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CORPOREAL CONNECTIONS: TOMB DISTURBANCE, REUSE AND VIOLATION IN ROMAN ITALY

A Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of Cornell University

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

by Liana Joy Brent

May 2019

CORPOREAL CONNECTIONS: TOMB DISTURBANCE, REUSE AND VIOLATION IN ROMAN ITALY

Liana Joy Brent

Cornell University 2019

This dissertation explores non-elite Roman burial practices that involved post- depositional contact with dead bodies, including disturbance, reuse and violation. Roman tomb violation has been explored through a wealth of Latin anecdotal, epigraphic and juridical evidence, although the archaeological aspects have rarely been addressed. What is conspicuously lacking from studies of Roman tomb violation is the human body – the corporeal remains that constitute the tomb as a locus religiosus, and whose presence makes the act of tomb violation both possible and contradictory. Too often reopened and reused graves are glossed over in archaeological site reports, without further attention to the post-depositional and continuing commemorative rituals that dealt with the physical remains of an individual in a mortuary deposit.

This study prioritizes body-oriented research and the human remains that were once a corpse and the focus of mortuary treatment, primarily from archaeological contexts, but also with consideration of textual, epigraphic and visual descriptions or representations of dead bodies. I consider the handling of skeletal remains at the time of grave opening in inhumation - as opposed to cremation - burials in non-monumental cemeteries throughout Roman Italy from the late first to the fourth centuries CE. This research integrates published evidence from suburban and semi-rural cemeteries with

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current methods from archaeothanatology (anthropologie de terrain).

By investigating human remains in different states of decomposition at the time of grave opening and the time between depositions, my argument centers around the ways in which the addition of individuals and the manipulation of human skeletal elements could create and maintain inter-generational corporeal connections between the deceased and the living. These connections should not be limited to tomb violations, as we might be tempted to understand these phenomena from epigraphic and legal sources. This study is unique for its emphasis on the physicality of the body in the ongoing use and adaptive reuse of funerary structures in the Roman world.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Liana Brent was born in Toronto, Ontario. She attended McMaster University for her BA (2010) and MA (2012) in Classics, before starting a doctoral program at Cornell University in 2012. Since 2008, she has spent her summers in Italy for archaeological fieldwork in Campania, Umbria, and above all, at Vagnari, near Gravina in Puglia.

Liana completed her dissertation at the American Academy in Rome, where she was the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation / Samuel H. Kress Foundation two-year pre- doctoral Rome Prize fellow in Ancient Studies.

This work is dedicated to the memory of my grandparents, Bert and Lee Eckmann.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am deeply indebted to those who have taught, inspired and mentored me, and especially to two individuals. With sincere gratitude, I thank Éric Rebillard for his guidance and constant encouragement at every stage of this project. This work is the product of fruitful conversations that challenged me to think synthetically and to read globally. Thank you to Tracy Prowse for making the bridge between classical and anthropological archaeology so accessible to me and for allowing the Vagnari cemetery excavations to become such a vital part of my graduate study. You are an inspiration, a model for women in academia, a cherished mentor and friend.

Thanks are due to my committee members, Sturt Manning and Verity Platt, for helping me to develop this project and for their insightful feedback, and especially to

Verity, whose passion for classical art has never failed to inspire me. My time at

Cornell University has been enhanced by my many mentors, who include Annetta

Alexandridis and Kathy Gleason among others. I also wish to thank Alastair and

Carola Small, whose love of southeast Italy has inspired several generations of students and who first introduced me to the joys of excavating in Puglia. Thank you to

Maureen Carroll for inspiring my research on funerary practices and for being an excellent colleague in the field.

My research has been generously supported by the Department of Classics at

Cornell University, for four years by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research

Council of Canada (#752–2012–2023), as well as by grants from Cornell University through the Society for the Humanities, the Mario Einaudi Center for International

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Research, the Cornell Institute of Archaeology and Material Studies (CIAMS), the

Cornell Institute for European Studies, as well as the Lane Cooper and Sage Graduate

Fellowships from the Graduate School. I am also grateful to the staff at the Digital

Consulting and Production Services (DCAPS) at Cornell University for digitizing many images.

I owe an enormous debt of appreciation to the American Academy in Rome, as well as to the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation and the Samuel H. Kress Foundation for the immeasurable gift of a two-year Rome Prize in Ancient Studies. I am grateful to the entire Academy community for the conversations that challenged how I think about my own research as well as my relationship with the city of Rome itself. Thank you to Giulia Barra and Sofia Ekman for helping with permissions and to Lisa

Fentress and Simonetta Serra for their energy and willingness to visit sites with me. I especially wish to thank Lauren Donovan Ginsberg, Gretchen Meyers and my co- fellows for their support during the final months of writing and revisions.

I am deeply grateful to my friends and family for all their love and support.

Thank you for reassuring me that the sky was not falling, as I so often believed. Thank you, Mom, for passing on your love of museums and giving me an endless world of possibilities. Thank you, Ross, Roslyn, Daniel and HB, for your constant support and encouragement. Finally, and most importantly, thank you, Asa, for allowing me to dream, even when it kept us on different continents.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

PREFACE...... XV

INTRODUCTION: BODIES, BONES AND BURIALS ...... 1 Gregory of Nyssa on the Burial of His Sister ...... 3 The Nature of the Project ...... 14 The Treatment of the Pre- and Post-Burial Body ...... 15 Death and Decay ...... 18 Religion and Ritual ...... 20 Tomb Violation ...... 23 The Time Capsule Premise ...... 26 Material, Sensory and Embodied Approaches to the Body ...... 29 The Space of Decomposition and Grave Reuse ...... 32 Corporeal Connections ...... 35 An Overview of the Data ...... 39 Concluding Remarks ...... 46

1. CORPOREAL CORRUPTION ...... 51 Introduction ...... 51 Part 1: Corpses as Cultural Entities ...... 57 Contact with Corpses ...... 61 Part 2: The Importance of the Corpse in Non-Funerary Contexts...... 66 a) Dead Bodies for Observation ...... 67 b) The Disappearance of Bodies ...... 71 c) Visual Representations of Dead Bodies ...... 75 Part 3: The Science of Death ...... 79 a) The Processes of Decomposition ...... 80 b) Decomposition in Buried Environments ...... 84 c) Understanding Decomposition During Excavation ...... 88 Conclusions ...... 92

2. DISTURBED, DAMAGED, DISCARDED ...... 96 Introduction ...... 96 Part 1: Problematizing Disturbance ...... 104 a) Disturbance Processes in the Archaeological Record ...... 107 b) Disturbed Human Remains ...... 110 c) Describing Disturbance ...... 112 Part 2: Case Studies of Damage and Disturbance in Roman Cemeteries...... 121 i) Modern Disturbance ...... 122 ii) Ancient Disturbance...... 134 Conclusions ...... 144

3. SIMULTANEOUS AND SYNCHRONOUS?...... 148 Introduction ...... 148 Part 1: The Sarcophagus of Publius Paquius Scaeva...... 151 Part 2: Personhood, Sensory Experiences, Memory and Materiality ...... 160 Personhood ...... 161 Sensory Approaches to Death ...... 162 Memories and Materiality of the Body ...... 166 Part 3: The Archaeology of Multiple Burials ...... 168 The Terminology of Multiple Burials ...... 169 Archaeothanatology and Simultaneous Burials ...... 170 Part 4: Data and Case Studies ...... 175 Discussion: Corporeal Connections and Memories of Touch ...... 200 Conclusions ...... 203

