Ahhiyawa and Hatti: Palatial perspectives

MEDITERRANEAN CROSSROADS

Edited by Sophia Antoniadou

and Anthony Pace

Athens

Pierides Foundation

© Copyright Pierides Foundation and the authors 2007 ISBN 978-9963-9071-6-8

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291A%%IYAWA AND %ATTI: PALATIAL PERSPECTIVES

13. A##iyawa and %atti: palatial perspectives

ulrIch Thaler

abstract

In contrast to the Mycenaean Linear B-archives, which remain mute on such matters, Hittite sources such as the MEŠEDI-text, the instruction of the royal bodyguard, offer a wealth of information on different aspects of the social use of palatial architecture. These include, for example, differential rights of access and the importance of the act of building itself. In the archaeological record, various architectural parallels ex-ist between the Hittite and Mycenaean spheres, ranging from the use of certain tools to concepts of spatial organisation. These, again, provide a basis to draw on Hittite textual sources to further our understanding of the archaeologically documented Mycenaean palaces as both outcome and precondition of a particular social order. Appeals to contacts and exchanges between both cultures and to analogical arguments constitute alternative, and to some extent complementary, strategies to substantiate such a comparative approach.

Introduction

While the contributions to this volume as a whole aim at understanding and explaining cultural contacts, a slightly different approach is chosen in this paper in primarily seeking to further our understanding of one particular culture by comparison with a neighbouring culture we may assume it to have been in contact with. This is certainly and for good rea-sons not the most popular style of argument in current archaeology, but it is one that seems highly appropriate and productive for the cultural phe-nomenon I am interested in. I want to consider the Mycenaean palaces of

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the 13th century BC as both documents and framing structures of social order, with reference to Hittite palatial architecture. To try to do so, I will discuss three areas of evidence: firstly, the question whether Mycenaean Greece can or should be equated with the land A##iyawa mentioned in Hittite textual sources; secondly, the archaeological evidence of parallels in building techniques and spatial organisation of royal residences on either side of the Aegean; and thirdly, what information on the function and use of palatial architecture can be gleaned from Hittite texts.

If readers suspect a hint of diffusionism in the way the evidence is set out, they are not entirely mistaken. In my opinion, we should seriously consider the possibility that an eastern inspiration may be detected in the spatial organisation of Mycenaean palaces. But I hasten to add two quali-fications: firstly, I by no means want to picture the Mycenaean Greeks as mere recipients – much less passive recipients – of what (light) came from the east; and, secondly, the comparative case I set out need not de-pend on assumptions of diffusion, acculturation or interaction. I conclude this study with an outline of how the evidence presented may be read, and further developed, in terms of an analogy – and I deliberately leave open the question of whether we should, in the end, speak of accultura-tion or analogy. The question is certainly an interesting and important one, but, for the purposes of the present study, appeals to interaction and to organisational similarities can be seen as alternative or even comple-mentary strategies in establishing Hittite textual documents as sources which can further our understanding of the uses of the archaeologically documented Mycenaean palatial architecture.

a##iyawa

With regard to the long-debated A##iyawa-question (e.g. Heinhold-Krah-mer 2003; Niemeier 1998; Steiner 1990; Ünal 1991), I want to confine myself to just a few brief statements. Firstly, I am personally convinced that in the past few years the growing evidence (Otten 1988; Hawkins 1998) has made it very difficult to argue for anything but identification with part of Mycenaean Greece and indeed mainland Greece. Secondly, I am also convinced that there is at present no good and reliable evi-dence to support a conclusive identification with any specific Mycenaean centre – if Mycenae (e.g. Hope Simpson 2003: 233-34; Niemeier 1998:


43-44) or Thebes (e.g. Niemeier 2002: 295) dominate the discussion, then this is little more than a testimony to their size and archaeologically established importance. Some of the evidence presented here might actu-ally be used to argue for Mycenae or more generally for the Argolid, but I am not sure whether this illustrates anything apart from the paucity of the architectural evidence from Thebes. Thirdly, I do not think that the argument I want to present, although it is probably more likely to appeal to supporters of the identification of A##iyawa with part of Mycenaean Greece, depends upon acceptance of this identification in principle. But the equation of A##iyawa with a Mycenaean state offers a background which is illuminating both in general terms and possibly even more so in some of its specific details. Here, I am referring mainly to the Ta-wagalawa-letter (KUB 14.3), in which we learn that the brother of the A##iyawan king had – before the time of writing the letter – made the acquaintance of and rode on a chariot with the Hittite Great King’s chari-oteer, who in turn was a member of the Hittite queen’s family. The letter is now commonly ascribed to %attušili III and dated to around the middle of the 13th century (Güterbock 1983: 135; Singer 1983: 209-10). Thus, we have evidence of what would appear to be a high-level A##iyawan visitor in %atti at about the time when a major new building program started by %attušili and continued by his son Tut#aliya IV was under way at the Hittite royal residence of Büyükkale (Neve 1982: 136). Of course, this is the same time at which major rebuilding, including the Lion Gate, is undertaken at Mycenae and also the time when what has been called a ‘Musterzitadelle’ (Maran 2004: 283) or a Mycenaean ‘Versailles’ (Lauter 1987: 225) is constructed at nearby Tiryns (Figure 1).

architecture

With this in mind, I will turn to the architectural evidence uncovered by archaeology, where first of all I want to note two – possibly quite telling – contradictions. Despite the recent identification of a few Myc-enaean sherds in Boğazköy and Kuşaklı (Genz 2004), the archaeological evidence of Hittite-Mycenaean contacts is surprisingly scarce in general terms, and especially in those groups of material, such as Mycenaean pot-tery, where archaeologists usually would look for evidence of exchange (Re 1994). Indeed, the scarcity of the data is so pronounced that it led Eric

