus this approach seemed to be reasonable then. Yutaka Miyake (1996) reworked the dark face burnished pottery both from Tülintepe and from Tepecik. He found out that there has to have been a break between the traditions of the dark face burnished ware and the Karaz pottery. If we compare the early shapes and fabrics of the pottery groups described above, we still see com­mon characteristics and similarities. Thus, we should Hatice Gönül Yalçin not neglect the idea of a common origin for Kura­Araxes/Karaz pottery either in Transcaucasia or in Eastern Anatolia based on the foregoing local pot­tery groups like Sioni ware in Georgia, and the dark face burnished ware and micaceous ware in the East­ern Anatolian Altinova. This similarity might have come from a common taste and knowledge of the same pottery techniques, both in Eastern Anatolia and Southern Transcaucasia. Evidence for the Early Karaz pottery at the end of the Late Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age I-II levels in Tepecik In Tepecik, the lower ‘levels 21–14’ of the deep ‘trench 8 O’ yielded the pottery of the Late Chalcoli­thic Period. In the same trench, ‘levels 9–13’ corres­pond to the transition from the Late Chalcolithic to the Early Bronze Age I. Further down, in the deep ‘trench 15 K’ in ‘levels 9–14’ we observe the transi­tion from the Late Chalcolithic to the Early Bronze Age I. ‘Levels 7–8’ of the same deep trench reach the Early Bronze Age I (Erim 1982). Through all these levels, the early Karaz pottery appeared in relatively large amounts along with the wares influenced by the Central Anatolian Late Chalcolithic cultures. The early Karaz pottery was also found in the Uruk Sector of Tepecik. Here it appeared towards the end of the Late Chalcolithic Period in ‘level 3’, and at the transition from the Late Chalcolithic to the Early Bronze Age I in ‘levels 1–2’. It shows the same ma­nufacturing techniques and similar shapes that ap­pear in ‘8 O’ and ‘15 K’ in Tepecik (Yalçin 2012.70, 86). According to Esin (1982.112, 113) in ‘layers 1– 3’, besides the Karaz pottery, hand-made and wheel-made Late Uruk wares as well as the Central Anato­lian type wares occur. The shapes of these ceramics and those of the early Karaz pottery are almost the same (Yalçin 2012.157, 236, 237). Hence, we may assume that the Late Chalcolithic Central Anatolian pottery also influenced the shapes and fabrics of the Karaz pottery at Tepecik. Compared to the coexisting pottery in Alacahöyük, Alisar and Çadir Höyük in Central Anatolia and Central Anatolian type pottery found in Tepecik, the early Karaz ware has some dis­tinctive differences, especially in the fabrics. The lat­ter is always tempered with chaff and some fine sand. At the very end of the Late Chalcolithic Period, the amount of straw temper in the paste of the Ka­raz ware decreases while that of sand temper increa­ses. In contrast, the paste of the Central Anatolian type of pottery contains a large amount of sand, some fine grit and a small portion of mica and some fine organic temper. This is also case in the Late Chal­colithic settlements of Central Anatolia and in Ars­lantepe towards the end of VII and during VIA (Pa-lumbi 2007.43). While the surfaces of the early Ka­raz pottery from Tepecik are of a black, dark brown, buff, pale pink and sometimes black and red colour, those of the Central Anatolian type pottery are red and black or blackish-grey in the Uruk Sector of Te-pecik. Black and blackish-grey variations can be af­filiated with the early Karaz pottery. Furthermore, the early Karaz pottery bears a self-slip and is always burnished. The Central Anatolian type of pottery is either colour-slipped or without slip and sometimes burnished (Esin 1982.112, 113). Among the shapes of Central Anatolian type pottery, the so-called fruit stands and large funnel-shaped in­cised bowls are worth noting. This peculiar shape probably served special ceremonial functions, with burning incense a subject of some debate in this re­gard. It is a firm component of the Central Anatolian Late Chalcolithic culture and as well as the Late Uruk pottery of Mesopotamia. In Central Anatolia, some rare fragments of this shape were found in the Chal­colithic levels of Alisar, Alacahöyük and Çadir Höyük (Orthmann 1963; Palumbi 2007). In ‘level 3’ of the Uruk Sector, fragments of similar fruit stands with triangular apertures were found that show a closer resemblance to the fruit stands of Alacahöyük (Esin 1976.115). The light brown, buff or brownish grey polished examples of the funnel-shaped bowls typify the early Karaz ware, while the grey or blackish-grey surface colours of the same shape are examples of the Cen­tral Anatolian type wares. The Karaz variants of these bowls were mostly found in the 3rd and 2nd la­yers of the Uruk Sector (Fig. 14). They were decorat­ed with geometric patterns consisting of intersecting Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia quadrilaterals placed between two incised bands. Generally, the quadrilaterals bear a white encrus­tation (Yalçin 2012.88). Similar incised decoration can be seen on the sherds of Alacahöyük, Alisar and Çadirhöyük in Central Anatolia, while the incised patterns from Büyükgüllücek seem to be composed rather differently, probably indicating an early stage of the Chalcolithic Period (Esin 1976.115; Yalçin 2011; 2012.301–306). A similar influence of the Late Chalcolithic Central Anatolian wares is visible in Arslantepe VII-VIA, as researchers have recognized resemblances between the Central Anatolian shapes like conical bowls, sin-gle-handled jugs and fruit stands, the shapes from Tepecik 3–2 in the Uruk Sector and the ones found in Arslantepe VI A (Frangipane 2000; 2014; Palum-bi 2017). The development of Karaz pottery in Tepecik in the Early Bronze Age I-III A wide range of Karaz sherds were found in the ‘deep soundings 8 O’ and ‘15 K’ in ‘levels 7–8’, in the ‘trenches 14 H-I-K-L-M-N’ in ‘layers 9–7’ and in ‘13–14 K’ in ‘layers 7–8’. Belonging to the Early Bronze Age I, these sherds are less chaff tempered and rather compact. We may thus presume the on-going influence of the Central Anatolian type wares on the Karaz pottery found at the settlement mound. Here, the Early Bronze Age I Karaz pottery shows, although very rare, relief decoration on rather large vessels, as well as incised sherds with white encrus­tation. However, the latter type of decoration disap­pears over time in Tepecik. On some sherds the gra­phite slip is also present. In addition to Karaz cera­mics, the pottery assemblage of this period includes wheel-made simple and reserved slip wares of North­ern Syria and Mesopotamia. Compared to the Karaz pottery, these wares are dominant in the Early Bronze Age I and are found in a ratio of 1:2 in the pottery assemblage of Tepecik (Yalçin 2012.252). Shapes include flat or conical bowls with divergent lugs, rail-rim bowls with high straight necks, round bellied holemouth pots and jars with rail rims and tall necks, flat lids with incised decoration (see Fig. 14). The surface colours consist of pale pink, buff, black, greyish black or dark brown, with black pre­dominating, however. The well-polished surfaces of the vessels that are black on the outside and red on the inside are rather sporadic. The surface colours of red on the outside and black on the inside are a ra­rity in the repertory of Karaz pottery throughout the entire Early Bronze Age. There is a transitional period between the Early Bronze Age I and the Early Bronze Age II in Tepe­cik, in both of the ‘deep trenches 8 O’ and ‘15 K’ and in the ‘trenches 13–14 K’, in ‘levels 4–6’. In this pe­riod, the Karaz pottery frequently has black surfaces, while black on the outside and red on the inside is still rare. Yet, from this time forward the occurrence of light surface colours like buff, pale pink and light brown diminishes. The Nakhichevan-lugs appear in Tepecik for the first time. In this transition, the co­existence of wheel-made, plain, simple and reserved slip pottery of Syro-Mesopotamia and Karaz pottery is a distinguishing feature. However, the wheel-made pottery constitutes about 60 percent of the total pot­tery assemblage. Thus, the presence of the Karaz pottery is rather weak. The influence of Central Ana­tolian pottery can still be discerned, as funnel-shaped bowls are present in the pottery assemblage of this period. Logically considered, the relations between the Karaz culture of Tepecik, Central Anatolian and Syro-Mesopotamian cultures seem to be quite consi­stent in this transitional period. The Early Bronze Age II was brought to light in the ‘sounding 15 K’ in ‘layers 1–4’ and in ‘trenches 13– 14 K’ in ‘layer 6’. Yet it is noticeable that the amount of wheel-made Syro-Mesopotamian pottery drops to Hatice Gönül Yalçin about 25 percent. The Karaz pottery has a predomi­nant share of about 70 percent (Yalçin 2012.253) (Fig. 15). Apart from these two groups of pottery, the local painted pottery of the Altinova plain ap­pears in Tepecik for the first time. Among the Ka­raz vessels there are certain shapes, like the glob­ular pots with angled rims and linear incised deco­ration patterns that occur in Shengawit in Armenia and in Yaniktepe in Northwestern Iran in the Early Bronze Age II. By contrast, in Tepecik we do not see other typical shapes of this period, like the triphore. This liquid storage vessel with three horizontal lugs occurs in ‘level 23’ in Norsuntepe, In the Early Bronze Age II. This shape is also present in Pulur and Güzelova in Northeastern Anatolia, and in some settlements of Georgia (Hauptmann 1982.55, Pl. 46/7). In this period Tepecik seems instead to have had a tie to the Kura-Araxes culture of Armenia and Northwest Iran that probably ran along overland routes following the vast plains of Eastern Anatolia. A globular holemouth pot with opposing nose-shaped lugs is found in addition to the prevailing shapes. We find similar pots in Arslantepe VIC dated to the Early Bronze Age II that also confirm the pe­riodization at Tepecik (Conti, Persiani 1993.372, Fig. 8/6, 10). Pots and bowls with high straight necks that show multiple horizontal grooves as well as Nakhichevan lugs are the striking features of Ka­raz pottery in this period. The number of globular rail rim vessels with high straight necks, as well as of vessels with black exteriors and red or reddish brown interiors, increases. Yet the black polished surfaces dominate. On the rims of some bowls a red stripe appears. Occasionally, there is a relief decora­tion on the exterior surfaces of the vessels. The gra­phite polish is still present, yet not common. In the Early Bronze Age III, certain shapes like rail rim bowls and simple conical bowls of the Karaz pottery seem to have been mass-produced in Tepe­cik. Plenty of vessels that were found in the build­ings of this period give clues about the utilization and function of the Karaz pottery in Tepecik. In con­trast to the preceding periods, the Karaz vessels are mostly chaff tempered. The dense paste of the Early Bronze Age I and II rarely appears. Instead, due to chaff temper the texture of the sherds is rather loose. The vessels are usually well polished and fired. Black exteriors and red interiors are present. Red, brown or reddish-brown surface colours predo­minate. On the rims of the vessels, narrow, red or brown coloured stripes occur from time to time. The relief ornamentation with stylized animal depictions is in vogue and usually present on the large rail-rim storage vessels. Another decoration technique is gro­oving, which is applied to the large pots or storage vessels in Tepecik or in Norsuntepe and Korucutepe (Hauptmann 1982, Pl. 52/2; Yalçin 2012). A nov­elty is the incised decoration after firing, which we can also observe on some small pots in Sos Höyük during this period (Sagona 2000). The incised deco­ration after firing seems to have a long tradition in southern Transcaucasia, as it appears here from the Early Bronze Age I on (Palumbi 2007; 2008). The wheel-made simple, reserved slip and metallic wares continue in Tepecik, although the rate of these wares fall back to 10 percent and more than 80 percent of the entire pottery assemblage consists of Karaz cera­mics (Yalçin 2012.256). The local painted Altinova ware is still a part of the pottery assemblage. Mass-produced conical bowls, globular holemouth cook­ing pots with tabs, rail rim pots and storage vessels with tall necks are common (Fig. 16). We record rail rim bowls with downwardly tapering bottoms that were probably used either for food intake or as mea­suring vessels for distributing food rations (Yalçin 2012.352). Among the other vessels there are bowls, jars, pots, convex low pot stands, flat lids and bak­ Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia ing trays in the rooms that indicate food storage, preparation and consumption at the settlement of the Early Bronze Age III. A couple of zoomorphic high pedestal bowls that probably depict ducks, and especially the increasingly occurring vessels with a red surface colour, indicate the resumption of rela­tions with Central Anatolia (Schmidt 2000; Yalçin 2012.347). In this period, we can also assert a re­semblance of the pottery shapes of the Early Bronze Age III from Alacahöyük and Arslantepe VI D (Con-ti, Persiani 1993.385–387; Yalçin 2012.282, 304). Scientific investigations on the Karaz pottery from Tepecik The systematic and serial scientific analyses of Ka­raz pottery from Tepecik were missing until now. However, analyses carried out on 11 samples pro­vide important information regarding the choice of raw material and the production and firing techni­ques (Yalçin, Yalçin 2003). Mainly calcareous clays were used when producing Karaz pottery, though in the Late Chalcolithic potters probably preferred calcareous clays. In contrast, in the Early Bronze Age rather low-calcareous clays were used (Yalçin, Yal-çin 2003.37). The examined sherds were inorgani­cally tempered with crushed minerals like quartz and grit, as well as organically with chaff. The large proportion of chaff in paste helped to in­crease the porosity of the Karaz vessels, giving them better isolating properties. The vessels were gener­ally fired in a reducing atmosphere, with tempera­tures hardly exceeding 800°C. A graphite slip/coat­ing could be detected on some vessels (Fig. 17). This method or technique was particularly common in Southeastern Europe in the Balkans, but also in Ana­tolia from the Late Neolithic Period onwards until the end of the Early Bronze Age. It gave the ceramic vessels a silvery shine, which was a way to imitate metal vessels and made them more attractive (Mar­tino 2017.3–9). Some of the Karaz-sherds from Te-pecik dated to the Chalcolithic have a graphite slip applied in a way that can be compared with the grainy graphite used in Southern Bulgaria and North­ern Greece in the Late Neolithic (Martino 2017.9). Interpretation of the results During the Late Chalcolithic Period, transhumant or semi-sedentary groups linked with the Kura-Araxes culture might have displayed more presence in the Altinova and Malatya plains. Probably interfering with the indigenous population, they might have frequented the settlements, perhaps even on a sea­sonal basis. We can clearly observe an encounter of different societies and change in the settlement pat­terns at Arslantepe VI A-B1 in the Malatya plain at the end of the Late Chalcolithic Period (Frangipane 2014.171). Yet we cannot prove the same situation for the settlement mound of Tepecik, since there are not enough architectural remains associated with the early Karaz culture of this period. However, the Hatice Gönül Yalçin simultaneous presence of the early Karaz pottery in the well-established Uruk sector in Tepecik dated to­wards the end of the Late Chalcolithic and in the lower layers of the settlement mound in ‘trenches 8 O’ and ‘15 K’ would be a conceivable argument for different populations living side by side, at least pe­riodically. It is likely that the Late Uruk community at the Uruk sector made use of the services of the Karaz people (pastoral societies with transhumant features) with connections to the Kura-Araxes cul­ture. At the same period, these transhumant or semi sedentary people were probably also in contact with the Late Chalcolithic cultures of Central Anatolia. We found therefore in the tripartite building of the Late Uruk Period in Tepecik, as well as after the de­struction of this building, a mix of the pottery of the Late Uruk culture, Central Anatolian type pottery and the early Karaz pottery. Besides animal hus­bandry, these people probably had some knowledge of metallurgy. An understanding of Eastern and Cen­tral Anatolian metal ores, like the native copper in Derekutugun near Çorum (Yalçin, Iÿpek 2016), that were essential to produce the metal objects for the elitist demands of this period, was probably an im­portant part of the services such people offered. The Karaz people (Yakar 2020) might also have supplied other raw materials, such as obsidian, salt and wool. Wool was especially highly sought after by the Meso­potamian communities that specialized in manufac­turing woollen textiles. Besides Central Anatolian and Mesopotamian pot­tery, Karaz pottery was also present in Tepecik dur­ing the Early Bronze Age I. As in the previous peri­ods, the inhabitants of the settlement mound seem to have continued to maintain contact with Central Anatolia as well with the cultures of Syro-Mesopota­mia, as both ceramics and other small finds from these cultures were sufficiently present in Tepecik to suggest this. However, the Karaz pottery was rep­resented rather weakly here. After the abandonment of the Late Uruk settlement people lived in simple dwellings in Tepecik, at least for a short while at the beginning of the Early Bronze Age I. A threat from outside or existing conflicts among the different po­pulation groups might possibly have occurred, be­cause there were fortification walls at the settlement mound of Tepecik, as well as in other major settle­ments in Altinova, Malatya and almost in the enti­rety of Anatolia (Frangipane 2001). In the previous period and the Early Bronze Age I, the surface colours of the early Karaz pottery found in Tepecik are predominantly black, grey, dark brown, buff and pale pink. Black exteriors and red interiors are rather rare. Yet this colour scheme is a typical feature that distinguishes the Central Anato­lian influenced pottery with its dark surface colours from the Karaz ceramics that we find either in the Uruk sector or in the lower levels of the deep tren­ches at Tepecik. Resembling Central Anatolian-type wares, the paste of the early Karaz pottery in Tepe­cik is tempered with fine grit and rather moderate­ly with fine chaff. The firing indicates reducing con­ditions during firing and low temperatures. In that initial period, the early Karaz pottery shows little decoration, but when ornamentation is present it consists only of simple reliefs and small knobs. We can compare the large funnel-shaped bowls with white encrusted incisions with the similar shapes of Central Anatolian Late Chalcolithic pottery. However, most of the funnel-shaped bowls from Central Ana­tolia are dark faced and not decorated. In Tepecik, graphite polishing is present on some vessels, yet not widely used. In the Early Bronze Age II, the settlement mound was still fortified. It is conceivable that in this peri­od a major wave of migration from Northeastern Anatolia, maybe also from Transcaucasia and North­western Iran, arrived in the Elazig and Altinova Settlement mound Tepecik and the Karaz culture in Eastern Anatolia plains. The typical wattle and daub architecture at some settlements like Taskun Mevkii, Degirmentepe or Norsuntepe shows a stronger connection to the Transcaucasian Kura-Araxes culture (Yalçin 2012.49, 50, 53, 55). The absence of this typical architecture at Tepecik is probably due to the insufficient exca­vations at the southwestern section of the settle­ment mound, where we observe fragments of the fortification in the Early Bronze Age I and II. Some special shapes and ornamental features that we know from the Kura-Araxes pottery of Georgia, Ar­menia and Northwestern Iran appear frequently in the pottery assemblages of Elazig and the Altinova plains in that period. In comparison to Taskun Mev­kii and Norsuntepe, Tepecik shows more attachment to the Shengavit and Yanik cultures in the Early Bronze Age II, which might have come directly from the Eastern Anatolian plains and Northwestern Iran (Yalçin 2012.319, 320, 327, 328). A new ware, call­ed the local painted ware of Altinova, appears (Mar­ro 2000). Esin (1976) stressed the possible influence of the west Iranian painted pottery tradition. This new pottery indicates a growing cultural synthesis, as it shows both the shapes and certain decorations of Karaz culture infiltrating and merging with diffe­rent pottery traditions. In the Early Bronze Age II, we see skilfully produced vessels and elaborated forms in the Karaz pottery, such as angled rims or rail rims with high collar necks. The fabrics are increasingly tempered with fine chaff rather than with fine grit. In rare cases, we observe incised geometric patterns on the exterior of the small pots and bowls. The vessels are usual­ly well polished. Graphite polish is present more often on the small bowls than on large vessels. The number of vessels with black exteriors and red in­teriors increases, indicating a controlled fire, proba­bly in the pottery kilns. The knowledge of the me­thod underlying this change in colour must be part of the technological achievements and the tradition of the Karaz culture, and is probably based on an an­cient traditions of Anatolia. We observe high cylin­drical necks on the bowls or drinking vessels, as well as at the small pots that also occur in the adja­cent settlement mounds, like at Norsuntepe. This typological feature is a significant indication for de­termining the periodization, as the necks of these rail rim vessels tend to become shorter in the following Early Bronze Age III (Yalçin 2012). The Early Bronze Age III was a period of population growth, new social orientation and cultural synthe­sis at several settlements in the Elazig and Malatya plains, as in Norsuntepe, Korucutepe, Tepecik and Arslantepe, but also in Sos Höyük in Northeastern Anatolia (Sagona 2000; 2014a). In the Altinova, a social hierarchy emerged on the model of Norsun­tepe, whereby according to the finds there is no in­dication of an elitist worldview in the society. Rather, a surplus at the storeroom of a palace-like complex on the citadel mound of Norsuntepe points to a cen­tral administration system in the Altinova plain, which might have supplied the adjacent smaller set­tlements in times of need (Hauptmann 2000). Ac­cording to this idea, the semi-sedentary living style of the Karaz people might have faded away. During this period, Tepecik was one of the relatively large settlements of Altinova, with a regular settlement structure and building complexes on streets. As in Arslantepe VI D, Tepecik was probably surrounded by a fortification wall (Harmankaya, Erdogu 2002; Yalçin 2012.60). We can presume that Tepecik was subordinated to Norsuntepe and had a close rela­tionship with this settlement mound, as we find the same shapes and decoration patterns on the Karaz pottery of both settlements. During the Early Bronze Age III, Tepecik probably re-established contacts with Central Anatolia. Some elements of the Central Anatolian pottery seem to have influenced the finish of the Karaz vessels. Simple bowls on the convex shaped stands, zoomorphic vessels, groove decora­tion on the exterior of the large pots, and surface colours such as red or reddish brown were probably due to the interregional cultural relations between Central Anatolia and the Altinova plain (Yalçin 2012). These elements were applied to Karaz pot­tery though it had still its own characteristics, such as typical forms, alternating surface colours or styl­ized relief decoration depicting animals. Wheel-made simple ware and metallic ware were still pre­sent in the pottery assemblages, which were found only in very small quantities either in Tepecik or in Norsuntepe (Yalçin 2012). Hatice Gönül Yalçin As in the previous periods, in the Early Bronze Age III the potters in Tepecik produced according to the conventional finishing methods, such coiling or using clay plates. There is no evidence of pottery kilns or well-organized pottery workshops. Perhaps a sea­sonal production can be assumed, which may have been in the hands of women because of the orna­ments and traditional designs used (Yalçin 2012. 346, 349–351). In the Early Bronze Age III, chaff is the main temper added to the paste of the Karaz pottery. The vessels have contrasting surface colours, black and red, but they remain in the minority of items found. However, the proportion of vessels with red or reddish surface colours increases. Incised li­near decoration after firing is distinctive in this pe­riod. The amount of large storage vessels increases, which probably indicates that they were used for storing cereals (Yalçin 2012). Unfortunately, the Karaz pottery of Tepecik has still not been sufficiently published and evaluated. This is to be regretted, as this pottery deserves our atten­tion, because archaeologists have increasing debated the issue of the Eastern Anatolian Karaz culture, as the results of recent research are gradually becoming available from Eastern and Southeastern Anatolia. Tepecik played an important part during the expan­sion and the heyday of this culture. Due to its stra­tegic location not far from the Euphrates and on the trade routes from Eastern Anatolia to Central and Southern Anatolia, and to Northern Iran, Syria and Mesopotamia, this settlement mound in the Altinova plain was of particular importance, and was conce­ivably intermediating between different cultural landscapes. On one hand, the importance of Tepecik was probably related to the trade in raw materials such as metals, both on the river route and the in­land routes (Biçakçi 1982). On the other hand, the knowledge of the processing and refining of metals was a strength of the people who settled down either here or at the other sites of the Altinova, like in Nor-suntepe (Hauptmann 2000). Over the course of one millennium, a population emerged in Altinova based on intermingling with the indigenous ethnic groups and a probably semi-sedentary people who gradual­ly settled down here, commuting between Central and Northeastern Anatolia, Transcaucasia and North­western Iran. The settlers of this plain created an Anatolian cultural synthesis based on an originally pastoral culture covering a large area from Transcau­casia, Northwestern Iran, Eastern, Southeastern Ana­tolia and the North-Central Anatolia, Northwestern Syria and the Levant. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The present work is a brief and updated summary of the dissertation completed in 2012 at the Philipps Uni­versity of Marburg (Germany) with the title “The Karaz Pottery of Tepecik in Eastern Anatolia”, which was pub­lished in German in the same year. It is based on the excavation results of the years 1968–1974. The interim reports of these excavations have been brought out in annual Keban Project publications, yet a final evaluation is still pending. For this reason the results presented here, especially the stratigraphic and chronological interpre­tations, should be regarded as preliminary. However, the Karaz phenomenon has recently become the subject of archaeological investigations again. Thus, there is a need to re-examine the role of Tepecik and its Karaz pottery in an article written in English, in order to make the issues under discussion accessible to a broad scientific re­search community. This is especially the case when we consider that the final publication of the Tepecik is still pending, though more than fifty years have passed since the last excavations. Since the archaeological data of Tepecik is not completely accessible for researchers, insufficient and sometimes incorrect information circulates in the publications that compare some early material from Tepecik with the finds of other contemporary settle­ments. When writing this paper, care was taken to consider the latest literature as well as the most recent hypotheses regarding the complex interplay among the interregional cultural landscapes where this important prehistoric culture spread. The paper is dedicated to my teacher and mentor, Ufuk Esin, head of the excavations of Tepecik and one of the most important pioneers of Anatolian archaeology, who left us far too early. 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Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic northern Greece Danai Chondrou Department of History and Archaeology, Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, Thessaloniki, GR dachondr@hist.auth.gr ABSTRACT – The article offers a detailed analysis of the grinding tool assemblage from the two neigh-bouring, partially contemporary and almost entirely excavated Late/Final Neolithic settlements of Kleitos, northwestern Greece. The data shed light on various choices regarding the organisation of the production and management of these implements. According to the evidence, grinding tools were not only used as part of the daily routine, but were also often used in special events. The lim­ited rates of exhausted implements, the extreme fragmentation, and special patterns of deposition indicate the complex manipulation of grinding implements beyond their primary functions. KEY WORDS – grinding tools; ground stone technology; Neolithic; macrolithic artefacts; Aegean pre­history Vsakodnevni obi;aji in posebni dogodki> raziskava /rmelj na dveh sosednjih naselbinah v Kleitosu v ;asu poznega\kon;nega neolitika v severni Gr;iji IZVLE.EK – V .lanku predstavljamo podrobno analizo zbira .rmelj iz dveh sosednjih, delno so.as­nih in skoraj v celoti izkopanih naselbin v kraju Kleitos na severozahodu Gr.ije. Podatki osvetljujejo razli.ne mo.nosti pri organizaciji produkcije in upravljanju teh orodij. Dokazujemo, da .rmlje niso bile le del vsakodnevnih obi.ajev, ampak so bile pogosto uporabljene pri posebnih dogodkih. Omeje­ne koli.ine uporabljenih orodij, izredna fragmentiranost in posebni vzorci odlaganja predmetov ka-.ejo na bolj kompleksno obdelavo .rmelj, ki presegajo njihovo osnovno namembnost. KLJU.NE BESEDE – .rmlje; tehnologija glajenih orodij; neolitik; makrolitske najdbe; egejska prazgo­dovina Introduction Grinding tools constitute an important part of pre-tegies, dietary habits, processing and craft activities, historic technology. Diverse in function, as ethno-to mention but a few – a relevant contextualized ana-graphic and archaeological research has shown, lysis has long been missing from the prehistoric re-these implements have been employed in a wide search in Greece and the Balkans in general, with range of production activities in relation to both or-few notable exceptions (e.g., Moundrea-Agrafioti ganic and inorganic substances (see Horsfall 1987; 2007; Hersh 1981; Procopiou 1998; 2013; Proco-Schroth 1996 for a summary of available ethnogra-piou et al. 1998; Poursat et al. 2000; Runnels 1981; phic data from North America; Wright 1994.241 for Stroulia 2010; 2017; Tsoraki 2008). several references to ethnographic and historical evidence). Regardless of their being informative on The goal of this article is thus to present an in-depth so many aspects of past societies – subsistence stra-examination of one of the largest recovered grind- DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.16 Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... ing tool assemblages from prehistoric Greece to date, originating from two neighbouring Late/Final Neolithic settlements, Kleitos I and Kleitos II, and to highlight aspects of the communities that produced and used them. The detailed examination of the as­semblage combines a techno-morphological analy­sis and a biographical approach that focuses on the separate stages of a tool’s life-cycle. Moreover, the contextualization of the available data provides a detailed framework for the evaluation of the spatial aspects of the production, use and disposal of grind­ing implements. The analysis reveals a series of pat­terned choices regarding the manufacture and mani­pulation of these tools, with various possible econo­mic, social and cultural connotations. The site The Kleitos site is located close to the modern city of Kozani, northwestern Greece (Fig. 1), and with­in the limits of the alluvial Kitrini Limni Basin, an area densely populated during prehistoric times (Andreou et al. 1996.568–569, 575; Fotiadis 1988; Fotiadis, Hondroyianni-Metoki 1997.21; Karami­trou-Mentesidi 1987). Two Late and Final Neolithic settlements, partially overlapping in terms of chro­nology and in striking proximity, were discovered and excavated in almost their entirety, a rare case in Greece. The Kleitos excavations were part of a large-scale rescue programme conducted by the for­mer 30th Ephorate of Prehistoric and Classical Antiquities in res­ponse to the imminent expansion of the nearby lignite mine of the Public Electricity Company. The earliest of the two installa­tions, Kleitos I, is a flat, ‘extend­ed’ settlement covering an area of c. 2ha and bounded by a sys­tem of ditches and fences (Fig. 2). According to conventional chro­nological data, the site belongs to the early phase of the Late Neolithic, i.e. late 6th – early 5th millennium BC (Ziota 2011.215, 227; Ziota et al. 2013a.59). Ten ground floor, detached buildings have been preserved. They were quadrilateral in plan and rather spacious, judging by the best pre­served examples, with an estimat-also bearing signs of a possible upper storey (Ziota et al. 2013a.59, 64). Each of them had one to three separate building phases, almost all destroyed by fire. Various thermal and storage clay structures were found in building interiors, as well as outdoor areas (Ziota 2014a.323–326). Less than 100m northeast of Kleitos I lies the second settlement. According to ceramic finds, the earliest phase of Kleitos II is partially contemporary with the first settlement, with the habitation extending to the late phase of the 4th millennium BC (Ziota et al. 2013a.71–73). Overall, Kleitos II is smaller (0.25ha) and more densely structured (Fig. 2), with five pre­served dwellings, two of which are significantly smaller in dimensions, with limited open spaces in-between (Hondroyianni-Metoki 2011; Ziota 2011; 2014a; 2014b). Although the relation of the two neighbouring sites with the differentiated size and spatial organisation is still vague, the idea of them being two distinct habitation phases of the same community has to be rejected (Ziota 2014a.332). Finally, numerous Bronze Age pits and parts of a ditch, Roman and Byzantine burials and stray finds, along with the stone foundations of an elongated building of unclear dating, all attest to the long-last­ing post-Neolithic use of the space (Hondroyianni- ed size of up to 100–120m2, some Fig. 1. Map of Greece and prehistoric sites mentioned in the text. Danai Chondrou Metoki 2011.231, 243; Ziota 2014b.53, 60–62; Zio­ta et al. 2013b.50–51). The sample The Kleitos ground stone tool assemblage was the subject of a PhD dissertation (Chondrou 2018) in the context of which around 4000 finds were analy­tically examined. The current paper focuses exclusi­vely on the grinding tool category, which comprises 614 items; 554 originating from Kleitos I, 38 from Kleitos II and 10 from the area between the two set­tlements (Tab. 1). From this assemblage, a set of 12 finds derive from a different chronological horizon. They were found inside a series of Middle Bronze Age pits dug in the Neolithic strata in the area of Kleitos II and its margins, and will be examined else­where. Regarding the aforementioned numbers, a substan­tial divergence between the assemblages of the two nearby settlements is attested in all tool categories, Fig. 2. Aerial photograph of the excavation and plan of the two sites with the areas of building remains and peripheral ditches highlighted. Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... with the Kleitos I finds always more abundant (see Chondrou 2018). However, the high variance in the frequency of grinding tools between the two settle­ments must be – at least partially – attributed to the high degree of fragmentation. As an example, the proportion of fragments that represent a portion smaller or equal to 1/8 of the original grinding im­plement in Kleitos I is double that of its neighbour­ing settlement. Typology The activity of grinding requires the pairing of a lower, stationary implement (passive tool i.e. quern) and an upper mobile one (active tool i.e. hand-stone). The latter moves on top of the use-surface of the static implement in order to grind matter be­tween their surfaces. The use-surfaces of the two paired implements should fit together perfectly to ensure their optimal operation, i.e. the highest de­gree of efficiency (Delgado-Raack, Risch 2009.6; Menasanch et al. 2002.83). The complementarity of the grinding tool surfaces is achieved through the manufacturing process, but also evolves through use, since the surfaces of the implements that form a functional pair are worn gradually in a correspond­ing manner. Therefore, the configuration of the use-surface of a milling tool is not solely the result of manufacture. Rather it is a morphological element with a functional dimension, interrelated with the morphology and dimensions of the tool’s paired im­plement, and the kinetics involved in its use (see Adams 1999; de Beaune 1989; 2004; Delgado-Raack 2008; Menasanch et al. 2002; Nierlé 1983; 2008; Procopiou 1998; Stroulia et al. 2017; Zim­mermann 1988). Based on the above, we can dis­tinguish three main grinding tool types (Fig. 3): . A more or less elongated quern that functions in conjunction with a handstone whose length exceeds the width of the quern (Fig. 3A). This is the ‘overhanging type’, a term re­ferring to the fact that the ends of the handstone protrude beyond the limits of the quern. The handstone is used in a linear back-and-forth reci­procal motion, being held with both hands, placed either on the tool’s ends – used in this way as handles – or on the back of the tool (i.e. dorsal surface), but again close to the two ends. As a result, the force is exerted laterally (Hamon, Le Gall 2013.113). Through the gradual wear of the Querns Handstones Indeterminate KLEITOS I 121 207 226 Area between the settlements 1 9 0 KLEITOS II 18 10 10 MBA pits 6 5 1 Total 146 231 237 Tab. 1. Distribution and frequency of grinding tools per main spatial unit and tool type. tools, the handstone and quern develop a charac­teristic, complementary configuration of the profiles of their use-surfaces. Often the quern acquires a con­vexity along the width axis of its surface and a con­cavity along the long axis, while the handstone de­velops a concavity along its long axis and a conve­xity along the width axis (Fig. 4). However, interest­ing divergences have been noted, suggesting that use-surface morphology is the complex result of var­ious parameters such as its initial manufacture and subsequent maintenance, and the gestures applied during use (see Delgado-Raack, Risch 2009.7–8). . A quern combined with a shorter handstone, used in a linear back-and-forth reciprocal motion (Fig. 3B). In this case the length of the handstone is smaller than the width of the quern. Therefore, the lateral zones of the use-surface of the quern develop less wear than its central part, due to limited contact with the handstone (or none at all). Thus the use-surface of the quern gradually becomes concave lon­gitudinally and concave in width. . A quern used in conjunction with a small hand-stone, in a ‘free’, curvilinear motion (Fig. 3C). The small dimensions of the handstone allow its han­dling with one hand. The use-surface of the quern is concave in both axes (i.e. a ‘basin-like’ morpholo­gy), possibly – but not necessarily – as a result of both manufacture and use, while the use-surface of Danai Chondrou the handstone is convex (or flat-con­vex) in both axes. The presented typology was applied to the Kleitos grinding tool assem­blage. It is worth noting though that due to the extreme degree of frag­mentation there were cases where it was not possible to determine the passive or active function of an im­plement, nor its typological classifi­cation. Even in the cases where lin­ear traces were detected on the use-surface of a fragment, it was not pos­sible to correlate the direction of mo­tion with the overall morphology of the initial tool, and thus to fully decode the kinematics involved in its use. Preservation A basic feature of the grinding tool assemblage from Kleitos is the high rate of fragmentation, which rea­ches 97%: out of a total of 602 milling tools from Neolithic strata, only 18 are preserved intact or al­most intact. The pattern applies to both handstones and querns, worn-out tools with very low thickness and thus highly sensitive to accidental breakages, as well as bulky tools with long remaining use-lives. The magnitude of the phenomenon cannot be attributed to post-depositional processes: (a) the percentage does not include modern breakages that occurred during the excavation process or post-excavation manipulation of the material; (b) the vast majority of the material originates from layers unaffected by modern ploughing. Therefore, a linkage between this attribute and the way the implements were used and manipulated should be sought. Another characteristic is the very strong presence of fire in at least 1/3 of the assemblage. Fire exposure is more frequently encountered in fragmented spe­cimens, suggesting a relation between high fragmen­tation and burning. The impact of fire varies. Some of the tools have sustained significant damage, while others do not exhibit macroscopically visible altera­tions, although their recovery contexts suggest their exposure to fire (e.g., within a building destruction layer). This may be related to the different condi­tions of exposure to fire, but also to the different reactions of lithic materials to high temperatures (e.g., Deal 2012; Ryan 2010). Therefore, it should be considered almost certain that the percentage of tools exposed to fire was actually much higher than the figure given. Manufacture: raw materials In the alluvial plain of Kitrini Limni, where Kleitos is situated, appropriate lithic sources are absent (Fo­tiadis 1988.45, 49). None of the selected rock types were readily accessible or within a short distance – of less than 10km – from the settlement. As such, the procurement of various materials from areas be­yond the borders of the plain was required. Over­all, a quite limited range of raw materials selected for the manufacture of grinding tools has been identified in both Kleitos settlements, suggesting their systematic, non-random exploitation. However, the representation rates differ significantly between the two sites. Two sedimentary rocks, sandstone and microconglomerate1 , are the most common rock types in Kleitos I, while pyroxenite, gneiss, and schist have a more limited presence. In Kleitos II, sand­stone remains the most commonly found raw mate­rial, although there is a sharp increase in the tools 1 Conglomerate is a sedimentary rock of highly varied mineralogical composition, comprised of coarse grains with a diameter larger than 2mm in a finer clay or calcitic matrix. Strictly based on geological vocabulary, the term ‘microconglomerate’ is invalid. It is adopted here, nevertheless, since the author considers it important to be able to differentiate raw materials of sig­nificantly different granulometry, all labelled under the term ‘conglomerate’. There are conglomerates composed of pebbles and cobbles, and others of granules. In the case of Kleitos the coarse grains are larger than 2mm but smaller than 1cm. Whenever bigger particles are present, they represent no more than 5–10% of the complete rock mass of each artefact. Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... made from gneiss, while significant declines in those made from microconglomerate and pyroxenite (Fig. 5). It is also worth noting that there is some varia­tion within distinct lithological groups (e.g., differ­ent types of sandstone and microconglomerate). This diversity, more pronounced in Kleitos I, is associated with various properties that would affect the grind­ing process and the characteristics of the resulting product (see Chondrou et al. 2018.30; Delgado-Raack et al. 2009). Extensive inspection of the areas surrounding Kleitos led to the conclusion that the inhabitants acquired raw materials from multiple sources, including one almost 25km to the south. The basic procurement strategy was the exploitation of secondary sources, such as stream and river beds or surface concentra­tions of rolled material. Kleitos grinding implements quite often retain parts of the naturally smoothen­ed surfaces of the original boulders used for their production, due to the limited extent of manufacture traces along their body. No signs of quarrying have been identified, an observation that is in accor­dance with the data obtained from other Aegean grinding tool assemblages (e.g., Middle/Late Neoli­thic Stavroupoli, Alisoy 2002a.565–566; Late Neoli­thic Makri, Bekiaris 2007.43; Late Neolithic Toumba Kremasti, Chondrou 2011.80; various prehistoric sites in the Argolid, Runnels 1981.75–76; Neolithic Alepotrypa Cave, Stroulia 2018.234; Late Neolithic Makriyalos, Tsoraki 2008.69). Manufacture: techniques As far as the production sequence is concerned, the general tendency in the Kleitos assemblage was the low work investment in the manufacture of grinding implements. Consequently, the size and shape of the pieces of raw material would have been an impor­tant selection criterion in order to keep the produc­tion sequence short. In other words, there must have been a hunt for boulders that would already – in their natural form – approach the desired mor­phometrical traits of the final artefacts. The almost complete absence of rough-outs, manu­facture debris, as well as suitable unmodified raw material pieces does not support in situ manufac­ture. One must assume that the production of these implements – or at least the execution of the initial production stages – was carried out outside the set­tlement grounds and that the tools arrived at the site either fully formed or as semi-finished artefacts. This practice has some advantages, as highlighted by other researchers (e.g., Hayden 1987.26; Runnels 1981.105), since it limits the volume of objects to be transported and helps avoid significant losses in time and energy in the case of manufacturing acci­dents. However, the few unmodified boulders (Fig. 6) and rough-outs at a very early stage of manufac­ture found on-site indicate that there were some pos­sible deviations from this norm. Kleitos grinding implements usually retain the gen­eral shape of the initial piece of raw material used, since manufacturing was mostly limited to the for­mation of the tool’s use-surface and its periphery, only rarely extending throughout the body of the tool. The techniques applied were flaking, pecking and, in very few cases, abrasion. Flaking was in many cases the initial technique ap­plied. A wide, flattish surface, an element of the na­tural configuration of the initial piece of raw mate­rial, served as a striking platform for the application of peripheral blows. In the absence of such a surface, it is likely that one would have been formed through flaking or pecking. Traces of this technique are pre­served in the periphery of a number of finds, con­firming that it was a common stage of the manufac­ture sequence for both querns and handstones. The peripheral flaking had a continuous or discontinu­ous application, most commonly with a top-to-bot­tom orientation of impact (i.e. from the ventral sur­face towards the dorsal). In several cases, however, a combination of opposite-oriented strokes is en­countered (Fig. 7). Bidirectional flaking on the peri­pheral zone of the tool was applied only when the natural shape of the boulder was appropriate (i.e. it had sides with abrupt convexity); this would allow blows from both the top and lower part of the sides. Danai Chondrou A certain degree of technical knowledge would have been necessary to achieve this. As a rule, the appli­cation of peripheral flaking was limited in extent, aiming at a slight adjustment of the natural config­uration of the initial piece of raw material. In con­trast, the removal of large flakes for a radical mor­phological change was rare. In a few cases, a combi­nation of coarser and finer flaking is evident. The lat­ter was secondarily applied, even more selectively and locally, in order to correct specific points of the design. Flaking was usually applied to the immediate peri­phery of the use-surface and rarely to a larger part of the sides; in these instances, it was only applied sporadically. There are also limited cases where the dorsal side (i.e. base) of the querns was formed by flaking, in part or in whole or its periphery exclu­sively. In the case of handstones, the application of flaking to the dorsal side is rare and never on the whole. In total, 31% of Kleitos I querns and 26% of the handstones have traces of flaking, compared to 56% and 30% respectively in Kleitos II. Despite a stronger presence of this technique in Kleitos II ma­terial, its application was generally similar: targeted application focusing on the shaping of the periph­ery of the tool’s use-surface and, in some cases, its dorsal side. It is indicative that flaking is wholly ap­plied in just one tool in the full assemblage studied. Pecking, as opposed to flaking, was a technique of limited mass removal. It was applied either as a ‘se­quential’ step to flaking, to smoothen out anomalies, or – more often – independently. Especially in the case of handstones, pecking had a highly autono­mous role in the manufacturing sequence, since only 3% of the tools with flaking also had pecking applied to the same parts of their bo­dies. Generally speaking, the percentage of handstones with pecking on their non-active sur­faces (32% in Kleitos I and 50% in Kleitos II) indicates that this technique was clearly applied more extensively than flaking. In the case of querns, pecking on their non-active surfaces (36% of Kleitos I querns and 44% in Kleitos II) presents a different distribution pattern when comparing the two sites. In Kleitos I pecking often ex­tends to the sides of the quern, while in Kleitos II it mainly covers the tool’s base (87% of the cases), partially or wholly, or is limited to its periphery. This divergence in manufacturing design may represent a different intended purpose. In Kleitos I the technique seems to have been aimed at the attribution of the final contour and normali­zation of natural anomalies on the non-active sur­faces of the artefacts. On the other hand, in Kleitos II it was probably aimed at creating a mildly rough surface that would enhance the adhesion between the tool and bearing surface. Beyond the shaping of the non-active surfaces of a grinding implement, pecking was also necessary for the formation of its use-surface, which was proba­bly the final stage of the manufacturing sequence. The systematic, dense pecking was a highly time-consuming process (Schneider 1996.306). It may also have been combined with (limited) abrasion, since it is necessary for an active surface to have a rough texture but also a uniform development. The abrasion could be performed either with an abra­sive tool or with the tool that it was intended to be paired with, i.e. the corresponding handstone (for two ethnographic examples, see Gast 1968.350; Teklu 2012.65). A combined examination of the two implements of a functional pair was also important in order to ensure their optimal complementarity (Bofill 2014.443). The necessary ‘matching’ of the use-surfaces of the two implements may have had a decisive influence on the organisation of the ma­nufacturing process by imposing their contemporary manufacture. This is, for example, supported by the ethnographic example from Mali, where each quern was manufactured together with its coupled hand-stone and usually an extra as a spare (Hamon, Le Gall 2013.112). Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... A comparison, where possible, between different parts of the same artefact revealed a clear differen­tiation between pecking marks on non-active and active surfaces. Pecking marks on the non-active surfaces of the querns are typically medium- to large-sized (.5mm diameter), quite shallow and sparse in distribution, as opposed to traces on the use-surfaces which are generally smaller and denser. This prob­ably reflects a difference in the mode of percussion, but also the use of hammers of different morpholo­gies for the shaping of the two types of surfaces. In a single case, differentiated pecking traces were iden­tified in the non-active surfaces of the same tool: on the lateral sides, the ‘typical’ medium-sized, circu­lar pits with a U-shaped section, and on the dorsal side more elongated and semi-circular traces sug­gesting strokes given at an acute angle. Finally, the application of abrasion, in order to smo­othen the surfaces of a tool at the end of the manu­facturing process, is extremely rare. Only seven querns and 10 handstones show traces of smooth­ing on their non-active surfaces, after receiving par­tial pecking of their bodies. No expedient grinding tools were found in Kleitos, in contrast to many other Greek Neolithic assembla­ges (e.g., Middle/Late Neolithic Stavroupoli, Alisoy 2002a.567; Late Neolithic Makri, Bekiaris 2007.43; Middle/Late Neolithic Avgi, Bekiaris 2020; Late Neo­lithic Megalo Nisi Galanis, Stroulia 2005.576; Neoli­thic Franchthi, Stroulia 2010.35; Neolithic Alepotry-pa, Stroulia 2018.209; Late Neolithic Makriyalos, Tsoraki 2008.69). Instead, all Kleitos specimens present some degree of work investment, even though usu­ally low. Their manufacture reveals the existence of a strategic design be­hind their sequence of production, regarding both the shaping techni­ques applied and their execution that took into account the optimal utiliza­tion of the original piece of raw ma­terial. Overall, despite the generally low de­gree of investment in Kleitos grind­ing tool manufacture, various modes of application of individual techni­ques have been detected in terms of execution (e.g., uni-/bidirectional flaking) and extent of tool coverage. This variation does not seem related to the raw materials used (for a sim­ ilar observation on the assemblage from Neolithic Stavroupoli see Alisoy 2002a.567), but rather to personal choices and the morphology of the boul­ders used (see further below). Undoubtedly, there are norms regarding the manufacturing process, but their inhomogeneous application seems to indicate the existence of many manufacturers who shaped their equipment as they pleased. The criteria appear to be more practical than aesthetic, but they may also reflect varied degrees of technical skill. For example, flaking of raw materials with a highly in­homogeneous structure, such as microconglomer-ates, or with intense schistosity, such as schist-gneiss, involves high technical risk and requires experience (see Procopiou 2013.47). Regarding the divergen­ces in production detected between Kleitos I and Kleitos II, these also appear unrelated to the raw materials, as the rock types and natural boulders used are the same. Morphometrical traits In the assemblage of both Kleitos I and Kleitos II, querns paired with ‘overhanging’ handstones oper­ated in a back and forth reciprocal motion (i.e. type 1 grinding tools) are predominant. The handstones have use-surfaces concave along the length axis and slightly convex along the width axis (Fig. 8.A–C). The latter coincides with the direction of the tool’s motion, as testified also by the linear traces visible at low magnification, more rarely also macroscopi­cally. The querns have use-surfaces concave along the length axis, slightly convex along the width axis Danai Chondrou (Fig. 8.D–F). Clusters of linear traces have a com­mon orientation, parallel to the length axis of the tool. In contrast, the other two tool types (type 2 and type 3) have a much more limited representa­tion. Only 26 out of 140 querns in the entire assem­blage have a use-surface concave in both axes, indi­cating pairing with a smaller handstone used in a rectilinear or ‘free’ curvilinear motion, a type identi­fied in 48 out of 226 handstones (Fig. 9). Overall, type 2 and 3 tools represent 21% of Kleitos I grind­ing implements and almost 11% of Kleitos II – with indeterminate pieces being excluded from this count. The precise determination of the ratio of these two types is hindered by the very high degree of frag­mentation and poor preservation due to fire expo­sure, erosion or the extensive presence of sediment. Notwithstanding the above limitations, it can be safe­ly said that type 3 tools constitute the least repre­sented group of grinding equipment in Kleitos. Tool type 1 morphology has been recently deemed “unexpected and counter-intuitive” (Stroulia et al. 2017.4). In reality, nevertheless, what is truly impressive about it is its late identification in the ar­chaeological research. Although the idea of tools resembling small querns but functioning as hand-stones has been suggested by re­searchers for decades, and the existence of different morpholo­gical types of grinding tools has been noted (e.g., Hersh 1981; Nierlé 1983; Plassart 1928.25– 26; Zimmermann 1988), these typological clarifications have rarely or partially been taken in­to account in the succeeding work, at least in southeastern Eu­rope. This is exactly the main obstacle to the analytical exam­ination of the spatial and chro­nological distribution of type 1 and type 2 implements and their interrelation. However, it is cer­tain that, contrary to earlier esti­mations according to which the Neolithic handstones were shor­ter than the Bronze Age ones (Runnels 1981.147), tool type 1 had a strong and steady pres­ence throughout the Greek Neo­lithic, ever since its early phases (e.g., Early Neolithic site of Ayios Vlasis, Chondrou pers. obs.), and continuing through­out the Bronze Age era (e.g., Early Bronze Age Ayios Athanasios, Chondrou et al. 2019; Late Bronze Age West House in Akrotiti, Moundrea-Agrafioti 2007. 103). Instead, type 3 tools generally seem to repre­sent a rarity (see Stroulia 2010.56; Valamoti et al. 2013.182). Whenever present in Greek assemblages, either Neolithic or Bronze Age, they are always lim­ited in numbers (e.g., Middle/Late Neolithic Stavrou­poli, Alisoy 2002a; Late Neolithic Toumba Kremasti, Chondrou 2011.95–96; Neolithic Franchthi, Strou­lia 2010.54–56; Bronze Age Mesimeriani Toumba, Alisoy 2002b; Late Bronze Age West House in Akro­tiri, Moundrea-Agrafioti 2007.78). In both Kleitos settlements grinding implements have a predominantly curvilinear outline. This mor­phological trait appears to be mostly associated with the initial form of the exploited raw materials (i.e. cobbles and boulders), and to a lesser extent with deliberate manufacture. The overwhelming majority of both querns and handstones have a single use- Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... surface. Interestingly enough, at least four out of the six exceptions of querns with two use-surfaces in Kleitos I share as a common feature the concave in both axes profile of their active surfaces, suggesting pairing with small-sized handstones in a linear or curvilinear motion (i.e. tool types 2 and 3). In Klei­tos II, the percentage of querns with two use-surfaces is higher (22% compared to nearly 5% in Kleitos I), but with no association to specific tool types. Hand-stones with two use-surfaces are also exceptions to the rule, reaching nearly 13% in Kleitos I and 10% in Kleitos II. A key element of the morphology of the querns, ir­respective of their contour, is that their shape is op­timized for the maximum possible use-surface. On the other hand, the bottom surface that rarely re­ceives extensive shaping maintains the usually con­vex or flattish natural morphology of the original boulder. This is important, since the stability of a quern is necessary during the grinding activity. In the case of many Kleitos implements this would be ensured thanks to the morphology of their bases. There are, however, also cases with a highly irregu­lar, convex or angular bottom surface, for which one should assume the use of additional supports (e.g., rocks, pieces of wood) or their partial immersion in the soil, with or without some inclination. Handstones exhibit a variety of transverse sections: wedge-shaped/lopsided sections (47%) and flat-con­vex ones (31%) dominate, while the elongated qua­drilaterals, curvilinear (elliptical and oval) and trian­gular sections present much smaller percentages (Fig. 4). In an overall examination, this variety ap­pears to be largely the result of both the morphol­ogy of the original pieces of raw material, as well as the manufacturing choices. Surfaces with an angular morphology, often asymmetrical, were systematical­ly selected to form the dorsal side of the handstone. This practice, mostly associated with type 1 hand-stones, resulted in a wedged transversal configura­tion of the tool, where the maximum thickness was not in the middle but closer to one side. There are also cases where the desirable morphology was se­cured through the application of manufacturing tech­niques, possibly because of the inconvenient shape of the initial piece of raw material. This observa­tion is of particular interest, since the wedge-shaped transverse cross-section of the handstones has been previously considered a feature resulting solely from the tool’s use, i.e. kinematics, pattern and degree of resulting wear (Adams 2002a.112–113 and Fig. 5.12). In the case of Kleitos, the most commonly en­countered wedge-shaped cross-section of the hand-stones has been shown to be a desirable characte­ristic associated with the tools’ manufacture – al­though it would certainly have been enhanced later on through use and subsequent wear – and most probably aiming at facilitating the handling of the tool (see Moundrea-Agrafioti 2007.80 for a similar observation on another archaeological assemblage). The fragmentary state of Kleitos grinding imple­ments does not allow a full assessment of their met­rical traits. In Kleitos I all the intact querns exceed 30cm in length, with average dimensions of 34.4cm x 20.92cm x 7.28cm. On the other hand, fragmented tools that represent a sufficient part of the initial (i.e. intact) im­plement testify to the exis­tence of a metrical range, in fact giving the impression of the prevalence of small-sized tools with a length of L30cm. Thus the length of querns ranged significantly up to a maximum of 35.7cm. In Klei­tos II, the sole almost intact quern, with a total length of more than 47cm, is exceptio­nally large, while a fragment­ed one that retains 3/4 of its total volume would not ex- Fig. 9. Type 2 and 3 fragmented handstones (A, B) and querns (C–E). ceed 35cm in its intact form. Danai Chondrou Together the two clearly depict the coexistence of grinding tools of different dimensions. Regarding metrical attributes in relation to different tool types, both type 1 and type 2 tools present size variation. Type 3 implements, on the other hand, are too frag­mented for safe assessments of their metrical range. What can be said with some certainty is that they all had rather small initial proportions. The average dimensions of the handstones in Klei­tos I are 24.61cm x 12.05cm x 6.02cm, based exclu­sively on the intact samples. If we take into account both the intact specimens and the fragmented ones that retain intact the respective axis of measurement, the resulting metrical range is significantly wide: 9.2 to 37.2cm length, 8.4 to 16.8cm width and 3.4 to 8.6cm thickness. From the intact and almost intact samples (n=11), two present marginal dimensions: a small handstone with a length of less than 10cm and an asymmetrical oval outline, and a strongly elongated (3.1:1 length/width ratio), elliptical one that is almost 40cm long (Fig. 8.C). Between the two marginal cases there are tools 20 to 33cm long, which are difficult to group because of their varying proportions and limited number. Their weight also presents a strong variation: 546 to 5500g. What is clear, nevertheless, is a trend for elongated shapes: most of the handstones are very narrow, as evidenc­ed by the high values of the length/width ratio (all but one .1.5, and more than half .2). With regard to Kleitos II, the length range cannot be ascertained due to fragmentation, yet there are samples that clearly suggest metric variation. The aforementioned variations, largely due to the characteristics of the exploited boulders, may also indicate the more opportunistic exploitation of the available raw materials, where the pursuit of unifor­mity in the collected rocks is not a (primary) concern. Aspects of use Regarding the materials processed, grinding tools have been traditionally associated with the process­ing of cereals and other edible plant species. Recent functional studies, including use-wear and residue analyses (e.g., Adams 1988; 2002b; Albert, Portillo 2005; Bofill et al. 2014; Delgado-Raack 2008; Del Pilar Babot, Apella 2003; Dubreuil 2002; 2004; 2009; Hamon 2008a; Hamon et al. 2011; Liu et al. 2010; Procopiou et al. 1998; 2002; Veth et al. 1997), combined with a variety of ethnographic data (e.g., Arthur 2014; Gould 1968; Horsfall 1987.336; Roux 1985), shed new light into the functional dynamics of these tools. Grinding implements could in fact be actively involved in a wide range of activities, be­sides cereal grinding, such as the processing of le­gumes, tubers, roots and bulbs, nuts, fresh and dried fruits, herbs and spices, acorns, meat, bones, wood, tobacco, minerals, clay, pigments, salt, etc. The forthcoming use-wear analysis of Kleitos mate­rial is expected to shed light onto various aspects of function. What can be said at the moment is that the morphometrical and typological variety identified in the Kleitos assemblage could be a possible indicator for the existence of a range of diversified milling activities. For example, and as noted above, type 1 grinding tools dominate the Kleitos assemblage, in sharp contrast to type 3 implements. Out of the four highly fragmented querns that can be safely attrib­uted to the latter type, two do not bear any indica­tion of pecking on their use-surfaces. This differen­tiation could be related to the uses of the tools. For example, Laurie Nixon-Darcus and Catherine D’An­drea (2017) identified the preference for grinding surfaces of different textures for the treatment of different products, with rough surfaces being exclu­sively reserved for grinding large seeds (e.g., sorg­hum, wheat, barley), while those with finer textures were utilized for the processing of small-sized plant species (e.g., millet). Similarly, in Nepal the querns used for spice processing were of fine materials and without pecking (Baudais, Lundström-Baudais 2002.170). Moreover, the identification of one of the few type 3 querns in a house interior along with other type 1 grinding tools offers evidence of tech­nological diversification at the household level. The co-existence of different tool types in the same func­tional context is attested elsewhere, for example in the unique Late Bronze Age milling workshop in Room 3a of West House in Akrotiri, equipped with permanently installed grinding tools able to support the systematic, massive production of flour (Moun­drea-Agrafioti 2007.82, 102–103). These cases rein­force the idea that typological diversity may be a fea­ture of functional significance. Several experiments highlight differences in the functionality of the various tool types depending on the material to be ground. Montserrat Menasanch et al. (2002.95) have shown an advantage of type 1 tools for the processing of hulled grains, since the morphology facilitates the separation, during milling, of the ground product and the hard but also lighter grain husks. The same tool type in other experiments has proven to be particularly effective for grinding dry or slightly roasted cereal grains (Lidström-Holm­ Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... berg 2004.205–206). Furthermore, Caroline Hamon (2008b.202, 206–207) detected a change in the grinding technology of northwestern Europe at the end of the Neolithic period, with type 1 tools being abandoned in favour of type 2 implements. She em­phasizes the possible association of this change with the replacement of hulled barley by the naked vari­ety, and thus the interrelation of dietary, cultural and economic choices. The latter case supports the idea of a functional specialization of specific tool types, with tool type 1 better suited for dehusking and then grinding of cereals. On the other hand, in different regions of Mali (Dogon and Minyanka coun­try), where the use of type 1 and 2 grinding tools continues until today, the choice between the two is purely dependent upon cultural choices, irrespective of the edible materials to be processed (Hamon, Le Gall 2013). Function-related aspects might also be involved in the metrical variation of the technical equipment attested in the Kleitos assemblage, among others at the household level. The relation between the met­rics and function of grinding tools is an issue that has received a lot of discussion. Small-sized querns with a length of L30cm are quite often encountered in Greek Neolithic assemblages, and some resear­chers have shown support for their inefficiency, at least for the systematic production of flour (Runnels 1981.250–251; Stroulia 2010.37, 39, 48). Instead they proposed a multifunctional role for these im­plements for the treatment of various organic and inorganic substances (Runnels 1981.153; Stroulia 2010.50–51; Tsoraki 2008.100). Experimentally, however, it has been possible to demonstrate that small grinding tools can be used for the production of flour along with coarser derivatives (e.g., ‘bulgur’, groats) and that various pre-treatments of the grain may significantly enhance the efficiency of the pro­cess (e.g., Bofill et al. 2020; Chondrou et al. 2018; Hersh 1981.434–462; Valamoti et al. 2013). Thus, the limited size of grinding tools does not necessa­rily preclude certain functions. This is also support­ed by the ethnographic record that attests to the exi­stence of a variety of technological choices. There are cases of a strong correlation between tool size and use, and others with no such distinctions. In Ti-chitt, Mauritania, there are four types of grinding tools according to metrical and functional criteria (Roux 1985.41), while in north Cameroon, tool pairs reserved for spices differ in size from those employ­ed in cereal processing (Gelbert 2005.324). On the other hand, in some nomadic groups of northern Sa­hara the difference between coarse and fine flour production is the number of strokes of the hand-stone over the generally limited working length of the quern used indistinctively for grinding activities (Gast 1968.348–349). Furthermore, no one can ex­clude the possibility that the predominance of small-sized tools in Kleitos and elsewhere was related to the production scales rather than specific uses, re­flecting small production and consumption units, as suggested, for example, for the Late Neolithic Makri­yalos assemblage (Tsoraki 2007.293). Finally, tools of limited size could even be associated with mobil­ity and site-occupation patterns (e.g., Nelson, Lipp­meier 1993; Schlanger 1991). Therefore, the meaning of typological and metrical variation detected within assemblages is not straight­forward, and definitely calls for further investigation through context-specific studies combined with fun­ctional analyses. It is important to bear in mind that the range of functions of these tools, as clearly documented ethnographically, can be determined by a variety of parameters, some of which, such as cul­tural and socio-economic factors, are very difficult or even impossible to detect archaeologically. For exam­ple, in the village of Sibou, northwest Kenya, speci­fic taboos are in play concerning the highly specia­lized use of certain grinding tools for the production of castor oil exclusively by elderly women (e.g., Shoe­maker et al. 2017.424–425). On the other hand, in Ethiopia grinding tools proved to be an ideal indica­tor of social differences and nutritional fluctuations within the strictly stratified society of the Gabo tribe (e.g., Arthur 2014). Even the personal preferences of the users can determine the way these implements are employed (e.g., Horsfall 1987.358). The raw material of the implements that together make up a grinding pair is certainly of some inter­est. In the ethnographic record there are cases where the paired implements are made of the same raw material (e.g., the Mursi people in Maki, Ethiopia, Robitaille 2016.432, or the craftsmen of traditional stone grinding tools in North America that formed the coupled implements out of the same piece of rock, Aschmann 1949.685), but also cases of paired tools made of different raw materials and with dif­ferent granulometry. The aim was to ensure the de­sired quality of the obtained product. For example, the nomads of Sahel, north Sudan, have for each grinding slab two matching handstones made from different raw materials for the two stages of grind­ing, a coarser one and a finer one that transforms the meal into flour (Schön, Holter 1988.159). In Su­kur, Africa, successive grinding with a transition from Danai Chondrou a coarse to a finer handstone was the way to ob­tain fine flour for women who had only one quern (David 1998.23). Finally, in Marakwet, Kenya, the process of producing sorghum and corn flour is con­ducted in two distinct stages, with the employment of handstones of different textures and weights, all part of the same toolkit (Shoemaker et al. 2017. 423–424). In the case of Kleitos a major limitation is the inability to restore the grinding tool pairs, i.e. to identify the coupled implements, due to the high degree of fragmentation and the scattered dis­tribution of the finds. Only in three isolated cases, found within buildings of Kleitos II, is it highly pro­bable that the tools found belong to the same pair. In all of these cases, the associated quern and hand-stone are made of the same raw material (gneiss in two cases, sandstone in the third). However, it is possible that grinding pairs of different raw materi­als and textures were employed either at separate stages of the same grinding process or independent­ly for a different quality of product. For example, milling experiments with tools made of microcon­glomerate – a popular choice, especially in Kleitos I – have shown that the particular type of material does not allow control over the quality of the prod­uct obtained (Chondrou et al. 2018). In contrast, sandstone tools permit regulation of the granulo­metry of the material produced (Procopiou 2013. 46–47 and Tab. 2.1). It is therefore a possibility that the raw material variability detected in Kleitos can be associated with different intended production yields. Tools made of highly heterogeneous, coarse-grained microconglomerate could have been utilized mainly for the production of coarse products, whe­reas tools with a more homogeneous structure and a finer texture could have aimed at more refined de­rivatives (see below). Moreover, there are certain use-related morphologi­cal traits worth mentioning. A few handstones in our sample exhibit a thin, elongated facet along one side of the use-surface of the tool, perpendicular to its movement axis. This characteristic feature is espe­cially interesting, since it points to a particular ges­ture during the grinding process: in the rectilinear reciprocal movement on the surface of the quern, a light tilting of the handstone (i.e. the raising of the bottom part of the tool at an angle) during its up­ward stroke that brings the tool back to its original position, close to the operator (Fig. 10). This would serve to ‘re-capture’ the grain dispersed over the surface of the quern, in order to grind it again with another stroke of the handstone. Simultaneously it would lead to the wearing down of the farthest from the operator elongated edge of the use-surface of the handstone and the formation of a thin facet, with its long axis perpendicular to the direction of motion of the handstone. An ethnographic reference to this distinct kinematic during the grinding pro­cess originates from Maki, Ethiopia (Robitaille 2016. 433). This move differs from holding the handstone completely parallel to the surface of the quern or from striking it back-and-forth during the recipro­cal motion, which would result in different config­urations of the use-surfaces of the tools, the first in a fairly flat surface, the second in the formation of two facets parallel to each other (Adams 2002a.103– 106; and for ethnographic observations, David 1998. 35; Bartlett 1933.15–19). The detection of this fea­ture in some specimens of our sample, along with its absence in many other cases, indicates variability in the kinetics applicable within the same technical process (i.e. grinding). We should nevertheless also bear in mind that the visibility of such facets de­pends not only on the kinetics applied, but also on the treatment that these tools receive during their life-cycle. Thus, for example, dense re-pecking of the use-surface for the maintenance of its roughness or peripheral flaking for the reshaping of its contour might completely remove the related traces. A group of querns whose use-surface is tilted on one side, resulting in the wedge-shaped configuration of their transversal section, deserves special men­tion. In contrast to the wedge-shaped cross-section of the handstones (see above), this lop-sidedness of KLEITOS I KLEITOS II Building A B C D E F G H I J 1 2 3 4 Building phase A B C A B A B A B A B A B A B A B C A B C Quern 2 2 1 3 1 3 1 1 2 1 1 Handstone 2 2 1 4 2 3 1 1 1 1 1 2 2 Indeterminate 1 1 1 1 3 1 2 1 1 1 1 Total number of grinding tools 1 4 2 1 4 2 10 3 6 2 5 1 1 2 3 2 3 3 Tab. 2. Distribution of grinding tools originating from building interiors in Kleitos I and Kleitos II set­tlements presented per generic type and building phase. Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... querns seems less likely related to manufacture and more linked to the way the tools were used. Perhaps it is the result of the tools’ tilted mounting during use. Nicholas David (1998.38) likewise interpreted the asymmetric growth of the milling cavities formed on bedrocks as a result of the natural tilting of their support. It could also be associated with the opera­tor applying uneven pressure on the two sides of the handstone during grinding (David 1998.38 rejects this version, but its plausibility is certified experi­mentally, see Stroulia et al. 2017.17–18). Finally, as noted above, specimens (handstones and querns) with two opposite use-surfaces are rare in Kleitos. It has been argued that the formation of multiple use-surfaces on a tool is a practice aimed at extending its use-life, since it increases the number of usable surfaces on the same object (Adams 1993. 336). Different possible accounts exist for the shap­ing of these tools: they were either manufactured from the beginning with two different active sur­faces, or the second surface was the result of later shaping. In the case of handstones with two use-sur­faces, if this configuration was part of the initial de­sign aimed at parallel use in combination with the same passive tool, frequent switching between the two surfaces would be necessary, so that both re­main compatible with the quern, following the chan­ges of its profile morphology caused by the progres­sive use-wear (Adams 2002a.114). In Kleitos, how­ever, many of the handstones with two use-surfaces are not consistent with this practice, since their use-surfaces do not coincide morphologically, meaning that their profile differs: one surface is concave on the longitudinal axis and the other convex (for simi­lar observations regarding other assemblages see Tsoraki 2008.91 for Makriyalos, and Stroulia 2018. 209 for Alepotrypa). This could indicate pairing of the tool with different passive implements from each side, or even an active function of the tool with the one use-surface and a passive function with the other. Unfortunately, the latter cannot be clarified due to the fragmented state of the available sam­ples. The temporal dimension of the function of the two use-surfaces of a single tool is also open to que­stion: they could represent parallel uses of the tool or successive stages of the artefact’s life-cycle. Ano­ther observation is that in some cases different use-surfaces of the same tool present different use-wear: one surface is smooth and polished, while the other one is lacking polish and has a rougher texture (see Tsoraki 2008.91 and Stroulia 2010.41 for similar notes on the Makriyalos and Franchthi assemblages, respectively). This could suggest their use in relation to different materials or even the same one, but at different stages of its processing (see Stewart 1942, as referenced in Schroth 1996.58, and for a similar proposition for the material from Sitagroi, Biskow-ski as cited in Elster 2003.186). Management practices Like many other types of implements, grinding tools may undergo a series of maintenance activities to enhance their functionality, such as re-pecking of their use-surface. Despite a reduction in the tool’s life-duration through this process, the tool gains a renewed abrasive texture, increasing its efficiency (Bartlett 1933.4; Hersh 1981.470; Wright 1993. 352). This was definitely a process that was per- Danai Chondrou formed periodically in Kleitos, as evidenced by the numerous grinding implements with traces of peck­ing on their use-surfaces, more or less obliterated by subsequent use-wear. In the Iron Age site Almizara­que, in the Iberian Peninsula (Risch 2008.14–15), it has been observed that the renewal of the rough­ness of the use-surface through percussion would only be performed on querns, while the handstones would still be used even after the elimination of their irregularities through the gradual smoothing and levelling caused by the cumulative use-wear. How­ever, this is definitely not the case in Kleitos. Not only do all handstones have signs of pecking, but there is also a unique example of a handstone with an incomplete rejuvenation of its use-surface (Fig. 11) offering a clear indication of the in situ perfor­mance of such activities. Ethnographic examples show that surface rejuvenation can be a time-con­suming process (see Hamon, Le Gall 2013.112– 113). The frequency of application could vary from a few days to several weeks (e.g., Robitaille 2016. 443, seven to ten days; Shoemaker et al. 2017.426, one to three weeks), depending on a number of fac­tors, such as the hardness and durability of the raw material of grinding tools, frequency and mode of use (Shoemaker et al. 2017.426). As noted above, due to the location of the Kleitos settlements inside the alluvial basin of Kitrini Limni, all the necessary pieces of raw material would have to be sought and transferred (as complete or incom­plete artefacts) from areas outside its boundaries, at a distance greater (possibly by far) than 10km. One would expect that the lack of directly accessible sources of material would lead to: (a) the application of wear-man­agement strategies; (b) syste­matic practices for prolonging the tools’ functionality; (c) high rates of worn-out tools due to their extensive use. However, the overall picture does not meet expectations. With the exception of rejuve­nation, there are very low ra­tes of post-manufacture tech­nical treatment of grinding equipment, either in relation to their initial function or be­yond that. There are, for exam­ple, cases of fragmented que­rns that have been reshaped into handstones or of broken handstones subjected to limited reshaping (usually at the edges of the fractured surfaces) in order to continue to be functional. However, such cases of re-designing grinding tools with the aim of reusing them in the same or different context are extremely limited (less than 2% in Kleitos I and completely ab­sent from Kleitos II), and certainly do not represent the norm in the management practices of grinding equipment in the Neolithic Kleitos. Moreover, there is an impressively limited presence of exhausted tools: only 5% of the milling tools per site can be described as (nearly) exhausted (handsto­nes and querns almost equally represented), while no such find was detected in the area between the two settlements. Judging from our data, there is no visible correlation between the degree of use of the tools and the degree of work invested in their manu­facture. However, there seems to be a link with the raw material of the tools, since those made of micro-conglomerate and gneiss have an average thickness smaller than the tools made of other raw materials, which could support their more extensive or inten­sive use, if not related to the dimensions of the ori­ginal raw material pieces used. Could the relative absence of worn-out grinding tools be attributed to different treatments, such as different discard pat­terns? The available evidence does not support such a hypothesis. First of all, the full-scale archaeological research in Kleitos allows clear visibility throughout the extent of the residential area. Secondly, the same absence is noted in both settlements, a fact that re­inforces the validity of the observation. After all, Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... there is no evidence for the massive extraction of anthropogenic material beyond the limits of the two sites, and the archaeological material in the exposed area between them is particularly limited. It should be stressed that grinding tools, and in par­ticular querns, have potentially long life spans that can reach up to several decades, as evidenced by the ethnographic record (see Horsfall 1987.342–343; David 1998.55; Nixon-Darcus 2014.97, 105). In the case of Kleitos, it seems that the maximization of the exploitation of grinding tools was not a primary consideration of the inhabitants who had the ten­dency not to use their grinding tools until the point of exhaustion. Spatial analysis As previously mentioned, Kleitos I yielded the largest amount of grinding implements among the three spatial units, i.e. the two settlements and the area between them (Tab. 1), an observation consistent with the general distribution of the whole ground stone tool assemblage (Chondrou 2018). The over­all distribution of the findings covers the entire re­sidential area of the two settlements, with the over­whelming majority (84%) linked to external areas. This wide dispersal is the result of a palimpsest of successive and superimposed production and dis­card activities, and factors resulting in a random ma­terial displacement. No differentiation is detected according to the degree of work invested in the tool manufacture or according to different tool-types. The small group of type 2 and 3 tools follows the distri­bution of the type 1 majority. On the other hand, the material from the area between the two settle­ments is minimal, and based on its state of preser­vation resembles mostly refuse deposits. Only 55 grinding tools (47 in Kleitos I and eight in Kleitos II) are associated with the interior of built domestic space (Tab. 2). Their distribution in Klei­tos I is highly inhomogeneous, ranging from zero to ten specimens per dwelling. In Kleitos II it appears more uniform, although grinding tools are present in only 1/3 of the building phases (i.e. three out of nine). All grinding tools originating from building interiors are in a fragmented state of preservation, a fact that significantly hinders the complete asses­sment of domestic grinding equipment and the in­vestigation of possible patterns in morphometric dif­ferentiation. However, it can be easily observed that almost all of the querns are quite thick (7.25cm ave­rage thickness), and thus have long remaining use-lives. Comparing the grinding implements from Klei­tos I and Kleitos II buildings (taking into account passive, active and indeterminate ones), a divergence is detected. As a general pattern, Kleitos I dwellings tend to have at least two grinding pairs in their in­teriors (the inventories from five building phases meet this condition), while Kleitos II dwellings one quern and one or two handstones. Based on ethno­graphic examples that demonstrate the relationship between the number of querns and number of hou­sehold members preparing the meals (e.g., David 1998.23), it would be tempting to see these quanti­tative variations in household equipment as a reflec­tion of differences in the size of household groups of Kleitos I and Kleitos II. This assumption may be supported by the fact that the majority of Kleitos II dwellings are significantly smaller in size compared to their counterparts in Kleitos I. There are never­theless several other ethnographic studies that illu­strate differences in household grinding tools for other reasons, such as economic, social, personal, etc. (e.g., Arthur 2014; Robitaille 2016). Interest­ingly, the grinding pairs found in Kleitos II houses consist of tools made of the same rock type, while the third implement – when present – is of different material. Similarly, in all but one Kleitos I dwellings with more than two grinding tools, two or even three different rock types are represented. In a few cases different tool types or tools of different metri­cal groups are present. This diversity suggests a pos­sible complementary role for at least some of these tools, being reserved for different stages of the same grinding process (e.g., coarse/fine grinding) or for the processing of different products. So far no stable features associated with grinding ac­tivities have been identified: no fixed equipment, no clay ‘bins’ that could function as specialized places for grinding. Although rectangular clay constructions have been found in the interior of some dwellings, resembling clay features with rims delimiting milling areas found elsewhere in Eastern Europe (e.g., Bur-do et al. 2013.101, 103; Kalchev 2013), there were no associations with grinding implements and the analysed archaeobotanical data do not support a re­levant use (Stylianakou, pers. com.). However, in two cases, one in an open area in Kleitos I and the other inside or directly outside a dwelling in Kleitos II, grinding tools were found associated with clay structures in such a way that they might initially have been located inside or on top of them. In the absence of significant indications of the exis­tence of stable grinding tools, one can imagine the Danai Chondrou grinding implements of Kleitos, generally limited in size and weight, to have been carried easily from one place to another, or even from interior to exte­rior areas, domestic or communal. Seasonal or other types of changes in workspaces would therefore be possible by moving the necessary equipment and changing its context of function, when required, from private to more open (for ethnographic exam­ples, see Roux 1985; Cutting 2006; Hamon, Le Gall 2013). Nevertheless, there are clear indications that grinding activities were closely connected to the do­mestic space. Nowhere in Kleitos do we come across concentrations of grinding tools in external areas lacking an association with specific buildings. In­stead, the findspots of grinding implements that seem to reflect contexts of use rather than contexts of disposal activities are located inside dwellings or outside, but in their immediate periphery. The latter, according to the spatial analysis of all ground stone categories, represents an extension of the built space of the household, able to accommodate a variety of activities. Grinding was certainly one of these, as il­lustrated by the frequent finding of milling tools out­side but near the built boundaries of the dwellings, in a few cases in places with additional formations, such as fence-partitions and plastered floors. Interestingly there is a general lack of proximity be­tween grinding stones and thermal/cooking structu­res, both in exterior and interior areas. In fact, build­ing interior zones associated with clay structures – systematically located in Kleitos I dwellings along the northern wall, rarely along part of the western one as well – are often (almost) empty of grinding implements and other types of ground stone tools. Instead, in a few secure cases, the grinding imple­ments were found in very close association with ves­sels. If not a reflection of equipment in storage, this could suggest grinding in direct association with the storage locus of the material to be ground or of the resulting product of the grind­ing activity. The evidence from Kleitos is in high contrast to the general pattern of domes­tic activities clustered around the hearth or oven observed in numerous Neolithic sites in the Balkan area (Hodder 1990.59; Souvatzi 2013.55, and for va­rious examples see also Bailey 2000; Todorova 1978.52; Trin­gham 1971.112–113; Trin­gham et al. 1985.431). There­fore, it is quite likely that, in the case of Kleitos, grinding activity involving food­stuff was, as a rule, spatially – perhaps also tempo­rally – separated from cooking. Deposition practices Grinding tools, among other artefacts, that resem­ble refuse can be detected all over the settlement grounds, with higher frequencies mostly, but not ex­clusively, in areas in the peripheral unstructured zone of the settlement, around the built nucleus (es­pecially in Kleitos I). These artefacts, secondarily dis­posed of in these marginal areas, bear signs of diffe­rent pre-depositional processes, such as burning or multi-fracturing, that suggest varied origins. They could be the remains of maintenance activities exe­cuted in the domestic areas of the settlement, but possibly of other kinds of activities as well. In Kleitos I, where the tool assemblage is more abun­dant and allows for a better analysis, neither the di­tches surrounding the settlement, nor the pits on settlement grounds appear to be primarily contexts of refuse disposal. In fact, variations in their con­tents and patterns in their filling have been identi­fied that point to deliberate and selective actions of deposition. Grinding tools constitute the predomi­nant ground stone tool component of Kleitos I pits, and the second most common – after edge tools (i.e. axes, adzes, chisels) – in ditches. A closer look sug­gests a strong association of querns with pit infills. With one exception all grinding tools inside pits in Kleitos I are querns (Fig. 12). The same does not apply in the case of ditches, where querns and hand-stones appear in equal numbers. Moreover, grinding tools are further associated with specific types of pits: in Kleitos I, where the practice of opening pits with­in area of the destroyed debris of buildings is recur­rent, whenever these pits contain ground stone tools, grinding tools are a constant find. Finally, looking Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... exclusively at the finds disposed of intact in such contexts (pits and ditches), although only four in number, they are all querns. Owing to their volume these artefacts would have long remaining use-lives and would probably be considered valuable. Besides, given the fact that large pieces of raw material were not readily available, but brought into the settlement from further away, the manufactured items incorpo­rated, by definition, a remarkable amount of labour for their production. Aside from the few intact specimens, the rule seems to be that grinding implements are deposited frag­mented, in both pits and ditches. Some examples raise suspicions of deliberate destruction, either due to irregular breakage patterns or due to visible per­cussion marks that are not related to any kind of maintenance episode, i.e. reshaping or repair of the implement (Chondrou 2018). The above observations suggest a patterned behav­iour regarding the ways ditches and pits were filled. There seems to be not only a separation of the two complementary members of the grinding pair at the time of deposition (passive/quern and active/hand-stone), but also a selective disposal of a specific tool type in a particular context. Thus, the presence of only one of the two members of the grinding pair in the context of deliberate disposal/deposition does not appear in the case of Kleitos to reflect a pars pro toto signification mechanism, as it has been argued for other European Neolithic assemblages (see Graefe 2009.75), where cases of intentional deposition of grinding tools, often as hoards, are well document­ed (see Hamon 2008b; 2008c; Bene. et al. 2015). The choice to include only one of the two coupled implements in specific deposits reveals their differ­entiated significance rather than a ‘connotative’ use of either one. Ethnographic data support such a sym­bolic ‘autonomy’ of the members of the grinding pair and the active relationship between them (e.g., Corbeil 1985 and Parsons 1970, as cited in Lidström Holmberg 1998.125; moreover, in several Minyanka villages in Mali the handstone symbolizes the child and the quern the woman, Hamon, Le Gall 2011.27). Examining the state of preservation in relation to the context indicates another pattern: grinding tools originating from domestic areas in both settlements are completely fragmented, often showing signs of multiple breakages, which cannot be attributed to damage from the destruction of the building or to intense burning and erosion. And while in a few cases conjoining fragments are found, no grinding implement could be fully restored (Chondrou 2018. 395–397). In contrast, the edge-tools from domestic contexts are systematically found intact. This obser­vation should be put in the general context of burn­ed houses. All but one separate building phase in Kleitos I and several in Kleitos II were destroyed by fire. The houses were not all contemporaneous and there are no indications of a generalized fire that de­stroyed all or part of the settlement at once (Ziota 2014a.326). Instead, the dwellings seem to have been destroyed by fire in separate events. Regarding the house inventories, although all separate catego­ries of finds have not yet been studied, there is the general impression of a low frequency of small finds that contrasts with the significant size of the houses themselves. This could be an indication of a syste­matic, at least partial, evacuation and abandonment of houses prior to their destruction by fire. Few ex­ceptions are detected. One of them, the earliest of the three phases of Building 3 in Kleitos II, stands out from the rest for its state of preservation, its rich inventory and the presence of a significant amount of stored products, evidence that suggest it was de­stroyed by fire in the context of an accident, without the inhabitants having the opportunity to remove the building’s contents (Ziota 2014b.59–60). Two cases of grinding implements buried under ther­mal structures may constitute a special type of depo­sition. Examples of tools incorporated in built fea­tures in such a way that they form part of the struc­ture’s floor or its substructure are known from other Greek Neolithic sites (e.g., Middle Neolithic hearth in Servia site, Mould et al. 2000.146). In Kleitos, however, the tools are buried underneath the clay features, with no visible structural correlation. In one of the cases a handstone was broken (intentio­nally?) into at least five pieces, three of which were buried close to each other and underneath a clay structure. A similar find is reported from the Neoli­thic stratum in Franchthi cave: the pieces of an inten­tionally broken quern were buried underneath a ‘built fireplace’ (Stroulia 2010.51–52). To sum up, intact and broken grinding tools are systematically detected in contexts unrelated to their original function (e.g., pits and ditches). Even those found in domestic contexts exhibit a state of preservation that cannot be explained in functional terms. The detection of recurrent patterns points to the existence of complex processes and actions that have influenced the formation of the archaeological archive. Breakage and fire seem to play an active role in these practices, in the context of which every­ Danai Chondrou day objects such as millstones are used, among other things, in ways that convey meaning. The intentio­nal breakage of tools is certainly not a new concept. The deliberate destruction of stone tools has been supported in other cases as well: in Late Neolithic Toumba Kremasti, a site in close proximity to Kleitos (Chondrou 2011; Stroulia, Chondrou 2013; Strou­lia 2014) where huge quantities of anthropogenic material were found discarded in pits around the set­tlement, in the also neighbouring Late Neolithic site of Megalo Nisi Galanis (Stroulia 2005.576), in Late Neolithic Makriyalos (Tsoraki 2008.106–108, 122– 125), in Middle/Late Neolithic Avgi (Bekiaris 2020) and in Late Neolithic Dispilio (Ninou 2006.106), to name but a few examples regarding sites located in northern Greece. In the Balkans, John Chapman (2000a; 2000b) reports numerous cases where ar­chaeological data seem to imply the practice of deli­berate destruction. Interestingly enough he, too, ob­serves a differentiated treatment of grinding tools and edge tools (Chapman 2000c.93–94). Discussion The analysis of the grinding tool assemblages from Kleitos I and Kleitos II allowed a detailed examina­tion of these artefacts’ life-cycles and a glimpse into various social, economic, cultural as well as symbol­ic aspects of technology in the two nearby Neolithic settlements. Kleitos grinding tools were the outcome of a non-standardized production based on the exploitation of selected not readily accessible raw material sour­ces, and on generally low rates of work investment. In both settlements the overall morphometrical va­riability and diverse manufacturing sequences ob­served seem to be the combined result of the varied morphology of the original boulders and of person­al choices. The evidence suggests the off-site produ­ction of tools, but on-site maintenance and use. As far as the marked discrepancy in the exploitation of specific raw materials for the manufacture of grinding implements between the two sites, there are various possible interpretations. One is that the two settlements applied a differentiated model of exploitation of the surrounding sources. An over­view of the raw material acquisition for all Kleitos ground stone tool categories reveals a general pat­tern of divergence: some raw materials frequently found in one settlement are limited or completely absent in the other. The overall picture shows that the two settlements were to some extent exploiting different areas of their landscape (Chondrou 2018). This change in the selected raw materials may, in fact, attest to a diversified socio-economic mecha­nism employed in the utilization of the natural sphere and the production of the material culture. On the other hand, the change in the lithic materi­al could reflect function-related parameters (see Pro-copiou 2014.239 for a similar proposition for the change in the raw material used for grinding tools in Neopalatial Crete). It has been shown experimen­tally that microconglomerate material is an unsuit­able choice for a ‘fine-flour oriented’ production (Chondrou et al. 2018), thus a change to gneiss might relate to the different desired characteristics of the ground product. In Kleitos, grinding was one of the activities orga­nized at the household level rather than a commu­nal one. Even though the portable nature of the grinding equipment would permit a shift in their context of action, the analysis showed a close con­nection with the domestic space. Yet, there seems to be a clear spatial separation of grinding and cooking activities: grinding tools are mostly located in zones of the built and non-built domestic space lacking thermal structures. As an integral and valuable part of the means of production of Kleitos society, the grinding imple­ments do not seem to receive the expected manip­ulation. Being artefacts with potentially long use-lives, made of raw materials with an off-site prove­nance, one would anticipate extensive curation. Yet the rates of redesigned, reused and recycled tools are low, the same as the rates of exhausted imple­ments. Instead, there are high fragmentation rates of bulky artefacts with breakage patterns that do not relate to extensive use or accidental wear. In the intra-household inventories, broken grinding imple­ments repeatedly missing their conjoining parts con­trast to the presence of complete edge-tools, adding to the idea of deliberate destruction of the dwellings and a process of selective and intentional decommis­sioning of their means of production. Perhaps it is the close association of grinding tools to the entity of the ‘house’ and their importance to the survival and reproduction of the ‘household’ and, by exten­sion, of the whole community, that strengthens their symbolic value and dictates their special treatment in the context of out of the ordinary events. As Ka­therine I. Wright (2014) notes, such acts of delibe­rate destruction of valuable household property might well attest to the existence of cultural norms Daily practices and special events> exploring grinding technologies at the two neighbouring settlements of Kleitos in Late\Final Neolithic... prohibiting the transmission of wealth from one ge-ing daily practices at the heart of the domestic life neration to the next, thus contributing to the reinfor-(see Brück 2001; 2006a; 2006b), are variously mani-cement of collective/communal identities. pulated. They rarely reach the end of their use-lives through long-term usage, and instead they are often Thus, the Kleitos grinding tool assemblage consti-employed in coded actions with multiple possible tutes an example of how intrinsic and extrinsic val-symbolic connotations. Although the borderline be-ues may be manifested in the material culture. The tween secular and ritual contexts is not always clear, grinding tools made from raw materials that are a grinding implements certainly seem to be function-product of systematic collection and transport, em-ing in both. powered through their integral role in time-consum- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This research was part of my PhD thesis funded by the Onassis Foundation, the Leventis Foundation and the Ari­stotle University of Thessaloniki. Also, part of the work published here has been conducted in the context of the PLANTCULT project funded by the European Research Council (ERC) under the European Union’s Horizon 2020 Research and Innovation Program (Grant Agreement No 682529). I am grateful to my supervisor Professor S. M. Valamoti, as well as Professors H. Procopiou and L. Papadopoulou, for their help and support. I would also like to thank the excavators of the site Christina Ziota and Areti Hondroyianni-Metoki for generously granting me permission to study the Kleitos ground stone tool assemblage. Special gratitude goes to Haris Megas for his as­sistance with the editing of the text and the two anonymous reviewers for their constructive comments on an earlier version of this manuscript. . References Adams J. L. 1988. Use-wear analyses on manos and hide-processing stones. Journal of Field Archaeology 15(3): 307–315. https://doi.org/10.1179/009346988791974394 1993. 