4. REOPEN, REDUCE, REUSE: CONSECUTIVE MULTIPLE BURIALS ...... 206 Introduction ...... 206 Consecutive Burials and Corporeality ...... 208 Part 1: Secondary and Consecutive Multiple Burials ...... 215 a) Reduction Burials ...... 220 b) Partial Emptying (Vidange) ...... 221 c) Superposition ...... 223 Part 2: Case Studies ...... 223 Part 3: Discussion ...... 257 Conclusion ...... 264

CONCLUSION: CORPOREAL CONNECTIONS ...... 268 i) Articulating Corporeality ...... 271 ii) Connections in Life and Death ...... 273 iii) The Importance of Time ...... 278

APPENDIX 1: ROMAN CEMETERY SITES ...... 283

APPENDIX 2: SITES WITH MULTIPLE BURIALS ...... 289

APPENDIX 3: SIMULTANEOUS AND CONSECUTIVE MULTIPLE BURIALS ...... 290

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 301

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1: Map of excavated Roman cemeteries under consideration in this study...... 43 Figure 2: Tomb types commonly discussed in this study. (After Bolla in Invernizzi et al. 2011, 107, Fig. 1 at in the Casteggio (Clastidium) necropolis)...... 46 Figure 3: Copy of silver cups (modioli) from the Boscoreale treasure, Wellcome Collection, Science Museum, London L0058245...... 52 Figure 4: Detail of Boscoreale cup B...... 53 Figure 5: Processes of corporeal decomposition. (After Dent, Forbes and Stuart 2004, Fig. 1)...... 83 Figure 6: Drawings of Portorecanati burials oriented to the top of the page. (After Mercando et al. 1974, Fig. 194)...... 98 Figure 7: Musarna T. 238, showing collapsed wooden structures. (Photo MU00_01 courtesy of Éric Rebillard)...... 120 Figure 8: Vagnari T. 315, with 80 kg of tile that formed the cappuccina grave cover. (Photo: author)...... 124 Figure 9: Musarna T. 291, showing damage to the nenfro grave cover at northernmost end. (Photo MU03_72 courtesy of Éric Rebillard)...... 132 Figure 10: Musarna T. 315, showing plow marks in the tufo through the northern (bottom) half of the grave. (Photo MU03_84 courtesy of Éric Rebillard)...... 133 Figure 11 (left): Musarna tomb group 320, 344, 345, showing the realignment of T. 344 (MU03_763)...... 137 Figure 12 (right): Musarna T. 295 that avoided contact with existing burial T. 306 (MU02_766). Photos courtesy of Éric Rebillard...... 137 Figure 13: Vagnari T. 342 rock and tile grave cover, showing disturbance at the east end. (Plan: Franco Taccogna)...... 140 Figure 14: Vagnari T. 342 skeleton. (Photo: author)...... 140 Figure 15: The sarcophagus of Publius Paquius Scaeva and his wife Flavia in the Museo Civico del Vasto. (Photo: author)...... 151 Figure 16: Percentage of inhumation burials with 2+ individuals. (Does not include sites with no multiple burials)...... 177 Figure 17: Map showing sites with multiple inhumation burials...... 179 Figure 18: Musarna T. 247 drawing. (After Rebillard 2009b, Pl. 39)...... 182 Figure 19: Vagnari T. 211. (Photo: Tracy Prowse)...... 187 Figure 20: Casteggio (Clastidium) T. 5. (After Invernizzi et al. 2011, Fig. 4)...... 191 Figure 21: Casteggio (Clastidium) T. 5. (After Invernizzi et al. 2011, Fig. 10 col.). . 192 Figure 22: Vagnari T. 286 showing individual A (left) and B (right). (Photo: author)...... 194 Figure 23: Left: Brindisi T. 138 (Photo after Cocchiaro and Andreassi 1988: 194, Fig. 121). Right: Casteggio (Clastidium) T. 28. (After Invernizzi et al. 2011, 35, Fig. 4)...... 197 Figure 24: Locations of reduction burials discussed in this study...... 227 Figure 25: Reductions in 11 Roman cemeteries in Lazio. (After Amicucci and Carboni 2015: Fig. 3)...... 229

Figure 26: Left: Photo of Tomb F from Seriate (Bergamo), showing the remains of at least 3 individuals. Right: Planned drawing of Tomb F at Seriate (Bergamo), showing the location of two crania at the north end and a third along the eastern wall. (After Poggiani Keller 1980-81, Figs. 5-6.) ...... 232 Figure 27: Scale drawing of T. 29 at Isernia, showing the cranium at the southwest end. (After Terzani and Chiari 1997, 89)...... 235 Figure 28: Coseano (Angories) T. 15 cassa in muratura burial with a false bottom of the grave and the remains of nine individuals. (After Cividini 2012, Fig. 55.).. 237 Figure 29: Vagnari T. 308 individual B in an extended position, with the cranium of individual A to the north of B’s right femur (Photo: author)...... 238 Figure 30: Vagnari T. 308 individual A, with the cranium on top of the right femur (Photo: author)...... 239 Figure 31: Left: Twin cassa laterizia structures with T. 21 (right/east) and T. 26 (left/west). Right: T. 21 niche with the remains of two individuals at Casteggio (Clastidium). (After Invernizzi ed. 2011, Color Figs. 42 and 45)...... 243 Figure 32: Casteggio (Clastidium) T. 26 during excavation (left) and T. 21 during excavation (right)...... 243 Figure 33: Vagnari Trench 09. Left: grave covers before excavation. Right: burials after removal of the grave covers. (After Small et al. 2007, Figs. 9-10)...... 248 Figure 34: Left: scale drawing of Vagnari T. 42 grave cover and skeletal remains of T. 42a. Right: Scale drawing of T. 42 skeletal remains. (After Small et al. 2007: 187, Fig. 31)...... 249 Figure 35: Musarna T. 205, showing a reduction with partial anatomical connections preserved. (After Rebillard 2009, pl. 26)...... 253 Figure 36: Musarna T. 205, detail showing partial anatomical connection of the forearm (white arrow). (Photo courtesy of Éric Rebillard)...... 253 Figure 37: Modelled date for individuals 1 and 2 in Musarna T. 205 (by Sturt Manning, using OxCal v4.2.4)...... 256 Figure 38: Brindisi T. 87 cassa laterizia structure. (After Cocchiari and Andreassi 1988, 209, Figs. 134 and 135)...... 259 Figure 39: Proposed dates for the cassa laterizia graves (n=15) at Brindisi, as assigned by the excavators in Cocchiari and Andreassi (1988)...... 259 Figure 40: Dates listed for use and reuse of reduction burials in Roman cemeteries. 261 Figure 41: Vagnari TT. 117 and 123, showing the cappuccina burial of an infant that overlies the earlier cappuccina structure of an adult female. (Photo: Tracy Prowse)...... 275

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LIST OF TABLES

Table 1: Terminology used to describe reduction burials in Roman cemeteries...... 225 Table 2: Skeletal inventories from Casteggio TT. 21 and 26 summarized...... 245 Table 3: Radiocarbon dating of T. 205 at Musarna (after Rebillard 2009b, 65)...... 255

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LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

AE L’Année épigraphique. BMC Coins of the Roman Empire in the British Museum. CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. FIRA Fontes Iuris Romani AnteJustiniani in usum scholarum. ILS Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae. LTUR Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. PIR2 Prosopographia Imperii Romani. Second edition.