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Cline (1991) to suggest a long-lasting Hittite embargo against A##iyawa. In clear contrast, the architectural evidence provides an equally surpris-ing high number of possible and likely parallels. And while the ceramic evidence for exchange remains strongest in coastal areas and particularly western Asia Minor, the best architectural parallels are often found in the central Anatolian Hittite core area with conspicuous lacunae in west-ern Asia Minor (cf. Maran 2004: 271, 291) – so that in the modernist idiom, we would have to speak of a directional exchange (Renfrew 1972: 470-71), if, indeed, we want to talk about an exchange of architectural knowledge. This fits well with the general picture of Hittite contacts to the west as recently summarised by Jürgen Seeher, who speaks of ‘elite contacts without economic interests’ (Seeher 2005: 40: ‘elitäre Verbind-ungen ohne wirtschaftliche Interessen’; cf. Genz 2004: 82).

The evidence for architectural exchanges between the Hittite and Mycenaean spheres, which I want to review now, is quite varied and also, doubtless, of quite varied quality. But it is quite encouraging to see that

Figure 1. Building states in late 13th century BC: Left, plan of acropolis, Tiryns (cour-tesy of Tiryns-Projekt). Right, partially reconstructed plan of Büyükkale, Boğazköy (adapted from Seeher 2002a: 104 fig. 109).


often it is the most distinctive and conspicuous features which offer the clearest evidence of contact and exchange, when we turn to look at tools, techniques and forms, and, finally, concepts of spatial organisation.

Tools

Both stone hammers and metal picks, the use of which has been inferred from tool-marks at Mycenaean sites, have been found in and around the Hittite capital of Boğazköy-%attuša. The use of neither, however, would be likely to set apart Anatolian and Aegean builders from their Late Bronze Age eastern Mediterranean contemporaries. This is more likely in the case of bronze saws. A saw found in Boğazköy in a later 13th century context shows a particular form of equilaterally triangular teeth known previously only from Aegean bronze saws, the teeth of which – as in the Hittite example, too – had been punched rather than cut, as indicat-ed by distinctive thickening of the metal on the edges of the teeth (Neve 1989: 402-5). These Aegean parallels, however, are exclusively Cretan in origin and, at least in their majority, Minoan Neopalatial in date.

Absent from Crete, but well documented both at the Hittite capital and at Mycenaean palatial sites, in particular Tiryns, but also Mycenae and possibly Gla, is another type of saw: the pendulum stone saw evi-denced by and indeed reconstructable from its typical curved cut marks (Küpper 1996: 16-25; Neve 1995-96: 56; Schwandner 1991) (Figure 2). While Michael Küpper (1996: 16) has refuted the older claim that cut marks from Tiryns and Boğazköy actually showed equal radii (Schwand-ner 1991: 222), his detailed considerations of the preserved traces have confirmed the impression that – with pendulum lengths of up to 7.5m, the need of a substantial framework for the saw and not least due to its time-consuming nature – the use of the pendulum saw must have been a most conspicuous if not a spectacular form of display. It should also be noted that this highly specialised technique would form a link not simply between the Hittite and Mycenaean regions in general, but specifically between %attuša and the centres of the Argolid, if one followed Joseph Shaw (1973: 68) rather than Küpper (1996: 23) in discounting the evi-dence from Gla as indicative of a straight saw blade.

Another specialised technique may have been associated in some way with the use of the pendulum saw, and this is the hollow tubular drill

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Figure 2. Pendulum stone saw: Above, reconstruction drawing by M. Küpper (Küp-per 1996: 286 pl. 12.2). Below, cut marks on anta base, Tiryns (Schwandner 1991: 218 fig. 4).


(Küpper 1996: 14, 118; Neve 1989: 406; 1995-96: 57). As with the pen-dulum saw, no specimen of the tool itself has been preserved, but its use in the drilling of dowel-holes is amply documented, again particularly in Tiryns and Boğazköy. Apart from the drill-holes, numerous stone cores, the waste products of the drilling, have been noted at the latter site. For %attuša, specialised work-crews using the pendulum saw and the tubular drill have been suggested (Neve 1995-96: 58). The tubular drill, how-ever, was also known to the Minoans (Shaw 1973: 70); and the Cretan evidence would have to be considered in more detail before the transmis-sion of a technical package of pendulum saw and tubular drill from the Hittites to the Mycenaean Greeks or vice versa could be postulated.

Techniques and forms of building

The first major technological issue, of course, is the question whether Cyclopean masonry, which appears comparatively suddenly in the Myc-enaean citadels, should be explained with reference to Anatolian influ-ence. This long-accepted position, though still decidedly upheld by some scholars (e.g. Niemeier 1998: 43), has recently been subjected to some-times quite detailed criticisms (Küpper 1996: 119; Loader 1998: 146, 152, 159-60). I would like to suggest that it still makes sense if seen contextually, and that, in fact, contextual considerations might be more important than the relative proportions of interstice stones in stretches of wall on either side of the Aegean. Here, I am referring to the fact that at the sites of its most conspicuous occurrences, Cyclopean masonry is closely linked to another technique: the corbelled vaulting of passages, to which I return after first looking at two more techniques of wall build-ing adduced in the literature as evidence for or against trans-Aegean con-tacts.