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To Archaeologiko Ergo sti Makedonia kai Thra­ki 23(2009): 37–52. (in Greek) back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Between the hearth and the store> pottery specialisation and use in the Argaric Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (Spain) Juan Jesús Padilla Fernández1, Eva Alarcón García2, Alejandra García García2, Luis Arboledas Martínez 2, Auxilio Moreno Onorato2, Francisco Contreras Cortés2, and Linda Chapon2 1 Department of Prehistory, Ancient History and Archaeology, Faculty of Geography and History, University of Salamanca, Salamanca, ES juanjesuspadillafernand@gmail.com 2 Department of Prehistory and Archaeology, Faculty of Philosophy and Letters, University of Granada, Granada, ES eva@ugr.es< alejandragarciamlg@gmail.com< arboledas@ugr.es< auxiliomoreno@ugr.es< fccortes@ugr.es< lindachapon2002@hotmail.com ABSTRACT – Research into the Bronze Age on the south-eastern Iberian Peninsula has always occu­pied a pre-eminent position in the archaeological discipline. Although we can state that there is a certain degree of scientific unity regarding the main cultural features of that period, few studies have focused on the social and technological process involved in the manufacture of pottery vessels. This paper aims to remedy that situation. To do this, we provide the results obtained from the tech­nical analysis of the pottery vessels used in two activities essential to human survival – food storage and processing – in the Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (2086–1450 cal BC). At the same time, the macroscopic identification of the technological patterns developed in the tasks of manufacturing earthenware jars and pots allows us to reflect on the significance of the concept of specialization in the Argar Culture. KEY WORDS – pottery technology; cookware; storageware; domestic specialisation; maintenance activities Med ognji[;em in shrambo> specializacija in uporaba lon;enine na bronastodobnem argarskem najdi[;u Penalosa ({panija) IZVLE.EK – Raziskave bronaste dobe na jugovzhodnem Iberskem polotoku so v arheologiji vedno zavzemale izjemen polo.aj. Kljub temu da obstaja dolo.ena stopnja znanstvene enotnosti glede glav­nih kulturnih zna.ilnosti tega obdobja, se je le malo raziskav osredoto.alo na dru.bene in tehno­lo.ke procese, ki so vklju.eni v izdelavo lon.enih posod. V .lanku posku.amo popraviti to stanje raz­iskav. Tako ponujamo rezultate, ki smo jih pridobili s tehni.nimi analizami lon.enih posod, ki so bile uporabljene pri dveh klju.nih aktivnostih za .lovekovo pre.ivetje – shranjevanje in predelava hrane – na bronastodobnem najdi..u Penalosa (2086-1450 pr. n. .t.). Hkrati pa nam makroskopski opis tehnolo.kih vzorcev, ki so nastali pri izdelavi lon.enih vr.ev in loncev, omogo.a razmislek o pomenu koncepta specializacije v argarski kulturi. KLJU.NE BESEDE – tehnologija lon.enine; kuhinjske posode; posode za shranjevanje; gospodinjska specializacija; vzdr.evalne dejavnosti DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.17 Between the hearth and the store> pottery specialisation and use in the Argaric Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (Spain) Introduction How was pottery production organized in the south­east of the Iberian Peninsula during the Bronze Age? Can we speak of specialisation? Maybe only partial­ly? These questions still do not have a clear answer, despite the large number of archaeological studies dealing with the pottery assemblages associated with this period. Perhaps this is because most works have focused their interest on reproducing and continu­ing the typological scheme that the Siret brothers established in the late 19th century (Siret, Siret 1890). Since then, the classic definition of the ‘eight argaric ceramic forms’ has been present in all the investiga­tions about recent prehistory in the south-eastern Iberia, either to date relatively newly discovered ar­chaeological sites, or to strengthen the static and pre-established concept of Argaric Culture (Lull Santiago 1983; González Marcén et al. 1992; Gilman Guillén 1999; Gili Surinach et al. 2001; Eiroa García 2010). Nevertheless, pottery production studies are slowly beginning to reach goals that go beyond mere typo­logical classification and attempt to examine in the behavioural aspects of manufacture and production, generally related to rituality (Colomer Solsona 2005; Aranda Jiménez 2008). The acceptance of the idea that at least some of the Argaric pottery maintained a high degree of uniformity and technological homo­geneity, due primarily to a series of social contri­buting factors, is beginning to gain ground (Albero Santacreu, Aranda Jiménez 2014). According to these hypotheses, it is clearly possible to speak of specialised manufacture in the vessels linked to the direct consumption of food and drink, such as bowls, cups and carinated vessels. This agrees with the need to justify the introduction of new ‘asymmetric forms’ of social organisation (Aranda Jiménez 2010.83). In contrast, the pottery associated with food storage and preparation seems to manifest a much greater variability, in both formal and technological terms. This would lead at the same time to think of the or-ganisation of domestic production linked to daily life (Van Berg 1998; Aranda Jiménez 2004). At first glance, the lack of evidence for standardised manu­facturing patterns in this second group would point toward obvious differences with what we habitually consider should be the result of well-defined pro­ductions with a quantified number of production units (Rice et al. 1981; Costin 2001). Of course, if we analyse the data of past societies from a current perspective, it seems logical to infer that in the Argaric world two different types of tech­nological know-how were used to make pottery. The first would have had an economic and social signi­ficance, being based on specific technical patterns and connected to ritual practices. The second would not have been so important and was just related to daily life activities. But was it really as simple as it seems? In fact, that these assumptions are generally accepted as valid because they are logical and un­derstandable to us does not mean that the manu­facture of domestic pots and jars necessarily has to remain outside the framework of the specialisation generated by production. The main objective of this paper lies precisely in re-examining these issues from alternative approaches, introducing a pottery tech­nological study with a social perspective. In this sense, this research starts from the idea of the existence of a reciprocal relationship between objects and people and understands technology as a social phenomenon. Under this premise, the com­prehension of the technological aspects of a certain pottery set is not only useful with regard to know­ing the way in which objects are made or the com­plete and exact sequence of technical actions that are necessary to develop certain types of items (Gar­cía Roselló, Calvo Trías 2013). Here we propose the execution of a cross-sectional technological analy­sis, also focused on identifying the technical practi­ces that commonly go unnoticed into the final char­acteristics of a finished product. Ignorance of all these actions leads to the loss of fundamental data that could completely change some of the interpre­tations made about the world of those who lived in the Bronze Age and the place they had in it. In this regard, it is possible that erroneous complexity val­ues have been granted, linked to certain processes of specialization and use that deserve to be reviewed to better understand the social reality of past com­munities. The work undertaken over more than thirty years in the Argaric settlement of Penalosa (Jaén, Spain), dated between 2086–1450 cal BC, offers a unique opportunity to deepen our understanding of these issues (Contreras Cortés 2000; Contreras Cortés et al. 2014). Thanks to the implementation of a sys­tematic excavation method on a microspatial scale and the excellent state of conservation of its archa­eological record, the site of Penalosa has made it possible to recover considerable amounts of data that is very valuable for studying, analysing and in­terpreting the behavioural patterns related to pot­tery production. Specifically, we will focus all our attention on those items of pottery that, due to their Juan Jesús Padilla Fernández, E. Alarcón García, A. García García, L. Arboledas Martínez, A. Moreno Onorato, and F. Contreras Cortés morphometric characteristics and apparent functio­nality, have been generically categorized as earthen­ware jars and pots and, therefore, related directly to unspecialised domestic activities: the storage and processing of food ready to be consumed, i.e. for cooking. To accurately analyse this group, we collected a to­tal of 1000 sherds, 500 of each analytical type (earthenware jars and pots). Their selection was far from arbitrary. We took into account parameters such as the ability to reconstruct their complete shapes, evidence of manufacturing marks and func­tionality and, needless to say, the clear sign of any technical patterns. All the samples used for this study were recovered from contexts undoubtedly defined as habitation and production areas excavat­ed during the most recent campaigns at the archae­ological site (2009, 2010 and 2011), and attributed chronologically to the two phases of occupation de­fined to date at the settlement, Phases IIIA (2086–1850 cal BC) and III0 (1850–1450 cal BC). Penalosa and its social pot­tery Since its discovery, the archaeo­logical site of Penalosa appears to have been closely connected to concepts as economical and prac­tical as specialisation and innova­tion (Contreras Cortés, Cámara Serrano 2002). The settlement is strategically sited on a slate spur that is difficult to reach and eas­ily defensible, today surrounded by the waters of the Rumblar re­servoir (Fig. 1). Together with other archaeological sites, it structured a territory rich in me­tallic mineral outcrops that con­nect the centre of the peninsula with the Guadalquivir Valley. Since it first began to be excavat­ed in the mid-1980s, its interna­tional academic importance has always been based on metallurgy (Bartelheim et al. 2012; Moreno Onorato et al. 2012; Rovira Llo­rens, Montero Ruiz 2018). The evidence in this settlement of a unique mining-metallurgical archaeological record has allowed the whole cop­per extraction and metallurgical process to be rec­ognized. As such, it has become a key site to con­firm the existence for at least 4000 years of the in­tensive production of this mineral in this territory. It has also been useful to verify the interpretations that since the 1950s (Childe 1950) have tried to re­compose a linear and positive past that fixes the beginning of urban revolution in the Metal Age. This is a process that would have led to the emergence of a level of social organization configured around three basic pillars: towns, elites and specialized arti­sans, the last group always being dependent on the dominant classes (Hagstrum 1988; Blackman et al.1993; Costin 2000; Lull Santiago et al. 2010; Cá­mara Serrano, Molina González 2011). In theory, this model proposes an organisational system based on the control and exchange of surpluses outside the domestic orbit, established to generate regular, uniform and, on occasion, limited production (Long- Between the hearth and the store> pottery specialisation and use in the Argaric Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (Spain) acre 1999; Costin 2005). In other words, what we witness here is the configuration of a process that lays the foundations for progress and the economic and social principles of our Western world. Regardless of the fact that the pottery of Penalosa has only been analysed with regard to its morpho­logical typologies, it has served to consolidate the existence in the Bronze Age of models of society based on pyramidal-type structures, with strong po­litical and religious powers. This is especially the case of the group that has been associated from the functional point of view as consumption pottery, preferably linked to ritual contexts, and with very homogeneous physical and dimensional characteris­tics (Contreras Cortés, Cámara Serrano 2002; Con-suegra 2006). This model involves assuming the existence of several specialists in Penalosa, which were dedicated to the production of valuable goods such as copper and fine tableware. They would have worked in a standardized way in specific places, full or part time, with the aim of generating surpluses to carry out exchanges for other goods. Obviously, these are interpretations of the past that are very consistent with the epistemological postu­lates typical of industrialised and capitalist cultural contexts that are governed by the general principles of economic formalism, and which forget the im­portance and complexity of domestic contexts. The latter, always associated with the feminine environ­ment, have traditionally been categorized as second-order collective spaces, in which very diverse and heterogeneous tasks of a non-specialised nature were performed (Alarcón García 2010a). To a certain extent, the triumph of these discourses would also respond to the subliminal attempt to justify through the construction of historical processes the superi­ority of masculine individuality over the essence of the feminine (Sánchez Liranzo 2000; Hernando Gonzalo 2005). As matter of fact, all the pottery sets documented in Penalosa related to domestic activi­ties, regardless of their context and properties, have been categorized directly as non-specialised produc­tions and, therefore, manufactured using non-stan-dardised work sequences. The chaîne opératoire: a fundamental tool to deepen into social pottery Aware of the need to go further, we propose here an archaeological study that avoids the construction of pre-established functional criteria and rationali­ties and that at no time questions the logical mean­ing of what is investigated. That is, a theory is valid if what is told about the past really responds to the computation of categories that would define their own reality. For this, a technological study is pro­posed that conceives the Penalosa pottery as social objects and the technological fact as an active part of the process of social production and reproduc­tion. According to this rule, pottery is more than just objects made up of a series of stylistic features. It is an important source of social information (Hod­der 2012). Pottery containers hide within themselves specific behavioural rules of the groups that manu­factured them. They entail interesting data that could make us reflect, for example, on the recurring ideas of superiority and progress associated with the concept of artisanal specialization in the Bronze Age. If we wish to investigate the ‘how’ – in other words, the way in which these objects were produced – as well as aspects that delve more deeply into the ‘why’ and ‘for what’, it is necessary to use the chaîne opé­ratoire concept as a methodological tool. Conceived as the compendium of procedures undertaken from obtaining the raw material to the completion of the final product (Creswell 1976), this model not only provides a full panoramic view of each of the phas­es involved in the production process, but also al­lows us to place the physical and purely immaterial at the same level (Lemonnier 1993). Then, an axis that simultaneously connects the technical task and the cultural dynamic may be traced (Roux 2009). This confers the power of adjusting the links be­tween the manufacturing processes and the produc­tion and consumption contexts, because it considers technological processes as socially structured sys­tems. This postulation offers the possibility of ex­ploring technology, its social interaction and the cul­tural meanings that are reproduced through it (Le-monnier 2018). As we have already stated, our action framework fo­cuses on the analysis of the vessels destined for use in food preparation (pots) and storage (earthenware jars), mainly because these are the productions to which we believe least attention has been paid, in contrast to the fine vessels used for serving and consuming food. In order to determine each of the productive strategies, where they exist, we proposed a study based on three elementary technical criteria: (1) the ordered and exhaustive description of the pottery cycle; (2) the detailed definition of each of the gestures and practices used during the manufac­turing process; and (3) the degree of technical ex­ Juan Jesús Padilla Fernández, E. Alarcón García, A. García García, L. Arboledas Martínez, A. Moreno Onorato, and F. Contreras Cortés pertise and skill developed in the application of such practices. As a matter of fact, the more precise we describe the pottery techniques, the closer we are to obtaining a global image of the technology and social context that they represent (Sigaut 1994). The premise of understanding the objects as a fun­damental part of ourselves leads us to infer that the mechanisms used to create them are charged with social messages (Webmoor, Witmore 2008). A de­tailed examination of the different production se­quences involved, the degree of routine in the know­ledge applied and the level of skill acquired should dictate the contributing factors of life inherent to a community. The attestation of regulated learning processes and a fully consolidated technological ha-bitus (Bourdieu 1988), would help us to picture highly specialized social structures, although ones in which the weight of the collective would contin­ue to be very strong. The following two sections focus directly on these issues. They attempt to re-compose the chaînes opé­ratoires of each morpho-typological group, paying special individualized attention to three major pha­ses: (1) the selection, extraction and preparation of the raw material; (2) the modelling; and (3) the fir­ing (Livingstone Smith 2007; García Roselló, Calvo Trías 2013). To do this, a macroscopic categoric exa­mination backed up by a binocular loupe was car­ried out, with the aim of verifying the marks and physical-chemical particularities that are difficult to perceive with the naked eye. Function or type? The chaîne opératoire of cookware For purely metric reasons (diameters, heights, base and rim angles, etc.), we established 18 pottery types that appear to have been linked to food processing and preparation. At the same time, based on a pos­sible similar functionality, these types were also ca­tegorized generically within the following typologi­cal groups: XVIII1 cylindrical vessels/pots; XIX small incurving rim pots; XX medium-sized/large incurv­ing rim pots; XXI pots/bottles with a small marked neck; XXII small pots with a large marked neck; XXIII large pots with incurving walls; XXIV pots with open walls; and XXV earthenware pots/cooking pots (Fig. 2). If we adhere merely to this classification, we Fig. 2. Morphometric scheme of cookware done through the archaeological evidence found in the site of Penalosa (Jaén, Spain). 1 The Roman numerals correspond to the recording system adopted to classify typologically all the pottery shapes documented at the Penalosa archaeological site (Contreras Cortés 2000). The Roman numerals used in the section that deal with storage pot­teries are based on the same system. Between the hearth and the store> pottery specialisation and use in the Argaric Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (Spain) would assume that we are facing a heterogeneous collection of items that only share superficial signs of repeated exposure to fire. In contrast, however, the detailed technological analysis of these contain­ers seems to show different results. The mineralogical composition of the pottery ma­trices observed macroscopically indicates the use of different clay sources that were near both the archa­eological site and between each other. The majority of the identified minerals – mica schist, feldspars, quartzes and micas – are closely linked to the igne­ous and metamorphic geological horizons predomi­nant in the surroundings of Penalosa (Jaramillo 2005). Moreover, their predominantly spherical shape leads us to assume that they originate in areas with a high degree of erosion, possibly in the vicin­ity of the Rumblar River (Fig. 3). The quantities of minerals, related to a more than likely knowledge of their properties, indicate the meticulous preparation of the chosen clays, which in turn points to specia­lisation. Organic and inorganic solids would have been removed by sieving, in a similar way to the me­thods seen in multiple ethnoarchaeological studies (González Ruibal 2005; Gosselain 2008; Djordje­vi. 2013). At the same time, and perhaps to endow the raw material with greater resistance to thermal contractions (Albero 2008; Skibo 2013), we can also consider the possibility of the premeditated addi­tion of crushed quartz and ground calcite. The ang­ular distinction of part of the quartz crystals and the presence of average values of calcite could consti- Fig. 3. Binocular loupe of cookware pottery sherds. 1 Inv. 9405-2; 2 Inv. 91007; 3 Inv. 91086; 4 Inv. 25439; 5 Inv. 25653-2; 6 Inv. 25739; 7 Inv. 25785; 8 Inv. 28267; 9 Inv. 28301; 10 Inv. 28863-1; 11 Inv. 50249-1; 12 Inv. 50360; 13 Inv. 50365; 14 Inv. 50366; 15 Inv. 50385; 16 Inv. 50419; 17 Inv. 50460; 18 Inv. 50473; 19 Inv. 501001; 20 Inv. 501002. Juan Jesús Padilla Fernández, E. Alarcón García, A. García García, L. Arboledas Martínez, A. Moreno Onorato, and F. Contreras Cortés tute a significant, although not de­finitive, indication that they had been added. If this were finally shown to be the case, we would definitely be in a position to assert a strong link between the amount of temper and the formal codes. Consequently, this would support the interpretation that Fig. 4. Detail of a fragment of large quartz mineral documented in specific types of decantation were the pot with inventory number 25439. It is possible that this ma- chosen according to the desired use terial was going to be crushed into smaller pieces like those usu- and function of the final pottery pro- ally observed in the ceramic matrices of the containers used pri-duct (Fig. 4). marily for cooking. Perhaps its addition to the clayey paste, just before implementing the modelling tasks, was accidental given its As soon as the clay had been select-size. However, it opens the possibility of the existence of specific technical actions aimed at the preparation and intentional addi- ed and manipulated, it was trodden tion of degreasers. and kneaded, a decisive sequence aimed at achieving the correct homogenisation of sence of parallel marks on the surfaces and the cha-the ceramic pastes. The low rate of detection of cla-racteristic granulometrics on the observed sections yey nodules and the minor frequency of variegations reveal the application of technical gestures related and air bubbles in the Penalosa matrices are evi-to the superposition of coils from the base to the dence of the efficient application of these techniques rim. In contrast to the technological argument put prior to the modelling of the clay. forward for certain archaeological sites (Van Berg 1998; Colomer i Solsona 2005), in the sample ana-The modelling of the pottery would not have been lysed from Penalosa it has so far been impossible to conditioned by the use of rotation devices. The ab-detect the use of moulding techniques. Moreover, the unequivocal identification in these supposed cooking vessels of flat and horizontal breakage traces and profiles full of 2cm wide concave in­tersection points rules out the use of different techniques (other than coil pottery) for their shaping. If we focus on the gestures and technical ac­tions carried out, they appear to correspond to a high de­gree of technical and formal skill. It is not easy to find signs of technical faults, such as asymmetric deformations, continuous changes in thick­ness, irregular rims or coarse, cracked bases (Fig. 5). Conse­quently, we could presume that well-defined and well-as­similated working methods were applied to the manufac­ture of these items. This fact also translates into a period of advanced learning. We may then deduce that this learning was not horizontal but a ver­tical transmission of knowl- Between the hearth and the store> pottery specialisation and use in the Argaric Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (Spain) edge. This means that this knowledge would have been transferred from generation to generation through the reiterated reproduction of a consolidat­ed pottery habitus. This would help us to under­stand the reason why we found no signs of technical failure. At the same time, it could explain the exis­tence of a specific range of shapes with different thicknesses and treatments of the surfaces. Indeed, we can perceive an apparent link between the shape types and specific surface decorations in the Penalosa contexts. Technologically and morpho­logically speaking we can make two big groups. On the one hand, cylindrical and ovoidal vessels and pots that consistently show a wider-diameter mouth, thicker walls and a rougher appearance were lightly spatulated while fresh to smooth their exterior lay­ers. On the other hand, globular vessels, pots and bottles and those pottery types with marked necks that have a smaller-diameter mouth and thinner walls, were also initially spatulated. Nevertheless, they were later, when in a leather-like state, also in­tensively polished, probably to seal any porosities that emerged as a result of the loss of hydration and to make them waterproof (Echallier 1984). Finally, another group that encompasses the cassero­les and ‘basin pots’ more sim­ilar to the first morphological group tends to break with these established manufactur­ing guidelines. They are large, open pottery shapes that ap­pear to have been not only smoothed but also subsequent­ly burnished (Fig. 6). This fact validates the idea that techno­logical choices were taken ac­cording to a specific functio­nality. The decoration of these pot­tery items perfectly materia­lises the cultural and self-iden­tifying signs of the Argaric sphere (Aranda Jiménez 2004; Sánchez Romero, Aran­da Jiménez 2005; Alarcón García 2010a). Most pieces show nipple-like elements, un­gulate incisions and impres­sions on the lips, as well as a very well-marked burnishing that, at the same time as waterproofing, also simu­lates a metallic finish and texture. After drying, these pieces would have been fired in mixed reducing atmospheres. Their study with a bi­nocular loupe highlights the preponderance of brownish-reddish firing tonalities, a direct conse­quence of a lack of oxygen entering the obtained matrix (Roux 2016) and the significant presence of iron. Accordingly, the matrices show a high concen­tration of Iron (Fe2O3). The detection in some of the samples of small, clear and oxidising hues, funda­mentally in the external strips, tells us that the en­trance of oxygen into the firing atmospheres was only partially controlled, evidencing the use of open combustion structures. We are basically referring to small holes in the ground or ephemeral structures arranged on the surface, ones that unfortunately leave little or no archaeological traces. There are many ethnoarchaeological (May, Tukson 1982; Gosselain 1995; Livingstone Smith 2007; Cal-vo Trías et al. 2011) and experimental (Calvo Gál- Juan Jesús Padilla Fernández, E. Alarcón García, A. García García, L. Arboledas Martínez, A. Moreno Onorato, and F. Contreras Cortés vez 1992; Calvo Trías et al. 2004; Moreno Onorato et al. 2017) studies that have dealt with the particu­larities of these kind of firing structures. Special at­tention has been paid to the maximum peak tempe­rature that they usually reach, which could be approx. 700°C. This thermal range has been confirmed by the archaeometric use of DRX analysis, which reveals low peaks of chlorite and talc in Penalosa pottery (Cámara Serrano et al. 2005). Although their firing practices appear to have been rudimentary, the ma­stery of the technical gestures used to develop this last phase could be described as exemplary. There were no surface marks typical of poor firing, such as chipping, network and star cracks, or fractures. This reinforces the idea of artisans with consolidated ex­perience, who would have perpetuated the inherited and previously-learned technical gestures. Function or type? The chaîne opératoire of pot­tery for storage Another group of pottery items found in Penalosa are known as earthenware storage jars, mainly due to their medium or large size and because grain re­mains have sometimes been found in them. They have been classified into six pottery types that are further divided into three heterogeneous typological groups according to the inclination of their ridges: XXVI incurving-rim earthenware jars; XXVII marked-rim earthenware jars; and XXVIII open-rim earthen­ware jars. However, the technological study of a significant sample of these containers reveals other aspects that question this heterogeneity. This sug­gests a manufacturing process based on fairly mark­ed technical planning (Fig. 7). The phases of the selection, extraction and prepara­tion of the raw material reveal similarities with those already mentioned for the production of vessels linked to food preparation and cooking. XRF chem­ical analyses clearly show glimpses of the accumu­lation of non-calcareous and highly ferrous clays composed of minerals frequently found in the im­mediate geological area of the Penalosa archaeolo­gical site (Cámara Serrano et al. 2005). The quanti­fication of the tempers contained in the pottery ma­trices also attests to the meticulous preparation of the selected clays. The identification of clasts with different densities points to the use of sieves with medium-sized meshes to remove impurities. At the same time, besides crushed quartz, we can also cor­roborate the deliberate addition of threshed straw, presumably to diminish the proportion of water in the mixture and thus ensure quicker drying and low­er losses in volume after firing (Sestier 2005). More­over, the inclusion of this type of organic element would have considerably reduced the weight of the final piece, thus making it easier to handle and trans­port (Albero Santacreu 2007). The macroscopic de­tection of the typical traces and rectangular hol­lows left by these materials of plant origin are fur­ther proof of the conscientious way the ceramic pastes were prepared, in keeping with the specific functions and types (Figs. 8–9). Treading and kneading as a prior step to modelling would also have been a constant and conscientious­ly undertaken process. The compacting of the clay particles that structures the matrix and the regular distribution of the natural or added tempers indicate this. The low presence of vacuoles caused by air bub­bles and the sparse detection of knots as a conse­quence of uneven hardness is evidence of a conside­rable homogeneity, quality and resistance. Again, as for cooking and food preparation pottery items, the modelling of these pieces would not have required the generation of kinetic energy. All the Fig. 7. Morphometric scheme of storageware done through the archaeological evidence found in the site of Penalosa (Jaén, Spain). Between the hearth and the store> pottery specialisation and use in the Argaric Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (Spain) Fig. 8. Binocular loupe of storageware pottery sherds. 1 Inv. 25132; 2 Inv. 25197; 3 Inv. 25456; 4 Inv. 25745; 5 Inv. 25816-1; 6 Inv. 25474; 7 Inv. 28401-1; 8 Inv. 28613; 9 Inv. 28920; 10 Inv. 281272; 11 Inv. 281292; 12 Inv. 50258-1; 13 Inv. 50390-3; 14 Inv. 50612; 15 Inv. 50655; 16 Inv. 50887; 17 Inv. 50892; 18 Inv. 50960; 19 Inv. 501046; 20 Inv. 501047. types documented to date were made by continu­ously superimposing coils between approx. 3 and 6cm in width. It is probable that, also imitating ges­tures acquired through vertical learning generation after generation, vessels with thick, strong walls and surface finishes were modelled with the use of hands. We can distinguish two different specific pot­tery groups according to the surface treatment ap­plied. On the one hand, there are the containers that with the naked eye show less worked walls, having only been spatulated fresh and slightly smoothed in the leather state. On the other, there are the contai­ners that present spatulas and intense burnishes, co­vered by a thin layer of red slip applied with a high degree of skill (Fig. 10). As we specified earlier in the case of the pots, the decorations applied to these pottery pieces corre­spond to the Argaric canon. Nipple-like elements, un­gulate incisions and impressions on the upper part of the lips and metallic burnishes are also obvious here. However, we need to point out, as an excep­tional case, the occasional use of red ochre for the slip. In this case, rather than seeking an actual chro­matic series associated with a specific ontology, this use may reflect a particular technological adaptation (Fig. 11). The macroscopic analysis of the Penalosa earthen­ware jar ceramic pastes supports the idea of an opti­mum technical knowledge of the firing process. The Juan Jesús Padilla Fernández, E. Alarcón García, A. García García, L. Arboledas Martínez, A. Moreno Onorato, and F. Contreras Cortés matrices show abundant mixed ranges of dark and brownish-reddish colours that lead us to believe that the pieces were fired in the same kilns described above. The maximum temperature indices hover around 700°C. This peak is confirmed not only by XRD (Cámara Serrano et al. 2005), but also by the presence of a considerable number of vascular and striated pores in the middle of the matrices, a conse­quence of the formation of gases and the concen­tration of clayey particles resulting of a firing with low thermal curves (Freestone 2001; Goffer 2007). The significance of a marked specialisation To date, the archaeological interpretations of the contexts and objects documented in Penalosa have served to ratify the interpretative discourse that still prevails today to explain from the generic and ratio­nal point of view how Argaric societies were and how they lived. Following these principles, ceramic sets with specific marks of use found at archaeolo­gical levels directly associated with eco-facts and structures related to the storage and preparation of food, have merely served to fully support the exis­tence of domestic areas, in contrast to other speci­fic and more specialized sectors, presumably ‘non-domestic’. These domestic spa­ces were considered to have been exclusively dedicated to carrying out daily tasks and were, therefore, not specia­lised. According to this view, the pottery found within these areas would only be non-spe­cialized containers of a very heterogeneous nature, func­tionally created with the aim of being used in diverse non-specialized types of work. However, the detailed study of each of the phases and technical actions involved in the manufacture of these items seems to point to ano­ther direction. This offers us the possibility of looking de­eper into the purpose of these objects and the social logic that configures them as such (González Ruibal 2018). Be­cause, as we originally point­ed out, knowing the way in which objects have been produced gives us the op­portunity to delve into the links between objects and the social dynamics that create them (Gosselain 2011). The detailed comparison of chaînes opératoires achieved for the manufacture of earthenware jars and pots clearly shows the application of perfectly defined know-how that led to the establishment of a manufacturing routine and particular technical know­ledge (Fig. 12). The deliberate addition of tempers or the selection of specific burnishes reflects concrete ways of thinking, feeling and understanding reality adopted through primary learning by enculturation. It is probable that from childhood a technological habitus began to be acquired, composed of a series of guidelines that would grant a specific lifestyle, ac­cording to certain comportments and behavioural modes. In this sense, a process of cultural appropria­tion designed for this purpose would be established to create technologically homogenous and therefore specialized pieces. Unlike what has been pointed out to date, in Penalosa regular types of pots and jars would have been manufactured, assigned to specific uses, contents and meanings that were socially pre­disposed from the beginning. Between the hearth and the store> pottery specialisation and use in the Argaric Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (Spain) After the breakdown of chaînes opératoires, it is easy to distinguish two pot formats. Firstly, there are those with thick, open walls, a larger-diameter mouth (between 20 and 25cm) and slightly spatulated sur­faces; they would have been suitable for cooking solid or semi-solid foodstuffs that required continu­ous stirring. Secondly, those that have thinner, in-curving walls, a smaller-diameter mouth and bur­nished surfaces would have been used to heat liq­uids or semi-liquids. A similar thing happens with the earthenware jars, as their technological features also point to two morphological types. Those that are described on the basis of their slip-covered walls, marked rims and intensive smoothing could have been used to store liquids or semi-liquids, while those with more open, lightly-spatulated walls would have been designed mainly to contain solids or semi­solids. The results presented in this paper allow us to un­derstand these pottery assemblages and the actions linked to them from a different perspective. In this regard, each community intrinsically creates and so-matises a set of social behaviours that structures its group identity. In this case, the specialization of earthenware jars and pots would be an expression of the importance of food as a determining social factor. Under this premise, feeding would not have been a mere ‘biological function’, but an action full of ‘social re­gulatory meanings’ (Sánchez Romero 2002), both in the case of participation in the ri­tual practices of commensali­ty and in the framework of day-to-day life (Alarcón Gar-cía 2010a; Aranda Jiménez 2016). Therefore, it is likely that the actions of storing and preparing food resources im­plied an unconscious streng­thening of the community sense of survival. The econo­mic, social and cultural signi­ficance of the tasks of food storage and preparation was very marked in past societies, as well as in those living in pre-industrial eras. Unlike the functional and economic meaning that meals and food have for Western society to­day, for other human commu­ nities the generation of surpluses has not been only interpreted as a basic subsistence strategy, but also as a social one (Mora González 2011). Knowing that the main subsistence economy of the settlement of Penalosa was based on cereal farming (Pena Cho­carro 2000), the procurement of energy resources would have become one of the most important daily life tasks. The time and effort dedicated to obtaining foodstuffs of whatever type would have involved an attitude focused on minimizing them on the one hand, and taking the maximum advantage of them on the other. The manufacture of pottery vessels technologically appropriated for such a purpose would undoubtedly have been conceived as one of those attitudes. As previously stated, the concept of specialization has been used regularly in historical discourse to create economic, logical, and highly understandable interpretative readings from our present perspec­tive. In a generic way, the detection of morpho-typo­logical evidence of uniformity in archaeological ob­jects has determined the direct definition of com­plexity and social segregation. In the same way, it presumes specific supra-domestic spaces, where a collective of specialized artisans would massively produce a homogeneous material culture, as if a con­ Juan Jesús Padilla Fernández, E. Alarcón García, A. García García, L. Arboledas Martínez, A. Moreno Onorato, and F. Contreras Cortés temporary factory was involved. These may have been the circumstances in other historical periods, but this was not what happened in Penalosa during the Bronze Age. Accordingly, it is not only the tech­nology of the pottery pieces that tells us about the existence of a high degree of specialization in do­mestic spaces. Thanks to the very well-preserved archaeological record of Penalosa, it has been also possible to recover each and every one of the details preserved in the contexts in which these pottery items were inserted and that have been associated with the two occupation levels of these habitational units. In the material culture recovered on the floor of each level, evident remains of metallurgical, tex­tile and pottery production have been found, such as raw or in-process tools or raw materials. In con­trast, there is no archaeological trace so far of speci­fic areas of the settlement designed for this purpose. This leads us to conclude that in the domestic sphe­res, regardless of the phase of occupation, a cluster of specialised manufacturing tasks would converge that, in addition to coinciding in place and time, would share structures and material culture (Alarcón García, Mora González 2014.90). Summarising and connecting everything argued or seen so far, could we then talk about specialisation in the pottery production studied in this paper? Per­haps, if we are able to assume that the concept of specialisation should not necessarily be linked to so­cioeconomic factors and to movements or flows of supply and demand (Clark 1995). In this case, the meaning of specialisation would then acquire a purely social and more collective reading. It would appear closely linked to the domestic sphere and to the concept of maintenance activities, which has become one of the main lines of research in the stu­dies of women and gender relations in prehistory in recent years. Its use as an analysis category opens new ways that allow a better understanding of the knowledge and practices associated with the man­agement of daily life in the past, as well as the envi­ronment in which they were developed (Alarcón García 2010b). As these practices are, presumably, intended to supply the consumption needs of the immediate domestic environment, and the commu­nity as a whole, these activities have traditionally not been considered as specialised jobs. However, the data collected in this paper encourages us to de­fend the opposite here and to consider them (main­tenance activities) as a structured processes involv­ing a host of elements, such as the acquisition of knowledge and the development of learning or the technological application. Furthermore, it is a process Fig. 11. Storageware documented in the site of Pe­nalosa (Jaén, Spain). They clearly show the diffe­rent surface treatments used in the production process according to the predefined function and shape. Smoothed in a fresh state, later burnished in a leather-hard state and covered with a fine red slip. 1 Inv. 25816-1; 2 Inv. 25197; 3 Inv. 25474. Light smoothing in a fresh state and a second light smoothing in a leather-hard state. 4 Inv. 25456; 5 Inv. 50892; 6 Inv. 28401-1. that would also involve innovation, would require experience and in which, without a doubt, memory, experimentation and, of course, the cultural and iden­tity traditions of each human group would intervene (Alarcón García, Sánchez Romero 2015). It is possible that in a scenario of increasing hierar­chical organization, such as the Bronze Age, in which Between the hearth and the store> pottery specialisation and use in the Argaric Bronze Age settlement of Penalosa (Spain) masculine individualism and its positions of power would progressively gain ground (Cruz Berrocal et al. 2013), the female collective assumed more and more the ‘emotional anchor of the world’, leading these maintenance activities to take place within do­mestic spaces (Hernando Gonzalo 2015). These are understood as the set of tasks whose purpose is to promote and safeguard human survival, i.e. the care and hygiene of the living spaces; the care of teach­ing and socialization of infants; storage and culinary practices, etc. Also included in this group are those tasks related more to the productive sphere, such as textile or pottery production (Picazo 1997; Sánchez Romero 2002). Indeed, until the appearance of the potter’s wheel, handmade pottery had generally been considered as significant part of maintenance activities (Padilla Fernández 2018). Thus, at this point we could say three things; First­ly, that traditional positions have overlooked the de­mand for knowledge, experience, work and effort that the development of these activities requires, solely because they have been associated with the sphere of the domestic and feminine. Secondly, that the earthenware jars and pots documented in Pena­losa, which formed part of the daily life of these groups 4000 years ago, were not outside the frame­work of specialization, but quite the opposite. Third­ly, the social importance of these recipients and the active role of women in favour of the survival of their world are beyond doubt. Final considerations If we recapitulate the data provided in this paper, we will be in a position to answer the questions we asked ourselves at the beginning of this study, and the response must be: yes. The clear signs of techno­logical systematisation in the production of earthen­ware jars and pots appear to confirm the execution in the Bronze Age of manufactures regulated by pot­tery types directly linked to defined tasks, such as maintenance activities. The earthenware jars and pots documented in Penalosa give us the opportunity to reflect on what we may call ‘domestic specialisation’ in the Argaric culture (Hendon 1996.52). In this sense, pieces that have traditionally been considered as heterogeneous and multi-functional (Ayala Juan 1991; Castro Martínez et al. 1999) were made in specialized domestic production spaces to be used for specific functions, already pre-established. The importance of this work lies in the scarcity of studies that understand specialisation not only as a process that guides us to a combination of patterns or contributing economic factors, but as terms that Juan Jesús Padilla Fernández, E. Alarcón García, A. García García, L. Arboledas Martínez, A. Moreno Onorato, and F. Contreras Cortés also help to reflect on certain social circumstances This paper also serves to demonstrate two things. and demands; in our case, the production of pottery The most important is that there are no absolute for storage and the processing and transformation truths in the historical process and that everything of foodstuffs by cooking. The absence of specialisa-is relative and reflective, it is repeatedly rewritten tion is not necessarily linked to domestic manufac-and constantly changing. Historical reconstructions ture and self-consumption, or vice versa, rather it are just that, reconstructions that contribute to conti-should be linked to the realistic presence of reveal-nue discovering our unknown past. Secondly, techno­ing traces of technological homogeneity. This tech-logy is a useful analysis strategy to decipher the pat-nological homogeneity corresponds, without doubt, terns of rationality of the human groups that pro-to the assimilation of established, regulated knowl-duce it. edge transferred through vertical learning. Routine and the repetition of actions take up daily time, and ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS it is precisely in this temporal framework that the reproduction of social roles, the acquisition of know-This research has been carried out within de frame-ledge (learning) and the assimilation and develop-work of two R & D Projects: (1) “Arqueología y Quí­ment of abilities (socialisation) find their largest and mica. Reconstruyendo los hábitos alimenticios en la best field of action. Thus, to speak of specialisation cultura de El Argar” (HAR2015-66009-P), funded by in the production of earthenware jars and pots has the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitive­ness and directed by Francisco Contreras Cortés; and an equal scientific validity and corresponds to the (2) "Explotación y comercio del metal del sureste de same and single social situation that specialisation in la península ibérica en la antigüedad. Proyecto ECO- metallurgical production in the case of the Argaric METAL" (PGC2018-098665-A-100),funded by the Spa- settlement of Penalosa. The fact is that both types of nish Ministry of Science and Innovation and directed production have the same spatial setting – the settle- by Luis Arboledas Martínez. ment – and therefore the domestic area. . References Alarcón García E. 2010a. Continuidad y cam-bio social: análisis de las actividades de mantenimiento. Univer­sidad de Granada. Granada. 2010b. Arqueología de las Actividades de Mantenimien-to: Un nuevo concepto en los estudios de las mujeres en el pasado. Arqueología y Territorio 7: 195–210. Alarcón García E., Mora González A. 2014. De la materia­lidad a la interpretación arqueológica: Análisis de las de­sigualdades sociales en el poblado argárico de Penalosa. Arkeogazte 4: 83–107. Alarcón García E., Sánchez Romero M. 2015. Arqueología feminista, de las mujeres y del género en la Prehistoria de Andalucía. Menga 6: 33–59. 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Norwegian Archaeological Review 41(1): 53–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00293650701698423 back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) The Argaric pottery from burial at Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> production technology and functionality Laura Vico Triguero 1, Jesús Gámiz Caro1, Francisco Martín Peinado2, Alejandra García García1, Eva Alarcón García1, Francisco Contreras Cortés1, and María Auxiliadora Moreno Onorato1 1 Department of Prehistory and Archaeology, University of Granada, Granada, ES lvico@ugr.es< jegamiz@ugr.es< alejandragarcia@ugr.es< eva@ugr.es< fccortes@ugr.es< auxiliomoreno@ugr.es 2 Department of Edaphology and Agricultural Chemistry, University of Granada, Granada, ES fjmartin@ugr.es ABSTRACT – The interpretation of the manufacture and function of Argaric burial potteries has not been subject to a global and systematic study. As such, this paper has reconstructed the sequence of ceramic production of burial potteries of Penalosa using analytical techniques (stereomicroscopy, X-ray diffraction and optical petrography). Ceramic ware technological features, as well as other indi­cators of use and repair, indicate that the pottery was used prior to the burial either in domestic con­texts or during funerary rituals. This finding contrasts with data obtained at other Argaric sites, where technological and formal features point to pottery production specifically intended for burials. KEY WORDS – ceramic production technology; burial pottery; Argaric Culture; Penalosa; Bronze Age Argarska lon;enina iz grobi[;a Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> proizvodna tehnologija in funkcionalnost IZVLE.EK – Razlaga izdelave in namembnosti lon.enine v argarskih pokopih .e ni bila predmet ce­lovite in sistemati.ne .tudije. V .lanku predstavljamo rekonstrukcijo sekvence kerami.ne proizvod­nje lon.enine iz grobov na najdi..u Penalosa, in sicer z razli.nimi analitskimi tehnikami (stereo­mikroskopija, rentgenska difrakcija in opti.na petrografija). Tehnolo.ke zna.ilnosti kerami.nih po-sod, pa tudi drugi kazalniki njene uporabe in popravil, ka.ejo, da je bila lon.enina pred pokopom uporabljena bodisi v gospodinjskih kontekstih bodisi med pogrebnimi rituali. Ti rezultati so v nas­protju s podatki, ki so znani na drugih argarskih najdi..ih, kjer tehnologija in oblika posod ka.ejo na lon.arsko proizvodnjo, posebej namenjeno pokopom. KLJU.NE BESEDE – proizvodna tehnologija keramike; grobna lon.enina; argarska kultura; Penalosa; bronasta doba Introduction Traditionally, the forms and production of funerary Aranda 2014). Nonetheless, archaeometric studies pottery in the Argaric Culture have been consider-in recent years reveal the existence of the fragile ed homogeneous both diachronically and spatially nature and low potential durability of certain types throughout archaeological culture (Contreras et al. of vessels recovered in funerary contexts, features 1987–88; Cámara et al. 2005; Milá et al. 2007; that are in turn closely related to low firing tempe-Aranda, Molina 2005; Aranda 2004; 2010; Albero, ratures and friable character of the fabric, features DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.18 The Argaric pottery from burial at Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> production technology and functionality linked to a type of manufacture exclusively destined for burials that differs from those intended for do­mestic contexts (Cámara et al. 2005). Little archaeometric research has been carried out in the field of Argaric pottery. More traditional studies have focused on the formal features to define the production of funerary and domestic pottery of this period (Schubart 1975a; 2004; Contreras et al. 2000). The methodology applied in these studies was to resort to statistical analyses to define their morphometric variability, and also to determine their degree of formal standardization (Lull 1983; Contreras 1986; 2000; Contreras et al. 1987; Van Berg 1988; García López 1992; Arteaga, Schubart 2000; Aranda 2001; 2004; 2010). However, very lit­tle research has focused on the technological chara­cterisation of these vessels, and what exists tends to be biased. The most complete technological study in this regard was carried out on pottery of the Cuesta del Negro settlement (Purullena, Granada) (Contre­ras et al. 1987), and the remaining studies are ap­proaches to pottery manufacture. This is the case for Los Cipreses (Murcia) (Mila et al. 2000) and prior analyses on a small sampling from Penalosa (Cáma­ra et al. 2005), the object of the current study. A more recent study was carried out for the assem­blage of Cerro San Cristóbal (Granada) (Albero, Aranda 2014), although with limited pottery sam­pling linked to a single funerary context. It is for this reason that new contributions such as the cur­rent study are essential to identify patterns of ritual in Argaric Culture from the technological point of view, even more so when bearing in mind that death and the passage to the next life have a strong symbo­lic value in these early societies (Lull 1997–1998). The study of the assemblage of the archaeological site of Penalosa goes further and reveals evidence of much more elaborate circumstances of the manu­facture of funerary pottery. These items present tech­nical evidence that make them functional for food consumption and processing, which we will address in this work. This suggests ceramic funerary grave goods were used prior to their deposition in the grave. These features are similar to those found on pottery from Cuesta del Negro (Contreras et al. 1987). However, other studies propose the non-func­tional manufacture of these vessels, and suggest that they were only created to be part of graves (Milá et al. 2007; Aranda, Molina 2005; Aranda 2004; 2010; Albero, Aranda 2014). This indicates that there are at least two types of ceramic production in the graves of Argaric contexts. This indicates that are at least two types of ceramic production in the graves of Argaric contexts, as also the Cuesta del Negro study reveals (Contreras et al. 1987). We thus hypothesize that these technological differences in grave goods may respond to a hierarchical scale which exists between different sites of this culture. Earlier research has highlighted these differences. Concentrations of prestige goods among certain groups of burials at the settlement of Cerro de la Encina (Granada) (Aranda et al. 2008) contrast with finds at other Argaric sites, such as Cuesta del Negro (Granada) (Molina et al. 1975; Contreras et al. 1987) or Castellón Alto (Granada) (Molina et al. 1986), that in a certain sense places these latter locations at a lower secondary settlement hierarchical level (Aran­da et al. 2008.251). It is in this second group of set­tlements where Penalosa would be placed. In this study we have applied stereomicroscopy (ST), X-ray diffraction (XRD) and optical petrography (OP) to characterise pottery fabrics and reconstruct cer­tain aspects of their manufacture. Moreover, the examination of surface features, such as perforations for vessel repair or traces of burning indicating ex­posure to fire, provide data regarding their use and reuse. Finally, this study attempts to identify the symbolic value afforded to ceramic grave goods in the Arga­ric Culture and determine if there are any variations of funerary rites between settlements in the south­east Iberian Peninsula, based on analyses of Pena­losa’s funerary vessels. Only from a specific study, starting from a local or regional scale, can the role of this type of funerary material be defined in the Argaric ritual. Geological context of Penalosa The archaeological site of Penalosa is located in the Upper Guadalquivir, in the heart of the eastern Sierra Morena mountains, in the municipality of Banos de la Encina (Jaén, Spain). At Penalosa, mainly Carboniferous, Triassic and Mio­cene materials emerge (Fig. 1). The prehistoric settle­ment is located on a schist base from the Carbonife­rous, the most abundant material in this area. Two kilometres west there is an area of arkose, metar­kose, metaquartz, and sandstone. Parallel to these metaquartzites and Triassic sandstones, Miocene ma­terials of marine deltaic facies appear. Igneous ma­terials also appear in the local context in the form L. Vico Triguero, J. Gámiz Caro, F. M. Martín Peinado, A. García García, E. Alarcón García, F. Contreras Cortés, and M. A. Moreno Onorato of granodiorites, granites, aplites, pegmatites, and granite porphyry. The granodiorites outcrop appears 4km east and northwest from Penalosa, in a re­markable extension that forms the ‘Cerro de Galjar­da’ and the ‘Pena de la Reina’. The granites emerge to a lesser extent, located 6km northeast of the set­tlement. In these materials, a mineralogical compo­sition of quartz and feldspar predominates, with the presence of hornblende and biotite phenocrystals. The intrusions of igneous rocks appear in the sur­rounding of the site as pegmatite aplite dykes and granitic porphyry, which are found in the schist of the Carboniferous. In the Quaternary, the geological formations have alluvial origin, formed by clasts of quartzites, grauvacas, and clasts of schist, arkose and igneous rocks, where silt materials predominate (García González et al. 2010). Archaeological context of Penalosa Penalosa is dated to the Bronze Age Argaric Culture (Fig. 2), which developed in the southeast Iberian Peninsula between 2200 and 1550 cal BC (García-García 2018). It is characterized by the location of hill settlements, funerary contexts under the sub­soil of the villages, as well as the uniqueness of their artefacts (Lull et al. 2009), whose typology is re­peated throughout the Argaric territory (as seen in Argaric chalices, carinated vessels, daggers with ri­vets, punches, flat axes, hal­berds, gold rings, cooper or sil­ver bracelets, or bone bead necklaces) (Schubart 1975b). The settlement is distributed in four large units (Acropolis, Lo­wer, Middle, and Upper Terra­ces) and is delimited to the east by a wall. The numerous mines (copper and silver) in the vici­nity, which were exploited du­ring the Argaric period (Contre­ras et al. 2000, Contreras, Mo­reno 2015; Hunt 2011) indicate that the site played a major role as a mining centre, with metal­lurgy as its main economic acti­vity. Radiocarbon dating carried out on remains of charred wood place it between 1850 and 1450 BC (Contreras et al. 2014). Penalosa’s funerary record com­prises 32 graves (Fig. 3) that fall in line with the structural and distributive patterns characteristic of burials of the Argaric Culture (Lull 1983; Contreras et al. 1987; 1997; Aranda, Molina 2005; Aranda et al. 2008; 2012). These consist of inhumations placed in cists, pithoi, natural or artifi­cial hovels, and masonry features that are always beneath domestic dwellings. Although usually sin­gle burials, some are known to contain two or three individuals (Contreras et al. 1995; Contreras 2000). Materials and methods The assemblage of grave goods at Penalosa com­prises 34 well-preserved vessels that are either com­plete or can be reconstructed based on their mor­phometry, allowing typological classification (Fig. 4). The assemblage comprises a chalice-shaped vessel called a copa, bottles, bowls (hemispherical, spheri­cal, carinated, and parabolic), carinated and minute vessels traditionally associated with the practice of ceramic craft (Contreras et al. 2000; Alarcón 2010). Other ceramic groups consist of ovoid and globular cooking vessels (ollas) and storage pots (orzas) serv­ing as burial containers (pithoi). Decorative motifs among the funerary ware of Pena­losa, as is typical in the Argaric Culture in general (Lull 1983), are rare (approx. 2%). Only one ovoid pot (BE-14546) bears incisions on its rim, a recur- The Argaric pottery from burial at Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> production technology and functionality rent motif common to domestic ware of the Argaric Culture (Contreras et al. 2000). Lugs near the rims are present in three cases: a bowl (BE-10312), a pot (BE-14546), and a chalice (BE-14601). The pottery assemblage from the Penalosa funerary record was selected for the current archaeometric study. The vessels were first described to identify evidence of some of the technological choices ap­plied during their production (surface treatments, forming techniques, firing atmosphere), use and maintenance (Tab. 1). These processes were observed through certain marks on the pot­tery surface (coils marks, spatula marks, cracks, etc.), which were ob­served on a macroscopic level or through a stereomicroscope in those cases where such marks were diffi­cult to identify because intense treat­ments had homogenized the surface (Rafferty et al. 2015). Then, three analytical techniques (ste­reomicroscopy, X-ray diffraction, and petrographic characterization) were applied to characterise the operatio­nal sequence of the analysed pottery. All samples were subjected to a stereomicroscopic examination that enabled us to classify the ceramics from the identification of technological features. These features were the criterion for selecting sam­ ples for more specific analytical techniques. X-ray diffraction (XRD) was used to study the mine­ ralogical composition of the samples. The selection of XRD samples was made based on technological groups (TG), excluding samples the analysis of which would be too destructive. Finally, for optical petro­ graphy we selected samples with peculiar technolo­gical and mineralogical characteris­tics, and which had been previously analysed by XRD. Samples of all the TG established by stereomicroscopy were represented in this analysis. Stereomicroscopy (ST) This first analysis (n = 34 vessels) had a double function: to characte­rize the technological evidence and create technological groups (TG). TG are groups of ceramic samples which have common physical features iden­tified by stereomicroscopy (Gamiz et al. 2013; Gamiz 2018.314), and this facilitates the subsequent repre­sentative sampling of each group with regard to other analytical tech­niques. Stereomicroscopic examinations were carried out with a Leica L80 stereomicroscope (7.5X–60X magni­fication), Leica EC3 camera and a Lei-ca Achro 0.5x objective. Images were captured with the Leica Application Suite software. This analysis enabled L. Vico Triguero, J. Gámiz Caro, F. M. Martín Peinado, A. García García, E. Alarcón García, F. Contreras Cortés, and M. A. Moreno Onorato the characterisation of pottery manufacture to dif­ferentiate TG. The TG are created from variables which describe the technical capacities of pottery items and their links to a specific use. The evidence which enables the description of these variables is the result of gestures and techniques that were used by the potters who made these objects. Therefore, the compactness of the ceramic paste is used to de­fine the intensity and time of raw material prepara­tion. Compactness is measured by the presence/ab­sence of striae in the matrix, as well as the physical appearance of the pottery. According to the size, shape and frequency of grains of the same mineral that appear in the paste, we can determine if these grains were intentionally added by the potter (Mag­getti 1982; Gibson, Woods 1990; Spataro 2002; Gá­miz 2018), and these particles are called ‘temper’ (Whitbread 1995; Gámiz et al. 2013). However, the angularity variable was not used to define the cre­ation of TG due to the homogeneity of the results. The description of these variables follows the qual­itative methods and reference tables published in other studies (Castro 1989; Gámiz et al. 2013). Colour of the ceramic surface and matrix was not used to define TG due to the homogeneity of the re­sults, but it was important to define the firing atmo­sphere (reducing, oxidizing, or mixed). The descrip­tion of the colours considered first tonality (dark, me­dium, and light) and secondly colour (black, beige, brown, orange, grey, or white). All these data is shown in the following table along with the visual analysis (Tab. 1). Statistical treatment of data In order to obtain technological groups which pre­sent technological similarities or variables obtained through stereomicroscopy, a cluster statistical analy­sis was employed to create the TG and TG subgroups. Three variables were taken into account in this ana­lysis: paste compactness, grain size, and grain per­centage. Cluster analysis identifies the degree of similarity between different variables among all cases and groups them in two-dimensional graphs (dendro-grams) (Shennan 1992). Clusters are formed either by scanning the matrix for the most similar entities and joining them, or by successively subdividing the matrix (Rice, Saffer 1982). These groups were estab­lished with a degree of similarity above 95%, and Ward’s method with the ‘squared Euclidean distance’ and ‘between-groups linkage’ method was used in the statistical analysis, which was carried out with the program IBM SPSS Statistics Version 21.0. X-ray diffraction (XRD) X-ray diffraction analysis used 28 representative samples from all the TG obtained by stereomicro­scopy. XRD characterises the mineralogical compo­sition of pottery, not only for estimating the firing temperature but also shedding light on the potential provenance of the raw materials (Quinn, Benzonel­li 2019). The pottery analyses were coupled with the sampling of two local geological outcrops in the area of Penalosa, potential sources of the raw mate­rials used to make the pottery. This raw material Fig. 4. Histogram of the predominant pottery forms of the burials of Penalosa. The Argaric pottery from burial at Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> production technology and functionality samples were lower Carboniferous source rocks (García González et al. 2010). The samples were reduced to fine powder (10µm) and analysed for provenance in the Centre of Scien­tific Instrumentation of the University of Granada (Spain) with a BRUKER D8 ADVANCE diffractometer with Cu radiation (sealed tube) with a LINXEYE de­tector. The parameters of measurement were 2s per scanning step, with 0.0393766 increments, with a limit of 2 theta starting at 3 and stopping at 70.0108 at a power of 40Kw and 40mA. The data was ob­tained by DIFRAL plus XRD Commander software. The peaks of the diffractograms were read through the XPowder 12 Version 2014.04.37 software, where the different crystalline phases of the minerals that make up the ceramic matrix were characterized by consulting the Difdata database, before contrasting the results with those of the rruff.info project data- Sample Quartz Microcline AlbiteDiopsideSmectiteHornblendeCummingtonite Illite-MuscoviteOrthoclaseAmorphous base which comprises a semiquantitative characte­rization (Tab. 2). The RIR (Reference Intensity Ra­tios) (Chung 1974; Martín 2004) method was then applied to identify each of the mineral phases of the samples. Petrographic analysis The vessels analysed by thin section were BE-50898 (carinated bowl), BE-10361 (hemispherical bowl), BE-3070 (bowl), BE-10349 and BE-10329 (storage vessels). This method offers information concern­ing the fabric, defining ‘fabric’ as the physical link between the grains and ceramic matrix (Castro 1989), and allows evaluation of other aspects of the structure of the ceramic matrix (e.g., presence of vit­reous phases). The information obtained from this technique also serves as a complement to results ob­tained by ST and XRD. A Nikon Eclipse 6400 POL mounted with x4, x10 and x20 lenses served to carry out the thin section analyses. This me­thodology used some of the variables proposed by Ian Whitbread (1995), Bruce Velde and Isabelle Druc (1999) and Antonio Castro (1989), as detailed below. 9323 66.4 1.7 1.5 0 0 0 0 28.2 0 2.3 281110 77.6 0 3.5 0 0 0 0 16.8 0 2.1 The analytical technique applied to the 10356 67.1 3.3 11.1 2.2 1.9 5.7 4.7 0 0 3.9 current study takes into account the 10312 10156 12163 14584 9526-1 64.1 80.1 86.8 82.8 92.3 7.7 7.1 0 2.8 2.6 9.2 5 0 8.8 2.8 0 0 0 0 0 5.4 4.7 0 0 0 4.6 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 10.4 2.6 0 0 0 0 0 0 6 3 2.8 2.9 2.3 following variables: proportion of fine (<10µm) and coarse (>10µm) fractions and pores/striae, minerals, degree of compactness, vitrification (originated by 12130 85.8 0 6 0 0 0 0 5.4 0 2.8 ceramic firing or cooking), optical ac­ 3070 94.3 0.4 0 0 0 0 0 3 0 2.3 tivity, pore and inclusion orientation, 14546 3075-2 20129 20149 20367 75 70.6 83.7 76.3 84.7 4.4 10.5 1.4 6 2.6 13.1 14.6 10.1 13.3 8.2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4.4 1.9 2.6 3.6 1.9 0 0 0 0 0 3.1 2.5 2.3 1.9 2.6 particle morphology. These factors serve to define the different pottery fabrics of the Penalosa funerary assem­blage, and comprise its characterization 20369 84.6 4.5 5.4 0 0 0 0 3 0 2.5 and description. The matrix texture and 3069 87.3 1.7 5.6 0 0 0 0 3.1 0 2.2 chemical structure of the grains could 3075-1 88 2.6 5.5 0 0 0 0 1.4 0 2.5 provide thermal shock resistance and 6066 14601 15211 88.8 87.7 82.7 4.2 3.3 0 3.1 4.4 5.9 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1.8 1.8 0.9 0 0 6.9 2 2.7 3.6 mechanical properties to the final pro­duct. 20128 281111 92.2 91.7 0 2.2 2.9 2.3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2.9 1.7 0 0 2 2.1 The analytical procedure therefore 281112 81.2 4.7 5.3 0 0 0 0 6.5 0 2.4 served to characterise the technologi­ 10361 90.7 0 3.20 0 0 0 4.2 01.9 cal level of Penalosa's funerary pottery, 10349 75.8 14.5 5 0 0 0 0 3.5 01.2 10329 79.7 8.3 6.40 0 0 0 3.8 01.8 12127 69.2 7.6 12.3 0 0 0 0 2.7 4.8 3.5 50898 73.8 5.2 10.6 3.5 0 0 0 2.6 0 4.2 Tab. 1. Semiquantitative percentages obtained of X-ray diffrac­tion analyses through RIR method of funerary grave goods of Penalosa. assigning each technological feature to a sequence of concrete production se­quences divided into the following con­catenated phases: raw material procu­rement, clay preparation, kneading, for­ming, surface treatment, drying and fir­ing. L. Vico Triguero, J. Gámiz Caro, F. M. Martín Peinado, A. García García, E. Alarcón García, F. Contreras Cortés, and M. A. Moreno Onorato Results Pottery surface analysis The Penalosa funerary vessels reveal that potters took special care in preparing their surfaces, most often in the form of burnishing (27 vessels). This technique produces a homogeneous, fine metallic effect. Only the surfaces of very small cups (up to 3cm high and 4cm wide) received just a smoothing treatment. Furthermore, the surfaces of storage ves­sels (BE, 10349, BE-10329, BE-12127) and three cook­ing vessels (BE-14546, BE-3070, BE-20149) show signs of smoothing with a spatula, a procedure that served as a base for a subsequent slip. The pottery forming marks preserved in eleven ves­sels surfaces (Tab. 1) make it possible to define at least three different forming techniques in Penalosa, identifiable through the roughness and marks of these surface treatments, as well as the orientation of the matrix grains (Gamiz et al. 2013). These tech­niques are: basketry moulding (Fig. 5), pinching, and coiling or slabbing. Coiling is identified in large ves­sels (up to 42cm long and 23cm wide) such as sto­rage vessels, and slabbing in two bowls. These form­ing techniques consist of the superposition of coils (coiling) or slabs (slabbing) which are subsequently joined with some surface treatment to form the body of the vessel (Heras 1992; García, Calvo 2013). More complex forms such as carinated ware, in turn, were made with a mixed technique with their bases fashioned by pinching or moulding and their upper bodies made from coiling or slabbing. Finally, there are small vessels manufactured by pinching rounded clay masses. Surface colours alternating between dark (black or brown) and light (beige or orange) indicate a predo­minately mixed firing atmosphere combining phases of reduction and oxidation in 31 samples. Some ves­sels (e.g., BE-10156, and BE-281111) have homoge­neous hues (usually black) on both their outer and inner surfaces, indicative of a reduction atmosphere. We also observed some surface marks suggesting vessel reuse. Pot BE-6066, for example, bears soot or a cooking marks along its base, indicating a culi­nary use (Skibo 1992; Rafferty et al. 2014) before being used as a burial pot. Furthermore, certain ves­sels reveal signs of repair. This is the case with a hole on the stem of a chalice (BE-14601) (Fig. 6) and the body of a bowl (BE-20369). The perforations served to fasten broken fragments together by means of some type of organic cord. This fact reflects an interest by Penalosa human groups in preserving specific ceramic shapes. These items were likely en­dowed with symbolism for this culture, as detailed below. Characterization of the pottery fabric Stereomicroscopic results The stereomicroscopic analyses yielded three TG based on the criteria of compactness, grain size and percentage. These can be further divided into sub­groups based on their grain quantity. The groupings were carried out by means of multivariate statistical analyses and illustrated by a cluster diagram (Fig. 7). The main difference between TG is the grain percen­tage. Groups 1 and 2 are characterized by a medium to high grain percentage (30–50%), and a low one in the case of group 1a (10–20%). Subgroups are dif­ferentiated by compactness and grains size. All of them present compact fabrics while that of Group 1a, made up mostly of storage vessels, is less compact. The size of the grains is variable throughout the as­semblage, 50% of groups contain fine grains and the other 50% medium grains. Beside the main variables, other characteristics such as particle shape as well as the colours of the cera­mic matrix and surface were taken into account. The tendencies of grain form and size can be ascribed to specific vessel forms. Subangular and rounded par­ticles are most often associated with bowls or cups, that is, the smaller-sized pottery group (up to 14cm wide and 10cm high). Angular grains, in turn, are most common to medium-sized vessels and linked to larger forms such as cooking pots and storage vessels. This leads to the notion that the potters only added temper in certain cases, conditioned by the Fig. 5. Microphotography of impressions of bas­ketry moulding from a carinated ware. The Argaric pottery from burial at Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> production technology and functionality intended use of the vessel. In fact, the vessels with angular grains coincide with forms typically linked to cooking pots and storage vessels, a correlation that is not accidental as the addition of temper to the matrix is intended to strengthen the mechanical and thermal resistance of vessels (Steponatis 1984; Gámiz et al. 2018). It is also noteworthy that the inner cores of the ves­sels, like their surfaces, tend to have a double colour­ation. This reflects mixed firing that, as noted above, combined oxidizing and reducing atmospheres. More­over, certain samples (BE-20129) also bear traces in­dicating reduction over practically all of their surface. Mineralogical characterization X-ray diffraction analyses reveal that quartz, present in a high proportion (between 67 and 97%), is the main mineral phase shared by all the samples. Other minerals such as plagioclase (1.5–14.6%), feldspars (1.3–10%), and phyllosilicates (2–28%) also appear, but in lesser proportions (Tab. 2; Fig. 8A). Differentiating the samples is conditioned by the pre­sence of alkaline feldspars (microcline) and plagio-clases (albite). However, these minerals are absent from one sample (BE-12163) which contains only quartz and a high concentration of phyllosilicates. This absence could be linked to the raw material ex­traction zone, as detailed below. Most cases reveal an illite-muscovite phase that is possibly thermally altered, as can be seen by the Fig. 7. Dendrogram of the technological groups gleaned from the statistical analysis. L. Vico Triguero, J. Gámiz Caro, F. M. Martín Peinado, A. García García, E. Alarcón García, F. Contreras Cortés, and M. A. Moreno Onorato peaks in the diffractogram attain the level of 4.49A. Smectite was also detected in three of the samples (BE-10312, BE-10356 and BE-10156), while potassi­um feldspars appear to be rare (BE-15211 and BE­12127). Although there are two cases (BE-10356 and BE-10312) revealing amphiboles, specifically horn­blende and cummingtonite, they bear mineralogical characteristics common to the others (quartz, feld­spars and plagioclases). A small fraction of pyroxenes is only observed in two samples (BE-10356 and BE­50898). As their percentage is below 3.5%, they may originate from the sediment itself. Sediment analyses were carried out on two samples from an area abounding with sandstones (S-3), a po­tential source of amphiboles, and on samples of clays extracted near the archaeological site (S-11). The results of these analyses (Fig. 8B) indicate a minera­logical composition similar to that of the Penalosa funerary pottery, with the only anomaly being the presence of chlorite and cinnabar. However, the ab­sence of these minerals in pottery can be explained by their destruction when exposed to temperatures above 500°C (Schultz 1964; Linares et al. 1983). On the other hand, the sandstone sample (S-3) does not reveal evidence of amphiboles, which suggests the exogenous origin of items with this type of compo­sition, or another raw material from other geologi­cal areas not yet determined. Optical petrography According to this analysis, three fabric types were differentiated (Fig. 9 and Fig. 10): . Fabric 1, represented by a carinated vessel and a hemispherical bowl, bears a fine texture (90%) with few pores and striae (10%), and small subrounded grains (< 1mm). Both the grains and the pores/striae are arranged obliquely in the ceramic matrix. . Fabric 2, represented by a bowl, is medium com­pact and characterized by equal coarse (35%) and Fig. 8. A Main peaks identified by C-ray diffraction of the funerary pottery of Penalosa; B main peaks identified by X-ray diffraction among the sediment samples of Penalosa. Sme Smectite, Ilt-Ms Illite-Musco­vite, Hbl Hornblende, Cum Cummingtonite, Qz Quartz, Or Orthoclase, Mc Microcline, Ab Albite, Di Diop-side, Cin Cinnabar, Chl Chlorite. The Argaric pottery from burial at Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> production technology and functionality Sample Grave Shape Sur. Treatment Matrix Sur. Color % Grains Angulosity Grains Shape grains Compact­ness Forming techniques Ext Int Core Ext Int Mar Ext Int Spot Col. 10349 23 Storage vessel SS SS DG MG LBR EDG LBR LBR DBR 40 % Angular Medium Medium Coiling 10329 23 Storage vessel SS SS DG MG LG EDG DG DG LG 40 % Angular Medium Medium Coiling 12127 4 Storage vessel SS SS LBR LBE LBE DBR DBR DBL 30 % Angular Medium Medium unidentified 14546 16 Cooking vessel SS SS LBR LBR LBR DG DG DBR 40 % Angular Medium High Basketry moulding 3069 1 Bowl B B MBE MBE MBE ILG MBE MBE BL 40 % Angular Medium High unidentified 12161 5 Bowl B B MG MG MG DG DG BL 30 % Angular Medium High unidentified 14584 6 Bottle B B MBE MBE LBR MBE LBR BL 40 % Angular Medium High unidentified 20367 15b Chalice B B LG MBE MBE IBL DG DG BL 40 % Angular Medium Medium unidentified 281112 18 Bowl B B LBR LG DG IDB DG DG GL 20 % Angular Medium High unidentified 20128 9 Bowl B B DB DG LBR EDB-IDB DBE DBE BL 40 % Angular Small High Slabbing 10356 25 Carinated vessel B B MG LBR DG EDG DG DG BL 30 % Angular Small High Mixed technique (basketry mould­ing and slabbing) 20369 15b Carinated vessel B B LBR LBR LBR DG DG BL 30 % Angular Small High unidentified 3075-1 2 Carinated vessel B B MG MG MG DG DG BL 40 % Rounded Small High unidentified 9526-2 18 Cooking vessel B B MO MO MO DO DO Br 30 % Subrounded Small High Mixed technique (pinching andcoiling) 12125 4 Carinated vessel B B DO DO DBE EBL DG DG BL,W 30 % Rounded Small High unidentified 20130 4 Bowl B B MG MG MG DG DG DBR 30 % Rounded Small High Slabbing 10156 24 Bottle B B DBR DG DG IBL DG DG 30 % Angular Small High unidentified 10312 25 Bowl B B LG DBE LG EMG-IDO DBE DBE BL 30 % Subrounded Small Medium unidentified 14601 6 Chalice B B MO MO MO DO DO BL 30 % Rounded Medium High unidentified 14596 6 Minute vessel S S MBE MBE MBE DBE DBE BL 30 % Rounded Small High Pinching 3075-2 2 Carinated vessel B B LBR LBR LBr EDO LBR DG BL 30 % Rounded Medium High unidentified 6066 3 Cooking vessel B B LBR LBR LBr MBE DG BE 30 % Angular Medium High Coiling 3070 1 Cooking vessel SS SS LBE LBE LG LBE LG BL 30 % Angular Medium High unidentified 281111 18 Bowl B B LBR LBR LBR DG DG 30 % Angular Medium High unidentified 20129 9 Cooking vessel B B LG MG LG EBL-IBL DB DBE BL 30 % Angular Medium High unidentified 9526-1 18 Cooking vessel B B DO DO DG EDG-IDO DBE DBE BE 20 % Subrounded Medium High unidentified 50898 31 Carinated vessel B B DO DB MG EBL-IDG MBE DG BL 10 % Rounded Small High Mixed technique (basketry mould­ing and coiling) 12130 9 Carinated vessel B B LBE DG LBE EDG-ILBE MBE DG Bl 10 % Subrounded Small High unidentified 15211 7 Bowl B B MBE MBE MBE DB DBR Bl 10 % Rounded Small High unidentified 10361 22 Bowl B B MBE MBE MBE DBE DBE Br 20 % Rounded Small High Pinching 14583 6 Minute vessel S S MG MG MG DG DBE 20 % Rounded Small High Pinching 9323 13 Cooking vessel B B DBR DO DBE DB DG Bl,Br 20 % Angular Small High unidentified 281110 18 Bowl B B DO DB DR IDG DG DG Bl 10 % Rounded Small High unidentified 12163 18 Carinated vessel B B DO DB DG IDG DO DO Bl,Br 10 % Rounded Small High unidentified 20149 15a Cooking vessel SS SS LBR LBR LBE EDB-IDB DG DG Bl 30 % Angular Medium Medium unidentified Tab. 2. Technological features of ceramic assemblage under study. Sur surface, Ext exterior, Int interior, Mar marge, SS smoothing spatulate, B burnishing,S smoothing, D dark, M medium, L ligth, G grey, BL black, O orange, BE beige, BR brown, E external, I internal, W white. L. Vico Triguero, J. Gámiz Caro, F. M. Martín Peinado, A. García García, E. Alarcón García, F. Contreras Cortés, and M. A. Moreno Onorato fine fractions (35%) and pores/striae (30%). Their grains are small (< 1mm), arranged obliquely, and their fabric is medium compact. . Fabric 3, represented by orzas, is dominated by a coarse fraction (40%) over a fine fraction (30%) that bears a high proportion of pores and striae (30– 50%). The grains are medium-sized (> 1mm) and angular-shaped, indicating they correspond to added temper (Maggetti 1982). Moreover, the temper is arranged in a chaotic and non-oriented manner. Additionally, the three different types bear optical activity fabrics resulting from firing. The absence of full vitrification, that would be confirmed by ab­sence of cracks and pores (Cultrone et al. 2001; Pa-vía 2006), indicates that firing temperatures were below 800°C, although these clays show optical ac­tivity or isotropy, so could be in a first stage of vitri­fication (Shapiro 2012). The thin section analyses corroborate the presence of minerals obtained by XRD, as well as other phas­es that could not be identified by this method. This is the case of iron oxides and oxyhydroxides that im­pregnate pottery fabrics and may derive from nat­ural clay or have formed during the firing process. The coarse fraction is formed by metamorphic rocks, associated mainly with micaschists. Quartz is the predominant mineral in the fabrics, as indicated by XRD, and appears in different sizes and shapes (mo­nocrystalline and polycrystalline). Plagioclases (al-bite) and feldspars (microcline), in turn, appear in less quantity. There are also occasional fragments of mafic minerals such as micas or amphiboles. These different elements indicate that the vessels are of micaceous, not calcareous, fabric. Finally, the matri­ces reveal the sporadic presence of graphite plant in­clusions which probably come from where the clay was extracted. Discussion Origin of the raw material The pottery’s mineralogical composition (which in­cludes quartz, plagioclase, feldspars, and phyllosili­cates) is characteristic of sedimentary and metamor­phic rocks, types of outcrops that are characteristic of Penalosa’s surroundings (Fig. 1) (IGME 1974; Jara­millo 2005; García González et al. 2010). These comprise mainly quartzitic sandstones, mica-schists and quartzites whose alteration processes can yield clay bearing a mineralogical composition similar to that identified from the samples of pottery. Therefore, the pottery’s mineral phases point to lo­cal production. Moreover, their mi­neralogical composition suggests a catchment area extending to a ra­dius of 5km around the Penalosa, where the potters took advantage of the natural resources offered by the environment. The two cases bearing traces of am-phiboles, by contrast, indicate the existence of raw materials from other geological areas not yet deter­mined. However, other studies car­ried out in Penalosa (García Gon­zalez et al. 2010) have identified pegmatite aplite dykes and a grani­tic porphyry area 4km from the ar­chaeological site, where this type of raw material could be found. Preparation and modelling of raw materials The results indicate specific produ­ction strategies for specific types of pottery forms. Vessels designed for the preparation and consumption The Argaric pottery from burial at Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> production technology and functionality of food are compact, indicating thorough kneading of clay which yielded fabrics that are devoid of striations and pores as well as more resistant, avoiding fractu­res due to the elimination of sur­plus water during drying, firing and use (Schiffer, Skibo 1987). Compactness is also linked to a homogeneous distribution of temper after thorough and pro­longed kneading of the clay. Moreover, these vessels are mo­stly characterised by obliquely arranged grains, indicating the direction of the pressure during forming (Tite 2008). Orzas are characterized by more porous and less compact matri­ces. The fabrics of vessels bearing these features are usually linked to food storage. Their porous nature makes them more efficient in preserving food (Gá­miz 2018) in both solid and liquid form. However, the fact that their surface reveals a smoothing treat­ment suggests that they were not designed to con­tain liquids, as these are more effective when they undergo waterproofing treatments such as burnish­ing (Schiffer et al. 1994). In sum, different technological features take place between the phases of preparation of the clay, its kneading and the forming of the vessels. This infers that the manufacture is conditioned by the intended function of the pottery, thus differentiating between vessels serving for food preparation, consumption, and storage. This therefore suggests a well-defined strategy of manufacture denoting potters with an ad­vanced knowledge of their craft. Clay drying phase A common characteristic of the different Penalosa vessels is that their drying time appears to have been adequate, as seen through the low density of their pores and striae. The absence of fractures is also in line with a slow dehydration process. Their tempers allowed an optimal drying phase and led to greater resistance during firing (Schiffer, Skibo 1987). The size of the pores and cracks among storage vessels, by contrast, increases due to the thickness of their walls, factors favouring a greater capacity to contain water. Nonetheless, this has a negative effect on their compactness during the drying and firing phases, an effect that can be mitigated, as noted above, by add-ing temper so as to maintain the mechanical resis­tance of these vessels (West 1992; Schiffer et al. 1994). Once at the leather-hard phase, the vessels received the characteristic surface burnishing. In certain cases, as noted for a hemispherical bowl (Schiffer, Skibo 1987), the vessel was first treated with a slip layer to smooth the entire surface and eliminate any po­tential imperfections that could negatively affect the vessel in firing. Pottery firing Surface and matrix colour as well as mineralogical composition were taken into account to identify the firing strategies. Light to dark colour variations both on surface and in the paste are due to different firing atmospheres resulting from open firings or ‘firing pits’, i.e. simple structures serving throughout the entire prehistory of the Iberian Peninsula (García, Calvo 2006) that do not allow the control of the firing atmosphere. We could not firmly establish the firing temperature of the Penalosa vessels as the mineralogical compo­sition analysed by both XRD and thin section ana­lysis lacks carbonates, especially calcite, a good indi­cator of firing temperature (Linares et al. 1983). Furthermore, there is no evidence of new mineral phases resulting from the disappearance of other mi­nerals that are characteristic of high firing temper­atures (above 850°C) (Linares et al. 1983). Hence, L. Vico Triguero, J. Gámiz Caro, F. M. Martín Peinado, A. García García, E. Alarcón García, F. Contreras Cortés, and M. A. Moreno Onorato other types of mineral associations must be taken into account when approaching the question of fir­ing temperature. The absence of chlorite, which tends to disappear at temperatures above 500°C, as well as the appearance in all samples of thermally altered phyllosilicates, suggests a firing temperature above 500°C (Linares et al. 1983). There are sever­al factors indicating temperatures below 800°C: the absence or low bearing of pyroxenes; high percen­tages of albite, feldspars and smectites; and substan­tial presence of illite-muscovite, whose dehydroxy­lation is not initiated before attaining 850–900°C (Pena-Poza 2011). Furthermore, no signs of vitrifi­cation are visible in the thin section analyses, indi­cating that firing temperatures did not exceed 750– 850°C (the temperature range for non-calcareous clay which depends on the firing atmosphere) (Ma-niatis, Tite 1981; Pavía 2006). All of the preceding evidence suggests that the fu­nerary pottery of Penalosa was fired at temperatu­res ranging between 500–800°C, a hypothesis that would require confirmation from future experimen­tation. Nevertheless, this is a point of inflexion with regard to the hypotheses stating that Argaric vessels from these contexts were minimally fired (Albero, Aranda 2014), or unfired as in the case of the ear­lier macroscopic studies of funerary pottery from Penalosa (Contreras et al. 2000). Contreras et al. (2000) interpreted the light surface colour as a sign of non-firing (e.g., sample BE-15211), while recent archaeometric analyses of the same sample reveal that it was fired. This demonstrates the nullity of the variable of external colouring to determine if cera­mics are fired or not. In this sense, DRX or petrogra­phic analyses are more reliable techniques to assess firing temperatures. Ceramic vessels fired at the previous temperature range are endowed with characteristics that make them functional, with improved mechanical resis­tance and hardness (Rye 1981; Simon et al. 1989; Albero 2014). The function of these vessels is linked to processing, consuming and storage. This link be­tween technology and function is further evidenced by marks of use on the external walls (bearing soot, cooking marks or cracks). However, another study defends the argument that this range indicates low temperatures and/or short exposure, and uses the notion of low temperatures for those oscillating between 500 and 700°C (Albe­ro, Albero 2014). We think that this range is normal in prehistoric contexts (such as that of Penalosa), due to the absence of kilns suggesting that the fir­ing was carried out in fire-pits or open fires with li­mited control over temperatures and firing times. Furthermore, these firing structures could hardly at­tain temperatures exceeding 950°C under normal conditions (Gosselain 1992; Tite 2008). In fact, as evidenced by metallurgical experimentation (More­no et al. 2010), only bellows or tuyeres yield such high temperatures. Therefore, we suggest that the notion of low temperatures be equated with firings below 500°C, because below this temperature the vessel would not be functional due to low resis­tance (Skibo 1997). Evidence of pottery use and repair It is also noteworthy that certain funerary vessels at Penalosa bear signs of use and repair. The burn marks along the base of pot BE-6066, for example, indicate an exposure to fire. This confirms that cer­tain vessels of Penalosa served for cooking prior to their deposition as grave goods. The perforation through the stem of a chalice also served for its re­pair. This characteristic ceramic form has been, as noted above, at times associated exclusively with fu­nerary contexts (Torre 1974; Molina, Pareja 1975). Signs of reuse, as well as finds of chalice-type vessels unearthed in domestic dwellings (Contreras et al. 2014), lead to speculation that not only reinforces the hypothesis initially raised by Vicente Lull (1983) that typical Argaric chalices served in both domestic and funerary contexts, but also suggest that this form saw use in the domestic spheres before being depo­sited in burials. A detailed comparison of the diffe­rent chalices from each context in order to assess possible techno-typological variations is nonetheless necessary to be able to offer more firm postulations on this subject. Conclusions The technological study of the Penalosa funerary pot­tery makes it possible to delve deeper into the ques­tion of the manufacture of these types of artefacts throughout the Argaric Culture, leading to new as­sessments as to their use as well as to speculations about Argaric funerary rites. Besides their characteristic typology, the homoge­neous technological production features of the Pena­losa’s funerary pottery suggests potters of great skill. The surface treatment (burnishing), as well as certain technological aspects (compactness of the fabric, ab­sence of large inclusions, clear orientation of the grains, etc.), suggest devotion of time and effort to The Argaric pottery from burial at Penalosa (Jaén, Spain)> production technology and functionality their manufacture. The population of this culture therefore buried their dead in the company of ves­sels of high quality and marked aesthetic value, a pattern observed also at other Spanish Argaric sites in the Province of Granada (e.g., Cuesta del Negro, Cerro de San Cristóbal, Cerro de la Encina) as well as at the more distant site of Fuente Álamo in Alme­ría (Contreras et al. 1987; Albero, Aranda 2013; Schubart 2004; Aranda et al. 2005; 2008). Moreover, the great hardness and resistance of Pena­losa’s ceramic fabrics differ from those recorded at other sites, suggesting vessels of low technological quality (Contreras 1986; Aranda, Esquivel 2006). These notions, together with the evidence of prior use before becoming grave goods, indicate they were originally intended for food processing, storage or consumption. This study suggests three possible sce­narios: (1) the vessels were produced explicitly to serve in a ritual directly preceding the burial; (2) they served initially as domestic artefacts before tak­ing on a funerary role, or (3) both. The first scenario indicates that they formed part of a funerary ban­quet, a hypothesis advanced by other researchers (Aranda, Esquivel 2006), although the hypothesis of previous use in domestic contexts is not rejected. This is indicated by finds of animal and plant re­mains, and traces of organic residues identified by physical-chemical techniques (García-García 2018; García-García et al. 2018). The second scenario is that of reuse of domestic ware as funerary grave goods, as is the case at Cuesta del Negro (Granada) (Contreras et al. 1987), a site where characteristic forms such as carinated vessels, bowls, cooking ves­sels are recorded in both domestic and funerary con­texts. In this case it is evident that the vessels were produced for a functional use (Contreras et al. 2014). Nonetheless, it must be noted that it is not possible, due to the lack of reliable data, to determine whether they served in a ritual or for everyday common do­mestic ware. Our study of the Penalosa funerary vessels also re­veals differences among Argaric funerary patterns from other settlements, where the ceramic grave goods were deliberately manufactured for burials (Milá et al. 2007; Aranda, Molina 2005; Aranda 2004; 2010; Albero, Aranda 2014). Settlements such as Penalosa could have occupied a secondary position within the hierarchy of the Arga­ric territory. These settlements functioned as centres of production to supply more vital centres. In this sense, Penalosa was a metallurgical settlement cen­tred on the extraction and production of metals (cop­per and silver). Although these communities maintained traditions within the framework of a common cultural system, the archaeological record offers evidence of regional particularities. As Penalosa was a settlement geared toward metallurgy, the wealth of its grave goods is manifested mainly through metal objects, and silver and gold jewellery (Contreras et al. 1995), which does not mean that this settlement is located in a high hierarchical position due to the presence of this type of grave goods, but rather that these are present in Penalosa for its easy acquisition. The inhabitants buried their dead with pottery that has had a previ­ous use. For this reason, the value given to these types of elements in ‘less-entity’ settlements can be very different from that granted in other greater centres, where the vessels are manufactured exclu­sively for burials. As noted by Cesar Carreras Mon­fort and Jordi Nadal Lorenzo (2003), although an economic value can have an influence on the social importance given to objects, it is noteworthy that certain goods valued by one society may not be va­lued by another. Thus, lifestyles, forms of social or-ganisation and social values within the same culture may influence pottery production from one settle­ment to another. The current study has only been able to carry out a limited number of comparisons with other Argaric funerary pottery assemblages due to the general lack of technological analyses. There is a real need for future analyses along these lines in order to de­fine more accurately the nuances of territorial fune­rary rites, and to question the wider character of the Argaric Culture that has been traditionally framed under the paradigm of cultural unity. Besides, the restriction of the sample to funerary contexts does not allow us to determine reliable reasons which led to certain production strategies. Therefore, current research focuses on analysing the pottery assem­blage from domestic contexts of Penalosa in order to learn more about the organisation of pottery pro­duction, and the choice of certain forms and tech­niques. L. Vico Triguero, J. Gámiz Caro, F. M. Martín Peinado, A. García García, E. Alarcón García, F. Contreras Cortés, and M. A. Moreno Onorato ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This research was supported by the project "Arqueología y Química. Reconstruyendo los hábitos alimenticios en la cultura de El Argar" (HAR2015-66009-P) funded by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness. We are grateful for the kindness and help of the staff of the Museum of Jaén (where the Penalosa collection is locat­ed) especially from its director Francisca Hornos Mata and her curator Carmen Repullo. 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Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic settlements Alexandra Ion Institute of Anthropology ‘Francisc I. Rainer’ of the Romanian Academy, Bucharest, RO alexandra.ion@antropologia.ro ABSTRACT – The aim of this article is to focus on the ways in which communities imagined their relationship with the dead throughout the Balkan area during the Neolithic and Eneolithic (6200– 3800 cal BC). My claim is that we should go beyond seeing the human remains discovered in settle­ments as unusual/atypical/non-funerary discoveries. Instead, they can be read as traces of complex funerary practices, which contributed to the creation and manipulation of collective identities. The dead became part of a place-making strategy, they fixed time and become central to certain kinds of assemblages, which in turn were meant to create more powerful ancestors who could intervene in the present. KEY WORDS – Neolithic; human remains; funerary; assemblage; settlement Zakaj (so)bivati z mrtvimi| Zdru/evanje teorije in metode pri preu;evanju ;love[kih ostankov v (e)neolitskih naselbinah na Balkanu IZVLE.EK – V .lanku se osredoto.am na na.ine, kako so si skupnosti predstavljale svoj odnos do mrt­vih na obmo.ju Balkana v .asu neolitika in eneolitika (6200–3800 pr. n. .t.). Trdim, da bi morali .love.ke ostanke, odkrite v naseljih, obravnavati izven obi.ajnega stali..a o nenavadnih/netipi.nih/ ne-pogrebnih odkritjih. Namesto tega jih lahko razlagamo kot sledi zapletenih pogrebnih navad, ki so pripevale k ustvarjanju in manipulaciji kolektivnih identitet. Mrtvi so tako postali del strategije o oblikovanju prostora, dolo.ali so .as in postali osrednji del nekaterih zbirov, ti pa naj bi ustvarili mo.nej.e prednike, ki bi lahko posegali v sedanjost. KLJU.NE BESEDE – neolitik; .love.ki ostanki; pogrebni obi.aj; zbir; naselbina “The corpse: terrible presence, inconceivable absence” (Kerner 2018.325). In a settlement in the Danube plains, at Vidra (Gu-continued in the community. This extraordinary dis-melnita culture), 6500 years ago someone careful-covery gives us an insight into the relationship the ly placed an adult individual in a crouched position community from Vidra had with death and the dead. in a pit. On their shoulder they placed another skull It is a telling example of the complexity of Neolithic and a few ribs, “some displaying cutmarks, and and Eneolithic funerary rituals in the Balkan area, near their left knee, three vertebrae; in their right which were intertwined with place-making strategies, palm and on all the limbs were small red pebbles, memory, and expressions of individual and commu-while near the legs were two silex blades” (Rosetti nal identities. At the same time, it brings into view 1934.20,21,38; Comsa 1960.11). Afterwards, life the challenges in interpreting such multi-layered dis- DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.19 Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic ... coveries in the absence of careful taphonomic ob­servations1 or well-considered theoretical frame­works. The aim of this article is twofold. Firstly, it is an ex­ploration of the strategies for being together with the dead in the space of settlements throughout the Balkan area during the Neolithic and Eneolithic (6200–3800 cal BC). Secondly, it explores the me­thodological and theoretical toolkit necessary for the interpretation of such discoveries. Certain individuals’ whole or fragmentary bodies seem to have been selected and interred beneath or between dwellings, in ‘rubbish areas’ or settlement ditches. They account for the only human remains discovered from the early Neolithic, and were there­fore clearly specifically selected individuals. Based on the evidence presented in this text, my claim is that we should go beyond seeing the human re­mains discovered in settlements as unusual/atypi­cal/non-funerary discoveries. Instead, they should be read as traces of complex multi-stage funerary practices, which contributed to the creation and ma­nipulation of collective identities. As anthropologi­cal literature points out, the period between an in­dividual’s death and the ending of the funerary rit­ual is a liminal time, in which the individuals have lost their pre-ritual status, but not yet gained their final status. In the case of these Neolithic and Eneo­lithic human remains we can infer that this liminal period was quite long, at least for some individuals. During this time, they were seen as potent, valuable ancestors for the community at hand, or, on the con­trary, as deserving punishment and thus denied the proper rituals. The dead became part of a place-mak­ing strategy, in which the temporal distances be­tween the living and dead gained a new significance through the presence of the latter in the midst of daily life. In effect, they fixed time and made the past manifest in the present. The study of these human remains falls within three current debates of prime importance for under­standing the changes which took place in the Bal­kan area during this timeframe: (1) the advent of the so called ‘Neolithic revolution’, and whether the ‘Neolithic’ people where locals or foreigners; (2) me-mory-building strategies and the citation of the past among settled-agricultural communities; and (3) the creation of social identities during the Neolithic, at the cross-roads of expressions of individuality ver­sus collective identities. Here, I will mostly focus on the second and third questions, which are inter­linked. My claim is that communal identities are expressed and reinforced through the manipula­tion of the dead, both through the sharing of the space within the settlements, but also the creation of a relationship between selected dead, some of whom are the ‘old dead’ in what archaeologists identified as ossuaries, collective depositions or mul­tiple graves. Thus, we can see the Neolithic-Eneoli­thic period as one in which new worldviews emerge, which are marked by a fluidity of boundaries be­tween categories: between both the living and dead, between the mundane and sacred, animals and hu­mans, between what is visible and unseen. Through the manipulation of the dead and their integration in specific assemblages meant to create more pow­erful ancestors, collective identities were created, maintained and manipulated. Ultimately, what this enquiry will bring forth is what it meant to be dead for these Neolithic societies. Once we take death out of the modern clinical realm and into its cultural dimension, then the answer is certainly not a straightforward one. In his study of Oceanic practices Roger Ivar Lohmann (2005.190) points out that: “It is anthropologically useful to also define death in social terms as a point at which social interaction with the deceased be­comes impossible, given prevailing cultural mod­els of reality.” Following this framing, one could say that in the case of the Neolithic dead found in settlements, the dead are never fully dead, as social interactions with the living seem to continue over significant pe­riods of time (along the same lines see Rebay-Salis­bury et al. 2010; Croucher 2012; Robb et al. 2015; Katsarou 2017; Kerner 2018). Underlying this is the fact that through a whole field of cultural be­liefs and practices the dead are separated from the living, their bodies undergo modifications (dressing, washing, exposure or excarnation, inhumation and so on), and rituals are enacted to enforce the break between the two worlds. In the process, the dead can gain new identities, those of body-objects, ancestors, sacred relics, or they can be relegated to oblivion. The exploration will start from an evaluation of available materials, followed by a critical reflection 1 In the absence of more information, we cannot discard the alternative interpretation that the skull, the vertebrae and the ribs came from an individual whose resting place had been disturbed – either the initial occupant of that grave pit, or from anoth­er grave pit. Alexandra Ion on the limitations of the terminology we use when interpreting human remains inside settlements, es­pecially the ‘atypical’/’non-funerary’ labels. Then it continues with an overview of key practices that seem to mark specific periods: ‘collective deposits’ as settlement markers in the Early Neolithic, liminal depositions during the Middle and Late Neolithic, and ritual assemblages during the Eneolithic. The corpus of data Starting with the second half of the 7th millennium, we see elements associated with the Neolithic ‘pac­kage’ appearing throughout the Balkans: domestica­tes, agriculture, long-term settlements, textiles, polish­ed stone tools and so on. By the middle of the 4th mil­lennium, major transformations are taking place in the region, with new waves of peoples, new funerary practices and material culture. Between these two chronological markers, worldviews emerge and ex­press themselves through a limited number of mate­rials and resources – seeds, animals, plants, clay, ob­sidian, wood, shells and ochre. Throughout, the dead seem to play a central role in communal lifeways. In summary there are to date a minimum of 800 in­dividuals from burials and scattered bone discove­ries reported throughout the Balkans, from at least 127 archaeological sites/cultural levels2 : 43 from Romania (155 MNI), 36 from Bulgaria (167 MNI), 28 from Greece (395 MNI), 13 from Serbia (35 MNI), Ko­sovo (2 MNI), Croatia (3 MNI), and five from Mace­donia (36 MNI)3 . This list is a significant under-repre­sentation of the real numbers for several reasons: (1) unpublished data, as many discoveries are lost in grey literature reports; (2) under-reporting, as many human remains come from old excavations were there was selection of material, or the researchers missed them altogether; and (3) insufficient data, either due to lack of anthropological analyse – many human remains have not been analysed – post-exca­vation loss, or they lack the archaeological context (Fig. 1). However, this study does not aim to provide an exhaustive list, but to offer a possible guiding thread towards their interpretation (see some previ­ous attempts at cataloguing them by Lichter 2001; Ba¢.varov 2003; Tryantipoulou 2008; Koga¢lnicea-nu 2012). This paper offers a re-evaluation of the role of these discoveries by placing the remains in their wider ar­chaeological context, and in a comparative perspec­tive throughout time and place. On the one hand, the analysis moves from large-scale patterns to indi­vidual remains discovered over an area spanning c. 350 000km2 from six modern countries, and over two and a half millennia (6200–3800 cal BC), to see the ways in which one data set can inform the other. On the other hand, along the interpretative path, I mostly rely on legacy data, by evaluating both osteo-logical and archaeological reports and publications. This route has a number of limitations (see also the summary by Bradbury et al. 2016), but at the same time finding strategies for working with legacy data can bring some interesting insights – where data is absent from one site, information from elsewhere can shed light on patterns or practices through ana­logies. At the same time, this study will move beyond the divide present in contemporary research between different kinds of data and scales of analysis, by bringing together archaeological, osteological, and taphonomic data. Along the way, I also draw inspi­ration from a number of impressive and well-resear­ched studies on remarkable discoveries of human re- 2 Several sites have multiple chronological levels, a fact which places them in several categories. 3 Data was collected from archaeological reports and summaries, among which: Whittle 1996; Ba¢.varov 2000; 2006; 2013; Koga¢l­niceanu 2001; 2008; 2012; Perles 2001; Lichter 2001; 2017; Bori., Stefanovi. 2004; Wahl 2006; 2007; 2008; Naumov 2007; Ion 2008; Ion et al. 2009; Souvatzi 2008; Triantaphyllou 2008; Papathanasiou 2009; Boroneant 2010; Chapman 2010; Stratouli et al. 2011; Laza¢r 2012; 2013; Roodenberg et al. 2013; Chapman et al. 2014; Koga¢lniceanu et al. 2016; Stratton 2016; Ba¢.­varov et al. 2016. Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic ... mains (e.g., Ba¢.varov 2002; Periodisation Time frame No. of Archaeological cultures Chapman 2000; 2010; Lichter sites 2001; Naumov 2007; Trianta- Transition period 6500–5800 54 Early Star;evo-Cris, Karanovo I-II, phyllou 2008; Bori. 2010; & Early Neolithic cal BC Early Sesklo, Kremikovci, Grade[nica­ 2016). Carcea, Anzabegovo-Vr[nik I, Velu[i- na-Porodin, West Bulgarian painted Drawing chronological and geo- pottery group graphical boundaries around Middle and Late 5800–4700\ 35 Hamangia, Vadastra, Boian, Maritsa, this topic is to some extent an Neolithic 4500 cal BC Dimini, Vin;a A-C, Sesklo, Usoe arbitrary measure, to ease the Final Neolithic\ 4700–4500\ 38 Gumelnita-Kodzadermen-Karanovo analysis of a large dataset. The Chalcolithic 3800 cal BC VI, Vin;a D, Sitagroi III geographical area included has as a western boundary the Tab. 1. Periodisation of the settlements included in the analysis. range of the Dinaric Alps moun­tains, the Hungarian plain and the Carpathian basin, to the north stops at the Carpathian Mountains and the Sava river, in the south at the Greek islands, South Ionian and Mediterranean Seas, and to the east at the Black and Aegean Seas. If one takes as comparison the synthetic volume by Agathe Reingru­ber and colleagues (2017.124), this area is equiva­lent to their 1–3 and 5–7 zones (Figs. 2–4). A fine-scale analysis reveals differences even between settlements attributed to the same cultural complex, but broadly speaking the communities throughout the Balkan area show enough similarities and geo­graphical links along the water routes for a starting point which can be refined in the future4 . Given that there are also differences in cultural clas­sification in the area of interest, in general I follow the periodization shared by several seminal works (Whittle 1996; Perles 2001; Reingruber et al. 2017), and group the sites into: (a) A transition period and Early Neolithic, roughly between 6500–5800 cal BC; (b) Middle and Late Neolithic dated between 5800– 4700/4500 cal BC; (c) Final Neolithic/Eneolithic, 4500–3800 cal BC (see Tab. 1). This also solves the problem of different timeframes in various regions: for example, the Early Neolithic in Greece starts hundreds of years earlier than north of the Danube5 . To establish the minimum number of individuals (MNI) I have followed the guidelines in Christopher Knüsel and John Robb (2016), and excluded those sites where the data was incomplete, or lacked se­cure chronology. As such, the numbers under-repre­sent the reality in the field. Are these ‘non-funerary’ discoveries? Bringing together archaeological method and theory Before proceeding to the analysis of discoveries, it is worth discussing the methodological guidelines that shape our field of study. The importance of this step will soon become apparent: on the one hand, the study of these human remains is divided among se­veral disciplines, and on the other hand the study of these bodies mostly focuses on describing their post­mortem trajectory, and less so on an ‘archaeology of death’. To start with, research into Neolithic settlements and their deposits is divided between archaeologists and osteoarchaeologists, each bringing their own set of questions. Most often in the dedicated literature, archaeologists relegate the human remains discov­ered inside the settlement area to the status of ‘non-funerary’ discoveries or from ‘non-funerary contexts’ (e.g., Andreescu et al. 2004; Laza¢r 2010; Laza¢r et al. 2013; Vintila 2013), sometimes even ‘deviant’. The fact that the number of dead individuals is small has made archaeologists qualify their occurrence in­side settlements as exceptions (both Perles 2001. 