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PREFACE

For nearly 50 years, J.M.C. Toynbee’s book, Death and Burial in the Roman World, has been the standard reference for Roman attitudes to funerary rituals, the afterlife, tomb monuments and commemoration. Toynbee explores the treatment of the body and the recurring shifts between inhumation and cremation, but it always struck me as odd to limit the study of mortuary treatment to disembodied names and burials without bodies. My interest in the post-depositional fate of human remains developed from my fieldwork at the Vagnari cemetery in southeast Italy, where anonymous individuals were the focus of funerary rituals, graveside visits, post- depositional activities and commemoration. The resulting project spans the divide in

Roman cemetery studies between classical and anthropological archaeology by reinserting human remains into their sepulchral contexts and by considering the multiple and ongoing histories of burials after funerary rites were carried out and completed.

Introduction: Bodies, Bones and Burials

Funerary activities provide ways to cope with the different crises that death initiates: the loss of a social individual and the emergence of a corpse or cadaver.

Other than in cases of exceptional preservation, mortuary archaeologists excavate the remains of individuals whose bodies have been reduced to skeletal elements, along with the surviving structures and objects that formed the grave deposit. The fundamental question arises: why is it that the deceased body – in any state of decay – the presence of which is necessary for the creation of a tomb, is so demonstrably absent from scholarship on burial practices?

In studies of Roman death and burial, the focus has centered historically on monumental tombs, inscriptions and commemoration, but the physical body has been somewhat of an afterthought.1 What is conspicuously lacking from Roman funerary archaeology is a crucial aspect of lived experience: the human body – the corpse that was the focus of mortuary treatment at the time of burial and the skeleton that was encountered in post-depositional activities, following corporeal decay.2 Recent studies, predominantly by British prehistoric archaeologists, are informed by new directions in corporeality,3 personhood,4 materiality5 and embodiment,6 which contribute to contemporary notions of how the material traces of mortuary treatment shed light on

1 Eg. Toynbee 1971; Carroll 2006; Edwards 2007; Hope 2009. 2 Nilsson Stutz 2008; Graham 2015a. 3 Meskell 1996; Hamilakis et al. 2002; Sofaer 2006; Borić and Robb 2008; Devlin and Graham 2015. 4 Brück 2004; Fowler 2004; 2011; 2016; Graham 2009. 5 Fahlander and Østigaard 2008; Nilsson Stutz 2008; Crossland 2010; Fowler 2010; Graham 2011; 2015a. 6 Nilsson Stutz 2003; Devlin and Graham 2015. See also Gaifman and Platt 2018.

wider social and cultural phenomena in past societies. Yannis Hamilakis succinctly characterizes archaeological approaches to the body within the past century:

Early accounts focused on representations of the body, seen as abstract aesthetic values or as simplistic narratives. ‘New archaeology’ discourses dealt with environment, subsistence, and techno-economic issues, producing thus an image of the body and of the senses akin to mechanical devices of production and consumption. Post-processual approaches refocused attention on contextual meanings, but the representationist paradigm remained dominant. Under the influence of what was called the linguistic turn, the past was seen as text that can be read. The textual paradigm came under scrutiny and criticism by later interpretative approaches, and the recent wave of phenomenological accounts has redirected attention towards the human body.7

Phenomenological inquiries into past experiences, predominantly in the arena of landscape archaeology, have spurred academic interest in how the senses shaped encounters in the past.8 Following more recent work in the archaeology of corporeality, this project is less about bodily metaphors or identity through objects in graves, and instead, it is more concerned with how the dead could participate in the maintenance and negotiation of relationships and corporeally-situated memory. In these instances, the lens of embodiment can apply equally to the material properties of dead bodies in different stages of decay as well as to the sensorial impact on the living who were involved in the acts of touching, handling, burying and digging up the dead in Roman cemeteries. Mortuary archaeology is enhanced when informed by the phenomenological encounters of embodied experiences and sensory perceptions, and especially when combined with the rigorous field recording and excavation methods of archaeothanatology. Collectively, these methods and approaches can be applied in

7 Hamilakis 2013, 7. 8 Betts 2017b, 2. Most prominent in the development of landscape phenomenology is Tilley 1994, followed by Tilley 2004. The latter confronts the material properties, tactile sensations and visual impressions of stone in prehistoric monuments and landscapes.

new and fruitful ways to the exploration of a central aspect of this study, namely, grave opening and reuse in Roman cemeteries. Post-depositional practices in ancient cemeteries contribute to our understanding of the treatment of the body in death, with a special focus on the sensory impact on the living, the material properties of the dead body, and the continuity of identity after biological death.

Ultimately, this is a project about grave disturbance, reuse and violation through case studies from non-monumental Roman cemeteries from the late first through the fourth centuries CE. In order to introduce my approach to the body as a continuing site of both biological and social identity in Roman mortuary practices, I begin, somewhat unexpectedly, with Gregory of Nyssa’s late fourth-century account of the death and burial of his sister, Macrina. He describes her death scene, the treatment of the corpse, the funeral arrangements, the opening of an existing tomb, and even post-depositional contact with bodies in different states of decay. My interpretation of this narrative maps onto what Hamilakis describes as the recent wave of phenomenological accounts that center their inquiry around the human body, and it introduces a number of the salient themes that will recur throughout this study.

Through the lenses of both pre- and post-burial treatment of the dead body, I outline a new approach that places the dynamic material properties of the body in different stages of decay at the center of Roman burial practices.

Gregory of Nyssa on the Burial of His Sister:

Gregory of Nyssa wrote in Greek to the monk Olympus around 381/382 CE, in which letter he described the death of his sister, Macrina, the preparations for her

funeral at a church near their family estate in Pontus, and the act of opening their parents’ tomb for the interment of Macrina (Vita Mac. 25-35).9 His parents, Basil the

Elder and Emmelia, who died around 345 and 370 respectively, were interred within the same receptacle, which was reused for the addition of his sister at the time of her death in 379.10 In order to avoid seeing his parents’ entombed bodies, Gregory covered them with a white linen cloth before he and the bishop interred the body of his sister,

Macrina, next to their mother. He then asked God for their bodies to mingle in death as continuity of their relationship in life (Vita Mac. 35.17-20).