The fortification wall of the Unterburg at Tiryns is sometimes cited as an example of the Anatolian ‘Kastenmauer’, or compartment type of wall (e.g. Niemeier 1998: 43). This claim is referenced back to an article by Peter Grossmann (1967), who, however, only compares the Unterburg-wall to some Anatolian fortifications of ‘Kastenmauer’-type with respect to a construction in segments resulting in offsets where segments join (Grossmann 1967: 100). But transverse walls rather than offsets, which do occur in some places and are absent in others, are the defining feature

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of compartment walls, and these are not mentioned by Grossmann. Klaus Kilian (1988: 139) does indicate the possibility that in an early phase of the Unterburg-fortification, the then mud brick-superstructure may have contained ‘chambers’, but the evidence remains as vague as the proposed parallel to Anatolia: neither do the chambers seem traceable in the foun-dations, nor does Kilian give any indication whether he thought of the ‘chambers’ as rooms or filled-in structural features. The late so-called ‘tower’ of the Tirynthian Südburg provides a better example of a com-partmented construction technique reminiscent of Hittite towers, but the assumption of a direct link would remain speculative.

On the other hand, Küpper’s (1996: 119) argument that Mycenaean pseudo-ashlar masonry should not be compared to proper Hittite work in ashlar seems as problematic to me as does the ‘Kastenmauer’-hypoth-esis. I would like to suggest that it is precisely those wall sections where the Mycenaean ashlars have not been set in proper courses, i.e. those passages which – if any – may justify the term ‘pseudo’-ashlar, which show quite suggestive parallels with the way worked stones were made to fit on the spot in %attuša. The northern dromos wall of the treasury of Atreus offers perhaps the best, but not the only, Mycenaean example of such elaborate fitting of well-dressed blocks, although the detail of cham-fering seems to be present in Hittite examples only (Figure 3). Another incidence is provided by the Lion Gate of Mycenae, the sculptural elabo-ration of which provides a further parallel with %attuša. The contextual association of these two traits strengthens the comparison (Figure 4).

But as with tools and the pendulum saw, it is the most distinctive and perhaps most conspicuous technique which offers the most encouraging evidence for a possible transfer of knowledge: the use of the corbelled vault in the building of passages in, through or below walls (Maran 2004: 266-70) (Figure 5). I have referred to the arguments of Küpper as one of those scholars who take a rather critical stance towards alleged parallels, but even he does not hesitate to state the ‘absolutely identical mode of construction’ (Küpper 1996: 119: ’absolut identische Konstruktions-weise’) of corbelled vaults on either side of the Aegean. Most recently, Joseph Maran (2004: 270) has strengthened the parallel even further by pointing out that within the Hittite sequence of postern development, the best comparisons for the vaulted passages of Tiryns and Mycenae are their direct contemporaries. As indicated before, the close association of


Figure 3. Fitting of worked stone on the spot: above, dromos wall of Treasury of Atreus, Mycenae (photo by Nora Brüggemann). Below, temple wall, Boğazköy (See-her 2002a: 70 fig. 73).

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Figure 4. The Lion gate(s): above, in the acropolis fortification, Mycenae (Wace 1949: pl. 72a). Below, in the city wall, Boğazköy, computer reconstruction by H. Schriever (Seeher 2002a: 38 fig. 37).


corbelled vaults and Cyclopean masonry at these sites also lends some strength to comparisons of the latter to Anatolian building techniques. And, possibly, this contextual comparison might also be extended to consider the Mycenaean and Hittite use of half-timbering (pace Küpper 1996: 118-19).

Concepts of spatial organization

With respect to similarities in spatial organisation (Figure 1), little needs to be added to what Kurt Bittel had to say about Hittite palaces, and Büyükkale in particular, some thirty years ago. After commenting on the comparability of landscape settings and the dissimilarity to, amongst others, Minoan palaces, he states: ‘The similarity to mainland Greek palaces – just think of Tiryns – can hardly be overlooked, not in the function of the individual element, but quite clearly in the importance inherent to the courts as elements of ordering and as connective links

Figure 5. Corbelled vaulting: Left, eastern gallery, Tiryns (Papadimitriou 2001: 33 fig. 27). Right, postern of Yerkapı, Boğazköy (Seeher 2002b: 162 fig. 9).

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of the individual parts’ (Bittel 1976: 524: ‘Die Ähnlichkeit mit festland-griechischen Palästen, nicht in der Funktion des einzelnen, wohl aber in der Bedeutung, die hier wie dort den Höfen als Element der Zuordnung und als Verbindungsglieder der einzelnen Teile – man denke etwa an Tiryns – zukommt, ist kaum zu übersehen.’). My only real disagree-ment with Bittel’s position is with the qualification he added, namely, that one distinctive difference from Mycenaean palaces was that indi-vidual buildings rather than continuous tracts surrounded the courts at Büyükkale. In pointing to this, he failed, I think, to consider the perspec-tive of the user of the architecture; from the visitors’ or inhabitants’ point of view, the long porticoes would have effectively bound together the structurally separated buildings into a single building complex. Indeed, the known smaller Hittite palaces, at Maşathöyük (Özgüç 1978: plans 1-4) and Alacahöyük (Koşay and Akok 1966: pls. 1, 78-79), were built as coherent structures, so that what we see in Büyükkale does not seem to differ in the underlying spatial concept but merely in the technicalities of putting the concept into place on a large scale. The only thing which I think needs to be stressed in addition to Bittel’s remarks is that – both in Büyükkale and Tiryns – the principal courts are clearly arranged in a topologically linear fashion, one behind the other.