274, and Kotsakis 2014). 4 Star.evo–Körös–Cris Early Neolithic culture covered an area that included most of present-day Serbia and Montenegro, parts of Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Croatia, Hungary, Republic of Macedonia and Romania. Separately, similarities have been noted among the Boian-Marica-Karanovo V culture that covered areas from southern Romania to Thrace, while the Eneolithic Gumel­nita-Kodjadermen-Karanovo VI culture extended from southern Romania to northern Greece. 5 Ideally, I would have preferred to be able to disregard artificial chronologic categories and instead see if any classifications emerge based on the discoveries themselves. However, this is difficult to achieve when data is incomplete, incongruent and the discoveries seem to be at the same time diverse inside the same timeframe and similar across long stretches of time. Alexandra Ion Some researchers saw these discoveries as disturbed monuments (Comsa 1960). The more fragmented and ‘out of place’ they were, the more exotic the reasons for their existence, such as cannibalism (drawing on research from the American South-West, e.g., Villa et al. 1986; White 1992), sacrifice (Popo­vici, Rialland 1996; Koga¢lniceanu 2001; Voinea 2001), and even rubbish disposal (see a critique in Dragoman, Oanta¢-Marghitu 2007). They have been subjected to analysis by means of drawing ethnogra­phic parallels, e.g., the so-called ‘skull cult’ that would have dominated the region (Marinescu-Bîlcu 2001). In recent years the paradigm is slowly starting to change – from wonderful texts on regional bodies which link them to memory strategies (Croucher 2012; Bori., Griffiths 2015) to new perspectives fo­cused on the fragmentary bodies, and the division of parts-whole of the body as a social cohesion strate­gy (Chapman 2000; Fowler 2001), or to issues of body representation (Bailey 2005; 2018). For other researchers the disposal of the dead within the set­tlement area was either connected to ‘communal so­cial relationships’ (Nanoglou 2008a; Tryantypolou 2008) or with the emergence of expressions of indi­viduality, but without exploring this thesis further. While each of these interpretations has shed light on a piece of the story, some topics still need to be dis­cussed, while others, such as the ‘non-funerary’ la­bel, can be safely challenged. On the other hand, osteoarchaeologists and tapho­nomy specialists have focused on the chaîne opéra­toire of the cadaver, and its spatial deposition. In order to understand these discoveries, osteologists have devised a specialized language to describe and explain why the deposits look as they do: primary/ secondary/tertiary burials, deviant/non-funerary (see Tab. 2). Some even went further and combined ta­phonomic insights with ethnographic parallels in order to understand the treatment of the corpse in both its social and biological components, by employ­ing archaeothanatology/anthropologie de terrain methods (Boulestin, Duday 2006; Duday 2009; Kerner 2018). While these concepts are very help­ful towards understanding the multi-stage process­es we see, the interpretation of the deposits needs to further explain the results in the wider archaeo­logical context. Beside the fact that terms are not always consistent, what this terminology does is to break down and label the post-mortem process of decomposition and disarticulation of a body. Therefore, simply labelling the discoveries as ‘primary’, ‘secondary’ or ‘tertiary’, based on the stage of the manipulation of the body, while an indispensable step, does not take us too far in terms of understanding these discoveries (see also Ion forthcoming). Therefore, the analysis of human remains inside settlements needs to develop in two dimensions: (1) one focused on the human remains per se, namely dealing with the transforma­tion of a fleshed body into a skeleton (and then a fragmentary one), part of a specific process of sep­aration, and breaking down of the body; and (2) a historical and cultural dimension – managing to cap­ture the role of these bodies as part of their cultural context, bodies which can have in turn the status of body-objects, ancestors, relics or ‘debris’. The first step is to embrace an anthropological view which adapts the definition of funerary discoveries to the conceptual universe of the population we study: what do we consider an intentional deposi­tion of human remains? Christopher Knüsel and John Robb (2016.1) rightly point out that for a long time archaeologists have lacked specific historical answers to this question, as they “responded un­imaginatively and ethnocentrically by forcing our primary deposition “the original placement of the corpse, often inferred when bones are in anatomical articulation, mo­ dified only by the processes of decomposition in situ” (Knüsel, Robb 2016.658,Tab. 1) secondary deposition “A subsequent placement of human remains, following movement from their primary location< often inferred when persistent articulations are disarticulated, particularly when they are placed or re-depo­ sited in a patterned way” (Knüsel, Robb 2016.658, Tab. 1) “secondary mortuary rites, .…] those instances when remains have been moved from the place of pri­ mary deposition but replaced in the same feature (cf. Haddow et al. 2015).” (Knüsel, Robb 2016.659) tertiary deposition “i.e., non-burial) contexts can be divided into three main categories> those found in (1) middens, (2) post-abandonment building infill, and (3) building construction layers. (Haddow, 62)”. (Haddow, Knüsel 2017.61) “Joachim Wahl (2008, cited on p.53) uses it when it is impossible to ‘demonstrate the intentional character of a deposit in secondary position’ or the final stage in the deposition” (Kerner 2018.58). commingled remains “are those in which remains from multiple individuals are mixed together, and often with other remains such as animal bones or artefacts.” (Knüsel, Robb 2016.659) Tab. 2. Terminological classifications of human remains depositions. Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic ... interpretations into a few simple, familiar catego­ries such as ‘burial’ and ‘cremation’”. There are numerous documented cases from around the world of multi-stage burial processes or alternative mani­pulations, such as exposure on platforms, water bu­rials, smoking, mummification, and keeping the dead in the house. Here I share Jennifer Kerner’s conclu­sion that to limit the definition of a grave to a mate­rial trace, to one funerary gesture – the primary de­position in a grave – is limiting: “… to consider a deposit containing human re­mains as a ‘burial’: ‘it is to consider the thought that underlies the gesture’ (Boulestine, Duday 2005. 33) and to recognise this thought as being ‘funer­ary’ in nature. ... And by doing this to accept all the nuances implied by the term” (Kerner 2018. 44). This does not advocate for a relativism of definitions with no clear set boundaries. Instead, by ‘funerary’ it simply designates a deposition meant to honour the dead, an act structured by ‘a positive intention’ (Kerner 2018.45). This is opposed to those acts that reflect a negative intention, such as refusing funer­als, or neutral intentions, like rejecting ordinary corpses (see also Kerner 2018). While identifying a positive intention might not be that straightfor­ward, finding a body in an especially dug pit, iden­tifying an intentional post-mortem treatment of the corpse (e.g., wrapping, mummification), the position of the body in the pit, or the integration in a speci­fic assemblage in the case of fragmentary remains, can all constitute signs of intention. In our aid can also come analogies between sites – repeated occur­rences of the same kind of discovery – or between archaeological traces and ethnographic examples. Once we have set ourselves some minimal criteria for the identification of a funerary context, we should then dismiss another modern preconcep­tion – that death is an event. Rather, as both Liv Nilsson Stutz (2016) and John Robb (2013) rightly point out, death is a process which calls for the need of an ‘archaeology of death’. Consequently, we can view the study of human remains at the cross-roads of archaeological, taphonomic and osteological data. By taking this route, when confronted with human remains in settlements we can ask: when was an in­dividual dead for this society? (see also Kerner 2018. 18). And in what way? In this way, we can start de­ciphering the multi-stage processing of bodies with­in a cultural framework. For example, John Robb and colleagues convincingly put forward a case for the multi-stage processing of bodies at the Italian Neolithic Grota Scalloria, through which the dead gradually became ‘completely dead’. The processing of the dead body started with a cadaver and ended with defleshed and bare white bones, which were then tossed away among everyday debris: “Careful taphonomic analysis has demonstrated the practice of carefully defleshing and casually discarding the remains of the dead, and contex­tual discussion has outlined a possible framework for this practice in the final termination of a pro­longed, intimate interaction between living and dead: the end to mourning. [..] Remains brought to the site from further away may have arrived as selected elements rather than complete bodies. They were then defleshed [...] The completely dis­articulated, cleaned bones were then strewn upon the cave floor, mixed casually with faunal remains, broken pots and stone tools.” (Robb et al. 2015.49) Another example is given by Ioanna Moutafi and So­fia Voutsaki (2016.782), who proposed in the case of Mycenaean Greek commingled remains that they should be seen as part of a process of: “... gradual transformation from dead body to ancestor in which they are both ‘subjects of their own identi­ties and lived experiences (cf. ‘osteobiographies’: Robb, 2002; Boutin, 2012), and objects to be mani­pulated by the living, who are interacting with them.” Du.an Bori. (2010.64) interprets the integration of the old dead in new burials at Vlasac as anchoring ‘ancestral powers’ and citing of the past. What all these examples are meant to do is highlight the need for taking the terminology we have a step fur­ther, towards an anthropological understanding. They can only gain meaning when placed in the con­text of wider social practices and as part of a cultu­ral framing of the role of the dead in the lives of communities. As we delve into our interpretation further, we should bring together archaeological method and theory. As already mentioned, discoveries of prima­ry, secondary and tertiary human remains are all traces of multi-stage rites of passage, and it is our task to explore the various ways in which these past communities dealt with and imagined the liminal pe­riod of funerary rituals and its various stages. The challenging aspect is identifying and documenting the traces of these past engagements. It is important in this context to ask: Alexandra Ion (a) What performances might have been built around/from these human remains? (b) Do all the human remains represent deliberate depositions? (c) If the deposits do indeed represent the deliber­ate selection of individuals or body parts, then how might such practices relate to the deposi­tion of other categories of archaeological mate­rials, such as anthropomorphic representations, waste deposits and so on? Objects and dead peo­ple alike had complex biographies: they were curated, broken up, and reinterred/spread within the settlement area (see also Perles 2001.263). In this respect, there are several studies which can offer some valuable guidelines. Concerning the taphonomic study and ritual trans­formations of cadavers from a cultural perspective, there are the studies by Liv Nilsson Stutz on Mesoli­thic bodies (1998; 2006; 2008), those by Scott Had-dow, Christopher Knüsel and their colleagues for the Neolithic Çatalhöyük depositions (Haddow, Knu­sel 2017; Haddow et al. 2020), by Rita Peyroteo Stjerna (2016) and Jennifer Kerner (2018), texts by Martin Smith and Megan Brickley on the people of the British Neolithic barrows (2009), and by Re­becca Crozier (2018) on Neolithic Orkney remains. The detailed observations in these studies offer gui­delines for reconstructions: whether the bodies have been cut, defleshed, exposed, wrapped, or moved around. Then there are histological studies which have been able to prove the mummification of bod­ies in prehistory (Booth et al. 2015; Booth 2016; Smith et al. 2016). Furthermore, there have been numerous studies regarding the remains from the Levant and Near East, on the secondary treatment of bodies, heads, plastered skulls, coping with death, or curation strategies (e.g., Croucher 2012; 2018). The liminal nature of some of the depositions can also extend to topography: the placement of the dead in the wider landscape matters. In the Balkan Neolithic we find a diverse landscape of death, with human remains in settlements near waters, marshes, or remains on tells, inside burnt down dwellings, or within the foundations of new living spaces. This is a topic which can be explored in more detail by future research. Lastly, we should think about the sensory and emo­tional aspects of coping with death and manipulat­ing cadavers and remains – the cultural significance of flesh (see Pearson et al. 2015), decaying bodies, mourning and memorialisation. What would it have entailed to live among the dead? Karina Croucher (2010) writes about the sensory experiences that probably accompanied engaging with the dead in these Neolithic communities. We need to imagine that some bodies were partly defleshed, others were intentionally broken down and fragmented, some were decapitated, while others were curated as ske­letal fragments. When we encounter whole bodies deposited under the floors of dwellings, how did the household members feel about a rotting corpse just a dozen centimetres under their feet? Did they have to leave the house for a while, and then reoccupy it? How would it have been for someone to gaze to­wards their hearth and see two skulls there, gazing back at them from the past, as is the case of an en­counter at the Ca¢scioarele-Ostrovel site in Romania (Ion forthcoming)? At Pietrele-Gorgana (Romania), a head placed on a large deposit of shells still had the first vertebrae attached (Cronica 2010), which points to it having been decapitated first and thrown there while still fleshed. The remains from Cârcea-La Viaduct (Ion et al. 2009) had their flesh, muscles and some bones removed, before people threw them into a ditch. In multiple cases, skulls are found with­out their mandibles (e.g., at Prodromos in Greece), or mandibles are found deposited on their own (14 sites with such finds) near pots, hearths or in other contexts. Bodies are also bent and bound, or covered in various substances, such as ochre (e.g., at Ba¢la¢ne­sti, Ostrovul Corbului, Cavdar or Rakitovo sites) or ash. All of these actions required an intimate enga­gement with the decaying body, its fluids and ma­teriality. It is possible that the substance of the de­cayed body, in terms of its white colour, also played a role in these instances, alongside the colours red or yellow of ochre and the black of the ash. This took place in a world that valued the potency of co-lour, brilliance and design, as shown by John Chap­man (2015.160) in relation to pottery and figurines. Moreover, this is only the beginning of a story in which the dead become part of strategies of nego­tiating identity – the ways in which communities in­teracted with their kin, with the Same (members of the same group, but from other communities in the landscape), and with the Other (‘foreigners’). Early Neolithic: collective discoveries Let us start from the beginning, with the earliest pre­sence of the dead amongst the ‘Neolithic’ communi­ties. The period between roughly 6500–5800 is a one of change throughout the Balkans: a cooling cli­ Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic ... matic event and flooding of river valleys around 6340–6100 (8200 BP) (Weninger et al. 2006) over­laps with the introduction of new ways of life and death, traditionally associated with the Neolithic.6 New architectural, subsistence and ritual practices appear in Macedonia and Crete after 7000 cal BC, in Thessaly around 6500 cal BC, in Bulgaria around 6000 cal BC, and north of the Danube around the mid-6th millennium cal BC (Whittle 1996; Reingru­ber et al. 2017). There is a variety in ways of orga­nizing the lived space, from low density settlements with poorly defined pit-dwellings, such as the Star­.evo-Çris ones, to larger tells revisited for longer pe­riods in central and south Bulgaria and Thessaly, like Karanovo or Sesklo (Whittle 1996.99; Perles 2001.40); the latter are also areas which have a high concentration of settlements. Researchers have long debated the potential causes which lead to the dispersal of these new cultural and social phenomena, with recent aDNA narratives (Hervella et al. 2015) weighing in on the debate and arguing for the incoming of new populations as explanations for the Neolithic archaeological re­cord. However, a high-resolution analysis of the ma­terial record throughout south-east Europe highlights both the complexities of this transition period (see Thissen 2005), and the variability in traits associ­ated with Neolithic ways of life. The second half of the 7th millennium is a dynamic period in which communities referencing or linking in some way to past Mesolithic lifeways or deathways (Bori., Price 2013; Bori., Griffiths 2015) co-exist with communi­ties which settle for the first time. In his latest paper, John Barrett (2019.46) proposes an explanation of how we might imagine differences between communities, especially between hunter-ga­therers and agriculturalists: “Different kinds of people might therefore have been represented by the land over which they held rights, the work that they did, the food and the drink that they were served and that they con­sumed, and the places that they could occupy.” (Barrett 2019.46) In this model, the funerary record can be seen as part of a particular worldview and way of becoming a member of a community – it spoke about who you were and what your place in the world was. It is quite possible that for some communities the depo­sitions of the dead held the memory of practices from their places of origin in faraway lands, bring­ing with them a sense of place and group identity. For other communities, the manipulation of the dead could disrupt the practices they encountered in the places where they settled, or it could construct a continuity by citing them (see Vlasac and Lepenski Vir). Most of the dead of this period remain un­known to us – their funerary practices left no archa­eological trace. However, some of the dead are pre­sent inside settlements, and they become important markers of a community’s identity in the landscape. Their treatment takes several forms, which will con­tinue throughout the Neolithic: (1) ‘ossuaries’ or collective deposits of bodies and body parts (pointing to their retrieval and reten­tion); (2) whole bodies deposited in reused pits or espe­cially dug pits; (3) regional patterns, e.g., cremation in Greece, or children in jars in Bulgaria and Macedonia. Discoveries of human remains come from at least 54 sites (Fig. 2)7 . A very conservative count places the minimum number of individuals at 283, out of which at least 77 are children (excluding from this count a couple of hundred individuals from several sites, such as those from the Danube Gorges, Franchti, Pa-ralia, Cuina Turcului, for which either the precise dat­ing or anthropological analysis is lacking). Scattered bones in the hundreds are also reported. The burials are usually under floors, in pits, or in the occupation levels of settlements between houses, and less fre­quently in abandoned buildings. Some are associat­ed with material culture, but this is quite rare. What is noticeable is that a significant number of sites throughout the area have multiple individuals discovered inside the settlement area: in almost half of the sites there are more than five deposits or in­dividuals, while in some cases the numbers go be­yond 30. It is also not uncommon to discover seve­ral kinds of deposits, both primary and secondary, at the same site, an occurrence in at least 24 of the sites. Thus, we can see that the first ‘agricultural’ set­ 6 In cultural-historical terminology, these communities belonged to the Proto Sesklo complex (Greece), Anzabegovo-Vr.nik and Velu.ina Porodin (Macedonia), Star.evo culture (Serbia), West Bulgarian painted pottery group and Karanovo I-II (Bulgaria), Cris (Romania) and others. 7 There are three different points at the site of Gornea. Alexandra Ion tlements are marked by the presence of the dead and the multi-stage curation of bodies in death – indica­tive of a long-term perspective on death. One of the most well-studied Early Neolithic (EN) sites is Nea Nikomedeia (6400–6000 cal BC; This-sen, Reingruber 2017.134) in Greece. In prehistory the site found itself near a shallow lake or inlet, in a landscape of Mediterranean maquis (Rodden et al. 1962) where agriculture was practiced. The commu­nity cultivated wheat, barley and lentils, and had sheep and goats, but also cattle and pigs (Rodden 1965). The landscape was occupied for a limited pe­riod, maybe a couple of decades (Weninger et al. 2006), with a break between. The excavations unco­vered only a small part of the settlement, which had been affected by modern agricultural works. In the first layer, there were seven individual rectangular houses with mud walls. A seventh building suggests it might have been a communal ritual place (Rodden 1965.85). Throughout the settlement the prehistoric communities interred 35 individuals in pits associat­ed with dwellings (near or inside abandoned ones). Both sexes were present, and all ages, with 22 in­fants and juveniles. In two instances there were mul­tiple individuals: an adult female and two children deposited in a former storage pit, and three children in a separate context (Rodden 1965.90). There were no grave offerings. One interesting discovery is a skeleton on its back with bent legs and with “a large pebble thrust between its jaws” (idem). Spread Fig. 2. Early Neolithic sites in­cluded in the analysis: 1 Aj­mana; 2 Amzabegovo; 3 Ar-gissa; 4 Azmak; 5 Balgar.e­vo; 6 Blagotin; 7 Bukova.ka Cesta; 8 Cavdar; 9 Cuina Tur­cului; 10 Devetaki; 11 Divos-tin; 12 Donja Branjevina; 13 Dzuljunica-Sma¢rde.; 14 Franchthi; 15 Golokut; 16 Gornea; 17 Gradesnica-Malo Pole; 18 Grivac; 19 Grn.ari-ca; 20 Karanovo; 21 Kazan-lak; 22 Kefalovryso; 23 Kova-.evo; 24 Kremikovci; 25 Le-penski Vir; 26 Lerna; 27 Ma¢­gura; 28 Malak Preslavets; 29 Mavropigi Kozanis; 30 Nea Nikomedeia; 31 Ostrovul Corbului; 32 Padina; 33 Pa-ralia; 34 Pecinci-Bara Alici­ja; 35 Pontokomi; 36 Rakito- throughout the settlement were also “pelvic frag­ments, sacral elements, vertebrae and metatar­sals” (idem). There seems to be an array of practices documented in the same place: an individual who probably went through a burial meant to prevent him from coming back (the position on his back with bent knees, the rock in his mouth), then collective deposits pointing to the expression of kinship relationships in death, and also small bone fragments whose presence is usually interpreted from taphonomic studies as left­overs, representing the cleaning of graves. This sug­gests that either some of the bodies were interred in a primary position in the settlement, and after de­cay they were moved elsewhere and these small ele­ments were left behind, or that the bodies were in­terred somewhere else, then their graves opened and reinterred and the bones which were left behind for some reason where brought into the settlement space. However, this latter interpretation makes less sense, based on ethnographic parallels, current ce­metery practices and also the rest of the Neolithic contexts; the hand/foot bones and axial fragments are not usually kept/selected as important anatomi­cal elements. A similar context is at Amzabegovo, one of the ear­liest Neolithic sites in Macedonia, where more than 30 individuals found themselves interred through­out the settlement, some only represented by frag­ vo; 37 Revenia Korinou; 38 Rudnik Kosovski; 39 Saraorci; 40 Schela Cladovei; 41 Sesklo; 42 Slatina-So­fia; 43 Soufli Magoula; 44 Te.i.; 45 Tsiganova-Dositeevo; 46 Tumba Mad.ari; 47 Vaksevo; 48 Velesnica; 49 Vlasac; 50 Xirolimni; 51 Yabalkovo. Base Map Google Earth. Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic ... mentary bodies and body parts. In particular, a new­born buried in a jar and two female individuals (Ne­meskéri, Lengyel 1976) stand out. The liminal posi­tion of the site itself is also interesting, near a mar­shy area (Naumov 2018.52). In this respect, the ob­servation by Goce Naumov (2018.49) that “the tell societies should be observed also as wetland soci­eties as majority of their resources was associated with marshes from flooding rivers and lakes” is useful. But this is a topic for a future study which can look at the placement of these dead in a wider ecological and cultural landscape. Thus, a preliminary observation is that the transfor­mation of the living person into a dead body involv­ed a multi-stage process, with bodies interred and then retrieved to be re-interred within the settlement space, or alongside whole bodies. A second observa­tion is that within these early, more permanent set­tlements, it seems to be important to mark a commu­nity’s presence through interring the dead in that space over a longer time span – we can assume that the 35 individuals at Nea Nikomedeia did not all die at the same time. So, either after the abandonment of the settlement this becomes a cemetery, or even during its occupation. Like the communal building at Nea Nikomedeia, was it possible that these dead were kept as markers of community identity? On the other hand, the double/triple burials might also point to individual voices and sub-group iden­tities: they might have been part of a larger commu­nal effort to honour the dead, but the internment of a woman with children, or children together, point in both the case of Nea Nikomedeia and Amzabego­vo to kinship relations (which need not be biologi­cal). Along the same lines, and challenging our defini­tions, are the collective burials, commingled depo­sits, and ossuaries. In one third of Early Neolithic sites, skeletal remains of multiple individuals have been found in pits, some between dwellings, or dug under dwellings. In these deposits it is not uncom­mon to have adults alongside infants and juveniles, of both sexes, or whole bodies alongside secondary burials. For example, at Ajmana a pit 2.5x1.8m in diameter contained at different depths: “... five adults (three males and two females) and twelve children, some of them in a crouched posi­tion; other individuals were represented by heaps of human bones or single human bones.” (Lichter 2017.117) Prodromos is an exceptional site both due to its long­term year-round occupation (Halstead 1984 apud Perles 2001.153), with 10 successive Early Neolithic layers (Hourmouziadis 1971 apud Perles 2001. 175), but also its rich body imagery – more than 200 figurines (Hourmouziadis 1973 in Nanoglou 2006. 160). Here, under the floor of a large dwelling exca­vators found “eleven skulls and other human bones in three successive deposits, but had not been ar­ranged in an orderly fashion”. They were alongside coloured sherds and silica tools (Lichter 2017.116; Perles 2001.279). No further information is available, but it is clear that this ossuary was revisited over a longer period of time. At Velesnica in Serbia were found three graves, one of which: “Grave 2 was a pit containing five complete skele­tons and parts of perhaps two other skeletons. All were in the flexed position, placed one above the other, so that the bones were mixed [..] The pit was more or less circular in shape, with a diameter of c. 1.20 metres. [..] In the burial pit, especially its upper part, were found fragments of several Star­.evo vessels (Fig. 15), lumps of red fired clay, shells and some animal bones, which may indicate cer­tain burial rituals.” (Vasi. 2008.232–33) Based on the material culture, the position of the skeletons, and “the fact that there are no finds un­derneath skeleton 2G”, the archaeologist concluded that “this was a grave pit, and not a pit for waste that was used secondarily for interment” (Vasi. 2008.232–33). Furthermore, even though it was hard to apply a proper archaeothanatological analy­sis as these were old materials, the anthropologist Mirjana Roksandi. (2008) estimates that “it seems that decomposition of 2G had already taken place before individual 2D was placed in the grave, and therefore a diachronous burial with subsequent interments is most likely.” Lastly, at the Karanovo site (Bulgaria), one of the most important Neolithic sites in the region, in its earliest layers one pit under a dwelling contained “skulls and long bones of a large number of chil­dren not in anatomical order” (Ba¢.varov 2000. 137). How can we interpret these collective deposits? Where the individuals brought together in one sin­gle episode or close in time? Did they die close in time? Why did the community single these individu­ Alexandra Ion als out? Their interpretation relies on several fac­tors which are sometimes hard to infer based on fragmented documentation, but several things point to the fact that these are intentional deposits. First­ly, the care taken when depositing the bodies – they are not simply thrown in a pit, but the bodies are placed seemingly neatly, with care given to the indi­vidual, suggesting deliberate action. They are laid on their right/left, usually in a crouched position, some­times in a ‘Turkish’ position. There also seems to be a pattern regarding the position of the whole skele­tons-crouched and, in some cases, extremely flexed (hocker). In these later instances, where the degree of the flexion of articulations could not have been achieved on fleshed bodies, we can postulate a treat­ment of the body such as mummification, bounding, or smoking. However, detailed histological analyses need to be performed in order to have a secure in­terpretation. While based on old materials it is diffi­cult (and usually impossible) to reconstitute sequen­ces of deposition or identify the presence of additio­nal materials, such as body wrapping or containers, this is something that future excavations should bear in mind (to observe the position of skeleton’s articu­lations, the position of bones, the distance between them, depth, etc.). Secondly, the secondary depositions are mostly com­prised of skulls and long bones. This suggests an in­tentional selection and retention of body parts. In the particular case of ‘ossuaries’, such as the skull pit at Prodromos, such pits were revisited over time and new individuals added. The post-mortem biography of these individuals is a most intriguing aspect, as there seems to be a dif­ferent temporal dimension depending on each indi­vidual. Some individuals’ bodies are placed in a pit, and alongside them, at the same time or later, are added other human remains. These come from other individuals who were interred or left to decompose, the community then collected some of their bones, such as skulls and sometimes long bones. Thus, in the mixed deposits we might infer that the secon­dary body parts pre-date the whole individuals – they are the old dead8 . Therefore, these funerary sites were active over longer time intervals. These cases show that as much care is given to such depo­sits as to single deposits, and I would suggest that they all represent mortuary deposits. But were the pits dug especially for these bodies? Krum Ba¢.varov (2006) discusses re-used pits at Aj­mana and Nea Nikomedeia (possible silos). In other cases, the pits are interpreted as dwellings, or archa­eologists conclude that they were especially dug for the dead – see Velesnica. In reference to this ques­tion, in his latest book, Douglas Bailey (2018) picks up an older debate in archaeology about the purpose of pits in these early settlements, aiming to show that understanding these contexts is interlinked with de­ciphering the relationship between the living and some of the dead. He cites John Chapman, who chose to focus on the materials found in these pits, and talked about their “life cycle, ancestors and depo­sition” (Bailey 2018.25), or Julian Thomas who fo­cused on an orderly structuring of the materials they contain, which is part of a wider ‘economy of sub­stances’ (Thomas 2013). Thus, their ambiguous meaning can tell us something about place-making strategies, memory, ancestors and communities. With the dead (literally) laying the foundations of lived space, or marking its ending, what does this tell us about the beginning of the Neolithic? What is the purpose of these pits, and why deposit individu­als together? On the one hand, the expression of collective identities in death seems to be an impor­tant aspect of these first settlements. Some of the isolated skeletons found beneath dwellings might function as foundation deposits, while others were interred after the settlement was abandoned – see the ones in disused buildings (Nea Nikomedeia). But the collective depositions, and the mix of types of deposits – bodies and body parts – point to complex multi-stage post-mortem manipulations which can be imagined as community graves (or special ances­tors), having a similar function to passage tombs in British Neolithic. Or maybe they even gathered the remains from several communities in the territory?9 There is no geographic pattern, as these are found in Northern Greece, central Bulgaria right south of Balkan Mountains, Central Serbia and Danube Gor­ges alike. 8 It is also possible that they were the first occupants in the pits, after which at a later date, new individuals were added. 9 Further analysis needs to be done to prove/disprove this point. However, we should bear in mind that year-round occupation of a site has been proven in few places, like in Prodromos (see discussion in Perles 2001.153), and it is likely that the same commu­nity moved in a wider area and occupied several points in time. We should also think of ways in which we can apply the concept of kinship to the Neolithic realities – who was deemed a foreigner and who was a local, both in cultural terms, but also in terms of pragmatic distances. From a study by Bori. and Price (2013.3301–3302), out of the 12 tested EN individuals from Ajmana, three had nonlocal values. Similar discoveries come from Lepenski Vir (idem). Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic ... Other elements which support the idea of the im­portance of collective identity at this point in time is the discovery of the ‘communal ‘shrine’ at Nea Ni-komedeia (Perles 2001.271–72). A similar space was at Blagotin, where: “In the center of the Early Neolithic settlement, a large pit feature (ZM7) was excavated [..] The southern zone was where the entrance of the fea­ture was found. It featured a thick daub platform, with two large (30 cm high) female figurines and small altars were found (fig. 11–13). [...] Beneath the daub floor in the southern zone of ZM 7, there was a thick ash deposit which contained the re­mains of a human infant, only a few weeks old (fig. 14). A small pit was found beneath the thick ash deposit. The remains from the pit included a thick deposit of animal bones that were probably deposited in a single episode.” (Greenfield, Green­field 2014.8–10) But ultimately one must ask why these individuals? And why keep the old dead? For a select number of sites, like Lepenski Vir and Vlasac, Du.an Bori. and colleagues (Bori. 2003; Bori., Stefanovi. 2004) have proposed that the use of cremated bones or secondary burials within new graves is a form of ‘bricolage’ in which the past is cited, and thus a me­mory strategy. In this context, it is not only that the dead help create and maintain community ties, but there is also a link between generations. The argu­ments in support of this are the reuse of old funer­ary spots, and that the “exact reference to specific individuals might not have been of paramount im­portance. The use of the same location and the re­petition of identical burial rites might have been attempts to reference the potency of the past as such” (Bori. 2010; Bori., Griffiths 2015.361). Also pointing to a focus on collective-abstract iden­tities are anthropomorphic figurines of the period. In the Early Neolithic we find abstract figures which also speak of “an ontological principle of generic identity” (Nanoglou 2008b.1; see also Naumov 2010). Middle and Late Neolithic: the dead as bound­ary markers Between 5800–4900/4700 cal BC, we see a spread of Neolithic settlements and a diversity in cultural expressions (Fig. 3). What is interesting for the fo­cus of this article is the evidence of a different kind of communal effort: collective depositions of the dead are marking boundaries. During the Middle Neolithic, the largest deposits show an interesting association between ditches (boundaries), human remains and animal remains (feasts). We see such deposits at sites in Greece – at Makrygialos, Toumba Kremastis-Koiladas, Profitis-Ilias-Mandras and Paliam­bela-Kolindrou – and in Bulgaria at Nova Nadezhda, Yabalkovo and Mandra, and at Cârcea in South-East Romania. These discoveries offer us a glimpse into the ways in which communities might have negoti­ated relations of inclusion, or, on the contrary, the banishment and punishment of kin or strangers. Makrygialos (or Makriyalos) is a flat settlement co­vering an area over 60 hectares, with dwellings which do not seem to have been lived in for long: “most of the time, they are nothing more than sim­ple pits dug in the natural bedrock, occasionally groups of interconnected pits” (Kotsakis 2014.57). However, a number of discoveries link the presence of the dead in these contexts to expressions of col­lective identities. Among these are the deposition of the dead in a number of ditches and large pits whose construction required communal effort, alongside deposits which point to collective feasts. The excava­tions in the layers of the first phase (5500/5400– 5000 cal BC) of Makriyalos revealed the remains of more than 70 individuals, whole and fragmentary bodies. Most of these remains came from three di­tches, two of which (Ditches A and B) enclosed “clus­ters of habitation pits what may tentatively be la-belled ‘households” (Pappa et al. 2013), while the third probably subdivided the settlement. The depo­sition of human remains, alongside a significant number of animal bones and ecofacts in pits inside the enclosed area, point to an interesting communal practice. Most of the human remains were found in Ditch A – 12 articulated bodies, seven partially articulated bo­dies, and secondary depositions from another 38 in­dividuals – while the rest of the remains were in the other ditches and also in a large pit in the settlement area (Tryantipoulou 2008.142–146). All ages (ex­cept neonates) and sexes were present. At the same time, taphonomic analysis did not reveal any indica­tion that the bones were at any time exposed to na­tural elements or trampled. Thus, the osteologist in­ferred that they were part of a multi-stage process which might have taken up to three to four years (Rodriguez, Bass 1985 apud Tryantipoulou 2008. 146). The post-mortem biography of these individu­als, as recreated by the specialists, tells a story of bo­dies first deposited elsewhere and then moved into Alexandra Ion ditches, or deposited here from the start. Other in­dividuals from the ditch were dug up, and some bones collected and deposited elsewhere, such as in the settlement pit which had a higher number of long bones, pointing to the intentional selection and retrieval of anatomical elements. To support this is the fact that all anatomical parts were present in ditch A, but there is an under-representation of long bones. This also led the specialists to conclude that there seemed to be a continuous digging and re-dig­ging of Ditch A, pointing to an ongoing practice which required a communal effort, while at the same placing the dead on the settlement’s boundary (see Tryantipoulou 2008). Kostas Kotsakis also writes that the ditches were maintained for a long time, calling them “monuments of communality” (Kotsakis 2014.57). In pit 212, found within the settlement, there was a large number of pottery sherds and animal bones originating from a few tons of meat having been con­sumed, not deposited elsewhere first (Pappa et al. 2004.34). This was interpreted by the archaeologists as the remains of a feast involving the whole com­munity, with “conspicuous consumption of meat involving commensality on a community and pro­bably region wide scale” (Kotsakis 2014.57; see also Halstead 2012.29–30). The remains also point to the expression of indivi­dual identity versus collective identity, which is mir­rored by the relationship between a material culture designed for communal consumption, versus the ex- Fig. 3. Middle and Late Neo­lithic sites included in the analysis: 1 Alepotrypa; 2 Al-maaajelu; 3 Basarabi; 4 Câr­cea (la Hanuri & la Viaduct); 5 Ceamurlia de Jos; 6 Cerna­voda¢ (Columbia & Coada Za¢­voiului); 7 Chaironeia; 8 Co-t atcu; 9 Crus ovu; 10 Dimini; 11 Ezero; 12 Glina; 13 Govr­levo; 14 Gra¢dinile; 15 Izvo­arele; 16 Karanovo; 17 Ka­zanlak; 18 Lerna; 19 Makri­yalos; 20 Malak Preslavets; 21 Obre; 22 Ov.arovo-Gora­ta; 23 Paliambela-Kolindrou; 24 Plovdiv; 25 Profitis Ilias; 26 Prosymna; 27 Rachmani; 28 Samovodene; 29 Skoteini; 30 Stara Zagora; 31 Stavra­pouli; 32 Toumba Kremastis-Koiladas; 33 Tsangli. Base Map Google Earth. pression of individual identities: the standardized serving vessels (Kotsakis 2014.57) versus the cups which were mostly found only in the pit and which “were highly individualized both technologically and stylistically, exhibiting an endless variability in form, decoration and technology” (Kotsakis 2014.58). In northern Greece, we see similar occurrences at other open-air sites, at Toumba Kremastis-Koiladas and Paliambela-Kolindrou. At Toumba Kremastis-Koiladas (Triantaphyllou 2008.144) there are 400 pits with mixed assemblages, among which are hu­man remains. There seems to be a preference for the retention of particular anatomical elements, es­pecially long bones. In the ditches of the settlement were found several individuals, among whom were two neonates and two children. Paliambela-Kolindrou (Triantaphyllou 2008.144–6), a Middle Neolithic site of 2.4ha close to Makriyalos, was surrounded by a system of ditches and it slowly evolved into a tell (Kotsakis 2014.58). In these di­tches were found both skulls which “seem to be ga­thered in groups, and deposited” (idem), but also postcranial remains of a neonate and an adult and three bodies (infant, juvenile, adult). Lastly, and towards the final part of this interval, at Late Neolithic Alepotrypa, we find human remains deposited in a context which marks a different kind of boundary, a cave. Among these, in ossuary II (Pa-pathanasiou 2009), were 14 skulls and numerous Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic ... other cranial and post-cranial bones of both adults and children from a total of 19 individuals. Accord­ing to the specialists: “All skulls appeared to lack mandibles and many were carefully and deliberately placed. Almost all were upright, positioned next to one another and occasionally encircled by stones. One skull was purposely set in the bottom of a broken pithos. Ca-vanagh and Mee (1998.120) further observe that, in general, the ‘awe-inspiring setting, the large number of humans suggest ritual which reached beyond the local community’.” (Talalay 2004.148) Going north, we also find human remains in ditches, but this time they speak of different treatments of the cadaver. These are found at the sites Nova Nade­zhda, Yabalkovo, Mandra and Cârcea. All of these are dated between 5900–4900/4700 cal BC. At Cârcea-La Viaduct, the archaeologist identified a Star.evo-Cris III ditch which “after a short existence it was filled with yellow compact soil, with ceramic fragments and human skulls” (Nica 1976; 1977). It should be noted that the stratigraphic context is in­secure, as in the same area later complexes have been identified and it is difficult to make a secure at­tribution to a specific context. What is interesting about these human remains is that they display pe­rimortem interventions, which include a cut-out ‘face’, the back of a skull, and a skull broken in half (Ion et al. 2009). A young woman’s skull had a tre­phination with signs of healing (Ion et al. 2009.55), while several other individuals bore signs of peri­mortem violence – these combined can point to the fact that the individuals in the ditch might have been seen as “others”, deserving punishment, or had an illness that killed them. As such, it is possible that by being placed in the liminal space they could be seen by those coming from the outside, while also being removed from those inside the boundary. A post-mortem biography suggests that three of the individuals discovered at Carcea: “... have lesions that are very likely to be linked to a violent death, namely two cases of blunt force trauma to the parietal and one case in which seve­ral lesions were caused by a blow to the face that broke the nose and cracked the teeth. Apart from these lesions, a large number of bones have been broken while still fresh. Through anthropomorphic actions. [...] For individuals 1, 2a, 3a, 3b, 5d, 6, 7, 9 the skull was separated from the body, the man­dible was removed and probably the face was also separated from the rest (completely or just par­tially) through several blows. The morphology of the breaks suggest that they were made while the bones were still fresh, a fact that involves the re­moval of the covering soft tissue. For this, either the body was left to skeletonise or the overlying skin and muscles were removed by humans. The human skeletal representation bias (crania and long bones) is more consistent with a deliberate selection, than as a consequence of animal scav­enging and random preservation [..] bones were processed just after death – decapitated at least, if not also skinned and defleshed (brain removed) (the broken masseteric region of the zygomatic bone can support the hypothesis of muscle remo­val) and then “cut” in some desired shapes – a face (6), a cup-like [piece] (5d), pieces of skull cut out (3a). Either way, the process happened soon after death, a couple of months the latest.” (Ion et al. 2009.57–58) Here we witness a transformation of personhood, from complete bodies to dismemberment and frag­mentation, followed by deposition among commin­gled animal bones and ceramic fragments, in a ditch or pits. Whatever the reason for their retention, after the manipulation of bodies they were placed on the boundary of the community space. Is it pos­sible that they were ‘thrown’ or placed – on a plat­form, or on poles1 0 – as punishment or precaution in a liminal space? At Yabalkovo, we find a similar situation: three adult bodies were found in the ditches, in the later parts of their backfill, two of these looking as if they had been thrown in – the individuals were on their backs with the legs bent in a 90 degree angle, or on their fronts (Roodenberg et al. 2013). Two of these were females, and one male. Interestingly, the skull of the male, along with another cranial fragment from a different individual which was found close-by, show­ed marks of perimortem interventions with a sharp instrument, maybe an axe. This skeleton also had his legs bound. This made the researchers infer a possible execution. Another of the bodies had “a large part of the skull missing post mortem” (Ro­odenberg et al. 2013). 10 A 10–14 year-old individual’s cranium displays lateral gaps which could have allowed for its display (though without further ana­lysis this is simply a speculation). Alexandra Ion Thus, during the Middle and Late Neolithic, human remains seem to be a recurrent discovery in con­texts which can be interpreted as liminal, as mark­ing a boundary. Interestingly, they seem to be caught in a duality of practices: some of inclusion, and oth­ers of exclusion. At Paliambela, Makryalos and Ale-potrypa, we see deposits which were probably the result of communal rituals – maybe those expressing kinship ties – and their deposition in ditches or caves marks the creation of ‘communal monuments’. In the case of Yabalkovo and Cârcea, the individuals in the ditch seemed to have been outcasts, thrown away and punished in some way, excluded from the settlement. Final Neolithic and Eneolithic: powerful ances­tors and a cycle of renewal As time went by, new technologies emerged, like the processing of copper, economic networks spread over wide areas, new pottery styles appeared and changes in social organization and ways of inhabit­ing the landscape. Tells appear in southern Romania and provide rich deposits and elaborate material culture. Life in tells continues south of the Danube, while in Greece discoveries are scarcer for this time period, with very little funerary evidence. For the purpose of this article, I will focus on two important aspects for this time interval which overlaps with the end of the Boian-Marica culture and the Gumelnita­Kodzadermen-Karanovo VI complex and Vin.a D: (1) the appearance of a new way of marking death in the landscape – extra-mural cemeteries – and how this changes the relationships of communi­ties with their dead; (2) documenting beliefs in a cycle of renewal which linked burnt dwellings, tells and human remains. After 5500 cal BC, cemeteries separated from settle­ments slowly start to emerge (see Stratton et al. 2018). Some of the best known and largest cemete­ries, like Durankulak, Varna, Cernica, Va¢ra¢sti, or Cer­navoda¢, included hundreds of buried individuals, were in use for decades and their inventory points to a display of wealth in death (interpreted as so­cial inequality) – as seen with the presence of gold in graves, marble or bone figurines, and pots. But the presence of the dead among the living contin­ues: bodies are still interred inside the settlement space (Fig. 4), and traces of the living (building struc­tures) are found inside some cemeteries. Further­more, inside cemeteries, archaeologists have found fragmentary human remains, usually interpreted as reinhumations, grave openings or tertiary deposits (‘cleaning’ depositions) (Laza¢r 2012.114–115; Con-stantinescu, Culea 2014; Koga¢lniceanu et al. 2016). Who then is kept inside settlements, who is reburied in cemeteries, and what roles do they play in the life of communities? We can propose the existence of a link maintained between cemeteries and set­tlements through the circulation of dead bodies between the two. On the one hand, archaeologists have documented that at some point after the de­composition of bodies, a group/the community open­ed some graves in the cemeteries and selected the cranium/skull, and sometimes other anatomical ele­ments (see Chapman 2010; Koga¢lniceanu et al. 2016; Koga¢lniceanu, Simalcsik 2018). There is also evidence of redepositions of such fragments in the cemetery area, in new deposits either as careful ‘packages’, or in groups of individuals. This raises the question as to whether some of the retrieved body parts were taken to the settlement and depo­sited there, or after a time they were reburied in the cemetery. It also possible that the dead from the settlements and the ones in the cemeteries did not cross paths. What is certain is that research so far has not found all the missing body parts, or links between the redeposits and the reopened graves. But to document these one needs careful stratigra­phic observations (retrieval pits), taphonomic ana­lysis – so that the missing elements are not due to preservation issues or post-depositional natural di­sturbances – and also studies to establish if the re­deposited bones had been kept out into the open, or immediately buried. At the same time, the FN and Eneolithic are times when the dead are part of a wider worldview which sees the manipulation of materialities – human bones, clay, animal bones – in a cycle of destruc­tion and renewal: from the breaking down of bod­ies, to the intentional burning down of houses and fragmentation of material culture (see Stevanovi. 1997; Chapman 2000; Dragoman, Oanta¢-Marghi­tu 2007). In a preliminary study on the human re­mains discovered in settlements in southern Roma­nia, it became apparent that half were associated with a dwelling, a quarter with ‘waste areas’, and the rest were scattered throughout or in pits (Ion 2008). As an example, we can look at the discoveries in tells from southern Romania, in the wider area of the late Boian-Gumelnita tells. Tells are artificial mounds, the result of successive layers of occupation, inten­ Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic ... tional discard, and accumulation, which are as much a monument of the dead and of death as they are of the living, comprised of dead bod­ies, intentionally killed houses (see Ruth Tringham’s seminal work), and hearths, as well as a specially depo­sited material culture, thus collaps­ing the distinction between the ar­chaeology of settlements and funer­ary archaeology, between sacred and mundane. We find some of the dead under dwellings or in pits, but also some unusual cases, deposited either in buildings before they were burnt down, or in what has been interpret­ed as rubbish areas (Ion 2008). In a previous study (Ion forthcom­ing) on three skulls found at the Eneolithic tell at Ca¢scioarele-Ostro­vel, I have proposed that through their integration in specific assem­blages they became containers (War-nier 2006; Dragoman 2016). The human remains were buried next to hearths and placed alongside horned figurines and deer antlers, gathering the wild resources which were sur­rounding the tell. Based on ethno­graphic parallels, we might infer that the community turned the dead into powerful ancestors who could act either as protection or mediums that could harness specific vital substan- Fig. 4a-b. Final Neolithic and Eneolithic sites included in the ana­ces. lysis: 1 Aibunar; 2 Aldeni; 3 Alunis u; 4 Ba¢la¢nes ti; 5 Bordus ani; 6 Bucs ani; 7 Ca¢scioarele; 8 Cheia; 9 Chitila; 10 Cunes ti; 11 Curma¢tu-The site of Pietrele-Gorgana offers ra; 12 Dra¢ganes ti-Olt; 13 Gumelnit a; 14 Hârs ova; 15 Hotnitsa; 16 Însura¢t ei; 17 Kameni.ki Potok; 18 Kitsos; 19 Kodjadermen; 20 another interesting case study. This Kubrat; 21 Lis coteanca; 22 Luncavit a; 23 Makrychori; 24 Ma¢riu- is a site in the Lower Danube plains, t a; 25 Na¢vodari; 26 Palioskala; 27 Pietrele Gorgana; 28. Prodro- a tell mound within a wider flat set- mos; 29 Racheva Mogila-Yambol; 30 Radovanu; 31 Ruse; 32 Salma­tlement, with multiple levels of oc-novo-Deneva Mogila; 33 Stoenes ti-Tangîru; 34 Suceveni; 35 Sulta­cupation spanning 5200–4250 cal na; 36 Vidra; 37 Yasatepe; 38 Yunatsite. Base Map Google Earth. BC (Hansen 2015) (the Boian and Gumelnita cultures, in terms of traditional chronol-In the northern part of the tell two main dwellings ogy). The mound itself revealed rich material both (B-West and B-East) were uncovered, between which in terms of quantity and quality, such as burnt and was an area 2m wide with deposits of ash, green unburnt houses – what Ian Hodder (2010) has soil, shells, and animal bones. In the SW area of the called ‘history houses’ – a rich inventory of pottery, tell archaeologists found other dwellings in the F fishing and hunting tools, gold and hundreds of cop-area, separated by similar “waste areas”. Human re-per objects, 12 000 silex artefacts, “535 anthropo-mains were found in all of these contexts: on surface morphic and 109 zoomorphic statuettes”, “100 ar-F were nine individuals in a burnt dwelling with the chitectural and 80 furniture models” (Hansen remains from 10 other individuals outside it; and on 2015.277–278). surface B, remains from 23 individuals were outside Alexandra Ion dwellings, with one individual in each dwelling (Wahl 2006; 2007; 2008). All anatomical elements were present, but the high percentage of coxal bones, axial skeleton, and hand and foot bones, as well as a few cranial fragments, point to interesting taphonomic observations. Firstly, the human remains were not deposited to­gether, as Alexandru Dragoman and Sorin Oanta¢-Marghitu were the first to notice (2007.117): in the case of a young individual (possibly female) repre­sented by fragments of a femur and humerus, some of the remains were in the debris of the dwelling B-West, while the other fragments were outside it, in the ‘waste area’; the fragments match each other. A similar situation is the case of a silex blade de­posited with other blades in a pot in a dwelling in the B-East section, which refits with a blade frag­ment found under another pot found in the B-west dwelling, and “there are 12m between the two con­texts” (Dragoman, Oanta¢-Marghitu 2007.118). This links to Chapman’s (2000) thesis about fragmenta­tion practices as enchainment practices during the Neolithic, in which broken bodies, pots and blades are shared and circulated for the maintenance of social relations. Another observation which points to intentional ma­nipulation and deposition of human remains be­tween the debris of burnt dwellings is that not all human remains found among the debris of burnt buildings show signs of contact with fire (Wahl 2006; 2007; 2008; Dragoman, Oanta¢-Marghitu 2007). A similar situation is encountered for the archaeologi­cal material (idem): for the B-West construction “only 12% of the 1618 pottery fragments are sec­ondarily burnt (S. Hansen et al. 2004.16/Abb. 13)” (Dragoman, Oanta¢-Marghitu 2007.117). This sug­gests that after the houses were intentionally de­stroyed, care was taken and human remains, pots and other materials were deposited among the de­bris, possibly creating a ritual assemblage which closed off an episode in the life of the community. In the words of Maxime Brami (2014.161): “a ‘clo­sure’ at the end of their use-lives”. Another interesting situation is the case of nine in­dividuals found in the central dwelling of the sur­face, dated 4450–4330 cal BC. The osteological ana­lysis identified 200 human remains belonging to nine individuals (Wahl 2008; 2010). The bones went through DNA testing, which revealed that they were related. The archaeologist interpreted the context “as people who met their death in the conflagra­tion of the house” (Hansen, Toderas 2007.13). What is particularly interesting is the relationship of the bodies to the construction they were part of. In this case, there are several remarkable aspects: a striking lack of cranial and leg bones, not all hu­man remains display heat marks from the presumed fire, some bones were found outside the dwelling with gnawing marks, and a chisel made of a human bone was found among the remains (Wahl 2010). The lack of the long bones of the legs, which are some of the most robust elements, might point to the intentional selection of body parts post fire. Thus, what slowly emerges is a picture where a func­tionalist description of the context – nine individu­als caught by fire – might actually be a more com­plex form of funerary deposition. An alternative scenario would be that in the case of the F-dwelling, the nine individuals died together and at around the same time (maybe even under a house collapse), and their bodies were placed in a house which was intentionally burnt down – it was symbolically killed. Then, some of the body parts were selected and cir­culated in other areas of the tell, and one even went through a complete transformation into an artifact (Wahl 2007). Thus, we witness acts of ‘de-persona­lization’ (unmaking of personhood), with these in­dividuals becoming generic ancestors – embedded in the makeup of the tell. Their treatment also mir­rors the treatment of certain categories of material culture. Together they become part of mixed assem­blages, active places in which substances were con­tained, and as such made potent, which in turn lead to a fluid boundary between settlement, funerary, and ‘sacred’ spaces. Other discoveries of multiple in­dividuals’ bodies among the debris of dwellings were made at Yunatsite, Hotnitsa and Ruse tell in Bulgaria (Chernakov 2010). However, in those cases there might be different explanations. The large number of skeletons discovered at Yunatsite and Ruse, and the position in which some were found, might suggest that the sites were abandoned as liv­ing spaces and left to the dead after a possibly vio­lent episode(s). Other sites with skeletons reported with blunt force trauma are at Kodjadermen, Salma­novo-Denev and Kubrat (Bobov 2003; Georgieva, Russeva 2016). Besides these ritual assemblages, most of the disco­veries during this time are nondescript primary bu­rials or secondary depositions spread throughout the settlements. But there are also a number of cases of skulls/long bones which display trauma marks, and perimortem processing. In some cases, these Why keep the old dead around| Bringing together theory and method in the study of human remains from Balkan (E)Neolithic ... were interpreted as cannibalism – a number of fe­murs from Ca¢scioarele-Ostrovel (Laza¢r, Soficaru 2005), and others from Kodjadermen. In other cases, researchers found bones turned into artefacts: a hu­merus and a femur turned into chisels at Pietrele-Gorgana (Wahl 2007; 2008) and skull roundels (in­terpreted as amulets) and a skull turned into a bowl at Kozareva Mogila (Georgieva, Russeva 2016). These situations remind us of the Grota Scalloria case: on the one hand, we witness a stripping away of individuality until an individual becomes a body-artefact. On the other hand, after it is processed as such, the bone seems to become potent – either it now represents ‘the ancestor’, a fact which confers the roundels with some magical qualities, or the bone substance can be used to achieve protection/ another desired outcome. Death, liminality and collective identities in the Balkan (E)Neolithic Based on the evidence presented in this text, my claim is that we should go beyond seeing the hu­man remains discovered in settlements as unusu­al/atypical/non-funerary discoveries. Instead, they can be read as traces of complex multi-stage funer­ary practices, which contributed to the creation and manipulation of collective identities. When it comes to the interpretation of the findings there is always a challenge. What is clear is that for this time inter­val most of the dead remain hidden from our view. But if we were to follow the argument that their low number and presence in settlements places them outside the normal funerary customs it would be a mistake. If we enter an Orthodox church, most of the representations we see would be of angels and saints – and yet they are not the most important ones. Similarly, most of our material possession, ‘the stuff’ that surrounds us, gets thrown away, discard­ed. However, the few treasured heirlooms that we have from our ancestors usually escape the passage of time, and are kept and passed on. For several reasons, some of the dead were selected, curated, and then kept around. In some cases, we can document the care given to their internment, with the addition of grave offerings or grouping of indivi­duals. In other cases, we might imagine that what we find are outcasts, interred in the boundary of the set­tlements as a social act of exclusion, or victims of violent acts who are left abandoned in the houses. During the Early Neolithic we see examples where multiple individuals come together in death, maybe in a form of collective tombs of community/kin which mark their presence in the landscape, but de­void of the elaborate architectural expressions as we see for Western Europe. Between 5800–4700 cal BC we see several depositions of bodies in settle­ments’ ditches, playing with the duality of exclusion-inclusion. Some of these ditches probably became communal monuments, while others were places for the symbolic banishment of individuals. Lastly, for the Eneolithic period, the dead seem to be integrat­ed in mixed and potent assemblages which com­prised architecture, figurines, and animal bones, in a cycle of life, destruction, and renewal. Even so, throughout the millennia we find both adults and children, young and old individuals, non­descript primary burials or secondary and tertiary discoveries. Some sites have a few human remains, while others have dozens of individuals. Some types of discoveries occur throughout the focal time peri­od, while others are only present at some sites. Upon reviewing the hundreds of entries in the data­base it has been a challenge to sort through them in order to find a connecting thread. This was partly due to the wealth of contextual data available, and also due to the lack of vital information pertaining to most of these discoveries – anthropological and taphonomic analyses, absolute dating or anthropo­logie de terrain observations. In their absence it is difficult to draw a finer grained picture. Therefore, with this text I aimed to bring into view the available data, alongside methodological and theoretical con­siderations. This might help us better navigate future research projects, and open us towards more refined and wider questions regarding the remains found in­side settlements. The Neolithic and Eneolithic periods were times of mobility of plants and people, of local and long-dis­tance networks to supply the raw materials needed, to obtain marriage partners and to sustain transhu­mance. It was also a period in which the relation­ships between individuals and communities took specific forms, in a continuous negotiation. It would be interesting to explore in the future how (and if) we can adapt anthropological terminology to a more refined interpretation of the past: Who was kin? Who was local/foreigner? If we look at the materi­al culture, the design of pots and figurines changes throughout the period, from “an ontological princi­ple of generic identity” in the Early Neolithic (Na-noglou 2008b.1) to individualized figurines; the re­mains of the feasts at Makryalos suggest the expres­sion of individual voices in the collectivity, as do the Alexandra Ion graves from the Varna cemetery. Thus, what is the role of the dead in these tensions among individu­als, groups and communities? This is an issue to be further explored. Even so, and as a preliminary conclusion, from the earliest Neolithic contexts to the advent of new tra­ditions starting with the early centuries of the 4th millennium BC, the presence of the dead within the living spaces of communities seems to remain con­stant. Moreover, these dead had dynamic afterlives in which their bodies underwent transformations and moved through space. As Fredrik Fahlander writes: “The decaying body is in a constant state of change, from corpse to bones to ultimately disappearance of any visual traces. [..] Is there a boundary when a corpse no longer represents the buried person? [..] is there a stage when a grave is no longer seen as a proper human burial (Kümmel 2005)?” (Fah-lander 2018.59) It is thus important to move beyond simply labelling the remains inside settlements as non-funerary or deviant discoveries, and to attempt to interpret them in the context of the wider social practices which contributed to the creation and maintenance of identities. The manipulation of the dead cannot be fully understood without linking them to prac­tices of material culture depositions, and the imag­ining of place, while the concept of settlements can­not be understood without including the presence of the dead. Dwellings and settlements had dynamic biographies, and so did the bodies and body parts which circulated, were deposited or curated, even discarded, and in the process, they linked genera­tions and places, in a cycle of birth-death-renewal. Throughout the Neolithic and Eneolithic we witness a fluidity between categories that is also expressed through material culture: miniature clay objects could represent altars-ovens-female bodies (see Naumov 2010), an ambiguity between animal and human forms – e.g., the case of ‘frog’ figurines which could also represent women giving birth in other contexts (Perles 2001.267) or mixed animal/human figurines and pots. In this universe, the boundary between life and death was also a fluid one, and some of the dead made it manifest in the space of the settle­ments. In essence, based on a general review of the evi­dence, one could say that what happened with these dead individuals fulfilled a number of roles in the continued life of the communities and groups – it was necessary to keep some of the dead around. Central to these beliefs was probably the manipu­lation and memorialization of powerful ancestors in the space of the living. While it is difficult to escape modern ways of thinking when writing about these remains, we should try and escape the need for clear cut definitions, as it is possible that we deal with opposing motivations: it is quite possible that while some of the individuals were selected and re­tained inside settlements as a sign of appreciation, others were discarded and denied proper burial (see the discussion on some of the bodies found in di­tches, some of the examples of remains in ‘rubbish areas’, or bodies-artefacts). Of course, it is also pos­sible that some individuals/remains were useful for some time, after which they were ‘discarded’/depo­sited in waste areas, ditches, etc. On a case by case basis we can try and narrow our interpretation. Even so, I think we should be open to speculation and to proposing alternative scenarios – a way in which we can take the study of these remains further. Regardless of the reasons for keeping the dead close, each time the living passed by them they might have thought of the words of Mary Elizabeth Frye: “Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.” ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am grateful to Laerke Recht, Iulia Nitescu, Marian Coman, Ionut Epurescu-Pascovici, Radu Dipratu and Ioanna Moutafi for their comments on previous drafts of this text. I also thank Liv Nilsson Stutz and Goce Naumov for their valuable suggestions and cor­rections. All of these have made this a much better text. I am grateful to John Robb for agreeing to su­pervise me during my Marie Sklodowska-Curie fellow­ship, and to Krum Ba¢.varov for helping me in a mo­ment of need. The research for this article took place during a project which has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and inno­vation programme under the Marie Sklodowska-Cu­rie grant agreement No. 701230. 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Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Bell Beaker cultural package in the East European periphery of the phenomenon> a case of ritual features in north-eastern Poland Dariusz Manasterski 1, Katarzyna Januszek 1, Adam Wawrusiewicz 2, and Aleksandra Klecha3 1 Institute of Archaeology, University of Warsaw, Warsaw, PL dmanasterski@uw.edu.pl< katarzyna.januszek@uw.edu.pl 2 Podlachian Museum in Bial/ystok, Bial/ystok, PL adamwawrusiewicz@op.pl 3 Antiquity of Southeastern Europe Research Center, University of Warsaw, Warsaw, PL aleksandraaklecha@gmail.com ABSTRACT – The Bell Beaker (BB) cultural package is one of the concepts explaining the extensive diffusion of this phenomenon in Europe. Artefacts associated with the package, discovered mainly in the graves of men, form groups defining the status of the deceased. The BB package is a dynamic turn of events, changing depending on the region, but preserving certain characteristic traits. The complete set of its initial ingredients was not copied in any location, and new local elements were added in various areas of its diffusion. The ritual features unearthed in north-eastern Poland, which contained elements of the BB package, are the assemblages located the furthest in the East European periphery of the phenomenon. The eco- and artefacts from these assemblages are difficult to inter­pret conclusively within the framework of the classic BB package, as well as in terms of its changes associated with its diffusion. This is connected with the fact that they include elements unknown among the local cultural entities, which reflect the broad circle of contacts their owners maintained. KEY WORDS – Bell Beaker cultural package; ritual features; north-eastern Poland Kulturni paket zvon;astih ;a[ na obrobju pojava v vzhodni Evropi> primer ritualnih zna;ilnosti na severovzhodu Poljske IZVLE.EK – Kulturni paket zvon.astih .a. je eden od konceptov, s katerim razlagamo obse.no .ir­jenje tega pojava v Evropi. Najdbe, ki jih povezujemo s tem paketom, so bile odkriti predvsem v mo.­kih grobovih, pri .emer oblikovane skupine dolo.ajo status pokojnika. Ta kulturni paket predstav­lja dinami.en razvoj dogodkov, ki se spreminja glede na regijo, pri .emer pa ohranja dolo.ene zna-.ilne lastnosti. Celoten nabor za.etnih sestavin tega paketa ni bil kopiran na nobenem mestu, so pa bili dodani novi lokalni elementi na razli.nih obmo.jih njegove difuzije. Ritualne zna.ilnosti, ki so jih izkopali na severovzhodu Poljske, vsebujejo elemente kulturnega paketa zvon.astih .a. in so hkrati primer najbolj oddaljenega obrobja tega pojava v vzhodni Evropi. Ekofakte in najdbe teh zbi­rov je te.ko dokon.no interpretirati tako v okviru klasi.nega paketa kulture zvon.astih .a. kot v smislu sprememb, ki so povezane z difuzijo tega paketa. To je povezano z dejstvom, da paket vklju-.uje neznane elemente med lokalnimi kulturnimi entitetami, ki odsevajo .ir.i krog povezav, ki so jih vzdr.evali njihovi nosilci. KLJU.NE BESEDE – kulturni paket zvon.astih .a.; ritualne zna.ilnosti; severovzhodna Poljska DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.20 Bell Beaker cultural package in the East European periphery of the phenomenon> a case of ritual features in north-eastern Poland Introduction Bell Beakers (BB) as a cultural phenomenon have been a subject of research since the 19th century. This is a consequence of not only the high level of identification of sources associated with this cultural entity (mainly pottery) in archaeological material, but also their broad distribution in Europe and even in north-western Africa. The reasons for such disper­sion are still under analysis. Some data also indicate significant mobility of representatives of this cultur­al formation, which is confirmed by analyses of stron­tium and oxygen isotopes, e.g., in the Amesbury ar­cher (Chenery, Evans 2011). One of the results of such a situation is a high degree of heterogeneity of the artefacts associated with BB in a given area, which often led to issues with interpretation. This is reflected by various concepts accounting for this phenomenon – from an archaeological culture, cul­tural package to civilization perspective (cf. Lemer­cier 2018.Fig. 4). Other studies on trends in the im­plementation of various innovations connected with BB in several European regions show that there were many local ways in which the groups adopted or even invented different innovations (e.g., metallur­gy or a certain type of pottery), as well as many ways of exchange of ideas, traffic of various objects and migration of particular individuals (Kleijne 2019. 194). As indicated by Oliver Lemercier (2018.77), both the similarities and differences in BB sources probably stem from the means of diffusion, which might have been connected with the artefacts or ideas themselves, particular individuals, or whole populations. One of the possible means of diffusion is associated with a broader understanding of the term cultural package. In methodological assumptions the term cultural package refers to an artefact assemblage, not to an archaeological culture, with both terms used in con­trast to the other. Archaeological cultures in the clas­sical definition are stable entities (taxonomical units) with discriminative traits, determined on the basis of internal similarities and external differences, vis­ible mainly in portable artefacts and fixed features characterized by a strictly defined location in time and space. From the perspective proposed by Frank Roy Hodson, in which significant characteristics and style types are essential, a culture is a recurrent set of style types (Hodson 1980.6). On the other hand, a cultural package is, according to Steven Shennan (1982.159), a group of status-de­fining objects, i.e. a set of personal belongings used to demonstrate the prestige of the owner, who en­joyed a high status in a given society (see also Ren­frew 2001.122). The cultural package, free from the limitations of strict relations between the artefacts and time and space (intra-assemblage relationships acc. Hodson), emphasizes the properties showing significant dynamics of participation of various indi­viduals and their groups (e.g., secret societies) in the transmission of cultural information (codes). Ja­nusz Czebreszuk, although he agreed with the basic assumptions concerning the cultural package, sug­gested that it should be specified and used with ref­erence to phenomena characteristic of BB and visi­ble in the south-western Baltic zone (Czebreszuk 2001.44–47, 140–142). According to him, the identi­fication of a phenomenon as a cultural package (in this case the BB package) does not determine its cul­tural character, although it is still associated with a particular cultural content. The package set, both the objects and ideas (selected objects symbolizing an idea), is such an attractive cultural value that it spreads over large territories, but observes the rule of diffusion among societies which had somehow been connected with each other before. For this rea­son, it is a dynamic phenomenon, it changes on a regional scale, but preserves certain similarities. The initial version of the package is not completely copied in any region, and new local elements are in­corporated in the course of diffusion. In this way, the cultural package, being subject to change in time and space, leads to transformation of only some elements of the culture associated with a given society, e.g., a particular tradition in a certain group, usually leav­ing other aspects without material changes. In the case of the classical (Iberian) version of the BB cultural package, objects associated with burials, apart from bone remains of individuals deposited lying on the side with bent knees, are its essential indicators. The objects include, most of all, the bell beaker, decorated with a zone or zone-metopic pat­tern, sometimes with other vessels decorated in a si­milar manner, archer’s accessories, copper dagger and Palmela point, nodular bone beads with V-shap­ed perforations, a diadem or gold foil plaquette (e.g., Garrido-Pena 2007.1, Fig. 1). Nevertheless, due to the movement of the package in time and space, some changes appeared, e.g., bell beaker-shaped goblets and mugs, sometimes without any decora­tion, or other previously foreign objects were depo­sited with the burials of the societies adopting this package. Gold lunulas, whose distribution is limited mainly to north-western Europe, are also associated with BB. Apart from that, the movement of the BB Dariusz Manasterski, Katarzyna Januszek, Adam Wawrusiewicz, and Aleksandra Klecha package was associated with the conversion of bur­ial practices from inhumation to cremation in some regions (the Lower Rhine River and Central Europe), which is obviously evidence for changes in the be­lief system and rituals. Sources discovered in recent years in north-eastern Poland (Supraœl, site 3) belong to sealed assemblages connected with the BB phenomenon located fur­thest northeast (Wawrusiewicz et al. 2015). The eco- and artefacts from these assemblages are diffi­cult to interpret conclusively in the context of the classical BB package, and in terms of its transforma­tions in the course of the journey ‘from neighbour to neighbour’. For this reason, the most important research issue is to establish the origin of the un­earthed sources and the associated socio-cultural ac­tivity. This will also answer the question as to whe­ther this is a case of diffusion of ideas or migration of individuals. The area of modern north-eastern Poland, which consists of the Masurian Lake District and the North Podlachian Lowland, was still dominated by hun­ter-gatherer societies of the Neman Cultural Circle (NCC) in the Late Neolithic and Early Bronze Age (Mana­sterski 2016.16). In the Early Bronze Age they became a part of the Trzciniec cultural circle, which formed at that time. It is difficult to find a reason why these groups changed their cultural profile. The recurrent attempts to po­pulate this region in the Neo­lithic, made by farming and pastoral communities, did not bring substantial changes in the traditional economic and social structure of the auto-chthonic populations which would be visible in archaeo­logical material. Archaeologi­cal discoveries from the Ma-surian Lake District were the first to shed some light on the transformation of these local groups into Early Bronze Age societies (Manasterski 2009). However, the absence of evi­dence necessary for conclu­sive identification of ‘West Eu­ropean immigrants’ in north­eastern Poland was a major cognitive dissonance. This big area delivered only isolated small fragments of vessels with zone-metopic decoration, which were identified with the influence of the Iwno culture (IC) – a group with a marked BB component (Manaster-ski 2009.74–81; 2012a; 2014). The situation chang­ed only when features with artefacts characteristic of BB were discovered at site 3 in Supraœl in north Podlachia (Wawrusiewicz et al. 2015.23–27, Fig. 5; Manasterski 2016.12–13, Figs. 1, 2). The artefacts from that site can be regarded as critical for discus­sion of BB in north-eastern Poland. It is even more interesting that up to that moment the frontier of the north-eastern ecumene of this cultural phenome­non (cf. Machnik 1979b; Czebreszuk 2001.116– 142, Fig. 35; Vander Linden 2004; Budziszewski, W³odarczak 2010.9–10, Fig. 25) was marked by di­scoveries from areas previously populated by agri­cultural societies (cf. Fig. 1). Bell Beaker features from Supraœl, site 3 This multi-cultural site is situated in north-eastern Poland in the North Podlachian Lowland, in the Kny­szyn Primeval Forest. It is located on a flood plain Bell Beaker cultural package in the East European periphery of the phenomenon> a case of ritual features in north-eastern Poland on the right bank of the Su­praœl River on an elevation which is an erosion mound of the Pleistocene river (Fig. 2). The hill where relics of pre-historic societies were un­earthed is composed of sandy fluvio-glacial sediments cov­ered with brown soil. Four features (assemblages of eco-and artefacts), clearly con­nected with the BB phenom­enon, were found in its cen­tral, uppermost portion (Fig. 3). Their deposition, distribu­tion and certain recurrent features indicate ‘planned behaviour’ (for the theory of see Ajzen 2005.117– 119). Feature 1 It was an oval concentration of eco- and artefacts, measuring approx. 90 x 120cm and displaying inten­tional distribution (Fig. 4; Wawrusiewicz et al. 2015. 33–90). The assemblage consisted of: fragments of burned bones, an intact vessel and fragments of ten other vessels, two damaged amber beads, 20 flint and four stone artefacts. Two of the lat­ter were intact and the other two fragmented. A large undecorated pottery vessel (Fig. 4.1) was deposit­ed in the centre, with anoth­er, also undecorated one (Fig. 4.2), inside. Next to these ves­sels, there was a small assem­blage of fragmented and burned human bones (Fig. 4.E), weighing almost 24g in total. These remains came from two individuals (Jaskul-ska 2015.249–251). There were halves of two amber beads (Fig. 4.3,4; Kwiatkow-ska 2015.325–334) among the bone fragments. The bones and beads were most likely deposited in an organ­ic container of a bag type (pouch?) and covered with a large fragment of a decorated vessel (Fig. 4.5). Two blade flint tools (Fig. 4.6,7) were found between the centrally located vessel and the bone assemblage, and slightly further away there were some small pottery fragments of several dec­orated vessels (Fig. 4.8–11). Four polished stone in­serts (Fig. 4.12), parts of a knife/dagger blade, were discovered slightly northwest of the centre. Other objects in that location include a fragment of a bowl (Fig. 4.13) and flint artefacts – a damaged arrowhead (Fig. 4.14), a backed insert (Fig. 4.15), three splin­tered pieces (Fig. 4.16–18), a retouched para-blade Dariusz Manasterski, Katarzyna Januszek, Adam Wawrusiewicz, and Aleksandra Klecha Fig. 4. Supraœl, site 3. Generalized plan of feature 1 with location of artefacts. A shards of different pot­tery vessels; B stone artefacts; C flint artefacts; D fragments of amber beads; E fragments of burned bones (acc. Januszek et al. 2019.Fig. 3). (Fig. 4.19), as well as a stone axe (Fig. 4.20), a half of a sickle-shaped stone knife (Fig. 4.21) and a frag­ment of another bowl (Fig. 4.22). South of the cen­trally located vessel there were more shards of deco­rated vessels (Fig. 4.23,24), a stone arrow shaft straightener (Fig. 4.25), and flint artefacts – a bro­ken arrowhead (Fig. 4.26), a perforator (Fig. 4.27) and a splintered piece (Fig. 4.28). Feature 2 It was an oval darker area measuring 50 x 60cm, with eco- and artefacts inside (Fig. 5). The assem­blage consisted of pottery vessels, stone and flint objects, fragments of amber beads, burned bone remains and a chunk of calcareous sinter. There was also a concentration of eco- and artefacts that had probably been deposited in a small organic contain­er (pouch?). This group of objects consisted of pieces of burned and badly fragmented sheep or goat bones (analysed by Anna Grêzak from the Institute of Ar­chaeology of the University of Warsaw), weighing 18g in total, four fragments of different amber beads (Fig. 5.1–4; Manasterski, Kwiatkowska 2018.58– 60, Fig. 2.3,4,7), a decorated disc-shaped pottery ob­ject (Fig. 5.5), four shards of different decorated pot­tery vessels (Fig. 5.6–9), as well as eight flint arte-facts – three arrowheads (Fig. 5.10–12) showing dif­ferent types of damage, a retouched blade (Fig. 5.13), an axe-like tool (Fig. 5.14), and three splintered pie­ces (Fig. 5.15–17). These items were incorporated in a compact mass formed with sand and powdery soil, which differed from the soil present at the site. The ‘bag’ with its contents was placed on a fragment of a large storage vessel bearing rich decoration (Fig. 5.18), together with a ‘triangular’ flat object with dril­led perforations, which was made of slate and re­sembled the blade of a copper dagger (Fig. 5.19), as well as a small stone slab with an incised saltire (Fig. 5.20). All these objects were covered with a large frag­ment of a decorated bowl (Fig. 5.21). Close to that, there were also shards of five different decorated pottery vessels (Fig. 5.22–26), a stone axe (Fig. 5.27), an arrow shaft straightener/sharpening stone (Fig. 5.28) and a chunk of calcareous sinter (Fig. 5.29). Feature 5 It was visible as a circular darker area of a diameter reaching almost 30cm (Fig. 6). The ceiling contained an amber pendant (Fig. 6.1; Manasterski, Kwiat­kowska 2018.59, Fig. 2.9), with a slender stone blade (Fig. 6.2) underneath and an assemblage of 15 artefacts below. It should be emphasized that this feature contained no bone material. Bell Beaker cultural package in the East European periphery of the phenomenon> a case of ritual features in north-eastern Poland The contents of the feature included nine fragments Feature 6 of different decorated pottery vessels (Fig. 6.3,4,6– It formed a circular darker area of a diameter of al­12), a flint insert (Fig. 6.13), three flint arrowheads most 30cm (Fig. 7). Its fill contained a concentration (Fig. 6.14–16), a stone pendant with a drilled per-of eco- and artefacts, which suggests that they had foration (Fig. 6.17) and a nodular item with an in-been deposited in an organic container of a pouch cised three-arm cross (Fig. 6.18). These objects, con-type, just as in the case of the other features. centrated as if they had been deposited in an orga­nic container (pouch?), were placed on a fragment The contents of the ‘bag’ were deposited in the cen-of a large decorated bell beaker (Fig. 6.5). Another tre, on a large fragment of a decorated bell beaker part of this vessel was found in feature 6. (Fig. 7.1). The assemblage consisted of very frag- Fig. 5. Suprasssl, site 3. Generalized plan of feature 2 with location of artefacts. A shards of different pottery vessels; B stone artefacts; C chunk of calcareous sinter; D concentration of eco- and artefacts (1–4 fragments of burned bones, sand and powdery soil, fragments of amber beads, 5 disc-shaped pot­tery object, 6–9 small shards of different pottery vessels, 10–17 flint artefacts). Dariusz Manasterski, Katarzyna Januszek, Adam Wawrusiewicz, and Aleksandra Klecha Fig. 6. Supraœl, site 3. Generalized plan of feature 5 with location of artefacts. A shards of different pot­tery vessels; B stone artefacts; C flint artefacts; D amber pendant. mented burned human bones (analysed by El¿bieta Jaskulska of the Institute of Archaeology of the Uni­versity of Warsaw), weighing 21g in total, mixed with 17 flint arrowheads (Fig. 7.2–18), a half of an amber bead (Fig. 7. 19) and a decorated slate pen­dant (Fig. 7.20). The ‘bag’, deposited on the large shard of the beaker, was covered with almost a half of a bowl (Fig. 7.21). Next to the ‘bag’ contents there were: a sharpening stone (Fig. 7.22), a chunk of white limestone (Fig. 7.23) and a large shard of a beaker (Fig. 7.24), another part of which was found in fea­ture 5. Chronology and cultural identification of the discovered objects Apart from burned bones and some carbon deposit in one of the vessels, no organic substances which could be used for absolute dating were preserved in the fea­tures due to the sandy and light soil. In the case of the bones, the radio-carbon dating was unsuccessful because of their small amount and absence of colla­gen. However, the radio-carbon analysis of the car­bon deposit from a bowl fragment from feature 6 de­livered a date: (Poz-116826) 5110±35 cal BP (95.4% probability: 3976–3799 cal BC). This cannot be ac­cepted as it comes from a vessel typical of BB, but precedes the emergence of this cultural phenomenon by a millennium. Apart from the vessel shards, which became the basis for establishing the chronology, no other artefacts found in the context bear diagnostic elements which would indicate the time of formation of the analysed features. Nevertheless, they are help­ful for identification of other cultural components than BB, which also contributed to the making of the ritual relics of the societies that left these features. Pottery In addition to vessel shards displaying components of the general European BB style, the group consist­ed of others which diverge from this cannon. Ana­lysis of their elements made it possible to indicate potential locations of their origin. It should be stressed, however, that the results of petrographic analyses of the pottery suggest a likely import of the Bell Beaker cultural package in the East European periphery of the phenomenon> a case of ritual features in north-eastern Poland pattern of pottery tradition, and not of already made vessels (Krajcarz, Manasterski 2015). On one hand, they include forms with parallels in the Ciempozuelos style – typical of the Iberian Penin­sula. Vessels in this category are characterized by geometric decoration distributed in zone and zone-metopic patterns, made by incision or stamping (Figs. 4.5; 5.5,18,21,25,26; 6.5,7; 7.1,21,24). The de­coration was made mainly on the outer surfaces, and sometimes on the rims and inner portions around the rim. The motifs include lines around the circum­ference of the vessel, diagonal criss-cross pattern, zigzags, bands of short diagonal lines, sometimes arranged in a herringbone pattern, triangles filled with short lines and concentric triangles, as well as groups of short vertical lines alternating with unde­corated areas. In one case, the decoration was disco­vered on the bottom of a fragment of a semi-spher­ical bowl – it is a solar motif and extends towards the top of the vessel (Fig. 7.21). The carbon deposit from this vessel was used for radio-carbon dating and delivered the date mentioned above. It could be supposed that a small pottery object from feature 2 (Fig. 5.5) with a similar decoration pattern is a no­dular bottom of another, possibly miniature vessel. Another group consists of vessels which, apart from elements typical of general BB components, display­ed other elements, characteristic for places of local innovations. One of the most interesting specimens in this group is a fragment of a decorated bowl with an incised zone-metopic pattern of the saltire motif (Fig. 4.13), which originated in the area east of the Rhine River and is usually associated with the Velu­ve type (Wawrusiewicz et al. 2015.53–54). Another interesting item is a fragment of a profiled bowl with a wide mouth, decorated with an incised criss-cross Fig. 7. Supraœl, site 3. Generalized plan of feature 6 with location of artefacts. A shards of different pot­tery vessels; B stone artefacts; C flint artefacts; D chunk of white limestone; E concentration of eco- and artefacts: fragments of burned bones, sand; 2–18 flint arrowheads; 19 fragment of amber ornament. Dariusz Manasterski, Katarzyna Januszek, Adam Wawrusiewicz, and Aleksandra Klecha pattern on the rim, below which a zone-metopic de­coration was made with the same technique (Fig. 5.23). Two decoration zones were made on the out­er surface – horizontal cord impressions in the up­per part, with a band of incised criss-cross pattern below. Due to its form and style, the bowl has par­allels in the south-western BB zone, where the cord motifs are found together with motifs incised or im­pressed with a comb (cf. Harrison 1977.13ff). Cord decoration was made in the upper portion of the vessels, sometimes on the inner surface just below the rim, and the pottery was characterized by a red-brown or reddish colour, which fully corresponds with the specimen in question. However, cord im­pressions are regarded as foreign in Western Europe and associated with the influence of the Corded Ware culture (CWC) (from another perspective, as one of the results of the Rückstromm). Whole it is the only specimen of pottery decorated in this man­ner which has been found in Podlachia, a few ves­sels decorated in a similar way (Manasterski 2016. 57, 68–69, Fig. 12.1, Fig. 20.2–3) have been disco­vered in north-eastern Poland – in the Masurian Lake District, where CWC and BB materials have also been unearthed (Manasterski 2009.67–81). Therefore, it is possible that the vessel from Supraœl was made in the area of the Masurian Lake District. Large fragments of S-shaped vessels are another two examples. Apart from the typical BB decoration in a zone-metopic pattern, they are characterized by the presence of cordons and nodules. Both were de­posited in feature 2. One has a large nodular handle placed below the rim (Fig. 5.18), and the other a cor­don around the circumference in the place where the neck meets the body of the vessel (Fig. 5.26). Such elements are relatively rare in the archetypal BB pottery, and were usually fixed on undecorated vessels found in settlement contexts (Prieto Martí­nez 2013). However, after diffusion of this cultural phenomenon over considerable portions of Western and Central Europe, local components were absorb­ed, including cordons and nodules, which were ab­sent in initial pottery forms (Besse 2004). For this reason, it is difficult to conclude where these two types of vessels originated. In addition, it can be as­sumed that they might have been made in north­eastern Poland, as parallel nodules below rims are known from the Rzucewo culture (RC) (cf. Machnik 1979a.369–372), which occupied south-eastern coa­stal Baltic areas. In this region, at a settlement at Suchacz, apart from local vessels with nodules and cordons (Ehrlich 1936.64–70), shards of BB vessels were found along with pottery displaying mixed BB and RC features (Manasterski 2012b; 2016.90–92). S-shaped vessels from the nearby Mazovian Lowland, decorated with incised zone-metopic motifs separat­ed with a cordon situated in the area where the neck meets the body of the vessel (Manasterski 2016.132, Fig. 42), seem to be an example of a parallel but probably slightly more recent phenomenon. This is even more likely because some, althouth relatively few, fragments of BB vessels were identified in this region (Manasterski 2016.83–90). Accessories of an archer-warrior Arrowheads The analysed features contained 25 flint arrowheads (Figs. 4.14,26; 5.10–12; 6.14–16; 7.2–18) in total, five of which had been damaged (Figs. 4.14,26; 5.11; 6.15; 7.7) before their deposition. All the specimens are triangular and made of flakes, and represent three morphological types characterized by the shape of the notch at the base: arched, triangular, or semi-circular. One was formed with bifacial retouch (Fig. 5.12), most with retouch around the edge. Twenty-one specimens have polished edges (Figs. 4.26; 5.10,11; 6.14–16; 7.4–18), which are rare, and among them six have polished surfaces (Figs. 7.4–6,8,10,11). Apart from the form with bifacial retouch and a tri­angular notch at the base, characteristic for CWC (e.g., W³odarczak 2008.Fig. 2.37,40), the arrow­heads can be classified as typical of BB, and at the same time atypical because of the polishing marks (Januszek et al. 2019.508–509). In the BB package, arrowheads show variety in terms of morphology and presence of characteristic regional modifications. For instance, arrowheads with tangs are the most typical variety in the Atlantic region of Europe, while specimens with a notch at the base (hollow-based type) are the prevalent type in Central Europe (e.g., Case 2004.28; Bailly 2014.358–362). For this rea­son, it is the shape of the arrowheads with a semi­circular notch rather than the technique of making that is the criterion used to indicate the closest par­allels in a few regions of the European range of BB. Such artefacts have been found in the Czech Repub­lic and south-western Norway (cf. Kopacz 2012.Fig. 5.4,5,13; Prescott, Glorstad 2015.Fig. 8.4.1l,II,10/ 20). They are also known from sites of other cultur­al entities with a marked share of BB, e.g., IC from central Poland (Makarowicz 1989.Fig. 27.3). With regard to the number of deposited arrowheads in the features (2-3-3-17 respectively), feature 6 seems extraordinary as it contained 17 specimens. This Bell Beaker cultural package in the East European periphery of the phenomenon> a case of ritual features in north-eastern Poland number corresponds with arrowhead assemblages from funerary contexts with the richest equipment of BB archers, such as the Amesbury archer in Bri­tain (Harding 2011.91, Fig. 30). Arrow shaft straighteners Two single-element arrow shaft straighteners (Figs. 4.25; 5.28) made of different types of sandstone were discovered in features 1 and 2 (Januszek et al. 2019.509). Their supposed use for straightening reed arrow shafts was confirmed experimentally (cf. Dmochowski 2015). Both specimens bear marks in­dicating their additional functions. One of them, with a polished surface of a portion of its circumference, was also a sharpening stone, the other, with marked crushed areas, additionally served as an anvil. These features have parallels in morphologically similar ar­tefacts associated with various Eurasian cultural con­texts connected with at least 60 archaeological cul­tures spanning from the Mesolithic to the Early Bronze Age, that is, from the 9th to the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC (cf. Usacheva 2016.590, Fig. 1.3,17,20, Fig. 2.1, Fig. 3.11, Fig. 4). In most cases, the straightening of reed was the primary but not the only function of these tools (Usacheva 2016. 602). However, such forms from BB contexts have not been published. The only known BB specimens are composed of two elements, but even this type is not a common find (e.g., Budziszewski, W³odarczak 2010.52, Pl. VI.5–5,5–6). Daggers/knives Four fully polished stone artefacts correspond with the morphology of knives/daggers. They are all cha­racterized by very good quality, particularly the accu­racy of shaping, but they represent four different types. Three of them are forms with unsegmented blades and the fourth is a segmented one. One of them, preserved intact, is actually the back portion of a blade made of amphibolite (Fig. 4.21; Wawru­siewicz et al. 2015.72, Fig. 37). Another is an intact triangular blade made of slate (Fig. 5.19; Manaster-ski 2016.Fig. 31.6). The third has a slender lancet-shaped amphibolite blade (Fig. 6.2). Inserts of the fourth one (segmented specimen) were made of gra­nite gneiss (Fig. 4.12; Wawrusiewicz et al. 2015. 73, Fig. 39). None of the artefacts has direct paral­lels in published pre-historic material, and thus they are the first in BB contexts. Since rocks from the Fennoscandian Shield, possibly sourced in Scandina­via, were used for their production and the speci­mens were made with a high degree of accuracy, they might have originated in some societies from Northern Europe. However, the raw material might have also represented glacial erratic rock connected with the most recent glacial period. Stone and flint tools Stone artefacts Each feature contained rather sparse tools, made of various rocks identified on the basis of petrographic analysis by Maciej T. Krajcarz from the Institute of Geological Sciences of the Polish Academy of Scien­ces in Warsaw. These artefacts include: an orthoam­phibolite adze (Fig. 4.20), an amphibolite axe (Fig. 5.27) and a polishing pad/sharpening stone made of Jotnian sandstone (Fig. 7.22). Apart from the poli­shing pad/sharpening stone with low diagnostic va­lue, the other tools correspond with common forms found at relatively close sites of Late Neolithic cul­tural entities of the south-eastern coastal regions of the Baltic Sea (e.g., .ventoji 6 in Lithuania – cf. Ri­mantiene 2005.Abb. 262). Other parallels were di­scovered in the Masurian Lake District, although they were only partially preserved (Manasterski 2009. 97–101). Apart from that, axe-like tools of various forms and dimensions, made of different rocks, are known from many other regions situated within the range of BB. In the case of the artefacts from Supraœl, it should be emphasized that the rock material used for their production is common in north-eastern Po­land in post-glacial sediments, but also has natural outcrops in various European regions, including Scandinavia. For this reason, the provenance of the raw material cannot be conclusively indicated. Flint artefacts The raw material used for production of these arte-facts were two varieties of erratic chalk flint. One of them is local, the other, defined as ‘Pomeranian flint’, is not found in Podlachia. The specimens made of the former include, among others, four blade tools (Figs. 4.6,7,19; 5.13), two of which are knives for cutting meat with bone (Fig. 4.6,7), another is asso­ciated with skin processing (Fig. 4.19; cf. Py¿ewicz 2015.298–300). Others are flake forms (a perfora-tor and two inserts) without any marks of use. The forms made of Pomeranian flint include seven splin­tered pieces (Figs. 4.16–18,28; 5.15–17) and a pol­ished axe-like tool (Fig. 5.14), probably used for cut­ting wood (according to an unpublished use and wear analysis by Katarzyna Py¿ewicz from the Insti­tute of Archaeology of Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznañ). Specimens made of this raw material have parallels at RC sites located in the south-east­ern coastal region of the Baltic Sea (cf. Januszek 2010.72–74; Kabaciñski 2018.155, Figs. 3,4). How­ Dariusz Manasterski, Katarzyna Januszek, Adam Wawrusiewicz, and Aleksandra Klecha ever, splintered pieces made of Pomeranian flint were identified much closer to Supraœl, at Z¹bie site in the Masurian Lake District, where pottery bearing BB features was also unearthed (Manasterski 2009. 102–104, Pls. 10.7–8, 12.56, 13.9). Splintered pie­ces are virtually absent from other Polish sites with the BB phenomenon – only one specimen was disco­vered at Œwiêcice in Lesser Poland (Budziszewski, W³odarczak 2010.59). South-eastern France is an area where they are commonly found at settlement sites (Furestier 2004.84). Jewellery Amber jewellery The features contained eight artefacts made of suc­cinite (Baltic amber), seven of which were fragments of six different cylindrical beads (Figs. 4.3,4; 5.1–3; 7.19) and a nodular one with a V-shaped perforation (Fig. 5.4), and the eighth one is a trapezoid pendant (Fig. 6.1), which was damaged in its upper part in the course of excavations (Manasterski, Kwiatkow-ska 2018.57–59). Apart from the latter, the patina which covered their surfaces indicates that the spe­cimens were broken and deposited in the same form as the one in which they were unearthed. Cylindrical amber beads are known from BB con­texts, but their territorial range is basically limited to the British Isles (Manasterski 2016.104–105). The nodular bead is a form which can be found in BB burials in the Czech Republic (e.g., Hájek 1957. 398–421; Czebreszuk 2011.41–43). As opposed to the beads, the pendant was made of a natural chunk of amber and was only minimally processed to alter its shape and drill a hole in it. Parallel pendants are not known from BB contexts, but are associated with local societies from the Late Neolithic and Early Bronze Age occupying the Vistula and Oder Rivers basins (cf. Bukowski 2002.15, 25, 32, 33, 35, Figs. 11a, 20, 21). The processing marks visible on the surfaces under microscope as well as comparative and experimen­tal research indicate that metal tools (a drill and a ‘knife’), made of copper or copper alloy, were used in the production process (cf. Popkiewicz 2016. 60). Since no traces of the use of such tools from the Late Neolithic and Early Bronze Age have been found at amber-processing ‘workshops’ on Baltic coasts, it should be assumed that these artefacts originated in other areas of production. Available data suggest that in this period corresponding ‘jeweller’s’ tools were used in the British Isles and the area of the Aegean Sea (Mazurowski 1983.113). Considering other ar­guments, connected with the context of the analysed amber artefacts, their origin might be found in ‘je­weller’ traditions of the British Isles. Nevertheless, it does not mean that they were made there as they might as well be the products of a incomer. Stone jewelry These artefacts include two pendants made of diffe­rent raw materials. One of them is a mudstone peb­ble turned into jewellery by drilling a perforation in it (Fig. 6.17). The other is a broken oval plaquette-like form made of slate and has surfaces covered with decoration (Fig. 7.20), whose motifs correspond with the ones found on pottery. It shows a surpris­ing similarity to geometric plaquettes from the south­western part of the Iberian Peninsula, dated to 3500– 2750 cal BC (Garcia Rivero, O’Brien 2014.1). Some researchers regard them as representations of the Mother Goddess (Almagro Gorbea 1973; Rodrigues 1986a; 1986b; Gonçalves 1999). Others believe these plaquettes express ‘collective heraldry’ understood as lineage identifiers, which were used as an ordered and important system for transmission of informa­tion (Lisboa 1985; Bueno Ramírez 1992; Lillios 2002). The latter group also emphasizes their signi­ficance in funerary rituals. However, a phylogenetic analysis recently conducted by Daniel García Rivero and Michael J. O’Brien showed that such plaquettes cannot be genealogical systems for recording gene­rations (Garcia Rivero, O’Brien 2014.12–17). They also concluded that these artefacts might have had a common origin in terms of concepts, e.g., religious or apotropaic ones, and their variety was connected with different developments from the initial idea, which resulted in many variable elements, that is, mutations and variants. Artefacts and ecofacts with arbitrary meanings These include two objects made of different types of sandstone, two fragments of white rock: calcareous sinter and limestone rock, as well as some badly burned and fragmented human and animal bones. One of the artefacts is a small flat slab with an in­cised saltire (Fig. 5.20) and a plano-convex form made of a pebble with an incised three-arm cross on the convex surface (Fig. 6.18). Neither of these ob­jects have parallels in BB contexts. However, they are similar to pottery tokens from the Near East, used from the 8th to the 3rd millennium BC as sym­bolic counting aids for particular goods or their mea­sures, e.g., for a sheep or large measure of grain (see Schmandt-Besserat, Erard 2007.8–9, Fig. 1.2). Bell Beaker cultural package in the East European periphery of the phenomenon> a case of ritual features in north-eastern Poland The chunks of calcareous sinter and limestone rock, which were also sources of white pigment, have pa­rallels in funerary rituals of the Late Neolithic Pit Grave culture in the area of steppes near the Black Sea, where they are found in chunks next to the de­ceased or as powder on skulls of men only (cf. Wo-Ÿny 2011.67). A man covered with white marl in a burial identified with BB funerary rituals, found at Z¹bie in the Masurian Lake District, received a simi­lar treatment (cf. Manasterski et al. 2001.148). Burned and badly fragmented bone remains were identified in three out of the four features. Two features contained human bones and another one – sheep or goat bones. Their total weight oscillated around 20g (24g, 18g, 21g), and in the case of fea­ture 1 they belonged to two individuals, an adult and a juvenile. On the one hand, there were very few bone remains, on the other, the presence of sheep or goat bones seems to suggest unidentified funerary rituals rather than a burial. At this stage of research it is impossible to indicate any parallels either in the whole region covered with the BB phe­nomenon, or in areas occupied by other European Neolithic and para-Neolithic societies. Discussion Considering all the data presented above, do the eco- and artefacts from Supraœl 3 reflect adoption of the BB cultural package by a group which cannot be conclusively identified in terms of its cultural affil­iation? The answer is not simple. On one hand, there are only some elements of the BB culture together with other elements, which are not associated with autochthonic societies of north-eastern Poland in the Late Neolithic and Early Bronze Age. They might have been adopted ‘on the way’, which could be connected with the phenomenon of the ‘package’. However, there are no parallel discoveries from the area of broadly understood Central Europe, which would legitimize the assumption of diffusion of the BB package ‘from neighbour to neighbour’. It could thus eventually arrive north in Podlachia, even if this area is regarded as peripheral for the pheno­menon and the adoption of only some elements would take place without awareness of its basic ide­ology (cf. Turek 2013.9). In the presented case, it most likely involved the arrival of a group (or groups) of BB people from the West, which brought ‘behaviour’ representing the BB cultural package. This is suggested by some of the artefacts characte­ristic for Western Europe, and in the case of the de­corated slate plaquette/pendant, directly from the Iberian Peninsula, the only location where it has pa­rallels. Only after that some components of the BB package would spread, and they would be limited to the style of pottery vessels, which is reflected in sources from the final phase of NCC and the period of formation of the Trzciniec cultural circle (Czebre­szuk 2001.164–169; Manasterski 2016.131–137). At this stage, some artefacts characteristic of late Neolithic societies from the south-eastern Baltic re­gion were incorporated into the package. Perhaps the amber artefacts which are atypical in Podlachia were made in that Baltic region (Manasterski, Kwiat­kowska 2018). On the basis of the presented pottery vessels, sup­ported with amber, flint and stone artefacts found in this context, it is possible to suggest a possible se­quence of movement of elements of the package, starting from the suggested place of origin and fol­lowing the route from south-western Europe to Su­praœl. Thus the probable place of origin would be located in the Iberian Peninsula, which could be sug­gested by the pottery of the Ciempozuelos style and the decorated slate plaquette/pendant. Further on, the route would probably run across the La Manche area, Jutland and the Baltic Sea to its south-eastern coastal regions. Within this space, the adopted pack­age components included: the saltire motif as well as cordons and nodules in pottery decoration, tech­niques of processing of amber jewellery, flint arrow­heads with a semi-circular notch at the base, splin­tered pieces and stone tools, as well as the conver­sion of funerary practices from inhumation to cre­mation. The route then ran across the Masurian Lake District to North Podlachia, where Supraœl 3 is situ­ated, and the movement resulted in the adoption of flint arrowheads with an arch-shaped notch at the base, cord decoration motifs in pottery, most likely due to contacts with CWC societies. However, taking Belarusian artefacts with BB features into consid­eration, we can get an impression that the area of Supraœl was not the frontier zone for the diffusion of this phenomenon (cf. Czebreszuk, Kryvaltsevich 2003; Matuszewska 2004; Wawrusiewicz et al. 2015.192, 194). Nevertheless, it might have been an area of interactions between the BB influence from the west and an influx of stimuli from the broadly understood southeast. These stimuli are manifested by the presence of eco- and artefacts which are ab­sent from both BB contexts and from sources left by autochthonic hunter-gatherer groups (stone ‘tokens’, multi-functional reed arrow shaft straighteners, se­dimentary rock in rituals). Dariusz Manasterski, Katarzyna Januszek, Adam Wawrusiewicz, and Aleksandra Klecha However, the origin of the ritual involving the depo­sition of fragments of objects, confirmed in all the fea­tures, and its incorporation into ritual practices can­not be accounted for. This practice was applied main­ly in the case of pottery and some pieces of amber jewellery, or, rather rarely, weapons. Similar acts of intentional fragmentation of artefacts (mostly pot­tery) deposited in burials, pits and treasure contexts are known from the Neolithic and Chalcolithic disco­veries in the Balkan Peninsula (cf. Chapman 2000. 