The reason for Gregory’s discomfort at the sight of his parents’ bodies and at the prospect of “the common shame of human nature” (below) does not necessarily stem from any legal or religious sanctions against reusing a sarcophagus in a family tomb, but rather, from a “horror of the corpse” in its imagined state of decay, dissolution and shapelessness.11 Jean-Marie Mathieu suggests three possible ways to understand the text: first, Gregory’s reaction to the possible sight of decomposition was a particular character trait, one that we might call ‘squeamish’ today, based on individual perceptions and reactions to sensorial encounters with the dead. Second, his reaction might represent the survival of traditional pagan repugnance and revulsion towards decomposition, for which a fear of corpse pollution played an important role in the inception of funerary practices, a notion that, in my opinion, requires substantial

9 See Silvas 2008, 102 and Silvas 2007, 49 on the dating of when Gregory wrote the Vita Sanctae Macrinae (VSM). Textual divisions follow the standard critical edition of Maraval (1971), even when the translations by Corrigan (1997) or Silvas (2008) follow other divisions or systems of reference. 10 On the dating of the deaths of Basil, Emmelia and Macrina, see Silvas 2007, 5, 27, 33; 2008, 49–52; Pouchet 1992; Maraval 2004. Efforts to re-date the deaths of Basil and Macrina in Pouchet (1992) have been accepted by Maraval (2004). 11 On the “common shame of human nature”, see Greg. Vita Mac. 35.3–7. For the full passage, see ‘Imagined Rot and Decay,’ below (p. 9). On the “horror of the corpse,” see Mathieu 1987, 312.

further investigation.12 Third, the text may reflect a common aspect of human psychology in response to the sadness that surrounds death, which taps into broader sociological and anthropological issues that concern grief, mourning and the disposal of the dead.13

I propose an alternate way that we might approach the text, one that breathes new life into the study of Roman mortuary practices: to consider the materiality of bodies in different stages of decomposition and their various effects on the sensoria.

These aspects help us to understand how the relative stage of decay was vital to both the pre- and post-burial treatment of the body, as well as in the creation of corporeal connections between individuals. If we consider from afresh Gregory’s account of

Macrina’s death, the preparations for her funeral, and burial in a tomb with her parents, the Life of Macrina illuminates how conceptions of the dead body transformed in the minds of the living throughout the stages of decay.

Before I turn to an embodied, sensory approach, I wish to make a few remarks about the burial context because it informs my understanding of the related mortuary activities. Although Gregory does not provide details about the tomb or the grave architecture, there has been a certain degree of speculation about its form and the accompanying effects on the reuse and arrangement of bodies. It is generally assumed that the receptacle in question was a marble sarcophagus, such as the sort that were common in family sepulchral monuments and martyrs’ shrines in the fourth century.14

12 Mathieu 1987, 312; Maraval 1971, 255, note 2. 13 A suggestion that is supported by Bolla 2015, 362, who uses this example to illustrate the psychological impact of reopening a family tomb. See Tarlow 2000; 2012 on emotion in archaeology. 14 Brown 1988, 287; Mathieu 1987, 311, note 4: following Maraval (1971), the term σορός, a sepulchral chamber, usually designates a sarcophagus.

Anna Silvas postulates that the grave was set in the floor of the tomb since it seems that the stone lid was raised from floor level. This is an interesting suggestion, though she does not provide any textual or comparative substantiation for this claim.15

Mathieu infers that the sarcophagus was at least bisoma (“au moins bisôme”), and he notes that the tomb’s location has never been discovered, though it can easily be imagined from other written works by Gregory and contemporary martyria- mausolea.16 The side-by-side arrangement of bodies and the use for family members from two generations suggests that the tomb was indeed a sarcophagus or coffin of large dimensions. The marble sarcophagus of Publius Paquius Scaeva and his wife

Flavia that was found in Vasto is one example of a double sarcophagus from the late first century BCE, for which the form and inscriptions confirm that the receptacle was intended to be used for more than one individual (Chapter 3). Beyond these general remarks, the specific reconstruction of Gregory’s family tomb matters less than consideration of how bodies were imagined to decompose inside the tomb and how the initial occupants could act upon the living in subsequent episodes of grave opening and reuse.

An Embodied Approach to the Death of Macrina:

Though written in the years after the death of his sister, Gregory’s account teems with ‘sensory artifacts’ that emitted external sensory stimuli, as well as allusions to the sensory experiences of both pre- and post-depositional encounters with the

15 Silvas 2008, 145, note 137. 16 Mathieu 1987, 311. For comparanda from Rome, see Borg (2013, 75–79, 105–120) at which points she discusses Christian hypogea and the burials of martyrs in the third century.

dead.17 Most pertinent for the present purposes are the optic and haptic properties that blend synesthetically, as touch is paralyzed by grief and as sight blurs the distinction between imagined entropy and concealed decay. Gregory situates the visual aspects at the forefront of his account, right from the moment of Macrina’s death, in a manner that capitalizes on the tension between what is real, imagined or concealed from sight.18 Her death is signified by her breathless and unmoving body (Vita Mac. 25.16-

17) and shortly thereafter accompanied by marks of sanctity in the form of an iron cross and ring that appeared on her neck (Vita Mac. 30.8-13). Notably, Macrina’s body is not covered or removed from sight during the preparatory rites, but the ability to gaze upon her body was central to the expression of grief when the corpse was on display for visitors (Vita Mac. 25-26), and again during the burial service at the church, when the virgins cried out that “after this hour we should see that divine face no more”.19

Macrina entrusted her wishes for burial to Lampadia, a deaconess, who conveyed the requests to Gregory, by whose hands Macrina’s body was prepared for burial. Gregory refers to several traditional aspects of Roman funerary practices, including the conclamatio, or shouting out the name of the deceased, a period of visitation between the time of death and the funeral, and a procession of the funeral cortege.20 He writes that he brought her hands to her face, but otherwise, her body had

17 Betts 2017b, 25 on ‘sensory artefacts’. 18 On the ancient senses, specifically as they relate to the sight of the dead, see Turner 2016. But as I argue throughout this project, sensory studies are typically concerned with the impact of the pre- burial body in Roman funerary practices and there has been limited attention to the body as it begins to decompose in its burial context. 19 Greg. Vita Mac. 34.20-23. Trans. Clarke 1916. 20 Rebillard 2009a, 129; Hope 2010, 31.

naturally, automatically fallen into a position that made further laying out unnecessary:

Since from that moment she was without breath or movement, I recalled the commands she gave at our first meeting, when she said that she wished my hands to close her eyes and that the customary care be given her body through me. So I reached out my hand, numb with grief, to her holy face, only not to seem to neglect her bidding. For indeed her eyes needed no one to compose them. It was as if she had fallen asleep naturally, with a graceful lowering of her eyelids. Her lips were set naturally and her hands lay reverently over her breast. The whole body had fallen of its own accord into a harmonious position and needed no one’s hand to compose it.21

In his account of the funerary preparations, Gregory describes a body that required minimal arrangement or positioning in a manner that refers dually to the sanctity of his sister and, more generally, to the description of the deceased as though in a state of sleep.

While touching the body of his sister, Gregory’s hands were numb with grief, which impressed vividly upon his memory of the event.22 The funeral preparations subtly imply some of the ways in which corpses could act upon the senses of living individuals.23 Upon arrival at the church for the burial service, Gregory later recalls that they laid down the funerary bed and turned to prayer, with no further mention of touching the body in order to reposition it after a journey of more than a kilometer,

21 Vita Mac. 25.16–28, trans. Silvas 2008. 22 Vita Mac. 25. 20–22: “ἐπήγαγον τῷ ἁgίῳ προσώπῳ νεναρκηκυῖαν ἐκ τοῦ πάθους τὴν χεῖρα”. Maraval 1971, 229: “[…] j’approchai ma main paralysée par la douleur de son saint visage.” Cf. Corrigan 1997, 42: “So I put my hand, numbed by grief, to her holy face …” Interestingly, Clarke (1916) interprets that it was Macrina’s hands that were “numb with disease,” which would have fascinating implications about the sentience of the dead, the haptic properties and the locus of touch within the body, were he not alone in this interpretation. 23 Hope 2017, 91–92 on the sensory properties of the pre-burial body in elite Roman houses.

and he does not mention whether it was covered or concealed from sight (Vita Mac.