And while such an arrangement is not immediately obvious at the well-preserved palace of Pylos, a comparison of reconstructions of the building’s state in around 1300 and then around 1200 BC (Thaler 2005; 2006) allows two important points to be made. Firstly, that while open areas around the main building certainly formed part of the palace and were defined to some extent in the earlier state, they become much more clearly defined, architecturally elaborated and distinct from one another as courts in the course of the 13th century. And secondly, a space syn-tactical analysis of the building shows – among other things – that in the later states, though folded into a compact structure topographically, the courts’ topological position is modulated to create an outer, an in-ner and possibly an innermost court. Analyses of inventories, as vividly demonstrated by Lisa Bendall’s (2004: 112-24) insightful study of the differences in the qualities of assemblages of drinking vessels, can con-firm the point in more clarity and detail. And if we further consider the non-mobile furnishings of rooms, such as frescoes and floors of different qualities, and in extension the changes of sensory perception associated


with the transition from one room or spatial unit to another, then I think it can be shown that it is those spaces connecting the courts, notably such architectural units as propyla, which stand out in particular.

Textual sources

Unfortunately, such analyses seem impossible at Büyükkale, where most of what is preserved belongs to the level of foundations. But if the archaeological data is more favourable to detailed interpretation for the Mycenaean palaces in comparison to the Hittite ones, and to Büyükkale in particular, it is only in the Hittite empire that the textual evidence holds some promise as to an understanding of the use of palatial architec-ture. The most important source in this respect is the MEŠEDI-text (IBoT I 36), the instruction for the royal bodyguard (Güterbock and van den Hout 1991; Jakob-Rost 1965). Dating no later than the mid-14th century (Güterbock 1974: 311), it has proven fairly resistant to any attempts to directly link the buildings mentioned to the buildings of the extensively excavated 13th century palace on Büyükkale, although several scholars have tried (e.g. Neve 1982: 137). I think it will prove much more prof-itable to try to find more general characteristics of the use of palatial architecture in this text and others, rather than concrete identifications of individual buildings. That there is some hope in this is indicated not least by the MEŠEDI-text itself, which in several passages (IBoT I 36 §§ 12a, 48; paragraphs quoted according to Güterbock and van den Hout 1991) gives alternative instructions for instances of palaces outside the capital whose architectural layout did not allow the standard procedure to be followed. Still, even at this more general level of analysis, a number of philological difficulties cannot be avoided, as the translation of some central terms is still – and seems likely to remain – under debate. In my review of textual sources, I will follow the traditional translation of Éhi-lammar as ‘gate-building’ (discussion summarized in Naumann 1979: 227-28) and to some extent at least also the more controversial identifi-cation of Éarkiu as ‘passageway of the gate’ (Singer 1983: 106-11). That is, I accept – as I think do critics of the latter translation (Güterbock and van den Hout 1991: 62) – that any activity associated with an Éarkiu can be seen as an activity associated with a gate.

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Rights of access

The simple fact that the MEŠEDI-text mentions a ‘court of the body-guard’ (IBoT I 36 § 2) gives us a first indication that access to some areas was restricted to particular groups. Later in the text we learn that the people of the town of %a##a, apparently a group of singers greeting the king on his return to the palace, ‘shall not come up to the gate of the palace. If there are two gatehouses, they may come up to the lower gate but they shall not come up to the upper gate’ (IBoT I 36 § 48). Similarly, and in the same context, a group of chanters and a reciter seem to fol-low the king through the main gate, but then have to leave by way of a luštani (IBoT I 36 § 46), apparently a side entrance (Jakob-Rost 1965: 171, 204, 221; Singer 1975: 85). Even the MEŠEDI, the members of the royal bodyguard, ‘shall not go down through the main gate; they shall go down through the luštani’, unless on an official errand: ‘One guard who brings a šarkanti [probably a defendant in a case to be judged, but pos-sibly some kind of dignitary (Güterbock and van den Hout 1991: 48; Ja-kob-Rost 1965: 209)] or one whom the chief-of-messengers dispatches, that one shall go down through the main gate’ (IBoT I 36 § 11). Some higher-ranking officials seem to have had the generalised privilege of using that gate (IBoT I 36 § 11), although in the description of the king’s return to the palace we hear that, stepping through the main gate – from the context we may assume this to be the main gate of the inner palace – after the king, one of the MEŠEDI, one of the Gold-Spear-Men, another group of guards, and the gate-keeper immediately ‘throw the bolt’ (IBoT I 36 § 50); this leaves us to wonder whether the inner palace was indeed shut off or whether a luštani would have remained open. The importance attached to the opening and closing of doors, and thus the control of en-try, is also vividly illustrated in another document, the instruction of the %AZANNU of %attuša, an official often considered a kind of mayor. In this document, we learn that the gates of the capital were sealed at night and the seals opened every morning in the presence of high-ranking wit-nesses (Otten 1964: 92-94).

What we see clearly in all of this is that rights of access – and, indeed, with respect to particular gates ‘rights of passage’ – were clearly differ-entiated with respect not only to rank, but also to the particular occasion. This, of course, offers an intriguing parallel to what has been argued on


archaeological grounds for the palace of Pylos (cf. Thaler 2006), with respect to distributions of vessels of different qualities (Bendall 2004: 112-24) and space-syntactical analysis (Thaler 2005). But the compari-son with Hittite texts might also encourage us to consider the inegalitar-ian regulation of rights of access a more everyday feature of Mycenaean palaces than its discussion in the context of feasting has hitherto led us to expect.