53). Conclusions Supraœl site 3 is an isolated sandy elevation situated among water-logged meadows associated with wet­lands of the Supraœl River, which is now a regulated watercourse. They occupy a stretch of land which is more than a kilometre wide. The landscape in its vi­cinity consists of barren moraine hills covered with forests as well as lakes and ponds, mostly with peat vegetation. Palynological analysis shows that these areas were only sporadically used for farming from the Early Bronze Age to the 20th century AD (Ku­prianowicz, Szal 2015). At the same time, they were a perfect location for the economic activity of hun­ter-gatherer societies, which were represented by NCC in the late 3rd and early 2nd millennium BC. For this reason, it could be surprising that BB rep­resentatives arrived in this region. The answer can be found in the analysis of the natural and archaeo­logical context. On one hand, there existed a water communication network which served for transport and isolated artefacts with typical BB components were found (Wawrusiewicz et al. 2015.Fig. 101; Manasterski 2016.Fig. 2). On the other hand, it was close to chalk flint mines located along the Ros River and flint workshops situated in the vicinity of the mines (Gurina 1976; Wawrusiewicz et al. 2015. 190–191, Fig. 106). All these indicate that this was most likely an attempt to find trade partners and or­ganize communication routes or take control of the existing ones (Wawrusiewicz et al. 2015.185–186). For these reasons, it should not be surprising that mainly isolated BB artefacts without a clear settle­ment or funerary context were unearthed in north­eastern Poland. The discoveries from Supraœl 3 es­cape this pattern. They cannot be conclusively clas­sified as isolated finds, settlement relics, or classic burials. Both the choice of the place (an isolated ‘is­land’ among wetlands, with access from the river­side, surrounded by large forests – a secret place for the initiated) and the selection of the objects in the discovered features suggest that relics of a certain form of a ritual system, most probably funerary practices, were found. This is indicated by the pres­ence of human cremation remains identified in two features as well as sets of artefacts found in burials of BB men – archers/warriors (beakers, archer’s ac­cessories, daggers, jewellery). The recurrence of the sets of eco- and artefacts and their arrangement in the assemblages suggest the existence of ritual tradi­tions. Although most pottery vessels and the deco­rated slate plaquette/pendant may suggest their Ibe­rian lineage, it is difficult to list parallels in terms of place and behaviour relics. This is relevant to both autochthonic and allochthonic societies occupying north-eastern Poland. . References Ajzen I. 2005. 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Kraków, Warszawa: 65–73. back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) The megalithic builders> new data on old bones from Megalitho do Facho (Figueira da Foz, Portugal) Ana Maria Silva University of Coimbra, Research Centre for Anthropology and Health, Department of Life Sciences, Laboratory of Prehistory, Coimbra, PT University of Coimbra, Centre for Functional Ecology, Department of Life Sciences, Coimbra, PT UNIARQ – University of Lisbon, Lisbon, PT amgsilva@antrop.uc.pt ABSTRACT – Between the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries, António dos Santos Rocha excavated several prehistoric megalithic monuments in the region of Figueira da Foz (Por­tugal). Some of them revealed human bones, albeit very disturbed and fragmented, which ended up forgotten in the Municipal Museum of Santos Rocha (Figueira da Foz), as did the individuals to which they belonged. Here, I revisit the human bone collection preserved from Megalitho do Facho to access demographic and morphological data; physiological stress indicators; pathologies and in­juries that these individuals suffered, thus revealing insights on the lives of those who were deposited in this dolmen. The majority of this collection is composed of unburned bones and a small subsam­ple of burned ones. Both were radiocarbon dated to the Chalcolithic period (first half of the 3rd mil­lennium BC). The analysis confirmed that non-adult and adult individuals of both sexes were deposit­ed in this dolmen. These individuals were affected by biomechanical stress since early in life and dis­play mild signs of physiological stress associated with remodelled lesions, suggestive of a relatively good health status. These data are discussed in the context of other coeval sites. KEY WORDS – megalithic tombs; unburned and burned human bones; biological and paleopatho-logical profiles; Chalcolithic; Western Central Portugal Graditelji megalitov> novi podatki iz starih kosti na najdi[;u Megalitho do Facho (Figueira da Foz, Portugalska) IZVLE.EK – António dos Santos Rocha je konec 19. in v za.etku 20. stoletja v regiji Figueira da Foz na Portugalskem izkopal .tevilne prazgodovinske megalitske spomenike. Pri izkopavanjih so odkri­li tudi .love.ke kosti, ki so bile zelo uni.ene in razdrobljene ter so ostale v lokalnem muzeju Santos Rocha (Figueira da Foz) skoraj tako pozabljene kot posamezniki, katerim so pripadale. V .lanku predstavljam zbir .love.kih kosti iz najdi..a Megalitho do Facho za pridobitev podatkov o demogra­fiji in morfologiji, o kazalnikih fiziolo.kega stresa, o patologijah in po.kodbah, ki so jih utrpeli ti po­samezniki, s .imer bom razkril vpogled v .ivljenje tistih, ki so bili polo.eni v ta dolmen. Ve.ji del zbira sestavljajo ne.gane kosti, o.gane kosti pa predstavljajo le manj.i vzorec. Obe skupini kosti smo datirali s pomo.jo radiokarbonske metode v .as halkolitika (prva polovica 3. tiso.letja pr. n. .t.). Analiza je potrdila, da so bili v dolmen odlo.eni tako neodrasli kot odrasli posamezniki obeh spolov. Ti posamezniki so bili v zgodnjem .ivljenju izpostavljeni biomehanskemu stresu in ka.ejo na blage znake fiziolo.kega stresa, povezanega s preoblikovanimi lezijami, kar ka.e na njihovo razmeroma dobro zdravstveno stanje. O teh podatkih razpravljam v kontekstu drugih so.asnih najdi... KLJU.NE BESEDE – megalitske grobnice; ne.gane in .gane .love.ke kosti; biolo.ki in paleopatolo.ki profili; halkolitik; zahodna osrednja Portugalska DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.21 The megalithic builders> new data on old bones from Megalitho do Facho (Figueira da Foz, Portugal) Introduction Between the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries, the archaeologist António dos Santos Rocha excavated several megalithic tombs in the Serra da Boa Viagem, located in the region of Fi­gueira da Foz (Coimbra, Portugal). This Necropolis is composed of approx. 21 dolmens that are located between Cabo Mondego and Serra de Sao Bento (Santos Rocha 1900.239) in Western Central Por­tugal. The majority of the intervened tombs dated to the Neolithic and Chalcolithic periods were found very disturbed. Some revealed human bones, al­though very fragmented, poorly preserved and com­mingled. The collected data then were published in four volumes of Antiguidades Prehistoricas do Con-celho da Figueira (1888; 1895; 1897; 1900). This work contains very complete descriptions of the finds, taking into account the science at the time, and an inventory of all the recovered remains (arte-facts, human and non-human bones). Anthropologi­cal considerations, such as flattening of the tibia and severe dental wear were briefly discussed, along with ethnographic data. Later, in 1969, Vitor Guerra (at the time the director of the Municipal Museum of Santos Rocha) published a series of manuscripts prepared by Santos Rocha for a scientific meeting he would attend in April 1910 that unfortunately did not occur, since he died the previous month. These collections thus ended up forgotten in the Municipal Museum of Santos Rocha (Figueira da Foz) without ever having been studied in an exhaustive manner, with occasional exceptions such as the pub­lication of an incomplete trepanation observed in one adult male skull recovered from the Dolmen Megalitho da Capella (Silva 2003a). Moreover, in view of how long ago the excavation of these tombs took place, an unknown part of these collections has been lost due to, among others, reorganisations, mo­vements, loaning and/or offers of subsamples. My primary objective here is therefore to provide a complete anthropological analysis of the human re­mains now curated in the Municipal Museum of San­tos Rocha/Museu Municipal Santos Rocha (MMSR) to obtain insights on the biological profile, lifestyle, and health status of the individuals that were depo­sited in the Megalitho do Facho1 one of the dolmens of this remarkable necropolis. The importance of these remains derives not only from their recovery from a large necropolis of at least 21 megalithic tombs, but also because they come from a period and geographic area that are poorly represented by human remains, and thus they represent one of the few ways we have of gaining biological knowledge of these past populations. Megalitho do Facho Santos Rocha published data on this tomb in his last volume of Antiguidades Prehistoricas do Concelho da Figueira (1900). This dolmen is located on the eastern limit of the necropolis (Fig. 1), in the Serra de Sao Bento (Maiorca, Figueira da Foz). It has a po­lygonal chamber and a small corridor (Fig. 2), whose largest axes are 2.5m and 1.1m respectively, orient­ed NW-SE, with the entrance at SE. The chamber was around 1.55m in diameter at its mid-point, and 2m at its NW end. It is formed by 10 orthostats described in Table 1, and a small area of dry masonry. It was discovered without the roof slabs and with signs of old and recent disturbances in the archaeological levels (as attested by the presence of fractures and hoe blow marks observed on some bone fragments). As such, it is not surprising that all of the contents of the tomb were mixed at the bottom of the mo­nument. According to Santos Rocha’s descriptions, mixed charcoal, human bones and artefacts were re­covered scattered throughout the debris. The 0.7m Fig. 1. Map of Iberian Peninsula showing the loca­tions of Megalitho do Facho and other sites men­tioned in this study. Tombs 1 and 2 belong to the Megalithic necropolis excavated by Santos Rocha. Legend: 1 Megalitho do Facho; 2 Cabeço dos Moin-hos; 3 Dólmen de Ansiao; 4 Dólmen do Carrascal; 5 Anta da Sobreira 1. 1 The original designation of Santos Rocha, Megalitho, is used. However, Megalitho, dolmen and the Portuguese expression Anta, represent tombs without major architectural differences. Ana Maria Silva wide corridor was nearly completely covered by two limestone slabs, measuring between 1m to 1.25m in length, 0.48m and 0.5m in width, and 0.12m to 0.14m in depth. The height of the chamber and cor­ridor are around 1.7m (Santos Rocha 1900.209). The human bones were only found in the chamber, including a group of bones that, due to their good preservation, led Santos Rocha to suggest that they were recent. However, AMS radiocarbon dating con­firmed their Chalcolithic chronology (see below). Two mortuary deposits were detected near the en­trance of the gallery, probably still intact. However, their very poor state of preservation only allowed a few fragments to be recovered by the team working for Santos Rocha. Next to them, a flint blade and pot­tery fragments were recovered (Santos Rocha 1900. 209). The artefact assemblage includes stone axes, hand stones, blades, retouched tools scrapers, arrowheads, bone flints, flint retouched tools, lignite beads, se­veral fragments of schist plaques, one black clay vase and fragments of three others. One triangular red flint arrowhead measuring 3cm long was found ce­mented in the internal part of a human rib fragment. However, when the tuff was dissolved it was con­firmed that it was not embedded in the bone. Still, the most peculiar artefact is a polished grey schist plaque that represents the outline of a human foot (Fig. 3). It has a plan surface on one side and the characteristic curve of a foot sole, including the heel, which is in relief on the opposite side. The toes are N Nature of the slab Height Width Depth 1 Sandstone ±1.7m 1.65m 0.27m 2 Grey sandstone (|) ‘almost’ 1.7m – 0.25m 3 Grey sandstone 1.7m 0.9m 0.4m 4 Grey sandstone 1.7m 0.9m 0.4m 5 Portion of dry – –– masonry forming a wall 6 Grey sandstone 1.7m 0.56m 0.2m 7 Grey sandstone 1.7m 0.54m 0.3m 8 Limestone ±1.7m 1m 0.15m Small slab that crosses the gallery 9 Grey sandstone forming a step with 0.1 to 0.2m height. 10 Limestone (|) 1.7m 1 m 0.2m 11 Limestone 1.45m 1.3m 0.33m Note> All measurements were taken from the present sur­face level< | – not indicated. Tab. 1. Summary of the data of the orthostats of the Megalitho do Facho, according to Santos Rocha (1900.209). not represented by divisions or strokes and it seems to represent the right foot. The analysis of all these artefacts by Carlos Batista (technician of the Museu Municipal Santos Rocha) and Raquel Vilaça (Univer­sity of Coimbra) is still under way. Anthropological data: the documentary sources Santos Rocha attributed the human bone remains to 11 skeletons, including very young individuals. His descriptions comprised an exhaustive inventory of the recovered bone pieces, which included skull and hip bone fragments, jaws, six loose teeth, vertebrae, ribs, clavicles, humerus, cubits, radius, femurs, tibias, fibulae, patellae, and hand and foot bones (Santos Rocha 1900.214–216). He noticed that skull remains were under-represented compared to postcranial bones, and attributed this to the perturbations that the monument suffered. The inventory includes bones from all parts of the skeleton. Santos Rocha also emphasized that ribs, hand and foot bones were numerous, but strangely, only two patellae were re­covered. The non-human bones include rabbit, sheep and some unidentified species, some of them burned, besides fragments of Triton nodiferus (some also with evidence of burning) and valves from Cardium edule and Mytilus galloprovincialis. In 1899, at the request of Santos Rocha, this bone assemblage was briefly studied by Ricardo Severo (da Fonseca e Costa) and Fonseca Cardoso (Artur Au­gusto da Fonseca Cardoso). According to their notes, The megalithic builders> new data on old bones from Megalitho do Facho (Figueira da Foz, Portugal) this sample was very fragmented, and it was only pos­sible to measure one femur “420 + 2, corresponding to a stature of 1625mm and living size of 1605mm” and the observation of flatness in some tibia frag­ments (Santos Rocha 1900.268–271). Material and methods The human bone assemblage was cleaned, labelled and marked, and an inventory of the bone sample was prepared using an Excel database. The mini­mum number of individuals (MNI) was estimated based on the adaptation by Silva (1993) of the me­thod of Herrmann et al. (1990). For the non-adult sample, skeletal maturation was also taken into ac­count, as recommended by Silva (1996; 2002). Age-at-death of the non-adults was estimated using den­tal mineralization according to AlQahtani et al. (2010) and, for long bones, the recommendations of Scheuer and Black (2000). For adult individuals, epiphyseal union of the iliac crest (Ferembach et al. 1980) and the fusion of the sternal end of the clav­icle (MacLaughlin 1990) allowed the identification of young adults (< 30 years). Degenerative altera­tions of the auricular surface (Lovejoy et al. 1985) and the obliteration of cranial sutures (Masset 1982) were considered for estimating age-at-death for the adult sample. Sex diagnosis was only possible based on morphological traits, scored according to Ferem­bach et al. (1980) and metric analysis of talus (Sil­va 1995). Morphological analysis included metric parameters and an estimation of the platimeric and platicnemic indices (Martin, Saller 1956) to provide data on the flatness of lower long bones, and thus inferences on daily behaviours. To assess the varia­bility and affinity of these individuals, several non-metric postcranial traits were recorded following Saunders (1978) and Finnegan (1978). Dental non-metric traits were scored following the ASUDAS pro­tocol (Turner et al. 1991; Scott, Irish 2017) and the mandibular molar pit-tubercle (MMPT) according to Marado and Silva (2016). To evaluate the childhood illness experience of these individuals, linear enamel hypoplasia (LEH, a non­specific stress indicator), cribra orbitalia and poro-tic hyperostosis (specific stress indicators) were re­corded. All bones were carefully examined for evi­dence of pathologies or lesions. The bone weight methodology proposed by Silva (2002; Silva et al. 2009) to evaluate bone represen­tation in a sample was adapted to infer the represen­tation of some types of bones of this collection, such as the skull, femurs and tibias. It was not possible to include all skeletal elements due to the known loss of a considerable number of bone pieces. Results What can the surviving bone collection tell us about these individuals? At present, the human bone collection curated in the MMSR is comprised of 361 fragments from all parts of the skeleton. Of these, eight exhibit chromatic changes compatible with exposure to fire, revealing a bluish colour. This set includes remains that cor­respond to at least one adult individual and one non-adult. The latter includes three cranial frag­ments, a crown of a lower right first molar and a small fragment of the diaphysis of a long bone. All are compatible with a non-adult of approximately three years of age, using the dental calcification scheme of AlQahtani et al. (2010), although it can­not be excluded that they belong to different indi­viduals. A small accessory cusp, C6, is visible on the crown of the preserved tooth. The remaining non-metric dental data are provided in Table 2. The cra­nial remains include a left orbit with mild signs of cribra orbitalia (Fig. 4), an indicator of specific phy­siological stress generally associated with chronic anaemia, although other suggested aetiologies in­clude eye infections (Walker et al. 2009). A small fragment of parietal bone and two of long bones compose the adult subsample. The majority of bone fragments do not exhibit any changes related to exposure to temperature. They display other taphonomic changes, such as the pre­sence of limestone concretions, small cracks related to exposure to water, the presence of root marks, and small black or orange spots. While the black spots can be attributed to the presence of manga­nese in the soil, the orange spots are compatible with the use of pigment. The bones are very fragmented, but well preserved. All parts of the skeleton are re­presented, including small hand and foot phalan­ges. Despite the considerable number of bone frag­ments, cross-checking with the descriptions publi­shed by Santos Rocha confirms the loss of a consi­derable number of pieces, including some with pa­thologies, as well as maxillary fragments, patellae and loose teeth (with exception of one). To confirm the chronology of these human remains two samples were selected for AMS dating: a rib frag­ment from the unburned set and a cranial fragment with signs of fire exposure. The results confirm that both are contemporary and date to the Chalcolithic period, that is, to the first half of the 3rd millennium BC (Tab. 3). Currently, considering all human remains (burned and unburned), at least 11 individuals are represent­ed. Interestingly, this is an identical estimation as the one advanced by Santos Rocha. They include se­ven adults (based on tibia fragments) and four non-adults. The latter were identified by several bone types and include non-adults who died at approx. 24 months, three years (burned sample, described above), six years, and nine to ten years of age. Some fragments of long bone diaphyses suggest the pres­ence of adolescents, but the absence of epiphyses makes confirmation impossible. Among the adult in­dividuals, there are at least two who died between the ages of 20 and 25 (due to the presence of two non-compatible fragments of iliac crest in process of fusion). The presence of older adults, including those over 30 years old, is attested by the observation of fused sternal ends of clavicles (n = 2) and by a cra­nial fragment with the sutures close to being com­pletely obliterated. If the burned and unburned frag­ments were analysed separately, the number of adults would increase by one (burned sample: one adult and one non-adult; unburned sample: seven adults and three non-adult individuals). Ana Maria Silva Traits Observation\Grade Number of Cusps 5 Groove pattern Y Presence of C6 2 Presence of C7 0 Deflecting wrinkle 0 Protostylid 0 Mandibular molar pit-tubercle 0 Tab. 2. Non-metric dental traits observed in the only preserved tooth from Megalitho do Facho (lo­wer first right molar). The presence of individuals of both sexes is con­firmed by the hip bone sample, as well as by the sexual dimorphism observed in some long bone fragments. The metric analysis of a left talus allowed us to identify a female individual. Also noteworthy is skull fragment 122, formed by the parietal and occipital bones belonging to a young adult (all cra­nial sutures are open), which display a very marked nuchal crest (Fig. 5). Due to the magnitude of bone fragments that were lost from this collection it was not possible to use the bone weight methodology proposed by Silva (2002; Silva et al. 2009) to check for any abnorma­lity in the representation of all skeletal elements, a valuable approach for inferences about the burial practices (Silva et al. 2017). However, the represen­tativeness of the three most common skeletal ele­ments recovered were investigated using this me­thod: skull, femur and tibia. Considering the MNI of seven adults, it was also possible to estimate the percentage of preserved to expected bones in these three bone categories (Tab. 4). The obtained percen­tages are very similar, at 50%, and about half of the expected value. Among the metric analyses, flatness of the femurs and tibias was investigated. The mean value of the cnemic index was 73.31 (n = 4), confirming the pre­sence of flatness in the proximal region of the tibia diaphysis. The only fragment of a femur that allowed this analysis also confirmed the presence of flatness (right femur; 71.43) (Fig. 6). The bone remains of this collection are small, but robust. A thick cortical layer was observed in small fragments of the diaph­ysis of one femur and one fibula. The search for non-metric characters allowed obser­vation of a septal aperture in the only distal hume­rus recovered, two femurs display a hypotrochante­ric fossae (n = 3) (Fig. 6) and an acetabular fold was The megalithic builders> new data on old bones from Megalitho do Facho (Figueira da Foz, Portugal) Ref. Bone sample Conventional cal BC cal BP Beta 542625 Rib fragment 4180 ± 30 BP 2817–2666 cal BC (73.7%) 4766–4615 cal BP (73.7%) (Facho 82< unburnt) 2887–2835 cal BC (21.7%) 4836–4784 cal BP (21.7%) Beta 549966 Cranial fragment 4170 ± 30 BP 2819–2662 cal BC (73.7%) 4768–4611 cal BP (73.7%) (Facho 312< burnt) 2882–2833 cal BC (20.0%) 4831–4782 cal BP (20.0%) 2649–2636 cal BC (2.2) % 4598–4585 cal BP (2.2%) Tab. 3. Results of radiocarbon dating of both subsets from the collection of Megalitho do Facho. noted in one left acetabulum fragment. The last fea­ture is rarely documented, either in prehistoric or historical populations. Pathologies were observed that reflect signs of infec­tion and physiological stress indicators, entheseal changes and degenerative joint pathology. The last was observed in a right fragment of the temporo-mandibular joint, in the coxo-femoral joint of a frag­ment of one iliac bone, and in the body of a thora­cic vertebra that also displays flattening of its body. In fragments of the proximal diaphysis of two left femurs, entheseal changes of the gluteus maximum are marked. Signs of infection are registered in the medullary canal of a distal diaphyseal fragment of one left femur (Fig. 7). In some cranial fragments, porosity compatible with porotic hyperostosis is re­gistered, a specific physiological stress indicator usu­ally related to anaemia. It should be noted that all observed pathologies and lesions are remodelled. Discussion Between the end of the 19th and the first decades of the 20th centuries, numerous megalithic tombs were excavated in the present-day Portuguese territory. Despite the fascination they created, the recovered human bone assemblages usually ended up forgot­ten in museums or private collections, waiting for an exhaustive analysis to be performed by an expert. This situation changed in the late 1990s when a sys­tematic analysis of these collections was initiated due to the recognition of their potential in provid­ing valuable information about the biological pro­file, health status and lifestyle of these individuals (Silva 2003b; 2004; 2005; 2008; 2012; 2017; Silva et al. 2006; 2012; 2014; 2019; Silva, Ferreira 2007; 2016/2017; Boaven­tura et al. 2013; 2014b; 2016). This analysis was achieved through the combination of appropriate anthro­pological methodologies and approa­ches, specifically adapted to these types of assemblages that are very disturbed, fragmented and commin­gled (Silva 2017; Silva, Ferreira Bone Fragment Weight % Expected bone weight Skull 2013.92g 50% Femurs 2253.18g 52.5% Tibias 1319.82g 53.72% Tab. 4. Results of the percentage of expected bone weight of skull, femurs and tibias from Megalitho do Facho, considering the reference values of Sil­va (2002; Silva et al. 2009). 2016/7; Silva et al. 2019). It was under this scope that the analysis of the human remains from the dif­ferent dolmens of the necropolis excavated by San­tos Rocha and currently curated in the MMSR was un­dertaken. To date, besides Megalitho do Facho, other collections exhumed from dolmens with an exhaus­tive anthropological study include Megalito do Ca-beço dos Moinhos, another tomb from this necropo­lis, the Dolmen de Ansiao (Coimbra, Silva 2002), Ana Maria Silva Dolmen do Carrascal (Sintra, Lisbon, Silva et al. 2019) and Anta da Sobreira 1 (Elvas, Boaventura et al. 2014b) (see Fig. 1), here compared in discuss­ing the results on the scope of other coeval popula­tions that buried their dead in dolmen-style tombs. Tomb descriptions and chronology In Table 5, the architectural aspects and chronology of these tombs are synthesized. These dolmens have a polygonal chamber and corridor (Fig. 8). For all, chronology is confirmed by AMS radiocarbon dating of human bone samples; human bone loss is docu­mented, and thus interpretations are imposed with caution, but at the same time this is the only avail­able information about these past populations. All human remains were dated to the Late Neolithic pe­riod with the exception of the subset of burned bones recovered from Cabeço dos Moinhos and both sets from Megalitho do Facho, with AMS radio­carbon dating confirming their Chalcolithic chrono­logy (first half of the 3rd millennium BC). Human remains These tombs were found disturbed with very frag­mented and commingled human bones. The Mega-litho do Facho sample is composed of unburned hu­man bones and a small subsample of burned ones. The latter comprise only 2.2% of the collection (se­ven bone fragments and one tooth) and the ob­served colour changes are compatible with expo­sure to low temperature and thus do not allow ex­clusion of unintentional burning. Radiocarbon dates confirm the contemporaneity of both subsets. The coexistence of burned and unburned human bones was also attested for Cabeço dos Moinhos, another tomb from this necropolis. However, there are sig­nificant differences. For the latter, evidence of expo­sure to higher temperatures is apparent by the pat­tern of colour changes, including ten calcined frag­ments. So, for this collection, evidence of intentio­nal burning is more certain. Moreover, radiocarbon dates confirmed different chronologies for the two sets, Neolithic (unburned subset) and Chalcolithic (burned subset). In fact, the importance of fire in funerary practices has gained relevance in Chalco­lithic funerary contexts in the current Portuguese ter­ritory, including in diverse funerary contexts at Per-digoes (Silva et al. 2014a; 2017; Valera et al. 2014). However, the architecture of the tombs discussed here is different from those at Perdigoes and, the human remains, slightly older (Valera, Silva 2011; Valera et al. 2014). The conclusion of the study of the human remains from all tombs in this necrop­olis, supported by an expanded program of radiocar-bon dating, may contribute to a better understand­ing of the funerary practices of these communities. All anatomical parts of the skeleton are represented in the collection of Megalitho do Facho and, consi­dering the documentary sources, it seems that com­plete individuals were deposited in this tomb. San­tos Rocha had the impression that skull bones were under-represented in relation to long bones. How­ever, the bone weight approach applied here to skull, femurs and tibias indicated that all are represented in a very similar percentage of over 50% in relation to expected. The skull sample is thus not under-re­presented in relation to long bones. In sum, all the collected evidence, including the presence of two ap­parently still intact skeletons in the entrance of the gallery of this tomb, suggest that this tomb was a pri­mary place of deposition. Moreover, the documen­tary sources of other less disturbed dolmens from this Necropolis include descriptions of in situ skele­tons. One example is the Megalitho de Cabecinha, in which the chamber was found intact. Next to some of the supports of the chamber, Santos Rocha (1900. 198–199) documented the presence of skeletons in articulation. The megalithic builders> new data on old bones from Megalitho do Facho (Figueira da Foz, Portugal) Sample Monument Chronology (Conventional) Megalitho do Facho Polygonal chamber> 2.5m long< 2m wide Corridor> 1.1m long< 0.7m wide 4180±30 BP (Beta 542625)* 4170±30 BP (Beta 549966)** Cabeço dos Moinhos Polygonal chamber> 3m long< 3.5m wide 4960±30 BP (Beta 383084)* (Santos Rocha 1900) Corridor> minimum of 5m long< 1m wide 4360±30 BP (Beta 383085)** Dolmen de Ansiao (Silva 2002) Destroyed 4640±90 BP (SAC 1559) 4766±30 BP (OxA 35900) Dolmen do Carrascal Polygonal chamber> ± 3.5m 4752±31 BP (OxA 35901) (Silva et al. 2019) Short corridor (2.4m) 4640±40 BP (Beta 225167) 4770±40 (Beta 228577) Anta da Sobreira 1 (Boaventura et al. 2014b) Polygonal chamber> 2.4m long< 1.5m maximum width< corridor – destroyed 4770±40 BP (Beta-233283) Legend> * Sample of unburned human bone< ** Sample of burned human bone. Tab. 5. Tomb descriptions and chronology based on human bones of the dolmens mentioned in the text. More consistent evidence of manipulated funerary contexts in the present Portuguese territory, with possible co-existence of different mortuary practi­ces such as primary burials, secondary deposits, and removal of bones, is documented for collective bu­rials at tombs 1 and 2 at Perdigoes, tholoi type tombs from the first half of the third millennium (Silva et al. 2017; Evangelista 2019; Garcia 2018; Valera et al. 2014). Moreover, later re-use of dolmens (and other types of tombs) extending to the Medieval pe­riod is also documented. Inside the Dolmen de Sao Gens (Nisa) where a non-adult individual of 12 to 15 years old at death was deposited between the 11th to 13th centuries according to AMS radiocarbon ana­lysis (Boaventura et al. 2014b). Population demography Non-adults and adults of both sexes are represented in all tombs, and no evidence of selection based on these criteria was noted. The proportion of non-adults is between 36 to 38%, with the exception of Sobrei­ra, where it is at 50% (Tab. 6). However, all are in the expected range for an Archaic population, that is, between 36% to 50% of non-adults (Ascádi, Ne-meskéri 1970). Moreover, these values are also con­sistent with other Late Neolithic/Chalcolithic col­lections unearthed from other types of tombs from the present Portuguese territory, such as hypogea and natural and artificial caves (Cu- Sample nha et al. 2015; Silva 2002; 2003b). Another common point is the under-rent mortuary treatments cannot be ruled out. How­ever, frequently the presence of a significant num­ber of bones and/or teeth belonging to very young individuals were emphasized in the excavation notes, as for Megalitho do Facho, but these are unfortuna­tely now missing. Occasionally, these bones ended up stored with non-human remains, and thus lost or forgotten (Silva, Ferreira 2016/2017). Although sex was assigned mostly by morphological features, it was possible to confirm the presence of individuals of both sexes in these tombs. Therefore, sex does not seems to be a criterion for exclusion from these sepulchres. Morphological traits and bone pathologies The presence of the proximal shaft flatness is preva­lent in the femurs and tibias of individuals from all tombs (Tab. 7). Silva (2002) reported flatness indices for 535 femurs and 253 tibias from eight Late Neoli­thic graves and compared these results with other Mesolithic and Neolithic samples from the present Portuguese territory. For the femurs, no consistent pattern of flatness reduction was identified. For the tibias, a slight trend of decreasing flatness was dete­cted, with some groups revealing means in the range of mesocnemia (absence of flatness). Silva (2002) at­tributed these results to the continuity of high lev- Bone Teeth Adults Non-adults fragments representation of children younger than five years, particularly less than one year of age. There is no doubt that taphonomic agents play an im­portant role in the lack of preserva- Megalitho do Facho Cabeço dos Moinhos Dólmen de Ansiao Dólmen do Carrascal Anta da Sobreira 1 360 1214 1670 109 128 1 16 533 138 21 63.6% (7\11) 80% (8\10) 62.2% (23\37) 64.3% (9\14) 50% (3\6) 36.4% (4\11) 20% (2\10) 37.8% (14\37) 35.7% (5\14) 50% (3\6) tion of small and fragile non-adult bones, including post-excavation loss, Tab. 6. Proportion of adults versus non-adult individuals obtained in several dolmens with human remains dated to the Neolithic or but other explanations such as diffe- Chalcolithic periods in Portugal. Ana Maria Silva els of biomechanical stress on the proximal end of the femurs of these individuals during the Neolithic and Chalcolithic periods. This type of stress could be related to a high level of mobility of these human groups, even after the introduction of agriculture, and to activities such as pastoralism or trade. Among morphological traits, the presence of hypo-trocanteric fossae stand out in these assemblages (Tab. 8). This trait is frequently observed in prehi­storic populations from the present Portuguese ter­ritory, but rarely noted in recent individuals. This fossa seems to be a varied manifestation of the at­tachment of the gluteus maximus, a muscle respon­sible for the movement of the hip and thigh. Accord­ing to several authors, the development of this fossa may be related to the increased development of this muscle to reduce the mechanical stress on the fe­moral diaphysis. This biomechanical stress may be due to high levels of physical activity, such as pro­longed locomotion, which is worse on irregular ter­rain. The dolmens of Facho, Cabeço dos Moinhos, and Ansiao are located in or next to slight mountai­nous regions where these high levels of physical ac­tivity would be easily achieved in daily locomotion. Other indicators of high levels of biomechanical stress are the observed flatness of the proximal fe­mur, marked and rugose gluteal ridge on proximal femur (Megalitho do Facho), signs of coxo-femoral arthrosis (Megalitho do Facho, Sobreira 1), and a thick cortical layer of long bones diaphyses of lower limbs (Megalitho do Facho, Carrascal). In the Sob-reira 1 collection, one right femur sexed as female stands out since although being from a young adult (it was still possible to observe the epiphyseal line, in some parts), several mechanical stress markers had already developed: slight enthesis alterations of the linea aspera, and the beginning of degenerative changes of the proximal end and flatness. It is not easy to draw the pathological profile of these samples due to their fragmentary and commingled nature, or to compare them, due to differential pre- Sample Platimeric Platicnemic index index Megalitho do Facho 71.43 (n = 1) 73.31 (n = 4) Cabeço dos Moinhos 75.5 (n = 3) – Dólmen de Ansiao 77.94 (n = 21) 76.19 (n = 1) Dólmen do Carrascal 66.7 (n = 1) – Anta da Sobreira 1 81.5 (n = 1) 67.7 (n = 1) Tab. 7. Mean of platymeric and platycnemic in­dexes in the samples discussed in the present study. servation of skeletal elements. For example, no data on oral pathologies is available for Megalitho do Facho, since only one tooth (in calcification) was preserved. Still, despite all these limitations, the observed pathologies give us relevant insights on the lives of these human communities and how they were adapted to their environment. For that purpose, relevant stress indicators, such as cribra orbitalia, porotic hyperostosis, enamel hypoplasia and periostitis, were studied since together they can be informative on the health status of the popula­tions. Childhood health is a particularly good indi­cator of community health status, since children are more susceptible to metabolic stress due to infectious diseases, poor nutrition and parasitism (Cunha et al. 2015). Overall, few pathologies were noted in the remains of these assemblages (Tab. 9). Cribra orbitalia was observed in one non-adult orbit from Megalitho do Facho and two (n = 4) from Ansiao. This pathologi­cal condition is due to genetic or acquired chronic anaemia, most frequently caused by inadequate nu­trition, such as due to iron, magnesium, vitamin B deficiencies, parasitism, weanling diarrhoea or to chronic disorders (Novak et al. 2017; Rinaldo et al. 2019), although other pathological conditions can’t be excluded (Walker et al. 2009; Brickley 2018). This indicator was also observed in one adult from Ansiao. Linear enamel hypoplasia was only observed on permanent teeth and in low frequen­cy. For Sobreira 1, the apparent high frequency of this type of stress marker results from having three out of the five teeth with enamel hypoplasia be­longing to the same individual, which confirms that this individual survived a very severe stress episode that left its mark on at least three teeth. Evidence of porotic hyperostosis was scarce in these individuals. It is notable that this pathological condition is eas­ily observed in fragmentary material but, even so, the careful observation of all cranial fragments from these assemblages detected only two cases: one at Megalitho do Facho and another at Carrascal. For the former, one fragment of parietal bone displays small holes compatible with this pathology (although taphonomic alterations cannot be excluded). In the Carrascal assemblage, mild remodelled porosity was observed in an incomplete skull (frontal and parietal bones). According to several authors, these skeletal changes are related to the healing of an infection or to metabolic disease. Among the latter, anaemia has long been suggested, whether acquired from para­sites, nutritional deficiencies or through genetic con­ditions (Rivera, Lahr 2017). The megalithic builders> new data on old bones from Megalitho do Facho (Figueira da Foz, Portugal) Sample Septal Hypotrocanteric Third Aperture fossa trochanter Megalitho do Facho 1\1 2\3 – Cabeço dos Moinhos – 3\4 1\4 Dólmen de Ansiao 2\6 7\28 1\11 Dólmen do Carrascal – 1\1 0\1 Anta da Sobreira 1 1\1 – – populations today, it is expected that they had to face some periods of nutrition defi­ciencies and/or illness during their lives. Still, the low frequencies of observed stress indicators and the predominance of remo­delled lesions suggest that they were resi­lient and survived various health problems. This evidence is reinforced by the low fre- Tab. 8. Morphological non-metric traits observed in the sam­ ples discussed in the present study. Evidence of infections in the form of periostitis was observed in the human remains from all tombs with the exception of Sobreira 1. The affected bones include skull and long bones, in low prevalence, and with few exceptions represent remodelled and old lesions. At Megalitho do Facho, two bones display this pathology, a fragment of parietal bone and a diaphyseal fragment of a left femur. The latter ex­hibits evidence of remodelled intramedullary long bone infection. In the assemblage of Carrascal, pe­riostitis was noted only in adult bones as remodel-led lesions, with the exception of a fragment of a right parietal bone where it may be linked to a trau­ma (depressed fracture), and in one distal fragment of diaphysis of a tibia with deposition of new bone. Only at Ansiao periostitis was observed in one non-adult bone, a distal fragment of the diaphysis of a right humerus with deposition of new bone, that is, an active lesion at time of death. The adult sample of this dolmen, including few fragments of skull, fe­murs, tibias and fibulae, display alterations due to remodelled lesions which were not active at death. The exceptions are one fragment of left tibia and a right one, that had active lesions at death expressed by the presence of new bone deposition. All these lesions reflect periods of physiological stress that these individuals endured. Similarly to quencies of linear enamel hypoplasia, a per­manent record of physiological stress. Concerning oral pathology, another indicator of health and well-being of an individual, the carioge­nic lesions are not significant, with frequencies lower than 3%. Other relevant parameters of oral pathol­ogy such as antemortem tooth loss, periapical lesions and periodontal disease cannot be evaluated due to the total or almost total absence of maxillary bones. The exception is Ansiao, were antemortem tooth loss (4.3%; 6/139) and periapical lesions (1.4%; 2/ 139) were registered affecting the individuals in low frequencies. Bone trauma The analysis of trauma patterns can provide rele­vant information on the lifestyle of past populations. Trauma was only observed in cranial bones from Carrascal and Ansiao. In the former, signs of trau­ma include depressed cranial fractures, trepanation and two possible osteolytic lesions, despite the low number of preserved fragments. For Ansiao, de­pressed fractures and two perforating lesions were described, probably due to arrowheads, all remod­elled lesions (Silva 2003a). Cranial lesions such as depressed fractures can result from either everyday accidents or interpersonal violence. Accidents related to daily activities can occur more easily in mountai­nous or irregular terrains, such as where Ansiao is Megalitho do Facho Dolmen Ansiao Dolmen Carrascal Anta da Sobreira 1 Caries – 2.6% (2\40) 1.7% (2\117) 0% (0\21) LEH – 1.2% (6\506) 8.2% (8\97) 23.8% (5\21) Non-adults> 2\4< Cribra orbitalia Left orbit non-adult Not observed Not observed adults> 1\12 Porotic One parietal bone fragment Not observed 1 incomplete skull Not observed hyperostosis One cranial bone< Infections Skull and long bones Skull and Long bones Not observed diaphysis of left femur Slight (skull, Osteoarthritis Slight Slight Slight long bones and vertebrae) Entheseal changes Slight Slight Slight Slight 5 depressed fractures< 2 depressed fractures< Trauma Not observed Not observed 2 skull perforations< Trepanation Legend> LEH – Linear enamel hypoplasia. Tab. 9. Summary of the pathologies observed in bones in the samples discussed here. Ana Maria Silva located, although violence cannot be excluded. As for the two perforation traumas, probably due to ar­rowheads, violence may be a more plausible expla­nation. Besides these traumas, signs of a complete and re-modelled trepanation in an adult right parietal bone was described from Carrascal. This intervention was performed by a drilling method which, accord­ing to Silva (2003a; 2017), is described for older di­scoveries from this region of the Iberian Peninsula, being later replaced by the scraping method. No evi­dence of trepanation was found in the remaining samples, but the poor preservation of skulls in these assemblages, reduced to small pieces due to taphono­mic factors, makes recognition difficult. Although no postcranial trauma was detected in these collections, Santos Rocha (1900.215) mentioned the presence of a remodelled trauma on the distal part of a diaphysis of a right humerus from Facho. This trauma, with a long axis of 22mm, was observed on the medial surface of the bone fragment. Unfortuna­tely, this bone fragment is now missing. In sum, these individuals seem to have been affected by biomechanical stress since early in life, reflected by the flatness of their long bones and entheseal and osteoarthritic changes. Mild to moderate signs of physiological stress were recorded for these indivi­duals, which together with the predominance of healed lesions is suggestive of relatively good health status within these prehistoric populations. Final remarks The study of long excavated osteological collections, which are often poorly preserved, is always a chal­lenge. The magnitude of bone loss is variable and related to several actions over time, frequently start­ing before excavation due to prior disturbance of the archaeological levels in the tombs. The excava­tion procedure in itself can result in the loss of bone elements, particularly the smallest or more fragile ones. Other factors contributing to bone loss are the conditions under which the remains are stored and curated, reorganized and moved. However, their study continues to be irreplaceable for the under­standing of these human communities. Moreover, the application of similar criteria and protocols in the study of these collections in recent decades has allowed not only the assessment of their anthropo­logical profile, but also provided data for compara­tive analyses (Silva, Ferreira 2016/2017; Silva 2017). In these dolmen burials, individuals from both sexes and apparently from all age groups are present, although frequently individuals less than five years in age are under-represented. That can reflect egal­itarian groups where almost all members were able to be buried in the collective tomb of their clan/com­munity. Since early in life, these individuals were affected by significant biomechanical stress, attest­ed by the presence of several indicators (flatness of their long bone, entheseal and osteoarthritis chan­ges), that are strongly suggestive of high daily mobil­ity. Signs of physiological stress were mild to mode­rate, with the predominance of healed lesions, in­dicative of relatively good health among these pre­historic populations. More variability was found in the trauma patterns. This type of pathology was only described in cranial bones in two collections: Dol­men do Carrascal and Dolmen de Ansiao. The ma­jority are healed depressed fractures that probably resulted from accidents, although interpersonal vio­lence cannot be ruled out. This last explanation fits better for the two perforation lesions reported from Ansiao. According to Santos Rocha (1900.215), the collection of Facho included a trauma in a distal frag­ment of right humerus. Unfortunately, this bone frag­ment has been lost, but it attests the presence of trauma in postcranial bones. In sum, the anthropological analysis of old collec­tions, such as Megalitho do Facho, continues to be highly significant for our understanding of prehisto­ric populations, allowing unique insights into their way of life. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The author expresses their gratitude to the Museu Municipal Santos Rocha (Figueira da Foz) for ac­cess to the collection, and all the collaborators from the museum, in particular Ana Margarida Ferreira, Rodrigo Pinto and Carlos Batista. Steve Emslie for the English revision and for useful suggestions that improved the manuscript. Thanks are also due to the two reviewers for their helpful comments. André Afonso Pereira helped in editing some of the Figures. CIAS (PEst-OE/SADG/UI0283/2020) provid­ed financial support for the radiocarbon dating. 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Novas pesquisas no Megalitho da Cumieira. Manuscrito de António dos Santos Rocha. O Arqueólogo Portugues 3(3): 274–277. Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Revisiting prebuilding Dodona Eleni Vasileiou Ephorate of Antiquities of Ioannina, Ioannina, GR elvasileiou78@gmail.com ABSTRACT – The aim of this paper is to put together the currently dispersed information about the occurrence of architectural remains at the archaeological site of Dodona during the so-called prebuil-ding phase, mainly at the end of the Late Bronze Age-Beginning of Early Iron Age through the reports and diaries of the site’s excavators. Moreover, the combination of the architectural remains with the portable finds will lead to suggestions about the site’s character during late prehistory. Was it a hum­ble village inhabited by stockbreeders, or a hypaethral sanctuary? KEY WORDS – Dodona; architectural remains; apsidal building; stone-lined postholes; settlement; cult activity Ponovni pregled predstavbne Dodone IZVLE.EK – Namen .lanka je zdru.iti trenutno razpr.ene podatke o pojavu arhitekturnih ostankov na arheolo.kem najdi..u Dodona v .asu t. i. predstavbne faze, kar pomeni med pozno bronasto in zgodnjo .elezno dobo, in sicer s pomo.jo poro.il in dnevnikov izkopavalcev najdi..a. Poleg tega bo kombinacija arhitekturnih ostankov s prenosnimi najdbami vodila do predlogov o zna.aju tega naj­di..a v pozni prazgodovini. Je torej najdi..e skromna vas, ki so jo poseljevali .ivinorejci, ali odpr-to sveti..e? KLJU.NE BESEDE – Dodona; arhitekturni ostanki; apsidalna stavba; s kamni oblo.ene luknje; nasel­bina; kultne dejavnosti The archaeological site of Dodona lies in NW Greece (Epirus) (Fig. 1). There, according to the ancient au­thors, functioned the oldest Oracle of ancient Greece (for details about the ancient sources see Vasileiou 2019a.99–100). For many years travellers from all over Europe have been trying to locate the exact po­sition of Dodona (Soueref, Vasileiou 2017.181– 182). At some point it was even written that: “To as­certain the site of Dodona would seem now to re­quire a response from the Oracle itself” (Words­worth 1881). The first excavation works at the site were conduct­ed by Constantinos Carapanos, a banker and mer­chant from Arta (Carapanos 1877; 1878; Manopou­los 2015; Soueref 2015). The excavation lasted from the 6th of September 1875 until February 1876, and focused on the visible monuments. It covered an area of c. 20 000m2 and reached a depth of 2.5m. However, Carapanos and his colleagues did not pro­vide us with stratigraphic details and did not man­age to reach the virgin soil. Starting in 1920, and continuing for a number of years, the Archaeologi­cal Society at Athens (Georgios Sotiriadis, Dimitrios Evangelidis, Sotiris Dakaris, Konstantina Gravani, Chryseis Souli and Amalia Vlachopoulou) and the Ephorate of Antiquities of Ioannina also conducted excavations in the area (Gravani, Souli, Vlachopou­lou 2014; Soueref 2019a). Based on the reports and diaries of the site’s excava­tors, the current paper aims to put together the dis- DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.22 Revisiting prebuilding Dodona persed data about the existence and nature of the prehistoric architectural remains at Dodona. The first architectural remains, which can be related to the so-called prebuilding phase of the Sanctuary at Dodona, were unearthed by Evangelidis and Da­karis (1959). They both noted that in the northwest­ern side of the ‘Sacred House’ (E1, Temple of Zeus and Dione) (Fig. 2) a series of flattened limestone slabs had been revealed. These were positioned ver­tically in the virgin soil, having an ellipsoidal curve and following an E-W orientation (Evangelidis, Da­karis 1959.24–30). In close proximity, a stone-lined posthole came to light. The flattened slabs were pro­bably used to prevent damage to the building’s wall from rainwater (Evangelidis, Dakaris 1959.26) (Fig. 3). The first to question Dakari’s interpretation was Andronikos (1966.272). However, the renowned ar­chitect Charissis refuted this claim more strongly, and argued that the construction functioned as a drainage channel (Charissis 2010). Additionally, he claimed that if these slabs were part of an edifice the view of the sacred oak tree – laying inside the temple – would have been obscured, while the south entrance to the building would also have been ob­structed. However, it is still difficult to choose be­tween the two proposals, namely the function of the slabs as the wall of a building or a drainage channel, and further excavation works are re­quired for a conclusive answer to be provided. Evangelidis and Dakaris noted that, they discovered an intact prehistoric layer along the west stoa of the ‘Sac­red House’. In the southwest corner of the building a burned clayish layer came to light, possibly a hearth, c. 1.60–1.90m in diameter (Evangelidis, Dakaris 1959.65). This contained a si­gnificant number of handmade sherds and clay drop-like beads of the Late Bronze age period (Fappas 2010), mix­ed with ashes and charcoal. Recently, both inside and outside of the south­east corner of the ‘Sacred House’ some paving (measuring 0.90 x 2.15m) has been unearthed over the virgin red soil and underneath the Hellenistic peribo­los foundation (Velenis, Georgoulas 2008.783; Georgoulas 2016.46; Geor­goulas, Skalisti 2017.307–309). Its ex­cavator believes that it is contemporary with the aforementioned hearth. While excavating the east part of the Bouleuterion’s stoa (E2) (Fig. 2), Dakaris found several black rec­tangular cavities in the floor, which were assumed to be pits (‘bothroi’) (Dakaris 1967.39; 1967a.39) (Fig. 4.1). In front of the east entrance of the stoa two circular holes (a, b), probable postholes, were also found. To the south of them, and near the stoa’s stylobate, a pit shaped like a figure of eight was un- Eleni Vasileiou earthed, containing a small number of sherds. Dakaris thought that it could be a small pottery kiln because of the discovery of clay slab fragments and the upper half of a large storage vessel, identified as an eschara and a tholos, respectively (Dakaris 1967. 40–42). However, judging by the fact that no traces of burning have been observed in the vase’s interior, the structure could not have functioned as a kiln (Hasaki 2002.221–223, 328–329). From the area adjacent to the sty-lobate, a number of clay lumps with branch and reed impressions have been collected, suggesting wattling daubed with clay (Da­karis 1967b. 48). Five more postholes sur­rounded by a stone packing (a, b, g, d, z) and a vase (e, AMI 3715) were found in front of the west entrance of the Bouleuterion on the red virgin soil (Dakaris 1967b). The distance between the axis of the postholes was 1.55m (Dakaris 1967.40). It seems that they be­longed to a building that extended to the north towards the Bouleuterion’s interior and the south towards the exterior of its stoa. No intelligible ground plan has been preserved. Later, in the Bouleuterion’s main hall, the foundations of an apsidal building came to light (Dakaris 1969) (Fig. 4.2). Half of a matt-painted kantharos was found in the east part of the building, while from the foundations a clay biconical spindle whorl dated to the LHIII period was uncovered (Dakaris 1969. 30). According to the excavator’s description, the edifice is typical of the Early Iron Age (Dakaris 1969.31) when buildings of different shapes were in use (namely apsidal, oval, elliptical and rectangu­lar) (Mazarakis-Ainian 1997). These buildings would have been covered with perishable materials, while their foundations were made of stone. In the adjacent Prytaneion (O) (Fig. 2), north of the eastern stoa bases, Dakaris found a circular building made of stone, at a level deeper than one of the bases, with internal and external diameters of 4.20 and 3.25m, respectively (Dakaris 1971a.127, fig.2; 1971c.14–15) (Fig. 4.3). Its fill included handmade and wheel-made sherds, as well as traces of charcoal. Dakaris proposed that the building was contempora­neous with the apsidal one at the Bouleuterion. In the southwestern corner of room a of the Pryta­neion’s wing O1 (Fig. 2), the excavators uncovered a circular posthole lined with vertical stones (Daka-ris 1981.7; Gravani 1997.333, footnote 27; 2007. 103, footnote 55) (Fig. 4.4). In trench 23 burned lumps of clay coming from a hut’s superstructure and a posthole were found (Souli, Vlachopoulou, Gravani 2000.149, Tab. 91g, 92a) (Fig. 4.5). At the same spot, in trench 33, a significant number of adobe lumps were collected (Souli, Vlachopoulou, Gravani 2004.17). Finally, in the northern edge of the Prytaneion’s west stoa, east of base 32, a disturb­ed layer was revealed and ascribed by the excavator to the Late Bronze-Early Iron Age (Fig. 4.6). This la­yer can be correlated with the stone relics found deeper in this trench (Georgoulas 2015.783). Summarizing the data reviewed above, the picture is as follows: a hearth and paving in the ‘Sacred House’, an apsidal edifice at the Bouleuterion, pits and post-holes of a rectangular hut in its stoa, a circular buil­ding north of the bases of the eastern stoa of the Pry-taneion, postholes and relics of a wall in the Pryta­neion (Fig. 4). Revisiting prebuilding Dodona Building activity is more intense in the western part of the Sanctuary, where the buildings related to the political character of the site were erected, from the 4th century BC onwards. These constructions seem to be part of a small settlement of stockbreeders con­sisting of huts made of perishable materials (War-dle 1977.177; Dieterle 2007.241; Vasileiou 2008. 141; 2016.42; Luce 2010.25). In Epirus, similar buil­dings have been found at Vitsa (Zagori) (Vokotopou­lou 1982.87–89; 1986), Dourouti (Ioannina basin) (Andreou, Gravani 1997.585– 590), Pogoni (near the Albanian border) (Andréou, Andréou 1999; An-dreou 2003), Thesprotiko (Louros valley) (Dakaris 1971b.29, Fig. 48; Konstantaki, Spanodimos 2008. 19, footnote 26), and Aetos (Thyamis valley) (Rigi-nos 2005.574; Metallinou 2012.353). The portable finds consist mainly of everyday vases with thick walls (cooking and storage vessels) (Vasileiou 2015. 44–49) (Fig. 5). Imports from southern and central Greece have also been found, pointing to contacts between the locals and people from these areas. Of special interest is the discovery of a large number of handmade high-stemmed kylikes at the Bouleuterion deposit (Dakaris 1967; Wardle 1972.198; 1977.177; Soueref 2001.52; Vasileiou 2015.139–141, 214–215; Yiouni, Vasi­leiou 2017). Having in mind that none of the deposit’s finds seems to be in their original position, probably as a result of levelling in the Hellenistic period for the construction of the Bouleuterion, it can be claimed that their production was part of industrial activity. It is of course very dif­ficult to comment on the organization of the pottery since no production areas or kilns have been discovered. The shape of the hand-made kylix constituted a hybrid type as it combined three different pottery traditions: the Mycenean (shape), the Epi­rotic (fabric technology of manufacture) and the matt painted ones (decoration) (Yiouni, Vasileiou 2017.410) (Fig. 6). The simultaneous use of kylikes in a number of sites in the Ioannina basin is indicative of organized production exceeding the li­mits of the household and probably indi­cating some technical expertise (Soueref 1989.172–173; Vasileiou 2015.214–215). The fact that the kylix came as a result of the fusion of three different traditions, in conjunction with the recovery of their components at Dodona, could lead to the conclusion that this hybrid type was ini­tially produced there (Yiouni, Vasileiou 2017.416). According to the available data, hand­made kylikes were restricted chronologically (to the 11th and 10th centuries BC) and contextually (in do­mestic contexts). Thus, their occurrence at the Bou­leuterion deposit consolidates the hypothesis that Eleni Vasileiou there was a settlement dating to the end of the Late-Beginning of the Early Iron Age period. The situation differs in the eastern part of the site. The hearth and paving at the ‘Sacred House’ can be associated with cultic activity which would have taken place in the open-air (Vasileiou 2015.218; 2016.42; Georgoulas, Skalisti 2017.309 Soueref 2017.398). Regarding the finds relating to the hearth, nothing corroborates its sacred character (sherds of handmade vessels and c. 300 clay drop-like beads, probably connected to weaving). However, the mi­niature pottery (Fig. 7) and the non-utilitarian bronze tools and weapons from the adjacent area can sup­port a religious function (Vasileiou 2015.218–219; 2016.42). The miniature vessels could have been filled with offerings to the worshipped deity, and some of these vessels have been classified as ritual vases (Zolotinikova 2019.97). Concerning their chronology, only a few vases have been assigned back to the Early Helladic period, while wheel-made pottery of southern provenance has not been disco-ing incised and impressed decoration, and spear-vered at the ‘Sacred House’s’ deposit. Additionally, a heads) dating to the Late Helladic-Early Iron Age pe-votive character can be attributed to the bulk of the riod, because they were small and sometimes made bronze findings (such as knives, axes sometimes bear-of a sheet of bronze (Papadopoulos 1976.298–315; Wardle 1977.190–197; Soueref 2001.55–61; 2019b. 55; Vasileiou 2008.139–141; 2015.218–219; 2016. 42). However, it remains unclear if some sort of cult activity took place there (Vasileiou 2019b.113–114). Consequently, all that can be said with certainty is that there is a clear difference in the use of the east and west parts of the sanctuary of Dodona which can be identified since the prehistoric period. Unfor­tunately, it is impossible to draw any firm conclu­sions concerning the nature of the architectural re­mains of the prebuilding phase at Dodona because of the lack of undisturbed stratigraphic layers, at least for now. However, the pieces of the puzzle are starting to fall into place, and a more complete pic­ture should thus be seen in the years ahead. . References Andreou I., Gravani K. 1997. To iero tis Douroutis. Do-doni KST: 581–626. (in Greek) Andreou H. 2003. Kampila ktismata tis isteris epochis tou Chalkou kai tis proimis epochis tou Sidirou stin koilada tou Gormou Pogoniou. In N. Kyparissi-Apostolika, M. Pa-pakonstantinou (eds.), I Perifereia tou Mikinaikou Kos­mou, 2nd Diethnes Simposio, 26–30.09, Lamia 1999. Athens: 117–133. (in Greek) Andréou E., Andréou I. 1987. Une nécropole tumulaire a Pogoni de l’Épire. In P. Cabanes (ed.), L’Illyrie méridio­nale et l’Épire dans l’antiquité. Actes du colloque inter­national de Clermont-Ferrand (22–25 octobre 1984). Clermont- Ferrand: 47–49. 1999. Les villages préhistoriques fortifiés de la vallée de Gormos a Pogoni d’ Épire. In P. 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Journal of Hellenic Religion 12: 85–132. back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) The Sarmatian ‘horseback-riding’ burial tradition> examples from West Kazakhstan Muzaffer Gursoy 1, Seryk Akylbek2, and Kopjasar Jetibaev1 1 Archaeological Research Institute, Turkestan, Akhmet Yassawi University, KZ muzaffer.gursoy@ayu.edu.kz< kopzhasar.zhetibayev@ayu.edu.kz 2 Otyrar State Archaeological Preservation Museum, Otyrar, KZ s.akylbek@hotmail.com ABSTRACT – The West Kazakhstan region, with its strategic location linking Asia to Europe, has many pasture areas and rivers. These natural factors provided an appropriate environment for human life and contributed to the development of animal husbandry. Throughout history, a great number of horse-mounted nomadic tribes lived in this region. One of these tribes, the Sarmatians, lived in the Iron Age. The Sarmatians were nomadic horsemen and like other steppe tribes were a part of the kurgan culture. Kurgans have an important place with regard to demonstrating the burial traditions of the Sarmatians. In kurgan excavations in west Kazakhstan a large number of horseback-riding burials – in which the deceased is positioned as if riding a horse –were found and these are the main subject of our study. Although archaeologists have attributed horseback-riding burials to the Sarma­tians, they have not yet made a comment on the meaning of these burials in their belief system. In this study the meaning of these burials will be discussed and related to the belief system by compar­ing the horseback-riding burials in west Kazakhstan to burials which actually include horses in the Altai region. KEY WORDS – West Kazakhstan; Sarmatians; ‘horseback-riding’; Steppe Culture Tradicija pokopov v polo/aju jezdeca pri Sarmatih> primer iz zahodnega Kazahstana IZVLE.EK – Zahodni Kazahstan ima strate.ko lego med Azijo in Evropo ter velike povr.ine pa.nikov in rek. Ti naravni pogoji so zagotavljali primerno okolje za .ivljenje ljudi in prispevali k razvoju .i-vinoreje. Skozi zgodovino je na tem obmo.ju .ivelo ve.je .tevilo nomadskih plemen s konji. Eno iz-med teh je bilo tudi .eleznodobno pleme Sarmatov. Le-ti so bili nomadski konjeniki in so bili, tako kot druga stepska plemena, del kurganske kulture. Kurgani imajo pomembno vlogo pri sarmatskih na.inih pokopa. Pri izkopavanju kurganov v zahodnem Kazahstanu so odkrili ve.je .tevilo skeletnih pokopov v polo.aju jezdeca – kar pomeni, da je bil pokojnik v grob polo.en v dr.i, kot bi jahal ko­nja – in ti pokopi so glavna tema na.e .tudije. .eprav so arheologi Sarmatom pripisali pokope v po­lo.aju jezdeca, do sedaj .e pojasnili pomena teh pokopov v njihovem sistemu verovanja. V tej .tudiji razpravljamo o pomenu teh pokopov in jih navezujemo na sistem verovanja, in sicer s pomo.jo pri­merjave med pokopi v polo.aju jezdeca iz zahodnega Kazahstana s pokopi, ki dejansko vklju.ujejo pokope konjev na obmo.ju Altaja. KLJU.NE BESEDE – zahodni Kazahstan; Sarmati; ‘pokop v polo.aju jezdeca’; stepna kultura DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.23 The Sarmatian ‘horseback-riding’ burial tradition> examples from West Kazakhstan Introduction Although the west Kazakhstan region, surrounded by the Ural Mountains to the north, the Aral Sea to the south, and the Caspian Sea to the southwest, has a continental climate, the coasts of the Caspian Sea in particular have a mild climate. The city of Oral on the north-western end has many rivers and pastures while the states like Atirau and Mangistau located in its west are covered with desert sands and plateaus. The Yaik River (Jayiq/Zhayyq), one of the important rivers of the region, originates in the west of the Urals, passes into Oral and Atirau and ends in the Caspian Sea. All these geographical features contri­buted to the development of animal husbandry in the Iron Age just as they do today. Archaeologists suggest that Sarmatians lived on the banks of the Yaik River, in a region with high humidity and lend­ing itself to animal husbandry. Sarmatian kurgans excavated in and around the Yaik River prove this suggestion. These kurgans shed light on how Sarma­tians perceived the concept of death. The concept of death, one of the important elements of human life, has been interpreted differently throughout time by cultural environments which have different beliefs (Bahar 2013.267). Many cul­tures, however, accept living as a form of existence for this life, and death as something that leads to an afterlife. Therefore, in prehistoric ages it was often believed that death was not the end of life (Durmus 2004.17). In this belief system the dead person might have been buried in a certain position in order that the spirit of the deceased could pass to the af­terlife1. It might be suggested that in antiquity a culture’s lifestyle had a direct influence on the positioning of the dead in a certain way. In West Kazakhstan, where animal husbandry was coming into prominence, as well as in other steppe regions, it is clearly seen that some of the dead were buried in a horseback-riding position, with the body arranged as if sitting on or riding a horse. In the literature this practice is termed a horseback-riding burial. The kurgan areas excavated in West Kazakhstan contain a large num­ber of these burials and although archaeologists usually attribute them to Sarmatians, they have not yet made a comment on the meaning of these buri­als in the context of the Sarmatian belief system. This study aims to interpret the meaning of horse-back-riding burials in the belief system, and further­more claims that this practice should not be attrib­uted to the Sarmatians alone, taking into account their expansion areas. In accordance, after giving information about Sarmatians, the practice of the kurgan and of the horseback-riding burial will be defined. Graves thought to be the earliest examples of horseback-riding burials will be discussed. In ad­dition to this, the horseback-riding burials in West Kazakhstan and others in neighbouring regions will be discussed under different titles. Thus, the impor­tance of the horseback-riding burials will be empha­sized and their expansion area on the map will be indicated. Finally, the steppe culture will be exam­ined and burials containing actual horses will be compared with the horseback-riding burials in order to understand the meaning of this practice in the Sarmatian’ belief system. The Sarmatians Although the name ‘Sarmatian’ appears in the ac­counts of Ancient Greek historians such as Eudoxus, Pseudo-Skylax, Heraclides Ponticus, Theophrastus and Strabo, in the 4th and 3rd centuries BC (Smir­nov 1989.154), many scholars have claimed that the name ‘Sauromatian’, as mentioned by Herodotus, corresponds to the true Sarmatians. Herodotus re­counts in his mythical narration that the Sarmatians arose from marriages between Amazons and Scythi-ans (Herodotos 1973.58, 110). Aside from these myths narrations, archaeologists suggest that this group might have emerged from late Bronze Age cultures, like the Andronovo culture around West Urals and Srubna culture around the Volga (Sulu­mirskii 2008.37; Joldasbayulu 2010.32). Further­more, they suggest that the Sarmatian culture came into existence in the 4th century BC when certain peoples migrated from the east, joined the Sarmati-ans around the Aral Sea (Smirnov 1989.169), and that from the beginning of the 3rd century BC Sar­matian communities began to spread from West Urals to the northern Black Sea and Eastern Europe. They then maintained their existence in these areas until facing pressure from the Huns and Goths (Dur-mus 2012.51, 120). In light of such information it is clear that the earliest phase of the Sarmatians was the Sauromatian tribe living in West Urals, and they were later named the Sarmatians. 1 For instance, in the Bronze Age the deceased are usually buried in the hocker position. Archaeologists suggest that the hocker po­sition represented a foetal-like positioning where the arms embrace the lower limbs and that the deceased were consciously buried in this way, symbolising birth to the afterlife. Muzaffer Gursoy, Seryk Akylbek, and Kopjasar Jetibaev Ilhami Durmus (2012.131) says the following about the Sarmatians: “It is obvious that the social char­acteristic of the Sarmatians is based on the horse-mounted nomads. They maintained their lives in accordance with the nomadic lifestyle. They rode horses, shot arrows, and threw spears on horse­back. Their women also had the same lifestyle. Even a girl, according to the custom, could not get married unless she had killed an enemy. They were strictly attached to their customs. If a girl had not killed an enemy yet, she stayed unmarried and lived in this way. As nomadic horse peoples, they lived in four or six-wheeled carriages with two or three rooms. Oxen pulled the carriages. Women and children lived in the carriages while men ac­companied them on horseback. The Sarmatians raised horses, fed on cooked meat, and drank mare’s milk. In particular they castrated horses to be fat. Although the horses were small they were fast.” The information mentioned above indicates that Sar­matians were a horse-mounted nomadic tribe. As will be discussed in detail below, in their daily activities they bore witness to the speed, strength, and human-like behaviours of their horses, which thus began to take a place in their spiritual life. Therefore, in some burials the dead were placed into the ground in po­sitions that symbolically imitated a horseback rider. This practice will be described below in more detail. The definition of the horseback-riding burial practice In this practice, the deceased – lying on his back – was positioned with knees splayed, as if riding a horse, into a pit of a suitable size (Fig. 1). After the deceased was placed in this position, grave goods were deposited and a burial mound was heaped over the grave. The burial mound was 30 or 40m in diameter, and could be up to 1m in height. In the li­terature these large-scale graves are called kurgans (Choruhlu 2002.56). Kurgan In the steppe culture a ‘kurgan’ (Fig. 2) is a typical burial structure with a mound heaped over the grave (Gursoy 2019.142; Baykuzu 2005.2). The term kur­gan is a word of Turkish origin and derives from the verb ‘korumak’ which means a fortress or strong­hold (Ogel 1971.5). According to Vasily Barthold’s research, the word kurgan in Russian was borrowed from the Kipchak language. The German definition of a ‘kurgan’ in a linguistic manual belonging from the 14th century (Codex Cumanicus), preserved in Venice, is “en gihoft grab”, which means a mound or barrow heaped over the grave (Choruhlu 2016. 23). These burial mounds are known as ‘tumuli’ in ancient western sources (Tarhan 2002.598). Kurgan burials are found in the riverside areas such as Ya­ yik, Elek, Sagiz, and Jem in West Ka­zakhstan. Many of these kurgans were excavated by Kazakh and Russian ar­chaeologists, and during the excava­tions a good deal of horseback-riding burials were unearthed. Before exam­ining the archaeological data, we shall look at what is probably the earliest example of this practice. The earliest examples of horse-back-riding burials In graves belonging to the cultural en­vironments of Afanasevo (Stepanova 2008.91) and Yamna (Sinyuk 1996. 63), which are dated back to the be­ginning of the 3rd century BC or earli­er, skeletons in a position as if astride a horse (with the legs in a rhombus shape) have been unearthed. The ske­letons positioned in this way might be the earliest examples of the burial prac­tice at issue. Although in both graves The Sarmatian ‘horseback-riding’ burial tradition> examples from West Kazakhstan the legs of skeletons were in the same position, the archaeologists still did not define them as in the ‘horseback-riding’ position. Further­more the archaeologists also sug­gested that before rigor mortis had begun on the deceased’s body, the knees might have been brought to an upright position and later they may have spread by themselves. Contrary to this statement, if the deceased’s legs were consciously placed in graves making a rhom­bus shape, then it might be sug­gested that the Bronze Age burial practices were maintained uninterruptedly by the Sarmatians and other tribes. Horseback-riding burials in West Kazakhstan In West Kazakhstan many kurgans have horseback-riding burials. Among these are kurgan 5 from Der-kul burial site (Rikov 1927), kurgan 7 and grave No. 8 from Barbastau 3 burial site (Kushaev, Jelezchi­kov 1973.28), kurgan 23 from Barbastau 5 burial site (Kushaev, Jelezchikov 1974.18), kurgan 7 and grave No. 3 from Karasu 1 burial site (Kushaev, Je­lezchikov 1976.11), kurgan 4 from Kos Oba burial site (Jelezchikov 1998.11), and kurgan 7 from Sakril 3 burial site (Kushaev, Kokebaeva 1980.30). Excavators have attributed these burials to the Sar­matians. In the literature it is suggested that Sarma­tians first lived in the West Urals region and later spread to the North Black Sea region. However, when considering the archaeological data it is clear­ly seen that the practice of horseback-riding burial is not only found in these regions, but also in a wide area from the Altai Mountains in the east to the Fer-gana Valley in the south, as well as South Kazakh­stan, with the Sarmatians not living in these areas. Consequently, based on this information, it is incor­rect to attribute this practice to the Sarmatians alone. The horseback-riding burials outside West Ka­zakhstan Mentioning the examples which were found outside of West Kazakhstan unavoidably necessitates mak­ing a comparison of these to the similar ones found in other regions. In this regard we can make a com­parison between the near and distant environments. In this study the near environment involves the other regions of Kazakhstan, while the distant envi-ronment involves those regions outside the modern political boundaries of Kazakhstan. The examples from the near regions Some examples from the near regions that must be mentioned are the burial sites in Balandi 4 in Kyzy­lorda Region (Vainberg, Levina 1993.37) and in Kaytpas 1 in the West Kazakhstan region (Bayta­naev 2012.176). It is notable that in the Balandi 4 burial containing seven skeletons one of the skele­tons was buried in a horseback-riding position. The situation that all skeletons were found on the same ground level indicates that the deceased were bu­ried simultaneously and that they might have been from the same ethnic group. Within this framework, the question arises as to why only one of them was buried in a horseback-riding position, even though all the burials are both contemporary and belong to the same ethnic group. As an answer for this que­stion it might be suggested that only those indivi­duals following a certain belief system within the same ethnic group were buried in the horseback-riding position. It should be noted here that archa­eologists consider the Balandi 4 burial in the cul­tural environment of Shirik Rabat, and attribute the Shirik Rabat culture to the Saka Apasiak culture. This culture flourished as a parallel to the Sarmatian cul­ture in the region where the Syr Darya flows down. In other words, it is contemporary with the Sarma­tian culture (Vainberg, Levina 1993.5). Another example of horseback-riding burials was un­earthed in kurgan 2 from Kaytpas 1 burial site in South Kazakhstan. This burial differs from the Ba­landi example because it contains a single burial. The round, golden plate found in this burial depict­ing sea creatures draws particular attention because it is strange to find in this region. Apart from this ob­ject, some conical and barrel-type vessels were also Muzaffer Gursoy, Seryk Akylbek, and Kopjasar Jetibaev found in the same grave. The excavator has not yet made a statement about which tribe he believes this grave belongs to, although he has stated that these vessels resemble the Sogdiana finds (Baytanaev 2012.176). The examples from the distant regions Outside the political boundaries the horseback-rid­ing burials were also found in some burial sites such as Yagunya in the Tagar culture (Martinov 1979. 16), Krillovka 3 around the Ob River (Mogilnikov 1997.19), and Vorukhe in the west of the Fergana Valley (Davidovich, Litvinskii 1955.28). The Tagar culture, which was developed by the Saka people, was surrounded by the Sayan Mountains to the east and by the Altai Mountains to the west and included the steppes of the Minusinsk-Khakas Basin. There­fore, the Tagar culture was less influenced by other cultures and developed from the local traditions that emerged in the Bronze Age (Bokovenko 2002.518). Aleksey Martinov (1979.52) stated that the triangu­lar bronze arrowheads found in the cultural circle of the Tagar culture resemble the Sarmatian arrow­heads belonging to the 5th and 4th centuries. Apart from this Elena Abramova Davidovich and Boris Anatol’evich Litvinskii¢(1955.67) associated the Vo­rukhe burial site with the Saka-Wusun culture and drew attention to the similarities of its burial struc­ture, burial custom and material finds to those found in the cultural circle of the Sarmatian culture. They also dated this burial site to the 1st century AD. Hor-seback-riding burials were found in the western bu­rial sites. Among these the Novocherkask site around the Don River (Maksimenko 1983.33) and the Niko-loevka around the Dniester River (Melyukova 1971. 48) are included. In the Novocherkask the deceased was placed in a simple grave on an organic base (an artificial bed), and the grave goods included the front foot of a horse, a bone-handled knife, a gold­en plate depicting a human face, and an amphora belonging to the Hellenistic Age. In terms of grave goods this burial, which is attributed to the Sauro­matians (i.e. the Sarmatians) is dated to the 3rd and 2nd centuries BC (Maksimenko 1983.33). In a devia­tion grave in Nikoloevka, however, a horseback-rid­ing burial was identified. According to the excava­tor, in this burial an amphora, a black-glaze kantha­ros, imported wares shaped like a kylix, jugs of Thra­cian origin, and Scythian-type weapons were found. This burial was attributed to the Scythians and dated to the 4th and 3th centuries BC (Melyukova 1971. 48). This indicates that horseback-riding burials are likely to be found in both Sarmatian and Scythian graves. Finally, when relating the horseback-riding burials to a belief system, it should be noted that there has not yet been any interpretation of this in the litera­ture. However, in the following section we try to in­terpret the meaning of horseback-riding burials in the Sarmatian belief system by relating the steppe culture to burials which actually include horses in the Altai region. The steppe culture Pre-modern humans maintained their lives by uti­lizing the basic natural resources of their inhabited environments, such as what they could obtain from the forest, animal husbandry, and agriculture. Be­cause the earliest cultures in antiquity created their genuine identity (‘özlülük’) in the circumstances of their inhabited region, the tribes living in forests de­veloped a ‘parasitic’ culture (hunting and collecting), inhabitants of cultivable land developed a ‘peasant’ culture (farming), and the steppe people developed a ‘shepherd’ culture. The steppe culture differed from that of the other nomadic peoples, because the life­style of the desert nomads is different from that of the steppe nomads. The key animals in the desert culture is the camel, while in the steppe culture it is the horse. Therefore, in the steppes a ‘horse-based culture’, which is the highest level of nomadic cul­ture, developed. The steppe region stretching between the Altai Moun­tains and the north coasts of the Black Sea was the centre of the horse-based culture (Durmus 2002. 15). In brief, the communities living in this area used horses to perform many activities, such as carrying loads, hunting, providing nutrition, waging war and so on. When performing all these activities the no­mads took advantage of the speed, strength, and human-like behaviours of horses. The horse thus be­gan to take a place in their spiritual life. Moreover, because they believed that only a horse could take them to the afterlife they began to bury the deceased in graves with a horse. Horse burials A horse has an important place in the burial cus­toms of the steppe culture. The kurgans in the Altai region, in particular, represent the custom of bury­ing the deceased with horses to a significant degree. The archaeological data shows that a whole horse The Sarmatian ‘horseback-riding’ burial tradition> examples from West Kazakhstan or a certain body part of it was buried with the de­ceased, and archaeologists suggest that this is be­cause the ancient people believed that a horse could take them to the afterlife (Lipets 1979.204). In the boundaries of Kazakhstan the earliest data about using a horse for a ritual purpose was found in the Botai settlement belonging to the Eneolithic Age. In this settlement after the deceased were buried beneath houses they were surrounded by the heads of horses (Kozibaev 1996.97). In the ear­liest periods the burials in Kazakhstan, the Altai, and Yenisei River Basin contained a certain body part of a horse or related equipment, but by the time of the 5th and 3rd centuries BC the deceased was buried with a whole horse. The burial sites in and around the Altai Mountains, such as Pazirik, Bashadar, Katanda (Choruhlu 2002. 54) and Berel (Fig. 3), are good examples of this cus­tom. Because it is located in the Kazakhstan region, the burial site in Berel is discussed in detail below. The Berel burial site is located near the Berel village in the Katin-Karagay district in East Kazakhstan Pro­vince. The excavations in this site are today con­ducted by Zainolla Samashev and his excavation team. Kurgan 11 in Berel, excavated between 1998 and 1999, has a particularly important place with regard to demonstrating the custom of burying the dead with a horse and the material culture of that period. Inside the kurgan covered by a stone mound, which is 34m in diameter and 1.70m in height, a deep and large burial chamber was unearthed. In the wooden frame placed in the southern edge of the grave a trough-like coffin engraved into a wood block was placed. The archaeologists claim that after two individuals, a male and a female, were put in the coffin, the kurgan was covered with wood and that gold-plated bronze statues of a griffin were also nailed to the four sides of this wood. Unfortunately, because the grave was plundered by grave robbers the skeletons were poorly preserved. In the north­ern half of the grave, however, 13 untouched horse remains in two lines, six on the top and seven at the bottom, were found. Along with the horses a large number of carved wooden decorations showing va­rious animals, including deer, mountain sheep, sphinx and griffin, were found. All these artefacts might have been specially prepared for the ceremony as­sociated with burial. Samashev and his team attri­buted the custom of burying the horses with their owner to the belief in an afterlife (Samashev et al. 1999.61). In Berel a horse was buried in a corner of the grave, and this tradition can be seen in almost every kurgan in the area. Even today in Kazakhstan there is still the burial cus­tom of cutting off the tail of the horse the deceased rode while he was alive. The Kazakhs call this prac­tice tulday. The horse of a hero is his closest part­ner, and thus a horse losing its owner is like a wo­man losing her husband, and so the Kazakhs symbo­lize this through the cutting off of the horse’s tail. After this, no one can ride the horse for a year, until the time the yearly food allowance of the deceased has expired. After a year the horse is sacrificed to the deceased and then its meat is eaten and final­ly its skull is placed on the grave of the dead (Bese-taev 2011.215). Discussion and conclusions In conclusion, from the earliest periods until today, sacrificing a horse as part of the burial ritual is a common custom within steppe culture. However, as is indicated above, sometimes a horse was buried and sometimes only a certain body part of the horse or some related equipment were buried. It is likely that this can be attributed to the inequality of pos­sessions among nomads. In antiquity, nomads con- Muzaffer Gursoy, Seryk Akylbek, and Kopjasar Jetibaev sidered horse herds a symbol of wealth, and often Based on all facts outlines above, it is plausible to demonstrated this wealth in burials. Therefore, low-suggest that the horseback-riding burials were prac-income families might have buried a certain body ticed as a part of a belief system, as in other horse part of the horse or its equipment to represent it ra-burials. In other words they had the same spiritual ther than burying a whole horse. It is appropriate meaning, because even if a horse was not buried here to quote the Kazakh proverb “ölim bardin ma-with the dead person, the deceased was still posi-lin sasadi, joqtin artin asadi”, which means “death tioned in the grave as if they were riding a horse. causes the rich to lose his property and makes the Consequently, with this practice the nomads might poor take off his skirt”. However, horse burials, whe-have symbolically sent their dead to the afterlife, ther using te head of the horse or another part of its even when burying a horse was not economically body, might be considered as a symbolic companion possible. of the dead in order to accompany him in the after­life, as in Berel, Pazirik, Bashadar and Katanda. . References Bahar H. 2013. Avrasya’da Ölüm ve Türklerde Mezar Kül­türü. In H. Bahar, M. Toker, M. Ali Hacigökmen, and H. Gül Küçükbezci (eds.), Prof. Dr. Nejat Göyünç Armagan. Selçuk Üniversitesi Matbaasi. Konya: 267–304. Baykuzu T. D. 2005. 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(in Russian) Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) in the 4th millennium cal BC Maja Andri; Institute of Archaeology, ZRC SAZU, Ljubljana, SI maja.andric@zrc-sazu.si ABSTRACT – ABSTRACT – In the 4th millennium cal BC the hinterlands of Ljubljansko barje basin were covered by beech-fir (Abies-Fagus) and mixed oak (Quercus) forests. People of several Eneoli­thic cultural groups were cutting/burning forests to open the landscape for fields and pastures. This paper focuses on high-resolution palynological analyses of pile-dwelling settlements Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica to investigate human impact on the vegetation, and to compare past economy and vegetation history in various parts of Ljubljansko barje. The results revealed that there were no major changes of vegetation throughout the 4th millennium cal. BC, neither were there any major differences between vegetation of the selected study sites. Cultural layers from archaeolo­gical sites (in larger quantities than off-site cores) contain pollen of plants that were brought to the settlement by people: cereals and other cultivars (Cereal t., Linum), weeds (Centaurea), grazing indi­cators (Plantago lanceolata, Campanula, Ranunculaceae), ruderal taxa (Chenopodiaceae, Artemisia), (gathered) shrubs (Corylus) and herbs. Traces of anthropogenic impacts from older settlements were detected in sediments below archaeological cultural layers at all study sites. KEY WORDS – Ljubljansko barje; Stare gmajne; palynology; vegetation history; Eneolithic pile-dwelling sites Naselja in vegetacija na Maharskem prekopu, Starih gmajnah in Blatni Brezovici na Ljubljanskem barju v 4. tiso;letju pr. n. [t. IZVLE.EK – V 4. tiso.letju pr. n. .t. so na .ir.em obmo.ju Ljubljanskega barja uspevali prete.no bukovo-jelovi in hrastovi gozdovi. Ljudje razli.nih arheolo.kih kulturnih skupin so te gozdove ob­.asno izsekavali, da so si odprli povr.ine za potrebe poljedelstva in pa.e. Raziskava, ki jo predstav­ljamo v tem .lanku, se je usmerila na prou.evanje palinolo.kega zapisa na eneolitskih koli..ih Ma-harski prekop, Stare gmajne in Blatna Brezovica, da bi prou.ili .lovekov vpliv na rastlinstvo in pri­merjali razvoj vegetacije in nekdanje gospodarstvo na razli.nih delih Ljubljanskega barja. Rezulta-ti visokoresolucijskih palinolo.kih raziskav so pokazali, da v 4. tiso.letju pr. n. .t. ni pri.lo do ve.jih sprememb vegetacije, prav tako pa nismo zaznali razlik med vegetacijo v okolici posameznih koli.., ki le.ijo na razli.nih delih Ljubljanskega barja. Kulturne plasti z arheolo.kih najdi.. (v ve.ji meri kot so.asne plasti v vrtinah izven najdi..) vsebujejo pelod rastlin, ki so jih v naselje prinesli ljudje: .ita (Cereal t.) in druge kultivirane rastline (npr. Linum), pleveli (Centaurea), pa.ni indikatorji (Plan-tago lanceolata, Campanula, Ranunculaceae), ruderalni taksoni (Chenopodiaceae, Artemisia), neka­teri grmi (Corylus) in zeli. Na vseh najdi..ih smo v plasteh pod arheolo.ko kulturno plastjo odkrili tudi sledove .lovekovega vpliva na vegetacijo v .asu (domnevnih) starej.ih naselbin v okolici. KLJU.NE BESEDE – Ljubljansko barje; Stare gmajne; palinologija; zgodovina vegetacije; eneolitska koli..a DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.24 Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia)... Introduction Palaeoecological research at Ljubljansko barje has a very long tradition. After the first archaeological, archaeobotanical and palynological research in the 19th and 20th centuries (Deschmann 1875; see .er­celj 1996.9), palynological research in the 1960s focused on studies of Late Glacial and Holocene ve­getation history, economy, and the impact of local Neolithic/Eneolithic populations on the environment. The results of research to date suggest that in the 4th millennium cal BC the landscape at Ljubljansko bar-je and its surroundings was forested with predomi­nantly beech-fir and oak forests. The impact of Neo­lithic/Eneolithic farmers on the vegetation was pro­nounced: the inhabitants of Ljubljansko barje were cutting forest to open the landscape for agricultural fields and pastures (e.g., .ercelj 1966; Culiberg, .er­celj 1978; .ercelj 1996 and references cited there, Jeraj 2002; Jeraj et al. 2009; Andri. et al. 2008; To-lar et al. 2011). Furthermore, forest cutting and graz­ing presumably also led to more subtle changes in vegetation composition. For example, it was suggest­ed that due to small-scale forest clearances and thin­ning of canopy, forest composition shifted from be-ech-fir forest towards more open vegetation with more shade-intolerant taxa, such as hazel, oak and hornbeam (.ercelj 1988; 1996; Gardner 1999). However, despite widespread archaeological and pa-lynological research, many archaeological study sites excavated before the 1990s lacked high resolution palynological sampling and good chronological con­trol. With the beginning of dendro-chronological research in the 1990s, the chronology of ar­chaeological sites improved significantly, suggesting that individual sites were settled only for short time periods, often a few decades (.ufar et al. 2010 and references cited there). Therefore, together with archaeological re-excava­tions and new excavations, the need arose to take sam­ples for high-resolution, pol­len analysis with chronologi­cal control, comparable to the work done at newly dated ar­chaeological sites. In this pa­per the palynological record of four sedimentary columns from three dendrochronologically dated (.ufar et al. 2010; 2015) archaeological sites Maharski prekop (3489±10 cal BC), Stare gmajne (older settlement: 3332±10 cal BC; and younger settlement: 3109±10 cal BC) and Blatna Brezovica (3071±14 cal BC) will be compared to address the questions of: (1) whe­ther the environment of archaeological study sites located in various parts of Ljubljansko barje varied significantly; (2) were there any major changes of vegetation and human impacts on the 4th millenni­um cal BC environment and (3) how do the environ­mental changes at Ljubljansko barje resemble/differ from contemporary and similar landscapes in Europe (e.g., Swiss pile-dwelling sites)? Methods Samples for palynological research (four sedimen­tary columns) were collected at three archaeological settlements (Fig. 1, black dots) during the archaeo­logical excavations of a research team of the Insti­tute of Archaeology, ZRC SAZU (led by Anton Velu.­.ek): Maharski prekop (excavations 2005), Stare gmajne (excavations 2006 and 2007) and Blatna Brezovica (excavations 2003). The sediment was col­lected using metal boxes (c. 7 x 7 x 50cm) from one profile of each archaeological trench, wrapped in cling film, aluminium foil and thick plastic sheeting and stored in a cold store at +4°C. The following analyses were carried out for all four sedimentary columns: sediment description and loss-on-ignition analysis, radiocarbon dating, pollen and microchar-coal analysis. Maja Andri; The percentage of organic material, carbonates and the remaining inorganic material in the sediment was determined by loss-on-ignition analysis at 550°C and 950°C (Bengtsson, Ennell 1986). The sediment description (Tab. 1) follows Jorgen Troels-Smith (1955). The age of the sequence was determined by AMS ra­diocarbon dating of: (a) organic carbon extracted from the sediment (Blatna Brezovica, Stare gmajne 2006, Maharski prekop); (b) plant macrofossils (Sta­re gmajne 2007); or (c) unidentified plant material (Stare gmajne 2006, Maharski prekop). Laboratory pretreatment for radiocarbon dating varied accord­ing to the type of material which was dated: for sam­ples with bigger plant remains (Beta-229152, Beta­229153, Beta-241776, Beta-269683 and Beta-242461) acid/alkali/acid washes were used, whereas organ­ic carbon was extracted from bulk sediment using acid washes (Beta-210387, Beta-241777, Poz-36293, Poz-36292, Beta-202705 and Beta-192538). The con­ventional radiocarbon ages were calibrated using CA­LIB Rev 5.0.1 (CALIB 5.0 Website; Stuiver, Reimer 1993) on the IntCal 04 calibration dataset (Reimer et al. 2004). On study sites with several radiocarbon dates and relatively narrow two sigma ranges (e.g., Maharski prekop and Stare gmajne 2006), the age of the entire sequence was estimated by using linear interpolation between median values (Telford et al. 2004) of radiocarbon dates (Tab. 2) and the dendro- MAHARSKI PREKOP 2005 Depth Troels-Smith symbol Colour (Munsell soil chart) 0–16cm Sh4 (organic sediment) 10 YR 2\1 (black) 16–27cm Sh3 As1 (organic clay) marbled> 10YR 2\1 (black) and 10YR 4\1 (dark grey) 27–40cm Sh1 As3 (organic clay) marbled> 10YR 2\1 (black) and 10YR 4\1 (dark grey) 40–58cm Sh3 Ag1 (organic clay) 10YR 2\2 (very dark brown) 58–63cm Sh1 Ga1 Ag1 As1 (organic silty and sandy clay) 10YR 4\1 (dark grey) 63–99cm Sh2 Ag1 Dh1 (organic silty clay) 10YR 2\1 (black) 99–111cm Sh1 Ag1 Dh1 Lc1 (organic silty clay) 10YR 4\1 (dark grey) 111–130cm Sh1 As1 Lc2 (organic silty clay) 2.5Y 4\2 (dark greyish brown) 130–145cm Sh1 Lc3 (organic silty clay) 2.5Y 5\2 (greyish brown) 145–160cm Lc4 (silty clay) 2.5Y 5\3 (light olive brown) STARE GMAJNE 2006 0–18cm Sh3 As1 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 2.5\1 (black) 18–28cm Sh2 As2 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 3\1 (very dark grey) 28–45cm Sh1 As1 Ag2 (organic silty clay) 2.5 Y 4\3 (olive brown) 45–90cm Sh1 As1 Tl1 Th1 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 3\2 (very dark greyish brown) 90–103cm Sh2 Tl1 Th1 (organic sediment) 2.5 Y 2.5\1 (black) 103–107cm Sh1 As1 Tl1 Th1 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 3\1 (very dark grey) 107–117cm Sh1 As2 Ag1 (organic silty clay) 2.5 Y 4\2 (very dark greyish brown) 117–130cm Sh2 As1 Th1 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 3\1 (very dark grey) STARE GMAJNE 2007 0–5cm Sh2 Th1 Tl1 (organic sediment) 10 YR 2\1 (black) 5–30cm Sh1 As3 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 3\2 (very dark greyish brown) 30–38cm Sh2 As2 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 3\1 (very dark grey) 38–62cm Sh1 As 3 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 3\2 (very dark greyish brown) 62–80cm Sh2 Tl1 As1 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 3\1 (very dark grey) 80–90cm Sh3 As1 (organic clay) 2.5 Y 2.5\1 (black) 90–130cm Sh2 As1 Ag1 (organic, silty clay) 2.5 Y 3\2 (very dark greyish brown) BLATNA BREZOVICA 2003 0–20cm Sh 4 (organic sediment) 7.5 YR 2.5\1 (black) 20–50cm Sh2 As2 (organic clay) 7.5 YR 3\1 (very dark grey) 50–60cm Sh2 As1 Ld13 (organic, silty clay, rich in wood detritus) 7.5 YR 3\1 (very dark grey) 60–110cm Sh2 Ag1 Ld13(organic, silty clay, rich in wood detritus) 10 YR 3\1 (very dark grey) 110–130cm Sh1 Ag2 As1 (silty clay) 10 YR 4\2 (dark greyish brown) Tab. 1. Troels-Smith (1955) description of the sediment: Maharski prekop (western cross-section of trench 2), Stare gmajne 2006 (southern cross-section of trench 2), Stare gmajne 2007 (southern cross-section of trench 3) and Blatna Brezovica 2003 (southwestern cross-section of trench 2). Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... chronological age of the cultural layer at each ar­chaeological site (.ufar et al. 2010). At Maharski prekop sample Beta-229153 (80cm) was omitted from the age-depth model due to age reversal and incompatibility with dendrochronolo­gical dating (.ufar et al. 2010). At Stare gmajne 2006 two types of material from the same level (126cm) were dated in order to test the suitability of plant macrofossils and organic sediment for ra­diocarbon dating (Tab. 2; Beta-241777 and Beta­242461). Two sigma ranges of radiocarbon dates partly overlap, suggesting that both types of mate­rial are reliable for dating and the organic sediment is not (significantly) older than the plant macrofossils. For pollen analysis, 1cm3 of sediment was subsam­pled with a 4cm resolution throughout most of the profile, i.e. 35 samples at Maharski prekop, 26 sam­ples at Blatna Brezovica, and 33 and 32 samples at Stare gmajne 2007 and 2006 profiles, respectively. A standard laboratory procedure was used (HCl, NaOH, HF, acetolysis, staining with safranine, mounting in silicone oil, Bennett, Willis 2002) and pollen concen­tration was determined by adding Lycopodium spo­res (Stockmarr 1971). Pollen was identified using a Nikon Eclipse E400 light microscope at 400x mag­nification, reference collection at the Institute of Ar­chaeology ZRC SAZU and pollen keys (Reille 1992; 1995; Moore et al. 1991). A minimum of 500 pollen grains of terrestrial taxa and spores (= pollen sum) were counted in each sample, with the exception of silty and sandy layers with very low pollen concen­trations at some study sites (e.g., at Blatna Brezovi-ca), where the pollen sum was lower. The concentra­tion of microscopic charcoal was established using two methods: microscopic charcoal (in two size clas­ses, <40µm and >40µm) was counted along with pollen and, in addition to this, Clark’s (1982) point count method was used. The pollen and ‘loss-on-ig­nition’ data were analysed and plotted using PSIM­POLL 3.00 software (Bennett 1998; PSIMPOLL web­site). All pollen diagrams were divided into statisti­cally significant zones using binary splitting by sum of squares. Values lower than 0.5 are marked with a solid dot. The archaeological cultural layer is marked by a shaded bar. Results The results of sediment description and radiocarbon dating are presented in Tables 1 and 2, the results of loss-on-ignition analyses in Figures 2, 5, 7 and 9, and the results of pollen and microcharcoal analysis in Figures 3, 6, 8 and 10. Radiocarbon dating and age-depth modelling The results of radiocarbon dating (Tab. 2) are in ac­cordance with the results of previous, dendrochro­nological research (.ufar et al. 2010), indicating MAHARSKI PREKOP 2005 Sample Depth Material dated Conventional 13C\12C ratio 2. calibrated Median number radiocarbon age result .cal BC] .cal BC] Beta-229152 44cm Charred material 4730±50 BP –24.6 o\oo 3636–3494 3522 Beta-229153 80cm Unidentified plant material 3910±50 BP –28.2 o\oo 2564–2209 2390 Beta-210387 124cm Organic sediment 5560±40 BP –30.0 o\oo 4461–4338 4401 STARE GMAJNE 2006 Beta-241776 40cm Peat 3610±40 BP –27.1 o\oo 2131–1881 1970 Beta-269683 96cm Unidentified plant material 4480±40 BP –28.2 o\oo 3348–3026 3210 Beta-241777 126cm Organic sediment 5210±40 BP –30.4 o\oo 4226–3954 4016 Beta-242461 126cm Peat 5170±40 BP –29.3 o\oo 4049–3809 3980 STARE GMAJNE 2007 4560±60 BP Poz-36293 70–71cm Stachys sp. \ 3501–3030 3244 0.21mg C 4580±60 BP Poz-36292 90–91cm Linum u. \ 3516–3096 3313 0.17mg C BLATNA BREZOVICA 2003 Beta-202705 48cm Organic sediment 4450 ± 40 BP –28.7 o\oo 3338–2933 3151 Beta-192538 80cm Organic sediment 4730±40 BP –28.2 o\oo 3635–3376 3526 Tab. 2. Radiocarbon dates: Maharski prekop (western cross-section of trench 2), Stare gmajne 2006 (southern cross-section of trench 2), Stare gmajne 2007 (southern cross-section of trench 3) and Blatna Brezovica 2003 (southwestern cross-section of trench 2). Maja Andri; that the final phase of each archaeological settle­ment (presumably settled for a few decades only) is dated to: Maharski prekop: 3489±10 cal BC, Stare gmajne: 3332±10 cal BC (older phase) and 3109± 14 cal BC (younger phase), and Blatna Brezovica: 3071±14 cal BC. However, due to long two sigma ranges and fast changes in sedimentation rates, the chronological precision of palynological sequences is lower in comparison with dendrochronology. There­fore, an attempt to estimate the sedimentation rate and produce an age-depth model was carried out only on longer sequences with a higher number of radiocarbon dates (for Maharski prekop and Stare gmajne 2006). The sedimentary record on study sites covers the time periods between c. 5000–2000 cal BC at Ma-harski prekop and c. 4000–2000 cal BC at Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica. Before archaeological occupation, the sedimentation rate at Maharski pre­kop between 5000–3400 cal BC was c. 0.05cm/yr, which is comparable with that at Stare gmajne 2006 (0.04 cm/yr between c. 4000 and 3200 cal BC). The sedimentation rate in the archaeological cultural la­yers of all study sites was presumably much faster, for example, c. 0.29cm/yr at Stare gmajne 2007, due to the higher input of organic material (e.g., wood, plants, bones, artefacts) which was brought to the settlement by people. Sediment younger than c. 2500–2000 cal BC seems to be missing on all study sites: it was probably removed during peat cutting in the 18th and 19th centuries AD (Melik 1927), and possibly also by Late Bronze Age flood erosion at c. 1700 cal BC (Andri. et al. in preparation). Sediment description, loss-on-ignition and pol­len analysis Maharski prekop The pollen column which was collected in 2005 from the western profile of archaeological trench 2 (for archaeological excavations see Velu..ek, .ufar 2008) is 160cm long. The archaeological cultural layer is located at c. 86–48cm. Sediment at the bottom of the profile (160–114cm) is calcareous silty clay (Tab. 1), with a very low per­centage of organic material (c. 5–15%) and 25–40% of carbonates, whereas the percentage of remaining inorganic material without carbonates is more than 50% of sediment dry weight (Fig. 2). At 114–62cm the amount of organic material increases to c. 10–31% (highest in the archaeological cultural la­yer at 80–68cm), whereas carbo­nates decrease to 1–22% of sed­iment dry weight. The percent­age of carbonates also remains low at the top of the profile (62– 0cm), whereas the amount of or­ganic material decreases and the remaining inorganic material in­creases, especially at 62–32cm. In the pollen zone M–1 (160– 114cm, c. 5000–4200 cal BC; Fig. 3) tree and shrub pollen do­minates with 77–93%. The main tree/shrub pollen taxa are Co-rylus (19–42%), Alnus (9–24%), Quercus (8–18%) and Fagus (9– 12%, 25% only at 156cm), whe­reas Abies is present with very low values (0.1–2%). The percen­tage of herb pollen is low (c. 10%), but increases towards the top of the zone. The main herb taxa present are Cyperaceae (0.5–5%), Poaceae (1–3%), and anthropogenic indicator taxa Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... (e.g., Cereal type, Secale, Chenopodiaceae, Artemi­sia, Plantago lanceloata, each c. 0–2%). Microscopic charcoal and Pediastrum algae are also present in this pollen zone. In the pollen zone M–2 (144–62cm, c. 4200–3500 cal BC) the vegetation composition changes signifi­cantly. The percentages of Fagus and Abies increase (to c. 14–31% and 4–14% respectively), whereas those of Alnus (6–15%) and Corylus (12–26%) de­cline. In the archaeological cultural layer towards the top of the zone (86–62cm), the percentage of tree pollen (especially Abies and Fagus) starts to de­cline, whereas anthropogenic indicator taxa (e.g., Cereal t., Chenopodiaceae) increase. The main characteristic of the pollen zone M–3 (62– 0cm, after c. 3500 cal BC) is the change in forest composition: Picea and Pinus increase to 4–28% and 2–12% respectively, whereas Abies, Fagus, Quer­cus, and Corylus decline. The tree pollen sum de­clines and there is an increase in herbs (Cyperaceae, Poaceae, Cichoriaceae) and monolete fern spores (Filicales). The percentage of degraded pollen grains increases to c. 2–10%. Stare gmajne 2006 The pollen column which was collected in 2006 from the southern cross-section of archaeological trench 2 (for archaeological excavations see Velu..ek 2009a) is 130cm long. The archaeological cultural layer is located at c. 90–43cm. The sedimentary composition of the column is very heterogenous (Tab. 1 and Fig. 5). Sediment at 130– 116cm is mineral with 14–21% of carbonates, 11– 23% of organic material and 63–71% of remaining in­organic material. Further up the profile (116– 108cm) the amount of organic material drops to 3–4%, whe­reas the remaining inorganic material increases. A major change in sediment composition occurs when the percentage of carbonates (106cm) and inorga­nic material (102cm) declines; the organic material increases to 23–90% of sediment dry weight. At 90– 43cm the percentage of carbonates remains low (1– 5%), whereas the percentage of organic material (14– 59%) and the remaining inorganic matter (37–84%) fluctuates. Above 43cm the percentage of inorganic material is high (74–91%), the amount of organic material is similar to that seen at the bottom of the profile, but with a lower percentage of carbonates. In the pollen zone S–1 (130–90cm, c. 4100–3200 cal BC; Fig. 6), the percentage of tree and shrub pol­len is high (53–92%), the main taxa are Fagus (7– 21%), Quercus (7–21%), Abies (0–12%), Picea (3– 9%), Alnus (0.5–13%) and Corylus (9–25%). Herb taxa include Cyperaceae (0–12%), Poaceae (1–5%) and occasional occurrence of anthropogenic indica­tor taxa (e.g., Cereal t., Secale, Chenopodiaceae, Ar-temisia). The pollen concentration is c. 3500–9000 pollen grains per 1cm3, and in mineral part of the profile at 108–116cm it was very low (c. 400–1100 pollen grains/1cm3) and thus not possible to count a statistically significant pollen sum (>300). Towards the top of the zone the percentage of tree pollen de­clines, whereas the percentage of monolete fern spo­res (Filicales) and Thelypteris palustris increases. The main characteristic of pollen zone S–2 (90– 58cm, c. 3150–3100 cal BC) is the lower percentage of tree pollen (40–84%): all tree taxa decline, whe­reas Corylus slightly increases and fluctuates be­tween 17 and 51%. Herbs increase to 13–58%. The percentage of anthropogenic indicator taxa (e.g., Ce­real t. 1–10%, Secale c. 0.5%, Chenopodiaceae up to 40%, Artemisia 0.5–1%) and microscopic charcoal (0.1–0.7cm2cm–3) is high. The pollen composition in zone S–3 (58–43cm; c. 3100–2500 cal BC) is similar to that in S–2, but to­wards the top of the zone, immediately above the archaeological cultural layer, Pinus and Picea in­crease to c. 2–13%. The percentage of degraded pol­len is higher than in previous zones, with a very low pollen concentration (c. 300–650 grains/1cm3) and highest percentage of degraded pollen grains (27%) at the transition between zones S–3 and S–4. The percentage of tree taxa stays low in the pollen zone S–4 (43–0cm, after c. 2500 cal BC). The concen­tration of microscopic charcoal decreases, whereas Alnus, Filicales, Trilete spores and Cichoriaceae in­crease. Stare gmajne 2007 The pollen column which was collected in 2007 from the southern cross-section of archaeological trench 3 (for archaeological excavations see Velu.