34.15-16).

Imagined Rot and Decay:

Once the prayer service was completed, Gregory describes the steps that were necessary for the addition of Macrina’s body into the tomb of their parents:

When the prayer had duly come to an end, there came over me a fear of the divine commandment which forbids us uncover the shame of father or mother. And ‘how,’ said I, ‘shall I escape such condemnation if I look upon the common shame of human nature in the bodies of my parents, since they are all fallen apart and decayed, as is to be expected, and changed to a loathsome and revolting formlessness? As I thought these things over and Noah’s ire against his son was heightening my fear, the story of Noah itself advised me what was to be done. As the lid was being lifted up, before the bodies came before our eyes, they were covered by a pure linen cloth from one side to the other. And now that the bodies were hidden beneath the cloth, we – myself, that is, and the bishop of the district mentioned above, took up that sacred body from its bed and laid it out beside the mother, thus fulfilling the common prayer of both. For with one voice both of them had asked God for this all through their life, that their bodies should be reunited with each other after death, that the communion of their way of life while in this life should not be broken even in death.24

In contrast to the body of his recently deceased sister, Gregory does not actually look upon the bodies or bones of his parents. The imagined rot and decay, then, is neither seen nor touched.

During funerary and burial processes, coffins and shrouds could serve the functional purposes of covering, concealing and “hiding the essential materiality” of the organic body, while also maintaining a certain degree of distance between the

24 Vita Mac. 35.1-20, trans. Silvas 2008.

living and the dead.25 To avoid the “shame of human nature” and the associations of

“indecorum, disfigurement and disgrace” in the present context, the imagined nakedness of his parents was covered with a pure linen cloth.26 Given that Macrina was buried in a fine linen robe (Vita Mac. 30.1-4) and in light of Gregory’s apprehension about seeing the shame of his parents,27 it seems likely that his parents had originally been buried in some kind of clothing. His present fear of their nakedness, therefore, approaches something resembling speculation about the decay of organic materials that takes place inside a tomb.

Gregory anticipates that his parents would be unbound entities, “changed into a loathsome and revolting formlessness,” and he thus expresses a sense of unease about the corporeal transformations that had likely taken place in the tomb.28 The reader’s expectation of corporeal decay is subverted by the addition of the linen cloth that hid his parents’ bodies from sight, despite the likeliness that the material transformations bought about by the processes of decay were probably complete after a period of 34 and 8/9 years respectively. The anticipation of corporeal decomposition (“as is to be expected”) loosely suggests a general awareness of the processes by which bodies decompose over time, as organic tissues disappear and unbind bones from their positions of anatomical articulation (Chapter 1). Based on the time that it takes for

25 Graham 2015b, 52. 26 Silvas 2008, 145; Mathieu 1987, 312 for the reference to Noah (Genesis 9:20-27) and prohibitions against seeing the naked bodies of his parents (Leviticus 18:7). Note that these refer to unlawful sexual relations among the living, rather than the treatment of the dead or sepulchral contexts. 27 Silvas 2008, 145, note 136: ἀσχημοσύνην as a euphemism for the private parts. 28 Silvas 2008, 145. Greg. Vita Mac 35, 3–7: “Καἰ πῶς, ἔφην, ἔξω τοῦ τοιούτου γενήσομαι κατακρίματος, ἐν τοῖς τῶν γονέων σώμασι βλέπων τὴν κοινὴν τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης φύσεως ἀσχημοσύνην, διαπεπτωκότων ὡς εἰκὸς καὶ λελυμένων καὶ εἰς εἰδεχθῆ καὶ δυσάντητον ἀμορφίαν μεταζληθέντων;” Translated by Maraval as “[…] qui sont certainement décomposés, désintégrés, transformés en une apparence informe, hideuse, et repoussante.”

corpses to decompose, Gregory’s father, who died approximately 34 years earlier, would have been entirely reduced to skeletal remains at the time of Macrina’s interment, whereas the interval of less than a decade since his mother’s death allows for the possibility that soft tissues remained if the body were in an advanced, but not fully complete, stage of decomposition.29

Notably, however, Gregory’s descriptions of the imagined bodies of his parents vacillate between different temporal stages of decay and dissolution: on the one hand, they are imagined as “all fallen apart and decayed,” which I interpret to mean that organic tissues like skin, ligaments and tendons had decomposed and freed the bones from strict obeisance to their anatomical positions. On the other hand, the characterization of “changed to a loathsome and revolting formlessness” suggests an earlier stage of corporeal decay and a different sensory impact: revolting to see, touch or smell. The latter characterization invokes a body still in the process of decomposition, one surrounded by putrescent decomposition fluids and amorphous organs. Does this imply that Gregory envisioned different states of decomposition for his mother and father, whose own deaths were separated by 25 years? Can we extrapolate that Gregory thought about the burial container and its role in facilitating or impeding decomposition? Does he imagine the bodies of his relatives as a collective, formless mass or were they preserved as distinct individuals? And what does this imply about notions of individual personhood and identity in post- depositional encounters with the dead?

29 The range of Roman burial practices is discussed below (pp. 38-45), and again in Chapter 1 with reference to the discovery of mummies in Italy. On the length of time that it takes for a corpse to decompose and to be reduced to skeletal remains, see “The Processes of Decomposition” in Chapter 1.

Evidently, the formlessness – whether Gregory meant the recognizable aspects of a specific individual or the general shape of the human body – did not obscure individual identity within the tomb. Gregory knew, or at least claimed to know, which of the two concealed bodies was that of Emmelia, since Macrina’s corpse was laid beside their mother in accordance with her wishes. Not only was Gregory’s aversion to the sight of his parents’ bodies ameliorated by the addition of a linen cloth, but the cover created a physical barrier that rendered it unnecessary to touch the human remains in the tomb. When Gregory and the bishop laid Macrina’s body next to her mother’s, there was no need to come into contact with or to confront the remains of the existing occupants of the tomb. We do not know whether Macrina was placed on top of this sheet, but a barrier or separative layer between individuals is a common feature of graves that were reused consecutively and after the length of time that was required for decomposition (Chapter 4).

Silvas interprets Gregory’s knowledge of the location of his mother’s body as evidence that he was present at the time of her interment in late 370 or early 371, although this is by no means certain.30 We are not told whether Gregory was present for the earlier instance of grave opening when his mother was interred alongside his father or how he knows that his sister was laid next to their mother. Though he does not see the corporeal remains or mention any personal items that had an indexical relationship to the individual with whom they were interred, he nevertheless recognizes individuals without sight and connects bodies without touch.

30 Silvas 2008, 145, note 138. In Vita Mac. 13 at the death of Emmelia, Gregory does not mention being present. She requested to be buried in the tomb of her husband, but there are no further details about the position or arrangement of bodies.

Gregory’s account negotiates the disparity between the maintenance of personal identity and apprehension about corporeal decay essentially by concealing the post-burial body from the consequences of decay in the minds of the living.

Despite the inherent difficulties and contradictions of individuating formless yet concealed remains, Gregory hints at an important aspect that will be crucial to the present investigation: after death, the body remained an important locus of both biological and social identity.31 In this account, multiple interventions and consecutive interments took place in the grave that was originally constructed for Basil the Elder in

345, opened for Emmelia in 370, and again for Macrina around 379, which suggests that there were important considerations behind the decision to bury certain family members together. Somatically-located memories of individuals could be continually formed and renegotiated, as the living came into contact with the dead in various post- depositional interventions. Familial, corporeal or associative ties were strong factors that could motivate grave opening, reuse and what I call the creation of corporeal connections.