Gate buildings as locales

The Hittite textual sources also show us further aspects of the use of palatial architecture which we hardly find, and should hardly expect to find, in Mycenaean archaeology today. But we may expect such aspects to have formed part of the past Mycenaean reality. The first of these is the functioning of the gate building as not just the interface between inside and outside, but as a locale of activity in its own right. This is, mostly, ceremonial activity associated with its primary function. The gate-building and its immediate surroundings are the setting of the elaborate preparations for what Hans Güterbock has termed ‘la sortie du roie’ (Güterbock and van den Hout 1991: 1), which include amongst other things the ritual cleaning of the door by the king’s barber (IBoT I 36 § 12). This can be compared to the daily sweeping of the palace-court before the doors are opened in the morning, which is also described in the MEŠEDI-text (IBoT I 36 § 1). It can also be compared to activities in temples described elsewhere (KBo 13.164): ‘And in which houses the God is, they celebrate him in the gate-house. They sprinkle it with sea-water; further they sweep it’ (Singer 1975: 83). The cleansing of the temple gate-buildings can be linked to the fact that sacrifices were made in these gate-buildings themselves (Singer 1975: 83-85; 1983: 110). One might at least speculate, therefore, whether the same might have held true for the gate-houses of the king as supreme priest, although the clean-ing there attested can just as well be explained by reference to various other regulations pertaining to the preservation of the king’s purity.

According to Rudolf Naumann (1979: 230), more direct evidence can be found in tablets of laws indicating that the king held court seated in the gate-building. Given the absence of large rooms in the archaeologi-cally preserved gate-buildings, one might actually think of him seated

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– as it were – on the threshold, although Itamar Singer (1983: 112, 116, 124) suggests that in the Ékatapuzna we have a possible textual reference to a tribune-like structure as part of the gate-building. These considera-tions notwithstanding, it has to be noted that Naumann’s suggestion rep-resents only one possible reading of relevant passages in the Hittite laws (Schuler 1982: 121 §§ 187-88, 123 §§ 198-99, cf. 109 § 71B) and the Edict of Telipinu (Hoffmann 1984: 55 § 50), which merely state explic-itly that the perpetrators of certain offences were to be brought before the gate of the king or the palace gate.

An architecture of bodies

There are two further aspects of the social functioning of palatial ar-chitecture of which we find evidence in the texts. The first of these is what may be called the continuation of architecture by other means, i.e. the positioning of human agents with reference to the architecture: ‘The guards take their place in the guard’s court. At the wall which is on the inner side toward the palace, twelve MEŠEDI stand and hold spears. […] But at the wall which is on the outside, gold-spear-men are standing. One MEŠEDI stands near the door on one side, namely on the side of the wall of the MEŠEDI, but near the door on the other side, namely on the side of the wall of the gold-spear-men, one gold-spear-man stands’ (IBoT I 36 §§ 2-3). Although one may try (Jakob-Rost 1965: 176), it is not easy to picture the positioning as presented in the MEŠEDI-text, particularly because other passages may or may not refer to and further describe the situation. But in the way the positioning is referenced to the architec-tural setting, we can see that, firstly, as the architectural theorist Amos Rapoport (1982: 57) phrased it, ‘it is the social situation that influences people’s behaviour, but it is the physical environment that provides the cues’ and that, secondly, the Hittites were quite aware of this. We also see how an architecture of bodies is employed to enhance the impressive effect of the built architecture. A dozen guards ranged along a wall of a court is certainly as much about a demonstration of power as it is about considerations of security. The same may be said of another passage in the text which describes how a consignment of MEŠEDI takes position at the palace gate in preparation for the ‘sortie du roie’ (IBoT I 36 § 12a).

In Mycenaean archaeology, we can witness an equally effective and


even more subtle interplay of architecture and the human body, if the reconstruction of antithetic heraldic animals flanking the throne in the palace of Pylos can be upheld. There, one might be justified in suggest-ing a compositional scheme of the frescoes which was only completed once the ruler was seated on the throne, but the evidence remains equivo-cal (cf. Thaler 2006). The so-called ‘sentry-stands’ in the same palace offer perhaps less stimulating, but certainly more reliable, evidence for the enhancement of architectural effect by bodily positioning – and also some indications of the other aspects of social uses of architecture dis-cussed above: they clearly bear witness to the first point discussed with reference to Hittite text, a grading of rights of access. Speculatively, one might even point to the close similarity in size between the sentry-stands and the lost base of the throne (Blegen and Rawson 1966: 57, 68, 74, 88, 253). The stand in the propylon would provide a good parallel, and its counterparts in the megaron’s porch and in porch-like room 64 are plausible parallels to the Hittite textual evidence of activity in gate-build-ings. The megaron’s vestibule, however, seems a less likely locale for state ritual in the palace of Pylos. In Dimini, an altar has been identified in the ‘vestibule’ of Megaron B (Αδρύμη-Σισμάνη 1999-2001: 90-92); the fact that ‘vestibule’ and main room do not seem to have had a direct connection, however, argues against comparisons with other palatial ves-tibules.