­.ek 2009a) is 130cm long. The archaeological cultu­ral layers are located at c. 95–85cm (older phase) and c. 85–70cm (younger phase). The sediment below the archaeological cultural lay­ers (130–95cm) is calcareous silty clay (Tab. 1), with a very low percentage of organic material (c. 9–17%) and 10–21% of carbonates, whereas the percentage of remaining inorganic material is 69–72% of sedi­ Maja Andri; Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... Maja Andri; ment dry weight (130–95cm, Fig. 7). Further up the profile the percentage of organic material in the ar­chaeological cultural layers increases to 19–33%, whereas carbonates decline to c. 1–4%. At 70–38cm the percentage of organic material decreases again to c. 10% and inorganic material increases to c. 85%. At the top of the profile (38–0cm) there is 15–27% of organic material, the percentage of carbonates re­mains low (2–4%), and the remaining inorganic ma­terial is between 68 and 82%. There are only two statistically significant pollen zones (Fig. 8): S–1 (130–37cm) and S–2 (37–0cm). In zone S–1 the percentage of tree and shrub taxa is relatively high (70–94%), but declines in archaeo­logical cultural layers (66–82%) and towards the top of the zone (only 44%). The main tree taxa are Fa-gus (11–20%), Quercus (18–24%), Alnus (5–14%) and Corylus (11–20%). The main herb taxa are Cy-peraceae and Poaceae, Cichoriaceae, Apiaceae, Ce­real t., Linum, Plantago lanceolata, Chenopodiaceae and Ranunculus a. The sediment also contains mi­croscopic charcoal. In the older archaeological cultu­ral layer (95–85cm) the percentage of Fagus and Quercus declines to c. 5% and 10%, respectively, whereas Corylus, Cereal t. and microscopic charcoal increase. In the younger archaeological cultural la­yer (85–70cm) Fagus and Quercus increase again, whereas anthropogenic indicator taxa and microsco­pic charcoal decrease. At 68cm Pinus, Picea, Abies and herb taxa (e.g., Cypearceae, Poaceae, Filicales, Sparganium) increase, whereas other tree taxa de­cline. The main characteristic of the pollen record in zone S–1 (38–0cm) is the low percentage of tree pollen (29–49%; only Alnus increases to 7–37%), and in­crease in Filicales (19–57%) and Trilete spores (4– 10%). Blatna Brezovica The pollen column which was collected in 2003 from the southwestern cross-section of archaeolog­ical trench 2 (for archaeological excavations see Ve­lu..ek 2009c) is 130cm long. The archaeological cul­tural layer is located at c. 77–57cm depth. Silty clay at 128cm contains only 7% of organic ma­terial, 25% of carbonates and 68% of remaining in­organic material. Up the profile the percentage of carbonates gradually decreases to c. 2–5%, whereas the organic material at 56cm increases to 30%. The main characteristic of sediment between 54 and 34cm is the higher percentage of organic material (28– 32%) with wood remains, whereas the percen­tage of inorganic material decreases to 62–70%. Se­diment above 34cm is similar, but with less organic material (25–30%). In pollen zone B–1 (128–77cm; Fig. 10) the percen­tage of trees and shrubs at 110–128cm is 85–94%, with the following main tree taxa: Quercus (19– 33%), Fagus (17–22%), Corylus (12–20%), Abies (4– 9%) and Picea (4–8%). The pollen concentration is very low (1300–1800 pollen grains per 1cm3). At 105cm tree taxa (especially Fagus and Quercus) de­crease, whereas herbs including anthropogenic in­dicator taxa (such as Cereal t., Chenopodiaceae, Ar-temisia), Poacae, Filicales, trilete spores and micro­scopic charcoal concentration, start to increase. In zone B–2 (54–34cm) trees (e.g., Fagus, Quercus and Corylus) decrease, but there is a short term increase in Abies, Cypearaceae, Equisetum and Filicales. The pollen concentration increases to c. 9000–35000 grains per 1cm3, but decreases again in zone B–3. The main taxa in zone B–3 (34–0cm) are Picea (11– 30%), Alnus (5–23%) and Filicales (2–15%). Discussion Taphonomy and palaeohydrological condi­tions before, during and after archaeological settlement The sediment composition was affected by palaeo-hydrological conditions and human activities. In the first half of the 4th millennium cal BC, before the establishment of archaeological settlements, the per­centage of carbonates is higher at all study sites (15– Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... 20% of sediment dry weight; Figs. 2, 5, 7 and 9). At Maharski prekop the sediment contains c. 20–40% of carbonates and Pediastrum algae, suggesting high CaCO3 precipitation in lake deposits between c. 5000–4100 cal BC. Later the percentage of carbon­ates declines to 20% of sediment dry weight (which is comparable with pre-settlement layers of Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica), and Pediastrum al­gae are no longer present. Sedimentological research at Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica (Turk, Horvat 2009) demonstrated that sediment below the archa­eological cultural layer contains ostracode valves and oogonia of Characeae, diatoms and fine grain carbonate aggregates (with 60–80% of carbonates in <0.2mm fraction), which presumably deposited in a shallow lake to marshy environment. At the current state of research it is difficult to estimate whether all carbonates in pollen profiles were authigenic, or some were also brought to the basin by river trans­port. In the archaeological cultural layers of all study sites the proportion of mineral grains increased, whereas the proportion of carbonates is low, suggesting a marsh environment (Turk, Horvat 2009). Similarly, the results of archaeobotanical research at Maharski prekop indicate that the settlement was presumably located near water, probably lakeshore and/or wet­land, which were occasionally flooded (Tolar 2018). Pollen of water plants is, in small quanti­ties, present at all study sites and throughout all sequences (Figs. 3, 6, 8 and 9), but does not show any patterns (e.g., hy­droseral succession). On-site ta­phonomic processes were also affected by people. Both loss-on-ignition (this study; Figs. 2, 5, 7 and 9) and sedimentological re­search (Turk, Horvat 2009) have shown an increased per­centage of organic matter. A fast­er sedimentation rate and con­sequently lower pollen concen­tration at some sites were also detected as a result of human ac­tivity, and possibly also changed hydrological conditions (lower CaCO3 precipitation). The sediment above archaeolo­gical cultural layers contains mo­stly organic material (this study; Figs. 2, 5, 7 and 9), quartz grains and an increasing percentage of clay towards the top of the profile which deposited on the floodplain (Turk, Horvat 2009). The percentage of degraded pollen increases in the top part (= above c. 60–50cm) of all analysed profiles (Figs. 3, 6, 8 and 9) because of drier condi­tions due to (present-day) draining activities, farm­ing, and dry and warm summers, which endanger the preservation of the palaeoecological and archa­eological record in the area. Flood events and local vs. regional variability Several layers containing more quartz (Turk, Hor-vat 2009) and remaining inorganic material, lower pollen concentration and more degraded pollen (this study; Figs. 2–10, layers marked with arrows) were discovered at all study sites. It is assumed that they formed during flood events, however the subsequent results are only preliminary and further, more de­tailed geological research (sedimentological, mine­ralogical and geochemical analysis) is needed to ad­dress this topic in more depth. No clear regional pattern with distinct, synchronous flood events was reconstructed. Due to unprecise chronology (no annually laminated sediment) it is difficult to pinpoint individual flood events. Traces of flooding in the first half of the 4th millennium Maja Andri; Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... Maja Andri; cal BC (c. 3750–3450 cal BC and 3200–3100 cal BC) are more apparent and better dated on some (e.g., Stare gmajne 2006) than other study sites. They can be correlated with the 3700–3250 cal BC phase of higher lake levels (Magny 2004; with tripartite flood­ing in the Alps at c. 3650–3370 cal BC, Magny et al. 2006) and CE cold phase 5 (c. 4200–3650 cal BC, Haas et al. 1998). The 3200–3100 cal BC flooding event partly coincides with the 3332–3160 cal BC ‘dendrochronological occupational hiatus’ when no archaeological sites were discovered at Ljubljansko barje (.ufar et al. 2010). The only flooding event that clearly appears on all study sites is located above archaeological cultural layers and coincides with an increase of Picea, Pinus and Abies and de­cline of other tree taxa (e.g., Fagus, Quercus). A cold (wet) climate favours the spread of needle-leaved taxa (Ellenberg 1988), whereas an increase of Pinus can also be associated with forest regrowth after the abandonment of the settlements and/or metallurgi­cal activities at the beginning of 3rd millennium cal BC (Velu..ek 2004b). The visibility and extent of (short-term, annual/de­cadal?) floods was presumably affected by the (local) topography, hydrological network and other factors. Even in sedimentary profiles, lo­cated just few hundred metres apart, differences in sediment composition can be significant, illustrating how local variability vs. regional events shaped the landscape. These differences are clearly seen in the Stare gmajne 2006/2007 profiles. In the western part of the settlement (Stare gmajne 2007; see Figs. 4, 7), changes ap­pear to be more gradual and more similar to the Maharski pre­kop and Blatna Brezovica study sites, whereas in the east (Stare gmajne 2006; Fig. 5) the sedi­ment composition changes more. Here a high concentration of or­ganic material was found imme­diately below the archaeological cultural layer (Fig. 5, 100–92cm), suggesting that before archaeo­logical settlement the hydrologi­cal conditions probably became drier (but still waterlogged), with a slower sedimentation rate and thus slightly higher pollen concentration (Fig. 6). The sediment in a very thin layer at 96cm contained so much organic material (unidentified plant mate­rial, Fig. 11) that the pollen concentration was too low to yield pollen results. The sediment immedi­ately below and above this layer contained an in­creased percentage of monolete fern spores, espe­cially Thelypteris palustris (the marsh fern growing in sunny wetland areas, e.g., at the edges of marshes and bogs), which presumably started to grow in situ after the hydrological conditions became drier. Alnus tree stumps were also found below the archaeolo­gical cultural layer (Velu..ek 2009b). A rapid tran­sition between a lake-marsh and organic, humous la­yer was detected also by sedimentological research (Turk, Horvat 2009) in drainage ditch 6 (profile SG6), located c. 100m west of the palynological se­quence. This rapid transition is in contrast with the gradual lake-marsh to humous sediment transition found in the western part of the settlement (profile SG12, Turk, Horvat 2009). In contrast to Janez Turk and Aleksander Horvat (2009), who suggested that the lack of a gradual transition in profile SG6 was either because the sediment was decomposed or did not form at all (due to sedimentological or erosion­al gaps), palynological research, presented in this Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... paper (at least in archaeological trench 2) indicates that there seems to be no hiatus at the transition be­tween the lake-marsh sediment and organic layer at c. 102cm (Fig. 5), neither were there any traces of intensive peat degradation (e.g., corroded or de­graded pollen; Fig. 6). To summarize, it appears that the eastern part of Stare gmajne (2006) settlement was located in a topographically slightly different environment to the other study sites, possibly in the vicinity of a tributary to the Bistra river feeding the lake, which probably affected the sedimentological processes. Vegetation history and human impact on the environment of Ljubljansko barje In this chapter the vegetation composition and sed­imentological characteristics at each individual study site, before, during and after archaeological settle­ment, will be analysed in order to better understand the short-term environmental changes and human impact, and to compare study sites located in diffe­rent parts of Ljubljansko barje. Maharski prekop At c. 5000–4100 cal BC the landscape around Mahar-ski prekop was predominantly forested. The main tree taxa were Fagus and Quercus (Fig. 3), which is comparable with previous research at a study site (.ercelj 1975) and on the pollen record of a ‘Na mahu’ core (Andri. et al. 2008; Andri. 2009), which is located c. 1km north of Maharski prekop (Fig. 1). Alnus pollen, together with Cyperaceae, Pediastrum algae and a relatively high percentage of carbonates (Fig. 2), suggests freshwater (lake-wetland) hydrolo­gical conditions. The landscape around Maharski pre­kop was not completely forested. Anthropogenic in­dicator taxa of cereals and weeds (e.g., Cereal type pollen, Secale, Chenopodiaceae, Artemisia) occur as early as c. 5000 cal BC, with a peak at c. 4400 cal BC. They can be associated with the farming activi­ties of people living at the Resnikov prekop site (lo­cated c. 1.5km southeast of the study site, Fig. 1), which is dated to c. 4500 cal BC (Velu..ek 2006; .ufar, Koren.i. 2006). Unfortunately, these activi­ties were not studied in detail in situ since part of the sedimentary sequence at the Resnikov prekop settlement (including pollen and plant macrofossils) was removed by water (Andri. 2006; Culiberg 2006). After c. 4100 cal BC the forest composition at Mahar-ski prekop changed: the percentage of Abies and Fa-gus pollen increased, whereas Poaceae and Cypera­ceae declined. A similar change was detected also in the ‘Na mahu’ core, where an increase of Fagus (and later Abies) after c. 4000 cal BC was associated with a wetter climate (Andri. et al. 2008). Abies and Fa-gus thrive well in a humid climate and are suscep­tible to human impact (Ellenberg 1988). Abies in particular, which needs plenty of rain, is sensitive to fire and grazing (Tinner et al. 1999). Therefore, this change of regional forest composition at the begin­ning of the 4th millennium cal BC (which was less clearly seen in other regions of Slovenia, e.g., Bela krajina, Andri. 2007), can be associated with a glo­bally colder and wetter climate (e.g., Mayewski et al. 2004; Magny 2004; Denton, Karlén 1973; Seppä, Birks 2001; O’Brien et al. 1995). Despite generally more forested landscape, people were still cutting/burning smaller surfaces of forest for fields (cereal peak at c. 3900 cal BC) and grazing (Plantago lanceolata pollen). To date no archaeo­logical sites unambiguously dated to 3900 cal BC have been discovered at Ljubljansko barje, with the exception of .rnelnik, and possibly Gornje mosti..e (Velu..ek et al. 2018). On the basis of archaeologi­cal typology (pottery with stab-and-drag incisions) and dendrochronological research, Maharski prekop settlement was dated to c. 3500–3400 cal BC (3489± 10 cal BC, Velu..ek, .ufar 2008; .ufar et al. 2015; To.kan et al. in press, see also paragraph below), which is c. 400 years younger than the traces of weak human impact detected on the pollen diagram. Additionally, a new series of radiocarbon dates for samples of animal bones, wood, charcoal and food residue on pottery from Maharski prekop were ob­tained by researchers of the University of Ljubljana (Mleku. et al. 2012.Tab. 1). At least 14 of these new dates (mostly carbonized food/organic residues on pottery) and two wooden piles fall into the period between 4400 and 4000 cal BC, which is signifi­cantly older than dendrochronological dating. On the basis of this data a much longer settling period of Maharski prekop was suggested, with intensive occupation between 4400 and 3550 cal BC and two peaks (4400–4000 and 3800–3550 cal BC) (Mleku. et al. 2012). Archaeobotanical research also indicates early farm­ing activities, dated at the transition between the 5th and 4th millennium cal BC. At the Strojanova vode site, located c. 200m southeast of Maharski pre­kop, plant macrofossil remains of crushed red dog­wood seeds (Cornus sanguinea) and cereal remains (Hordeum and Hordeum/Triticum) indicate human activities (c. 4225–3948 cal BC), which are older than dendrochronologically dated remains of wood­en piles at Strojanova voda (3586 cal BC = young­ Maja Andri; Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... Maja Andri; est date, oldest c. 3700 cal BC, .ufar et al. 2015; To-lar 2018). Both palynological and archaeobotanical research therefore suggest early farming activities in a wider Maharski prekop region. People were present in the landscape, but at the current state of research it is not possible to suggest the exact location of this older settlement (there is no dendrochronological data or Lasinja pottery dated to 4350–3900 cal BC to support this assumption about older settlement, Ve­lu..ek pers. comm.). The main reasons for the cur­rent state of research are very complex palaeohydro-logical conditions and taphonomic processes in this part of Ljubljansko barje. The LIDAR record shows traces of past fluvial activity (Budja, Mleku. 2008; 2010; Mleku. et al. 2012). At Resnikov prekop part of the sequence was removed by water (Andri. 2006), and thus water erosion and displacement of arte-facts and sediment (including plant micro and macro-remains) is possible. The archaeological and palaeo-ecological record were shaped by taphonomic pro­cesses, and further research is needed in the area. The base of the archaeological cultural layer in the pollen profile at Maharski prekop is not reliably da­ted. Due to age reversal, the 14C date of unidentified plant material at 80cm (Tab. 2, Beta-229153) was omitted from the age model (Fig. 3). It is pos­sible that roots of younger plants growing on the site af­ter the abandonment of the set­tlement were dated, or sedi­ment was redeposited by water. On the other hand, horizontal mobility of animal finds at Ma-harski prekop seems to be lim­ited and bones were not affect­ed by water erosion (To.kan et al., in press). A cultural layer, dendrochronologically dated to c. 3500 cal BC, is clearly seen in the pollen diagram (Fig. 3): there is a decline in tree pollen (Fagus, later also Abies and Quercus) and increase in cere­als, weeds (e.g., Centaurea, Chenopodiaceae), other herbs (e.g., Poaceae, Lamiaceae, Apia-ceae, Filipendula) and micro­scopic charcoal concentration. The taxonomic precision of ar­chaeobotanical research is bet­ter than for pollen, and macro-remains of the following culti­vated plants were discovered in the cultural layer: Hordeum vulgare, Triticum monococcum, Triti-cum dicoccum (in the pollen record shown as Ce­real type), Brassica rapa (Cruciferae pollen) and Pi-sum sp. (Fabaceae pollen) (Tolar 2018). After the abandonment of Maharski prekop at c. 3500 cal BC (end date 3489±10 cal BC; .ufar et al. 2015) the forest composition changed again. Picea and Pinus spread, whereas other tree taxa decline. A similar vegetation change was detected at other study sites (Stare gmajne, Blatna Brezovica, ‘Na ma-hu’), which might be associated with a colder cli­mate (Haas et al. 1998) and/or forest regrowth after the abandonment of the settlement. Stare gmajne 2006 At c. 4100 cal BC the landscape around Stare gmaj­ne was (similar to at Maharski prekop) surrounded by beech-fir and mixed oak forests. Traces of human presence in the landscape are already visible in the pollen record (Cereal t., Secale, Artemisia), although to date no archaeological sites dated to c. 4100 cal BC have been discovered in the western part of Ljub­ljansko barje. A low presence of Cereal t. and other Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... anthropogenic indicator pollen below the archaeo­logical cultural layer was also detected in the pollen diagram from Ho.evarica, located 250m northwest of Stare gmajne (Fig. 1; Jeraj 2002.280, Fig. 2; Jeraj et al. 2009.286–287, Fig. 7). Human impact on the environment in the vicinity of the Stare gmajne site increased again at c. 3500– 3400 cal BC, when small-scale forest clearance oc­curred (decline of Abies, Fagus, Alnus, Tilia), with an increase in herb pollen (Cereal t., Chenopodia­ceae, Ranunculaceae) indicating farming activities, which can be associated with the Ho.evarica archa­eological site (Velu..ek 2004a; end date: 3547±10 cal BC, .ufar et al. 2010). Archaeobotanical and pa-lynological research at Ho.evarica (Jeraj 2004) sug­gest significant human impact on the surrounding landscape, especially in the reduction of nearby fo­rest and usage of cleared land for farming. Pile-dwel­lers from Ho.evarica were cultivating barley and wheat (Jeraj 2002; 2004; Jeraj et al. 2009) and kept domesticated animals (pigs, sheep, goat and cattle, To.kan, Dirjec 2004), which is also visible in the pollen record of Stare gmajne. In archaeological trench 2, excavated at Stare gmajne in 2006, only a younger archaeological layer, dated to c. 3109±14 cal BC (Velu..ek 2009b; .ufar et al. 2010) was discovered. The pollen record from the cultural layer (90–43cm, Fig. 8) shows a pronounced decline in tree pollen (apart from Corylus and Tilia) and an increase in anthropogenic indicator taxa (sen-su Behre 1981; e.g., Cereal t., Secale, Chenopodia­ceae, Artemisia, Centaurea) suggests intensive farm­ing. After the settlement was abandoned, Pinus, Be-tula, Picea (and later Alnus) spread, whereas other tree taxa (e.g., Fagus, Tilia) decreased. Stare gmajne 2007 Archaeological trench 3 was excavated just c. 270m west of trench 2 (see Fig. 4), therefore both pollen diagrams from Stare gmajne (Figs. 6 and 8) are very similar, which is not unusual considering that they were (partly) surrounded by the same vegetation. The main difference between study sites is that in the western part of Stare gmajne an older cultural layer (3332±10 cal BC) was also discovered in addi­tion to the younger one (3109±10 cal BC, Velu..ek 2009a). Both cultural layers are visible on the pol­len diagram (Fig. 8), but human impact in the time of the older phase is more pronounced, which is in accordance with the results of archaeobotanical (To­lar et al. 2011) research. During the older settlement phase at about 3300 cal BC people were cutting fo­rest (decline of Fagus, Abies, Quercus and Tilia) and there is an increase in cultural plants (Cereal t., Linum), Chenopodiaceae and microscopic charcoal. Plant macrofossils analysis demonstrated that the main cultivars at Stare gmajne were Triticum dicoc-cum, Triticum monococcum, Hordeum vulgare, Papaver somniferum, Linum usitatissimum and Pisum sativum (Tolar et al. 2011). In the younger cultural layer at about 3100 cal BC, human impact is less pronounced and pollen of some tree taxa (Fa-gus, Tilia, Quercus) increases again. Blatna Brezovica A complete pollen diagram is presented in this chap­ter while in a previous paper (Golyeva, Andri. 2013) only selected data were published. Prior to archaeo­logical settlement, which is dated to c. 3071±14 cal BC (.ufar et al. 2010), forest of Fagus, Abies and Quercus grew in the area. The first traces of human impact on the environment (forest clearance and an­thropogenic indicator taxa at c. 112–80cm) could be connected with the activities of people living in older archaeological settlements at Ho.evarica (c. 3650– 3550 cal BC) and Stare gmajne (c. 3300 and 3100 cal BC), located just across the Ljubljanica river. During the archaeological settlement the landscape became more open due to forest clearance of Fagus and Quercus, with the latter needed for building ma­terial (Koro.ec 1963; .ercelj 1981–82; .ufar et al. 2010). Similar to at other study sites, an increased percentage of Corylus and herbs (e.g., Cereal t., Che-nopodiaceae, Poaceae) was found in the archaeolo­gical cultural layer. People living at Blatna Brezovi-ca were cultivating barley (Golyeva, Andri. 2014), and possibly also other cereals. The results of phyto­lith analysis also suggested that Poaceae pollen from the cultural layer could (partly) belong to Phragmi­tes. Phytoliths of young Phragmites plants that were found in the archaeological cultural layer suggest that they were probably used for roofing or other pur­poses, e.g., bedding, walls (Golyeva, Andri. 2014), or boats (Karg, Weber 2019). After the settlement was abandoned, Abies spread, but the landscape remained relatively open. Pollen of Cyperaceae and Equisetum suggests marsh hydro­logical conditions. Comparison of study sites: vegetation history and human impact on the environment In the 4th millennium cal BC the vegetation growing around the study sites, which were located in diffe­rent parts of Ljubljansko barje (Fig. 1), was very si­ Maja Andri; Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... Maja Andri; milar. No major dissimilarities in forest composition were detected, and the main difference between archaeologi­cal sites is associated with the fact that each was inhabited in slightly different time periods, which affected the strati­graphic position and thickness of ar­chaeological cultural layers. Pollen of ‘anthropogenic indicator taxa’ (sensu Behre 1981) such as cultivated plants, weeds and grazing indicators, as well as microscopic charcoal, was found in the cultural layers of all study sites, whereas tree pollen is present in lower percentages. The cultural layers of all study sites con­tain pollen of cultivars: c. 0.5–10% of Cereal type pollen, 0–0.5% of Secale, whereas only one Linum pollen grain (flax is self-pollinated and produces only a little pollen) was found in the cultural layer of Stare gma­jne (2007). To date no Secale plant macrofossils have been discovered at Ljubljansko barje (Tolar et al. 2011; Tolar 2018), and it is assumed that in pre­history it was a weed growing on cereal fields (Marinova 2006; Maier, Schlichterle 2011). Faba­ceae pollen and plant macrofossils (Pisum sativum; Tolar et al. 2011) are also rarely found at Stare gmaj­ne. Fabaceae are insect-pollinated and do not pro­duce much pollen, whereas seeds are rarely pre­served due to taphonomic reasons (Jacomet 2009). Ruderal plants and weeds (Chenopodiaceae, Artemi­sia and Centaurea) probably came to the settle­ments together with crops, although they were pos­sibly also growing in the settlement, along footpaths and riverbanks. Chenopodiaceae pollen in particular is abundant at Stare gmajne 2006 (up to 40%) and Blatna Brezovica (up to 10%), whereas seeds of Che-nopodium album were found in large quantities and it is assumed that they could have been gathered as well (Tolar et al. 2011). In contrast to this, Vitis pol­len is not very abundant, although numerous grape pips were discovered (Tolar et al. 2008). The increased percentage of Corylus and Hedera pollen in archaeological cultural layers can be a con­sequence of more open landscape and therefore more widespread flowering of these two taxa, or plants were brought to the settlement by people as winter/spring fodder for domestic animals. Hazelnuts were found in considerable numbers at Stare gmajne (Tolar et al. 2011) and Ho.evarica (Jeraj 2004), whereas to date no Hedera macroremains have been found. Hedera pollen was also found at Italian (Palu di Livenza, Pini 2004) and Swiss pile-dwelling sites, where it is assumed that the plant was used for ani­mal fodder (Arbon Bleiche 3, Brombacher, Hadorn 2004; Kühm, Hadorn 2004). Pollen of plants characteristic of meadows and pas­tures was also discovered. The increased percentage of Poaceae pollen in cultural layers can be a conse­quence of forest clearance and thus more open land­scape with grasslands, although not many grassland plant macrofossils were discovered at Stare gmajne (Tolar et al. 2011). Combined pollen-phytolith re­search at Blatna Brezovica (Golyeva, Andri. 2014) suggested that Poaceae pollen grains can also belong to (young) Phragmites plants, which were brought to the settlement by people. Pollen of Apiaceae, La-miaceae, Plantago lanceolata, Ranunculus, Caryo­phyllaceae, Campanula, Cichoriaceae, Asteraceae and Filipendula is often present in the cultural lay­ers of all studied sites, but due to palynological ta­phonomic imprecision it is difficult to identify them at the species level, which would help us to recon­struct environmental conditions. Possibly some of these plants (e.g., Mentha sp. and Thymus sp. which belong to Lamiaceae family) were gathered for uses as spices or for medicinal purposes (Tolar et al. 2011). Plantago lanceolata is a meadow and foot­path plant, and a characteristic grazing indicator as­sociated with the impact of domesticated animals (sheep, goat and cattle; To.kan, Dirjec 2004). The above review and comparison of pollen with macrofossil and phytolith plant remains indicates Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne and Blatna Brezovica settlements and the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje (Slovenia) ... that some (cultivated) plants are more visible/abun­dant than the others. The visibility of plants varies due to: (a) the amount of pollen produced (insect vs. wind pollinated taxa), (b) the distance between fields and the settlement, (c) taphonomic processes on site (e.g. plants brought to the site by people), and (d) the taxonomic precision with which pollen can be identified. Differences between the pollen record of (off-site) palynological cores and (on-site) archaeological pro­files are associated with taphonomy. Pollen that de­posited at off-site palaeoecological sites was predo­minantly transported by wind and water, whereas at archaeological sites it was also brought to the settle­ment by people. Pollen samples, collected at archa­eological sites, therefore contain more anthropoge­nic indicator taxa (e.g., Cereal type pollen) than pa-lynological cores. The ‘Na mahu’ palynological core, for example, contains only up to c. 0.5% of Cereal type pollen and c. 0.5% of Chenopodiaceae (Andri. et al. 2008), whereas in the cultural layers of archa­eological sites this percentage is much higher (0.5– 10% and 2–40% respectively; Figs. 3, 6, 8 and 10). Cereals Triticum, Hordeum and Linum (with the exception of Secale, which is allogamous) produce only a little pollen which stays in chaff and is re­leased only during harvesting and threshing (Vuo­rela 1973), therefore the majority of Cereal t. pollen grains arrived at the settlements together with plants. At all study sites, Cereal t. pollen, which was also found below the archaeological cultural layers, can be associated with older archaeological sites in the vicinity. The percentages of Cereal t. pollen in these layers are usually lower than in the archaeolo­gical cultural layer, but often bigger than in off-site cores, probably due to the vicinity of economic acti­vity areas and/or fields of near-by settlements. The environmental conditions and human impact on the vegetation of Ljubljansko barje can be compared with contemporary study sites in the Swiss Alps, e.g., Arbon Bleiche 3 (Bodensee, 3384–3370 cal BC; Ja-comet et al. 2004). The Arbon Bleiche 3 pollen re­cord suggests a wooded landscape (Fagus, Quercus, Abies) with traces of forest clearances and more open landscape in the vicinity of the archaeological sites. Although Abies pollen at Arbon Bleiche is not as abundant as at Ljubljansko barje (c. 5% in both regions), its wood was more often used as a build­ing material. Cereal t. and Linum pollen was found in the archaeological cultural layers of both regions, whereas Chenopodiaceae pollen (< 5%) and seeds (rarely found) at Arbon Bleiche are less abundant than at Ljubljansko barje (Brombacher, Hadorn 2004; Haas, Magny 2004; Jacomet et al. 2004). In both study regions pollen of Corylus and Hedera was found in archaeological cultural layers. At Arbon Bleiche 3 pollen of winter flowering plants (includ­ing Corylus and Hedera) was also found in rumi­nant coprolites, and it was suggested that they de­rive from leafy hay that was used for winter fodder (Brombacher, Hadorn 2004; Kühm, Hadorn 2004). Conclusions A comparison of pollen diagrams from four archaeo­logical settlements (Maharski prekop, Stare gmajne (both settlements) and Blatna Brezovica) confirmed that in the second half of the 4th millennium cal BC all study sites were surrounded by predominantly wooded landscape. Hilly, hydrologically drier areas further away from the settlements were presumably covered by Fagus-Abies forests, which were in the 4th millennium cal BC more widespread than in the 5th millennium BC (presumably due to climatic rea­sons; Andri. et al. 2008). Mixed Quercus woodland, shaped by anthropogenic activities and hydrological conditions, was probably growing closer to the set­tlements. No major differences between the vegeta­tion of different parts of Ljubljansko barje were de­tected, and there seems to be no major change in ve­getation composition throughout the 4th millennium cal BC. Due to human impact (agriculture, grazing, metal­lurgy), smaller surfaces covered by forest were cut, and the vegetation became more open. Although late-successional, shade-tolerant plants like Fagus and Abies are most susceptible to human impact, the decline of Quercus (and to lesser extent Fraxi-nus), which was cut for building material (piles), was also detected. The pollen record was shaped by taphonomic pro­cesses, specific to the archaeological sites and asso­ciated with economic activities. The sediment of the cultural layers contains more pollen of plants that were brought to the settlement by people: pollen of crops (e.g., cereals), weeds (Centaurea), grazing in­dicators (Plantago lanceolata, Campanula, Ranun­culaceae), ruderal taxa (Chenopodieceae, Artemi­sia), gathered shrubs/nuts (Corylus) and herbs. In the 4th millennium cal BC people living at Ljub­ljansko barje were also affected by floods, which were significant part of their lives. Maja Andri; ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would like to express my gratitude to the archaeological team lead by Anton Velu..ek for help with palynolo­gical sampling. Tja.a Tolar identified plant macrofossils for radiocarbon dating at the Stare gmajne 2007 site. I would also like to thank Drago Valoh and Tamara Koro.ec, who prepared all the figures, and Maja Zupanc for her help with laboratory preparation of the pollen samples. The critical comments on the first draft of this paper by Tja.a Tolar, Anton Velu..ek and Nina Caf are gratefully acknowledged. I am also very grateful to the review­er, Anna Maria Mercuri, for her comments that helped to improve the paper. This research was funded by Slove­nian Research Agency: projects (J6-6348-0618-04, L6-0137, L6-4157, J7-6857) and programme (P6-0064). . References Andri. M. 2006. Ali lahko analiza pelodnega zapisa v kul­turni plasti arheolo.kega najdi..a pove, kak.na vegetaci­ja je rasla v okolici? 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Acta Botannica Fennica 102: 1–27. back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Late Holocene climatic events, the main factor of the cultural decline in North Central Iran during the Bronze Age Babak Shaikh Baikloo Islam 1, Ahmad Chaychi Amirkhiz 2, and Kamal Al-Din Niknami3 1 Department of History and Archaeology, Science and Research Branch, Islamic Azad University, Tehran, IR babak.bagloo@srbiau.ac.ir 2 Iranian Center for Archaeological Research, Research Institute of Cultural Heritage and Tourism, Tehran, IR a.chaychi@richt.ir 3 Department of Archaeology, University of Tehran, Tehran, IR kniknami@ut.ac.ir ABSTRACT – During the Bronze Age, the cultural region of North Central Iran (NCI) suffered a long­term cultural decline, probably due to severe droughts. According to paleoclimate research, during the overall period c. 5.4–3.5 ka BP, four widely observable climatic events occurred at c. 5.3–5.0, 4.9– 4.7, 4.2–3.9, and 3.8–3.5 ka BP, and these appear to have caused widespread environmental dam­age in the Near East. Archaeological evidence of the NCI-region reveals political events that can be associated with the observed climatic variability. Paleoclimate research and archaeological studies can attribute, in combination, the cultural decline of NCI during the Bronze Age to the Late Holo­cene climate change. KEY WORDS – Bronze Age; Late Holocene; drought; North Central Iran; cultural decline Pozno holocenski podnebni dogodki kot poglavitni dejavniki kulturnega zatona v severnem delu centralnega Irana v bronasti dobi IZVLE.EK – V .asu bronaste dobe je pri.lo na obmo.ju severnega dela centralnega Irana do dolgo­ro.nega kulturnega zatona, ki so ga verjetno povzro.ila obdobja hude su.e. Glede na paleoklimatske raziskave lahko prepoznamo .tiri zelo izrazite podnebne dogodke v obdobju med ok. 5,4 in 3,5 tiso. let pred sedanjostjo (le-ti so: 5,3–5,0 tiso. let, 4,9–4,7 tiso. let, 4,2–3,9 tiso. let ter 3,8–3,5 tiso. let pred sedanjostjo), ki so povzro.ili raz.irjeno okoljsko .kodo na Bli.njem Vzhodu. Arheolo.ki zapisi v tej regiji ka.ejo na politi.ne dogodke, ki jih lahko pove.emo s podnebno spremenljivostjo. S pomo.­jo paleoklimatskih in arheolo.kih raziskav lahko bronastodobni kulturni zaton na obmo.ju sever-nega centralnega Irana ve.emo na pozno holocenske podnebne spremembe. KLJU.NE BESEDE – bronasta doba; pozni holocen; su.a; severni centralni Iran; kulturni zaton Introduction Large, abrupt, and widespread climate changes with story, climate change was often a serious threat to major impacts have occurred repeatedly in the past, human life, and even altered the course of history. when the Earth system was forced across thresholds Literature is replete with references showing, in par­(Alley 2003; 2005). Climate change, whether as se-ticular, how periods of extended drought have result-vere warming or cooling periods, is regularly associ-ed in food supply disruptions, famine, and massive ated with impacts such as droughts, dust storms, ex-migrations of people, as well as being associated with treme rainfalls, and flood events. Throughout prehi-social conflicts and wars (Wilhite 1992.81–82). DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.25 Late Holocene climatic events, the main factor of the cultural decline in North Central Iran during the Bronze Age An increasing number of paleoclimate studies de­monstrate that, in effect since the late 6th millenni­um BP, the climate has become drier, and this deve­lopment may have led to the long-term cultural de­cline that we can observe in the cultural region of North Central Iran (NCI) during the Bronze Age. On the other hand, an abrupt and rapid societal impact of climatic variability has also been observed in many regions of the Middle East, and in particular during the so-called 4.2 ka BP event, which is con­vincingly put forward as having caused, (1) the col­lapse of the Akkadian Empire in Mesopotamia (Cul­len et al. 2000; Weiss 2016; Weiss et al. 1993), (2) the occurrence of the First Intermediate Period in Egypt (Bell 1971), as well as (3) the cultural transi­tion of the Harappa culture to its period of post-ur­banization in the Indus valley (Possehl 1997a; 1997b; 2000; Staubwasser et al. 2003). In the present paper, we show that both slow and rapid processes can be observed in many regions of Iran. According to avail­able absolute dates, there is a cultural decline be­tween the Iblis VI and Mashiz phases in Kerman (SE Iran), between Banish and Kaftari phases in Marv-dasht Plain (S Iran), in eastern Susiana and Dehlo-ran Plains (SW Iran) for c. 900 to 1500 years (Voigt, Dyson 1992.126–128), and also in North Central Iran (NCI) during the Bronze Age (Pollard et al. 2012; 2013). In all these regions, it is most likely the shortage of permanent water resources that will have been responsible both for the abrupt severity as well as the prolonged extension of the droughts, which would have regularly occurred during the climate change periods, often to such an extent as to inhibit the survival of human societies altogether. In consequence, the most appropriate archaeological model to assume (and therefore to study) is that during such periods many of the affected societies would either have migrated to more favourable re­gions, or alternatively have changed their subsis­tence systems from sedentary-farming to pastoral-nomadism, whereby in both cases they will surely develop means for successful adaptive response to the changing environment (i.e. habitat tracking sen-su Harvey Weiss [ref e.g., https://uispp2018.sciences conf.org/176190/document]). Geography and climate of Central Iran Apart from the northern and southern coastal regions of Iran, about 90% of the country’s area is located on a plateau with an average elevation of 1000m asl, and more than half of Iran is covered by mount­ainous and desert areas. The central Iran watershed is surrounded by the mountainous regions of Alborz, Zagros and eastern Iran, and includes 10 basins. The NCI cultural region covers the entire Salt Lake Basin (SLB) and the western part of the Central Desert Ba­sin (CDB) (GOAF 2002). In this region, favourable agricultural fields are located in the plains and allu­vial fans, and the rest is a dry and unproductive area (Fig. 1). Due to the geographic situation of Iran in the subtro­pical region, it generally has semi-arid to arid envi­ronmental conditions. In the summer, the air tempe­rature can rise to a maximum of 55°C, and winter temperatures fall to a minimum of –30°C. About 23% of the total rain­fall occurs in the spring, 4% in the summer, 23% in the autumn, and 50% in the winter (Frenken 2008. 185). The arrival of Mediterranean and North Atlantic low-pressure fronts into the continental climate of the Middle East causes winter pre­cipitation (Alijani, Herman 1985). Annual rainfall in most parts of Iran is less than 100mm, and 75% of pre­cipitation occurs in only 25% of the country’s total area. Moreover, 75% of rainfall occurs when not needed by the agricultural sector (Madani 2014.316). The average annual pre­cipitation in SLB is about 250mm and in CDB is about 115mm. The long, permanent and freshwater ri-Fig. 1. Climatic classes and basins of Iran. vers of these basins include the Jaj­ Babak Shaikh Baikloo Islam, Ahmad Chaychi Amirkhiz, and Kamal Al-Din Niknami roud, Karaj, Kordan, Khar, Ghara Chay and Qom in SLB, and Hableh and Cheshmeh Ali in CDB. Most prehistoric sites are located in SLB. Climate change What is termed ‘climate’ relates to temperature and precipitation conditions that are averaged over pe­riods of 30 years or more. Climatic graphs show that the climate has been constantly changing, but we often apply the term ‘climate change’ only to clima­tic shifts that are experienced as unstable and un­pleasant conditions that challenge our health and comfort. The Holocene period began at c. 11.7 ka BP after the end of the 2.5 million-year-old Pleistocene and coincides, on a larger time-scale, with the genesis of the Neolithic Age. Although the Holocene climate is not generally characterized by the extreme climate fluctuations of the last glacial period, it nonetheless shows significant variability (Anderson et al. 2007. 5). During the Holocene, with the occurrence of se­vere warming and cooling periods, climate condi­tions are known to have undergone frequent chan­ges, and we may reasonably assume that they affect­ed both nature and human cultures quite heavily. The main causes for climate change include periodic changes in the Earth’s orbit and axis, major varia­tions in the thermohaline cycle, changing solar acti­vity, and rise and fall of greenhouse gas emissions, including carbon dioxide, methane, nitrogen, water vapour, inter alia other mechanisms on different time-scales (cf. Denton, Karlén 1973; Mayewski et al. 1997; Bond et al. 2001; Anderson et al. 2007; Berger 2013). In combination with positive and ne­gative feedback, i.e. amplification also on different time-scales, these changes can affect the Earth’s cli­mate over millennia and centuries. However, in ar­chaeological studies we must also account for the existence of short-term weather oscillations, such as ENSO events (El Nino and La Nina), that occur on de­cadal time-scales (Philander 1989). Consequences of climate change Climate change, whether sudden or gradual, can have widespread and profound effects on nature (e.g., the physical and biological properties of the environment), but – and what complicates matters – for cultural systems the induced impact is to some extent even more variable, since it depends strongly on complex and interrelated factors such as system pressure, adaptability, and survival strategies. In con­sequence, the cooling and warming events, each one occurring in some specific geographical position and latitude, will affect the environment in often complex manners, but most extremely by changes in humidi­ty and temperature. However, perhaps the most fun­damental changes occur in the livelihoods of all spe­cies, when the system temperature exceeds some spe­cific threshold, above (or below) which the tolerance limits are overstretched and mortality increases. In long response to severe, repeated, and abrupt cli­mate changes, both individual humans as well as groups are equipped with a wide variety of adapta­tion and survival measures, including short- and long-distance movements in the landscape, as well as memory of the specific properties of these land­scapes (cf. transhumance and migration). Archaeo­logical findings show, for example, that humans were capable of adapting to the extremely cold and dry climate of the Arctic during the Late Pleistocene c. 27 ka BP (Pitulko et al. 2004), just as they adapt­ed to the arid conditions in the Thar (Enzel et al. 1999) and Sahara Deserts (deMenocal et al. 2000) in the Late Holocene (Gupta 2004; Zerboni et al. 2016). In other cases, however, it appears that civili­zations collapsed as a result of climate change (Pren­tice 2009.2). With the recent increase in research interest on these topics it is becoming increasingly apparent that the relationship between humans, plants, animals and their joint environment is so highly diverse and variable that there is no simple correlation between climate change and human res­ponse (Petrie, Weeks 2018.302). Climate change can, in several ways, affect human life and survival, and a list of the main factors and events that are associated with extreme weather events would include: heat waves, cold spells, torren­tial rainfalls, floods, droughts, sand and dust storms, hurricanes, regional food shortages, the outbreak of fatal diseases, civil conflict, war, migration and dis­placement (McMichael et al. 2006). According to his­torical documents, however, it is drought that can be identified as the main (immediate) cause of fa­mine, malnutrition and increased mortality rates, although the impact of unfavourable climatic peri­ods is practically always associated with the spread of infectious diseases such as plague, cholera, smal­lpox, and bloody diarrhoea (McMichael 2012). Psy­chological studies also show that a wide range of cli­mate change outcomes can have adverse effects on people’s mental health by causing disorders such as anxiety and depression (Trombley et al. 2017.45– 46; Frumkin et al. 2008.442). Late Holocene climatic events, the main factor of the cultural decline in North Central Iran during the Bronze Age Drought periods Drought indicates a lack of suitable rainfall during a long period of time, which leads to soil moisture loss due to high evapotranspiration and a reduction in runoff. In effect, drought disturbs the normal hu­man and biological activities (Barry, Chorley 2009. 101). Drought is a creeping phenomenon, making an accurate prediction of either its onset or end a difficult task. Also, the impact of a drought depends largely on society’s vulnerability to it at that parti­cular moment (Wilhite, Glantz 1985.2–3). This phe­nomenon, like all environmental hazards, has a wide variety of natural and social dimensions. To begin, drought reduces the amount of water in the rivers, wetlands, and lakes, and is the biggest cause of de­struction of forests and pastures. In the economy, its most devastating effects relate to agricultural pro­duction (Hejazizadeh, Javizadeh 2010.49–73). It is immediately obvious, therefore, why Iran – which is naturally a semi-arid and dry land – has in the past so often been affected by short- and long-term droughts. Iranian people have always been strug­gling with this natural challenge, such that, accord­ing to the inscription of Darius the Great (522–486 BC), the phenomenon of drought has long been seen as a great enemy for Iranians (Sen 1941.91; see https://ia801606.us.archive.org/31/items/in.ernet. dli.2015.515396/2015.515396.Old-Persian.pdf). One of the most direct consequences of drought is that dust storms can seriously threaten the quality of life and health of the people. Climate has an impor­tant effect on the production, transfer and deposition of dust, but wind, dust and climate actually have an reciprocal relationship, since the atmospheric dust particles themselves directly and indirectly affect the climate, due to feedback processes (Goudie, Middle­ton 2006.45). Dust storms are powerful winds that affect vast areas. They can impact air quality, both on long and short time-scales, as well as local and global geographic dimensions (Schweitzer et al. 2018.36). In Iran, and mainly in its western, south­western and southeastern regions, dust storms occur predominantly in the summer (Furman 2003.419– 420). In 2014 a massive dust-storm occurred in Teh­ran that caused considerable disturbance to the city, due to disrupted trees and fallen objects, including a number of fatal injuries. Such intense storms are also documented in the past, whereby archaeological and paleoclimate studies demonstrate their occurrence in parallel to drought events. An example is the collapse of the Akkad empire (2334–2155 BC), already men­tioned above, that was affected not only by the ex­treme drought conditions during the 4.2 ka BP event, but also by severe dust storms. During the incident it appears that many inhabitants of the northern cities of Mesopotamia migrated to the south, where the massive population further disrupted the already critical economic and social situation (Weiss 2017; 2016; Weiss et al. 1993). Extreme precipitation events, such as torrential rain­falls and floods, represent yet another feature of droughts. In dry periods, due to the decreasing pre­cipitation and associated loss of vegetation, the ter­restrial surface conditions are provided for an in­crease in flood events. In consequence, and perhaps unexpectedly, one of the best indicators for drought periods is the occurrence of severe periodic rainfalls, which lead to a high probability for the occurrence of huge and destructive floods (Maghsoudi, Moham­mad Nejad 2011.50–53). The archaeological exca­vations at Mafin Abad and Meymanat Abad in Teh­ran province and at Ghara Tepe of Qom river in Qom province indicate that during droughts of the middle and late 6th millennium BP these settlements were buried under flood sediments and abandoned forever (Shaikh Baikloo et al. in press; 2016). Climatic events during the Bronze Age The Bronze Age (c. 5.2–3.5 ka BP) coincided with the beginning of urbanization, the invention of writ­ing techniques, the emergence of social complexi­ties, and the formation of primitive states to ad­vanced empires. In broader terms, this cultural pe­riod is contemporary with the late Middle Holocene and the early Late Holocene. According to paleocli-mate research, since the 6th millennium BP the cli­mate generally shifted towards drier conditions (Bar-Matthews et al. 1997; Mayewski et al. 2004; Migow-ski et al. 2006; Sharifi et al. 2015) The studies re­ported here show that during the Bronze Age four climatic changes have occurred: (1) the 5.2 ka BP event (c. 5.3–5.0 ka BP) caused dry climatic condi­tions; (2) the 4.8 ka BP event (c. 4.9–4.7 ka BP) led to a cold climate; (3) the 4.2 ka BP event (c. 4.2–3.9 ka BP) caused a megadrought (Weiss 2017; 2016; Weiss et al. 1993), and significant political-social events in the Middle East; (4) the most recent cli­mate event during the Bronze Age occurred between 3.8 and 3.5 ka BP, and although it is likely that this climate change was less severe than previous ones, it can be linked to socio-political events of this period. The 5.2 ka BP event (c. 5.3–5.0 ka BP) Based on the chrono-stratigraphy of the Greenland Ice Sheet Project 2 (GISP2), a warm-dry period oc­ Babak Shaikh Baikloo Islam, Ahmad Chaychi Amirkhiz, and Kamal Al-Din Niknami curred between c. 5.3 and 5.0 ka BP (Fig. 2) (Alley 2003; 2004a; 2004b). Also, the (presumably same) event at 5.2 ka BP has also been identified in Soreq Cave (Bar-Matthews et al. 2011), at Van Lake (Lem­cke, Sturm 1997), the Gulf of Oman (Cullen et al. 2000), the Arabian Sea (Sirocko et al. 1993), and on Kilimanjaro (Thompson et al. 2006). Drought evi­dence between 5.5 and 4.9 ka BP is also reported from Mirabad Lake records (W Iran), where dry con­ditions are accompanied by an increase in oxygen isotopes, although similarly only coarsely dated to the 5.2 ka BP event (Stevens et al. 2006; Jones et al. 2011.28). Paleoclimate records from Maharlou Lake (S Iran) also indicate dry conditions that date from c. 5.1 ka BP to the end of the 5th millennium BP (Djamali et al. 2009.129–130), and studies at Arz­han Lake (S Iran) similarly illustrate an arid climate at c. 5.7–5.0 ka BP (Sadat Hoseini et al. 2016) (Fig. 3). At much higher dating resolution, and therefore more convincingly, the detailed dust-chronology from Lake Neor (NW Iran) suggests the pre-dominance of dry climatic conditions over the region since the 6th millennium BP (Fig. 5b) (Sharifi et al. 2015). Re­cords of Lake Xiaolongwan (E Asia) show a warm period between 5.2 and 4.9 ka BP (Fig. 4) (Xu et al. 2014). According to Shari Playa studies (central Iraq), there was a dry period between 5.2 and 4.8 ka BP (Jassim et al. 2007.8). Paleoclimate studies on Al-Hussaynia in the same region also indicate warm-dry climatic conditions from c. 6 to 3.5 ka BP (Ali 2014.595) (Fig. 3). Göl Hissar lake studies (SW Tur­key) similarly determine that the climate has shifted to drier conditions since c. 5.1 ka BP (Eastwood et al. 2007.327). The 4.8 ka BP event (c. 4.9–4.7 ka BP) The GISP2 -stable-oxygen ice-core record indicates a significant drop in air temperature between c. 4.9 and 4.7 ka BP, with a peak at c. 4.8 ka BP (Fig. 2) (Alley 2004b.65). Reconstruction of Holocene climate by studies at Sjuodjijaure Lake (N Sweden) shows a decrease in temperature and progression of glaciers between 5.1 and 4.5 ka BP (Rosén et al. 2001.560). In the Baltic Sea basin, paleoclimate records show a two-stage air temperature decrease, the first at 5.0– 4.5 ka BP and the second at 4.3–3.3 ka BP. Tempe­ratures in the region started to drop at c. 5.0–4.5 ka cal BP, coincident with decreased summer solar in-solation due to the quasi-cyclical changes in the Earth’s orbit (Borzenkova et al. 2015.42–44). Paleo-climate records from Lake Xiaolongwan illustrate a cooling period during the first half of the 5th millen­nium BP, with a peak at c. 4.75 ka BP (Fig. 4) (Xu et al. 2014.5). The 4.2 ka BP event (c. 4.2–3.9 ka BP) This climate change, identified as the 4th climatic event of Bond in North Atlantic Basin (Bond et al. 1997; 2001), if only with medium dating resolution and unfortunately still not independently confirmed, apparently started at 4.2 ka BP and lasted for about 300 years. During this period a severe drought is visible almost everywhere in SW Asia (Weiss 2017). Given that the event has been recorded in more than 20 locations around the world, it is likely to have global character. However, at least at seven locations (British Columbia in W Canada, Spain, Ire­land, Romania, and Namibia and Namib Desert in S Africa), the event is documented as a wet event (Railsback et al. 2018.79, Fig. 1). The GISP2 studies indicate a warming period, with a drop in humidi­ty from around 4.3 to 4.1 ka BP (Fig. 2) (Alley 2004b. 65). Further evidence for a dry 4.2 ka BP event is indicated by the coincident dust-increase in the Gulf of Oman (Cullen et al. 2000), at Tecer Lake (Kuzu­cuoglu et al. 2011), Soreq Cave (Bar-Matthews et al. 2011), the Dead Sea (Migowski et al. 2006), and to some extent also from Zazari Lake (Cavallari, Rosen-meier 2007). Further possible impacts of this event are reported from Egypt, with geomorphological stu­dies carried out in Faiyum Lake (Hassan, Hamdan, 2008; Marks et al. 2018) and the Sakkara-Memphis flood plain (Hamdan et al. 2014). The core drilled near the shore of Faiyum Lake shows that there was an abrupt drop in water level as the lake almost desiccated. The Saqqara-Memphis core also indi­cates an event of low Nile flood as the valley dried out and aeo­lian sand encroached. Evidence suggests that the event caused the movement of sand dunes, the occurrence of sand and dust storms and severe damage of an­cient Egyptian settlements (Ham­ dan et al. 2016.39). Late Holocene climatic events, the main factor of the cultural decline in North Central Iran during the Bronze Age Fig. 3. The 13 000-year-old climatic condition based on paleoclimate studies in the Near East. Zeribar Lake (Stevens et al. 2001; Wasylikowa et al. 2006; Maghsoudi et al. 2014); Mirabad Lake (Stevens et al. 2006); Arzhan Lake (Sadat Hoseini et al. 2016); Parishan Lake (Davoudi et al. 2014); Maharlou Lake (Dja­mali et al. 2009); Van Lake (Wick et al. 2003); Tecer Lake (Kuzucuoglu et al. 2011); Shari playa (Jassim et al. 2007); Al-Hussaynia (Ali 2014); Soreq Cave (Bar-Matthews et al. 2011); Dead Sea (Migowski et al. 2006); Zazari Lake (Cavallari, Rosenmeier 2007). According to the Iranian research in Parishan Lake (W Iran) (Davoodi et al. 2014) and Maharlu Lake (Djamali et al. 2009), the climate was pre-domi­nantly warm-dry in this region during the 5th mil­lennium BP. The studies at Zeribar Lake studies (W Iran) also indicate a dry period between 4 and 3.5 ka BP (Stevens et al. 2001) (Fig. 3). Paleoclimate re­cords from Lake Hamoun (SE Iran) (Fig. 5a) (Ham­zeh et al. 2017), Lake Neor (Fig. 5b) (Sharifi et al. 2015), and Jazmurian Playa (SE Iran) (Fig. 5c) (Vae­zi et al. 2018) confirm the existence of geographi­cally widespread dry conditions along with increas­ing dust flux during the 4.2 ka BP event. According to archaeological findings, as documented from many regions in the eastern Mediterranean, the Levant, and Mesopotamia, there was a significant decline in the number of settlements during the event (4.2–3.9 ka BP) (Staubwasser, Weiss 2006. 381). In the Levant, the 4.2 ka event is associated with a 20–30% reduction in annual rainfall (Bar-Matthews et al. 1997), which would have seriously disturbed the subsistence system of farmer socie­ties, and which is indeed indicated with only a few settlements remaining in close vicinity to surface water (Dever 1995; Palumbo 2001). We may expect a similar situation to have occurred throughout west­ern Syria and the middle Euphrates. According to available palaeo-rainfall modelling studies, the Ha-bur Plains in the North of Mesopotamia (NE Syria) must have dried up, with dust storms causing such a wide spectrum of economic and social problems for the population that the proposed abandonment of more than 70% of cities in the region is indeed plausible. Ultimately, of course, it is not only drought that caused the collapse of the Akkad dynasty, but the direct combination of drought with related fac­tors such as decreasing agricultural production, so­cial implosion, internal riots and foreign attacks. After the fall of the Akkad, the region was similarly Babak Shaikh Baikloo Islam, Ahmad Chaychi Amirkhiz, and Kamal Al-Din Niknami rapidly re-settled at c. 3.9 ka BP (Weiss 2017; 2016; Weiss et al. 1993). Cultural responses to the 4.2 ka BP are also widely observed in the Harappa civiliza­tion, and in particular around the Indus Valley to Makran and north-western India. For example, from the late 5th millennium BP to the early 4th millenni­um BP, the impressive baths and cereal warehouses in Mohenjo-Daro were abandoned, and the settle­ment system in the Indus Valley, the Indus-Sarasva-ti Valley and the Baluchi heights declined (Possehl 1997a; 1997b; 2000). The warming event of c. 3.8–3.5 ka BP This specific event coincides with the Second Inter­mediate Period in the Egyptian Empire at c. 3.65– 3.55 ka BP (Ryholt 1997), and the end of the first Dynasty in Babylonia, which is related to attacks by the Hittites at c. 3.6 ka BP (Roebuck 1966). GISP2 studies (Alley 2004a) indicate a warming period from c. 3.8 to 3.5 ka BP (Fig. 2). Paleoclimate records from Lake Hamoun (Fig. 5a) (Hamzeh et al. 2017), Lake Neor (Fig. 5b) (Sharifi et al. 2015), and Jazmu­rian Playa (Fig. 5c) (Vaezi et al. 2018) suggest a dry period with increasing dust flux during the warming event. Zazari Lake studies also illustrate a drought period between 4.05 and 3.5 ka BP (Cavallari, Ro­senmeier 2007). Although studies of Zeribar Lake (Stevens et al. 2001), Parishan Lake (S Iran) (Davou­di et al. 2014), al-Hussaynia (Ali 2014.595), and Van Lake (Wick et al. 2003) are suggestive of a warm-dry climate at this time, the equally comprehensive pa-leoclimate research at Mirabad Lake (Stevens et al. 2006) and Maharlou Lake (Djamali et al. 2009) indicates a warm-humid climate. The existence of a hu­mid period between 4.1 and 3.5 ka BP, followed by a long-term dry period, is comparatively well-documented in the Dead Sea Levels (Migowski et al. 2006.427) (Fig. 3). The Bronze Age in NCI Just as in wider regions of the eastern Mediterranean and the Near East, in Iran (and more specifically NCI) the Bronze Age coincides with the beginning of the Late Holocene. Again, it is important to note what the pa-leoclimate records indicate, na­mely, beginning with the 6th millennium BP a general development towards in­creasingly drier conditions, on top of which there is evidence for severe and prolonged droughts. From the Late Chalcolithic Age to the Early Bronze Age (c. 5.4–4.7 ka BP), most of the human settlements in NCI were gradually abandoned, and a period of cul­tural decline lasted throughout the Bronze Age. Only a few settlements near Damghan appear to have been re-established, after about 600 years, and the absolute dates suggest a settlement gap between the Hissar II and III phases at c. 5.0–4.4 ka BP. About two centuries later, Hissar III ended at 2170 cal BC (Voigt, Dyson 1992.128, Tab. 1). It is worth noting that, based on the similarities of the material culture of Hissar III and Tourang Tepe IIIC, the authors (Voigt, Dyson 1992) have increased the end of His-sar III culture up to 1900 cal BC. However, given the completely different climates of the Gorgan and Damghan areas, it seems that with the beginning of the 4.2 ka BP dry event (c. 4.2–3.9 ka BP) the phase of Hissar III in Damghan started to decline at the time of its maximum height (4.2–4.1 ka BP). The­refore, these two cultures did not have a long-term overlap. Thereafter, the cultural decline continued up to the Iron Age. During this period, the settle­ments appear to have shifted to the Gorgan Plain (Fig. 6) and other southern areas of the Caspian Sea. On the Qazvin Plain the settlement at Tepe Ghabri­stan finally ended at the end of the Early Bronze Age (2700 cal BC). However, Tepe Shizar and Tepe Sagza- Late Holocene climatic events, the main factor of the cultural decline in North Central Iran during the Bronze Age bad have layers belonging to the Middle Bronze Age. Tepe Shizar, after a settlement pe­riod in the Chalcolithic Age, was re-settled at 2860–2450 cal BC. Again following a gap (2450–1880 cal BC), the site of Tepe Shizar was re-settled at 1880 cal BC, and lasted until the Late Bronze Age or maybe even longer, into the Iron Age (Pollard et al. 2012. 115–116, 148, Tab. 16; Pol­lard et al. 2013.45, Tab. 9). Tepe Sagzabad was establi­shed in the Chalcolithic Age (3670–3540 cal BC), and was then, after a long gap, re-set­tled at 1780–980 cal BC (Pol­lard et al. 2012.116–119, 148, Tab. 16; 2013.45, Tab. 9). Tepe Gholi Darvish in Qom, following a decline at 3000 cal BC, was re-settled at 2090–1860 cal BC. It is unclear at what time the next settlement began, but it ended at 1680 cal BC, and was again re-set­tled at 1530 cal BC. The end of this settlement peri­od is not well defined (Pollard et al. 2013.45, Tab. 9). On the basis of the available dates, we may spe­culate that the settlement gaps coincide with the peak of droughts, but which are themselves not pre­cisely dated (Fig. 7). It is nevertheless conspicuous that, when comparing the above-mentioned settle-ments, almost all of the ancient sites in NCI declined at c. 5.2–4.8 ka BP (Fig. 8), following which the entire NCI cultural region fell into a long dark peri­od which lasted until the 2nd half of the 4th millen­nium BP (Shaikh Baikloo et al. 2016). Migration to the Gorgan Plain The Gorgan Plain, located in the north of Alborz Mountains, is influenced by the Caspian climate and has a higher humidity than NCI. Studies of the Cas- Fig. 6. Settlements of the Gorgan Plain from the second half of the 6th millennium BP to the middle of the 5th millennium BP. It should be noted that the number of sites found during archaeological surveys is more than this number, but the author’s access to all reports was not possible. However, the high density of these sites clearly indicates a significant increase in human populations in this area between 5.4 and 4.5 ka BP. In this map, the shorter and approachable mountainous communication paths between the northern and southern parts of Alborz are clearly visible. pian Sea level (CSL) during the Holocene Age show a gra­dual decline since the middle 6th millennium BP, so that at the beginning of the Bronze Age CSL was lower than to­day’s level, and this situation continued until the early 4th millennium BP (Richagov 1997.171, Fig. 5). This sug­gests that drought periods, despite the wetter climate of the Gorgan Plain, have also affected this region. It should be further noted that the wa­ter level of this large lake de­pends on the inputs of the Volga River, which originates from Polar Regions. There­fore, it is plausible that the cooling conditions that pre­ Babak Shaikh Baikloo Islam, Ahmad Chaychi Amirkhiz, and Kamal Al-Din Niknami vailed during the early 5th mil­lennium BP, might have led to a decrease in CSL (Fig. 9). The density and height of the Al-borz Mountains in the south of the Gorgan Plain is lower than Fig. 7. The chronology of NCI from the Late Chalcolithic to the Early the other parts, so that the situa- Bronze Age, based on absolute dates (14C) of archaeological sites. tion allows for easy passage from The black colour represents a cultural gap. the southern part to the north. Considering the revision of the relative dates of the also have represented a desirable destination for the Chalcolithic-Bronze settlements in the Gorgan Plain migration of people affected by drought and famine (Shaikh Baikloo 2018.298–330), which indicates a (Figs. 2, 3). population growth trend since the second half of the 6th millennium BP, along with a decrease in popu-Conclusion lation in NCI and the decline of CSL, it can be as­sumed that with the intensification of drought the The Late Holocene was generally a period with in-Gorgan Plain may have become more attractive for creasingly low humidity, accompanied by frequent the settlement of farmer communities, and would and prolonged droughts. Based on recent paleocli- mate research, in the time­span from the late 6th millen­nium BP to the middle 4th millennium BP, a total of four climatic changes are identifi­able, with the first three as fol­lows: (1) the 5.2 ka BP dry event (c. 5.3–5.0 ka BP); (2) the 4.8 ka BP cooling event (c. 4.9–4.7 ka BP); and (3) the 4.2 ka BP hyper dry event (c. 4.2–3.9 ka BP); some studies have shown this event to be very wet. Also, according to Bond’s research in the North Atlantic, the 4.2 ka BP event was not only associated with cooling. Ice-core research in Greenland confirms it was a warm event. Despite some few remaining discrepancies of this kind, there can be lit­tle doubt concerning the glo­bal character of the 4.2 ka BP event, at least in the N-Hemi­sphere. In the present paper, looking from the perspective Fig. 8. a 1 Ismael abad, 2 Miyanpalan, 3 Ghabristan (Fazeli 2006); 4 Oz-beki (Majidzadeh 2010); 5 Kavousiya (Mosadeghi 2001); 6 Cheshmeh of Iran, we can readily con-Ali (Fazeli et al. 2004); 7 Farhangian (Adibzadeh et al. 2014); 8 Meyma-firm that the observed wide-nat abad (Yousefi Zoshk et al. 2015); 9 Chaltasian (Yousefi Zoshk 2012); spread settlement abandon­10 Sofalin (Hessari 2011); 11 Shoghali (Hessari et al. 2007); 12 Zavarvar ment, and the many postulat- (Ghasemi 2013); 13 Gholi Darvish (Sarlak 2011); 14 Sialk (Ghirshman ed regional and supra-regio­ 1938); 15 Arisman (Vatandoust et al. 2011); 16 Hissar (Schmidt 1937; nal migrations during the time Dyson, Howard 1989). b 1 Shizar (Valipour 2006). Decreasing the num­ber of NCI settlements from the Late Chalcolithic to the Early Bronze Age of the 4.2 ka event, were like-and simultaneously increasing the Gorgan Plain settlements. ly to have a direct causal back­ Late Holocene climatic events, the main factor of the cultural decline in North Central Iran during the Bronze Age ground in the occurrence of severe droughts and dust storm, in many parts of the eastern Mediterra­nean, the Near East, as well as in the Middle East. Although there are remaining doubts as to the ac­tual severity and the geographic extension of the 4.2 ka event, and there are many societal details yet to be analysed if not discovered, we see no reason to exclude the hypothesis that the 4.2 ka BP event (in particular, the associated droughts and dust-storms) was the underlying cause for the collapse of the Akkad Empire. And finally, with regard to our fourth climatic change, for similar reasons we expect that the 3.8–3.5 ka BP warm-dry event, although much less equally established, was to some extent also responsible for a number of socio-political events in Egypt and Mesopotamia, at this time. As applies specifically to NCI, this is a naturally semi­arid and dry region, that faced so many severe envi­ronmental challenges during periods of extended drought, that ultimately – in the course of the Holo­cene – it appears to have lost much of its early at­traction for rural societies. Although surely only un­der longer-term (millennial/centennial) conditions, it is quite likely that many (real or potential) inhabi­tants of this region were finally so perturbed by the disruptive results of drought and famine that they preferred to occupy more favourable (wetter) areas, such as the Gorgan Plain in the Caspian Sea Basin. We may assume that any larger scale migrations would have taken the approachable mountainous communication paths in the north of Damghan. Nevertheless, despite some interruptions there is strong evidence for the continuing cultural evolu­tion of societies in NCI, throughout the region, from the Late Neolithic to the Late Chalcolithic. This trend, however, stopped at the peak of the increasing social complexity of the late 6th millennium BP, and did not lead to the genesis of urban societies and governments. We thus propose, for good reasons, that the prevailing drought condi­tions in NCI may now be considered the main factor of this cultural de­cline, and in future studies we will aim to identify the actual (internal) stimuli for the observed societal res­ponse towards climate change. Given the fact that the formation of urban or state societies requires an increase in population and expansion of set­tlement centres, the requirements for vital and en­vironmental facilities will increase and become more complex, such that the mere impact of cultural va­riables or growth of technological factors cannot be expected, in isolation, to bring these societies to the stage of urbanization. At the end of the Chalcolithic Age, the still continuing increase and indeed the regional maximum in population and essential bio-resources appear to have coincided with the 5.2 ka BP dry event, following which the environmental contexts necessary for the formation of urban and state societies have disappeared. Due to the environ­mental limitations of NCI, in this region there has never been a further spread of settlements, and po­pulation increase, as can be observed in the southern regions of Iran. In conclusion, and if only for clima­tic and environmental reasons, it is not expected that – following the Late Chalcolithic – the cultural de­velopment of this specific part of Iran would be si­milar to that in Mesopotamia, Egypt and the Indus Valley. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Many thanks to Dr. Hamidreza Valipour for promot­ing this article. We also wish to thank Professor Har­vey Weiss and Professor Tony McMichael – may God bless him – for their valuable articles on the impacts of climate change. Babak Shaikh Baikloo Islam, Ahmad Chaychi Amirkhiz, and Kamal Al-Din Niknami References Adibzadeh M., Nemati M. R., and Mortezaie M. 2014. The results of excavation at the Robat Karim Hospital erea, near the Ancient site of Siah Ab (Farhangian). In Reports of the 13th Annual Archaeological Congress of Iran. Cul­tural Heritage Organization. Tehran: 39–44. (in Persian) Ali M. O. 2014. 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Evans Department of Physics and Centre for Complexity Science, Imperial College London, London, UK r.rivers@imperial.ac.uk< t.evans@imperial.ac.uk ABSTRACT – Theoretical archaeological modelling for describing spatial interactions often adopts contemporary socioeconomic ideas whose 20th-century language gets translated into historical beha­viour with the simplest of lexicons. This can lead to the impression that the past is like the present. Our intention in this paper is that, when this happens, we strip out as much of the contemporary con­text as we can, to bring modelling back to basic epistemic propositions. We suggest that although the underlying ontology may be specific to contemporary society the epistemology has much greater ge­nerality, leading to essentially the same conclusions without the carapace of intricate economics. KEY WORDS – networks; exchange; MaxEnt; city states; trade; Bronze Age Assyria Kako se izognemo vsiljevanju sedanjosti v preteklost pri modeliranju prostorskih interakcij| IZVLE.EK – Teoreti.no arheolo.ko modeliranje za opis prostorskih interakcij pogosto sprejema so-dobne dru.benoekonomske ideje, ki jih iz njihovega jezika 20. stoletja prevajajo v zgodovinska vede­nja le z najpreprostej.im besedi..em. To daje vtis, da je preteklost podobna sedanjosti. Na. namen v tem prispevku je zaznati ta pojav in ga v najbolj.i meri o.istiti sodobnega konteksta, da lahko mo-deliranje vrnemo k osnovnim epistemolo.kim nastavkom. Predlagamo, da ima epistemologija ve.jo generalizacijo, .eprav je osnovna ontologija zna.ilna za sodobno dru.bo, kar vodi v bistvu do ena­kih zaklju.kov brez ogrodja zapletene ekonomije. KLJU.NE BESEDE – mre.e; izmenjava; MaxEnt; mestne dr.ave; trgovanje; bronastodobna Asirija Modelling in archaeology “All history is ‘contemporary history’ ... Essentially [we look at] the past through the eyes of the pre­sent and its problems.” Benedetto Croce (1922.19) The sentiment underlying this quote is arguably even more valid when it comes to proto-historic and pre­historic archaeology, for which we have even less data than for other periods. However, we shall show below that, rather than seeing this as a cause for concern, some archaeologists have proposed that the projection of contemporary society onto the past pro­vides a new way to proceed. In this they directly re-purpose economic models describing the attributes of today’s society with a perceived historic counter­part (e.g., urbanisation, mobility, migration, trade) into historic contexts. A change of vocabulary is ne­cessary, but the lexicon is often very transparent. There is one immediate issue with this temporal and linguistic translation, even when it is appropriate. The 20th-century modelling that we mimic has its own narrative formulation which may, or may not, be realistic. In the worst case we are not only putting an ancient gloss on a contemporary narrative, but that narrative may itself be unreliable. The contem­porary models that we shall discuss below have their origins firmly in free-market economics. To quote the free-market economist Milton Friedman (1953.14– DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.26 How do we avoid imposing the present on the past when modelling spatial interactions| 15) interpreting his use of ‘hypothesis’ to be synony­mous with our use of ‘model’: “A hypothesis is im­portant if it “explains” much by little ... To be im­portant, therefore, a hypothesis must be descrip­tively false in its assumptions ... Truly important and significant hypotheses will be found to have “assumptions” that are wildly inaccurate descrip­tive representations of reality, and, in general, the more significant the theory, the more unrealistic the assumptions.” The result of these two narrative mismatches could be a (pre)historic Just-so-Story of homo economicus1 , entertaining but little more. Nonetheless, Friedman argued that what matters is whether the model ‘works’. Rather than dismissing any narratives because they all encode detail that cannot be substantiated, we go for an approach as lacking in narrative detail as possible. It can be shown that in many contexts there is an epistemic-ontic duality which permits a model reformulation that brings modelling back to basic epistemic pro­positions rather than imputing specific ‘economic’ agent-driven activity. This enables us to reduce the need for agent narratives without losing our ability to answer the major questions. Spatial interaction modelling We are specifically interested here in how archaeo­logists borrow from the present in modelling the patterns of ‘exchange’ in past society, particularly between communities separated spatially. The nat­ural framework for these questions is provided by spatial networks, a pattern of nodes connected by links. The nodes label the origins and targets of the exchange, in our case sites, whereas the links de­scribe the interactions among them. Within the framework of such spatial interaction modelling con­temporary economists, social geographers, transport analysts and urban planners have provided tools for modelling the key attributes of exchange. The potential relevance to archaeology is clear and has been realized successfully in many examples. In this paper we shall consider the use of two different 20th­century economic network models as templates for describing different social hierarchies in the same historical period (Middle Bronze Age) in the same place (central Anatolia): i) Assyrian trade routes in the early Middle Bronze Age (C19 BCE) in Anatolia (Barjamovic et al. 2017), explored in the framework of 20th-centu­ry ‘Ricardian’ modelling of individual traders (Eaton, Kortum 2002; Anderson, van Windcoop 2003). ii) Settlement structure in central Anatolia and the Khabur Triangle in the Middle Bronze Age (Davis et al. 2014; Palmisano, Altaweel (2015)) – ex­plored in the framework of the 20th-century me­thodology of dynamic ‘Retail Modelling’ (Harris, Wilson 1978). These models were chosen because they arguably provide the most prescriptive application of free-market 20th-century economic theory to the his­toric past, although in very different ways. The former is the simplest conceptually, almost a straight transposition of the behaviour of contem­porary traders onto that of their antecedents. Other authors have noted the existence of free-market be-haviour in historical systems, particularly the Roman Empire, e.g., see Tom Brughmans and Jeroen Pob­lome (2016) and Xavier Rubio-Campillo et al. (2017), but what singles out the paper by Gojko Barjamovic et al. (2017) is the very heavy economic machinery (e.g., ‘Constant Elasticity of Substitution’, ‘Weibull cost distributions’) which, as we shall discuss later, they bring to make their case. The second model is more subtle, concerned with the building of centres of influence from local com­munities, seeing synoikism in analogy with the cre­ation of shopping centres. This is not to say that city-state formation is predominantly an economic activ­ity. The advantages of close interaction are as much social and ‘political’ as economic. Unlike the case of traders, the parallels are structural in mimicking the way that dominant centres form but are not assumed to be a direct translation. Nonetheless, the method of solution is taken directly from the retail picture. However, we shall see how both cases permit a ‘ma­ximum entropy’ (‘MaxEnt’) representation (Jaynes 1957; 1979). This enables us to recast the models in such a way as to de-emphasize the projection of free-market narratives on the past, by looking for the ‘least surprising’ outcomes commensurate with our limited knowledge. Although the authors of these papers are well aware of this underlying duality their concern is different from ours. In fact, Alan Wilson (1970) provided an extensive discussion of the issues that, to a large extent, we are paraphras­ing here. One of our aims is to bring these ideas to 1‘Homo economicus’, punning on Homo sapiens as ‘Economic man’, effectively first appears in the work of John Stuart Mill (1874) on political economy, understood as an individual who acts to maximize their economic well-being within the opportunities and constraints imposed by society. Ray J. Rivers, Tim S. Evans a wider audience of archaeologists than, from our experience, are currently familiar with them. As we have said, there is modelling that calls upon ideas from contemporary society in less explicit ways than these. However, the transparency of the models we consider here gives clear insights into the mecha­nisms of translating the present into the past that other applications may lack. We stress again that the analysis here is entirely within the framework of exchange networks. Irrespective of the model, there is a major difference between contemporary economic and historic archa­eological data. Economic data is typically ‘big data’. Archaeological data, although voluminous, better characterized as ‘lots of data’, is poor statistically. Such data underdetermines the possible processes that lead to its presence. On the other hand, theore­tical modelling of the type discussed here, which goes beyond the descriptive to have postdictive po­wer, over-determines or overfits the data. This leads to a delicate balancing act to which we shall return. Of course, there is no reason why, for any particular archaeological data set, quantitative models of the type above should be satisfactory. Most simply, these work best when ‘history is idling’, when we can as­sume continuity of form, enabling us to go some way to fill in the gaps in the data. That is, we describe the periods of calm between the storms of war, famine and general disturbance and we follow the authors above in assuming that Middle Bronze Age Assyria is such a time, although this is not to say that there is stasis. We shall revisit this question later. We are more concerned here with the underlying nature of the modelling and shall only discuss the data analysis of these models briefly. The reader is referred to the original papers for details. Assyrian trade as Ricardian economics We take the examples of Assyrian trade and urbani­sation in order, and treat the second with greater brevity. We shall be as minimal in our use of equa­tions as we can. The underlying question posed by Barjamovic et al. (2017) in their analysis of Assyrian trade is straight­forward and of more general interest than just the Assyrians: how do we locate communities/sites which we know to have existed from the historical record, but whose geographical position is uncertain? Their suggestion is essentially to consider them as illumi­nated trading ‘beacons’ and to triangulate their po­sitions from their (trading) ‘intensity’ to sites whose positions are known, on the assumption that they will appear ‘dimmer’ the further away they are from their trading partners. ‘Exchange’ here is limited to the exchange of ‘goods’. For the case in hand, Assyrian trade routes of the Early/Middle Bronze Age (19th century BCE) are identified from a cache of 12 000 deciphered cunei­form tablets. Details do not matter for the discussion here, but the basic data set comprises the origins and destinations of the (only) 391 directed journeys involving exchange between the sites listed in these tablets. There are 26 named sites which are either origins or destinations, the positions of 11 of which are unknown. Because of incomplete exchange data (e.g., a comparable number of untranslated tablets), the absolute numbers of trips are a poor proxy for site activity. Rather, for each site the fraction of trans­actions from each of the other sites is estimated. The aim is to use these ratios of flows to triangulate the missing sites, using the known sites for calibration purposes. The paper is clever and nuanced, but a true understanding of its methods requires a crash course in economics for most archaeologists (as well as ourselves), and we present only the briefest ex­planation. The reader is referred to the original pa­per and its key references (most importantly Jona­than Eaton and Samuel Kortum (2002) and James Anderson and Eric van Windcoop (2003)) for a more complete understanding. A simple summary with as little algebra as possible follows. Labelling sites by i, j, k ... with values 1, 2, ... 26 the assumptions made by Barjamovic et al. (2017) are a 20th century version of Ricardian eco­nomic theory in which we assume risk-taking inde­pendent traders buying and exchanging goods (of different types w) with the aim to make the best deals subject to: i) No arbitrage (i.e. no guaranteed way to make a ‘profit’). ii) Identical ad valoram ‘iceberg melting’ for all goods . produced and acquired with different efficiencies. That is, within a cargo a similar frac­tion of goods of whichever type are needed to ‘pay’ (or are ‘melted’) for their cost of transpor­tation and management. iii) Ad valoram ‘melting’ is reciprocal i.e. there is the same fractional penalty on goods going from site i to j as from j to i. iv) The outflow Oi at site i can be identified with the ‘site activity’ Si. This qualifies the simple ‘beacon’ How do we avoid imposing the present on the past when modelling spatial interactions| simile above while leaving it essentially correct. v) Constant ‘Elasticity of Substitution’; this concerns the ability of traders to substitute one good for another if necessary. vi) The cost of producing one unit of w in any city i follows a Weibull distribution2 depending on Ti, the efficiency of sourcing goods from i and a parameter q > 0, a measure of the ease of distri­bution (inverse of costs). All modelling makes simplifying assumptions about what constitutes exchange. Here, constant ‘Elasticity’ and ‘Weibull-costing’ allow us to aggregate different types of goods and efficiencies of production, whe­reas ad valoram ‘melting’ allows us to aggregate dif­ferent modes of exchange with a common distance scale beyond which exchange gets difficult. The cu­mulative effect is that we can flatten ‘exchange’ from site i to site j into a single integer-valued direction­al label Tij which counts transactions (e.g., T27 mea­sures the number of exchanges from site 2 to site 7). It is sufficient for the moment to observe that these simplifying assumptions look anything but simple. Given the discomfort that many archaeolo­gists have with algebra we have intentionally only partially decoded this language to highlight the dif­ference in style and content between it and that of more conventional archaeological modelling. The details of identifying the missing sites are not straightforward, and we refer the reader to the original paper (Barjamovic et al. 2017). In partic­ular, they involve extremising utility functions rep­resenting consumer welfare/satisfaction subject to constrained finances – hence the jibe homo econo­micus for the actors in these pursuits. In defence, their argument is that the historic Assyrian mer­chants operated in a framework of trading contracts, judicial taxation, trading colonies and ports which make them as good a proxy for contemporary free enterprise traders as we can get. For all the sophistication of the modelling assump­tions the outcome is relatively simple, although for the reader not versed in algebra it may seem some­what obscure. The resulting exchanges Tij from i to j following from these assumptions take the form of a generalised ‘gravity’ model (Erlander, Stewart 1990) Tij = si (f avij)–q sj (2.1) where f avij measures the ad valoram ‘melting’ as a function of site ‘separation’ between site i and site j. Increasing with distance, f avij measures the in­creasing fraction of goods that are needed to pay for the exchange, and it is this which makes distant sites ‘dim’. The si are derived from the site activity vari­ables Si by3 (.j denotes the sum over j = 1, 2, 3, ... for fixed i) Si = Oi = si Sj(f avij)–q sj (2.2) = si Sj(f avji)–q sj = Ii To get an understanding of what this means we will do a little further decoding. If we think of the Si (i = 1, 2, ... N = 26) as a measure of active population/ carrying capacity, then we think of the si more as a measure of the strength or importance of the site, something more akin to site activity (e.g., Gross Do­mestic Product in a contemporary context). Suppose, for example, that the Si are equal. Then those sites which have more near neighbours with easier access for exchange accrue larger values of si than those whose neighbours are more remote or less numer­ous and with which they exchange less by virtue of the cost/effort doing so. We finally note that reci­procity in melting leads to detailed balance; inflows equal outflows at all sites (last equality in (2.2)), sug­gesting that traders use the proceeds of exchange to implement new exchanges in a simple way. The data on ratios of transactions (Tij/Oi) as j varies is sufficient, in principle, to triangulate the missing sites. Assuming f avij grows as a power law with dis­tance Barjamovic et al. (2017) get sensible answers that accord with our historical understanding on in­corporating further contextual information. We shall return to this later. For the moment we shall also ig­nore the fact that the data set is very small. The que­stion that we wish to pose now is one of principle. If we knew no economic theory could we reach re­sults (2.1) and (2.2) by other means, in particular means that do not require the explicit actions of agents? The answer is largely yes, as we shall now show. Assyrian trade as the ‘most likely’ outcome (‘MaxEnt’) The alternative approach which enables us to evade direct comparison with free-market economics can be characterised as no more than making the ‘best 2 The Weibull probability distribution assumes that the cost ci of producing one unit of w in any city i takes the form: Pr[ci(w) < c] = 1 – exp(–Tiwi –qcq). 3 In (2.2) the first equality is the repeat of the ansatz that identifies Si with the outflow Oi, the second equality is the definition of Oi from (2.1). The third equality uses the reciprocity of melting and the final equality is the definition of the inflow Ii Ray J. Rivers, Tim S. Evans guess’. By that we mean what we would expect to have happened, all other things being equal. This is an old problem, the question of how to make best use of partial information4 . In principle we know what to do. We list all the ‘worlds’ which are compa­tible with our knowledge or, equivalently, ignorance, and assume that each is equally likely, otherwise we are withholding information. The most typical of these is the way in which the system is most likely to have behaved, and the question then devolves to one of identifying this state and the extent to which it more likely to be achieved than other competing states of the system. For the moment we concentrate on the first part of this question. This is such a familiar approach that we can forget that we are using it. A typical situation arises when playing cards; we know our hand and those cards which have been played and from that information make plausible guesses as to the most likely hands of our partners and opponents. Most simply, if we have one ace and only half the pack is dealt, our partner is unlikely to have three aces. The sugges­tion is that we might think of using our limited archaeological evidence in the same light. It looks an almost impossible task to list all ‘worlds’ compatible with our limited knowledge. Remarkably, this making best use of the limited information can be quantified as the principle of maximum entropy (‘MaxEnt’) (Jaynes 1957; 1979). Although we collo­quially think of (Shannon) entropy as associated with chaotic behaviour, it can be thought of as the num­ber of questions with which we need to interrogate the system to have complete knowledge of it. Think of the popular game in which you have up to 20 que­stions with yes/no answers with which to identify what your opponent is thinking about. Entropy is thus a measure of our ignorance about the system. From this viewpoint the ‘most likely’5 state of the sys­tem is the one with maximum entropy given our li­mited knowledge, since systems with less entropy as­sume more knowledge or have more implicit assum­ptions. Edwin Jaynes (1957; 1973) has also rephrased this as the Principle of ‘Maximum Ignorance’ or ‘Epi­stemic Modesty’. The use of entropy in this way, to identify the ‘least surprising’ of possible pasts, has been termed a ‘superconcept’ by Alan Wilson (2010), from whom much of the following is derived. Implementing ‘MaxEnt’ is still problematic, but we adopt the ‘law of parsimony or Occam’s Razor’6 , the principle that the simplest solution to a problem tends to be the correct one. Although the principle sounds straightforward it is difficult to formulate in general. However, as happens here, when presented with competing models of a similar form, we should select the one with the fewest ‘significant’ unknown variables and parameters7 . Explicitly, for the models of this paper the parameters of the ‘MaxEnt’ models are a subset of those of the economic models, and parsimony provides a simple marker for delineating the different approaches. More generally, when the models do not permit simple comparison, we fall back on Bayesian analysis (e.g., Rubio-Campillo et al. 2017). The assumption ‘all other things being equal’ seems a flat Bayesian prior, but the extent to which ‘MaxEnt’ is itself ‘Bayesian’ is disputed (e.g., see Cheeseman, Stutz 2004 and references therein), and we will not take the discussion further. As we have said, the analysis of Barjamovic et al. (2017) was predicated on sources of trade behaving as ‘beacons’ which become ‘dimmer’ the further we move away from them, exemplary of Tobler’s First Law of Geography, that “near things are more re­lated than distant things” (Tobler 1970). As a first step we show how Tobler’s law arises as the ‘most likely outcome’ from a simple implementation of ‘MaxEnt’. We avoid explicit algebra where we can. The interested reader can find a more mathematical analysis in several chapters of Wilson (1970), in Sven Erlander and Neil F. Stewart (1990) and in our recent work (Rivers, Evans 2014; Evans, Rivers 2017). Tobler’s ‘first law of geography’ as ‘MaxEnt’ As a first guess, our parsimonious approach, which we take as our null model for exchange, assumes mi­nimal ‘global’8 knowledge: (a) Exchange takes place but it is (collectively) lim­ited in scope. 4 There is an extended and tangled literature that we shall not attempt to reference here, encompassing the work of Jakob Bernoul­li to Pierre-Simon Laplace (via Thomas Bayes) to Ludwig Boltzmann to John Maynard Keynes to Edwin Jaynes via Claude Shannon. Details can be found in Jaynes (1979). 5 We use ‘most likely’, ‘most typical’ and ‘least surprising’ as synonymous. 6 Occam’s razor states that pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate, meaning “plurality should not be posited unnecessarily” (William of Ockham (1285–1347/49)). 7 We distinguish between ‘control parameters’ such as known site positions and their separations, which are common to both eco­nomic and entropy models, and ‘calibration parameters’ such as q, the measure of distribution costs, which act as model variables. 8 By ‘global’ we mean with reference to the system as a whole. By ‘local’ we mean information on a site by site basis. How do we avoid imposing the present on the past when modelling spatial interactions| (b) Exchange ‘costs’ or takes effort, but only so many resources are available globally (i.e. collectively) (c) The ‘cost’ or the effort required for exchange in­creases with ‘distance’. In practice, the cost of moving goods lies not just in the cost of their im­mediate transport, but also in the costs of sus­taining the network. This will include supporting the agents and middlemen to enable the trans­actions to take place. The outcome of maximizing the entropy of the sys­tem of exchange ‘flows’ subject to these global con­straints is, indeed, ‘Tobler’s law’ applied to exchange: that each site is connected to every other site and exchange decreases with ‘distance’ between sites. We do not have constant elasticity and ad valoram costing to fall back upon. Nonetheless, we assume parsimoniously that in the absence of further infor­mation, as a null assumption, exchange can be crude­ly characterised by a single number Tij whose value, if large, suggests strong exchange from i to j and, if small, weak exchange. For the case of Assyrian trade this will just be the integer-valued number of trips from i to j. Then, in appropriate units, ‘MaxEnt’ gives the most likely configuration of exchange flows as9 Tij = si fij sj (3.1) where the input si are a measure of site activity, re­lated to the active population of i, and fij is the so-called deterrence or impedance function for flows from i to j, a reflection of the cost/effort of exchange from i to j, which decreases with increasing separa­tion. We have recovered ‘Tobler’s law’ by replacing ‘cost/effort increases with distance’ with ‘exchange decreases with distance’, a very plausible equiva­lence1 0 . What we have here is the simplest of exchange mo­dels, the ‘Simple Gravity Model’. As yet it is so sim­ple that it does not incorporate networking. Re­moving a site just erases its links without any need for rearrangement of flows – the whole is just the sum of the parts. This is as we would expect from just implementing global constraints which make no reference to individual sites. With this in mind, as a second guess we introduce local constraints for transactions. Most simply, we first adopt the idea from ‘Proximal Point Analysis’ (PPA) that the total exchange flowing from any particular site is limited, with inflows unrestrained. ‘Proximal Point Analysis’ has had considerable success in archaeology (e.g., Broodbank 2000; Terrill 1986) in assuming most simply that any site only has the resources/energy to interact with a fixed number of nearest neigh­bours1 1 . We generalize this by extending our null model in which we replace condition (b) above by: (b) ‘only so many resources are available locally’, constraining the local outflows Oi as in ‘PPA’. Typi­cally, in the absence of any further information, we take (in appropriate units) the total outflow equal to the site’s local resources so Oi= Si, as in Barjamovic et al. (2017). In comparison to the simple gravity model this ad­ditional constraint gives us a ‘Singly Constrained Gra­vity Model’. The addition of this local constraint is sufficient to network the model. For example, if we double the outflows and inflows we get the sensible scaling result that exchange flows double whereas, for the ‘Simple Gravity Model’ of (3.1), doubling the si leads to a quadrupling in flows. In practice, a single constraint is not yet sufficient to describe either Assyrian trade or, later, Assyrian city-state formation. Each of these requires something further. Assyrian trade as the ‘Doubly Constrained Gra­vity Model’ For the case in hand of Assyrian trade we make the further constraint (repeating Barjamovic et al. 2017) that, in the absence of more information, the deter­rence function is reciprocal between sites; fij = fji for all i, j. Insofar that fij is a function of the ‘effective dis­tance’1 2 dij between the sites i and j this becomes the statement that these distances dij = dji are reci­procal, our parsimonious choice in the absence of further information. 9 We are being a little disingenuous here. What we are maximizing is the Shannon relative entropy (or Kullback-Liebler divergence), the information loss on taking the penalties of exchange into account so that, in the absence of these penalties, there is uncon­strained exchange between all interested parties. 10 However, ‘MaxEnt’ goes further than Tobler in specifying that exchange falls off with ‘distance’ exponentially with cost/effort (a ‘Boltzmann’ distribution). 11 Conventional ‘Proximal Point Analysis’ has equal unweighted on-off links so that restricting outflows restricts the number of sites with which any site will interact. Here we allow for weighted links so that many more sites can interact in principle as long as the total outflow is capped. 12 This may be geographical distance, on taking ‘friction’ due to different terrain into account or it may be travel time. Ray J. Rivers, Tim S. Evans This gives the ‘Doubly Constrained Gravity Model’, for which the ‘MaxEnt’ solution is Tij = si fij sj (3.2) where Si = si Sj fij sj (3.3) Because of the reciprocity in deterrence the final equation is also Oi = Si = Ii, for all i. As in (2.2), the sk are now not independent, as in (3.1), but deter­mined in terms of the input Si or Oi through the constraints (3.3)! We stress that there is no need to invoke individual agents behaving in particular ways. In summary, on comparing (3.2) and (3.3) to (2.1) and (2.2) we see what we have termed epistemic-ontic duality. By this we mean that, once we accept reciprocity between the exchange effort/cost between sites, the ‘most likely’ outcome for finding missing sites based on constrained local activity without hav­ing to invoke agents directly is equivalent to the technically much more sophisticated1 3 ‘Ricardian’ model of free 20th-century market traders with con­stant elasticity of substitution and efficiencies satis­fying a ‘Weibull’ distribution, and so on. This is provided we identify (a) the outflows Oi = Si in the two cases and (b) (f avij)–. of Barjamovic et al. (2017) with fij of the ‘Doubly Constrained Gravity Model’ (up to a fixed scale factor). It could be argued that we are being disingenuous in downplaying the role of agents in ‘MaxEnt’. That exchange occurs is a consequence of the presence of agents, and that it costs something is because of the efforts of agents. However, what we are saying from our position of ignorance is generic with no refer­ence to the type of good exchanged, the means of exchange, the ease of production and access, let alone assumptions about seeking ‘profit’. In fact, the simple requirement that deterrence or impedance to exchange increases with distance encodes no arbi­trage. The model is to be thought of as a null model in which our coarse-graining of activity and ‘cost’ is taken as characterising some type of statistical aver­aging over the detailed activities of these agents, in this case in the framework of detailed balance. Parsimony: primary and secondary problems This comparison provides fertile ground for explor­ing the utility of parsimony, although some care is needed in its application. Trying to understand a trading network (or any historical system) poses several problems, often a primary problem which characterises the analysis (here, the positions of the missing sites) and a constellation of secondary con­firmatory problems (e.g., the importance of these sites) which set the details. These latter may require more parameters which, given the uncertainties of network modelling, are likely to be less justifiable. There is an analogy with our understanding of the Solar System which we find helpful. Essentially, the geocentric Ptolemaic/Aristotelian world-view posi­tioned the Earth at the centre of the universe with the planets and the sun moving on circles embedded in spheres around it, whereas the heliocentric Co­pernican view had the sun at the centre with the Earth and the other planets moving around it (also in circles). The primary problem was whether the geocentric or heliocentric viewpoint was correct. In neither case were there ‘laws of nature’ to be in­voked, in the way we understand the term today. At best there was an argument for circles on symmet­ric grounds as they permitted a Creator who could be the ‘unmoved mover’ as the planets circulated. It was as much because the heliocentric view pro­vides a conceptually natural solution to the ‘wande­rings’ of the planets that the geocentric view was unable to do, rather than the data, that it prevailed. Neither picture worked well quantitatively for the secondary problems of how the individual planets behaved. In the intellectual framework of the time, in which the paradigm was circular motion, both pos­sibilities required large numbers of epicycles (circles on circles) to fit the data even approximately. We know why this happens; Newton’s laws mean that the planets move in ellipses, to which circles are a poor approximation, although a heliocentric system of cir­cles is still the better null model1 4 . The analogy that we would draw with archaeological modelling is that there are no ‘laws’ of society so our major aim is to identify the system as ‘heliocentric’ correctly (i.e. ‘solve’ the primary problem). Since epicycles are mis­leading conceptually, only serving as a means to ‘save the phenomena’ (Duhem 1969), we would argue that we should not expect to have reliable solutions to the secondary issues in the absence of hard data. This is probably the best that we can hope for. Beyond that we are back in the Just-So territory alluded to earlier. 13 Barjamovic et al. (2017) are well aware that they are describing a constrained gravity model, but their approach is very diffe­rent to ours with regard to parsimony. 