Gregory’s Life of Macrina provides a valuable point of entry into the central theme of this study: the corporeal and sensorial impact of grave opening in antiquity.

His account highlights the contrast between visual and physical contact with different types of dead bodies. The recently deceased needed to be prepared for funerary and burial rituals, which activated various sensory experiences – by touching the corpse, hearing cries of lamentation and mourning, and transporting the body through the

31 A parallel approach for the unseen body can be found in Hockey and Draper 2005.

landscape for burial in a family tomb.32 The bodies of those who died in the slightly more distant past incited what we might interpret as a sense of repulsion and apprehension when faced with the prospect of looking at bodies that had decomposed out of sight and when touching decayed and shapeless remains. Gregory’s account of his sister’s death and burial oscillates between what I perceive as reverence and revulsion, and it captures the complexity of the problem that dead bodies presented in the ancient world. Despite potentially-complicating factors like the time between

Macrina’s death and Gregory’s written account or the genre of the letter with its highly-polished rhetoric,33 what emerges from this investigation are the ways in which ongoing interactions between the dead and the living created associative ties between bodies at various stages of decay.

The Nature of the Project

This study addresses grave disturbance, reuse and tomb violation through case studies from non-monumental Roman cemeteries. Grave reuse might affect tombs that were provisioned to be used on more than one occasion or those that were adapted and reused consecutively. The case studies come from published cemeteries, and the chronological focus ranges from the late first through the fourth centuries CE, at a time when inhumation was typically the dominant practice. But what links the seemingly disparate topics of Christian hagiography with Roman funerary archaeology is the treatment of the body, the sensory impact of dealing with the dead, and the

32 Hope 2017 on the sensory properties of Roman funerals up until the point that the dead were deposited in a cemetery. 33 On Gregory’s participation in the conventions of epistolary literature, see Silvas 2007, 59–68. She points out (2007, 61) that his letters are characterized by a literary and even a secular tone.

corporeal considerations that affected grave use and reuse. The story of Macrina’s death and burial, as related by her brother Gregory, introduces no fewer than eight topics that will be explored in the following chapters:

The Treatment of the Pre- and Post-Burial Body

Death is a process; the way that anthropologists, sociologists and archaeologists have sought to understand societal responses to the death of a social member has been largely mediated by the notion that the dead in different societies needed to be helped along in their transition from the world of the living to that of the hereafter.34 The anthropological and sociological work by Arnold Van Gennep, Victor

Turner and Robert Hertz has been influential in the study of death as a passage or transition in the three-stage rites of separation, liminality, and post-liminal aggregation.35 The three-stage process of mourning and funerary ceremony focuses on the activities of the living to acknowledge the death of a social member (separation), followed by the creation of a new identity for the deceased (liminality). After the disposal of the body, a period of mourning seeks to reintegrate members of the surviving community (post-liminal integration).36 These approaches, although widely influential, do not take into consideration what happens to the deceased body in post- depositional rites or instances of grave reopening, nor the impact of these encounters on the living. If funerary rites end with disposal of the deceased body and the reintegration of the living into society, then the focus on funerary ritual causes us to

34 Hertz 1960, 86; Laqueur 2015, 10. 35 For a review of the impact of their scholarship on the study of burial practices, see Nilsson Stutz 2003, 30–32. 36 Van Gennep 1909 [2004].

forget about the afterlife of a tomb and the body within until it is excavated by an archaeologist.

In the context of Roman funerary activities, mourning rites sought to purify the bereaved family through a series of symbolic actions upon the separation of the deceased from the living, which culminated in burial, a sacrifice and a funerary banquet.37 The written evidence is disproportionately weighted toward the funerary rituals that transpired between the deathbed and the tomb. As a result, we know more about the deaths of individuals like Macrina: the wealthy elite who died a ‘good death’ in old age, in their bed, and whose life and death were subsequently chronicled. Pre- burial rituals might include: the final kiss; recording the dying person’s last words; the presence of musicians and mourners; laying out the corpse in the atrium of a house

(collocatio); calling out the deceased’s name (conclamatio); preparing the body for burial; transport in a funeral cortege; and eventually, burial, often in the family tomb.38

The sculpted reliefs from the late first-century tomb of the Haterii in Rome provide visual evidence for the laying out of the body and a gathering of mourners.39 As

Jennifer Trimble has recently argued, the challenging imagery on the Haterii reliefs was designed to help tomb visitors with their grief and in their commemoration of the dead.40

Mortuary treatment in Roman Italy typically involved either cremation or inhumation; beginning in the late first or early second century CE, the dominant

37 Scheid 1984, 118. On the processual nature of Roman funerals through the lens of funerary archaeology, see the papers collected in Scheid 2008; Pearce and Weekes 2017. 38 Aspects of the pre-burial treatment of the body are outlined in Toynbee 1971; Bodel 2000; Lindsay 2000; Hope 2007; 2009; 2017. 39 Scheid 1984, 121–122; Leach 2006, 5–10; Trimble 2018, 329–340 on the different aspects of mourning that are depicted in the Tomb of the Haterii. 40 Trimble 2018, 329.

practice shifted from cremation to inhumation.41 Since post-depositional activities are more readily observable in inhumation, rather than cremation burials, this study limits its focus to cases that involved at least one inhumation burial. What we know about

Roman post-burial practices concerns how the living underwent purification rituals during a formal mourning period before their reintegration into society.42 More rarely preserved are accounts of disturbance, exhumation, grave opening and reuse, which may provide insight into how notions of the body changed in relation to different stages of decay and decomposition.

Gregory’s Life of Macrina is one of the rare accounts that spans the divide by documenting corporeal treatment as a multi-stage process, one that could involve contact with corpses and skeletal remains after burial. However difficult, it is worthwhile to disentangle attitudes to the treatment of the dead at various temporal points or phases in the funerary and burial processes. When possible, I maintain the distinction between pre- and post-burial bodies precisely because these terms signify the role that culturally-sanctioned forms of disposal played in helping a deceased individual transition from the world of the living to that of the dead, and these terms are particularly relevant in instances of grave opening and reuse. Whether attested textually or archaeologically, post-depositional events represent both an interruption to an existing grave, for which the material properties of the entombed body must be confronted during the interment of an additional corpse, as well as a solution for the

41 For the debate about reasons for the change, see Nock 1922; Toynbee 1971; Morris 1992; Graham 2015b. In Graham’s view (2015b, 48), inhumation graves demonstrate consistent emphasis on the protection of the body by the creation of subterranean structures, in which the body was interred in a shroud, wood coffin, tile, stone or earth-lined pit, if not in multiple forms. Cremation, by contrast, accelerates the destruction of the body’s soft tissues and causes fragmentation of the body before burial. 42 Graham and Hope 2016, 160–161; Hope 2017, 93.

disposal of a recently-deceased individual. Post-depositional activities provided the opportunity for the living to reflect on the different stages of decay when they encountered individuals at potentially-different stages of decomposition.