The act of building

The last aspect of the social functioning of architecture I wish to touch upon with reference to the Hittite texts is the act of building itself and, in particular, the rituals associated with it. As is the case with the passages on the positioning of people, the texts describing building rituals remind Aegeanists, first of all, of what we are most likely missing in the archaeo-logical record. But there is more to be found: in an instruction for rituals to be held on the occasion of the building or renewal of a palace (KUB 29.1), which was reconstructed from older sources during the reign of Tut#aliya IV, reference is made not only to particular rituals to be under-taken during the course of construction, but also to the special symbolic and quite possibly magical importance attributed to the act of plastering the wall (Schwartz 1947: 24-25 § 2, 34-35 §§ 39-40; cf. Haas 1994: 250,

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724, 727; Sürenhagen 2001: 404). I cannot help being reminded of the successive layers of stucco that have been found not only on the walls but, in particular, on the hearths in Mycenaean palaces (Blegen and Raw-son 1966: 82, 85-86, 199; Wace et al. 1921-23: 241-43), which seem to indicate a concern with renewal that went beyond the functionally nec-essary. The Hittite ritual text in its turn also emphasises the importance of the building of the hearth (Schwartz 1947: 36-37 §§ 42-48; cf. Haas 1994: 250, 727-28). It will be interesting to see whether future scientific analysis will confirm first indications that the fragments of wall paintings found in Boğazköy were executed in the fresco technique commonly as-sociated with the Aegean (Ann Brysbaert, personal communication, 12 May 2005).

Discussion

Cultural contact and influence

As I stated at the outset, my primary intention has been to shed light on possible and likely uses of Mycenaean palatial architecture by reference to and comparison with contemporary Hittite archaeological and textual sources. In terms of this objective, the above review of evidence can, in my opinion, largely speak for itself. But with regard to the circum-stances and means of transmission of architectural form and associated knowledge from one culture to the other – and thus perhaps with more direct relevance to the general topic of this volume – several points de-serve further comment, if we accept the similarities outlined above and in particular the similarities in spatial organisation, in which sequences of courts play a central role, as the result of interaction between the Hit-tite and Mycenaean cultural spheres.

Firstly, who can be seen as the agents of the transfer of knowledge? I have already pointed to the probable directional character of correspond-ing exchanges; this would fit with the exchange of specialists, which was common practice among the royal courts in the Late Bronze Age Eastern Mediterranean (Imparati 1999: 385-86; Zaccagnini 1983: 249-56). The occurrence of stone-masons in the corresponding texts is uncertain, and A##iyawans do not appear, but in the Hittite archaeological evidence, there is – apart from the tools with possible or probable Aegean asso-


ciations mentioned above – the suggestive find of a Syro-Egyptian adze from Boğazköy (Neve 1995-96: 57). And while medical staff feature prominently among the specialists sent from one court to another, one Hittite text (KUB 5.6) mentions a deity of A##iyawa brought before the ailing Hittite king (Güterbock 1983: 134; Ünal 1991: 32). But if we are right in assuming a transfer not merely of techniques, but also of archi-tectural programs of spatial organisation, an even more important role than that of specialists is likely to have been played by the respective elites within either culture, as indicated by the Tawagalawa-anecdote.

Which leads to a second point: what reason is there to believe that if an architectural form was adopted, then the functions associated with it in its culture of origin would also be adopted? In the present case, that reason would lie, I think, in the fact that what is found in both cultures is not a form which can easily be given a semiotic meaning, and thus cannot easily be given a new semiotic meaning. What we see in the se-quences of courts, associated porticoes and gate-buildings or propyla, has little iconic value, but represents a mode of spatial organization – a complex, but aniconic artefact. Thus, we may assume a rather firm and direct link between form and function.

Lastly and most importantly, I am convinced that we have to be care-ful not to construct the transfer of architectural knowledge as either a one-way process, nor as a case of wholesale adoption of a pre-existing concept. For the moment, it is still mainly the dearth of evidence of di-rectionality that cautions against the first assumption. While it has been claimed, for example, that the Hittites had developed, in the course of a long autochthonous building tradition, the corbelled into a true vault by the late 13th century (Neve 1991), none of the examples cited seems to meet the criteria of a true vault; assertions of Anatolian precedence based on this alleged technical superiority will have to be considered with some caution (cf. Küpper 1996: 119). In the future, analysis of the wall paintings from Boğazköy might, as mentioned above, provide more positive evidence that the Hittite empire in its turn received something from the west.

As to the notion that adoption of architectural forms may – and I think must – have been selective rather than whole-sale, it is important to remember that we find the sequences of courts combined with what

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has long been identified as a strongly traditional element of Mycenaean architecture: the megaron (e.g. Barber 1992; Hiller 1986; Werner 1993). In Pylos, as indicated before, a sequential structure of courts around the main building with the megaron develops only in the course of the 13th century. And if we see Tiryns as subject to the rule of Mycenae, then the limits Mycenae’s topography posed on the creation of large courts may well explain why the exemplary Mycenaean residence of the later 13th century was erected on the Tirynthian acropolis – even the small court-yard fronting the Mycenaean megaron necessitated very substantial ter-racing. But for all the apparent attraction of an architecture of courts and the associated and potentially new and attractive forms of representation, at the very core we find the megaron as the archetypically Mycenaean building form. There is an element of conscious signification to this, I would like to suggest, an architecturally stated claim to Mycenaean-ness, but also something more subtle: I think that in important ways, the mega-ron was not simply about stating one’s Mycenaean-ness, but about being able to act like a Mycenaean and be Mycenaean. Architectural forms provide important cues as to what behaviour is socially acceptable, and forms of architecture one is familiar with help to maintain what Anthony Giddens (1984: 50, 375) has termed ‘ontological security’. By elaborat-ing the traditional form of domestic architecture into the representative core of their residences while preserving core elements like the central hearth, the Mycenaean rulers must have been able to draw on a whole set of culturally-embedded forms of behaviour (cf. Thaler 2006; Wright 1994: esp. 54-60). A discussion of these would in all probability have to start from the notion of oikos. This, however, is a discussion I do not want to and cannot enter into now. Rather, I want to emphasise that it is the juxtaposition of elements from indigenous tradition and probable foreign inspiration — that is, the evidence for selective adoption and adaptation of outside elements which could usefully be reproduced in an indigenous context — which, in my view, accounts for much of the at-traction and persuasiveness of the assumption of ‘cultural influence’.