14 The argument is subtle. The symmetry of Newton’s law of gravity for orbits is, indeed, the symmetry of the circle but the solu­tions (orbits) need not preserve this symmetry. Nonetheless, a simple circle is the natural null model solution. How do we avoid imposing the present on the past when modelling spatial interactions| The primary problem posed by Barjamovic et al. (2017) was that of identifying the position of the ‘missing’ sites. What is surprising is that, as we have seen, we get identical equations for the triangulation of missing sites from ‘MaxEnt’ provided we make the identification between the iceberg melting and de­terrence functions stated above, and nothing more. This outcome is independent of the N=26 efficien­cies Ti of the paper and only dependent on q as an exponent in the combination (f avij)–q. Since we do not know either f avij or fij then q itself is a redundant parameter. We stress that we imposed distance reci­procity in our ‘Doubly Constrained Gravity Model’ as the most parsimonious choice that we did not have enough information to refute. If subsequent data shows that reciprocity cannot be supported, from our entropy viewpoint we just fall back to the ‘Singly Constrained Gravity Model’ of (3.2) and (3.3) with no symmetry. We are unaware of any corresponding ‘Ricardian’ counterpart (although see Ward et al. 2013). We are not for the moment concerned with the suc­cess of the enterprise in Barjamovic et al. (2017), which calls upon supplementary historical data, his­torical road systems, estimates of carrying capacity and the like. Suffice to say, it seems to work ‘well’. We consider the results of the paper a major contri­bution to the field. Uncertainty and robustness We close this theoretical analysis with some brief thoughts on the uncertainties of the estimated out­comes that relate to the size of the network, which is small by most network standards. Our ability to predict missing sites is conditional on these uncer­tainties. Both the agent-related economic model and the ‘Doubly Constrained Gravity Model’ are determin­istic in their (identical) expected values of exchange events. However, the extent to which these estimates are reliable differs in principle between the models. Nominally, the ‘MaxEnt’ approach with its ‘greatest likelihood’ stance seems at odds with a probabilis­tic interpretation. However, building on the work of Wilson (1970), Yee Leung and Jianping Yan (1997), have shown that the uncertainty that we attribute to the most likely ‘Doubly Constrained Gravity Model’ (‘MaxEnt’) flows is just what would be expected if, as far as possible, individual exchanges occurred in­dependently of each other (i.e. with no memory of past events). That is, we have ‘Poisson statistics’. It is not clear from our ‘MaxEnt’ viewpoint if the data set is too small for us to be able to draw reliable conclusions, particularly given the large number of geographic links with no exchange. We have had a related experience in applying cost-benefit analysis to Greek city-state formation, for which the distance scales were too small to prevent fluctuations that were large enough to force us to abandon that par­ticular model (Rivers, Evans 2014). The situation for the economic modelling of Barja­movic et al. (2017) is different by fiat. Their analy­sis is closely related to that of Eaton et al. (2012) and of Joao Santos Silva and Silvana Tenreyro (2006) who adopt estimators which are ‘Poisson-influenced’ but not exactly ‘Poisson’. In this way, additional calibration parameters enable them to get results that simple entropy prohibits. We are unable to determine to what extent this choice of variance is intrinsic to ‘Ricardian’ economic modelling, or is just adding further epicycles. Data fitting This leads us briefly to consider the problems with the data. For the case in hand we have N = 26 sites and only data for order N2 links. With order N (‘Max-Ent’) calibration parameters (largely the Si and the coordinates of the missing sites) an acceptable match to the data is possible, without being tested by non-symmetric exchange. Better data would probably make non-symmetric exchange untenable. It is not clear how to generalise this ‘Ricardian model’ to ac­commodate this (although see Ward et al. 2013). Oversimplifying, in the first instance Barjamovic et al. (2017) minimise the least square correlation between the predicted ratios of transactions and the ratios recorded from the tablets as they vary the positions of the missing sites, constraining both parameter values and the missing site positions. They then do more, identifying multi-stop itineraries which refer to missing sites to further constrain their positions. As for site importance, they call upon sup­plementary data, e.g., historic road-systems. To check the robustness of the predictions they omit known cities in a random way to check if their po­sitions can be successfully reconstructed from the data. As we said earlier, this is a subtle analysis not really germane to our discussion, and we refer the reader to the original paper. As anticipated, a priori the two formalisms do not give identical results for the secondary questions con­cerning the ‘importance’ of the individual sites, since it is difficult to compare the economic and ‘MaxEnt’ Ray J. Rivers, Tim S. Evans models as they are used. Barjamovic et al. (2017), largely with an economics background, do not ap­proach networks in the same way as archaeologists with a social networks background. While archaeolo­gists adopt the conventional attributes of sites in net­works such as ‘PageRank centrality’, ‘betweenness centrality’, and so on (Newman 2010) to describe site significance, Barjamovic et al. (2017) invoke ‘au­tarky’, a measure of site self-sufficiency, the antithe­sis of networking, to give importance to theirs. Whe­reas the latter does make use of the hitherto redun­dant parameters, the ‘MaxEnt’ results display the emergent properties of the network with no further parameters, parsimonious to a fault. Since we are not comparing like with like the two methods cannot agree in detail. Whether that matters in practice, given the uncertainty of the historical record, is equal­ly unclear. As yet there is no ‘Tycho Brahe’ to im­prove the data. However, from another viewpoint, this chimes with our earlier observation that the contemporary mod-elling may itself be unreliable. Indeed, it has been argued that constant elasticity of substitution and ‘Weibull distributions’ are introduced for their ana­lytic solvability, rather than their representation of real systems (e.g., Spilimbergo et al. 2003). Further, ad valoram ‘iceberg’ melting does not even work when applied to the transportation of ice (Bosker, Buringh 2018). Assyrian settlement structure and city-state formation As we have said, Barjamovic et al. (2017) argued that Assyrians are a good proxy for contemporary free enterprise traders and that 20th-century models should work in this case, but the argument for an epistemic approach is more general. This duality is present in our second example of city state forma­tion in Bronze Age Assyria. It is sufficient to see how the modelling fits into our general theme, and we shall present it in less detail. This example may seem surprising since, although historic and pre-historic city-state formation have some contemporary and near-contemporary paral­lels, they seem to have little in common with the models of trade exchange familiar to economists along the lines of our earlier discussion. That a par­allel can be drawn with 20th-century economics is due to Wilson (1971; 1976), who repurposed the free-market ‘shopping’ or ‘retail’ model of David L. Huff (1964) and Tiruvarur R. Lakshmanan and Wal­ter Hansen (1965) to this end. Wilson (1971; 1976) and Britton Harris and Alan Wilson (1978) argued that synoikism, the key ingredient of state-forma­tion, has its counterpart in the patterns of depart­ment stores incorporated in shopping centres. The ‘Retail Model’ The basic assumptions of the retail model, in the ter­minology of retail outlets, are that: i) In equilibrium, retailing ‘activity’ (e.g., cash flow) is proportional to ‘capacity’ (e.g., floor space). ii) The aim is to maximise ‘consumer surplus’ sub­ject to the constraint of fixed outflows. This enables us to convert ‘capacity’ into site ‘attrac­tiveness’, measured through the inflows. iii) The inflows of the dominant sites partition space into zones of influence. There are variations in the way that the model can be formulated but, most simply, the conversion of capacity into attractiveness is effected by the intro­duction of a further set of parameters Zi (one for each site) which reflect site activity, converted into site size. These are in addition to the flows Tij which determine the inflows. The Zi are determined by ma-ximising the ‘Marshall-Hotelling’ (Hotelling 1929) consumer surplus. Again homo economicus looms large. The final step is to relate the Zi to the final attracti­veness, identified through the inflow Ii, understood as the Zi equilibrium values. This evolution of the ‘attractiveness’ of a site to its equilibrium value is problematic. Most simply a linear response is adopt­ed (Harris, Wilson 1978). More dramatically, it can be understood as treating the agent ‘consumers’ as ‘prey’ to the outlets, as determined by a non-linear ‘Lokta-Volterra’ approach (Wilson 2008). However, insofar as the required outputs are the equilibrium values, the details of the approach to equilibrium are not relevant as long as they avoid the ‘period-doubling cascades’ that are a precursor to chaotic behaviour (Osawa et al. 2017). It is clear that the ‘retail’ model is of a particular time and place, mainly late 20th-century Western na­tions, for which it captures the ‘death of the High Street’ and the creation of malls. The arrival of the internet and online shopping has made the model largely redundant. We might expect the archaeolo­gical applications to be equally constrained in time and space, but the model was subsequently trans­lated by Tracey E. Rihll and Alan Wilson (1987; 1991) to describe the emergence of the polis in the How do we avoid imposing the present on the past when modelling spatial interactions| 19th century BCE mainland Greek Iron Age city states as a result of: . Synoikism: Surrendering of local sovereignty to a wider community. . Urbanisation: Emergence of dominant settlements. We would not be so crass as to pair1 5 Argos/Argos™, for example, but the way in which dominant sites arise which partition territory make the parallels be­tween ancient and modern site-dominance plausible. Its success in this case, despite some caveats (Evans, Rivers 2017), has led to several successful subse­quent applications: e.g., Bronze Age Crete (Paliou et al. 2016; Bevan et al. 2016), La Tene West Europe (Filet 2017) and Middle Bronze Age Anatolia (Davis et al. 2014; Palmisano, Altaweel 2015), as discussed below. Once urbanisation has been implemented, the model is exhausted. Assyrian settlement structure The applications of the retail model that we con­sider here are that of settlement formation in the Middle Bronze Age and Iron Age Khabur triangle (Davies et al. 2014), complemented by the work of Alessio Palmisano and Mark Altaweel (2017) who ex­tend this approach to settlements in Middle Bronze Age Central Anatolia. That is, in part we are looking at Assyrian society at approximately the same time and place as Barjamovic et al. (2017) but at a diffe­rent level of organisation, of settlement rather than individual traders. What interests us is that the equilibrium ‘consumer surplus’ extremisation of the retail model permits a re-interpretation as the maximisation of a constrain­ed entropy (Wilson 1970), also invoked by the au­thors above. To implement ‘MaxEnt’ we return to the ‘Singly Constrained Gravity Model’ of the previ­ous section with its local constraints on outflows (also assumed in the retail model). As with the case of Assyrian trade, we need to impose an additional constraint on our generalised inflows. The creation of zones of influence around dominant city-states is an asymmetric process. Rather than the local con­straint of detailed balance between inflows and out­flows imposed on traders, we adopt the global con­straint that the entropy of the inflows from the bur­geoning city-states is fixed (Rihll, Wilson 1991). Suf­fice to say that if we were to implement this final constraint alone we would have (up to a multiplica­tive constant) Tij = Iig fij (5.1) where, in the absence of any further information, we have set all outflows equal (as in ‘Proximal Point Analysis’). We see that, for ‘attractiveness’1 6 g > 1 sites with larger inflows become dominant at the expense of the rest, commensurate with synoikism. Imposing the other constraints makes (5.1) much more complicated1 7 . Nonetheless, the primary que­stion of determining the dominant states has a so­lution essentially replicating the equilibrium beha­viour of the ‘retail’ approach, showing a few domi­nant sites which partition space into zones of influ­ence. We note that we can still preserve the sym­metry fij = fj,i and dij = dji. The asymmetry in the out­comes arises from the asymmetry in the way we treat inflows and outflows. Since city-state formation permits a ‘MaxEnt’ de­scription with no direct reference to agents, the epi­stemic-ontic duality is seen again, although parsimo­ny is implemented differently here in two ways. Most simply, the first accords with our earlier sim­ple definition, in that the difference between ‘retail’ and ‘MaxEnt’ lies in doubling the number of vari­ables in the ‘retail’ approach. These collapse to a sin­gle set in equilibrium, those of ‘MaxEnt’. As a result the equilibrium site ranking is the same in both ap­proaches. Secondly, the more profligate approach permitted by the retail model lies in the way that it provides narratives for the evolution of the system to its equi­librium state (Harris, Wilson 1978). As for the im­plementation of the model, Toby Davies et al. (2014) adopt non-linear ‘Boltzmann-Lokta-Volterra’ preda­tor/prey dynamics whereas Alessino Palmisano and Mark Altaweel adopt linear ‘Boltzmann-Lokta-Vol­terra’ dynamics. That is, with ‘Lokta-Volterra’ ‘time’ understood as historical time, in principle the retail model allows us to address the diachronic ‘secon­dary’ issues as to how site differentiation might arise, unavailable to ‘MaxEnt’. How seriously we should take these narratives is a separate issue, insofar as they are not used in data comparison. There is a po­tential problem in that if the retail model solution is an ‘attractor’ to the deterministic ‘Lokta-Volterra equations’ our narrative looks to be one of effective historical determinism. This can be avoided by the 15 Where the first name is from Archaic Greece, the second a U.K. retail chain. 16 g is the Lagrange multiplier associated with the fixing of inflow entropy. 17 In fact, in the solution of the dynamical flows a further constraint between inflows and outflows is imposed which goes beyond the original shopping model and its original archaeological applications. This does not change the nature of our argument. Ray J. Rivers, Tim S. Evans explicit inclusion of multiplicative noise in the ‘Lokta-Volterra’ equations (Ellam et al. 2017), but simple ‘MaxEnt’ evades this problem by only providing equi­librium site rankings. Data Insofar that it is the equilibrium values which are used for data analysis, the clear separation into pri­mary and secondary questions that we found so use­ful for traders is not relevant because of the identi­ty of the outputs. Unlike the case for Assyrian traders, the input data here is largely site populations and positions, and the model outputs are not individual flows but site inflows identified with site size. There are several ways to correlate these outputs to the data that look for effects that go beyond our expectations from geography alone. To abbreviate a complex analysis in each case, the primary comparison of Palmisano and Altaweel (2015) is with conventional network analysis. From site inflows they construct a ‘hierar­chical Nystuen-Dacey’ network (Nystuen, Dacey 1961) that encodes synoikism. The resulting zonal network is then analysed with conventional central­ity measures. For Davies et al. (2014) stress is put on site size distributions rather than on the indivi­dual sites themselves. As in Barjamovic et al. (2017) in each case robustness is demonstrated through partial dataset sampling. Both papers do an excel­lent job of making their cases, and we refer the read­er to them for details. Discussion There is no doubt that 20th-century economic mod­els have proved very useful in motivating archaeolo­gical models with the same structure, adopted almost unadorned by their historical context. In this paper we have argued wherever possible for an ‘epistemi-cally modest MaxEnt’ approach (Jaynes 1973), which enables us to avoid an explicit narrative of agents constrained by detailed behavioural rules whenever possible. Although the examples discussed here are very different, both economic and ‘MaxEnt’ approa­ches rely on maximization in different ways: . Economic models assume the maximization of be­nefit to traders or sites, perhaps by the extremi­zation of utility functions, the definition of homo economicus adopting rational economic behav­iour. . ‘MaxEnt’ models make use of the more general ex-tremization of entropy or, equivalently, make the best use of limited information, usefully rephrased as the ‘Principle of Maximum Ignorance’ (Jaynes 1957; 1973). For the examples here we have seen that, in the main, these different ways of looking at the same primary problems (‘missing sites’ and ‘dominant sites’, respectively) give the same key results. We have made little reference so far to ‘Bayesian’ analysis, but it could be said that, insofar as we are swapping homo economicus for a flat ‘Bayesian prior’, we do not need to know economics to answer the primary questions for the models given here. However, from a viewpoint of parsimony this epis­temic-ontic duality is not evenly balanced. Contrast the list of assumptions made in ‘Ricardian’ and ‘Re­tail’ modelling with those of the ‘Constrained Gra­vity Models’. That these models can be put in corres­pondence with ‘MaxEnt’ shows the redundancy in the economic modelling assumptions when address­ing the main questions for large enough systems. This redundancy will not apply to secondary ques­tions to which the models will give different answers. As we have seen, the situation is different for small systems, but our goal in this paper has been more about generics. Whether the data and the models are trustworthy enough to give useful results to these secondary questions is another matter in the light of what we said earlier; assuming large enough data sets the number of parameters is small, even for economic modelling, such that we can only expect very broad agreement with data from whichever viewpoint. The example of Greek city-state formation (Rihll, Wil­son 1987) is a case in point. Whereas there is very good reason for Athens and Corinth to be dominant states, within the modelling the significance of The­bes is more equivocal (Rivers, Evans 2014; Evans, Rivers 2017). That Thebes was as important as it was, where it was, is due to factors that our simple modelling cannot incorporate, such as the rise of one socio-political ‘house’ over another. However, a significant site somewhere in that region was to have been expected. It is because of these qualifications about secondary issues that we reject the reverse engineering that – since our ‘least surprising’ entropy results are, in the first instance, commensurate with free-market economic models – a free-market society is the ‘least surprising’, if not ‘obvious’ outcome, for describing exchange in this period. We would argue that the How do we avoid imposing the present on the past when modelling spatial interactions| devil lies in the secondary details, as we see in Eaton and Kortum (2002) and Anderson and van Wind-coop (2003). These are not the ‘least surprising’ out­comes since they rely on subsidiary information. This is why economists preserve their complicated models rather than use ‘MaxEnt’. Without comment­ing on the reliability of their models their data is generally so good that the broad brush approach of ‘MaxEnt’ is inadequate. For large enough systems this difference between the economic and entropy-maximizing approaches is seen most clearly in how they address temporal change, to which we have referred. Whereas econo­mic models are dynamic, ‘MaxEnt’ looks for equilib­rium behaviour. Change can be accommodated in ‘MaxEnt’, e.g. an overall increased difficulty in travel due to banditry/piracy affecting the exchange pat­terns in the South Aegean (Knappett et al. 2011) and in the more dramatic case of the eruption of Thera (Rivers 2018). A similar parameter shift oc­curs in Davis et al. (2014) to describe changes in set­tlement patterns between Middle Bronze Age and Iron Age sites. However, these are exogenous effects unlike the endogenous behaviour encoded in the ‘Lokta-Volterra’ equations of the retail model (Wil­son 2008; Ellam et al. 2017). We might argue that, from an agent-related economic viewpoint, ‘history’ is an attempt to achieve ‘good’ functionality from a non-optimal beginning whereas, from a ‘MaxEnt’ viewpoint, ‘history’ is an attempt to maintain ‘good’ functionality at all times as circumstances change. These two models are not the only C20th economic models that have been translated to the historic past. In particular, there are ‘Intervening Opportu­nity Models’ which assume that transactions between two sites i and j are proportional to the number of ‘opportunities’ at destination site j and fall off in­versely with the number of ‘intervening opportuni­ties’. Introduced by Samuel Stouffer (1940) and de­veloped by Morton Schneider (1959), this approach was used to model commuting patterns, but it has a natural extension in archaeology where, in an ex­treme form, it occurs as ‘Proximal Point Analysis’, as mentioned earlier. There is a ‘MaxEnt’ realization of the general model, albeit in a slightly tortured way (Wilson 1970). Beyond ‘Proximal Point Analysis’ (e.g., see Broodbank 2000; Terrill 1986) it has been applied to Mediterranean maritime exchange by coastal tramping in the Late Bronze Age (Rivers et al. 2016). Of course, there are models based on 20th-century economics (e.g., cost-benefit analysis, in which we look for the ‘best’ outcome) that seem to have no direct epistemic counterpart in terms of making the best use of information, but that is another story1 8 . Our aim here has been the more limited one of try­ing to demystify unnecessarily complicated econo­mic machinery that has been used to explain histo­ric and prehistoric exchange. One important class of models that we have not addressed is that of agent-based models, which can build on free-market behaviour (e.g., Brughmans, Poblone 2016). Nominally, they fall outside our ana­lysis in that our emphasis has been on avoiding bot­tom-up narrative in favour of generic likelihood. In fact, agent-based modelling could not replicate an analysis as detailed as that of Barjamovic et al. (2017), although it can be built upon entropy max-imisation (Altaweel 2015), perhaps bringing the best of both worlds. We shall not pursue this further. So, in summary answer to the question in the title of this paper, archaeologists often try to impose a (free-market) present on to the past. However, for the models we have discussed here we find that in the first instance the significant results are nothing more than the ‘least surprising’ results that follow from maximising our ignorance (‘MaxEnt’) of free-market behaviour under simple assumptions, the most parsimonious approach. The situation is dif­ferent for secondary questions when free-market analogues are much less parsimonious (cf. ‘MaxEnt’) and require a large amount of additional detail. Given our poor understanding of the model parame­ters and the ambiguity of the archaeological data to which these models are applied, this can be spurious or unable to be substantiated. Nonetheless, it has to be said that the economic models, however suspect their detailed assumptions, do provide a rationale as to how different types of goods produced and tran­sported differently can be aggregated. As such they motivate the simple averaging that happens with ‘MaxEnt’ null modelling, even if the results are not to be taken too seriously. However, that is the nature of null models, and it is not clear in general that we do any worse by continuing with ‘MaxEnt’ when pos­sible. 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Abingdon. back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Fables of the past> landscape (re-)constructions and the bias in the data Michael Kempf Department of Archaeology and Museology, Masaryk University, Brno, CZ Physical Geography, Institute of Environmental Social Science and Geography, Faculty of Environment and Natural Resources, University of Freiburg, Freiburg, DE Archaeological Institute, Faculty of Humanities, Dep. Early Medieval and Medieval Archaeology, University of Freiburg, Freiburg, DE kempf@phil.muni.cz< Michael.kempf@archaeologie.uni-freiburg.de ABSTRACT – Prehistoric landscape reconstructions are still considered an unsolved methodological issue in archaeological research, and this includes the perception and transformation of an indivi­dual landscape in relation to situational and local ecosystem performances. Which parts of the land­scape offered the potential for land-use and which areas were rather unsuitable due to a variety of environmental preconditions? The modern perception of the archaeological record that is distri­buted in the modern landscape does not necessarily represent a realistic dispersal of past human activity, but rather reflects the current state of archaeological research and modern land-use strate­gies. This contribution provides a critical assessment of spatial analyses of large and unstructured archaeological datasets and the non-reconstructibility of past, individually perceived palaeolandscapes. KEY WORDS – spatial analyses; GIS; multivariate modelling; landscape archaeology; human ecology Bajke o preteklosti> krajinske (re)konstrukcije in pristranskost podatkov IZVLE.EK – Rekonstrukcije prazgodovinske krajine .e vedno veljajo za nere.eno metodolo.ko vpra-.anje v arheolo.kih raziskavah, kar vklju.uje zaznavanje in preoblikovanje posamezne krajine glede na situacijske in lokalne u.inke ekosistemov. Kateri deli pokrajine nudijo potencial za izrabo zem­lji.. in kateri predeli so zaradi razli.nih okoljskih danosti manj primerni? Sodobno dojemanje ar­heolo.kih zapisov, ki so raz.irjeni v sodobni krajini, ne predstavlja nujno realne razpr.enosti .love.­kih aktivnosti v preteklosti, temve. odra.a trenutno stanje arheolo.kih raziskav in sodobne strategi­je rabe krajine. V prispevku nudimo kriti.en razmislek o prostorskih analizah velikih in nestruktu­riranih arheolo.kih podatkovnih baz in neobnovljivosti preteklih, posami.no zaznanih paleokrajin. KLJU.NE BESEDE – prostorske analize; GIS; multivariatno modeliranje; prostorska arheologija; .love.ka ekologija Introduction Remote sensing techniques and Geographic Informa-et al. 2019). Open source medium-resolution satel­tion Systems (GIS) have proven to be useful tools in lite images from the Landsat and Sentinel missions environmental research, and particularly in model-are used to monitor and map surface cover modifi-ling supraregional surface developments and land-cations through multispectral analysis (Stratoulias cover changes (Kaplan, Avdan 2017; Landuyt et al. et al. 2018). These methods are extended by active 2019; Malekmohammadi, Jahanishakib 2017; Shen sensor radar analysis that allow for surface observa- DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.27 Fables of the past> landscape (re-)constructions and the bias in the data tions during cloud-cover or without sunlight (SAR – Synthetic Aperture Radar) (Cao et al. 2019; Dabrow-ska-Zielinska et al. 2016; Landuyt et al. 2019; Mlecz­ko, Mróz 2018). The massive anthropogenic pres­sure on today’s ecosystems drastically expands the need for large-scale surface monitoring. This is par­ticularly visible in the growing social and cultural vulnerability to extreme weather events, which re­quires the intensification of large-scale surface moni­toring to understand the relationship between natu­ral ecosystem impacts and cultural heritage man­agement. The integration of landscape connectivity, the human as vulnerable agent, and increasing eco­system susceptibility plays a key role in landscape archaeological research (Kempf 2019b; Lasapona­ra, Masini 2006; 2011; 2013; Masini, Soldovieri 2017; Morrison 2013). The evaluation of the distri­bution of archaeological sites and human behaviour in a specific landscape demands deeper knowledge of the geographical interconnectivity of the environ­mental preconditions. Intense land-use and settle­ment activity in particular severely modified the earth’s surface in past centuries, building a variety of cultural landscapes on top of each other. It is a methodological challenge to evaluate the patterns and structures behind the distribution of archaeolo­gical sites in the landscape, in order to rapidly draw conclusions about landscape permeability, cultural exploitation, and the human-environment interac­tion of premodern societies. This contribution aims to highlight the interface between the monitoring of surface dynamics, the reconstruction potential of palaeoenvironments, and the analysis of spatial pat­terns of archaeological site distribution. The follow­ing questions are of central importance in this con­text: . How is our modern understanding and percep­ tion of an archaeological landscape biased by mo­ dern land-use concepts, settlement activities, and recent structural surface changes? . How can GIS-based environmental models, remote sensing applications, and statistical analysis ex­ plain spatial patterns of archaeological site distri­ bution? . How can these concepts contribute to a compre­ hensive landcover reconstruction? Fables of the reconstruction? Landscapes, eco­systems and affordances Landscape archaeology is in vogue, and there are in­creasing discussions about the terminology of land­scape. This has led to a mixture of concepts and de­finitions from many scientific fields and subcatego­ries, resulting in an increasingly blurred terminology that makes it difficult to understand the methodolo­gy and its limitations (David, Thomas 2010; Meier 2017). Landscape archaeology has a rather short hi­story, and only came into use in the mid-1970s (Da­vid, Thomas 2010; Fleming 2006). Moreover, it took until the 1980s and Colin Renfrew’s advance in the field of cognitive archaeology for landscape archae­ology to become established in post-processual ap­proaches (Doneus 2013): the categorical separation or inclusion of culture and environment (Ingold 2000; Meier 2009). Basically, landscape archaeolo­gy has now become an umbrella term for spatial pat­terns in archaeology (Doneus 2013). It aims to un­derstand how space has been organized and struc­tured in premodern societies through the emotional meaning, experience and categorization of land­scapes (Meier 2009). Landscape archaeology thus does not simply represent an extension of environ­mental or settlement archaeology, but in contrast, a conglomerate with explicitly cultural-scientific me­thods for the social reconstruction of spatial life worlds (Meier 2017). The integration of trans-regio­nal geographic networks and the dissolution of the local environment enable an objective consideration of resource distribution, land-use, supraregional com­munication, mobility and exchange, as well as tran­scultural adaptation and development processes. Human ecology and the spatial-temporal scale of landscapes affordances Beside a conceptual framework of archaeological cri­teria to define spatial patterns of human behaviour, landscapes are considered as being composed of many characteristics. Michel Baguette et al. (2013) consider the landscape as the most appropriate spa­tial scale to define ecological networks in ecosystems. According to the authors, the extreme difference in the perception of the term landscape emerges from the divergence of the concepts of biogeography and behavioural ecology. Biogeography defines the land­scape as a clearly categorized spatial organization with a homogeneous geomorphology and climate. Behavioural ecology, on the other hand, defines the landscape as the individual’s perception of the en­vironment and the spatial extent of his/her activi­ty range as a function of the lifetime spread of the organism (Baguette et al. 2013; Gurrutxaga et al. 2010; Kupfer 2012; Schaich et al. 2010). It is obvi­ous that landscapes can hardly be defined solely through spatial determination of human-environ­ment interactions without adding a temporal com­ponent and an individual dimension of landscape perception. Michael Kempf The temporal component is a methodological con­fusion in landscape archaeology. This is particularly important in terms of the differentiation of event and process. Events seem to take place on a short-term scale with noticeable and mostly severe impacts on ecological habitats and sociocultural human sys­tems (Berglund 2003; Büntgen et al. 2011; Toohey et al. 2016). However, the differentiation between event and process in archaeology is more deter­mined by the material consequences than the envi­ronmental triggers. As a result, short-term events tend to blur in long-term chronological categoriza­tion. They are not detectable until their consequen­ces are not manifested materially, socially and cultu­rally. Events, processes, and the spatial parameters of landscape patterns and susceptibilities are inevi­tably linked, and form the specific dynamic charac­ter of landscape ecology and archaeology. Tracing where and when groups and individuals have settled and reshaped a particular place for a certain reason is of central importance in archaeolo­gical research, and especially in cultural heritage management (van Leusen, Kamermans 2011; Ver-hagen et al. 2010; Verhagen 2018). The basis for this is relatively simple: human behaviour is patterned (Brandt et al. 1992). The resulting structures follow the conceptual landscape fragmentation of premod­ern societies, and eventually their interaction with their environment (Verhagen 2007). This geograph­ic fragmentation and the patterned human behav­iour are strongly connected to the concept of so-called landscape affordances. The neologism affor-dance, first introduced by James Gibson in the late 1970s, describes the phenomenon of propositions emanating from objects within a specific environ­ment (Gibson 1979; Jung 2018; Loveland 1991). Affordances are not (meta)physical properties, but rather empirical meanings that are in some way ar­ranged in space (Jung 2018). Affordances were first introduced into archaeological discourse by Timothy Ingold in 1992 (Gillings 2009; Ingold 1992; 2000). In contrast to defining the components of the envi­ronment as passive resources, the concept of land­scape affordances aligns dynamic and processual feedback with an individual’s behaviour in the mo­ment of mutual interaction (Gillings 2009). In a broader sense, these fundamentals are decisive for the differentiation of landscape and environment, which Ingold characterizes through objective and subjective or internal and external observers (Ingold 2000; Meier 2017; Webster 1999). Affordances are not a universal concept for certain actions of social groups with material objects or elements in their environment, but take place at the individual level of perception of an object in the immediate moment of its confrontation. According to David Webster (1999), the relationship between affordances and landscapes can be divided in two: low-order invari­ants denote the individual elements of a landscape, while high-order invariants summarize these ele­ments and generate potentially available/not avail­able or usable/not usable surfaces that are offered to an individual. Furthermore, Mark Gillings (2007) describes affordances as disposition properties which can be divided into direct and potential compo­nents. Nevertheless, both characteristics constantly coexist. Although the concept of affordances is much older than the basic idea of GIS-based multivariate land­scape reconstructions in archaeological research, both systems consist of similar components: the se­lection and categorization of environmental parame­ters and preferential sites in relation to the personal interests and actions of individuals in their environ­ment. Preferences in land-use are not only physical interrelations between the needs and demands of people and their surroundings. According to Marcos Llobera (1996; 2001), changes in affordances reflect social changes within a group. Individuals in a parti­cular group share common or similar structures, de­velop similar practices, and consequently share simi­lar affordances. A possible method for the reconstruction of human patterns in the landscape is the application of mul­tivariate modelling. In landscape archaeology, multi­variate modelling is based on the integration of a va­riety of GIS-based datasets (Groenhuijzen 2019; Ho­wey 2011; Howey, Brouwer Burg 2017; van Dinter 2013). The inductive approach of multivariate land­scape models is the recognition of specific location parameters in the archaeological dataset (Güimil-Fa­rina, Parcero-Oubina 2015; Weaverdyck 2019). Di­gitally obtained integrative accumulative surfaces allow for the evaluation of environmental parame­ters without completely excluding human interac­tions. The diachronic reflection of the archaeological record of a study area helps to identify patterns and continuous human impacts on the landscape on large temporal and spatial scales. Anthropogenic surface modifications – how modern is the past? The French part of the Upper Rhine Valley was cho­sen as the study site. The area covers about 8300km2 with large-scale geographical feedback and ecosys­ Fables of the past> landscape (re-)constructions and the bias in the data tem connectivity (Kempf 2019b). In order to eval­uate the natural conditions of the study area, the actual environmental conditions and the recent sur­face changes were modelled on the basis of histori­cal maps, modern satellite images and various GIS-attributes and datasets. The whole region was mas­sively modified by intensive land-use and increas­ing construction development within the past few decades. Climatic extreme events and long-term va­riability have also triggered droughts, flooding, and surface transformation (Giacona et al. 2018; Glaser et al. 2010; 2012; Himmelsbach et al. 2015a; 2015b). The lowlands in particular are prone to increased temperatures, heat waves, and drought stress (Duch­ne, Schneider 2005; Muthers et al. 2017). For prehistoric societies it was periodic events that especially shaped perceptions and opportunities in the landscape. This means that the sum of spatial re­quirements is determined by the vulnerability of the environment to extreme events and the maximum benefit that can be assumed with an acceptable risk of loss. This results in a long-term trend in land-use which does not define areas of high suitability ac­cording to qualitative and modern standards, but is formed by periodic empirical values. Do pre-modern landscapes largely consist of experiences that are no longer accessible today? If this is the case, then the question arises to what extent today’s surfaces are still parts of the physically existing landscapes of pre-modern societies, and how much palimpsest is still present in the landscape? A review of the environ­mental variability over the last 150 years is enough to identify the massive interventions in the ecosys­tem’s balances. Large-scale infrastructure develop­ment, new urban areas, deforestation and expansion of arable land, drainage and exploitation of resour­ces are just a selection of the anthropogenic impacts on the land surface. The rapid change in landcover can be tracked by comparing historical maps, mod­ern satellite images from different years, and more recent landcover data sets such as Corine Landcover (CLC). Material and methods A Geographical Information System (GIS) is more than just a simple software tool for storing and ma­nipulating spatial data. Much of the actual work that happens before visualization, spatial analysis and database management is the acquisition of spatial data that fits the desired spatio-temporal resolution of the research framework. The issues that were raised by the increasing application of GIS in inter­disciplinary research led to the distinction between GIS (software tools) and GISc (Geographic Informa­tion Science), with the latter concerned with the many conceptual interrelationships between science and the humanities (Conolly, Lake 2006). Multiva­riate landscape analyses are based on selected and hypothetical environmental parameters. The selec­tion of the parameters is carried out empirically via the feedback mechanisms of an ecosystem. For exam­ple, the type and composition of quaternary sedi­ment stratigraphy in connection with groundwater height, flood risk and average precipitation rates de­termine soil formation processes and small-scale soil mosaics. From the estimation of the numerous (mul­tivariate) determinants, a potential premodern land­scape can be deduced (Fig. 1). In reality, however, this surface is based on modern empirical data and can only be transferred to prehistoric surface forma­tions with considerable uncertainties. Nevertheless, these models allow us to draw conclusions about po­tential prehistoric land-use concepts, because they integrate ecosystem connectivity on both the small and the large scales. A broad variety of spatial and temporal environmental datasets have been acquir­ed, manually developed or processed from various departments, institutions or through open source online portals. One major difficulty for the current study was the synchronization of datasets from the French and German sides of the Upper Rhine Valley, which have different geographical coordinate sys­tems, spatio-temporal data resolution, typology, and particularly data availability and accessibility. The following descriptions list the respective datasets and briefly summarize the methods and strategies of the digital manipulations for the study area. Environmental conditions A comparison of a historical map from the 19th cen­tury with images from two satellite missions (Land­sat-1, sensing date 9th October 1972; Landsat-OLI8 sensing date 24th September 2018) shows signifi­cant transformations of the surface cover during the past 150 years (Fig. 2). Massive deforestation activ­ity took place that aimed to transform the surface into arable land or to be suitable for use as con­struction sites for increased urban and rural devel­opment. However, in order to understand the distri­bution of the archaeological sites in the landscape and consider the potential movement behaviour of past societies, landscapes need to be differentiated into their physical parameters such as climate, geo­logy, and hydrology, and into their artificial and cultural components based on anthropogenic im­prints. Michael Kempf Two surface classifications can be deduced from the evaluation of landcover changes and land-use: a land­scape suitability model and a landscape bias model that evaluates the impact of modern surface trans­formations. These surfaces include geological units, soil quality and drainage potential, flooding vulne­rability, groundwater level, and historical surface dynamics, such as infrastructure change, settlement expansion and modifications of the hydrological sys­tem. Based on these potential maps, archaeological and modern land-use patterns can be quantitatively compared and tested for their spatial interrelations. The environmental factors have been analysed on the supraregional scale to identify the large-scale con­nectivity patterns of the Upper Rhine ecosystem. The geological and pedological data that supports the analyses of the study site were acquired from the Bundesanstalt für Geowissenschaften und Rohstoffe Hannover (BGR). For the French part of the Upper Rhine Valley, soil maps from the ARAA (Association pour la Relance Agronomique en Alsace, http://www. araa-agronomie.org/, last accessed 19th January 2019) and the API-AGRO (Paris, https://api-agro.eu/, last accessed 19th April 2019) were integrated in the GIS-project. The surface-near geological units are mostly dominated by Quaternary alluvial sedimentation of the River Rhine and River l’Ill. Soil formation pro­cesses and drainage potential are strongly linked to the height of the groundwater level below the sur­face, late Pleistocene and early Holocene loess co­ver, periodic flooding events, and sediment reloca­tions that represent a conglomerate of different cli­matic and geomorphological components (Hage­dorn, Boenigk, 2008; Himmelsbach et al. 2015a; Kempf 2018; 2019a; 2019b; Pfister et al. 2006; Preusser 2008; Preusser et al. 2016; Rentzel et al. 2009). Slope inclination and terrain roughness play a minor role in the study area, although the hydro­logical and geomorphological parameters are subject to natural transport, displacement and sedimentation processes, which are controlled by the gradient. Two landscape models have been calculated from the multivariate environmental datasets. The first samples all information that is supposed to be deci- Fig. 1. Study area and single components of the multivariate environmental model. The Alsace is situ­ated west of the River Rhine, stretching towards the Vosges mountains. Geological data (alluvial deposits) indicate fine-grained material, that lead to clayey-loamy soil conditions with low drainage potential. A high aquifer (processed and interpolated from 327 groundwater stations) and periodic flooding events (processed from Sentinel-1 SAR data from January 2018) lead to locally unfavourable surfaces. Forest coverage, agricultural exploitation, and increasing demand for arable land and infra­structural developments have had a significant impact on the surface over the past 150 years. The mod­ern hydrological network is subject to manifold anthropogenic overprints such as canalization and drainage activities, which reshaped the environment and caused groundwater lowering and erosion. Fables of the past> landscape (re-)constructions and the bias in the data Fig. 2. Recent and historical landcover change and land-use in the study area based on various envi­ronmental datasets and remote sensing applications. Multispectral satellite imagery analysis and veg­etation indices (NDVI) reveal massive deforestation processes between 1972 and 2018 (a), extensive crop cultivation (b), and strong built-up change (c). sive for the choice of potential human utilization: adequate drainage potential, aquifer height below 0.5m, non-alluvial geology, very low-flooding vulne­rability, and non-forested areas. The multivariate mo­del generates six suitability classes from 5 (= very high surface suitability, all classes represent excel­lent surface and subsurface conditions) to 0 (= se­vere surface unsuitability, all classes represent se­verely unfavourable surface and subsurface condi­tions). The suitability model visualizes all environ­mental conditions that distinguish potential settle­ment and land-use corridors from areas with un­suitable surface and subsurface conditions based on the evaluation of their qualitative location factors. The second model represents the modern biased surface conditions in the study area. The dominant parameters are deforestation, modern hydrological system, intense modern built-up change, and exten­sive agricultural utilization. The variables create a landscape model with five classes from 0 (= no mo­dern bias) to 4 (= very strong bias). Quantitative analysis of the archaeological record The distribution of archaeological finds in the Alsace is used for the quantitative evaluation of land-use spread and bias through modern infrastructural con­struction activities. The spatial analysis is based on the consistent archaeological database that is pro­vided by the Université de Strasbourg. The project ArkeoGIS is supported by over 170 international in­stitutions and gathers archaeological data from all over the world (arkeogis.org) (Bernard 2019). Origi­nally designed as a local open-source online GIS for the Upper Rhine Valley, the databases hosted by ArkeoGIS now include a vast amount of geospatial data, archaeological sites and environmental maps. Major advantages arise from the large amount of data for each respective archaeological period and continuous updates by Dr Loup Bernard (UMR 7044 ArcHiMedE, Université de Strasbourg). In particular, the chronological differentiation allows one to per­form point pattern analyses that distinguish patterns pertaining to different chronological periods. The database contains a mixture of structured and un­structured data sets that require filtering in an infor­mation system (Gattiglia 2015). The fact that the database consists of both archaeological excavation data and archaeological survey data (including scat­tered and stray finds) poses a particular challenge for the interpretation of the spatial context of the data distribution. In particular survey data are cha­racterized by the specific teleological research foci, the individual interests of the researcher, technical standards, and the site-specific conditions of the se­lected study area (Cowley 2016; van Leusen 1996). For this research the stable versions of the open source software QGIS 2.18.6 and QGIS 3.6.0 (Open Michael Kempf Source Geospatial Foundation Project, http://qgis.os geo.org) which include GRASS GIS 7.2.0 and GRASS GIS 7.6.0 (Geographic Resources Analysis Support System, http://grass.osgeo.org) were used. The envi­ronmental modelling was supported by spatial sta­tistical analyses conducted in R (R 3.5.1) and R Stu­dio (R Studio 1.2.1335). Point pattern analysis Enrico Crema et al. (2010.1118) described point pat­tern analysis (PPA) as a method that “examines the spatial configuration of point observations across a study area and, potentially, the underlying pro­cess behind its information” (see also Bevan, Co-nolly 2006; Conolly, Lake 2006). The research in the Upper Rhine Valley relies on an archaeological data­set that consists of 10 726 sites that were tested for their clustered behaviour around modern agglom­erations or along linear structures. In combination with Kernel Density Estimates (KDE) and Complete Spatial Randomness tests (CSR), PPA identifies the statistically significant characteristics of a dispersal of points/sites. A short explanation of the most im­portant methods and tests follows. Intensity analysis Intensity analysis, also known as density analysis, is a method that allows one to describe the changing frequencies of observations in the data (Conolly, Lake 2006; Herzog, Yépez 2013). One way to pro­duce intensity estimations is to describe the amount of observations in a geometrical area – usually a re­gular grid. The total amount of observations in each cell can be measured and interpolated from the cells to the entire study area (Herzog, Yépez 2013). The most common interpolation method is Kernel den­sity estimation (KDE), which produces smooth visu­alizations of the point pattern distributions from the core areas and their surroundings (Bonnier et al. 2019; Conolly, Lake 2006). A kernel – which can be visualized as a hill with a particular height, radius, and shape of slope – is placed over each point, and all of the kernels are added together to produce a density map, sometimes called a ‘heat map’. In a GIS, KDE can be processed using the different radii (band­widths) through which the density levels were pro­cessed (Baxter, Beardah 1997; Herzog, Yépez 2013). The radius, however, depends on the subjective re­search question and extent of the study area (Bon­nier et al. 2019; Brigand, Weller 2018; Hughes et al. 2018). Complete Spatial Randomness (CSR) and Ripley’s K-function Spatial point pattern analysis examines the depen­dence between points. The difference with typical point analysis is the inclusion of spatial attributes in a model. The character of the spatial behaviour of point patterns is among the first statistical analyses that are conducted to identify clustering, regular, or dispersed point distribution patterns (Fig. 3). Typi­cally, so-called CSR- tests (Complete Spatial Random­ness) are applied to compare spatial point patterns to complete spatial random processes (Lucio, Caste-lucio de Brito 2004). Oliver Nakoinz and Daniel Knitter (2016) pointed out that CSR-tests allow not only for the detection of random distributions but also of regular point (negative interaction) and clustered point distribu­tions (positive interaction). Points do not behave equally at all scales. At smaller scales, they can show clustered behaviour that gets random or dispersed at larger scales. If the spatial pattern is not clustered, it is either random or regularly dispersed. However, the regular distribution of anthropogenic or ecolo­gical samples is very rare (Haase 1995). One of the most useful statistical approaches to test CSR is Rip­ley’s K-function (Bevan, Conolly 2006; Conolly, Lake 2006) that describes how point patterns are distri­buted over a certain area (Dixon 2002). Ripley’s K defines the radius at which clustered behaviour is established. Broadly speaking, the function counts the number of points within given distances around each point and compares the result to the number of points one would expect within a totally random point distribution. If the number of empirically ob­served points within a certain distance is greater than the number of the simulated random distribu­tion, the empirical point pattern is clustered at that scale. If the number is smaller than the simulation, the distribution is dispersed (Dixon 2002). PPA was conducted in the study area to estimate the spatial behaviour of the archaeological record and the spatial relationship between the record and the modern agglomerations (Fig. 4). First, a grid of 10 x 10km was established across the research area and Fables of the past> landscape (re-)constructions and the bias in the data Fig. 4. Point pattern analysis and interpolated density estimates of the site distribution of archaeologi­cal sites and modern agglomeration centroids. (a–1) total count of archaeological sites in a 10 x10km grid; (a–2) modern agglomeration centroids in the same grid. The total number of sites was classified in categories 1–10 (11) with 1 = low number of sites and 10 = high number of sites, and 11 for the out-lier value of 998 sites (a–3, a–4). These reclassified values were assigned to cells in a raster (b–1, b–2) and the differences between both data sets were calculated (b–3). Multilevel b-spline interpolations of these reclassified values (c–1, c–2) and the differences between them were calculated to visualize areas of congruence (c–3, moderate values) and difference (c–3, extreme negative and positive values). Michael Kempf the total number of archaeological sites and modern agglomeration centroids were calculated for each grid cell. The numbers were reclassified in ranges from 1 to 10 and one outlier 11 (the area of Stras­bourg with 998 archaeological sites in the grid cell). The reclassified values were mapped accordingly (Fig. 4a). From the reclassification, a raster analysis was performed that attaches the number of record­ed sites to every grid cell. The difference between the archaeological and modern raster indicates the high spatial interdependencies of the archaeological sites and the modern agglomerations (low values, –1, 0, 1, white signature in Fig. 4b-3). Areas that are significantly different show high negative or high positive values. From the raster, a multilevel b-spline interpolation was used to produce a density plot with smoothed value ranges (Fig. 4c–1,c–2). Finally, the difference calculation quantifies the spatial rela­tionship estimate of both datasets in the study area. Furthermore, a KDE estimation was performed for both datasets with r=10 000m (Fig. 5b) for the mo­dern agglomeration centroid dataset and r = 5000m for the archaeological sites (Fig. 5a). Thresholds have been calculated to classify the results of the KDE and enhance their visual intelligibility. Both analyses in­dicate spatial interdependencies between the data­sets. However, significant outliers are visible that are caused by extreme values in the point pattern distri­bution. Results and discussion In the Alsace, the bias model reveals a very strong relationship between the spatial distribution of the archaeological record and the modern residential and industrial areas (Fig. 6). To refine the model, the modern agglomeration boundaries were sepa­rated into small residential districts, local industrial areas, and rural complexes. The centroid of every modern built-up complex was calculated (n = 1913) and analysed according to the methods applied to the archaeological database. Most of the sites of both datasets are situated in areas that experienced strong surface transformation. Figure 6 shows the spatial relationship between the distribution of modern residential areas, the archaeological sites, and the accumulative bias surface in the study area. The bias surface was calculated from built-up change, defor­estation, modern arable land-use, and the connec­tion to the modern hydrological network. Five bias classes have been deduced from the accumulative Fig. 5. Density estimates (KDE) of (a) the archaeological sites (r = 5000m, n = 10 726) and (b) the mod­ern agglomeration centroids (r = 10 000m, n = 1913). Fables of the past> landscape (re-)constructions and the bias in the data Fig. 6. Bias model from built-up change, deforestation, and the modern hydrological network in the Alsace (a). Bright areas show low bias intensity, dark areas high bias intensity. Modern agglomera­tions (green) and the archaeological record (red) are modelled to estimate the bias value of each site (b, c). Both site distributions show clustered spatial behaviour and are not randomly dispersed (e, f). surfaces, which classify the influence of modern use from low to high. The distribution of archaeological sites and modern agglomeration centres modelled on the bias surface enables the estimation of similar spatial behaviour. The distribution patterns of mo­dern agglomerations indicate that a few centres do not show any biased values. This is because modern urban development and new construction sites hard­ly interfere with the historical village centres. The distribution of archaeological finds is similar to that of modern agglomerations. Twenty percent of the archaeological finds show little or no impact from modern land-use. This may be because the archaeo­logical database includes medieval and early mod­ern heritage sites, which are located in the historical centres outside the bias categories. However, 80% of the total archaeological record lies in the biased categories. The datasets have further been analysed using Ripley’s k-function to test CSR (Fig. 6e,f). The results reveal significant clustering, and a random distribution can be excluded. This supports the argu­ment for a strong spatial relationship between the two site distributions. These estimates indicate intensive location relation­ships between modern development, geomorpholo­gy, vegetation cover, land use, and the distribution of archaeological sites. Due to the similar spatial behaviour of settlement centres and archaeological sites, the hypothesis is pursued that modern con­struction activity is the decisive factor in the per­ception of archaeological concentration areas. For this reason, Thiessen/Voronoi polygons were calcu­lated and analysed for their size and the spatial re­lationships with the archaeological record. The poly­gons are not randomly distributed over the area and their size is strongly linked to the highest modern built-up density and the most intensive construction activity (for example, in the agglomerations of Stras­bourg). Intensively restructured areas represent a small network of polygons, while rural areas are characterized by larger polygons. The archaeologi­ Michael Kempf cal sites are homogeneously distributed in the poly­gons. Only a few polygons show extreme values (the agglomerations of Strasbourg). Most of the sites are situated in small urban and rural agglomerations. There is no significant correlation between increas­ing polygon size and an increasing number of ar­chaeological sites. The observations from the K-func­tion are supported by the analyses of the spatial pat­terns of the modern centroid Thiessen/Voronoi poly­gons in relation to the archaeological record. The distribution indicates non-regularly dispersed site distribution (Fig. 7). Furthermore, the land-use potentials of the region were analysed to evaluate continuous site occupa­tion. The multivariate suitability model described above was used as a basis for the spatial analysis of both datasets (Fig. 8). Both site distributions show similar patterns. The modern agglomerations and the archaeological record are distributed within the highest classes of the model (Fig. 8b,c). Ninety-two percent of the modern settlement and built-up cen­troids are located in the two highest suitability cate­gories. The site dispersal decreases significantly with­in the other ranges. A similar signal can be detected in the archaeological record: 91% of the total archae­ological finds lie in the highest two categories, with a sharp decrease in the numbers in the others. An additional distance matrix was calculated to demon­strate the strong spatial relationship between archae­ological sites and modern agglomeration. This re­veals that the closer to an urban or rural agglome­ration an area is, the more archaeological sites can be recorded. The significance is further increased if Fig. 7. Calculated Thiessen polygons from modern rural and urban agglomeration centroids (a). The size varies from 0.0007km2 to 35km2 in the study area. Small polygons indicate high population density (high modern residential area density). The archaeological sites are homogeneously distributed in the poly­gons with only a few outliers caused by archaeological site concentrations in the area of Strasbourg (b, c). The polygons show clustered spatial behaviour and only a few polygons reach up to more than 15km2 (d). Most of the sites are situated in small urban and rural agglomerations. There is no signif­icant correlation between increasing polygon size and increasing number of archaeological sites. Fables of the past> landscape (re-)constructions and the bias in the data Fig. 8. Multivariate landscape suitability model (a) composed of soil quality, geological units, low flood vulnerability, high drainage potential and low aquifer (no groundwater discharge). Based on the model, the distribution of modern agglomerations (n = 1913) was analysed. (b) A total of 1161 sites are located in very high and 607 in high suitability classes. The total archaeological record (n = 10 726) shows 5299 sites in very high and 4485 sites in high suitability classes (c). The distance matrix between the archaeological record and the modern agglomerations (d, e) demonstrates that most archaeological sites are located in close proximity to the nearest modern rural or urban agglomera­tion centroids (d). Modelling the distance between the archaeological record and the boundaries of the modern residential polygons further increases the significance (e). the distance matrix is based on the residential boun­daries (polygon) instead of the centroids (Fig. 8d,e). The interrelationships are not only visually and spa­tially significant, but also statistically. Modern land-use influences our perception of the distribution of archaeological finds in the landscape. There are se­veral reasons for this: first, it is possible that the study area has experienced continuous utilization and the archaeological sites are located where con­tinuous land-use takes place. This would support the theory of constant settlement and land-use strate­gies, and ignore dynamic environmental and socio­cultural behaviour for several thousand years. Such hypotheses are currently questioned by geologists and Quaternary sedimentologists that are evaluating the palaeochannel shifts and riverbed relocations of the Upper Rhine during the Holocene (Rambeau et al. 2019). The first results indicate strong displace­ments of the Rhine course and its tributaries – over the entire Holocene. According to the authors, large­ly stable conditions of the fluvial system of the river Rhine can only be assumed for the post-Roman peri­od onwards – at least for the investigated parts of the river course. Local settlement continuity can only be assumed for the margins of the higher moun­tain foreland and elevated Mesozoic plateaus in the floodplain. The floodplain of the Holocene anasto­mosing river periodically shifted, and erosion and accumulation processes replaced each other in very dynamic systems that still seem to be unconsidered in landscape archaeology. However, a reasonable question here is whether the suitability model is biased by modern perceptions of the landscape. Entire past landscapes cannot be re­constructed because past cognitive concepts of how landscapes were formed cannot be perceived by mo­dern individuals. Premodern landscapes consist of experiences, traditional values and ideas rather than Michael Kempf their actual geographical contents (Gramsch 1996). tion of human patterns, but rather to complement The landscape palimpsests of a variety of cultural and extend the approaches of a comprehensive and human-environment interactions have led to a mas-modern landscape archaeology (Llobera 2012). Just sive transformation of the earth’s surface, and even-like in any other science, uncertainties are a funda­tually to the outlook of the modern world. All archa-mental property of progress and research develop-eological distribution is finally a modern perception ment, and archaeological data in particular can eas-of how we interpret past human behaviour. This is ily be confused with absolute data. However, it is triggered through modern urban agglomerations and the current state of archaeological research that is the pull-factor of continuously inhabited regions. In-used to model the spatial behaviour of past soci-tensive survey activity generates a high archaeolo-eties. The results of the bias and suitability models gical density in these areas, while adjacent areas of the Alsatian Upper Rhine can be used to identify show a low data volume due to lower survey inten-continuously used areas of intense human activity. sity. Archaeological corridors are created technically On the other hand, they can also be used to estimate and methodically (Armit et al. 2014; van Leusen the impact of modern landcover change on the (mo­1996; van Leusen, Kamermans 2011). The major dern) archaeological distribution, and thus to engage bias factor is the vicinity to modern built-up areas, in methodological source criticism. This paper shows and in particular intensive construction activity in that there are very significant relationships between the marginal zones of urban agglomerations, exten-modern anthropogenic surface modifications and the sive infrastructure and rail tracks. Furthermore, cul-density of the archaeological record that is perceived tural heritage sites in historical centres are important by individuals today. Past societies did not leave public pillars that acquire increased cultural percep-traces in linear patterns. The perception of cultural tions. Well-organized monument preservation man-heritage is constructed by modern individuals mov­agement and a high density of excavation compa-ing in space. The actual archaeological traces were nies increases the capability to undertake archaeo-constructed by individuals creating space. That dif-logical surveys and prospections what strengthens ference can be an additional way to understand past public recognition and financial support – in addi-human-environment interactions. tion to the benefits of potential scientific publication. Conclusion Simple distribution maps of archaeological data are useless. They produce dehumanized patterns in arti­ficial space. The strength of GIS in archaeology is its diversity (Conolly, Lake 2006). The process behind the application of GIS, or digital modelling in gener­al, is not meant to stand opposed to the interpreta- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The statistical analyses of this article strongly benefit from the discussions with Jan-Eric Schlicht and Oliver Nakoinz (both Kiel University). I am further very gra­teful to Jan Koláø and a second reviewer for their constructive ideas and comments that increased the structure of the paper. . References Armit I., Swindles G. T., Becker K., Plunkett G., and Bla­auw M. 2014. 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Antiquity 73(282): 915–917. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003598X00065698 Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Habitat selection and the evolutionary aesthetics of landscape preference Marko {koric´, Aleksej Ki[juhas Faculty of Philosophy, University of Novi Sad, Novi Sad, RS mskoric@ff.uns.ac.rs aleksej.kisjuhas@ff.uns.ac.rs ABSTRACT – This paper analyses the processes of habitat selection and human landscape preferences from an evolutionary perspective, with the aim of demonstrating how humans aesthetically choose, assess and aspire to live in an environment in which our species and our ancestors evolved in dur­ing the pre-Neolithic period. We present the basics of evolutionary aesthetics, then analyse the pro­cess of habitat selection and the most influential evolutionary theories of landscape preference. Finally, we refer to applied empirical research and point out that a comprehensive evolutionary the­ory must also take into account the psychological and cultural elements that affect human well-being. KEY WORDS – evolutionary aesthetics; habitat selection; biophilia; landscape preference Izbira /ivljenjskega prostora in evolucijska estetika krajinskih preferenc IZVLE.EK – V .lanku analiziramo proces izbire .ivljenjskega prostora in preference ljudi pri izbiri krajine iz evolucijske perspektive z namenom, da poka.emo, kako ljudje na podlagi estetike izbira­jo, ocenjujejo in stremijo k .ivljenju v okolju, v katerem so se v obdobju pred neolitikom razvijali na.a vrsta in na.i predniki. Predstavljamo osnove evolucijske estetike, nato analiziramo proces iz­bire .ivljenjskega prostora in najbolj vplivne evolucijske teorije o krajinskih preferencah. Na koncu se sklicujemo na uporabne empiri.ne raziskave in poka.emo, da mora celovita evolucijska teorija upo.tevati tudi psiholo.ke in kulturne elemente, ki vplivajo na dobro po.utje ljudi. KLJU.NE BESEDE – evolucijska estetika; izbira .ivljenjskega prostora; krajinske preference The biology of aesthetics As a field of research, aesthetics generally does not relate to biology or evolution, but primarily to cul­ture and learning, although there is no doubt that evolutionary theory can reveal a lot about aesthetic preferences. Roughly speaking, aesthetics studies what we like or dislike, and the important question is whether standards of judgments can be learned or are (to a greater or lesser extent) inherited. In line with the tendency of social scientists throughout most of the 20th century to ignore knowledge that came from biology (Degler 1991), theorists of aesthe­tics and the arts mostly did not advocate ideas about the existence of human nature, but emphasized his­toricist explanations based on historical contexts and cultural factors. Thus, aesthetic values are usu­ally seen as referring to the prevalent social values in a particular culture, and that kind of social or cul­tural constructivism also implies relativism regard­ing aesthetic values. The situation changed with the rise of evolutionary psychology, which began to advocate aesthetic uni­versalism (e.g., Dutton 2003; Thornhill 1998; 2003; Dissanayake 1992), and the answer to the question of why the position of universalism is compatible with evolutionary psychology is simple. All organi- DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.28 Habitat selection and the evolutionary aesthetics of landscape preference sms are the products of evolution, which is not brought into question by scientists, while there is some controversy concerning the impact of evolu­tion on behaviour (e.g., Segerstrale 2000). Evolutio­nary psychologists acknowledge the influence of evolution through natural selection both on the be-haviour and mind of humans, and according to these ideas human nature was formed long before the Holocene, and endows us with certain capacities which are not consequences of socialization, learn­ing, traditions and the like (e.g., Tooby, Cosmides 1992). We argue that there is sufficient convincing evidence to conclude that human nature exists in the form of genetic biases that affect our perception, decision-making and behaviour in general (e.g., Wilson 1978). Cultural evolution is influenced by biology, although the biological evolution of the brain has taken place in a social context, so it is not disputed that culture plays a large role in human behaviour. Human culture is part of human biology, thus any at­tempt to separate them is artificial and misguided (e.g., Boyd, Richerson 2005). Only from an evolu­tionary perspective can we understand why our knowledge fits our environment; that is, how we manage to understand the world around us. Like­wise, an evolutionary perspective offers an explana­tion as to why we know so much about the world, although we have very limited personal experience. And finally, only through evolution can we explain why our knowledge reflects the environment in which our ancestors evolved (e.g., Campbell 1974). Due to evolution, our perception and cognition are selective, and we can speak of perceptual biases that occur at three different levels: basic biases, which we share with higher vertebrates, biases that are characteristic of our species, and specific cultural perceptual biases. Similarly, our emotions have evolved since they have positively affected the sur­vival and reproductive success of our ancestors (To-oby, Cosmides 1990), indicating that humans res­pond emotionally to the world around them because they possess an aesthetic sense which is the product of evolution through natural selection. Studying both cognitive and emotional preferences can thus serve as a bridge between psychology and evolutionary theory (Kaplan 1987). The universality of art in all known cultures indicates that aesthetics is also closely related to psychologi­cal adaptations (Tooby, Cosmides 2001). Aesthetic reasoning undoubtedly varies greatly over time and across cultures, but research shows that some basic algorithms are universal and have evolutionary ori­gins (e.g., Brown 1991). Like physical characteristics, our cognitive structures are adaptations to solving the reproductive problems of the human phyloge­netic past. This implies that evolutionary aesthetics is part of evolutionary psychology and rests on the premise that human basic aesthetic preferences have evolved in order to improve survival and re­productive success. In other words, evolutionary aesthetics is an attempt to understand the aesthetic reasoning of humans and their spontaneous differ­entiation between ‘beautiful’ and ‘ugly’ as a biologi­cally adaptive capacity for making important deci­sions in life (see also Averill et al. 1998; Dutton 2003; Hartmann, Apaolaza-Ibanez 2010; Paden et al. 2012; Seghers 2015). Probably the most famous example of evolutionary aesthetics is physical attraction in the context of mate selection, of which much has been discussed (e.g., Symons 1979), and the same logic can be ap­plied to other visual preferences. In this paper, the emphasis is on landscapes and habitat selection pre­ferences. The basic premise of evolutionary aesthe­tics in this domain is to show how people choose and want to reside in an environment where our species and ancestors evolved for millions of years. We can differentiate among direct, indirect and vi­carious (or symbolic) experiences of nature. It is obvious that in the modern world there has been a decline in direct experience of the natural environ­ment, as it involves spontaneous contact with na­ture. Indirect experience represents organized con­tact with nature, where human intervention is seen (e.g., zoos, parks), and symbolic does not mean actual but mediated contact (books, movies, etc.). Thus, the growth in indirect and symbolic experience is noticeable and direct contact with nature has fallen dramatically. So the important question is whether and to what extent contact with natural systems and processes is important and useful for the well-being of today’s humans, living in an envi­ronment that does not resemble the one in which our ancestors evolved. Habitat selection Humans receive a wealth of information from their surroundings on a daily basis, and it is impossible to assimilate and use all of it, while it is clear that most of this information has very little or no value to our survival. That is why natural selection has made us Marko {koric´, Aleksej Ki[juhas develop neural programs which assess information and act as filters that allow important data in and prevent irrelevant data from entering. These filters constitute biologically prepared learning that pays particular attention to decisions that affect survival and reproduction, which is why being attracted to certain environmental information is adaptive be-haviour (Kaplan 1987). However, these decisions do not need to be adaptive today, since natural se­lection cannot affect our fit with future environ­ments. For example, phobias that are almost univer­sal in humans relate to snakes, spiders, heights, dark­ness and the like, all of which have had a major im­pact on survival and reproduction during most of human evolution, and not with the knives, automo­biles, guns, and so on which are really more dange­rous to human life in modern environments. As such, many phobias have to do with the environment in which human nature was formed, and they have ma­naged to survive since then. It is reasonable to assume that habitat selection is a process associated with human survival; that is, which has left consequences for the survival and reproduc­tion of humans and their ancestors. Until the Neoli­thic and urban development, people mostly lived a nomadic and hunter-gatherer lifestyle, and the search and selection of habitats were of utmost importance not only for providing food and shelter, but also be­cause habitats evoke certain emotions, stimulate en­vironmental exploration, give sense of well-being and identity, etc. (Hunziker et al. 2007). Simply put, individuals who were able to find and identify a ha­bitat that offered protection from predators and bad weather, while also enabling access to food, water, and other resources, were more successful than in­dividuals who could not recognize such qualities in a given environment (Ruso et al. 2003). Of course, the preference for particular habitat types that fa­cilitate adaptation is not unique to the human spe­cies alone, so habitat selection is widespread among vertebrates, and has been reported even in animals raised in the laboratory and without any prior expe­rience with the natural environment (Kaplan 1987; see also Wecker 1964). Therefore, it can be said that habitat selection is an almost universal activity among animals that affects many choices of individual orga­nisms. Environmental preferences co-evolve with its quali­ties, meaning that organisms respond positively to environments where the chances of their survival and reproductive success are good (Orians, Witten­berger 1991). Likewise, organisms that choose to settle in less conducive environments leave fewer offspring. However, this correlation is not so simple, because a habitat which seems good at first glance may be inadequate due to other factors (such as in­fectious diseases, hidden predators, etc.), and orga­nisms may have difficulty in truly, accurately or pre­cisely assessing the quality of an environment (Ori-ans, Wittenberger 1991). The habitat selection pro­cess itself takes place in stages – encounter, explore and exit or establish – and thus is a kind of hierar­chical process that involves making several strategi­cally important decisions. The first stage begins with the arrival of the organ­ism in an unknown general area, where there are se­veral habitats that are suitable for various activities – some are for courtship, some for hunting, settling, etc. The organism must first decide whether or not a certain habitat should be explored or whether it should move on. This decision is largely based on the judgment of the distribution of objects in space, water, trees, or vegetation, shelter, potential distance from prey or a safe place, and the like. If an organ­ism considers staying, then it goes into a more de­tailed exploration of the environment and then de­cides whether to stay or not, as well as whether that possible stay will be shorter or longer (Orians, Wit-tenberger 1991). It is also clear that the key factor in this process is time, since better habitats are usually already occu­pied, which is why organisms have to make deci­sions very quickly – almost instinctively and often based on incomplete information. Contemporary ha­bitat selection research shows that subjects do ex­press their preferences relatively quickly and easily, but most often cannot explain their choices and are unaware of the predictive variables that make them prefer one environment rather than another, imply­ing some automaticity in these choices (Kaplan 1987). From an evolutionary perspective, there are many adaptive benefits to quick, automatic judgment of the information traits concerning a place or space we are approaching. Walking on varied terrain, cho­osing the right path, etc., require constant re-evalu­ation as the landscape opens up new vistas and op­portunities. It is the information processing speed that is crucial for rapid response, which makes it ap­propriate to be automatic and unconscious, and to result in an affective (rather than cognitive) reaction (Ulrich 1983). In other words, it is not only impor­tant to rationally identify habitats that are useful, Habitat selection and the evolutionary aesthetics of landscape preference but also environments that we like emotionally. It is an effective guide to ongoing behaviour when an individual is intuitively (and aesthetically) attracted to promising places, or rejects unpromising ones. Although today habitat selection is not a particular­ly important factor in human survival, this process was extremely significant for the everyday survival of our ancestors (Ruso et al. 2003). Therefore, the psychological mechanisms underlying habitat selec­tion have been the subject of intense selection pre­ssures, including the emergence of emotional reac­tions to certain environmental characteristics (Kap­lan 1987; Seghers 2015). Because habitat selection has been crucial throughout human evolutionary hi­story, research into this phenomenon, especially in the context of landscape preference, is of great im­portance for the general understanding of our evolv­ed aesthetic tastes (Ruso et al. 2003). Biophilia and the evolutionary theories of land­scape preference Roughly speaking, two basic types of evolutionary aesthetics can be distinguished – evolutionary intu­itionism and evolutionary cognitivism (Paden et al. 2012). Intuitionism speaks of fundamental aesthetic intuitions as adaptive preferences, meaning that the pleasures underlying aesthetic reasoning evolved because they played a role in adapting human beings to their environment. On the other hand, evolutio­nary cognitivism is based on remarks about the in­trinsic beauty of (certain) living beings or landscapes; that is, the view that evolution brings about beau­tiful living forms, remarkable natural phenomena, and so on. Likewise, there are two paradigms when it comes to landscape preferences – objectivist and subjectivist (Lothian 1999; Maulan et al. 2006). Objectivist approaches perceive visual quality as in­herent in the landscape, while subjectivists claim that visual quality is a construct of the beholder. Within subjectivist approaches, positivist and phe­nomenological models exist – positivists analyse the physical and measurable features of landscapes, while phenomenological models focus on personal experience and meaning (Ohta 2001; Thwaites, Simkins 2007). It is just about what we attach the greater importance to, because it is indisputable that the landscape quality depends on both objective and subjective factors (Daniel, Vining 1983). Thus, objectivists usually assume that there is a cer­tain unchanging standard for aesthetic appreciation in the characteristics of the object itself (line, colour, form, etc.), and its proponents are most often artists, (landscape) architects, some physical geographers, ecologists and environmentalists, and others who claim aesthetic qualities of the object rest in its for­mal qualities independent of human perception and interpretation. Many of them also insist that aesthe­tic quality stems from ‘naturalness’, i.e. ecological di­versity, and that unmodified or ‘natural’ landscapes are therefore of greater aesthetic value to humans. On these theoretical foundations, and the concept of ‘natural’ and ‘picturesque’, for example, Hyde Park in London was designed, with its curvilinear lines, vegetation masses and open vistas (Maulan et al. 2006). On the other hand, subjectivist approaches empha­size that landscape aesthetics are the result of the in­teraction between the observer and object, which is why they focus on the cognitive and affective reac­tions of individuals. In this sense, the aesthetics of the landscape is a human construct on the socio-cul­tural or individual level, since it rests on the percep­tion and interpretation by the human mind. In plain language, ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’. It can be said that the objectivist paradigm often pla­ces people in a relatively peripheral position in which they, similar to a camera, passively ‘capture’ landscapes (like a work of art), while the subjecti­vist paradigm also takes into account the variables of human knowledge, experience, emotions, needs, etc. (Maulan et al. 2006.29–30). The evolutionary theories that interest us in this pa­per imply that beauty or ugliness are not intrinsic features of objects, but that they arise from the in­teraction between features of objects and the hu­man nervous system. This indicates that for humans, beautiful objects are those that (accompanied by a positive reaction) improve our lives, in terms of in­creasing the chances of survival and reproduction. In contrast, ugly ones are those that impede certain aspect of our lives (Tooby, Cosmides 2001). If aes­thetic preferences are the product of evolution, it follows that they are adaptations to the Pleistocene environment and not necessarily to the contempo­rary one, since the social environment in which we live today has existed for an extremely short time when viewed in the context of the evolution of the human species. Therefore, there are Darwinist-oriented theories which explain landscape preferences as being the re­sult of human evolution, implying that what we con­ Marko {koric´, Aleksej Ki[juhas sider beautiful today is something that increased our ancestors’ chances of survival. For this reason, even today, a great deal of the everyday aesthetic experi­ence of humans involves a cognitive, emotional and behavioural response to landscapes in the immediate environment (Russo et al. 2003). In the following passages we will present the most significant evolu­tionary theories of landscape preferences and aesthe­tics, such as the prospect-refuge theory, savanna or habitat theory, information processing theory (or the mystery and complexity theory) and affective theo­ry. They can all be linked to a more general frame­work called the biophilia hypothesis. This hypothesis mainly relates to the claim that hu­mans have a basic need to interact with ‘nature’ (Averill et al. 1998). As early as in his 1963 essay, Erich Fromm (Fromm 1963; Eckardt 1992) made a distinction between necrophilia (attraction to death or love of death) and biophilia (attraction to life or love of life). Fromm also mentions the biophilic per­sonality type, which is typical of individuals who are surrounded by people who love life, security, justice and freedom. In a different sense, the term was re­vived and popularized by Edward O. Wilson (1984; Kellert, Wilson 1993) who defines it as: “an innate tendency to focus on life and lifelike processes” (Wilson 1984.1), or an “innately emotional affilia­tion of human beings to other living organisms” (Wilson 1993.31). This would suggest that humans depend on nature, but not just for mere survival – there are also aesthetic, intellectual and cognitive reasons why this relationship is significant. The es­sence of this idea is to explain the human biological need to maintain a relationship with life and lifelike processes, which is biologically based, so it repre­sents the evolutionary heritage of our species. Similar ideas can be found in the field of ecopsycho-logy, which discusses ecological unconscious (Roszak 1992), and whose main purpose is to restore the con­nection between humans and nonhuman nature. It refers to the sense of interconnectedness between humans and other living beings, which stems from our ancient ancestors. Modern life usually prevents most people from understanding this connection, but Roszak points out that there is environmental reciprocity and that in some way we sympathize with planet Earth. In the context of this paper, the most important question is whether human physical and mental well-being depends on contact with natural systems and processes (or not), primarily because humans throughout their history lived in environments that were not altered to the extent those they are living in today are altered. Usually, the social dimension of the world is cited as the key environment in which humans evolved, and while no one denies the im­portance of social interactions and sociality (.kori., Ki.juhas 2015), the importance of vegetation, land­scape, the living world (plants and animals), wind, rain, smells, sounds, etc., must not be omitted. This is not to say that biophilia, like an instinct, is rigidly encoded in our genome, but a kind of weak biologi­cal tendency, a set of predispositions for gaining cer­tain preferences. It is simply a part of human nature that was formed in an evolutionary environment (including the physical environment) through biocul­tural evolution, and therefore depends on learning, experience and culture (Boyd, Richerson 2005). When it comes to landscape preferences, probably the most important question is the one concerning the cognitive mechanisms involved in the process. The most commonly mentioned mechanism is sim­ilar to the ethological construct of the innate sche­mata, which is a mental image of the ideal landscape that represents the standard of judgment. Theoreti­cal differences generally exist when it comes to the essence of that image – be it a landscape in which humans evolved (such as savanna), or perhaps any type of landscape containing those features that pro­mote fitness. In this sense, among the first evolutio­nary theories of landscape preference that stands out is what was then called habitat theory by Jay Ap­pleton (1975), now known as prospect-refuge theo­ry. He was one of the earliest to suggest the provo­cative idea that a preference for a particular type of landscape is part of our evolved heritage, and that the environment should be viewed in functional ra­ther than morphological frames. Beauty (landscape) is not found neither in beautiful objects, nor in the eyes of the beholder, but in the (functional) relation­ship between the individual and environment. In this regard, aesthetic satisfaction comes from the fact that the observer sees an environment as beau­tiful or useful for fulfilling his or hers biological ne­eds. The possibility of “seeing and not being seen” satisfies many such needs, as previously written by Konrad Lorenz (1949/1952). Therefore, Appleton claims that the key components of landscape prefe­rences are ‘prospect’ (having a grand view, over­view or opportunity) and ‘refuge’ (having a safe place to hide or safety). For example, closed forests are not good for prospect and deserts are not good for refuge, while savannas offer a good combination Habitat selection and the evolutionary aesthetics of landscape preference of these elements. Aesthetically most attractive and pleasing are landscapes that have a balance between prospect and refuge components – elevated land­forms (due to the overall view of the landscape in search of food, water and prey) and attributes such as groupings of trees (due to safety factors), with open spaces and fresh water (see also Maulan et al. 2006). Appleton argues that such evolved preferen­ces apply today, regardless of the fact that most peo­ple no longer have to seek shelter from predators. However, it can be said that his theory deals only with a limited part of the otherwise very complex judgments that people make about their environ­ment (Heerwagen, Orians 1993). Appleton looks only at the initial evaluation and exploration of un­familiar environments and focuses on the opportuni­ties to acquire information, as well as the security that can(not) be achieved, while the habitat selec­tion process is usually much more complex. Some empirical tests confirm his theory (e.g., Clamp, Po­well 1982; Mealey, Theis 1995) and other do not (e.g., Klopp, Mealey 1998). There are not many stu­dies examining the balance between prospect and refuge, since it is very difficult to analyse – for exam­ple, it is not clear whether darkness counts as pros­pect or refuge (Bunkse 1977), and this theory is in­deed quite reductionist and extreme (Ulrich 1983). That is why Appleton later (Appleton 1990) tried to modify the theory, although to date there is still not much convincing evidence to support it. The next influential evolutionary theory is common­ly called the savanna hypothesis or savanna theory, and it also rests on assumptions concerning the search for a suitable habitat (Orians 1980; 1986; Orians, Heerwagen 1992). Gordon Orians argues that humans have an innate preference for environ­ments that are similar to the African savannas, be­cause it was not only the habitat of our distant an­cestors, but also the spatial context of hominid evo­lution, which is why they evolved a preference for environments of similar appearance. At the same time, it is argued that the (evolved) preference for savannas (i.e. environments containing grasslands and scattered trees with water nearby) offered an evolutionary advantage to hunter-gatherers, which is complementary to the prospect-refuge theory (Ap­pleton 1975). These open landscapes also offered benefits for ex­ploring the environment, as well as the highest con­centration of resources for early humans and species before them. This microenvironment allowed hu­mans to survive because they had food, a resting place, shelter from predators, sun shade and nearby animals that could be hunted (see also Seghers 2015). Some studies show that in many countries around the world people arrange their landscapes to resemble natural savanna landscapes, i.e. as a mix of open grassland and groups of trees, just as sa-vanna-like landscapes appear on many paintings, ca­lendars and (desktop) wallpapers (Orians 1980; see also Heerwagen, Orians 1993; Hunziker et al. 2007). However, this theory also has its critics, who claim that human ancestors began to settle in non-savanna environments millions of years ago, which actually left them plenty of time to evolve aesthetic preferen­ces toward different environments too (Diamond 1993). When it comes to more empirical research, some authors offer limited support for the human savanna tendency, which has been confirmed in children between the ages of eight and eleven (Bal­ling, Falk 1982), while other research has not con­firmed this hypothesis (e.g., Lyons 1983). The third relevant evolutionary theory of landscape preference is the one that asserts factors such as mystery and complexity, or the so-called informa­tion processing theory (Kaplan 1987; Kaplan, Kap­lan 1989). Like Appletone, Stephen and Rachel Kap­lan point to two basic human needs that influence aesthetic appreciation of landscape – the need for exploration and for understanding. They claim that human ancestors who depended on hunting and ga­thering had to explore new areas, but also to under­stand them. This is why these authors apply the in­formation processing approach to landscape aesthe­tics in order to explain human-landscape interac­tions, stating that people are trying (and striving) to make sense of the environment through four pre­dictor variables: (1) coherence (immediate under­standing of the fit and harmony of elements in the environment), (2) complexity (visual wealth that can be directly explored), (3) legibility (understanding of what we see and the ability to find a way and not to get lost), and (4) mystery (the existence of new things to explore if we go deeper and further into the landscape). Two variables help us understand the environment (coherence and legibility), while the other two (complexity and mystery) inspire us to explore it and influence our (landscape) aesthetic preferences. For example, there is some regularity in preferences, even when it comes to nature scenes in photographs Marko {koric´, Aleksej Ki[juhas (Kaplan et al. 1972). The most positively evaluated scenes were those that “(1) contained a trail that disappeared around the bend, (2) depicted a brightly lit clearing, partially obscured from view by intervening foliage” (Kaplan 1987.8), suggesting that the most popular images ‘promise’ more infor­mation. For these reasons, this predictor is also called ‘mystery’, while some characteristics such as coher­ence or complexity are much less significant. The ex­planation for this phenomenon is based on a claim concerning the adaptive function of human curios­ity – humans prefer those environments that facili­tate the acquisition of new information, i.e. those where new information can be obtained if the envi­ronment is explored. Mystery, then, is primarily about the expectation that a deeper encroachment into the landscape enables access to additional and new information, as a bal­ance between what is seen and what is anticipated. It is assumed that the survival of the human species depended on the development of cognitive informa­tion processing skills that have further developed in­to a preference for the landscapes which made sense for humans. Joachim Wohlwill also explored the as­sessment of non-representational art, urban and ru­ral scenes, and natural landscapes with an emphasis on elements of complexity (colours, shapes, textu­res, etc.) (Wohlwill 1968), and the data indicated that individuals mostly preferred images of mode­rate complexity. Finally, the affective theory by Roger Ulrich (1977; 1983; 1986) claims that natural environments and landscapes give rise to emotional states of well-being in humans that can be measured. He also analysed the information features of different landscapes and identified the following five significant variables: fo­cality (coherence, unity), ground surface texture, depth, mystery and complexity. However, Ulrich no­tes that affective reactions to certain visual configu­rations of these variables have had adaptive value during human evolution, which is why people still prefer them today, even without cultural learning or socialization. The important emotions in this regard are pleasantness, calm, exhilaration, caution, fear and anxiety. It is a model that contrasts with Kap­lans’ cognitive theory, because it is based on the idea that emotional reactions to landscapes occur before cognitive information processing (Zajonc 1980), as well as the thesis that positive emotions have a be­neficial effect on survival. In addition, Ulrich further (Ulrich 1979; 1984; 1993) investigated emotional responses to urban and natural landscapes, where the results suggested that urban scenes evoke more negative emotions. Of course, in addition to evolutionary theories, there are numerous cultural theories that explain land­scape preferences through the process of learning and influence of social, cultural and personal fac­tors. In other words, aesthetic preferences are un­derstood as social constructs, as it is thought that hu­mans have repeatedly adapted to different habitats and are very flexible when it comes to responding to them. Here, the cognitive assessment of the func­tions offered to individuals by a landscape is empha­sized, rather than the immediate affective response (Bell 1999). The best known are the cultural theories highlight­ing topophilia and ecological aesthetics. Topophilia refers to the fact that people tend to bond with what they know well, which means landscape preference is influenced primarily by familiarity and experience (Tuan 1974). The second group of theories emphasi­zes the importance of knowledge about ecological functions, and that knowledge leads to the preferen­ces for a landscape (Carlson 2009; Gobster 1999). Another group of theories speaks of genius loci (meaning a specific atmosphere of a place), and thus the unique and visually striking features and charac­teristics of landscapes (Bell 1999). Still another group of cultural theories notes the importance of landscape heritage, where there are visual cues of cultural heritage (Fairclough et al. 1999), while the aesthetics of care foregrounds the importance of signs indicating some concern about the landscape (Nassauer 1992). There is not necessarily a contra­diction or a discrepancy between evolutionary and cultural theories, as evidenced by the conclusions of some empirical research. Applied empirical research and biophilic de­sign Numerous empirical studies show that aesthetically beautiful and attractive habitats for humans are the ones in which the evolution of our ancestors took place, and children also mainly favour savannas, landscapes with clouds and water, open spaces with trees that fork near the ground, which offer low-hanging fruits and the like. For most people, run­ning water is more attractive than stagnant water, remote mountains are more attractive than flat ter­rain, and the most preferred are landscapes that are relatively open and smooth with wide horizons, low and homogeneous vegetation and scattered trees Habitat selection and the evolutionary aesthetics of landscape preference (with a round shape), clouds, game animals and the like (Calvin et al. 1972; Kaplan et al. 1972; Balling, Falk 1982; Kaplan, Kaplan 1989; Orians, Heerwa-gen 1992; Purcell et al. 1994; Summit, Sommer 1999; Hartmann, Apaolaza-Ibanez 2010; Dutton 2003; Thornhilll 1998; 2003). For example, in perhaps the most famous empirical study of this type (Balling, Falk 1982), a sample consisting of 548 very different respondents (ele­mentary school students, college students, the elder­ly, professional foresters, biology teachers, etc.) were shown five different biomes on slides (tropical for­est, desert, savanna, deciduous and coniferous forest, and without images of water, animals, humans or human intervention), and subjects under the age of 15 clearly displayed a preference for savanna-like environments. For these reasons, it can be said that there is limited support for the savanna hypothesis (Orians 1980, 1986), due to the long evolutionary history of human life in the savanna, which is best expressed in childhood. The preference for savan­nas decreases with age and experience, and a pref­erence for the most familiar environments increas­es (Balling, Falk 1982.25). This suggests that famili­arity in terms of growing up and living close to a (different) natural environment probably modifies the initial preferences for savannas (Lyons 1983). On the other hand, in a recent study of 750 subjects and with images of 13 different biomes (savanna trees, Canadian trees and lakes, birch trees in Eu­rope, eucalyptus trees in Australia, an urban envi­ronment, desert, etc.), the hypothesis of an innate human propensity for savannas was not corrobo­rated, but it was confirmed for lush green land­scapes with a source of water and generally familiar biomes (Hartmann, Apaolaza-Ibanez 2010). These researchers therefore conclude that while an evolu­tionary approach to landscape preferences is impor­tant, limiting it to hunter-gatherer periods in the Pa­laeolithic or the African savanna probably does not capture all the dynamics of human behavioural evo­lution. However, the mentioned familiarity effect was confirmed (see also Herzog et al. 2000), where cen­tral European mountains or the Mediterranean coast are preferred over, for example, Australian eucalyp­tus shrubs. The concrete application of the results of this research concerns the domain of advertising, that is, the claim of a more positive influence of those commercials representing ‘natural’ scenes with the favoured biosphere, than those with, for example, urban environments or deserts without ve­getation. In an effort to demonstrate the savanna hypothesis, however, additional research has been conducted among individuals living in the rainforest belt of Ni­geria (Falk, Balling 2010). After presenting five bio-mes (rainforest, deciduous forest, evergreen forest, desert and savanna), these subjects selected the sa­vanna as the most suitable place to live. In addition, the analysis of particular historical patterns of land­scape design (private gardens, urban parks, etc.) in­dicates certain universal characteristics or parallels, such as savanna-like combinations of short grass and scattered trees (Falk, Balling 2010.479). The results of this study suggest that humans, regardless of their background and experience, are likely to start life with a preference for savanna-like environments. Similarly, in a cross-cultural study of tree preferen­ces (Orians, Heerwagen 1992), the respondents se­lected as the most attractive trees the ones most re­sembling trees from the East African savanna. Speci­fically, people prefer trees with lower trunks (easier to climb), with moderate canopy density (allowing a balance between hiding and not being able to see out), with high degrees of canopy layering (greater opportunities for viewing out) and a broader tree canopy relative to its height (because it can accom­modate more people on branches). Large canopies, short trunks or acacia trees, typical of the African sa­vanna, are also preferred over oak, conifers, palm trees or eucalyptus (Summit, Sommer 1999). A de­tailed analysis of landscape features in Western painting (Heerwagen, Orians 1993) also demon­strated a human propensity for savanna-like envi­ronments. Theoretical and empirical knowledge of landscape preferences can be applied in the context of envi­ronmental education (Swonke 2000). Specifically, biophilic feelings, as well as aesthetic preferences for certain elements of the natural environment, can serve to nourish the desire for environmental pro­tection, that is, the development of the conservation ethic (Wilson 1993). However, it is important to un­derstand that mere contact or direct experience with nature does not automatically lead to biophilia or ‘love’ for nature, and especially not to the preserva­tion of the natural environment (Swonke 2000). Some authors have empirically investigated the hu­man tendency for fractals, i.e. those geometric sha­pes that can be divided into parts that simultaneous­ly resemble the original shape (Hagerhall et al. 2004). Fractals are relatively common in nature and these authors claim that the most preferred are land­scapes in the mid-range (of complexity) related to Marko {koric´, Aleksej Ki[juhas fractal dimension, which are landscapes that also correspond to savannas. However, perhaps the most important application of this knowledge concerns human health. Research shows that preferred landscapes arouse positive emotions and that even the pulse rate decreases when observing natural (but not urban) landscapes (Laumann et al. 2003). Furthermore, after surgery patients who have a view of a natural landscape re­cover better and faster (Ulrich 1983; 1984; Fuller et al. 2007; Grahn, Stigsdotter 2003; Kaplan 1995; Parsons et al. 1998; Rappe, Kivelä 2005). Considering the evolutionary aesthetics and theories of landscape preferences, highly illustrative is the project The People’s Choice, realized by the artists Vitaly Komar and Alexander Melamid in 1993 (Wypi­jewski 1997). In collaboration with opinion polling agencies, and while deliberately avoiding the word ‘art’, they explored the aesthetic preferences of peo­ple from eleven countries from different continents. It was meant in part as an artistically ironic commen­tary on popular tastes, but also on political systems that rely too heavily on polls and popular opinion surveys when making decisions (Hillings 1999). It turned out that the respondents’ favourite colour was blue and their second favourite was green, that people preferred realistic images depicting water, trees and other plants, clouds, people (primarily wo­men, children and historical figures) and animals (es­pecially large mammals, domestic and wild), which is highly consistent with the evolutionary theories of (landscape) aesthetic preferences (Dutton 2003). Fi­nally, it is particularly interesting that, based on these popular responses, the artists Komar and Melamid actually painted the image that incorporated all the highest-rated elements from their re­search for each country. In the case of the United States, it was (a rather ‘kitschy’) blue-green 19th century realist landscape, featur­ing children, deer, and George Wa­shington (Fig. 1). With certain cultu­ral-specific exceptions (e.g., Russians chose Jesus Christ instead of George Washington as their favoured histori­cal figure), a very similar pattern was observed in other societies, which is why the authors conclude that it is a “universal model for the paintings that people want” (Hillings 1999.60). In a more con­temporary context, it is also interesting to refer to the famous default computer desktop wallpaper for the Windows XP operating system, a photograph of a green hill and blue sky with clouds (from Sonoma County, California), conspicuously named ‘Bliss’, and which can be considered as one of the most viewed photographs in the 2000s (Fig. 2). On the other hand, this extremely popular image still lacks people, animals, and especially trees (in the sense of refuge). Some research (e.g., Kaplan et al. 1972) clearly shows that people often prefer images of the natu­ral over the built environment, and that out of the latter the most attractive image is that of an urban park, the lowest ranked of the ‘natural’ images. Bio­philic design or architecture is built on these bases, and it emphasizes the importance of one’s experi­ence of nature in the built environment which takes into account the ethics of environmental sustainabil­ity (Söderlund 2019). In other words, it is an at­tempt to reintegrate people with the natural environ­ment after a long time: “the expression of the in­herent human need to affiliate with nature in the design of the built environment” (Kellert, Heerwa-gen 2008.viii). There is also the idea of biophilic ci­ties, which are not the same as green cities, since the mere presence of nature is not enough. In biophilic cities, people are directly and actively involved in various processes, such as learning about nature, en­joying it or taking care of it, and developing emo­tional bonds towards it (Beatley 2011; Kellert et al. 2008). Biophilic design can thus be organic and vernacular. Organic design is based on theory and research on Habitat selection and the evolutionary aesthetics of landscape preference how humans respond positively to natural materi­als, lighting and shapes, and the main goal of bio­philic architecture is to maximize well-being while minimizing ecological impact. Vernacular design, on the other hand, aims to awaken a sense of connec­tion to place (see also Hunziker et al. 2007), which at the same time might create a desire within a cer­tain community to care for a particular bioregion. Environmental psychology also speaks of the ten­dency of people to create and develop a kind of at­tachment with specific locations. This attachment can then relate to our immediate environment, such as our home, but also to the neighbourhood, city or even the region. However, place attachment does not necessarily have to do with behaviour that takes care of nature in general, so in addition to the undoubted importance of the environment for survival, evolu­tionary theories must also take into account the emo­tional bonds between people and place. There is no doubt that place can be meaningful for humans, and that the aesthetics of survival is not enough to fully explain one’s environmental preferences. Why the aesthetics of survival is not enough Philosophical aesthetics is not threatened by an un­justified reduction to evolutionary biology, psycho­logy or neurobiological explanations, while evolu­tionary disciplines and humanities may be comple­mentary in understanding the human sense of beau­ty (Seghers 2015). Referring to the evolution of adaptive mechanisms in the context of habitat se­lection, theory and research in the field of evolutio­nary aesthetics can explain why certain objects and/ or landscapes cause certain neural rewards and, the­refore, a positive aesthetic appreciation. Aesthetic reactions are also a guide to human behaviour, in­cluding everyday behaviour with many practical con­sequences, such as organizing work and living spa­ces, but also in the domains such as health, design, marketing, education, environmental protection and the like, as previously discussed. Every person has aesthetic preferences, but they are not exclusively random or individual. There are uni­versal and biophilic preferences for open grasslands, trees, fresh water or symmetrical structures, as well as antipathy or disgust for spiders and snakes, which is called biophobia (Orr 1993; Ulrich 1993). All this points to the phylogenetic basis of aesthetic reason­ing that existed before the evolution of human cul­ture and to the validity of evolutionary explana­tions. In this sense, aesthetic reactions are not a tri­vial aspect of ‘the human makeup’, nor is aesthetics a ‘whim’ that people engage in at leisure (Kaplan 1987.26). Simply put, innate aesthetic biases helped individuals to behave and act in an adaptive way (Swonke 2000.260). We have seen that numerous studies point to the universality of landscape preferences, but it should not be forgotten that these preferences can never­theless be modified by cultural influences and ex­periences, so it is not surprising that there are diffe­rences in preferences either across (sub)cultures or social groups (Tveit 2009). Neither biological nor cultural reductionism is adequate, that is, biological or social factors alone are not sufficient to explain the individual aesthetic experience. It is not disput­ed that landscapes are biologically important to hu­mans and evoke certain (aesthetic) emotions, but they are also sometimes important for one’s iden­tity and well-being, namely, for transforming mere habitable space into a true living place (Hunziker et al. 2007). The bottom line is that it is not enough to take care sole­ly of survival, as well-being must also be taken into ac­count. Still, it is critical to note and discern the so-called primitive preferences which are built on human attach­ment to nature, while in addi­tion to the importance of (bio­philic) design for the body, the senses must not be ignor­ed. Therefore, an adequate and desirable environment is Fig. 2. Charles O’Rear, “Bliss”, 1996. Landscape photography. one that takes into account Marko {koric´, Aleksej Ki[juhas the physiological, mental and social aspects, and that would be the evolutionary environments of the species. 