Death and Decay

The manner and the length of time that it takes for bodies to decompose is an important aspect of this study. Critical to our understanding of the formation of mortuary deposits are the biological and chemical processes of decomposition as well as the rates at which bodies transform from corpses to skeletons. The dead body is subject to both natural processes of decay as well as culturally-specific funerary and burial practices that affect what individuals in antiquity or archaeologists today uncover at the time of grave opening.43 For Mesolithic burials in Sweden, Liv Nilsson

Stutz argues that encounters with the biological aspects of the dead body are associated with cultural attitudes to decomposition and putrefaction.44 Her work on embodied rituals and the biological realities of corpses has been influential in many studies of mortuary practices over the past decade, including the present one. For other scholars, death evokes universal reactions of disgust to the ‘abject’, which includes the dead body as ‘matter out of place’ before it is removed from the world of the living

(Chapter 1).45

This study prioritizes the physical properties of dead bodies over their impact on the living. It examines both the biological and the cultural factors that affected the

43 Nilsson Stutz 2008, 22; 2016, 22. 44 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 94. 45 Bradley 2012, 14–17. These theories borrow from Douglas on dirt and pollution (2003 [1966]), as well as Kristeva’s concept of the ‘abject’ (1982) as forces that destabilize normal social order.

formation and subsequent use of mortuary deposits in Roman cemeteries, but always with the dead body at the center of the inquiry. I draw a temporal distinction between the corpse or the deceased body at the time of the initial interment and the skeletal remains that archaeologists uncover, and I use the relative rate of corporeal decay as the main signifier of the passage of time. The questions that inform the following chapters include: how long does it take for a body to decompose in different burial environments? Did Roman burial practices take into account temporal factors and rates of decomposition? And perhaps most importantly, when a grave was opened or reopened for the deposition of an additional body, what happened to the decomposing corpse or the skeletal remains of the initial occupant?

Post-depositional contact with human remains forms the core of this project. In some exceptional cases, this might include exhumation, the transportation of the dead, or the violation and looting of graves.46 However, the archaeological case studies in the present inquiry most commonly explore grave opening that occurred for the addition of bodies. In order to better understand Roman attitudes to the corpse as a material entity in these post-depositional encounters, we need to introduce the elements of decay and decomposition into the discussion of reopened graves (Chapter

1). Were there patterned ways of repositioning human remains in certain tomb types or at certain stages of decay, and if so, what do these practices reveal about Roman attitudes to decay, putrefaction and post-burial bodies?

46 Studies that explore the transportation of the body and tomb violation in texts and inscriptions include Creaghan 1951; De Visscher 1963; Laubry 2007; Tybout 2016.

Religion and Ritual

This is a study that deals with the archaeological traces of mortuary rituals, rather than with religio as a specifically Roman concept that was concerned with attitudes to the dead or eschatological beliefs about the afterlife.47 Let us consider

Gregory’s use of a linen cloth to cover the bodies of his parents as an example of an action with ritual significance. The placement of the cloth created a physical barrier that distanced the dead bodies of his parents from the memory of the once-living individuals. The linen cloth conjures images of continuity from the late Republic and early Empire: before Augustus delivered the funeral speech (laudatio) of Agrippa, Dio notes that he hung a curtain in front of the corpse.48 When the emperor Tiberius presided over the funeral of his son, Drusus, Seneca claims there was a veil “so that the eyes of a high priest might not look upon a corpse.”49

Hugh Lindsay explains that, according to Servius, contact with or the sight of a corpse could be a form of pollution for pontiffs, so it was important that priests should avoid religious pollution, in order that they could continue to perform the tasks associated with public cults.50 Dio, however, expresses a degree of uncertainty over

Augustus’ actions:

Why he did this, I do not know. Some, however, have stated that it was because he was high priest, others that it was because he was performing the duties of censor. But both are mistaken, since neither the high priest is

47 Beard, North and Price (1998, 215–219) on religio as the traditional honors that were paid to the gods of the state. See also (Platt 2012, 216–218) on the religious nature of tombs. 48 Dio 54.28.4–5, cited in Lindsay 2000, 156. 49 Sen. Cons. Marc. 15.3, cited in Lindsay 2000, 156; Hope 2010, 31. Dio, who wrote in the Severan era, also mentions the death of Drusus and his funeral (55.2.2–3), but he makes no mention of a curtain or veil that shielded Tiberius’ view of the corpse. 50 Serv. ad Aen. 3.64, cited in Lindsay 2000, 155.

forbidden to look at a corpse, nor the censor, either, except when he is about to complete the census; but if he looks upon a corpse then, before his purification, all his work has to be done over again.51

Death pollution was, apparently, “not much of an issue in his own day,” which

Lindsay interprets as a reflection of Severan era practices.52 The concealment of the body during a funeral reminds us of the pertinence of religion and ritual throughout various stages of Roman mortuary practices, elements that can be difficult to reconstruct from the archaeological evidence.53

For now, it is sufficient to note that concealing the dead body from sight finds parallels in earlier centuries, that the action has religious significance, and that its meaning is contextually dependent. In Gregory’s case, the cloth served to cover the imagined nakedness of his formless, long-deceased parents, whereas for Augustus and

Tiberius, the cloth distanced recently-dead corpses from a living individual in an important religious office.54 Whether the linen cloths that were placed over the bodies in the aforementioned stories were meant to conceal the materiality of the corpse, to act in accordance with religious sanctions or to combat death pollution (Chapter 1), the linen cloth acts as a metonym for an important aspect of this study: gestes funéraires or traces of ritualized actions that can be documented in the archaeological record and used to reconstruct ancient burial practices.55

51 Dio, 54.28.4. Trans. Cary 1917. 52 Lindsay 2000, 156. 53 Scheid 1984; 2000; 2008. 54 Lennon 2018, 129–130 discusses the risk of contamination that dead bodies could bring to religious officials. 55 On gestes funéraires and archaeological evidence for ritual practices in Roman contexts, see Duday et al. 1990; Scheid 2008.

Gregory’s preparation of a body for burial and his encounter with the entombed remains of his parents in the Life of Macrina prompt us to recall that religious considerations form one aspect among the many layers of ancient mortuary rites. Consequently, the study of burial practices is enhanced when other factors are introduced, such as the sensory impact and the material properties of the dead body in instances of grave opening and reuse. It may seem odd to introduce a study about pagan burial practices with an anecdote from a hagiographic text, even one that is steeped in classical culture.56 However, as Éric Rebillard has argued, we should not conflate the funerals of Christians with Christian funerals, especially since the church was not responsible for the rituals of death and burial, and hagiographic texts “offer only an idealized description of a model for Christian funerals.”57

As noted, my case studies of post-depositional activities range in date from the late first to the fourth centuries CE. Rebillard has shown that the mixing of pagans and

Christians in the catacombs and hypogea of Rome was not unusual up until the second half of the fourth century.58 Although these monumental tombs are not representative of burial throughout Italy, there is little reason to suggest that there were segregated burial areas or a rupture from family- and kin-based burial practices in the cemeteries under investigation. Notably, many cemeteries continued to be used into the third and fourth centuries, and there is a certain degree of continuity that eschews the need to differentiate between the burials of pagans and Christians in field cemeteries. This is to say that, although religious beliefs were an important aspect of burial in the ancient

56 Bolla 2015, 362. 57 Rebillard 2009a, 128. 58 Rebillard 2009a, 32–36.

world, my case studies are not explicitly concerned with religion, but rather, how ritualized practices and the treatment of the body manifest themselves in the archaeological record. As a result, I explore the handling and manipulation of the body in cemeteries that likely continued to serve large sections of their respective communities over several centuries, in which family and kin or funerary professionals were responsible for the arrangement of mortuary activities.