Analogical afterthoughts

On the other hand, we need not necessarily assume any such influence in order to profit from the above comparison in terms of our understand-


ing of the Mycenaean palaces. This is because, although I have largely avoided the term so far, what I have presented can be understood as an analogical argument; and, to conclude this paper, I want to discuss briefly how this analogy could be developed further and why it is, in my opinion, a strong one already. The least reason for the latter lies in the fact that it fulfils the criterion of spatial and temporal proximity of source- and subject-context often cited as an indicator of strength in an archaeological analogy (e.g. Hodder 1982: 18). While this criterion does strengthen comparative conclusions, it leads away from actual analogi-cal argument. Whether in the ‘direct historical approach’ or in similar forms, the persuasiveness of the argument derives from implied cultural links, which means that we return to the notion of ‘influences’ in an ar-gument based on homology rather than analogy proper. In this respect, the term ‘synchronous regional comparison’ suggested by Dirk Krauße (1999: 350-51: ‘synchroner Regionalvergleich’) with reference to ethno-logical terminology (Schweizer 1998) offers the best description of what has been presented here, because it encompasses both homological and analogical argument.

The main reason why the evidence discussed here constitutes a strong archaeological analogy sensu stricto, however, is the strongly relational character of the analogy (Hodder 1982: 16, 19-20; Wylie 1985: 94-95, 99-105; cf. Copi 1968: 314). Whether we follow the assumption that ‘form follows function’ or subscribe to the notion of the duality of struc-ture, there can be no doubt that causal relations link the physical reality of palace architecture and the social acts played out within it. To give a concrete example, the architectural elaboration of Hittite gate build-ings is linked to the sacrificial, purificatory and juridical acts the textual sources associate them with. The considerable number of similarities that could be identified provides further support for an analogical reading of the evidence (Hodder 1982: 16; cf. Copi 1968: 311), although some of the comparisons, such as the use of similar tools, are much less relevant in this context than in terms of possible interactions – it will be difficult to suggest a causal link between the way an architecture is used socially and the tools it was built with. Still, other, non-architectural, points of comparison could be introduced at this point, which pertain more di-rectly to social organisation, such as a comparison of forms of land ten-ure – provided that sufficient clarity and consent has been attained in

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the discussion of the corresponding sources for both cultures and that the respective reconstructions do not themselves depend too heavily on claims of analogy (cf. e.g. Deger-Jalkotzy 1988). While a common level of social complexity is no longer considered an indicator of reliability in an analogical argument per se (Wylie 1985: 99-100), such structural similarities may still add to its strength.

In more general terms, the present analogical argument could further benefit from: firstly, an appraisal of the dissimilarities of source- and subject-context; secondly, a consideration of the strength of conclusions relative to premises; and thirdly, the introduction of additional source-contexts (cf. Copi 1968: 310-13). To address the first of these points is, however, beyond the scope of this paper, which I hope will open up new lines of enquiry rather than probe their limits. Any assessment of the second point remains largely a matter or personal judgement, which can be illustrated by the following example: as I mentioned above, it is held by a number of authors that the different courts at Pylos were open to different groups during acts of palatial feasting, the distinctive feature of which is seen in ‘neither its existence nor its scale, but rather its cultural elaboration and highly inegalitarian social context’ (Halstead and Isaaki-dou 2004: 150). If this proposition is accepted, then the textual evidence for social discrimination through rights of access provides a further point of similarity in the Hittite context, thus a premise for the construction of an analogy. In contrast, someone initially doubtful about the idea might still accept as a conclusion of analogical reasoning that the Hittite archi-tectural parallels lend some strength to the proposition of an inegalitarian character of Mycenaean palatial feasts and spatial organisation. As to the third point, the inclusion of additional source-contexts may strengthen the analogy developed here. At the same time, it may weaken to some ex-tent assumptions of interaction, if, for example, a sequencing of courts is found to be associated with similar social practices of exclusion in other contemporary cultural contexts – prima vista not an entirely unlikely as-sumption. Yet, comparisons with the Levant, Egypt or Mesopotamia will prove far more interesting if they can shed light on other aspects of the so-cial functioning of Mycenaean palatial architecture, ones not illuminated by comparisons with the Hittite sphere. Through this style of analogical argument, advocated by Alison Wylie (1985: 105-107) and termed ‘com-


plex analogy’ by Reinhard Bernbeck (1997: 102: ‘komplexe Analogie’), we may hope to reconstruct the unknown from known parts.

Still, there is a final reason why I am convinced that the evidence pre-sented here already constitutes an analogy both sound and informative. What forms the source-material for most analogical arguments in archae-ology and is conventionally termed the ‘ethnographic present’ drifts ever further into the past. Therefore, and despite all the difficulties inherent in the translation of the Hittite texts, it is instructive to see how these measure up against standard criteria adduced for the appraisal of ethno-graphic texts (Wood 1990: 89), which Ann Brower Stahl (1993: 247) has rightly suggested should be taken into account as elements of source-side criticism in the construction of analogies: Is the account contemporary or is there a time-lapse between the social phenomenon described and its documentation in writing? How competent was the witness? What was the purpose of the document and what was its intended audience? An ac-count such as the MEŠEDI-text is clearly contemporary with its subject. It is written by a highly competent author and its purpose is the reproduc-tion of the very practices described – and indeed prescribed. It is, thus, an active element in the recursive constitution of society – a quality quite unlikely to be found in an etic ethnographic account.