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American Psychologist 35(2): 151–175. https://doi.org/10.1037/0003-066X.35.2.151 Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Are we creating our past| Exploring theory building, geospatial statistics, and the reconstruction of the function of fortified Urnfield culture settlements Chiara G. M. Girotto Goethe University Frankfurt, Frankfurt, DE chiara.girotto@web.de ABSTRACT – Urnfield Culture hilltop settlements are often associated with a predominant function in the settlement pattern. This study challenged the idea of centrality by means of density estimates and spatial inhomogeneous explanatory statistics. Reflecting on the differences in spatial trends and material culture, no conclusive evidence for a consolidation of power, economic, or cultic domi­nance was observed. The dataset strongly points towards the inapplicability of commonly used para­metric and/or homogenous spatial algorithms in archaeology. Tracer variables as well as the metho­dological and theoretical limitations are critically reviewed and a methodological framework to increase the reproducibility and reusability of archaeological research is proposed. KEY WORDS – social theory; methodology; central place; geospatial statistics; Urnfield culture Ali ustvarjamo svojo preteklost| Raziskovanje gradnje teorij, geoprostorskih statisti;nih podatkov in rekonstrukcije funkcije utrjenih naselij kulture /arnih grobi[; IZVLE.EK – Vi.inska naselja kulture .arnih grobi.. pogosto povezujemo z vodilnim polo.ajem v vzor-cu poselitve. V pri.ujo.i .tudiji izpodbijamo idejo o centralnosti z uporabo ocen gostote poselitve in prostorskih nehomogenih pojasnjevalnih statisti.nih podatkov. Pri opazovanju razlik v prostorskih us-meritvah in materialni kulturi nismo na.li nobenega prepri.ljivega dokaza o utrjevanju mo.i ter o gospodarski ali kultni prevladi. Podatkovna baza ka.e na neuporabnost parametri.nih in/ali homo-genih prostorskih algoritmov, ki se obi.ajno uporabljajo v arheologiji. Nudimo kriti.en razmislek o sledilnih spremenljivkah ter o metodolo.kih in teoreti.nih omejitvah, hkrati pa ponudimo metodolo.­ki okvir, s pomo.jo katerega lahko pove.amo ponovljivost in ponovno uporabnost arheolo.kih raziskav. KLJU.NE BESEDE – dru.bena teorija; metodologija; centralni prostor; geoprostorski statisti.ni podatki; kultura .arnih grobi.. Introduction In pre- and protohistory the spheres of influence the archaeological and environmental record. These and functionalities of places are usually estimated theories are usually based on the work of Georg and reconstructed based on a theoretical framework Simmel (1903), who argued that social structures joined with spatial data. Whilst assumptions and and power relations are projected to space. Further, approaches differ, this method predominantly con-the works of Walter Christaller concerning central nects a set of ideas of how economic and political places (Christaller 1933[2006]) and Eike Gringmuth-power as well as cultic centres are reflected within Dallmer’s medieval centrality criteria (Gringmuth- DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.29 Are we creating our past| Exploring theory building, geospatial statistics, and the reconstruction of the function of fortified Urnfield ... Dallmer 1999) have greatly influenced the interpre­tation of prehistoric hilltop settlements as places of centrality (e.g., Schauer 1993.62; Stegmaier 2017. 265), dynastic seats (Winghart 1999.532), castles (Gersbach 2006.96–97), and even of proto-urban character (Ostermeier 2012.143). The adapted cen­trality criteria are usually described as the presence of fortifications, political power, specialised crafts­manship, and religious centres (e.g., Posluschny 2010.362). There is no unchallenged set of tracers, distinctive variables, and objective interpretative value. However, their existence is necessary – as any­thing in existence is somehow reflected on the sys­tem – and therefore is theoretically measurable (Mc­Call 1939.15; Thorndike 1918.16). Most common­ly, the presence of political power is substituted by the nearby presence of extraordinary rich graves, characterised by ‘class-specific’ objects (Jockenhö­vel 1990.224). These are associated with drinking and hospitality, especially if made out of bronze, along with weapons, wagons, riding accessories, amulets, objects made of precious metal, rich orna­mental décor, and extraordinary mortuary construc­tions (Bockisch-Bräuer 1999; Clausing 1999; Fal­kenstein 2005; Fischer 1997; Jockenhövel 1971; Knöpke 2009; Kossack 1974). The connection of elites, economic power, and specialised craftsman­ship is assumed to be indicated by the presence of advanced metallurgy as well as high-quality objects (Jockenhövel 1990.227). There is no archaeological evidence for the assumption that supposedly less pre­stigious craftsmanship, such as pottery or textile pro­duction, was solely conducted in lowland settlements (Jockenhövel 1994.25). Metal hoards are often asso­ciated with economic dominance in metal trade, but also with religious functions (Falkenstein, Oster­meier 2015.21; Roymans, Kortlang 1999.27–28). The presence of a somehow stratified society in con­trol of the aforementioned aspects has been sum-marised by various authors (e.g., Bockisch-Bräuer 1999; Clausing 1998; Falkenstein 2005; Knöpke 2009; Kristiansen 1982; 1998; Rowlands 1998; Sperber 1999; Tomedi 1999; Wirth 1999). Usually it is connected to the presence of a warrior-based elite, as the few extraordinary rich Urnfield culture graves have a higher proportion of weapons (Knöp­ke 2009.16). This has been named an ‘aristocratic warrior elite’ (Kristiansen, Larsson 2005.218), class of warlords (‘Kriegerherrenschicht’; Stary 1980. 64), and sword bearing aristocracy (‘Schwertträge­radel’; Sperber 1999.643–644). For the latter, ter­ritories of 4–6km were reconstructed based on the distances of graves (Sperber 1999.629–635). While treating measurement as a state of uncertain­ty reduction this paper aims to investigate function­al differences in the material record of Urnfield cul­ture fortified hilltop settlements and lowland set­tlements in the Central Swabian Alb by comparing them among themselves and to other features, such as graves or hoards, based on an eclectic approach – both in method and theory. The reflection on simi­larities and differences in spatial location and cat­egorical functional groups, as well as a critical asses­sment of the variables’ symbolism and statistical methods, will complement the interpretation of for­tified hill-top settlements and their function. Finally, it will provide ideas for a framework to overcome current problems in the application of geospatial al­gorithms. Material and methods The data used was originally published by Rainer Kreutle (2007). As he collected the majority of the data himself during a relatively short period of time (1986/1987; Kreutle 2007.15) a low intra-observer error rate, especially concerning colour and temper­ing descriptions, is to be expected. Therefore sites should be comparable to each other and differences do not arise based on different description styles, terminologies or categories. However, as the land­scape of the Swabian Alb is predominantly charac­terized by valley systems, reaching up to 1000m asl in the central parts, the archaeological knowledge is influenced by local collectors and modern settlement areas. Nonetheless, a statistical correlation between construction activity and the discovery of sites was not observed. The dataset consists of 283 sites of seven types (i.e. hilltop settlement, lowland settlement, cave finds, graves, hoards, single finds, and objects of unknown contexts). Although the central part of the Swabian Alb is not favourable to agriculture, due to its climate and lack of water resources, 27 hilltop and 37 low­land settlements were observed in the area, produc­ing 1023 and 432 recorded pottery units, respecti­vely. A total of 2088 ceramic objects, including 296 units originating from 61 burial sites were included. In general, pottery from settlement sites is coarser and more broken than those recovered from graves. Most vessels are from settlement sites and served as urns, the most characteristic finds are bowls with creased sides and beakers. In order to simplify the data and include as many objects as possible, the pot­tery was categorised as beakers, bowls, cups, pans, pots, and special shapes. Chiara G. M. Girotto Furthermore, 1089 metal objects (tools, jewellery, weapons, indicators of metallurgy, indicators of other craftsmanship, harnesses or wagon parts, spe­cial objects and unidentified items) were included in the analysis. The collection represents a typical Ur-nfield culture assemblage. Most of the items were recovered from graves (581) and hoards (232). The majority consisted of knives, needles, and various kinds of rings and bracelets, whilst tools (sickles and axes) predominantly originate from settlements or hoards. It is notable that most weapons, especially spears, were single finds or parts of grave inventories. The data is supposed to serve as an example dataset of Urnfield culture sites, to not only allow for func­tional reconstruction, but also a critical assessment of the statistical algorithms. Quadrant counts on a 10km pattern and kernel den­ sity estimates based on opti­mised likelihood cross vali­dation bandwidth with edge correction were calculated to compare the spatial intensity distributions of the different site types. Theoretical territo­ries were constructed based on Dirichlet tessellations and Delaunay triangulations. Spa­tial distance trends were vi-sualised by Stienen diagrams. Correlations of site types and specific objects were analysed through an inhomogeneous L- function and evaluated through Monte Carlo enve­lopes (19 runs). The similari­ty of site assemblages was graphically compared. All sta­tistical analyses were based on the method and algorithm recommendations by Adrian Baddeley et al. (2015) and computed in R with the rele­vant packages (Arnold 2018; Bivand et al. 2013a; 2013b; 2018; Bivand, Lewin-Koh 2017; Bowman et al. 2007; Pebesma, Bivand 2005; R Core Team 2016; Urbaneck 2013; Wickham 2009; Wick-ham et al. 2017; 2018a; 2018b; Wickham, Henry 2018). Results Spatial data The data displayed varying spatial intensities, not only presenting regional trends but also differing among site types (Fig. 1). The trend corresponds to the central plateau of the Swabian Alb and its asso­ciated passes. Dirichlet tessellation centred on hilltop settlements and its associated Delaunay triangulation indicate slight hexagonal trends (Fig. 2a), and Stienen dis­tance measures indicate preferable spheres of influ­ence of around 6km (Fig. 2b). The explanatory power of the association of all site types was correlation stationary (T = 0.06, p = 0.001) and had a constant scale of spatial interaction (T = < 0.01, p = 0.001). This suggested weak explanatory Fig. 1. Distribution of sites and their associated density estimates based on a Gaussian kernel with optimised bandwidth (likelihood cross valida­tion) with edge correction. (a) s = 6.2km, (b) s = 7.1km, (c) s = 4.2km (d) s = 9.0km. Digital terrain model by the University of Heidelberg, based on an SRTM dataset projected on EPSG:5683, Gauss-Kruger zone 3. One step on the x-axis corresponds to 20km. The symbols on each map correspond to the same site types on every other map in the paper: a tri­angle = hilltop settlement, dot = lowland settlement, square = burial sites, and diamond = hoards. Are we creating our past| Exploring theory building, geospatial statistics, and the reconstruction of the function of fortified Urnfield ... power, and Monte Carlo envelope validation of the centred inhomogeneous L-function indicated evi­dence against an inhomogeneous Poisson point pro­cess (Fig. 3). Fig. 2. (a) Dirichlet tessellation (black line) with associated Delaunay triangulation (dotted line) of the hilltop settlements. Lowland settlements, burial sites and hoards are shown in dark grey. (b) Stienen diagram of the hilltop settlements with the other site types shown in dark purple. Urnfield culture dated fortifications highlighted in yellow, burials with swords in green. Archaeological data As no significant indicators for interaction could be generated from the spatial data, the artefact assem­blages were analysed for their similarity. No signi­ficant differences in the pottery firing technique were observed (Girotto 2018). The differences in the proportion of drinking vessels were insignifi­cant (Fig. 4). Discussion An extensive discussion of all possible elements and factors of the dataset is not only beyond the scope of this study, it is also impossible based on the cur­rent state of knowledge. The presented results are a regional study and are foremost a tactile explana­tory vehicle to highlight the problems of settlement interpretation in prehistory. The inability to detect why certain settlement sites are exceptional within a certain cluster is most often based on qualitative approaches and theoretical interpretation. A notable exception being Oliver Nakoinz (2013a), as the lack of statistical significance of explorative analyses re­quires either a descriptive approach or holistic mo­dels. However, most interpretations are based on the a priori selection of ‘prestigious’ factors, such as the universal perception of gold as of utmost value (e.g., Gersbach 2006.97) or their rarity is ‘proof’ of their special functions in society. For this study, the main theoretical contribution to select the tradition­al markers is provided by Albrecht Jockenhövel (Jo­ckenhövel 1990.220): “Fortified settlements pro­tected large and small settlement clusters. They can be considered their economic, power and possibly cultic centre” (author’s own translation). Hilltop settlements as centres of protection and power The pattern of the hilltop settlements is reminiscent of the passes allowing passage through the central plateau of the Swabian Alb (Fig. 2a), thus possibly indicating gateway functions (e.g., Nakoinz 2013b. 96). Nonetheless it should not be considered as evi­dence for the control of trade or routes as their lo­cation is heavily influenced by the landscape. None of the sites offers causal archaeological evidence to assume more than a correlation of site type and to­pology. This is further implied as in a only few cases were lowland settlements observed close to hilltop set­tlements. Nearest-neighbour distances of the hilltop settlements (Fig. 2b) suggest a preferred distance of approx. 6km on the Alb, however there was no cor­relation with Urnfield culture dated fortifications. Therefore no conclusive evidence could be gained concerning their protective function for settle­ment clusters. Chiara G. M. Girotto Whilst graves occur at higher rates within the Swabian Alb, the location of graves of sword bearing individuals is interest­ing. Comparatively often such a grave is located at the bor­der of a Stienen circle (Fig. 2b). Whether this is a repre­sentation of the territories of sword bearers (‘Schwertträ­gerterritorien’; Sperber 1999.629–635) remains que­stionable. The additional association of elites with wagons and harnesses cannot be supported by the sites of the Runder Berg, Bad Urach (1) and the Hackberg, Gomadingen (2). Both present additional evidence for management of horses, however the findings from the Runder Berg were recovered from the settlement and might also be representative of agriculture. Bronze parts of a harness were found in a grave near the Hackberg, but the possibly associat­ed hilltop settlement is supposed to have only had space for a singular building (Biel 1987.78–79). Only a necropolis near the Plettenberg (4) had evidence that could be conclusive. A wagon and sword were recovered from a double burial, and lowland settle­ments as well as other graves are present in the Stie­nen radius of the Plettenberg. However, due to the insignificance of the explana­tory analyses no direct causa­lity can be deduced from the findings. Theoretical territo­ries should only be interpret­ed, if at all, with great caution as they might be a result of random fluctuation present in the sample or the dataset due to its lack of large scale excavations. This study highlights how the archaeological search for cen­trality is driven very much by current understandings of where it should occur, and not which underlying proces­ses might have created it (e.g., Green, Perlman 1985.5; Hen-ning, Lucianu 2000.533; Maise 1996). A terrific example of this would be the Heuneburg, Herbertin-gen Hundersingen (5). Based on early works (e.g., Kurz 2012.449–450, Gersbach, 2006.96–97) and the data published in Kreutle (2007) a much less pro­minent position in the Urnfield settlement structure was proposed. However, current research attributes almost urban characteristics to the site (Stegmaier 2017.264). This illustrates not only the importance of large scale excavations, but also how much an a priori idea of the characteristics of a central place influence the interpretation. Hilltop settlements as centres of economy and hospitality No causality for the location of the different site types could be established. However, artefact analy- Are we creating our past| Exploring theory building, geospatial statistics, and the reconstruction of the function of fortified Urnfield ... sis can still offer insights with regard to their func­tional differences. The data was characterised in its original publication (Kreutle 2007) using the tradi­tional approach, and therefore this paper will focus on two specific aspects: Indications for the control of craftsmanship and metallurgy, and the connections of elites and hospitality. As mentioned before the control of advanced metal­lurgy is generally assumed to be a feature of (forti­fied) hilltop settlements, but there is no conclusive evidence for this. However, this idea perfectly fits in a hierarchical and evolutionary mindset with regard to Bronze Age societies. Metal is often considered a driving factor of individualisation, increasing wealth, complexity, and the consolidation of power (e.g., Kuijpers 2012.418). Further, it requires that peo­ple valued metal objects more than any other kind. In the study region no grave associated with metal­lurgical craftsmanship has yet been discovered, how­ever these are usually associated with slightly richer graves than the average (Nessel 2012). In general their heterogeneity is more likely a remnant of the organizational and functional aspects of the related person in a social system, and not an indicator of a high social status. The indicators of metallurgy are distributed among hilltop and lowland settlements as well as hoards (Fig. 5). The presence of the finds suggest areas of general increased productivity, as around the Runder Berg (1). Interesting is the optimized bandwidth of c. 37km, which indicates that its distribution is a su­perregional phenomenon that cannot be analysed on the small scale of the study region. This comple­ments archaeological ideas on metal production during the Urnfield period, and highlights once more the problem of insignificant point process associa­tions. General increased productivity and economic domi­nance is often connected to elites participating in su­perregional exchanges to acquire prestigious objects and resources, like metal. However, these function­al aspects require the theoretical base of the pres­ence of an elite or otherwise dominant group of peo­ple. Usually a connection of warriors, elites, and hospital­ity is postulated. This is based on the idea of the organisa­tion of power in decentralised communities where feasting plays a major role in the con­solidation of alliances, as well as in the display of power and economic dominance (Diet­ler 2001.77). Following the idea of hypothesis falsifica­tion and measurable outputs of significant variables to this connection, the increased pre­sence of sword bearing indi­viduals should also generate higher proportions of drink­ing vessels at hilltop sites. However, the plot mainly dis­tinguishes burials and settle­ment sites (Fig. 4). The in­creased rates in graves indi­cate a focus on drinking dur­ing the funerary ritual or for the afterlife, regardless of whether the pots or their contents were originally con­sidered as burial gifts. The slightly higher portion of Chiara G. M. Girotto dinking vessels at lowland settlements is insignifi­cant, as all confidence intervals overlap. The data­set did not strengthen the argument of hilltop set­tlements as places of increased hospitality or feast­ing. However, the pottery assemblages across all contexts were very variable. Potentially slight changes in proportion were hidden due to the high variance. The connection of sword bearing individ­uals and hilltop settlements could not be reinforced. Maybe the often quoted “[...] all civilisations owe their origin to warriors” (Keegan 1993, vi) should be questioned as too often “elite positions are taken as a given where their existence needs to be pro­ven from contextual information” (Kienlin 2012. 21). Summary The analyses do not comprehensively support the idea of hilltop settlements as early central places, seats of the elites, and economic centres. Even the presence of an elite group, due or because of the occurrence of hilltop settlements could not be con­clusively evidenced. The strongest connections are sword bearing individuals at the borders of Stienen nearest-neighbour circles which might indicate some territorial differentiation. A priori selection of high status indicators merely projects modern assumptions on the society of the Urnfield culture. Therefore, the presented maps do not necessarily reflect aspects of a past social reality but might also represent the underlying research concepts. It allows the observer to critically evalu­ate commonly used indicators and methods, as any meaningful variable should produce a significant re­sult. However, if the original populations’ ideas dif­fered significantly, it is possible that the currently tested variables simply do not have explanatory po­wer, because they were not relevant in the past. Implications for future research – Are we nar­rating our past? Statistical limitations Aside from theoretical considerations many of to­day’s limitations are critically linked to the archaeo­logical geostatistical approach. A complex system, like human interaction, social organization, and the symbolism of places, cannot be seen as one solvable by simple spatial statistics (e.g., Hacigüzeller 2012. 246; Herzog 2009). Questions concerning social in­teractions and structures are cognitive features, often subjective, seemingly irrational, and symbolic. They are, by their very nature, post-processual but our use of ostensibly objective environmental and spatial data rightfully faces the same critique Daniel Miller and Christopher Tilley made of the processual theo­ry school in 1984: “A belief by some in mathemati­sation as the goal of archaeology; the attempt to reduce past social systems to a suitable equation” (Miller, Tilley 1984.3). Furthermore, it implies the “reduction of the analysis of social change to the elucidation of external factors impinging on the social system” (Miller, Tilley 1984.3). However, any of the classical statistical approaches is reasonable if it can actually answer the posed research ques­tion. Following the concept of maximum parsimo­ny the least complex method with the least amount of required a priori interpretation should always be chosen. Creating a null hypothesis that can be investigated is often difficult, as most archaeological questions ask why certain events happen/assem­blages occur as they desire causal explanations. How­ever, statistical methods investigate correlations, and causality can only be derived from interpretation or made likely through modelling. The most prominent difference in today’s research is the use of other sci­entific methods and theories in a more holistic way (Müller-Scheeßel 1998.265). If one chooses not to model a complex system and/or non-linear dynam­ics, the algorithms and methods, even if they are spatial and deal with complex phenomena like in epidemiology and ecology, cannot be simply adapt­ed for archaeological purposes. Among the most cri­tical differences are the ones required for a scien­tifically acceptable research design, such as a lack of reproducibility or a controlled environment. Most important of all though are the questions as to whether archaeological data can be considered a representative sample of the original population, or if any past dataset is truly independent (Buccellati 2017.344). Further, most algorithms require certain assumptions, like homogeneity and stationarity. In return they themselves impose specific behaviours on the founding populations, like specific probabil­ity distributions and parametric behaviour. Whilst usually not even addressed at all in archaeological papers, inhomogeneous functions, Bayesian proba­bility approaches, and the validation of explanatory analysis allow for a sounder intepretatory basis than homogeneous estimators and Gaussian or Poisson distributions for point processes. Overall the inho­mogeneous counterparts of well-known methods, like the K-function, tend to perform much better. Even the few requirements of inhomogeneous me­thods are often not met in archaeological applica­tions, as illustrated in the example data. This also holds true for the disciplines that originally devel­ Are we creating our past| Exploring theory building, geospatial statistics, and the reconstruction of the function of fortified Urnfield ... oped these methods, as Jose A. F. Diniz-Filho et al. (2007.850) neatly summarized: “[w]hen multiple assumptions are not being met, as in the case of virtually all geographical analyses, can a result from any single method (whether spatial or non-spatial) be claimed to be better? [...] If different methods themselves are unstable and generate conflicting results in real data, it makes no sense to claim that any particular method is always su­perior to any other.” Whilst one should not believe that “anything could be recovered from the archaeological record, if you only searched hard enough” (Chippindale 1987.515), new approaches and methods have high­lighted the potential of statistical algorithms and models. Besides promising results in the field of agent-based modelling and exploring concepts of non-linear dynamics in archaeology, the inclusion of mathematical chaos, sensitivity analysis and ascen-dance (e.g., Arias-González, Morand 2006; Deman et al. 2016) as well as the reconstruction of central­ity based on parabolic fractal distributions (Hen­ning, Lucianu 2000; Müller-Scheeßel 2007) have moved and will continue to move the discipline for­ward. Tracer variables The discussion presented above offered highlighted some of the most common factors and methods used to investigate settlement hierarchy. Alongside a ra­ther classical methodological approach this serves as a basis to evaluate such a scientific approach. Conceptual and theoretical assumptions merged with spatial and archaeological data form – directly or indirectly – the basis for the reconstruction of societal structures in illiterate societies. Apart from complex self-learning algorithms, like neural net­works or chaotic deterministic autocatalytic cycles, factors of interest need to be chosen and weighted. Whether that be the association of swords as symbol of rank or power (e.g., Egg 1986.203; Kristiansen, Larsson 2005.213; Roymans, Kortlang 1999.310– 311), the association of elites and fortification (Jockenhövel 1990), or hoards as a reflection of cul-tic practices (e.g., Hansen 1994.309). The connec­tion of elites and metallurgy is presumably based on a similar context. Promising results for the iden­tification of prestigious artefacts were presented by Robert Schumann (2015), who not only differenti­ated between status and prestige but also added much to the debate on the explanatory power of artefacts in relation to different assemblages. There­fore, whether classical statistical methods or more complex modelling will provide new ideas or are even useful depends largely on the research ques­tion. Standard approaches, e.g., those exploring a certain set of factors, mainly focus on equilibrium-related methods, while many questions in social archaeology are actually about processes. Whilst these approaches certainly have their place in re­search they are not ideal to investigate societal struc­tures, because their emergence is a process, con­stantly fluctuating between entropy and equilibrium. These cycles (e.g., Zimmermann 2012) are the dri­ving process – the behavioural patterns and events – that once generated the material culture record. It is obvious how a traditional understanding of so­ciety as a dichotomous, static phenomenon restricts the interpretative power of the material record. A society can be decentralised, have cooperative sys­tems of power, or a high level of horizontal stratifi­cation. Even the presence of multiple vertical orga­nisational structures in close regional proximity or the domain of an archaeological culture cannot and should not be ruled out (e.g., McIntosh 1999.1). To develop new pathways in the interpretation of pre­historic societies the assumptions of ideal, static types of societal organisation should be left aside in favour of processes and strategies associated with the constitution and maintenance of political po­wer (Blanton et al. 1996.2; Kienlin 2012). Usually they can be described as cooperative and exclusion­ary patterns of behaviour in variable combinations, and do not require evolutionary logic or follow a systemic logic (Bossen 2006.89; Jung 2011; 2006). Similarly it is important to acknowledge that their material indicators and symbolism and meaning can­not be easily identified. However, they form an in­tegral part of the supposedly subjective statistical analysis. Nonetheless the results do not speak for themselves, but are rather an outcome of our own limited culturally specific symbolic understanding, as a symbol “connotes a certain meaning as se­mantic unit of an ideological code [..., which] pre­vents us from seeing the semantic systems in the totality of their mutual relationships” (Eco 1970. 553–554). Humanity, the prime example of a complex non-lin­ear system, thrives on its two main characteristics: emergence over scale and self-organisation over time. People interact with their environment, and their spontaneous interactions create unforeseen changes that amplify over time in new structures and social systems (Lam 1998.37–38). Therefore, especially with equilibrium-based approaches, the Chiara G. M. Girotto choice of tracer variables rooted in the perceived universality of modern day values indeed creates a past. In this case, any model is not a tool to heuris­tically understand processes, context, and possibil­ities but rather, as Alfred Tarski (1933) stated, a realisation of a theory. However, in prehistoric ar­chaeology, this cannot be the way forward to re­construct society, as it restricts its greatest asset: the view on the longue durée (Braudel 1977) of social change. Archaeology might be “the discipline with the theory and practice for the recovery of unob­servable hominid behavior patterns from indirect traces in bad samples” (Clarke 1973.17), but emb­racing new theories and concepts such as complex, non-linear models will bring the discipline forward to a more holistic understanding of objects and their value for the people that used them. Gaining these insights and the inclusion of variables will reduce the amount of narration fed into the reconstruction of past societies. A way forward Synthesising the remarks on the chosen tracer vari­ables it becomes obvious that is not only the choice of methods which influences the result. The findings can also be interpreted in different ways, because science is never truly objective, and will always be influenced by the world and culture we live in today. Further, any statistical finding is only a statement of probability how with regard to well the data used fits a hypothesis, never proof of reality. Therefore, the results should much more be seen as a reduction of uncertainty. As in information theory, new know­ledge is produced by the exclusion of unlikely events or processes, following the idea of falsification. Fur­ther, the reconstruction of function clearly requires us to accept that, as in the Bayesian school of stati­stics, this uncertainty is a feature of the observer and the data itself (see Bolstad 2007). The hope that one day the patterns left by past societies can be understood comes from the fact that things that exist have some quality, and that this can be mea­sured (McCall 1939.15; Thorndike 1918.16). The search for such meaningful variables should con­tinue in the current eclectic school of thought (e.g., Chippindale 1987.515; Pearce 2011.87), choosing the most suitable methods, approaches, and algori­thms. Creativity and new ideas should not be hin­dered by a lack of implementation of inhomoge­neous functions or Bayesian functionalities in easily accessible statistical applications, but rather should aim to produce new methods and concepts to imple­ment them. Considering the limits imposed on the interpretabi­lity of archaeological investigations, both reprodu­cibility and a documented approach should be the prime criteria of any methodological or statistical paper. Whilst readily applied in modelling and more complex strategies, this is often overlooked in more classical archaeological approaches. It is therefore proposed to include an adapted ver­sion of the ODD protocol, devised by Volker Grimm et al. (2006), as a supplement to any statistical ap­proach in archaeology (Fig. 6). Concisely stating the project overview, design con­cepts, and details will force the researcher to not only arrive at a statistically testable hypothesis, but also specify what the prime research questions are, by which factors those are supposedly influenced and why these specific factors were chosen. Fur­thermore, as clearly outlined in the previous sec­tions it is of great importance to state and discuss not only the theoretical background and framework of the researcher and model, but also the data itself. Whilst the theoretical background of the model might already impose prior assumptions, it is critical to address the requirements and assumptions of the Are we creating our past| Exploring theory building, geospatial statistics, and the reconstruction of the function of fortified Urnfield ... algorithms as this will further influence the out-The study highlighted the importance of critically come. In particular because it is common that they discussing commonly used statistical algorithms and are not met (Diniz-Filho et al. 2007), they need to how they influence the results of research. Depend-be accounted for in the interpretation. Furthermore, ing on the choice of factors the researcher is indeed any results should be tested not only for statistical narrating a past in accordance with perceived ‘uni-significance, but for reliability and logic as well. versal’ ideas of value or status. Although archaeolo­ gical data does not meet the requirements for inho-Statistical results can never prove a hypothesis, but mogeneous, non-parametric point processes, this if the underlying factors and methods are clearly suggests that these pathways should be explored outlined any result can not only be reproduced and deeper and probability functions as well as the val-reused by other researchers, but itself be considered idation of explanatory analyses should not remain a reduction of uncertainty and an exclusion of the scarce phenomena in geospatial archaeological ap-unlikely. plications, in order to better understand intangible variables. It also suggests that researchers should Conclusion use non-linear methods to reconstruct society more holistically. Further, it means that researcher should This paper presented a statistical analysis and its adhere to a methodological framework to increase critical evaluation concerning the function of Urn-the reproducibility and reusability of the research field culture hilltop settlements as power, economic they conduct. and cultic centres. For the study region, the Central Swabian Alb, the hilltop settlements were approxi- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS mately regularly spaced at around 4km linear dis­tance and followed the natural topology of the re-This research was part of a Master’s thesis submitted gion. Density and distance measures were the foun-at the Goethe University Frankfurt, Institute for Ar- dation of the study, as the requirements for most chaeological Sciences and associated with the LOEWE explanatory functions were not met. Solely based focal point “Prehistoric Conflict Research – Bronze on descriptive statistics and theoretical considera-Age Fortifications between Taunus and Carpathian tions, the spheres of influence of hilltop settlements Mountains”. My thanks extends to my supervisors R. Krause and M. Jung, as well as L. Linde, O. Nakoinz, sometimes had graves with swords and rarely char- H. C. W. Price, and L. Schubert for interesting discus- iots at their borders. If one is willing to accept the sions and ideas, as well as T. Rose for his continuous semantic attribution of sword bearing individuals to support. The valuable comments of T. Evans and R. territories and power, there are indications of the Rivers on an early version of this paper as well as the power functions of hilltop settlements. However, no remarks of two anonymous reviewers are also grate- reliable indications connected to economic and cul- fully acknowledged. All remaining errors are my own. tic dominance were observed. . 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Bonn: 137–146. back to contents Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Approaching the unification and diversity of pottery assemblages> the case of Western Tripolye culture ceramics in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve, 4100–3600 cal BC Aleksandr Diachenko1, Iwona Sobkowiak-Tabaka2, and Sergej Ryzhov3 1 National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine, Institute of Archaeology, Kyiv, UA oleksandr.diachenko@gmail.com 2 Adam Mickiewicz University, Faculty of Archaeology, Poznan, PL iwosob@amu.edu.pl 3 National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine, Institute of Archaeology, Kyiv, UA vshumova@ukr.net ABSTRACT – This paper questions the cycling nature of the unification and diversity of pottery forms through a case study of ceramics of the Western Tripolye culture in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve in modern Ukraine. We identified the cultural cycle representing the transition from more unified ceramic assemblages to more diverse ones, and then back to more unified assemblages. This cultural cycle is disturbed by the increase in the diversity of pottery sets at three of ten subsequent time periods we have analysed. The obtained results are discussed in frames of deterministic expla­nations and the dynamic behaviour of complex systems. KEY WORDS – cultural cycles; unification; diversity; complex systems; pottery assemblages; Cucuteni-Tripolye cultural complex; Western Tripolye culture Pristop k poenotenju in raznolikosti zbirov lon;enine> primer keramike zahodne kulture Tripolye v ju/nem medre;ju Buga in Dnepra v ;asu 4100–3600 pr. n. [t. IZVLE.EK – V .lanku se spra.ujemo o cikli.ni naravi poenotenja in raznolikosti kerami.nih oblik s pomo.jo .tudijskega primera lon.enine iz zahodne tripoljske kulture na obmo.ju ju.nega medre.ja Buga in Dnepra v sodobni Ukrajini. Prepoznali smo kulturni cikel, ki predstavlja prehod iz bolj po­enotenih kerami.nih zbirov k ve.ji raznolikosti ter prehod nazaj k bolj enotnemu zbiru. Ta kulturni cikel zmoti nara..anje raznolikosti lon.eninskih zbirov v treh od desetih zaporednih .asovnih obdo­bjih, ki smo jih analizirali. Dobljene rezultate obravnavamo v okviru deterministi.nih razlag in di­nami.nem vedenju kompleksnih sistemov. KLJU.NE BESEDE – kulturni cikli; poenotenje; raznolikost; kompleksni sistemi; zbiri lon.enine; kul­turni kompleks Cucuteni-Tripolye; zahodna kultura Tripolye Introduction The process of cultural unification in prehistory tween the two processes should be also highlighted. made the world look similar, but not homogenous. In archaic societies, as opposed to modern ones, cul-This phenomenon may be compared with modern tural unification was much slower and took hun­globalisation, although significant difference be-dreds and thousands of years (Bauman 2001). In DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.30 Approaching the unification and diversity of pottery assemblages> the case of Western Tripolye culture ceramics in the Southern Bug ... many cases cultural unification was accompanied by the formation of numerous cultural groups and re­gional variations characterized by Modderman as “diversity in uniformity” (1988). This paper examines the cycling nature of the unifi­cation and diversity of pottery forms through a case study of ceramics of the Western Tripolye culture in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve in modern Ukraine. First, we will briefly review the concept of cycles in philosophy, natural and social sciences, complementing the earlier review of Detlef Gronen-born and co-authors (Gronenborn et al. 2017). Se­cond, we will present our sample and methodology of approaching unification and diversity. Third, we will discuss the results and their implications for fur­ther research in archaeology. Cycles in natural and social phenomena Cambridge Dictionary (online) defines a cycle as “a complete set of events that repeat themselves re­gularly in the same order, or a regularly repeated period of time”. The first attempts at the depiction socio-political and economic events as cycling are known from the philosophers of Ancient Greece (Liddel 2010). Among the most important historians who described the development of the Roman Em­pire using the concept of cycle was Polybius (Kimla 2009). His ideas, and particularly the elements of degenerationism, were adapted centuries later by the Renaissance thinker Niccolo Machiavelli (Kenny 2005). A systematic approach to history as a series of recurring cycles then started in the 19th century. It was assumed that history has a repetitive rhythm, that no historical events are completely unique, as after some time the course of history returns to its starting point, or at least to states similar to those that took place earlier. What happens now is thus not a culmination, but only a transitional stage of the process (Sztompka 2012). The Russian philosopher Nikolai Danilevskiy, in his work titled ‘Russia and Europe’, stated that the issue of development refers not to humankind as a whole but to civilisations. Each civilisation goes through a normal life cycle. The first stage is the oc­currence of civilisation as a synthesis of previously scattered cultural elements. The second is the achie­vement of real cultural and political distinctiveness, the third stage is the blossoming of civilisation, and the fourth is stagnation and apathy. Finally, the fifth is the break-down and the fall of the civilisation (Da-nilevskiy 1895). A very similar approach was pre­sented by Oswald Spengler, who claimed that his­tory does not have any universal laws, but that each cultural item has its own laws and goes through certain phases – from the rise and peak, to its fall and destruction (Spengler 2014). In sociology, the first theory of historical cycles was introduced by Vilfredo Pareto in the 19th century. In his view, a social system in constant motion rep­resents a smooth transition from a state of equilib­rium to destabilization, and to a collapse of the equi­librium and the re-establishment of a state of equi­librium (Pareto 1975). These four stages of develop­ment were also used by Karl Marx and later by Gor­don Childe in one of his most important works, titled ‘Man Makes Himself’, published in 1936 (Lech 1999). In modern sociology, the most inter­esting cyclic theory was formulated by Piterim So-rokin in ‘Social and Cultural Dynamics’, published in the late 1930s (Sorokin 1937). According to this, the social world consists of holistic socio-cultural systems. The main element of each system is the cul­tural mentality, on which other elements of the sy­stem depend. In other words, the history of human­kind is the cycle of changes of cultural mentality. Therefore, the shape of history is not linear, but is defined by the recurring rhythm of cultural chan­ges. The mechanism of changes is regulated by the internal capabilities of each socio-cultural system. Worth highlighting here is that there is a limit to the possibility of cultural development, beyond which a given cultural mentality is exhausted, loses the possibility of expansion and is not able to develop. Then a syncretic mentality appears containing both elements of the previous and new cultural mentality in order to give way to the newly emerging cultural mentality, which at that moment has an expansive and creative potential. And so the cycle goes on and on (Sorokin 1937). External factors, such as environ­ment, diffusion or conquest are of secondary impor­tance – those can influence the length of the phases of each cycle, but are not able to replace its endoge­nous logic (Sztompka 2012). The humanities and social sciences, including ar­chaeology, consider different concepts of time. The first concept, so-called event history is mainly relat­ed to political events. Another, cyclical time, refers to business cycles (see below). The last concept, lon­gue durée, characterizes changes in social structures and the history of civilisations. In this case studies cover a period of several centuries (Braudel 1999). The idea of longue durée was used, among the oth­ers, by Charles Cobb (1991) to identify the pheno­ Aleksandr Diachenko, Iwona Sobkowiak-Tabaka, and Sergej Ryzhov mena responsible for cultural chan­ges among prehistoric societies in American Middle West. Another concept from Fernand Brau­del, directly related to the longue durée, is based on the idea of cen­tre and periphery (Braudel 1992). This concept was further developed by Immanuel Wallerstein (1974) in his world system theory. He distin­guished three stages of human deve­lopment. The first is the epoch of ‘mini-systems’, small self-sufficient communities which are typical of hunter-gatherers societies. The next stage is the ‘epoch of empires’, and the last one is the ‘global system’. It is worth highlighting that these systems consist of central, peripheral and mar­ginal zones which are related to each other. The changes in the centre are mirrored by those in the periphery and vice-versa. This concept is often used by archaeologists, especially in research concerning the Bronze and Iron Ages in Europe (e.g., Kristian-sen 1994; Sherratt 1994; Kadrow 2001; Kristian-sen, Larsson 2005). The idea of cycles has also been widely adapted by natural scientists to report various phenomena. One of the first was Milutin Milankovi., who described long-term climate changes caused by changes in the position of Earth in relation to the Sun, the so-called Milankovitch cycles. This theory explains the ice ages that repeatedly occurred in the geological past, as well as the climate changes which may occur in the future (Hays et al. 1976; Campisano 2002). The idea of cyclical phenomena was used to recognize the glacial-interglacial cycle of vegetation changes (Fig. 1; Iversen 1958), solar cycles (increas­ing sun irradiance every 11 years – Hathaway et al. 1999) and their in­fluences on human disease and adap­tability (Davis, Lowell 2006); to iden­tify earthquakes cycles (O’Malley et al. 2017; Galvez et al. 2019) or to explain epidemic cycles (Althouse, Hébert-Dufresne 2014). However, we should also admit that there are critics of cycles in the natural scien­ces, including the cycling nature of earthquakes (Bak 1996). To a cer­tain extent, human beings ‘look for’ cycling behaviour in non-cycling phe­nomena, trying to predict negative events and thus become protected from their im­pacts (Bak 1996). The other widely known cycles are business and product life cycles. Both are used by economists to describe fluctuations in economic system and the sales of individual products. Business cycles occur­ring in the economy represent wide changes in to­tal output, incomes and employment, usually last­ing from two to ten years. We can distinguish two main phases of business cycles – expansion and re­cession – with peaks and troughs marking the turn­ing points (Fig. 2). A key important observation is that there no identical cycles, and the precise pre­diction of their duration and timing is not possible (Samuelson, Nordhaus 1995). Very similar to the aforementioned cycle is the pro­duct life cycle, characterizing the period in which the product is presented to the market. This case also includes four stages: introduction, growth, ma­turity and decline (Fig. 3; Altkorn 2004). Approaching the unification and diversity of pottery assemblages> the case of Western Tripolye culture ceramics in the Southern Bug ... It is worth noticing that, regardless of the field the concept of cycle is applied to, four distinct phases of changes are distinguished. This phenomenon resem­bles the Aristotle’s quartet, which he adopted from Plato, although it appears even earlier with Empedo­cles. This earlier quartet distinguished four elements, namely earth, air, fire and water, which can be set alongside the previous concepts of change presented by Thales, Anaximander, Heraclitus and Xenophanes (Fig. 4; Ball 2004). Adaptive cycles are also widely applicable to describe patterns of changes in complex systems, both in eco­systems and social systems. Ecologists have noticed that each cycle consists of four phases: rapid growth, conservation, release and renewal (Fig. 5). The key-point in this case is an assumption about the dyna­mics of structural and functional properties and also processes. It means we are able to distinguish peri­ods of growth, destruction and de­composition varying over scales of space and time (Angeler et al. 2015). Further development of the idea of adaptive cycles indicates that they mirror the unavoidable dynamics of complex adaptive systems, resulting in the internal process of self-orga­nization and evolution along time (Sundstorm, Allen 2019). Over the last two decades the con­cept of adaptive cycles was borrow­ed from socioeconomics and ecology and applied in many others fields, including social sciences and the hu­manities. For instance, this concept was used by Jared M. Diamond (2005) to approach the rise and fall of pre-historic, ancient and modern societies. It can be also applied to recognize changes in current west­ern societies, driven by factors such as technology, industry or digitization (Gilpin 2000). Adaptive cycles are also being investigated in archa­eology. The leitmotif of these studies is the state­ment made by Gunderson and Holling that “Resi­lience is the ability of the system to return to the original state after disturbance” (Gunderson, Hol-ling 2002). Andreas Zimmermann (2012) proposed using the term cultural cycles to refer to Central Eu­ropean prehistory, especially in relation to agrarian societies. The crucial results of his research are that: (a) cultural cycles caused by internal factors such as the dynamics of social and economic relations are an alternative to external ones, i.e. climate fluctua- Aleksandr Diachenko, Iwona Sobkowiak-Tabaka, and Sergej Ryzhov tions; (b) cultural memory and traditions are piv­otal factors that influence the cultural system; (c) cultural evolution is marked by stages and tradi­tions; (d) the complexity of cultural systems is no­ticeable by the non-linear changes over the middle and long-term time scales. The concept of ‘adaptive cycle’ was also used by Gronenborn and co-authors (2014) in a study of LBK development in Western Europe. More recently, they applied the theory of adaptive cycles to recognize the population dynam­ics and social resilience strategies in early farming societies of SW Central Europe (Gronenborn et al. 2017; 2018). Following the studies conducted by Gronenborn and his co-authors, our paper focuses at the following questions: (1) are ceramic styles de­veloped in cycles from more unified to more diverse, and then back to more unified? and (2) what fac­tors impact the transitions from more unified to more diverse and from more diverse to more uni­fied pottery assemblages? Data input and estimations Method The philosophical connotations suggested for ‘hey­day’ and ‘decline’, as broadly presented above, in most cases correspond to widely used archaeologi­cal categories of ‘unification’ (approximating ‘birth’ and ‘death’) and ‘diversity’ (approximating ‘growth’). Both of these categories can be quantified with the application of Claude Shannon’s diversity index (Shannon 1948). Providing numerical values for ‘unified’ and ‘diverse’, this approach suggests a gra­dual transition from one to the other as a reasonable alternative to the widely accepted understanding of the two categories as binary oppositions. The utility of the diversity index is confirmed by its successful applications in archaeology (e.g., Justeson 1973; Di­ckens Jr., Fraser 1984; Bevan et al. 2012; Furholt 2012; Crema 2015; Gronenborn et al. 2017; 2018; Drost, Vander Linden 2018). Shannon’s index is estimated as: N H =- K . pi log pi (eq. 1) i = 1 where H is the entropy taken for a measure of di­versity, pi is the proportion of elements belonging to the i-th type (Spi = 1), and K is the normalizing coefficient (Shannon 1948). Data input We have tested the possible cyclic nature of the de­velopment of pottery styles using an example of ce­ramic assemblages of Western Tripolye culture (he­reinafter – WTC) sites in the Southern Bug and Dnie-per interfluve, modern Ukraine dated to c. 4100– 3600 cal BC (Fig. 6). This region is widely known for Tripolye mega-sites, the largest population agglom­erations in Neolithic Europe, i.e. Nebelevka, Dobro-vody, Chicherkozovka, Talianki and Maidanetske (e.g., Menotti, Korvin-Piotrovkiy 2012; Müller et al. 2016b). Materials from the mega-sites of Chicher­kozovka and Talianki are included into our sample. Taxonomically WTC belongs to the Cucuteni-Tripol-ye cultural complex (hereinafter – CTCC) spread from the Carpathians in the west to the eastern bank of Dnieper in the east, c. 5000–3000/2950 cal BC. The internal structure of WTC includes ‘genetic lines’ subdivided into local groups, some of which also include site-types (e.g., Dergachev 1980; Ryzhov 2007). It should be noted that the term ‘genetic lines’ proposed by Dergachev reflects the similarity and change in ceramic assemblages of local groups replacing each other over time (Dergachev 1980). The difference in pottery styles and duration of exi­stence decreases from the top down in this taxono­mic hierarchy. Based on pottery seriation, Sergii Ryzhov (1993; 2000a; 2007; 2015) included the sites which are analysed in this paper into Vladimirovskaya, Nebe­levskaya and Tomashovskaya local groups. These three local groups form the Vladimirovsko-Toma­shovskaya line of development of WTC. Phases (if not subdivided into stages) and stages of develop­ment of local groups include synchronous settle­ments. Synchronous ceramic assemblages have iden­tical sets of pottery forms, while the percentage of vessels of each type across different sites is similar, varying only up to a few percent. Therefore, signi­ficant changes in relative frequencies estimated for pottery of different shapes and ornamentation sche­mes indicate the chronological difference between the sites. Secondary characteristics, such as modifi­cations in ornamentation schemes or ‘signs’ on pot­tery, may be considered as markers of either chro­nological or spatial differences (Ryzhov 1999). Initially the Vladimirovskaya group settlements were not subdivided into phases of development, while two phases were distinguished in the Nebelevskaya group. The ceramic assemblage of the settlement of Gordashevka 1 indicated its intermediate chronolo­gical position between the Vladimirovskaya and Ne-belevskaya local groups (Ryzhov 1993). The Toma-shovskaya group sites were subdivided into four stages of development (Ryzhov 2000a). Further ap­ Approaching the unification and diversity of pottery assemblages> the case of Western Tripolye culture ceramics in the Southern Bug ... Fig. 6. Western Tripolye sites in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve. Site num­bering: 1 Popudnia; 2 Khri­stinovka 1; 3 Tomashovka, 4 Cherpovody 2; 5 Gorodni­tsa; 6 Kocherzhintsy-Pan­kovka; 7 Dobrovody; 8 Sush­kovka; 9 Korzhova Slobod­ka; 10 Yatranovka 1; 11 Pe­regonovka; 12 Romanovka; 13 Moshurov 1; 14 Talianki; 15 Maidanetske; 16 Ostro-vets; 17 Nebelevka; 18 Vladi­mirovka; 19 Polonistoe; 20 Tsyurupy; 21 Leshchevka; 22 Fedorovka; 23 Staraya Bu-da; 24 Nemorozh; 25 Gorda­shevka 1; 26 Talnoe 1; 27 Talnoe 3; 28 Talnoe 2; 29 Rassohovatka; 30 Bondarka 2; 31 Glubochek; 32 Kolodistoe 1; 33 Kolodistoe 2; 34 Goncharykha; 35 Krivye Kolena; 36 Peschane; 37 Yampol; 38 Komarovka; 39 Peremozhintsy; 40 Kvitki 2; 41 Valiava; 42 Nezamozhnik; 43 Olshana 1; 44 Khlystunovka; 45 Buda Orlovetskaya; 46 Ksaverovo; 47 Zelenaya Dibrova; 48 Novo-Ukrainka; 49 Chichir­kozovka; 50 Vasilkov; 51 Lebedin; 52 Andreevka; 53 Likareve (Base of the map by Ben Jennings, created using STRM data and ArcWorld River and Lake Overlay). plication of spatial statistics to the same dataset al­lowed synchronization of the latest settlements of the Vladmirovskaya group with the earliest sites of the Nebelevskaya group, and the latest settlements of the Nebelevskaya group with the earliest sites of the Tomashovskaya group. Moreover, spatial statis­tics allowed the identification of three subsequent stages of development of the Vladimirovskaya group, with the third one including two sub-stages, three subsequent stages of the second phase of Nebelev­skaya group and two subsequent phases of the third phase of the Tomashovskaya group (Diachenko, Menotti 2012). These results of the spatial analysis find agreement with second-order differences in pot­tery styles (Ryzhov 2000a; 2015). The overall fine-grained chronology is confirmed by the correspon­dence analysis of the ceramics (Müller et al. 2016a). In order to avoid misunderstandings, the chronolo­gical division of sites referring to different phases and stages may be considered in frames of subse­quent ‘analytical periods’ labelled from 1 to 10 (e.g., Diachenko, Zu-brow 2015). Figure 7 summarizes the taxonomy and chronology of the analysed WTC sites. Here we analyse quantitative chan­ges in the shapes of the ‘table cera­mics’ produced using clay mass with an admixture of small-grained sand (Fig. 8). We consider the distribution of the main types of pottery morphology represented by goblets, goblet-shaped vessels, sphere-conical and biconical vessels, amphorae, pear-shaped vessels, lids, craters and cra­ter-shaped vessels, pots, binocular-shaped vessels, lad­les and vessels on trays (e.g., Ryzhov 2012). Bowls were deliberately excluded from the analysis because small fragments of bowls are easier to distinguish typologically than ceramic fragments of any other type. Therefore, if bowls are included into the esti­mations, the overall distribution may be biased de­pending on the extent of pottery fragmentation in some collections. The same will be introduced more precisely below. Analytical period 1 is represented by ceramics com­ing from surveys at the single earliest WTC site in settlement of Gordashevka 1 Aleksandr Diachenko, Iwona Sobkowiak-Tabaka, and Sergej Ryzhov the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve, the mega-site of Fedorovka (Ryzhov 2015). Analytical periods 2 and 3, or the second and third stages of the Vla­dimirovskaya group, were distinguished base on spa­tial statics and second-order criteria in pottery seri­ation (Diachenko, Menotti 2012; Ryzhov 2015). Un­fortunately, the data for the precise estimation of pottery types for these analytical periods was not available to us. Therefore, the related values were contingently reduced to zero in our analysis. Analytical periods 4 and 5 correspond to the first phase and first stage of the second phase of the Ne-belevskaya group, respectively. The numbers esti­mated for analytical period 4 are represented by the mean values which were obtained for pottery types coming from Houses 1, 2 and 3 excavated at the set­tlement of Peschanoe (Ryzhov 1991; Chernovol, Ry-zhov 2006). The numbers estimated for analytical period 5 are the mean values which were obtained for ceramic assemblages coming from Houses 1 and 2 excavated at the large settlement of Glubochek (Ryzhov 2000b). The subsequent five analytical periods correspond to the first and second phases, the first and second stages of the third phase, and the fourth phase of the Tomashovskaya local group. The numbers esti­mated for analytical period 6 are the averages ob­tained for pottery collections which resulted from the surveys and excavations conducted in 1920s at the sites Popudnia, Staraya Buda and Sushkovka in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve (Ryzhov 2000a). The values for analytical period 7 were esti­mated from the ceramic assemblage coming from House 1 excavated at the mega-site of Chicherkozov­ka (Ryzhov 2000a). The numbers estimated for ana­lytical period 8 are the mean values obtained from the pottery collections which come from excavations of Houses 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 and 14 at Talianki (from excavations in the 1980s directed by Vladimir Kruts; Ryzhov 2000a). Analytical period 9 is represented by the mean values obtained for a set of vessels from the excavations of House 1 at the small site of Moshurov 1, the off-spring of the mega-site of Maidanetske (Ryzhov 2000a). Finally, the numbers for analytical period 10 are the mean val­ues estimated for ceramic collections which come from surveys at the settlements Bondarka 2 and Gon­charykha (Ryzhov 1999; 2000a). The number of pottery fragments at each analytical period in our sample varies from c. 1000–2000 (analytical periods 1, 6, 7, 9 and 10) to c. 4000–6000 (analytical periods 4 and 5). In the case of analytical period 8, the sample includes c. 25 000 pottery fragments. Ordinarily one would normalize the estimated values in order to obtain statisti­cally significant results. However, this is not necessary in our case for the following reasons. Pottery of different shapes is distributed in approximately the same per­centages in dwellings at synchro­nous settlements. Therefore, the relative number of ceramics be­longing to different morphologi­cal types does not change, when the absolute number of fragments increases with adding an assem­blage from a house or two from the same site or some other con­temporaneous settlement. For example, the percentages of dif­ferent pottery types in Talianki estimated as a mean for the as­semblages from 11 houses do not Approaching the unification and diversity of pottery assemblages> the case of Western Tripolye culture ceramics in the Southern Bug ... change with excluding ceramic sets from several houses from the sample. In other words, the mean percentage of pottery types from seven, nine or 11 houses remains the same. The relative frequencies of pottery in unbiased surface collections are also similar to the distributions in house inventories. For instance, the percentage of forms estimated from c. 2000 ceramic fragments from House 1 in Chichirko­zovka corresponds to the percentage of forms esti­mated from several thousand ceramic fragments from surface collection (the surveys of Ivan Girnyk, with data analysed by Sergey Ryzhov). Moreover, the WTC ‘assembly places’, which differ from other houses by their size and location in settlement struc­ture are characterized by the same house invento­ries as other dwellings at particular sites (e.g., Neb-bia et al. 2018; Hofmann et al. 2019). The number of vessels counted for each type was re­calculated into relative frequencies. Then we esti­mated the values of Shannon’s diversity index for each analytical period. The results obtained are re­presented in Fig. 9. The results of the estimations are discussed in more detail below. Results The development of pottery shapes of WTC in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve corresponds to the cultural cycle representing the transition from more unified ceramic assemblages to more diverse, and then back to more unified (Fig. 9). A possible sample effect on the analysed trend may be assumed considering the highest diversity of ceramics at ana­lytical periods 4 and 5, which correspond to the high number of pottery fragments counted for this time range, while the decrease in diversity from period 4 to period 5 may be explained by the reduction in the number of analysed house inventories from three to two. However, the highest absolute number of pottery frag­ments counted for Talianki (analyti­cal period 8) corresponds to the low­er diversity index than found with the values obtained for Peschanoe and Glubochek (analytical periods 4 and 5, respectively). Moreover, this highest absolute number was es­timated from eleven house invento­ries, significantly exceeding the num­ber of houses analysed from Pescha­noe and Glubochek (Fig. 9: analytical periods 4, 5, 8). The diversity index estimated for Talianki is also some­what lower than the value estimated for a single house inventory from Moshurov 1 (analytical period 9). It should be noted that the values of H estimat­ed for the first and last analytical period may be somewhat lower than they have to be due to the ce­ramic collections obtained from surveys, while the highest diversity index estimated for analytical pe­riod 6 may be caused by the number of sampled sites. However, the three sites referring to analytical period 6 are located in the same micro-region, while the diversity index estimated for pottery assemblages obtained from these settlements is significantly high­er than the diversity index estimated for the set of pottery coming from two settlements located in diffe­rent micro-regions and referring to analytical period 10 (Fig. 9: analytical periods 6 and 10; see also Dia­chenko, Menotti 2012). Thus, we conclude that the particular values of H estimated for different analy­tical periods might be somewhat impacted by the sample effects, but these effects do not change the overall trend in the transition from more unified ce­ramic assemblages to more diverse, and then back to more unified. The disturbances in the cultural cycle are represent­ed by significant increases in the diversity of pottery assemblages at analytical periods 4 and 6 and in­crease in diversity at analytical period 9 (Fig. 9). We should admit that the increase in diversity repre­sents relatively short-term changes in the system, while the subsequent transition to uniformity fits the earlier trends in the development of pottery styles (Fig. 9: analytical periods 4 to 10). Since both cases of the increase in pottery diversity correspond to the initial phases of the Nebelevskaya and Toma-shovskaya groups, respectively, the identical distri­bution of pottery types over time is expected to be identified for Vladimirovskaya group in further stu­dies. Aleksandr Diachenko, Iwona Sobkowiak-Tabaka, and Sergej Ryzhov Let us now consider the factors which might have impacted the development of pottery shapes repre­sented in the obtained distribution of the values of the diversity index. The usual suspects for the cultu­ral transformations are climate change, migrations, changes in social organization, economic producti­vity or spatial demography, and the ‘isolation by di­stance’ principle. Table 1 summarizes the compar­isons between shifts in environmental circumstan­ces, socio-economic and demographic development which might have impacted the changes in ceramic styles and the increase or decrease in diversity of pottery styles of WTC in the Southern Bug and Dnie-per interfluve. In each case changes are compared to the preceding analytical period. The increase in pottery diversity during analytical periods 4 and 6 correlates with migrations of the WTC population from the Dniester region to the Southern Bug and Dnieper, which are indicated by the demographic estimations and observations of pottery ornamentation (Ryzhov 2007; Diachenko 2016). One more migration of WTC groups from the Dniester and Bug interfluve to the analysed region occurring in analytical period 9 correlates with the slight increase in ceramic diversity compared to the value obtained for analytical period 8 (Tkachuk 2008; Diachenko 2016). We should note that the number of people involved in the migration in ana­lytical period 9 is also approximated to the smaller values than the number of migrants who came to the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve during analytical periods 4 and 6. Since the new arrivals did not settle separately but mixed with the popu­lation of local settlements, it is reasonable to con­clude that they contributed to the local pottery as­semblages with their traditions. Further on, synthe­sis of different traditions resulted in more unified pottery styles. The possible influence of the other listed factors does not correlate with the observed dynamics of the cultural cycle (Tab. 1). Applying the ‘isolation by distance’ principle suggested by Stephen Shennan and co-authors (2015) to our dataset, one would ex­pect the increase in pottery diversity with the in­crease of the occupied territory. However, WTC reached its largest territorial extent in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve during analytical period 5, which is characterized by the lower value of the diversity index than the preceding analytical period 4 and the subsequent analytical period 6. Mean­while, we cannot exclude that the effect of the ‘isola­tion by distance principle’ somewhat increased the value of the diversity index estimated for analytical period 6. The settlement dynamics of WTC populations in the analysed region represent two different trends chang­ing one another over time (Diachenko, Menotti 2017). The largest settlements of the Vladimirovska-ya and Nebelevskaya groups, Fedorovka and Nebe­levka, respectively, are dated to the initial phases of these local groups. Both of these large settlements were formed as the result of migrations to the re­gion. After abandoning Fedorovka, its former inha­bitants built the Vladimirovka and Peregonovka set­tlements, both of nearly equal size and significantly smaller than Fedorovka. Leaving Nebelevka, its for­mer inhabitants built the somewhat smaller settle­ment of Glubochek and several medium and small size settlements in the region. The settlement dyna­mics of the Tomashovskaya group sites in analytical periods 6, 7, 8 and 9 are characterized by the in­crease of the subsequent largest settlements in size, while the number of inhabitants was increasing at the annual rate of 0.3% (Diachenko 2016; Diachen­ko, Menotti 2017). Both trends do not correlate with the changes in the values of the diversity index esti­mated for pottery shapes. According to the available proxies, around the end of the 3800s cal BC (analytical period 6) the climate changed from more arid in the preceding period to warmer and more humid (e.g., Anthony 2007; Dia­chenko 2010; Harper 2019; Harper et al. 2019). This climate shift probably impacted the increase in agricultural productivity in analytical periods 6–10 compared to analytical periods 1–5. Meanwhile, nei­ther climate change per se, nor its economic impacts. influenced the increase in diversity of ceramic styles. Except for the analytical period 6, the values of the diversity index indicate the trend of unification of pottery shapes (Fig. 9; Tab. 1). The available evi­dence on integrative architecture in Tripolye settle­ments shows complex decision-making rather than top-down centralized control (Hofmann et al. 2019). Conceptually this fits Anthony Giddens’ (2003) struc­turation theory and Piotr Sztompka’s (1991) concept of society as a process, in which social actions are based on human actions making and constantly changing social structures. According to these con­cepts, we should pay more attention to the daily practices, routines, habits, intentions, sex and age of pottery makers. Considering this variability in intra-social structures and actions, one would also expect an increase in ceramic diversity at least for the ana­lytical periods 6–9 characterized by a number of Approaching the unification and diversity of pottery assemblages> the case of Western Tripolye culture ceramics in the Southern Bug ... Analytical period Shannon’s diversity index Climate change Migrations Changes in economic productivity Changes in settlement systems ‘Isolation by distance’ principle 1 N\A N\A + N\A N\A N\A 2 | s s s s + 3 | s s s s S 4 . s + s + + 5 O s s s + + 6 . + + . + + 7 O + s . s S 8 O s s s s S 9 . s + s s S 10 s s s s S O ‘ .’ – increased from the preceding analytical period, ‘O’ – decreased from the preceding analytical period, ‘+’ – changes occurred, ‘s’ situation remained stable, ‘|’ no data avail­able, ‘N\A’ not applicable Tab. 1. Changes in the diversity of WTC pottery styles in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve and their possible causing factors. the behaviour of complex systems is caused by their internal dynamics (e.g., Bentley 2003). Therefore, the modelling of complex cultural dynamics is a cru­cial issue in further work on prehistoric culture. Our case study also raises the question of the utility of approaches which in­clude both qualitative and quantitative characteristics of datasets to pottery se­riation. This also includes the detailed chronologies produced by data analysis accounting for the relative chronologically subsequent mega-sites increasing in population size. However, the values estimated with equation 1 demonstrate the opposite trend (Fig. 9). Conclusion and discussion The results obtained in this study indicate that the development of pottery shapes of the WTC in the Southern Bug and Dnieper interfluve passed through a cultural cycle from unification to diversity and then back to unification. This cultural cycle is disturbed by the increase in diversity of pottery forms at three analytical periods, which may be explained by mi­grations into the analysed region. However, none of the possible factors which might impact the de­velopment of ceramics have shown a correlation with the cultural cycle in WTC pottery styles. At first glance, the discovered cultural cycle conceptually fits the ideas of Danilevskiy, Spengler and Sorokin (Danilevskiy 1895; Sorokin 1937; Spengler 2014). Considering the results obtained for the develop­ment of Neolithic ceramic assemblages (Gronenborn et al. 2017; 2018; Gjesfjeld et al. 2020), which are similar to the results of our case study, we question the cyclic nature of cultural development following the stages of ‘unification’ – ‘diversity’ – ‘unification’ in the results of the dynamic behaviour of culture as a complex system. In this respect, it is reasonable to assume that the ‘hidden cycling trend’ resulting from non-linear complex dynamics may to a certain extent be impacted by different external factors, but remain the same in its main properties. By definition, frequencies (or percentages) of artefacts belonging to different types which find their confirmation in absolute dating, because the underlying methodolo­gy is in fact a truncated version of Shannon’s diver­sity index. With updating such approaches to con­sider the diversity index, we would expect an in­crease in the number of cultural cycles identified in archaeological data. Further work on complex cultural dynamics requires consideration of the cultural hierarchy and corre­sponding improvements in methodology. We should note that the related studies are being conducted by Ray J. Rivers and his collaborators (as seen in the pa­per presented by Rivers at the 25th Neolithic Semi­nar in Ljubljana). One of the most important theore­tical and methodological challenges behind further studies on complex cultural behaviour is the need to distinguish between complex non-linear behaviour and the changes due to the impact of external factors. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This research was funded by the National Science Center of Poland, grant 2018/29/B/HS3/01201 awar­ded to Iwona Sobkowiak-Tabaka. We are grateful to Mihael Budja for his kind invitation to present and discuss the results of this study at the 25th Neolithic Seminar in Ljubljana, and to the anonymous revie­wers for their valuable comments and suggestions. Many thanks are also due to Benjamin Jennings who created the base of map 6 for us. Aleksandr Diachenko, Iwona Sobkowiak-Tabaka, and Sergej Ryzhov References Althouse B. M., Hébert-Dufresne L. 2014. Epidemic cycles driven by host behaviour. Journal of the Royal Society. Interface 11: 20140575. doi.org/10.1098/rsif.2014.0575 Altkorn J. 2004. Podstawy marketingu. Instytut Marke­tingu. Kraków. Angeler D. G., Allen C. R., Garmestani A. S., Gunderson L. H., Hjerne O., and Winder M. 2015. Quantifying the adap­tive cycle. PLOS One 10(12): 0146053. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0146053 Anthony D. W. 2007. The horse, the wheel, and lan­guage: How Bronze age riders from the Eurasian Step­pes shaped the modern world. Princeton University Press. Princeton and Oxford. 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Quaternary International 274: 251–258. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.quaint.2012.05.014 Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration Bernhard Weninger1, Kevan Edinborough2 1 Institute of Prehistory, University Cologne, Köln, DE b.weninger@uni-koeln.de 2 Melbourne Dental School, Faculty of Medicine, Dentistry and Health Sciences, The University of Melbourne, Victoria, AU kevan.edinborough@unimelb.edu.au ABSTRACT – Following some 30 years of radiocarbon research during which the mathematical prin­ciples of 14C-calibration have been on loan to Bayesian statistics, here they are returned to quantum physics. The return is based on recognition that 14C-calibration can be described as a Fourier trans­form. Following its introduction as such, there is need to reconceptualize the probabilistic 14C-analy­sis. The main change will be to replace the traditional (one-dimensional) concept of 14C-dating pro­bability by a two-dimensional probability. This is entirely analogous to the definition of probability in quantum physics, where the squared amplitude of a wave function defined in Hilbert space pro­vides a measurable probability of finding the corresponding particle at a certain point in time/space, the so-called Born rule. When adapted to the characteristics of 14C-calibration, as it turns out, the Fourier transform immediately accounts for practically all known so-called quantization properties of archaeological 14C-ages, such as clustering, age-shifting, and amplitude-distortion. This also applies to the frequently observed chronological lock-in properties of larger data sets, when analysed by Gaus­sian wiggle matching (on the 14C-scale) just as by Bayesian sequencing (on the calendar time-scale). Such domain-switching effects are typical for a Fourier transform. They can now be understood, and taken into account, by the application of concepts and interpretations that are central to quantum physics (e.g. wave diffraction, wave-particle duality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and the correspondence principle). What may sound complicated, at first glance, simplifies the construction of 14C-based chro­nologies. The new Fourier-based 14C-analysis supports chronological studies on previously unachiev­able geographic (continental) and temporal (Glacial-Holocene) scales; for example, by temporal se­quencing of hundreds of archaeological sites, simultaneously, with minimal need for development of archaeological prior hypotheses, other than those based on the geo-archaeological law of stratigra­phic superposition. As demonstrated in a variety of archaeological case studies, just one number, defined as a gauge-probability on a scale 0–100%, can be used to replace a stacked set of subjective Bayesian priors. KEY WORDS – radiocarbon calibration; Fourier transform; Born probability; Santorini Bayesova racionalnost 14C, Heisenbergovo na;elo nedolo;enosti in Fourierjeva transformacija> lepota radiokarbonske kalibracije IZVLE.EK – Po pribli.no 30 letih radiokarbonskih raziskav, v katerih si je Bayesova statistika izpo­sojala matemati.ne principe 14C-kalibracije, le-te sedaj vra.amo v kvantno fiziko. Ta vrnitev je osno­vana na predpostavki, da lahko 14C-kalibriranje opi.emo kot Fourierjevo transformacijo. In to ima za posledico, da je potrebno ponovno konceptualizirati verjetnostno analizo 14C. Poglavitna spre­memba bo zamenjava tradicionalnega (enodimenzionalnega) koncepta verjetnosti 14C-datiranja z dvodimenzionalno verjetnostjo. To je povsem analogono definiciji verjetnosti v kvantni fiziki, kjer kvadratna amplituda valovne funkcije, ki je definirana v Hilbertovem prostoru, zagotavlja merljivo DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.31 Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration verjetnost iskanja ustreznega delca v dolo.eni to.ki v .asu/prostoru, to je t.i. Bornovo pravilo. Fou­rierjeva transformacija, ki jo prilagodimo zna.ilnostim 14C-kalibracije, se nemudoma prilagodi tako reko. vsem t.i. lastnostim kvantizacije arheolo.kih 14C datumov, kot so hierarhi.ne metode zdru.e­vanja, spreminjanje starosti in popa.enje amplitude. To velja tudi za pogosto opazovane kronolo.ke lastnosti zaklepanja pri ve.jih podatkovnih bazah, .e jih analiziramo z Gaussovim usklajevanjem krivulje (na lestvici 14C) tako kot z Bayesovim zaporedjem (v koledarskem .asovnem merilu). Tak-.ni u.inki prekopa domene so zna.ilni za Fourierjevo transformacijo. Zdaj jih lahko razumemo in upo.tevamo z vpeljavo konceptov in interpretacij, ki so osrednjega pomena v kvantni fiziki (npr. di­frakcija valovnih dol.in, dvojnost valov in delcev, Heisengergovo na.elo nedolo.enosti in princip ko­respondence). Kar se na prvi pogled zdi zapleteno, v resnici poenostavi postavitev 14C-kronologij. Nova 14C analiza, ki temelji na Fourierjevi transformaciji, podpira kronolo.ke .tudije na prej nedo­segljivih geografskih (kontinentalnih) in .asovnih (v glacialih v holocenu) lestvicah; npr. s .asovno sekvenco na stotine arheolo.kih najdi.. hkrati, z minimalno potrebo po razvoju predhodnih arheo­lo.kih hipotez, razen tistih, ki temeljijo na geo-arheolo.kih zakonih stratigrafske superpozicije. Kot je razvidno iz razli.nih arheolo.kih .tudijskih primerov lahko tudi le z eno .tevilko, ki je definirana kot merilna verjetnost na lestvici od 0 do 100%, nadomestimo zlo.en nabor subjektivnih Bayesovih apriornih verjetnosti. KLJU.NE BESEDE – radiokarbonska kalibracija; Fourierjeva transformacija; Bornova verjetnost; Santorini Introduction The analysis of radiocarbon data, aimed at construc­tion of cultural chronologies at very high precision (even with the loss of accuracy), has been a conti­nuous field of research for many decades. Much ef­fort has been invested in the development of statis­tical models that allow incorporation of both quali­tative and quantitative archaeological information in the construction of 14C-chronologies. The large majority of these models utilize Bayesian theory (e.g., Buck et al. 1991; 1992; Nicholls, Jones 2000; Weninger F. et al. 2000; Bayliss 2009; Blaauw, Chri­sten 2011; Bronk Ramsey 2009; Steier, Rom 2000; Weninger F. 2011) and applications of Bayesian age-modelling still have growing networks in archa­eology, dendrochronology, terrestrial geomorpholo­gy, in ice-core studies and many other fields. In part this is due to the convenient availability of advanced software, such as OxCal (Bronk Ramsey 2020) BCal (Buck et al. 2020), CALIB (Stuiver et al. 2020), and Bacon (Blaauw, Christen 2011). But perhaps the main reason why Bayesian 14C-analysis today repre­sents the dominant paradigm (Buck, Meson 2015. 567; Buck, Juarez 2017.5) is that some 20 years ago the necessary statistical procedures were translated into computer language, so researchers today have at their disposal a well-established and now rigor­ously formalized statistical framework for chronolo­gical modelling (e.g., Bronk Ramsey 2009; 2020; Buck, Meson 2015). When applied to the construc­tion of 14C-based archaeological chronologies, aimed at the highest achievable dating precision, as men­tioned above, the particular advantage of Bayesian modelling is that a wide spectrum of archaeological prior information can be included in the analysis. There is no question that Bayesian age-modelling can be recommended for virtually all fields of archa­eological research. On the other hand, there have been persistent rumblings of discontent in parallel to the general acceptance of this statistics driven ar­chaeological paradigm. One frequent expectation by archaeologists is that Bayesian modelling is faultless. It is seen to be capable of providing what appears to be universally coherent results, both in archaeolo­gical and mathematical terms, for all 14C-based stu­dies. Unfortunately, this expectation is in clear con­tradiction with the cautiousness, vigilance, and con­siderable experience needed for good Bayesian mo-delling, as described by Caitlin E. Buck and Bo Me­son (2015). Similar concerns with regard to the wide­spread and naive belief in Bayesian-based chronolo­gies are expressed by many of the authors of the World Archaeology Special Issue, Volume 47 (2015), that is dedicated to Bayesian radiocarbon chronolo­gy. The editorial conclusion of Paul Pettitt and Joao Zilhao (2015.526) is summarized as follows: “many existing models are faulty”. In the present paper, some five years later, we have reason to continue this discussion. Again, our aim is to optimize the application of radiocarbon dating in archaeological research. This time, however, it is not any particular archaeological case study, nor any Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough assumption of maths-weakness within the archaeolo­gical user community, that drives the discourse, in­stead it is the very mathematical foundation of 14C­calibration. As an alternative to its suggested univer­sal implementation as a Bayesian paradigm (Hea-ton et al. 2020.4), in our view the process of 14C-ca­libration is best described as being a Fourier trans­form which thus has its mathematical foundation in Hilbert space theory. The main purpose of the pre­sent paper is to review the concepts of the Fourier transform and associated aspects of quantum theory, and describe it in an understandable manner, using an archaeological context to explain why these con­cepts can together provide a unique mathematical background to 14C-age calibration. Naturally, this program requires mathematical vali­dation. Simultaneously we wish to avoid the large-scale ceremonial presentation of corresponding pro­ofs, definitions, equations, formulas and theorems, although we derive a local minimum for all this in the Appendix. The first reason for this decision is that details of the Fourier transform are easily found in textbooks of quantum physics and optical or elec­tronic signal processing. For these topics there are many online presentations, wherein the required mathematics is didactically well-developed. A fur­ther reason is that the translation of 14C-calibration into the language of a Fourier transform is relatively straightforward, once a few points in the terminolo­gy have been clarified. Once this has been done, the very existence of so many telling analogies between 14C-calibration and quantum physics is itself suffi­cient to prove the point. Given that under the Fou­rier transform the calibration algorithms of CalPal-software remain unchanged – one of us (BW) has always been using their mathematical background in quantum theory in his work – any attempt to re­write the existing mathematics of the Fourier trans­form would be superfluous. On the other hand, given that our persistent observations of analogies be­tween 14C-ages and quantum particles have never received much attention in the radiocarbon commu­nity, perhaps due to deficits in mathematical forma­lization, or perhaps because it may sound like an outrageous idea, we now provide the reader with an appropriate selection of equations and so-called engineering rules (e.g., the Fourier transform of a Gaussian is again a Gaussian). Perhaps thankfully, the archaeological reader does not have to become deeply acquainted with the underlying mathematics, nor of Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. Instead, such a reader only needs to grasp the generalized re­sult here, which is that practically all observed quan­tum properties of archaeological 14C-ages can now be understood as what they are, the mathematical consequence of a Fourier transform. A simple notion of mathematical foundation To be as clear as possible, 14C-calibration is so much a Fourier transform that we have taken the freedom, in one or the other figure captions below, to replace the very expression 14C-calibration with Fourier transform. It goes without saying that this equiva­lence in mathematical background applies equally to what is presently known as Bayesian 14C-calibration, sequencing, age-depth modelling and so on, just as for non-Bayesian wiggle matching, barcode seria­tion, or construction of summed calibrated probabi­lity distributions. Despite the existence of these many different methods, variants, and names, and whether the calculations are technically designed to run on one (or the other) of the two scales, or switch be­tween the two domains, or whether additional data, or hypotheses, are included in the analysis, all these methods are fundamentally identical in the sense that, ultimately, they are all based on a Fourier trans­form. The solution we adapt in describing this re­sult is to a large part historical analysis in the main text, in combination with a technical description in the Appendix. Some carefully selected rules of trans­lation, as provided in the Appendix, are themselves designed to mimic a Fourier transform: they trans­late backwards and forwards between radiocarbon dating in traditional terminology, and 14C-quantum language in the new perspective. Our hope is that these translation rules may be helpful beyond the present study, in case the reader wishes to validate and extend these new concepts. The report structure The overall structure of our report is as follows. To begin, we take freedom to deconstruct the rather naive notion, upheld by many archaeologists, that (likelihood-ratio based) Bayesian 14C-theory can be understood as the unconditional ultima ratio imple­mentation of radiocarbon dating in archaeology. We do this by reference to the history of gravitational theory, which has shown wonderful advances over many centuries, but without need, necessity, or even knowledge of Bayes’ theorem. This suggests that, since Bayes’ probability theory has not been parti­cularly fundamental for this kind of important sci­entific research in the past, this might also be the case for 14C-analysis in the future. Following this prelude, we proceed towards the somewhat less tri­ Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration vial deconstruction of the – supposed – mathemati­cal foundation of 14C-calibration in Bayes’ theorem, put forward some 27 years ago by Herold Dehling and Johannes van der Plicht (1993). The two stud­ies, in combination, are aimed at providing a slow and protracted introduction of the new mathemati­cal concepts, hence demonstrating at least the possi­bility that there might exist a world beyond Bayes. The point hereby is that, following some 30 years of dedicated, persistent, persuasive and sometimes even convincing Bayesian didactics, parts of the ar­chaeological community have developed academic traits that future prehistorians could possibly de­scribe as Bayesian entanglement. Having motivated both the necessity and possibility for a change in the mathematical foundation of the 14C-calibration procedure, there comes the point where we must actually depart from the world of Bayesian 14C-ana­lysis. Unfortunately, there does not appear to exist a slow and continuous transition from Bayes-based proba­bility theory to the quantum theory needed in 14C­analysis. Notwithstanding all that has been achieved in the last 30 years, Bayesian 14C-analysis now ap­pears to us to be an increasingly reckless journey, with routine passage yet moving at rather too high speed along a not well-constructed road. In compa­rison, and judging from the experience as formulat­ed in practically all text-books, the transition from classical physics to quantum theory is inevitably ab­rupt. Quite simply, there is no slow and easy transi­tion. One accustoms oneself to the new concepts, which takes a bit of time, and soon forgets how much the world has changed. To motivate the read­er towards the realization that this transition is be­neficial, and also in the context of 14C-analysis, we provide a review of the paper by John Skilling and Kevin H. Knuth, entitled ‘The Symmetrical Founda­tion of Measure, Probability, and Quantum Theory’ (Skilling, Knuth 2019). New concepts of probabilistic 14C-analysis Then, having introduced (in the Appendix) the 14C­calibration as a Fourier transform, which is imme­diately operative in an abstract vector (so-called: Hil­bert) space, we are prepared for the corresponding conceptual switch in probabilistic 14C-analysis. The main change will be to replace the traditional (one-dimensional) concept of 14C-dating probability by a two-dimensional probability. This is entirely analo­gous to the corresponding definition of probability as used in quantum physics, where the (measurable) probability of finding a wave/particle at a certain point in time/space is based on the squared magni­tude of its amplitude: the so-called Born rule. When adapted to the needs of 14C-analysis, application of the modulus-squared Born rule leads us to recognize the 14C-dating probability is not well described as an area under the curve of the graph that shows the summed calibrated Gaussians. Instead, and in mathe­matically more satisfactory terms, it is possible (for the special purposes of archaeological 14C-analysis) to define a Fourier-based dating probability as pro­duct of the amplitudes of two distributions given on the two scales (i.e. 14C and calendric). Formulas for the 14C-based Born probability are given in the Ap­pendix [10]. In principle, what has up to now been termed a calibrated probability distribution (CPD) we now call a wave-function. This terminology is chosen due to the incomplete scaling properties of the calibrated distribution. The actually measurable (what we call gauged) dating probability is instead represented as a rectangular (two-dimensional) area that can be projected onto the calibration curve. But we can project such probability rectangles, if re­quested, onto other components of the calibration system. The flexibility of the new gauge-probability concept is illustrated first in Figure 1, by construc­tion of the entire sequence of major calibration curve plateaus for INTCAL20, then again in Figure 2, by gauge-seriation of the recently published strati­fied Gravettian 14C-data from Abri Pataud (Douka et al. 2019), but without the need for stratification mo-delling, and finally in Figure 3, by showing the wave-function (alias CPD) for 2543 14C-ages from Greece and Crete (data: Katsianis et al. 2020) in graphic comparison with the underlying (N=303) archaeolo­gical sites, with automated site-seriation. As for the first example (Fig. 1), up to now the pla­teaus of the calibration curve have been known mainly for their precision-limiting properties, which were qualitatively defined. When quantified, as it turns out, the plateaus have all the necessary pro­perties to be interpreted as measurable (modulus squared) dating probabilities in Born’s sense. As for the second example (Fig. 2), we note that in a typi­cal archaeological 14C-data set there are usually many open (i.e. not automatically given) probability measures, but which can be chosen (i.e. gauged) by the observer. As illustrated here for the Gravettian sequence at Abri Pataud, already by the simple measure of cho­osing one gauge for the total data we achieve a four­fold separation of the underlying archaeological Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough Fig. 1. Automated plateau-box construction for calibration curve INTCAL20 (green line) based on gauge integration in the age range 0–55 ka cal BP. Input: Dirac comb with N=55000 equidistant INTCAL20-de­rived samples measured at s =±100 BP. Output: 14C-histogram and back-calibrated summed probability distribution (SPD: black curve) with gauge-probabilities (red-lines) set at p=50% SPD-amplitude. Lower in­sert: NGRIP stable oxygen d 18O isotope data on GICCO5 timescale (Anderson et al. 2006). Note the inte­resting correlation of certain plateau rectangles with onset of major Greenland Interstadials (cf. Wenin­ger 2020). units. The methodological point of interest here is that the choice of a gauge meets the expectation of a probability definition, but without need for its in­terpretation as an archaeological hypothesis. The gauge is no more, nor less, than an explorative tool. What we have done, in this case, is to slowly (on-screen) move the gauge-level up and down an arbi­trary gauge scale (0 L g L 100%), in search of a gauge-value for which the corresponding rectangles just start touching each other. The results are in im­mediate agreement with the thoroughly detailed chrono-stratigraphic analysis by Katerina Douka et al. (2020). Importantly, qua construction method, for whatever gauge we choose, the rectangles cannot overlap, nor can they occupy the same area. In mea­sure theory, what we call ‘gauging’ is a standard pro­cedure used to assign Lebesgue measures (in place of probabilities) to subsets of the study data. As a third illustration of the new Fourier-based dating concepts, Figure 3 shows the 14C-demographic chro­nology of Greece (including Crete and the Aegean islands) for the last 12 000 years, based on the re­cently published database of Antonio Katsianis et al. (2020). Of particular interest, we note (1), the broad­ly synchronous end of the eastern Mediterranean wet period of Sapropel S1 and abrupt onset of Ra­pid Climate Change (RCC) conditions (6.2 ka cal ~ BP), with the major settlement gap (6.2–5.0 ka cal BP), that is very clearly observable not only in the summed 14C-data, but also on site level (cf. Wenin­ger et al. 2009), as well as (2), the need for further studies on methods of automated multi-phase site discrimination. To conclude this overview, all we are doing by intro­ducing these new physics-based concepts into the world of 14C-analysis is to fully account for the ma­thematical description of 14C-calibration as a Fourier transform. Within this mathematical setting there may be a need for technical changes in the algori­ Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration thms used in calibration software, other than in Cal-Pal, which is a matter for each reader to judge for themselves. As for changing the underpinning theo­ry, we can readily imagine a combined Fourier-Baye­sian statistical approach, whereby the calibration is performed on the basis of the Fourier transform, and then archaeological age-modelling is run within a Bayesian framework. In an engineering context, such a combined approach is viable, if it is based on tried and proven research where the priors are well understood and therefore less subjective. In prac­tice, the choice of specific likelihood functions need­ed to make Bayesian revisions to a given engineer­ing risk assessment remains difficult to justify. This is especially so when the supporting information for a given prior does not originate from a relatively straightforward process of statistical sampling (Wink­ler 1996). For example, although NASA sometimes uses specific likelihood functions as part of their high-profile assessments to minimize potentially ca­tastrophic space-flight related risks, the use of Bayes-based risk assessment usually occurs when the rele­vant engineering constraints involved are already clearly established, for instance after the thorough testing of key mechanical components. Somewhat surprisingly, however, our reading of the available literature suggests that probabilistic risk assessments made by NASA still do not rely heavily on Bayes-based statistical methods, despite huge increases in computational power now available since the Apol­lo program (Lutomski 2013). Bayesian 14C-rationality As mentioned in the introduction, some five years have passed since Pettitt and Zilhao (2015) conclud­ed that many existing Bayesian age models are faulty. Our present topic, however, is something very different. Do not be concerned, we will not be scan­ning the increasingly vast Bayesian 14C-literature in search of some slightly imperfect age-model, let alone in pursuit of some unfortunate sub-optimal ar­chaeological prior. Instead, we will be addressing the one important question that has not yet been widely studied: why must the application of radiocarbon dating always (under all conditions) be based on Ba­yesian research methodology? Isaac Newton’s hypotheses hon fingo As stated above, the Fourier transform is a promis­ing alternative to Bayes, not only in technical but also conceptual terms. An example, recently demon­strated in Bernhard Weninger (2020), is the possibi­lity to perform automated seriation of hundreds of 14C-dated archaeological sites (assuming the under­lying data is truly representative of said sites), with­out need for development of further archaeological hypotheses post-excavation. In terms of in many cases expendable archaeological modelling, otherwise the very hallmark of Bayesian 14C-analysis, this is remi­niscent of the statement hypotheses non fingo by Isaac Newton, who wrote in an essay ‘General Scho­lium’ that was added to the second edition (1713) of his Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy (first edition: 1686 – commonly abbreviated Principia), which included the follo­wing: “Hitherto I have not been able to dis­cover the cause of those properties of gravity from phenomena, and I frame no hypotheses, hypotheses non Fig. 2. Application of the probabi­lity-gauge sequencing method to a Gravettian 14C-data set from Abri Pataud (Douka et al. 2020). Data in­put: N=27 14C-ages from Doukas et al. (2020.Fig. 4). Red rectangles: 2D­Born-probabilities for applied g=9% gauge. Blue rectangles: Results of Ba­yesian sequencing based on sample-grouping by different levels and stra­tigraphical level-modelling. Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough Fig. 3. 14C-Demographic chronology of Greece and Crete based on data of Katsianis et al. (2020), in con­text with climate records, A Lake Neor (NW-Iran) dust flux as proxy for the Siberian High (Sharafi et al. 2015; cf. Mayewski et al. 1997) and for Rapid Climate Change (RCC) (most recently: Rohling et al. 2019); B GISP2 ice-core . 18O as proxy for Greenland surface air temperature Grootes et al. (1993); C N=2543 summed calibrated 14C-ages from Greece & Crete (database: Katsianis et al. 2020); D Barcode Seriation of 303 sites from same database (unfiltered; all sites with . 3 dates shown) with gauge=40% and leading edge timing (cf. Weninger 2020). Vertical shading: periods with extreme climate variability. Upper hori­zontal shading: E-Mediterranean Sapropel S1 with subdivisions S1a & S1b as proxy for moist conditions, with dry/cold RCC-interruption 8.6–8.0 ka cal BP (cf. Schmiedl et al. 2010). Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration fingo; and hypotheses, whether metaphysical or physical, whether of occult qualities or mechani­cal, have no place in experimental philosophy. In this philosophy particular propositions are inferred from the phenomena and afterwards rendered ge­neral by induction.” Interestingly, this quite unusual description of what makes science rational (and clearly based on New­ton’s long experience with the topic), was formulat­ed by Newton some 100 years prior to Thomas Ba­yes’ publication of ‘An Essay Towards Solving a Problem in the Doctrine of Chances’ (1763). Ac­cording to the historical analysis by Abigail E. Bell (1942), Newton’s main intention with this statement is “to keep science clear of metaphysical entan­glements”. A more recent analysis of the hypotheses non fingo statement is by Scott Milner (2018), who makes the important point that certain disciplines may have good reason to not be hypothesis driven. Correspondingly, his paper is entitled ‘Newton Didn’t Frame Hypotheses – why should we?’ As an exam­ple, the rationality of which presumably only few would find reason to doubt, Scott Milner reminds us of Albert Einstein’s studies on gravitation. These were indeed (to begin with) so purely theoretical that – we may add – Einstein himself was apparent­ly quite astonished that his theory could actually be used to forecast a measurable astronomical effect, the advance of Mercury’s perihelion that was ob­served in 1915, where Einstein had not planned for his gravitation theory to measure such effects. Let us go a step further. The two approaches of Newton and Einstein are almost diametrically opposed. Ap­plying modern terminology, whereas Newton’s gra­vitational studies are largely experimental, Einstein’s studies are primarily theoretical (unless we decide that Gedankenexperiments are experiments). Hence, we have in both comparisons the unique chance to study the true potential of Bayes’ theorem, in terms of what would happen (Aristoteles’: teloV), should we swap the two sets of paired input variables, na­mely q=Theory and D=Data in Bayes’ theorem (cf Eq. 1). The result (see below for further discussion of the structure of Bayes’ theorem) is – nothing. Namely, for neither of the two aforementioned sci­entists does the application of Bayes’ theorem ap­pear to have been important. For Newton this is tri­vially true, by virtue of his having lived before Ba­yes. For Einstein we conclude the same, since for his research the application of Bayes’ theorem was either unnecessary, or using it never occurred to Einstein, which amounts to the same. The following quote is what Einstein actually writes in a paper sub­mitted to the Prussian Academy of Sciences in 1915 (i.e. prior to the famous experimental confirmation, in 1919, of Einstein’s predicted bending of light in strong gravitational fields): “In der vorliegenden Arbeit finde ich eine wich­tige Bestätigung dieser radikalsten Relativitätsthe­orie; es zeigt sich nämlich, daß sie die von LEVER­RIER entdeckte säkulare Drehung der Merkurbahn im Sinne der Bahnbewegung, welche etwa 45“ im Jahrhundert beträgt qualitativ und quantitativ er­klärt, ohne daß irgendwelche besondere Hypothe­se zugrunde gelegt werden müßte.“ (Einstein 1915; taken from von Meyenn 1990.234). “In this paper I find an important confirmation of this most radical relativity theory; it is shown, na­mely, that this theory explains both qualitatively and quantitatively the secular advance of Mer­cury’s orbital movement discovered by LEVERRIER, and which amounts to around 45” per century, without need for the formulation of any particular hypothesis.” (Our translation). Although Einstein’s version of the hypotheses non fingo statement is clearly different from Newton’s, it is similarly non-Bayesian. In physics, just as in bio­logy and other disciplines, it is not always helpful to first devise hypotheses and subsequently test them (unless we decide that Gedankenexperiments are hypotheses). This applies similarly to quantum string theory (as is well known), as well as to prehi­storic archaeology (as is less apparent), although one could argue that Bayes-based approaches to radio­carbon dating in archaeology are often more about parameter estimation than hypothesis testing, an in­teresting point that could be made much clearer in much more published research. Bayes’ theorem According to Bayes’ theorem (Eq. 1), in a formal re­presentation taken from Skilling and Knuth (2019), the probability (i.e. scaled truth values 0–100%) of achieved (output) posterior results is not only de­pendent on the truth value of the empirical (input) evidence, but also on the validity of the (input) prior belief. Both can be seen in normal scientific proce­dures, because yes, we learn by experience. What is more remarkable is the formal structure of Bayes’ theorem, and in particular its symmetry: [Eq. 1] P(q) · P(D|q) = P(D) · P(q|D) Bayes’ Prior·Likelihood = Evidence·Posterior theorem Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough As it appears, the Bayes formula is entirely sym­metric in terms of probabilities p(q) and p(D) that are formulated for variables q=Theory and D=Data, as well as for the conditional probabilities p(q|D) and p(D|q). As a consequence, it would be easily possible – with no methodological restriction – to reformulate the Bayes formula, with a commuta­tive switch in the positions of variables q and D. We would then not only have q=Data and D=Theory, but the earlier priors would turn into evidence, the previous posteriors would become past likelihoods, and we could even swap their pairwise multiplica­tion, with no change at all in what is termed ‘Baye­sian inference’. This wonderfully open structure of Bayes’ theorem becomes yet more apparent when its four different components are introduced as sym­bolic variables. Let us call them A, B, C, D. It then follows that A·B = C·D. By solving Equation 1 for each of its variables, we recognize the existence of a total of four distinct possibilities of division by zero (A=(C·D)/B, or B=(C·D)/A, or C=D/(A·B), or D= A·B)/C), that we should avoid under all circumstan­ces. Beyond this seemingly minor caveat, the symmetric (commutative) Bayesian entanglement of ‘Theory’ and ‘Experiment’ is most remarkable and, to our knowledge, would find its closest analogue not in Popperian falsifiability (a widely assumed funda­ment of scientific rationality), but rather more in the more flexible (historiographic) scientific philosophies of Thomas Kuhn and Paul Feierabend. There are other philosophies of rationality that have accom­panied the development – in our case – of quantum theory, ranging from the Copenhagen interpreta­tion through Many worlds to Bohm’s Hidden-vari­able theory, and others. When applying Bayes’ theorem to 14C-applications in a single calibration the 14C-measurement (on the 14C-scale) is the likelihood function, and an updated probability is seen on the calendrical scale. In more complex Bayes-based 14C models the calendar date-ranges become the likelihood functions in the para­meter estimation process. Although this provides an extremely flexible methodological approach for many researchers, we urge that much more thought about this complex process is now required. The fun­damental scientific rationality that underlines the expression of Bayes’ theorem in radiocarbon calibra­tion is best illustrated by the following story. Once, when asked whether he truly believed that the hor­seshoe hung above his door would bring him luck, Nils Bohr apparently replied: “No, but I am told that they bring luck even to those who do not believe in them.” Lurking in the shadow of Bayes-based 14C­calibration, is the danger of wrongly applying mul­tiple normalization to distributions that only look as if they were defined on two independent time­scales. In reality, there is only one distribution (or horseshoe) which is defined on two domains. Symmetrical foundation of measure, proba­bility, and quantum theories Having updated Bayes’ theorem in perhaps a some­what idiosyncratic manner, but nevertheless in ad­miration of Bayesian rationality, we can make some further positive reference (despite remaining ca­veats) to the study of John Skilling and Kevin H. Knuth (2019), entitled Symmetrical foundation of measure, probability, and quantum theories. One of their claims – and this contrasts nicely with some­times more sophisticated ones – is that “there is no mystery or weirdness about quantum theory”. The supposedly simple reason for this finding is that quantum theory contains nothing but ordinary pro­babilistic inference. Well, although we would really like to accept such a mysterious statement, unfor­tunately Skilling and Knuth (2019), leave aside the discussion of the one single and altogether most im­portant property that all quantum theories have, and that is the noncommutativity of certain paired vari­ables, such as impulse/momentum and energy/time. We will return to the corresponding question of the 14C-related noncommutativity below. As for Bayes’ theorem, having stated its fundamental importance as being the foundation of rational inference, Skil­ling and Knuth (2019) conclude that it contains the “same simple laws of proportion that apply wide­ly elsewhere”. Indeed, that is exactly the structure A·B=C·D of the Bayes formula that we have recog­nized, above. Henceforth, and now accepting that both quantum theory and Bayes’ theory have cer­tain limits and restrictions (although in our view, Bayes may well have more of both), why not com­bine both methods? Such was the very proposal we put forward some time ago (Weninger et al. 2011). In the meantime, we must concede allowance for a change in opinion. Our recently derived notion is that a satisfactory mathematical foundation of 14C-calibration can in­deed be found in quantum theory, which no longer requires the expedient and computationally more expensive use of Bayes’ theorem. Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration What is non-classical probability theory? The earliest (detailed) suggestion that probabilistic 14C-calibration can be based upon Bayes’ theorem can be found in a seminal paper by Dehling and van der Plicht (1993), where it is based on the following arguments (ebda.244): ”Mathematical pitfalls can cause calibration pro­cedures to contradict classical formulas ... We show that these ambiguities can be understood in terms of classical and Bayesian approaches to statistical theory. The classical formulas correspond to a uni­form prior distribution along the BP axis, the [Ba­yesian] calibration procedure to a uniform prior distribution along the calendar axis. We argue that the latter is the correct choice, i.e. the [Bayesian] computer programs used for radiocarbon calibra­tion are correct.” We have here the proposal, that – thanks to Bayes – we may now relax and remain forever (as it were) reassured that the mathematical procedure of 14C­calibration is Bayesian, and is furthermore best ap­plied from the perspective of the calendar axis. From a technical perspective, we agree. This is an optimal and expedient approach. It avoids the problems of division by zero that inevitably occur when the cali­bration algorithm is run from a 14C-scale perspec- Fig. 4. Blue curve: Summed Calibrated Probability Distribution (SCPD) for 5464 14C-ages from 1147 archaeological sites in South America. Red curve: same data with 400-year moving average. Both graphs are redrawn from Goldberg et al. (2016; ebda.Fig. 3b). The authors suggest that the recur­ring mid-Holocene peaks and troughs (9 ka to 5.5 ka) cannot be explained by calibration artefacts. We suspect that the spikes are not real. They are anomalies caused by secondary normalization. tive. To this point, however, we note that never once during some 35 years’ experience with the inverse calibration from the perspective of the calendric time-scale have we experienced a problem with di­vision by zero. This is despite the fact that, in 14C­calibration, there are all kinds of potentially threat­ening problems of this type (Bohr’s Horseshoe). The choice of an expedient algorithm, alone, does not make the underlying process Bayesian. Although it is described and even recommended as Bayesian by Dehling and van der Plicht (1993), in actual fact the algorithm is simply identical to the procedure described seven years earlier by Weninger (1986). In that paper, however, no mention is made of Ba­yes’ theorem. Instead, it mentions the existence of an unresolved normalization problem, one which still exists today, but which is now so deeply con­cealed inside Bayes’ theorem that is hiding in plain sight, producing one publication after another of cu­riously spiky summed calibrated radiocarbon proba­bility distributions. Even more remarkable is how often authors and reviewers do not recognize these spikes as critically serious anomalies (Fig. 4) The cause of calibration spikes The cause of the spikes is, however, easily under­stood using Fourier transform theory. Following the initial construction of the Gaussian on the 14C-scale (which has an inbuilt area=1 normalization), during (or following) 14C-calibration there is no need for further normalization. Under a Fourier transform there is only one function. Hence, once it is norma­lized, there is no reason to normalize the same func­tion, that is already normalized, a second time. The unnecessary application of secondary SPD-normali­zation is confirmed by Enrico R. Crema and Andrew Bevan (2020). Shape correction of 14C-histograms Many papers have been published with approaches that need either shape correction of archaeological and environmental 14C-histograms (e.g., Stolk et al. 1994), summed calibrated distributions (e.g., Wil­liams et al. 2012), or else – more recently – for their Bayesian counterparts in the form of kernel density plots (Bronk Ramsey 2017; Feeser et al. 2019; Lof­tus et al. 2019; Capuzzo et al. 2020; Mazzucco et al. 2020). An idea common to all these approaches is that since we can relate the existence of certain peaks, troughs, or spikes in the diagrams to the cal­ibration curve shape, we expect it should be possi­ble to apply an appropriate correction to the histo­ Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough gram shape (on one or the other scale). Some re­searchers prefer just to get rid of the spike-anoma­lies by smoothing. However, when smoothing the spikes to get rid of them they are still there, albeit obscured. In contrast, and quite simply, because with a Fourier transform the spikes are not pro­duced, there is nothing that would require smooth­ing let alone correction. Even for the peaks and troughs many researchers are falling victim here to the misleading language developed long ago by ra­diocarbon specialists, who with good intention em­phasize (sometimes even today) that measured 14C­ages are older than expected by archaeologists, but which require age-corrections to allow for the secu­lar variations in atmospheric 14C-contents, and that these corrections can be achieved by a procedure called “14C-age calibration”. Unfortunately for the validity of this hypothesis, although fortunately for nature, nobody has yet demonstrated the feasibility of applying corrections to any of the many global physical processes that God (apparently with great wisdom) has undertaken great efforts so that hu­mankind cannot understand them, at least not im­mediately. The conceptual difficulty in our view, is not the actual histogram correction. The problem is escaping from the illusion that this normalization/ correction really is useful, even when achieved. Based on extensive modelling experiments, our pre­vious (and still valid) conclusion (Weninger et al. 2015) is that an (apparent) histogram shape correc­tion is indeed possible, although it only seemingly works correctly, and only then under very limited ideal modelling conditions, and that is for extreme­ly dense and exactly uniform sample distributions, and which only contain 14C-ages with exactly equal 14C-standard deviations. Yet, even under these ideal modelling conditions the actually achieved perfect correction of the 14C-histogram shape, under clos­er scrutiny it is nothing more than a chimera or ma­thematical anomaly, as it were; we see no reason that this should only apply to the non-Bayesian his­togram method. Instead – and this is what we now conclude – as a result of the Fourier transform there appears to exist some kind of fundamental mathe­matical rule that not only restricts, but actually for­bids the histogram shape correction. This restriction, in the language of quantum theory, surely has to do with the uncertainty relation (see below) and is maybe even indicative for what physicists call the second quantization. This is a concept first intro­duced in 1927 by Paul Dirac, in order to generalize the application of quantum theory from single-par­ticle to multi-particle systems. From the experiments described in Weninger et al. (2015), it looks as if – under the Fourier transform – we have yet to learn more about the statistical laws that large sets of 14C­ages apparently follow. For data sets that contain indistinguishable Bosons (i.e. large sets of 14C-ages with identical standard deviations; in the language of Fourier transform: waves with identical frequen­cy, such as lasers), new phenomena emerge that took physicists considerable time to figure out. As is today well known in quantum theory, the proper­ties of multi-particle systems that contain indistin­guishable particles (bosons: examples are magnets, lasers, supra-conductivity) can be very different from systems that contain distinguishable particles (fer­mions: examples are electrons forced to occupy dif­ferent atomic states under the Pauli exclusion prin­ciple). Under appropriate statistical conditions, as in 14C-analysis under the Fourier transform, we may therefore confidently expect many of the larger (multi-body) assemblages of 14C-bosons to have exactly the statistical properties as those described above, and which we unwittingly stumbled over, in our efforts to understand why it is so clearly impos­sible to find a correct histogram shape-correction. With this explanation we can replace the previous description, which Aristophanes may have termed “perfect cloud-cuckoo-land” (Hall, Geldart 1906. 820; boulei Nejelokokkugian) by a somewhat more technical description: we are looking at a sec­ond (deeper) level of quantization. Single Gaussian quantization What we presently know, at least, is that the impos­sibility of correct histogram shape-correction not only applies to larger sets of 14C-ages, but already to single 14C-ages. This forecasting (again under non-Bayesian conditions) may sound curious if not out­right wrong. Surely it is obvious that a single short-lived sample cannot possibly store the atmospheric 14C-content for any of the years before (or after) it was actually growing, and even more impossible, if we haven’t yet 14C-dated the sample? Indeed. Never­theless, we are in a quantum system. Therein, and whether we like it or not: 14C-ages follow the rules of the Fourier transform. The point being, we do not know the sample age. The direct (and famous) ana­logy to quantum physics for this forecasting would be that, within a double-slit experiment, the wave/ particle can show interference with itself. An opti­cal diffraction-pattern is observed, curiously, even when the intensity of the incoming particles is so strongly reduced that at any one moment there is only one single particle in the system. This particle, Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration we suppose, can only pass through one, or the other, of the two slits, but not both at the same time. There are many online illustrations of optical diffraction-patterns that are produced when single particles are allowed to build up an interference pattern on a screen, even though they arrive one by one. The Santorini dilemma As an alternative to reproducing one of the easily accessible Thomas Young’s interference graphs, in Figure 5 we have assembled from the literature some empirical data for the Santorini eruption. This may serve as an archaeologically more compelling illus­tration for the occurrence of wave diffraction pat­terns under a Fourier transform, and which also illu­strates Young’s interference. What first emerges is a picture that shows how com­plicated single-event 14C-dating can be, even under quasi-ideal research conditions. The unresolved ra­diometric problems for the Santorini dating include the possibility of interlaboratory offsets in the order of ±10 BP, in parallel to further issues concerning the existence of geographic and seasonal reservoir offsets, in the same order of magnitude (Manning et al. 2020). In terms of actually dating the Santorini eruption, as illustrated in Figure 5 the scales are even today still well balanced between the alterna­tive (high-middle-low) chronological hypotheses. This is not the place to advocate one or the other chronology. But it is interesting to see how the scales are now re-balancing in support of an intermediate date in the middle of the 16th century cal BC (Fan­tuzzi 2018; Pearson et al. 2020), or even younger. Looking at Figure 5 we can see that the now 10-year old statement by Malcolm H. Wiener (2009.203) is as true as ever: “Most radiocarbon measurements fall within the oscillating portion of the radiocar­bon curve, which makes it impossible to distin­guish dates between 1615 and 1525 BC”. A pathway to the solution is proposed below. From the methodological perspective, and foremost appa­rent, is that the error-simulated calibrated distribu­tions (corresponding to high-low shifted input 14C­Gaussians) shown in Figure 5 have properties that are similar to the above-mentioned optical single-particle diffraction-pattern. In principle, although we are comparing here a physical system (optics) with a mathematical structure (14C-calibration), both have the same underlying cause. Namely, when viewed from the perspective of a Fourier transform, both single-particle Young’s interference as well as single-date 14C-calibration can be mathematically de­scribed as transformations that decompose sharp/ compact input signals (Gaussians) into output sig­nals (dispersed waves) that have widely oscillating amplitudes at high frequencies Under such conditions, a suitable research concept would be to temporarily refrain from further efforts to obtain a direct 14C-based Santorini eruption date. It appears unlikely that the necessary natural scien­tific variables will be clarified in the near future (de­cadal scale). Pottery dating by correspondence analysis A promising solution to the Santorini Dilemma, from an archaeological perspective, would be to expand on the already now available dating preci­sion of c. ±20 yrs (95% confidence). This is not any futuristic dating precision, but the starting precision for statistical seriation of Mycenaean pottery found in Helladic and Minoan deposits. As demonstrated in Figure 6 for the pottery data published by Arne Fu­rumark (1972a,b), this dating precision is an order of magnitude (factor 10) better than achieved by single-particle 14C-Fourier analysis at Santorini. Naturally, Furumark’s classification needs much up­dating and geographic extension in Helladic and Mi­noan pottery studies. His study was completed in 1940 (Furumark 1972a.15). It is 80 years old. Hence, when updated, the precision achieved with the CA is likely to increase (we hypothesize). Let’s put it another way. Santorini is one site, but one which has attracted and focussed considerable at­tention for quite some long time. Of course, it is an important site. Yet, by CA-application, it is possible – based on an updated pottery database and clas­sification that can be readily constructed from the literature – to provide a large number of archaeolo­gical sites with high-precision pottery dates, simul­taneously, for many regions of the eastern Mediter­ranean. Furthermore, if this work is initiated, we may forecast the discovery of many more Santorini-type dating discrepancies than are presently known. Put differently, we forecast that the now well-stud­ied Santorini Dilemma will be widely observable, and similarly CA-resolvable, at other sites in the eastern Mediterranean. As an important component of this dating program, there will be need for the critical combination of large numbers of 14C-mea­surements and historical dates. There will be little need, however, for further distraction of the archa­eological research by localized dating controversies. Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough The distinction between classical and Bayesian theory Another rather knotty problem of the assumed 14C­foundation in Bayes’ theorem pertains to the dis­tinction, also introduced by Dehling and van der Plicht (1993), that we should differentiate between classical and Bayesian approaches to statistical the­ory. This is easier to understand than the difference between a probability and likelihood ratio (function). In this case it is quite simply the terminology used by Dehling and van der Plicht (1993) that contrasts with much of the language used in physics. In phy­sics the classical version of a theory is always the one that uses commutative variables (and which re­minds us of Isaac Newton), whereby quantum theo­ry supports the analysis of noncommutative vari­ables (esteemed names like Werner Heisenberg, Paul Dirac, and John Neumann spring to mind). We will return to Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle below. Fig. 5. Calibration of the 14C-scale weighted average 3345±8 BP for the Minoan eruption (Akrotiri Volca­nic Destruction Level) from Manning et al. (2014) (blue Gaussians) and two shifted (high-low) dates in the range of 20 BP (grey Gaussians) against INTCAL20 (Reimer et al. 2020). Graphic-overlay of annual tree-ring data from Pearson et al. (2018; 2020). Note: (1) The Arizona-lab data (green bars) by Pearson et al. (2018) is included in INTCAL20 construction, but not (red bars) the data by Pearson et al. (2020); (2) INTCAL20 is not only based on Arizona lab data (cf. Reimer et al. 2020; Heaton et al. 2020). Due to unresolved interlab variability, unknown growth-season, and possible geographic carbon-cycle differen­ces, each in the range ±10 BP, this comparison indicates that even ±8 BP dating precision is not suffi­cient at the present stage of research to gain a final solution on the Minoan eruption dating. Ultimately, this is due to unknown error propagation in a Fourier transform that is very sensitive to high-frequen­cy signal fluctuation. A good analogue for the Santorini dating dilemma, next to optical Young interfe­rence, is a faulty electrical connection (in German Wackelkontakt). Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration but with later repetition B for the same sample (a=b) and with A=B [BP]. The comparison of Figure 7 (A,B,C, D) illustrates that even when we are truly desperate in a chronolo­gical study to achieve highest pos­sible (calibrated) dating precision, it seldom helps to repeat the 14C­measurement on the same sample. This is because the repeat measu­rement (performed on the 14C-do­main) does not provide any signi­ficant enhancement of the calibrat­ed sample age (viewed on the ca-lendric domain), even under ideal conditions. From the perspective of the Fourier transform, all that is achieved by repeating the measu- Fig. 6. Seriation of Furumark’s pottery/decoration types by corres-rement on the 14C-scale is to re-pondence analysis. The horseshoe shape of the distribution allows place an already existing particle to establish the relative order and relative chronology with a preci- with its identical copy. sion (1st order estimate) of ±20 yrs (95%-confidence), often better. Data: Furumark (1972). Note: the estimated dating precision is va- A humorous illustration that de­ lidated for excavation units (not shown) from Kalapodi, Lefkandi, and Mycenae (Granary). In quantum physics, it is the uncertainty principle in particular that is associated with practically all known quantum properties of atomic and nuclear states, and of elementary particles, such that it is un­derstood as responsible (generic) for all observed quantization effects. From a mathematical perspec­tive, in 14C-analysis just as in quantum physics, the uncertainty principle follows directly from the ma­thematical properties of the Fourier transform. The noncommutativity of 14C-ages In analogy to the double-slit experiment, Figure 7 shows the 14C-Fourier transform of a Gaussian-shap­ed 14C-measurement. This figure recalls that when 14C-ages are calibrated, different results are achieved, depending on whether the mathematical operation of averaging is performed on the 14C-scale (before calibration) or calendric scale (after calibration). In mathematical terminology, this property of the 14C­calibration operator is known as noncommutative. From the description of 14C-calibration as a Fourier transform, it follows naturally that one and the same mathematical function can have different appear­ances, depending on the domain from which it is visualized. This is illustrated in Figure 7 (A-D) for ini­tially only one Gaussian 14C-measurement, called A, monstrates how deeply the Fourier transform is embedded within quantum theory is derived from the so-called One-Electron Universe hypothesis of John Wheeler and Richard Feynman. According to the story told by Jagdis Mehra, in his splendid description of Richard Feynman’s scientif­ic and other achievements, it so happened that: “... at about the same time, in the fall of 1940, Feyn­man received a telephone call from John Wheeler at the Graduate College in Princeton, in which he said that he knew why all electrons have the same charge and the same mass. ‘Why?’ asked Feynman, and Wheeler replied, ‘Because they are all one and the same electron.” (Mehra 1996.113) This so-called One-Electron Universe is illustrated in Figure 8.A-B. It shows three wobbly lines drawn to represent the individual world-lines of three dif­ferent electrons, called Particles 1, 2 and 3. But now, as shown in Figure 8.C, after turning the graph by 90° the same graph (with minor changes) has every appearance of the 14C-age calibration curve, such that, even with only one 14C-Gaussian to be cali­brated, this one Gaussian may have any number of different calibrated ages. Note, however, that the analogy between the One-Electron-Joke (OEJ), the Calibration Curve (CC) and the Fourier Transform Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough (FT) is only valid for the CC-FT comparison, but strict­ly speaking not for OEJ-FT, for scaling reasons given in the Appendix Nr: [7]. First quantization properties (single and group­ed 14C-dates) Such properties of 14C-dates we call first quantiza­tion, and these are omnipresent in archaeological 14C-analysis. They have an amplitude far beyond the statistical noise of the 14C-measurements. The first quantization properties of 14C-dates can be clas­sified according to their occurrence for single dates, data groups, and data series. Single 14C-dates . Lock-in of numeric age-values for confidence in­tervals (e.g., 95% or 68%) that are used to abbre­viate calendric-scale age distributions, also for mul­tiple disjunct intervals . Separation of calendric-scale confidence intervals into multiple disjunct regions . Dispersal of the calibrated Gaussian and its sepa­ration into different components on the calendric timescale . Lateral shift of the calibrated median along the ca-lendric time-scale . Dispersal and lateral shift of the area normalized Gaussian on the 14C-scale . Probability values assigned to multiple disjunct intervals seldom sum to 100%. Data groups For larger sets of radiocarbon ages (Data Groups) the properties assigned to the individual 14C-ages are all similarly observable, but combine to produce the following new quantization effects: . clustering of 14C-ages on the 14C-scale; . clustering of readings on the calendric time-scale; . attraction of 14C-ages towards predefined inter­vals on the 14C-scale; . attraction of calendric readings toward as prede­fined intervals on the calendric scale. Fig. 7. Illustration of the noncommutative properties of 14C-calibration and construction of gauge-pla­teaus for (input) single 14C-domain Gaussian and (output) double-reading calendric domain quasi-Gaus­sians. Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration Second quantization properties (grouped 14C­data) For archaeologically sequenced or otherwise tempo­rally seriated data sets (Structured Data Groups) all quantization effects noted above for Single 14C-dates and data groups are known to occur, but under cer­tain conditions some new effects – we call second quantization – can be observed. Above, we have al­ready attributed the non-correctability of the histo­gram shape to so-called second quantization effects. As a reminder, these become observable for large assemblages of indistinguishable particles, in our case for large 14C-data sets of closely packed and equidistant samples, best observable when all 14C­measurements have equal standard deviations. We then have sets of bosons. Second quantization properties (seriated 14C­data) Quite generally, the second (boson-analog) quantiza­tion is more difficult to recognize than the First, but not because it is weaker. Simply, it occurs mainly for larger data sets, and under certain conditions, but which are relatively rare. By theoretical considera­tion, we would expect such effects not only to occur for weakly coupled (i.e. grouped) 14C-data, but to be even more visible for more strongly coupled (i.e. se­riated) data, such as tree-ring sequences. In such cases, indeed, the pre-established sample order can be so strong as to completely prevent (inhibit) any changes in the structure of the data set. Nonetheless, since the quantization effects cannot be turned off, they are still operative. What happens? Radiocarbon quantization: frozen data struc­tures Take by way of example a tree-ring sequence of 14C­ages with precisely measured (say error-free) calen­dric-scale distances between the samples. In such a data set the sample order is so tightly restricted that the internal structure of the data set is – so to say – frozen. In this frozen state, when fitted to the cali­bration curve the remaining (only possible) quanti­zation reaction is to increase the number of best-fit calendric ages en bloc for the entire data set. In con­sequence, the only remaining reaction is that the wiggle-matching will show multiple (logically alter­native) best-fit solutions. We have observed this ef­fect, and what we now call Frozen Data Structures, in many wiggle-matching studies. Although present­ly without formal proof, the occurrence of such fro­zen subset components is what we presently hypo­thesize has caused block-wise age distortion in Baye­sian sequencing at Assiros (North Greece, Late Bronze Age), in this case for a mixture of strongly coupled Fig. 8. A-B the One-Electron Universe hypothesis of Wheeler and Feynman. Redrawn from Mehra (1996. Fig.5.1, 5.2); C comparison with 14C-Age Calibration System. Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough tree-ring sequences and weakly coupled bone data (Gimatzidis, Weninger 2020.ebda.Fig. 2). Nonethe­less, we acknowledge, such properties of sequenced 14C-data sets are presently at the limit of visibility. Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle Given that even the most precisely fitting 14C-data sets (e.g., tree-ring sequences) show such strong ca­libration lock-in effects, we may expect that – ulti­mately – there must exist a generally applicable ma­thematical theorem that neatly forecasts all observ­able quantization properties of 14C-data, whether for single dates, data groups, or data series. For the mo­ment, we do not know how to formulate this theo­rem, but there are good chances that it will look si­milar to the Fourier transform uncertainty relation, shown in Equation 2. A shorter version of the same equation is found in many textbooks of quantum physics, where it is adapted to the properties of wave/particles and known as Heisenberg’s uncer­tainty principle (Eq. 3). +. +. . 2 2 ( xfx () 2dx ) ( · .. f( ) . 2d . ) . 1 2 [Eq. 2] 16 . -. -. xp ... h [Eq. 3] 2 The statement in common to both equations is that efforts to sharpen the study function in one domain will inevitably lead to its spread in the second do­main. Therein we at last have a satisfactory mathe­matical explanation for the curious, and for dating experts the counter-intuitive observation that under Bayesian sequencing one may indeed achieve higher dating precision, but only at the loss of dating accu­racy (Steier, Rom 2000). Please note that reason­ably understandable surveys of the mathematical connections between the Fourier transform and the uncertainty principle are already provided by Gerald B. Folland and Alladi Sitaram (1997) and Dhiman Sen (2014). To these connections we may now add the process of 14C-calibration. Discussion In the title of the paper our assertion is that the Fou­rier transform represents a beautiful foundation for 14C-calibration. Yes, there may be concerns about the validity of our beautiful calibration hypothesis, which may in consequence produce some immedi­ately critical debate. Whether for mathematical, phy­sical, epistemological, or aesthetic reason, this is of no consequence, if our learned readers allow us to resolve one last question. That is: why do you de­scribe such an apparently trivial, and certainly tech­nical proposal as beautiful? The answer is four-fold. First, we attribute the beauty of 14C-calibration to the sublime mathematical symmetry of the underly­ing Fourier transform; second, to the many remark­able analogies between 14C-calibration and quan­tum theory, thirdly, to the unprecedented explana­tory usefulness of Fourier-based 14C-calibration, as well as – finally – to the curiously nonconformist yet immediately understandable appearance of the Fou­rier transform in an unexpected context. Perhaps our Fourier transform hypothesis is, in itself, not strikingly beautiful, but it is undeniably elegant. Conclusion In this paper we propose a rethinking of the mathe­matical foundation of archaeological 14C-age calibra­tion. We also suggest that archaeologists have at least as much to learn from physicists as they do from mathematicians and statisticians. Following many years of dedicated education, persistent tech­nical support, and admirable instruction by radiocar­bon dating experts, parts of the archaeological com­munity are close to the erroneous conclusion that procedures underlying 14C-calibration follow directly from Bayesian probability theory. The choice of a Bayesian framework in 14C-analysis offers, indeed, highly luxurious analytical conditions for archaeo­logical age-modelling. Next to established luxury and acclaimed beauty, the process of 14C-calibration is better described as the Fourier transform. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We thankfully acknowledge many years of support and motivation by Andy Bevan (London), Lee Clare (Berlin), Tiziano Fantuzzi (Venice), Olaf Jöris (Mon­repos), Raiko Krauß (Tübingen) and Reinhard Jung (Wien). We also thank an anonymous reviewer whose insightful comments certainly improved this manu­script. 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Uncertainty in probabilistic risk asses­sment. Reliability Engineering & System Safety 54(2–3): 127–132. Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough Appendix> 14C-age calibration under the Fourier transform [1] Translation of variables The most important translation rule is that, whenever in the Fourier transform an angular frequency (sym­bol w) or a wave frequency (symbol n) is involved, under 14C-analysis we translate the corresponding va­riable as 14C-age, measured on the [BP]-scale. Schematically this means: radiocarbon translates to Fourier transform 14C-Age m ± s [BP] <=> frequency n ± sn [sec–1] 14C-Age m ± s [BP] <=> angular frequency w ± sw [sec–1] In consequence, under the Fourier transform we must change the dimension of 14C-ages from [BP] to [1/sec]. This is only required as a Gedankenexperiment. At first sight it may seem curious if not outrightly wrong to see this translation of the well-known [‘14C-yrs’] dimension into an inverse time-scale: [sec–1]. However, from the perspective of archaeological 14C-dating this change in scaling is easily possible. It follows math­ematically from the needs of the Fourier transform. [2] Change of 14C-scale under the Fourier transform We emphasize that the change of 14C-scale from [BP] to [sec–1] necessary for the Fourier transform is a Ge-dankenexperiment. Traditionally, the Libby equation is used to define 14C-ages. However, Libby ages are measured, and provided to the user, according to the technical needs of 14C-measurement, which are diffe­rent from the mathematical needs of archaeological 14C-analysis. The required change in 14C-scale can be motivated by the following. The physical dimension of all 14C-dates is related to the amount of 14C remaining in the sample after its separation from the atmospheric carbon reservoir. From the perspective of Fourier transform, however, since the amount of 14C actually measured today in the sample (by whatever technique e.g., beta-decay, 14C-AMS, any other), is the prime reference value, and this value has the physical dimen­sions of [counts/sec], abbreviated [sec–1], it follows that 14C-measurements could – in principle – be given on the scale [sec–1]. From an archaeological perspective the actual [BP]-scale used is historically motivated but is otherwise secondary to the needs and requirements of 14C-dating (in contrast to 14C-measurement). [3] Notes on the mathematics of the Fourier transform Applications of the Fourier transform are typically based on complex-valued functions, for technical reasons. Computations with complex functions are easier to handle than sines/cosines. Even then, Fourier transform equations are often so complicated that they do not support a symbolic solution, but require numerical ap­proximation. However, there is one major exception, famously known to students, which is fundamental to our introduction of 14C-calibration as a Fourier transform. This engineering rule is: the Fourier transform of a Gaussian is again a Gaussian. Furthermore, another rule is important in 14C-analysis, namely: the Fourier transform is a linear operation. The Fourier transform of the sum of two functions is the sum of the trans­forms. [4] Why is the Fourier transform fundamental to 14C-age calibration? Together, these two rules guarantee the applicability of the Fourier transform to the 14C-histogram method, as introduced by Mebus A. Geyh (1969), and the calibration of 14C-histograms, according to the algorithm of Bernhardt Weninger (1986). Given that 14C-scale histogram construction is additive for measured Gaussians, and that the histogram is most easily and efficiently (inversely) calibrated by applying that algorithm (and which supports further Euclidian error analysis), then these two methods in combination constitute all that is needed for calibration of 14C-ages. It follows that, although useful as an approximation, there is no mathe­matical necessity for the foundation of 14C-calibration in Bayes’ theorem. [5] Axiomatic foundation of 14C-calibration? There have been ruminations in earlier radiocarbon literature that – in contrast to Bayesian 14C-calibration – the method of histogram-calibration has no foundation in probability theory. Such statements suggest that the respective authors do not acknowledge the existence of non-classical probability and measure theory. As is well-known in both theoretical and experimental physics, all modern quantum theory – of which the Fou­rier transform (and then in consequence 14C-calibration) constitutes an important component – has its ac­ Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration cepted and to some large extent axiomatic foundation in Hilbert Space theory. This quite remarkable result was achieved within the very short time span of two years (1927–1929) by John von Neumann (cf. van Hove 1958). The earliest version of his studies was published in 1927 in German (von Neumann, 1927). [6] What makes 14C-calibration a Fourier transform (FT)? A brief but complete answer is that, as in every Fourier transform, in 14C-analysis we have two scales (14C and calendric), between which the function under study can switch backwards and forwards. Accordingly, two formulas are needed to describe the 14C-calibration. Most typically, in archaeology the task is to calibrate a Gaussian shaped 14C-age. The basic equation for calibration of a Gaussian 14C-age m ± sm [BP} with medi­an m and standard deviation sm on a calibration curve r(t,t) for calendar ages with values t [cal BP] and 14C­scale with values t [BP] is given in Equation 1. As shown in Equation 2, the measured 14C-scale Gaussian g ^(t) is area-normalized to unit 1. This supports interpretation of the underlying 14C-measurements as (ob­servable) probabilities. This interpretation is important in the laboratory for purposes of quality control and refinement of equipment and methods. The question of how to define (observable) probabilities for cali­brated 14C-ages, for similar purposes in archaeological chronology, is addressed below. t = radiocarbom scale [BP] 1 µ- r(t, . )2 1 2( . ) [Eq. 1] Gaussian distribution 14C-Age: m ± sm [BP] g( ^)= . 14C-measurement r(t,t) ± s(t,t) = calibration curve [a,BP] [BP] +. [Eq. 2] single Gaussian area normalisation g( ^)d..= 1 . -. (radiocarbon domain normalisation) The Fourier transform is widely applied in quantum physics (e.g., Feynman 2010; Fließbach, Walliser 2012; Hermann 1970; Messiah 1976; Schenk et al. 2014; Wichmann 1971). It is typically based on two paired equations. In Equation 3 and Equation 4 we have chosen to show the most often used Fourier equations, with variables adapted to archaeological 14C-analysis. In archaeology, we would traditionally be naming the (output) function g(t) as calibrated 14C-age [cal BP]. We might also say that the calibrated age g(t) belongs to the conventional 14C-age g^(t) [BP]. Such expression of ownership (belongs) conforms with the fact that, under the Fourier transform, there only exists one function, although it looks different in the two domains. Also important is that, in agreement with the International System of Base Units (SI), in Equations 1–4 we have defined the function g^(t) on the frequency axis t with physical units [sec–1], in replace of 14C-yrs [BP]. Its twin function g(t) is defined on the time axis t with physical units [sec], in replace of calendric years [a]. The standard radiocarbon layout for the paired Fourier transform equations is then as follows: +. g( ^) -. t = radiocarbon domain [BP] = [sec–1] Fourier transform t = calendar domain [sec] paired equations i = imaginary unit +. t = 2pn = angular frequency [sec–1] –i .. . =. g(t)eit. dt [Eq. 3] inverse direction = 1 . g( )e . [Eq. 4] forward direction g(t) ^ . d 2. -. [7] Scales with complementary dimensions For the Fourier transform to work properly, the functions g^(t) and g(t) – as defined on the two domains (14C and cal-scale) – must have complementary dimensions. This guarantees that their product g^(t)·g(t) has unit = [1] dimension. For example (as chosen here), if time t is measured in seconds [sec], then the same function but shown in the second domain must be measured using the inverted unit [sec–1]. That is, for radioactivity measurements, the scale of counts per sec. When measuring frequencies, the correspond­ing dimension would be cycles per second. For the Fourier transform the only important thing is that the product of the two dimensions is equal to unit=1. When the Fourier transform is applied to 14C-analysis, the calendric time scale automatically has the correct time-dimension of [sec], with trivial rescaling of calendar years to seconds. Hence – after some thought – it becomes clear that under the Fourier transform it is only the 14C-scale that requires non-trivial rescaling (as mentioned above), from [BP] to [sec–1]. The details of this Bernhard Weninger, Kevan Edinborough rescaling need not bother us. The rescaling of [BP]–> [sec–1] would imply rewriting the Libby equation, but in which neither we (as archaeologists) nor the 14C-labs have any practical interest. To this dimensional point, one of the present authors (BW) must admit some long-standing mistaken thinking. The notion that the 14C-scale is itself dimensionless with [BP]=unit [1] for the 14C-scale is erroneous. This only applies to the dimensional product of the 14C-scale and the calendar time scale. [8] What is the difference between scale change and domain switch? To preclude further misunderstanding we note that, in our terminology, the change of values between [BP] and D14C is a scale change, but this is a different concept than a domain switch. We use the term domain switch according to Hilbert space theory, where it denotes a change between orthogonal scales. Again, lan­guage is important. As noted above, the use of the word domain to denote a change in scale for functions that are not orthogonal (e.g. [BP], D14C, and F14C) in recent radiocarbon literature (Heaton et al. 2020) is definitely a correct use of such mathematical terms. It is nevertheless notable for leaving aside the possibil­ity that 14C-calibration can be described as a Fourier transform. [9] Fourier transform 14C-age calibration theorem It is important that the structure of the paired equations (Eq. 3 and Eq. 4) provides proof for the follow­ing theorem: following the initial Gaussian area normalization (Eq. 2), under the Fourier transform there is no need for further normalization of any of the 14C-distributions. The validity of this theorem follows im­mediately from the internal structure of Equation 3 and Equation 4. Although we have here two equations, both contain the same function. This function is either called g(t) (in both equations), or else called g ^(t) (in both equations). This proof is surprisingly simple, even trivial. It is all the more important, however, in view of all the many studies (all the way back to the 1970’s, but still continuing today) that erroneously apply secondary normalization (or weighting) to calibrated 14C-ages. Also, in view of so many studies that have un­successfully attempted to correct the data for the slope-variability of calibration curve, it is perhaps useful that we formulate this theorem as a software programming rule: to avoid chronological distortion, additional normalization (beyond the initial norm=1 setting of the input Gaussians), is forbidden under the Fourier trans­form. It must be avoided (in both domains) under all circumstances. [10] Definition of 14C-dating probability under the Fourier transform Under the Fourier transform, it is finally possible to introduce a satisfactory (two-dimensional) concept of 14C-dating probability. The main underlying condition for this concept is that both domains contribute equal­ly to the probability measure. In mathematical terminology, the existence of this probability is guaranteed because there exists a unique 2D-area in the calibration system that has a scaling dimension [sec] on the ca-lendric scale, and scaling dimension of [sec–1] on the 14C-scale. When shown graphically, and in particular when projected as a plateau-rectangle onto the calibration curve, the 2D-area that can be derived – by dif­ferent methods – as product function g^(t)·g(t) has all set-theoretical properties (in particular: additivity), as well as dimension [sec–1]·[sec]=[1], that are needed to define a probability. This can be achieved by simulta­neous re-interpretation of the 14C-scale distribution and the corresponding (unnormalized) calibration distri­bution as wave functions. It is then possible to define what we call a gauge probability for calibrated 14C­ages (cf. main text). This is in accordance with the Born rule, which is the standard procedure in quantum theory, where it is used to define the (measurable) probability P(x,t) of finding a wave-particle in location x and at time t based on the squared amplitude of wave function y(x,t): Born rule: probability definition. +. 2 P = Normalised probability defined for squared ampli-p(x,t) = N . (x,t) dt = 1 [Eq. 5] . -. tude of wave-function y(x,t), with optional scale factor N to cover a finite number of wave-particles. N is hereby an initially unknown constant that is independent of x, but which can be determined by a sim­ple requirement: let us assume that the probability of finding the wave-particle somewhere is unity i.e. N=1. As indicated in Equation 6, under such conditions (when applied to Gaussian wave-functions) the Born rule cancels out the troublesome complex numbers eiwt and e–iwt contained in Equation 3 and Equation 4. This is because eiwt · e–iwt = 1. In analogy for a set of N 14C-dates, it is in consequence possible to assign a ‘Dating Probability’ based on the product of the two wave functions g^(t) and g(t): Bayesian 14C-rationality, Heisenberg uncertainty, and Fourier transform> the beauty of radiocarbon calibration Born rule: probability definition. * P = Normalised probability defined for product of p(x,t) .(). (x,t)dxdt= 1 [Eq. 6] x,t = .. wave-function y(x,t) and its complex conjugate y*(x,t) under Fourier transform. As a reminder, g^(t) and g(t) represent the same date, but viewed from the two complementary domains t (calendric scale) and t (14C-scale). In the end, it is the pleasing properties of the Fourier transform on which the Born rule is based. [11] Definition of gauge probabilities for 14C-dates under the Fourier transform Functions that satisfy the conditions of Equation 6 are known as square-integrable. In quantum theory, this is one of the most important properties of the wave-function used to describe any wave-particle. As men­tioned above, this condition guarantees the existence of the particle, in the sense that it can be found at some time, and measured at some place, even though the particle has wave-properties. Similarly, if we now define g^(t) and g(t) as wave-functions, the condition of square-integrability allows us to introduce a genuine (i.e. properly normalized) probability, if only for the product of the two wave functions g^(t)·g(t): Born rule applied to radiocarbon dates: P = Normalised probability defined for the product of the Gaussian function g^(t) in the 14C-domain and p(t, ) = .. ()(. )dtd . = 1 [Eq. 7] . g t g ^ its twin associated cal-domain function g(t) under Fourier transform. Note the symmetry of Equation 7 and Equation 6. In contrast, for the functions g^(t) and g(t) when viewed separately (on their respective domains), it is not possible to define a measurable probability. For the very clear formulation of this important property, Max Born was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics (although rather late, in 1954). Yet, that does not mean that all related questions are today satisfactorily resolved. As for 14C-analysis, even under the Born rule, the dif­ferent concepts of probability (i.e. quantum theoretical just as Bayesian: both gauged probabilities and like­lihoods) still suffer under the same restriction. The problem is that the quadratic integrability in particular of the archaeological study function g(t), as requested in Equation 5, is often not ensured. When ensured, the task of this property is to guarantee that already (by itself) the calibrated wave function g(t) would re­present a genuine probability. Unfortunately, we cannot resolve the many multiple readings of the 14C-wave function on the wiggles of the calibration curve. The main problem to be resolved is that – using the per­haps better-known terminology of Bayesian 14C-calibration – we have the existence of two very differently scaled concepts of probability, but which are typically used in parallel. These two concepts are, (1), the 14C­measurement itself. For researchers in the lab, 14C-ages have a well-defined unit=1 probability, namely as measurement represented on the 14C-scale. However, (2) the very same Gaussian – from archaeological perspective – is seen as a wave-function that can be alternatively (or simultaneously) represented both on the 14C-domain as well as on the calendric domain. When understood as representing an archaeological date (and not alone a 14C-measurement) both wave-functions have ill-defined square-integrability. On both domains, this is of course mainly (but not only) due to the non-monotonous character of the calibration curve. It is particularly important to remember – one can easily overlook or even disbelieve this fact – that 14C-calibration is a Fourier transform even for a linear calibration curve. In conclusion, and with great admi­ration and due respect for all researchers involved in radiocarbon dating, the 14C-calibration does not have back to contents its foundation in Bayesian statistics but in mathematical physics. Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) On the term ‘Jo—mon’ and the contribution of Russian scholars to Jo—mon studies Andrey V. Tabarev1, Irina S. Zhushchikhovskaya 2, and Darya A. Ivanova3 1 Division of Foreign Archaeology, Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography, Novosibirsk, RU olmec@yandex.ru 2 Institute of History, Archaeology and Ethnography of the Peoples of the Far East, Vladivostok, RU irina1zh@mail.ru 3 School of Arts and Humanities, Far Eastern Federal University, Vladivostok, RU nightliro@bk.ru ABSTRACT – The article is devoted to the introduction of the term ‘Jomon’ into Russian archaeolo­gical literature, its understanding, and the contribution of Russian scholars to Jomon studies start­ing from the late 20th century. The recognition of the term and its use had some peculiarities which were caused not only by the language barrier and political events in the far eastern region, but most­ly by the specifics of the archaeological investigations in the Russian Far East and the priority of research focused first on the Ainu origin, and then on the Palaeolithic rather on the nature of the Neolithic. The rise of the interest in Jomon grew in the late 1960s and early 1970s with the disco­veries of initial pottery with Final Pleistocene dates in Japan and Russia (Lower and Middle Amur Region). During the 1980s and 1990s this trend was realized in a series of publications, international conferences, and the first joint Russian-Japanese archaeological projects. The current stage is illus­trated by the institualization of several research centres of Jomon studies in Russia (Novosibirsk, Vladivostok), by a high level of international cooperation, and by a wide range of research topics, including chronological, technological, ritual and other aspects of the Jomon period. KEY WORDS – Jomon; Neolithic; Far East; pottery; technology; periodization; cooperation O terminu ‘Jo— mon’ in prispevku ruskih znanstvenikov k [tudijam kulture Jo— mon IZVLE.EK – .lanek je posve.en vpeljavi in razumevanju termina ‘Jomon’ v ruski arheolo.ki literatu­ri ter prispevku ruskih znanstvenikov k .tudijam te kulture od konca 20. stoletja. Prepoznavanje tega strokovnega izraza in njegove uporabe je imelo nekaj posebnosti, ki so jih povzro.ile tako jezikovne pregrade kot politi.ni dogodki na obmo.ju Daljnega vzhoda, predvsem pa posebnosti arheolo.kih raziskav na ruskem Daljnem vzhodu in prioritete raziskav, ki so se usmerile predvsem v izvor ljuds­tva Ainu ter v paleolitske .tudije in manj v naravo neolitika. Interes za Jomon se je pove.al .ele ob kon-cu 60. in v zgodnjih 70. letih prej.njega stoletja z odkritjem najstarej.e lon.enine iz obdobja finalne­ga pleistocena na Japonskem in v Rusiji (spodnja in srednja regija Amur). V 80. in 90. letih prej.­njega stoletja se je ta interes pokazal v seriji publikacij, mednarodnih sre.anj in v prvih zdru.enih rusko-japonskih arheolo.kih projektih. Sedanjo stopnjo razvoja pa ponazarja ve. raziskovalnih sre­di.. posve.enih .tudijam kulture Jomon v Rusiji (Novosibirsk, Vladivostok), pa tudi vi.ji nivo med-narodnih sodelovanj in .ir.i razpon raziskovalnih tem, ki vklju.ujejo kronologijo, tehnologijo, ritu-ale in druge vidike obdobja kulture Jomon. KLJU.NE BESEDE – Jomon; neolitik; Daljni Vzhod; lon.enina; tehnologija; periodizacija; sodelovanje DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.32 On the term ‘Jo—mon’ and the contribution of Russian scholars to Jo—mon studies Introduction It is considered that American zoologist Edward Syl­vester Morse was a key figure at the beginning of Jo-mon studies. In 1877 he initiated the pioneering ex­cavations at Oomori shell mound, and coined the term ‘twisted cord-marked pottery’ in his publica­tions (Morse 1877; 1879). In turn, it was Shirai Mit­sutaro who for first translated ‘cord-marked pottery’ as ‘Jomon pottery’ (Jomon-doki – ) in 1886 (Shirai 1886)1 . It should be also underlined that in Japanese archa­eological literature the term ‘Jomon’ up to the end of 1920s had no systematic character, and was most­ly used to describe the style of pottery rather than to define the archaeological period. In fact, the term Neolithic was in even wider use. There were also other definitions in English versions of Japanese texts, such as ‘earlier stone age’ with subdivisions of ‘lower earlier stone age’ and ‘upper earlier stone age’ (Matsumoto 1921.58–59). Only with the deve­lopment of new approaches to the classification of the ceramic materials and chronology presented in the works of Sugao Yamanouchi in late 1920s and early 1930s did ‘Jomon’ get the status of a period with its Earliest, Early, Middle, Late and Latest phases. Almost at the same time – at the beginning of 1930s – the term ‘Jomon’ began to appear in European ar­chaeological literature. For example, in France the in­troduction of ‘Jomon’ (style Jomon-shiki) was done by Japanese archaeologist Jiujiro Nakaya, who pub­lished several papers about dogu figurines, pottery and the peculiarities of the Japanese Neolithic (Na­kaya 1930a; 1930b)2 . Despite the immediate geographical proximity and intensive archaeological surveys in the regions of the Russian Far East (Lower Amur, Maritime Region, Sakhalin) at the end of 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries, the archaeological interest of Russian researchers in the territory of the Japanese archipe­lago did not immediately acquire a systematic for­mat and the adaptation of the Japanese terminolo­gy. The situation with the term ‘Jomon’ – its intro­duction to the Russian archaeological literature, its understanding and interpretation – is one such illu­strative examples. With high probability the first Russian scientist to get acquainted with Jomon archaeological materials in Japan was Alexander V. Grigor’ev. He ended up in Yokohama in 1879 with a Russian geographical maritime expedition and decided to stay in Japan for scientific research for almost a year. Among the rich collections he presented to the Russian Geographical Society in 1880–81 was a collection of Jomon arte-facts (“ornamented pottery and stone tools from Japanese Kökkenmödding”) gathered during his trips to Tokyo, Yokohama and Hakodate (Dudarec 2006). Other early notes on the archaeological antiquities of Japan were published in 1884 by the outstanding scientist, zoologist and archaeologist Ivan S. Polya­kov. Sent by the Academy of Sciences to the Far East in 1881, he made successful excavations on Sakha­lin and in Primorye, after which he made a trip to Japan. While in Japan for eight months (1882–1883) he examined the materials of Oomori shell mound3 . In his report, Polyakov used such terms as ‘stone age’, ‘pre-historical inhabitants’, and ‘primitive in­habitants’. He was not only one of the first resear­chers in Russian historiography to make a descrip­tion of the remains of the Jomon material culture, but also tried to consider them in the context of the connection with the ancient cultures of Sakhalin and Primorye (Polyakov 1884). In the following years, a series of articles and books by leading orientalists, anthropologists and ethno­graphers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries were published, in which questions of the ancient history of the Japanese archipelago were addressed to some extent. It should be noted that in most cases the prehistory of Japan was considered at this time through the lens of historical sources or ethnogra­phic works dedicated to the ancient population of the Japanese Islands – the Ainu (Anuchin 1904; Bog-danovich 1905; Pozdneev 1909; Shternberg 1929 4 ). The appearance and acceptance of the term ‘Jomon’ 1 ‘Cord-marked’ was initially translated into ‘Sakumon doki’ ( ) by Ryokichi Yatabe. 2 The stay of Nakaya in Paris in 1929–1932 and multiple meetings with the leaders of French archaeological and anthropological science is vividly described in an article by Laurent Nespoulous (2014). 3 Just five years after the pioneering excavation of the site by Morse. 4 This is the enlarged version of the report presented by L. Shternberg at the Third Pan-Pacific Science Congress in Tokyo in 1926. In his article in 1929 he published four pieces of “…ornamented clay fragments, found by A. V. Grigor’ev in Japan between Yo­kohama and Tokyo near Oomori Lake” (Sternberg 1929.345), which definitely belong to Jomon. So, it is possible that Grigor’ev was visiting the site (Oomori Shell Mound) explored by Morse two years after the excavations. Andrey V. Tabarev, Irina S. Zhushchikhovskaya, and Darya A. Ivanova took place only 10 years later, but in any case, Rus­sian scholars of the early period demonstrated high competence in the current literature and a clear un­derstanding of the Neolithic nature of the archaeo­logical materials from the Japanese shell mounds. Acceptance and initial use of the term ‘Jomon’ Taking into consideration the political situation in the Far East before II World War, and control of Ja­pan over the southern part of Sakhalin and Kuril Islands, we should definitely mention the high lev­els of activity of Japanese archaeologists in these ter­ritories. The first field surveys took place in 1889, 1900–1904, then in 1920th and in early 1930th (Va­silevski 2008). There are many publications with the description of the discovered and, in some cases, excavated sites, and shell mounds with the interpre­tation of the materials and comparisons with data on Hokkaido. The term ‘Jomon’ appeared in these publications as early as in 1937 in the title of an ar­ticle by Nobuo Ito called “The Jomon pottery exca­vated on Sakhalin” (Yoshizaki, Ohnuki 1963.158). The early to mid-1930s are of greater interest for our topic – this time was marked by several expedi­tions of Russian archaeologists in the far eastern ter­ritories. One such expedition took place in the east­ern part of Sakhalin in 1935, where Alexander M. Zolotarev visited the series of locations near Nog­liki village, and according to the stone and pottery artefacts found there described them as “Neolithic sites of exceptional quality” (Zolotarev 1936.273). Another expedition was organized and conducted by one of the key figures in our story, Alexei P. Oklad­nikov, along the Lower Amur between Khabarovsk and Nikholaevsk (about 1000km in total). One of the primary goals of this expedition was the quest for Neolithic sites. In his short report about archaeo­logical works in 1935 Okladnikov wrote about dis­covery of 135 Neolithic sites which enabled the first periodization of the Neolithic for the Lower Amur Region. This included three stages, and giving the characteristics of the first Okladnikov wrote that “… it is close by some attributes of pottery of the most ancient Neolithic sites of Japan (“proto-Ainu stra­tum” in shell mounds in Northern Japan) ...” (Ok­ladnikov 1936.276). The term ‘Jomon’ is not in the text, but the cited phrase is a direct indication of its use as the archaeological analogy. Over the next few years, Okladnikov consistently de­veloped the concept of the ‘Amur Neolithic culture’, and presented its developed version at a special ses­sion on ethnogenesis in 19405 . The report was de­voted to the Neolithic of Siberia and Russian Far East, and talked about Amur Region. Okladnikov put a special focus on the peculiarities of pottery: “…sud­denly rich, curvilinear ornamentation, related, on the one hand, to Ainu and Maori ornaments, and, from the other, to the Neolithic sites of China (Yangshao culture) and Japanese Islands (Joe­mon6 culture) – “ribbon” ornamentation with typ­ical “net-mark”, spirals and meander…” (Okladni­kov 1941.12). This is one of the first, if not the first, utilization of this term in the Russian archaeologi­cal literature, on that took place, as we mentioned above, almost 10 years later than in the European literature. Obviously, Okladnikov was very interested in such inter-regional comparisons and in the Stone Age ar­chaeology of the Japanese Islands as a whole. In 1946, right after the Second World War, he pub­lished a special paper “Towards the most ancient population of the Japanese Islands and Its culture”. The references for this article contain more than 100 titles of books and various types of publications7 in Russian, Japanese, English, German, and French, de­voted to all aspects of the ancient history and archae­ology of Japan. This list contains pioneering works by Edward S. Morse, Gordon. N. Munro, and Hein­rich P. von Siebold, along with publications from Japanese archaeologists on the excavations of shell mounds in different parts of the Japanese Islands between the 1880s and 1920s, and the first publi­cations of Japanese archaeologists about Jomon ma­terials in European languages. Starting in 1934 Ok­ladnikov worked in Leningrad (St. Petersburg) at the Institute of Material Culture, and had full access to its rich library of foreign books and periodicals. In fact, this is the first fundamental Russian work not only about the Neolithic but about the whole prehistory of Japan, including the Stone Age, Paleo-metal and Early Middle Ages. As for the Neolithic, 5 May 28–29th, 1940, Moscow. 6 The exact spelling in the text is ‘Joemon’ instead of ‘Jomon’, which confirms the still unsettled status of the term. 7 In one of the footnotes Okladnikov emphasizes that the whole “… list of references for this work was lost during the war. The main part of the sources on the on the raised issues was re-compiled with the participation of N. A. Beregovaya …” (Okladni­kov 1946.29). This means that the work on the article started before the war (before 1941), and none of the foreign references is dated later than 1939. On the term ‘Jo—mon’ and the contribution of Russian scholars to Jo—mon studies Alexey P. Okladnikov demonstrated outstanding competence in current research and all important aspects of material culture: types of settlements, con­struction of dwellings, shell mounds, bone and stone tools, burials and ritual items. He paid special atten­tion to a number of local pottery styles – including Ento and Katsusaka – and analysed in detail the dynamics of ornamentation. To describe the peculia­rities of the earliest types of ornamentation he used terms such as ‘rope and textile’ and ‘mat-marked’. The word ‘Jomon’ appears in his text as ‘culture of rope pottery (Jomon-culture)’ (Okladnikov 1946.18) and as one of the ornamentation types – ‘Ujo-Jomon’ (spruce needles) (Ibid. 21). Using a wide range of archaeological analogies Okladnikov demonstrated the wide ‘Far Eastern’, and even wider ‘Pacific’, ap­proach to the peculiarities of Japanese materials. The only weakness of this article is the absence of illustrations, which may be explained by technical issues or, by some political limitations and the con­ditions of the post-war relationship with Japan. At the moment we have not been able to fully trace the situation with the use of the term ‘Jomon’ be­tween 1946 and 1953, and this will require some additional bibliographic searches. But, in any case, it is clear that in the very late 1940s the literature about Jomon was analysed by Mikhail A. Vorob’ev, who graduated as an orientalist from Leningrad Uni­versity in 1949 and became a doctoral student of Okladnikov at the Institute of Material Culture. In 1953 Mikhail V. Vorob’ev defended his dissertation “Stone Age of the Japanese Sea Countries” (Voro-b’ev 1953), regarding the Jomon as the ‘Neolithic pe­riod’ in the history of the Japanese Islands8 . This dissertation became the basis for the monograph “Ancient Japan” that he published five years later (Vorob’ev 1958). This book is accompanied by a rich album of photos and illustrations of Jomon pottery and stone tools. 1953 is a very significant milestone in our story – this year is the beginning of the works of the special Far Eastern Archaeological Expedition under the leadership of Okladnikov9 . This research not only resulted in a series of field works and excavations of archaeological sites with a wide chronological scale, from the Paleolithic to the Middle Ages, but also in the establishment of local archaeological centres and communities in Vladivostok, Khabarovsk and Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk. During 1950s the term ‘Jomon’ was used by Russian archaeologists working in the Far East in a number of publications in the context of comparisons of types of settlements, stone tools and design of Neo­lithic pottery. For example, Rima V. Chubarova (Ko­zyreva), who conducted excavations on Sakhalin Is­land in 1955 and the Kuril Islands in 1956, com­pared the design of bone tools with the analogies in Early Jomon (with clarification in parentheses – ‘Early Neolithic’) (Chubarova 1957.70, 75), and noted a clear resemblance of the Neolithic pottery on Iturup Island with the pottery of Late Jomon pe­riod on Hokkaido (Chubarova 1960.132–138)1 0 . In 1957 the leading archaeological journal, Soviet Archaeology, published a brief translation of an ar­ticle by the Japanese archaeologist Nomio Egami, “Past and Present of Archaeology in Japan”1 1 , with an overview of the most significant achievements of Japanese archaeology, including the subdivision of the Jomon period into five stages, the discovery of pre-Jomon sites, and monumental complexes (stone circles and megaliths). According to N. Egami these finds may be regarded in the context of ancient con­tacts between Japanese Islands and Siberia (Egami 1957). This translation reflects the main result in Jo-mon studies of the 1940s and 1950s – the transition from an understanding of this term as the specific design on the pottery, or style of pottery, to one of the periods of the Stone Age on the Japanese Islands. The other important result of the 1950s was the appearance of a new direction of the interest among Russian archaeologists in the Stone Age in Japan, the pre-Jomon and Palaeolithic periods. The discovery of Palaeolithic artefacts at Iwajuku site on Honshu Is­land in 1948–1949 opened a new era in Japanese archaeology and attracted the attention of the ar­chaeologists from all over the world. Analysing the literature on the pre-Jomon complexes in Kanto re­gion (Central Honshu) and on Hokkaido, Okladnikov wrote about them having the highest significance for far eastern archaeology, and compared the lithic and obsidian artefacts with the Paleolithic materials 8 He did not use the word ‘Jomon’ in the abstract of the dissertation. 9 He managed it until his death in 1981. 10 In particular, she used the book of Gerard J. Groot “The Prehistory of Japan” (Groot 1931). Okladnikov also mentioned this book several times along with the work of Jonathan E. Kidder (Kidder 1957) as the most useful and complete collections of data on Japanese archaeology. 11 Original article: Egami N. 1956. Past and Present of Archaeology in Japan. The Oriental Economist XXIV(544): 82–83. Andrey V. Tabarev, Irina S. Zhushchikhovskaya, and Darya A. Ivanova in Southeast Asia (Vietnam, Indonesia) and the con­tinental part of Eurasia (Mongolia, China, Amur Re­gion) (Okladnikov, Goreglyad 1958.250). Among the important events of the 1950s we would also note the first visit of Okladnikov to Japan with a presentation at the International Symposium on the History of Eastern and Western Cultural Con­tacts organized by UNESCO in Tokyo in November, 1957. During this three weeks long trip he had the chance to observe rich collection of archaeological artefacts in Tokyo University. In a short report about his trip to Japan he wrote: “Our attention was drawn to recently found sites of the culture which existed on the Japanese Islands about 6000 to 5000 BC. We found many similarities with the finds done by the Soviet archaeologists in Primorye. This suggests that ancient inhabitants of our Far East also took part in the peopling of the Japanese Islands…” (Ok­ladnikov 1958.217). Jomon studies in the context of archaeological and ethnographical research during the 1960s and 1970s The next twenty years in the history of Jomon stud­ies in Russia were marked by the activities of both archaeologists and ethnographers. The ethnographers were continuing the investigations of ethnohistory of North East and East Asia started in late 1950s, and the origin of the modern Japanese population was one of the research’s focuses. For example, a number of publications were devoted to the Ainu and the sequence of Jomon and Ainu populations in different regions of the Japanese Islands (e.g., Aru­tyunov 1960; 1961)1 2 . At the beginning of 1960s Okladnikov moved from Leningrad to Novosibirsk (Western Siberia) and took an active part in the formation of the humanities at the new scientific centre. In 1966 a specialized re­search institute that united all the humanities, in­cluding archaeology, was established1 3 . With this event archaeological research in Siberia and the Rus­sian Far East received a new impetus and was dis­tinguished by the impressive scale of survey and excavation projects. A series of such projects were realized at the Neolithic sites in the Maritime Region, Lower and Middle Amur Regions, on Sakhalin and Kuril Islands by specialists from Novosibirsk, Vladi­vostok, Khabarovsk and Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk. The rapid growth of materials required their analy­sis and interpretation using data from neighbouring territories. Therefore, there was an increase in inte­rest in publications by Japanese authors and in direct contacts between the specialists from Russia and Ja­pan to discuss common problems. For example, Rus­sian archaeologists (Okladnikov1 4 , Ruslan S. Vasi-l’evskij) took part in VIII International Congress of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences (Tokyo and Kyoto, 1968), where they had the chance to ob­serve archaeological collections and establish con­tacts with the leading Japanese archaeologists. It should be underlined that the 1960s were marked by very important archaeological discoveries on the Japanese Islands – and, first of all, by the finds and dating of early pottery in such caves as Kamikuroi­wa and Fukui (Ikawa 1964). Carbon dating of these complexes demonstrated the unexpected antiquity (13 000–12 000 BP) of first ceramic traditions, and raised the question of whether to revise the lower chronological limits of Jomon to the Final Pleisto­cene time. In 1970 the book “Siberia and Its Neighbours in Antiquity” was published in Novosibirsk with arti­cles of Russian and American archaeologists, includ­ing on the Paleolithic and Early Neolithic sites on the Japanese Archipelago (Larichev 1970), accom­panied by detailed lists of radiocarbon determina­tions for the Initial, Early, Middle, Late and Final pe­riods of the Jomon1 5 . A series of international conferences took place in Russia during 1970s – such as the International Symposium on Beringia (Khabarovsk, 1973); “Cor­relation of Ancient Cultures of Siberia and Neigh­boring Territories of the Pacific Basin” (Novosi­ 12 Sergey A. Arutyunov travelled to Japan in 1960 as part of the special agreement between the Institute of Ethnography, Moscow and Tokyo University. During this two-month journey he visited Tokyo, Yokohama, Sendai, Kyoto, Osaka, Nara, and Hokkaido Island. In addition to intensive ethnographical studies he also met with archaeologists, visited sites, and made some valuable ob­servations about the nature of the Paleolithic and Jomon periods. 13 Currently the Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography, Siberian Branch, Russian Academy of Sciences. 14 Okladnikov made a presentation “The Neolithic of Lower Amur and Its relation to the Neolithic cultures of the other Asian regions”. 15 Special article in Russian based on the publications of 1962–1968 by Richard E. Morlan, Chester S. Chard, Fumiko Ikawa, and by a number of Japanese archaeologists. On the term ‘Jo—mon’ and the contribution of Russian scholars to Jo—mon studies birsk, 1975), and, in particular, the 14th Pacific Sci­ence Congress (Khabarovsk, 1979), which brought together scientists from 46 countries. The Japanese delegation was one of the biggest (124 people), in­cluding a group of archaeologists headed by Chosu­ke Serizawa. After the intensive contacts that oc­curred during this event, Okladnikov invited Japa­nese archaeologists to Novosibirsk, where they got access to the collections and continued the discussion on a wide range of research topics related to the Stone Age of the North East Asia and methods of di­rect cooperation. Among the scientific publications of this period the first dissertation in Russian devoted to the Jomon is of exceptional importance. It was prepared by Chan Su Bu and had the title “Late Jomon of Hokkaido” (Chan Su Bu 1977). He also published several arti­cles on the Jomon including a special investigation on the origin and implementation of the term ‘Jo­mon’ in Japanese archaeology (Chan Su Bu 1975)1 6 . Various aspects of the Jomon were also analysed in the publications (articles and books) of the other authors from Moscow, Novosibirsk, Vladivostok and Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk – such as “Culture of Ancient Ja­pan” (Iofan 1974), “Far Past of the Maritime Re­gion and Amur Region” (Okladnikov, Derevyanko 1973), “Ancient Cultures of the Pacific North” (Va­sil’evskij 1973), “Stone Age Cultures of Northern Japan” (Vasil’evskij et al. 1982)1 7 , and so on. In all these publications Jomon is interpreted as a Neolithic ‘culture’ of the Japanese Islands consisting of several periods and dated in the frame of 8000 to 2500 BP. While the materials of the Jomon culture were widely used in a comparative context with re­gard to the regions of the Russian Far East, the cha­racteristics of various periods of Jomon and its local diversity within the Japanese Archipelago were ra­rely specifically considered. The finds of earliest pot­tery (12 000 to 10 000 BP) were recognized as ‘Me­solithic’ rather than Neolithic (Jomon). To a large extent, this was also due to the fact that great inter­est of Siberian researchers in the 1960s and 1970s was associated with the Paleolithic period and the earliest manifestations of this in North East Asia (Si­beria, Mongolia, Far East). This view changed only after the dating of similar findings of early pottery in the Lower and Middle Amur Regions during the 1980s and 1990s. New topics and trends of the 1980s and 1990s A number of archaeological sites known since the initial surveys near Khabarovsk in late 1920s and early 1960s became the subject of a special project from the mid-1970s up to the 1990s. At the initial stage of research archaeological materials (stone as­semblages) were interpreted as the ‘Osipovka Meso­lithic culture’. After the discovery of early ceramic fragments (in 1975 and 1980) and their carbon dat­ing (12 960±120 BP) (Okladnikov, Medvedev 1983) it became clear that technology of pottery-making appeared in the Lower Amur Region almost at the same time as on the Japanese Islands. According to this Osipovka culture (by analogy with the Jomon periodization) was relegated to a new stage – ‘Initial Neolithic’ (13 000–10 000 BP). Subsequent discoveries of early pottery in the other regions of the Russian Far East and Trans-Baikal Re­gion along with the analogical finds in South and Eastern China confirmed the validity of this divi­sion, and opened a wide discussion on the various aspects of this phenomenon – the function of early pottery, reasons of its origin in the context of hun­ters-gatherers and fishers, the independent or diffu­sional character of the origin, etc. The detailed analysis of the technological characte­ristics of early pottery in the Far Eastern region is one of the significant contributions of Russian archa­eologists to this discussion. This was effectively de­monstrated in a series of publications by Irina S. Zhushchikhovskaya after direct observations of Jo-mon collections in Tokyo and Kyoto in the mid­1990s (e.g., Zhushchikhovskaya 1997). One of the main tasks facing researchers into the origin of tech­nologies for making ceramic containers is to deter­mine the likely raw material base and the recipe for preparing the moulding masses. It was found that the Japanese Islands within the Incipient Jomon and partially Initial Jomon are characterized by a focus on the use of natural clay raw materials without spe­cial additives and impurities. For the Initial Jomon, there is the occasional use of compounding mould­ing masses with an artificial admixture of grass or­ganic matter. The recipe technology of the early pot­ters of Japan differed from the technology of the mainland regions of the South of the Far East, the Korean Peninsula, and Northern China, where the oldest ceramics were made from moulding masses 16 Recently the authors of this article returned to the topic and published more details on the first studies of shell mounds and discovery of Jomon-type pottery in Japan in the late 19th–early 20th centuries (Tabarev, Ivanova 2018). 17 The monograph was based on the Japanese literature and results of research trips on Hokkaido in the late 1970s. Andrey V. Tabarev, Irina S. Zhushchikhovskaya, and Darya A. Ivanova with a ‘clay + grass organic’ composition. At an early stage of making ceramics, the quality of raw materi­als and moulding mass would have largely deter­mined the method of designing clay containers. Incipient Jomon pottery in Japan is characterized by the technology of ‘patchwork’ moulding, or slab con­struction. There is evidence of the existence, along with the ‘patchwork’ sequence, of a moulding tech­nology close to the ring sequence. It should be espe­cially noted that there are no traces of the use of templates or form models for the manufacture of ves­sels on the most ancient ceramics of Japan. Another feature associated with the moulding process is the moulding of the bottom part of the vessels. For the earliest pottery of the archipelago, the leading trend is the absence of a structurally separated flattened section of the bottom, as the known examples are dominated by models of a rounded and conical bot­tom. In contrast to this, materials from other areas of the East Asian area of early ceramics (Southern Far East) have characteristic features of the techno­logy of forming flat-bottomed containers using tem­plates (hard, semi-soft-basket or rope). From a technological perspective, it is the characte­ristics of the formulation of moulding masses and the features of moulding that most emphatically argue for the independent development of ceramic technology on the Japanese Islands and in the main­land regions of East Asia. At the same time, the signs of surface treatment operations and firing of clay products reflect the general technical and technolo­gical level of the initial stages of formation of pot­tery skills, and of their universal character. For the most ancient ceramics of Japan and most of the early ceramic complexes of the South of the Far East, and China are characterized by a lack of skills in surface treatment. According to the results of special analy­ses and its external characteristics, the ancient cera­mics were fired in primitive conditions, in an open fire, at low temperatures from 550–600°C. The quest for the earliest pottery in the Maritime Re­gion was in the focus of the first multiyear joint Rus­sian-Japanese archaeological expedition organized by Tohoku Fukushi University (Sendai) and the Insti­tute of History, Archaeology and Ethnography of the People of the Far East (Vladivostok) which started in 1991–92. During this project fragments of early pot­tery were discovered at the Ustinovka III Site (Ko­nonenko 2001). According to 14C-dating their age is about 9300 BP1 8 . This remains the earliest manife­station of ceramic production in the Maritime Region. When considering the 1990s it is also necessary to mention the beginning of a multiyear study on the exploration and distribution of volcanic glass (obsi­dian) in the Far Eastern region on the basis of geo­chemical analysis. On the Japanese Islands the obsi­dian was used as early as the initial stage of the peopling of the territory in the Upper Paleolithic, at 35 000 to 33 000 BP, and continued during all pe­riods of the Jomon (Kuzmin et al. 1999), which is one of the best illustrations of the intensity and directions of the contacts with regard to the Japane­se Islands and adjacent territories1 9 . Another exam­ple of a multi-disciplinary approach used in the 1990s is the collecting and summarizing of the data­base on 14C-dating of the Stone Age sites in the Far Eastern regions with special focus on the sites with earliest pottery (Kuzmin 1998). Current stage and interim conclusions The 2000s have been characterized by many advan­ces in the organization of research, and in the inter­national cooperation which fosters the Jomon studies by Russian archaeologists. Three points are of parti­cular importance here, the new structure of scientif­ic funding, new approach to the organization of re­search teams, and new format of the international collaboration. Since the end of 1990s several Russian national sci­entific foundations2 0 have been developing various types of support for research (including for all the humanities) in the form of grants. This has created new possibilities for archaeologists to focus on re­gions, materials and problems which were not avail­able under the previous system. A series of such three-year projects, for example, were successfully realized over the last 15 years and are currently being conducted by specialists of a new division in the Institute of Archaeology and Ethno­graphy, Novosibirsk (Division of Foreign Archaeo­logy). This work has examined such topics as dogu figurines and their Pacific analogies (Solov’eva et al. 2010), Jomon pottery and its role in ritual activity 18 9305±31 BP. This date was mentioned in several publications (e.g., Kononenko 2001.46). 19 The most significant contribution to the development of this topic has been made by Yaroslav V. Kuzmin. To see the enlarged list of references one could check his numerous publications in English language journals (e.g., Kuzmin 2019; Kuzmin, Shackley 2007). 20 The Russian Foundation for Basic Researches, Russian Foundation for Humanities, and Russian Science Foundation. On the term ‘Jo—mon’ and the contribution of Russian scholars to Jo—mon studies (Tabarev 2017), the evolution of Jomon settlement system and local types of Jomon dwelling construc­tions (Tabarev et al. 2015), Jomon burials and bur­ial practices (Ivanova et al. 2013), the phenomenon of Jomon megalithic complexes (Nesterkina et al. 2017; Tabarev et al. 2017), etc. Within these pro­jects a number of agreements with Japanese Univer­sities and research centres were signed which made possible the exchange of students and specialists, participation in the excavations in Japan, regular joint symposiums, and joint publications. Some aspects of Jomon have also been successfully developed in Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk (Grishhenko 2011; Vasilevskij 2003), Vladivostok (Zhushchikhovskaya 2005; Zhushchikhovskaya, Danilova 2008), and St. Petersburg (Yanshina 2019). In 2005, 28 years after the first, the second disserta­tion in Russian on the Jomon (dogu figurines) was defended by Elena A. Solov’eva (2005), and the third (about the Middle Jomon) by Darya A. Ivanova in 2018 (Ivanova 2018)2 1 . A characteristic feature of publications in the 2000s is the attention to detail, to materials of separate sites (Ivanova, Tabarev 2018), and to specific fea­tures within the territory of the sites (caches, dwel­lings, pits), to local styles of pottery or adornments (Zhushchikhovskaya 2015), and to the difference between coastal and inland Jomon sites. As example of such interest is the morphological and technological analysis of Lower and Upper Ento pottery styles based on the collections of Ookubo site in The National Museum of Japanese History. In Japanese archaeology, these styles are known as one of the main indicators of cultural traditions at the Early and Middle Jomon periods in the northern part of Honshu Island. These styles, along with their ori­ginality, show signs of continuity in the development of pottery among the ancient population of North­ern Honshu. It is possible to assume a common cul­tural basis among the population of this region of the Japanese Islands. Changes in morphological stan­dards are gradual and evolutionary. The most signi­ficant changes are in the ornamentation of ceramics (techniques, compositional principles, motifs, etc.), which mainly determines the visual recognition of the Lower and Upper Ento styles. These changes are a local manifestation of general trends in the dyna­mics of ornamental traditions of the Early and Mid­dle Jomon of Honshu. It is in the Middle Jomon that the local variety of ceramic styles is most clearly ex­pressed. In particular, the specificity of the Upper Ento style consists in the development of techniques and compositional principles that mimic three-dimen­sional rope structures (knots, loops, etc.) (Zhushchi­khovskaya 2007; 2015). From 2003 to 2007 Kokugakuin University (Tokyo) and Far Eastern State University (Vladivostok) im­plemented a joint project in the Maritime Region fo­cused on the Early Neolithic and initial evidence of pottery-making, with the excavation of several sites in the inland (Osinovka, Gorbatka III) and coastal (Ustinovka III) zones. Some results of this research along with a series of AMS-dates were published in a joint paper in 2007 (Kunikita et al. 2007). A num­ber of small-scale Russian-Japanese projects were also realized during early 2000s by archaeologists from Vladivostok, Khabarovsk and Yuzhno-Sakha­linsk. Another type of international cooperation took place during the project “Neolithization and Moderniza­tion: Landscape History on East Asia Inland Seas” organized by the Research Institute for Humanity and Nature, Japan (RIHN, Kyoto) from 2007 to 2012. In this project Russia was represented by a group of specialists from Vladivostok and Novosibirsk. In addition to intensive comparative research into the Neolithic in the Russian Far East and Jomon on the Japanese Islands, the Russians got a unique chance to attend a series of international conferences in Ja­pan and visit a wide range of museums and archae­ological centres with collections of Jomon materials (Hokkaido, Honshu, Kyusyu, Okinawa), which were never before available to Russian specialists. In 2008 a Russian group also organized an international archaeological symposium in Vladivostok which was devoted to the 100th anniversary of Okladnikov and brought together experts in Neolithic (Jomon) studies from Russia, Japan, Europe and the United States (Popov, Uchiyama 2008). An extremely useful role in the growing cooperation between Russia and Japanese archaeologists is played 21 According to the current Russian system there are two types of dissertations, the lower level, so-called Candidate, and a high level, Doctorate. So far, all dissertations focused directly on Jomon materials in Russian (Chan Su Bu 1977; Solov’eva 2005; Iva-nova 2018) are of the Candidate type. All of them with some time intervals were defended at the Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography, Novosibirsk. In addition, there are several Doctorate and Candidate dissertations devoted to the archaeology of Far Eastern regions with reference to Jomon materials – Hokkaido (Lavrov 1984), Kuril Islands (Golubev 1972) and Sakhalin (Gri-shhenko 2009; Vasilevskij 2003) – which were also defended in Novosibirsk. Andrey V. Tabarev, Irina S. Zhushchikhovskaya, and Darya A. Ivanova by a network of international conferences, such as SEAA (Society for East Asian Archaeology), CHAGS (Conference on Hunting and Gathering Societies), WAC (World Archaeological Congress), and IPPI (Indo-Pacific Prehistory Association). As an example of a new forum that is already recognized by Japa­nese and European archaeological societies is the “Pacific Archaeology” symposium hosted since 2018 by Far Eastern Federal University, Vladivostok. Jomon studies in Russian archaeology are thus grow­ing rapidly, and the growing number of publications in English and other foreign languages on this topic confirm this. Speaking of some of the intermediate results we would like to emphasize several impor­tant points. Undoubtedly is was Okladnikov who played one of the key roles in the introduction of the term ‘Jomon’ to the Russian archaeological lite­rature, being highly interested himself in this topic and directing the interest of his students during his scientific career both while in Leningrad (St. Peters­burg) and Siberia (Novosibirsk). It is thanks to his efforts that ‘Jomon’ did not remain at the status of a book-study, term but was developed into a broad research subject with permanent contact and colla­boration with Japanese colleagues, joint projects and excavations. Since the first works of Lev Shternberg (1929) and Okladnikov (1946), the Japanese Neolithic (Jomon), in spite of its visual peculiarities, was viewed by the Russian scientists from the widest possible histori­cal perspective within the cultural process in the Far Eastern and Pacific regions. The initial understanding of term ‘Jomon’ as a spe­cific type of decoration on the pottery or style of pottery was elaborated during the 1960s and 1970s to the ‘Jomon culture’ as one of the Neolithic cultures in the Far East. This was quite consistent with the practice of Russian archaeology at that time to dis­tinguish local and regional archaeological cultures based on the unity of the territory, chronology, and material culture. In the 2000s this position has been significantly re­thought. The New Jomon chronology (14 000 – 2500 BP), its duration (more than 11 000 years), and signi­ficant local differences in archaeological materials in various areas of the Japanese Islands, came into conflict with the traditional understanding of the ‘archaeological culture’ in Russian science. As a re­sult, the current position about the Jomon in the Russian archaeological literature implies the status of a ‘Jomon epoch’ (with the Neolithic type of life and economy) divided into five, or, depending on the territory, six ‘periods’. The term ‘culture’ is used in such contexts as, for example, ‘material culture of the Middle Jomon’. The term ‘Jomon culture’ is also used in popular science literature and in works de­voted to Japanese art and traditional crafts. The other direction of discussion is connected with the subdivision of the Jomon epoch and with the peculiarities of Incipient and Initial Jomon periods, for which pottery does not demonstrate the ‘cord-marked’ design in the classical sense of this feature. Several alternative interpretations may be suggest­ed, including the Jomon epoch itself (Early, Middle, and Late periods) and its ‘Prelude’ (Incipient, Initial periods), like the transition from the Paleolithic to the Neolithic. And, of course, one important issue is connected with wider problematic where the Jomon is consi­dered as an example of the original scenario of the Neolithisation in the Far East – in comparison with the agricultural models on the territories of China and Korea, and from the Eurasian perspective – in format of ‘Western’ and ‘Eastern’ types of the Neoli­thisation. The high level of technology, settlement organization, burial rituals, monumentality, and so­phisticated art indicates the dynamic evolution of Jomon society and its ranked social structure, which allows specialists to engage in productive discussions about the possibility for the Jomon to be considered as an ‘Early Neolithic Civilization’ based on highly effective environmental management. As an additional trajectory, developed by Russian specialists, the future of Jomon studies will also be connected not only with the detailed analysis of the materials, new excavations, and comparative research between the Far Eastern and European region, but also with the understanding of Jomon phenomena as part of a specific model of the Neolithisation from a wider, Pacific, perspective. One of the recent exam­ples of such an approach was successfully realized by a joint Russian-Japanese project in Ecuador from 2013 to 2018, including the testing of famous ‘Jo­mon-Valdivia hypothesis’ and comparison of the va­rious models of the transition from the Paleolithic to the Neolithic type of economy, and emergence of the pottery technologies in the Pacific basin (Kano­mata et al. 2019). On the term ‘Jo—mon’ and the contribution of Russian scholars to Jo—mon studies ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors are deeply grateful to their Japanese colleagues Profs. K. Akoshima, H. Kajiwara, Y. Kanomata, and T. Tsutsumi for their priceless comments on the history of the cooperation of Russian and Japanese archaeo­logists, to Prof. L. Nespoulous (France) for valuable information on Jomon issues. A special debt of gratitude goes to our Russian colleagues Dr. L. B. Vishniatsky (St. Petersburg), and Dr. O. V. Yanshina (St. Petersburg) for their invaluable help with literature and archive data. The research was supported by Russian Scientific Foundation (Project #19-18-00003 “Neolithic Civilizations of Eurasia: Jomon, Japanese Archipelago – Origin, Early Stage, Local Peculiarities”). . References Anuchin D. N. 1904. Yaponiya. Antropologicheskij i etno­logicheskij ocherk. Zemlevedenie IX(III). (in Russian) Bogdanovich T. A. 1905. Ocherki iz proshlogo i nasto­jashhego Japonii. St. Petersburg. (in Russian) Arutyunov S. A. 1960. K ocenke roli migracij v drevnej is-torii Yaponii. Sovetskaya etnografiya 1: 60–71. (in Rus­sian) 1961. Etnograficheskaya poezdka v Yaponiyu. Sovet­skaya etnografiya 3: 77–89. (in Russian) Chan Su Bu 1975. O proiskhozhdenii termina “dzyo­mon”. Istoriografiya i istochnikovedenie stran dal’nego Vostoka. Seriya istoricheskaya 1: 55–67. (in Russian) 1977. Pozdnij dzyomon Hokkajdo. Unpublished PhD dissertation. Novosibirsk. (in Russian) Chubarova R. V. 1957. K istorii drevnejshego naseleniya Sahalina. Sovetskaya etnografiya 4: 60–75. (in Russian) 1960. 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(In Russian) Zhushchikhovskaya I. S., Danilova O. 2008. Spiral Patterns on the Neolithic Pottery of East Asia and the Far East. Do-cumenta Praehistorica 35: 20–32. https://doi.org/10.4312/dp.35.16 Zolotarev A. M. 1936. Noglikovskaya neoliticheskaya sto­yanka (Vostochnyj Sahalin). Sovetskaya arheologiya 1: 273–274. (in Russian) Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) Book review Chris Doherty The Clay World of Çatalhöyük. A fine-grained perspective. xv+120 pages, 95 figures, 18 tables. 2020, BAR International Series 2981, BAR Publishing, Oxford. ISBN 978 1 4073 5422 4 paperback Chris Doherty’s study focuses on the role of clay in the development of Çatalhöyük, the famous and largest Neolithic settlement in the Konya Plain in cen­tral Anatolia. The author offers a holistic approach to understand the interrelationship between all clay materials used at the site and the landscape. Çatal­höyük lies on the clay-rich bed of the former Pleisto­cene Lake Konya, which lacked local sources of stone, and this makes its position interesting as clay plays a dual role here, i.e. as the main landscape component and a raw material for different types of material culture at the site. The book is divided into 10 chapters and is supported with many illustrative figures and tables. In the first chapter, The clay world of Çatalhöyük, Doherty first introduces the questions regarding the need to study clay in the Neolithic and presents the analysed archaeological site and its regional context. At Çatalhöyük, the community was clearly familiar with the use of clay from the earliest building levels, and could skilfully exploit clay for a wide variety of domestic and symbolic uses. A lot of the related is­sues have already been studied in detail, but Doherty attempts to combine this data and answer a series of questions on topics such as: How was clay used at the site? What were the resources and how did these change? What was the nature of the landscape around the site? What was the relationship between the material culture and landscape? Was the site suc­cessful due to its clays? The research also is framed by Tim Ingold’s term taskcape, i.e. a socially constricted space defined by related human activities (Ingold T. 1993. The Tem­porality of the Landscape. World Archaeology 25(2): 152–174), although Doherty proposes a new term and tries to work with a ‘clayscape’, i.e. a clay-ori­ented taskscape for Çatalhöyük. In the second chapter, Clay-based material culture studies at Çatalhöyük: a review, the author presents us with a brief review of publications that relate to the four main aspects of living with clay at Çatalhö­yük: materials (clay artefacts), the technology of pro­duction, the resources available, and the clay-rich landscape of the site. Here, details on artefacts and materials such as mudbricks, plaster, pottery, clay balls, geometric clay objects, stamp seals, and fig­urines are presented with information and results on studies that focused on these individual types, as well as with a comment on problems that arouse from them. Doherty sees the major problem with these studies in the fact that each of these materials was researched singularly, and the clay material cul­ture was mostly interpreted without any considera­tion of the raw materials and their distribution in the landscape. In the third chapter, titled The clay landscape of Çatalhöyük, the author presents the results of land­scape studies at the site and focuses mostly on the multi-year KOPAL project and its results (e.g., Roberts N. et al. 1999. Chronology and stratigraphy of Late Quaternary sediments in the Konya Basin, Turkey: Results from the KOPAL Project. Quaternary Science Reviews 18(4–5): 611–630). The project proposed a view of Çatalhöyük and its surrounding that were in stark contrast to Mellaart’s (Mellaart J. 1967. Ça­tal Höyük: a Neolithic town in Anatolia. McGraw-Hill) and Cohen’s (Cohen H. R. 1970. The palaeoe­cology of south central Anatolia at the end of the Pleistocene and the beginning of the Holocene. Ana­tolian Studies 20: 119–137) visions of the site as centred on a grass steppe. The KOPAL project envi­sioned an area filled with backswamps and river channels in the Neolithic, and a drier landscape only at the end of the Neolithic, with the nearest area suitable for agriculture more than 10km away from Çatalhöyük. These results prompted Ian Hodder (Hodder I. 2006. The Leopard’s Tale: Revealing the Mysteries of Çatalhöyük. Thames & Hudson. New York), the excavator of the more recent excavations, to suggest that the site was chosen for its availabi­lity to clay more than for its agriculture potential. The KOPAL project results were mostly disproven with archaeobotanical, faunal and other biogenic studies, as well as from clay studies conducted in pre­vious work by Doherty (Doherty C. 2013. Sourcing DOI> 10.4312\dp.47.33 Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) – Book review Çatalhöyük’s Clays. In I. H. Hodder (ed.), Substan­tive technologies at Çatalhöyük: reports from the 2000–2008 seasons. Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Press: 51–66). These results suggest that Çatalhöyük was located in a landscape with localized wetlands, not in a continuous seasonal wetland with only a few dry areas. The fourth chapter, Establishing the sequence of clay use, presents the clays identified by the artefact timelines to reconstruct the actual clay deposits that might have been present in Çatalhöyük’s landscape or have been brought from elsewhere. The main ob­served patterns of clay use include the use of allu­vial dark clays in the earliest levels (i.e. Lower Al­luvium in the KOPAL stratigraphy) for making mud-bricks, and this then changes in the South M phase. A similar observation can be made for mortars and plasters, clay balls, pottery, and geometric clay ob­jects. Only figurines were made from whatever clay was available at all occupation layers, while stamp seals show a lack of fabric variations and have a fixed composition. Doherty also proposes using clay colour as a useful investigative approach as people at Çatalhöyük made full use of this in their material culture. Although co-lour is systematically recorded in excavation and post-excavation, it has not been interpreted in land­scape terms (except in the KOPAL stratigraphy). Clay colour, as argued by Doherty, can provide the essen­tial link between clay material culture, raw materials and landscape that allows clay use to be examined on all levels of engagement. The author then presents the four fundamental clay groups identified at Neolithic Çatalhöyük, of which the first three are local materials (the dark alluvial clays, the white marls and the local calcareous red clays as a continuous sedimentary sequence, the col-luvial clays), but the fourth is of non-local charac­ter (non-local non-calcareous red clays) and implies the transport of clays or finished artefacts. As these four groups also have different temporal ranges they provide the most logical framework for explor­ing life with clay at Çatalhöyük. The following five chapters deal with these four clay groups and their interpretation in more detail. Starting with Reinterpreting the Holocene alluvium: challenging Çatalhöyük’s clay foundation (Chap­ter 5), the author details the first of these four fun­damental clay groups, the Holocene dark clays (i.e. the Lower Alluvium) to re-interpret Çatalhöyük’s lo­cal environment and that of the Southern Konya Plain. The alluvial system proposed by the KOPAL project is inappropriate for this physiographic set­ting. An alternative alluvial system is thus proposed which, together with an acknowledgment of changes due to soil formation, presents a truer picture of the landscape context for the Neolithic clay deposits. Here a view emerges that the landscape around the site was much drier than that proposed by the KO­PAL model, and brings the narrative back to the well-watered grassland setting already proposed by Mel-laart and Cohen. In chapter six, The Holocene alluvium – a clay for all purposes, the Holocene alluvium, i.e. a silty cal­careous clay, is explored in more detail. Special fo­cus is put on early mudbricks vs. mudbricks in the later occupation phases. The alluvium was used ini­tially as it was a readily available surface clay, and as such an attractive raw material. After the South M phase these dark alluvial clays were no longer used for mudbricks, and the conflict arising between the continued use of this material and its corresponding fertile soils is seen as the probable cause for the sud­den abandonment of dark clay mubricks. In chapter seven, A common ground: the white marls and lake clays of the Konya Plain, the white marls are explored in more detail. This material was used for the final plaster layers of floors and walls and has already been extensively studied, but the burnt lime plaster technology, an obvious PPNB con­nection, that was proposed for the earliest layers at Çatalhöyük is questioned here. Doherty presents firm evidence that burnt lime plaster was more la-bour intensive to produce and complicated to use compared to the readily available white marl (which is strikingly obvious from the comparison of the ope­rational sequences of both processes in Figure 7.5). Next a micro-textural analysis is presented that pro­ves the use of softlime, found in weathered Neogene limestone outcrops west and southwest of the settle­ment, was present at Çatalhöyük from the formation of the site onwards. As such, there is no solid archa­eological evidence for burnt lime technology at Ça­talhöyük. Additionally, non-white marls are also presented in this section of the book, and these became more im­portant after the South M phase, with the author arguing that the diversity of clays around the site was more important than white marl availability alone, as argued by Hodder (2006). Documenta Praehistorica XLVII (2020) – Book review Chapter eight, Colluvium: the rise of new clay, looks at a new clay source recognized at Çatalhöyük, i.e. the colluvium which is an unconsolidated earth material that has been transported down the tell by gravity and accumulates at its base. The compo­sition of the colluvium is a direct reflection of the material brought onsite, as it is a mixture of degrad­ed mudbricks, plaster and mortar. This type of ma­terial, as argued by Doherty, was not only the domi­nant clay for mudbrick building after the South M phase at Çatalhöyük, but also had beneficial effects on the local landscape. The concept of a clay cycle is proposed and explored in more detail, as the dyna­mic link between clay material culture and landscape was fully developed only with the colluvium phase. The proposed ‘clay cycle’ explains most of the high volume clay transitions at Neolithic Çatalhöyük. In the ninth chapter, Arrivals from a distant clay-scape, the only non-local clays used at Çatalhöyük are presented. These were used only for a single group of artefacts, specifically the pottery that ap­peared at South M and which then dominated until the later levels. These clays are the only departure from a full reliance of the Çatalhöyük people on nearby local clays. This change corresponds to the first use of mineral-rich ‘gritty’ clays that were first recorded by Mellaart, but their non-local character was not appreciated until the Hodder excavations. Doherty presents the pottery forms as well as the full fabric sequence, established after petrographical examination of thin sections. Here convincing re­sults are presented as the mineral inclusions in grit­ty wares clearly point to the use of non-local non-calcareous raw materials, as these inclusions are not present in the local calcareous clays. However, it is not clear whether clay or readily made pottery was transported to Çatalhöyük. The final chapter, Conclusions, brings together the main topics discussed in the book as well as all the results which provides a more holistic approach to the clay-based material culture at Çatalhöyük and its place in the context of the local landscape. Even more importantly, Doherty shows how the site’s fa-voured location on the Konya Plain afforded both raw materials and an environment suitable for early farming, against the view presented by the prevail­ing KOPAL landscape model. This change to the land­scape model will of course have major implications on how all aspects of life at Çatalhöyük are seen, as rightly pointed out by the author. The factors behind non-local clay use have not been clearly established by this research, as Doherty notes himself, and it is therefore not clear whether pottery made from gritty clays was appreciated be­cause it fitted a new preferred style, or whether technological superiority was a factor – only further work will be able to fully interpret what this varia­tion points to. Nevertheless, Doherty’s book is an in­teresting multidisciplinary view of clay, clay materi­al culture, and landscape, as well as the different va­riations that bind them. The book would benefit from some more figures of higher quality, but apart from this it is a well-researched, well-documented, thought-provoking, and inspiring book for any re­searcher dealing with clay raw materials, pottery, and landscape studies. Andreja .ibrat Ga.pari. Faculty of Arts, University of Ljubljana back to contents