ULRICH THALER314

acknowleDGeMenTs

I am very grateful to the organisers and sponsors of the Mediterranean Crossroads Conference both for inviting me and for covering my travel expenses. To Dr. Despina Catapoti, I extend my thanks for providing shelter during the conference and the initial encouragement to submit a proposal before it. I also would like to express my gratitude to the Altertumswissenschaftliches Kolleg Heidelberg, of which I was a junior research associate while undertaking the study presented here. My sin-cere thanks for both criticism and encouragement go to those who read and commented on earlier versions of this paper: a considerate anony-mous reviewer as well as Dr. Stefan Jakob, Prof. Joseph Maran, Prof. Peter A. Miglus, Prof. Aslı Özyar, Prof. Diamantis Panagiotopoulos, Dr. Jürgen Seeher and in particular Dr. Rita Strauß, whose advice on Hittite texts was exceptionally helpful. Naturally, these scholars cannot be held accountable for my views and all mistakes remain my own. Finally, I would like to thank Nora Brüggemann M.A. and Dr. Federica Gonzato, who provided photographs of the Treasury of Atreus.


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CONTENTS

Addresses................................................................................................ 13

Acknowledgements.......................................................................... . 17

list.of.contributors....................................................................... . 19

introduction1. Mediterraneancrossroads

Sophia Antoniadou and Anthony Pace................................................. 23

PArt.12. InsularityandislandidentityintheprehistoricMediterranean

A. Bernard Knapp ................................................................................ 37

3. WhatfutureintheMediterraneanpast?Eleni Mantzourani and Despina Catapoti ........................................... 63

4. Mediterraneanarchaeologies:acommentonthestructureofarchaeo-logicalcommunitiesintheMediterraneanregionDemetra Papaconstantinou ................................................................. 85

5. Abridgetoofar:essentialistconceptsinGreekarchaeologyKostas Kotsakis .................................................................................... 109

6. The beginning of theNeolithic inGreece – probing the limits of a‘grand’narrativeNikos Efstratiou ................................................................................... 123

10

PArt.27. East Mediterranean interactions in the 3rd millennium BC

Edgar Peltenburg ................................................................................. 141

8. Cultural interaction in 3rd millennium BC Cyprus: evidence of ceramicsDiane Bolger ........................................................................................ 163

9. Identifying population movements by everyday practice: the case of 3rd millennium CyprusJennifer Webb and David Frankel ....................................................... 189

10. External influences and local tradition in pottery repertoire of Boeotia at the end of EHIIKyriaki Psaraki .................................................................................... 217

11. Cultural contacts and mobility between the South Central Mediterra-nean and the Aegean during the second half of the 3rd millennium BCAlberto Cazzella, Anthony Pace and Giulia Recchia .......................... 243

PArt.312. Palatial style architecture and power in Bronze Age Crete

Giorgos Vavouranakis .......................................................................... 263

13. A##iyawa and %atti: palatial perspectivesUlrich Thaler ....................................................................................... 291

14. Cross-craft and cross-cultural interactions during the Aegean and East-ern Mediterranean Late Bronze AgeAnn Brysbaert ...................................................................................... 325

15. Artists exchanging vocabularies: the dot-rosette motif on ceramics and textiles of the 2nd millennium BC in Egypt and the AegeanMargarita Nicolakaki-Kentrou ............................................................ 361

16. Aegean Bronze Age seascapes – a case study in maritime movement, contact and interactionIna Berg................................................................................................ 387

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Part 417. Beyond cultures and ethnicity: a new look at material culture distribu-

tion and inter-regional interaction in the Early Bronze Age Southern AegeanYiannis Papadatos ................................................................................ 419

18. Sharing material culture? Mycenaeans in the MediterraneanGert Jan van Wijngaarden ................................................................... 453

19. Common materials, different meanings: changes in Late Cypriot societySophia Antoniadou ............................................................................... 483

20. Beyond emulation and hierarchy: diverse expressions of social identity in Late Cypriot mortuary ritualPriscilla Schuster Keswani .................................................................. 509

21. Colonial encounters and the negotiation of identities in south-east IberiaJaime Vives-Ferrándiz Sánchez ........................................................... 537

22. Locating identities in the Eastern Mediterranean during the Late Bronze Αge–Early Iron Age: the case of ‘hellenised’ CyprusAnastasia Leriou .................................................................................. 563

23. The Thracian image in Herodotus and the rhetoric of othernessIoannis Xydopoulos .............................................................................. 593

Part 524. Timber supply of Muslim states in the medieval Mediterranean: an ap-

proach focusing on environmental history and technology transferConstantin Canavas ............................................................................. 607

25. Commercial activity in the Aegean of the 13th–16th century: the ceramic evidence from AndrosNikos D. Kontogiannis and Smaragdi Arvaniti ................................... 623

26. Technology, geography and culture – the changing face of Hospi-taller military architectureStephen C. Spiteri ................................................................................ 643

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PArt.627. Mediterranean between history and heritage

David Lowenthal .................................................................................. 661

28. Italian prehistory collections as Mediterranean cultural heritageRobin Skeates ....................................................................................... 691

29. In search of identities: some thoughts on the place of heritage, prehis-toric megaliths and policy in contemporary Maltese societyAnthony Pace ....................................................................................... 715

30. The oldest heritage: Mediterranean Classical, in a view from the north, and the heritage model it has led toChristopher Chippindale ..................................................................... 741

index ........................................................................................................ 769

CONTENTS

Ahhiyawa and Hatti: Palatial perspectives

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