Tomb Violation

We return to another important premise of this study: that post-depositional activities, including grave disturbance, opening and reuse, constitute acts of tomb violation. There is a fair amount of anecdotal, epigraphic and juridical evidence that deals with curses, imprecations and laws against tomb violation.59 Simply summarized, tomb violation in the Roman world pertained to the unwanted removal or destruction of the material aspects of mortuary complexes, at least until the third century CE when the profanation of the corpse became a crime in civil law.60 Yan

Thomas’ definition of tomb violation notes that the corporeal remains of the deceased were essential to the constitution of the tomb as a res religiosa, but absent from the

59 The evidence for legal and epigraphic sanctions against tomb violation has been compiled and reviewed by Creaghan 1951; De Visscher 1963; Kaser 1978; Caldelli et al. 2004. 60 De Visscher 1963, 150–153; Thomas 2004, 64; Rebillard 2009a, 59. Charles De Visscher introduced the crucial difference between damage to a tomb monument and that which affected the body. In his view, damage to the body was a public offence from the time of Augustus, a view that has been revisited and challenged. As Thomas and Rebillard have argued recently, it was not until the imperial period that tomb violation became a public offense (crimen), and in Late Antiquity, the profanation of corpses became a specific crime. The first evidence of laws that were intended to combat the risk of profanation of the deceased body is attributed to the so-called Opinions of Paul in the early third century.

inventory of prohibitions.61 The contradiction in Roman laws about tomb violation is that the body was necessary to ensure the legal and religious status of a tomb, but the corporeal remains themselves were protected only indirectly. A tomb required a body in order for it to be a religious space; sacred spaces, in contrast, were consecrated but consistent with emptiness.62

The topic of Roman tomb violation is usually studied in one of several ways, based on the discipline and the perspective from which the written and material evidence are approached. First and foremost, tomb violation is the domain of Roman law, since the law defined the crime in both civic and religious terms, as well as codified the fines and penalties.63 Closely related are the studies concerned with epigraphic imprecations that forbade certain actions against individual tombs.64 Yet despite the appearance of ‘violation’ in the title of this study, the topic as it is usually studied does not figure as prominently as the concepts of disturbance or reuse for two principal reasons.

First, the legal and epigraphic evidence for tomb violation applies to certain types of family or hereditary monuments, and not to the simple inhumation burials that were in many cases not attached to larger tomb complexes. Although juridical opinions and inscriptions do not necessarily specify the type of tomb involved or affected by sanctions against reuse, they most frequently refer to the monumental

61 Thomas 2004, 57: “Were one to refer to the commentaries and laws to draw up an inventory of the constituent elements of the tomb as an inviolable space, it would soon become clear that what was at issue was simply the alteration or removal of the stones and marbles used to construct the tomb, of statues and columns, or of ornaments wrenched from the tomb and used in the construction of other edifices.” 62 Thomas 2004, 60. See also De Visscher (1963: 63) on the distinction between ‘religious’ as independent of human will, and ‘sacred’ which assumes human intervention. 63 Eg. Giorgi 1910; Rossi 1975 on penalties and fines in Roman law. 64 Caldelli et al. 2004; Paturet 2014 on different types of tombs in Roman law.

precincts that were categorized as family or hereditary tombs.65 Since neither of these legal distinctions apply incontrovertibly to burials that were intended for personal or single use, there is little written evidence that non-monumental graves were subject to the same concerns or attitudes to tomb violation. Furthermore, in the absence of epigraphic evidence in many field cemeteries, it is impossible to determine whether or not an individual had the legal right to burial in an existing grave when one was reused.

The last point brings us to the second reason that this study does not explicitly confront tomb violation from a legal perspective. Tomb violation carried specific legal definitions and implications at different times in the Roman world, and these do not correspond neatly to the archaeological evidence. The concept of tomb violation has been broadly applied to practices that appear, from our modern point of view, to contradict the sacrosanct nature of a tomb, as defined by written sources.66 These acts include grave opening, corpse or skeletal manipulation, the deposition of an additional individual, and damaging or modifying an existing grave. The assessment that a burial was violated is frequently found in archaeological reports, without fully explaining what the criteria for the violation were. In a rather circular manner, archaeologists tend to interpret post-depositional interventions in the archaeological record as malevolent, intentional acts of violation and desecration.67 I do not suggest that archaeologists

65 Kaser 1978, 37–60 outlines the differences between family and hereditary tombs from D. 11.7.5 (Gai. 19 ad ed. prov.). See also Creaghan 1951, 32; Bolla 2015, 358. 66 For instances of the term ‘violazione’ used in archaeological literature, see Amicucci and Carboni 2015 (Lazio) and Buccellato and Catalano 2003 (Via Basiliano, Lazio). 67 Eg. Vigoni 2008, 102; Ceccaroni et al. 2011, 335: “Sempre in corrispondenza di questo nucleo, infine, sono ricorrenti violazioni e distruzioni a danno delle tombe, casuali o intenzionali (tt. 60, 62, 18, 43), da riferire comunque ad epoche antiche”; and “È probabile che questa tomba sia stata almeno in parte violata.”

should interpret all instances of damage, disturbance or reuse in a positive light, but that we have much to learn from these multiply-authored deposits about ancient attitudes to bodies in different stages of decay. As a result, we should not discount all post-depositional activities as violations or predatory behavior without first investigating what the archaeological record can contribute to the discussion that has been overwhelmingly dominated by the legal and epigraphic sources.

Since non-monumental cemeteries provide little insight into the legal rights or wishes of either the deceased or the burying population, it would be fruitful to investigate these actions more neutrally, without starting from the assumption that post-depositional activities were necessarily a form of profanation. For these reasons, I question the extent to which a universal definition of tomb violation is useful when applied to non-monumental cemeteries and burials that were typically used for single, primary depositions. The focus is instead on post-depositional activities that have been traditionally subsumed under the category of tomb violation, such as disturbance, damage, looting and reuse, which provide new insight into the treatment of the body at different stages of decay, and which help to redress the prevailing interpretation of tombs as time capsules.68

The Time Capsule Premise

Related to the issues of tomb violation and the three-stage rites of passage that overlook the post-depositional history of a grave is the misleading notion that burials

68 Aspöck 2011, 299–300 for a parallel taphonomy-based approach to reopened graves that does not require all examples of grave opening in the Medieval world to be subsumed under the general label of grave robbery.

are time capsules, whose integrity lies in their sealed, intact nature and undisturbed context. Gregory’s Life of Macrina affords rare insight into multiple episodes of grave opening for the purposes of adding a recently-deceased individual and reaffirming bonds between individuals. Yet too often in archaeological site reports, reopened and reused graves are glossed over as disturbed and therefore a category of dismissible evidence. As a result, disturbed burials have been edited out of archaeological histories and disarticulated human skeletal remains are routinely written off as too difficult or not worthwhile to study. At the Portorecanati necropolis in Marche, more than 80 of the 357 burials are described as overturned or damaged (sconvolta), destroyed (distrutta), removed (asportata), ruined (rovinata) or crushed

(schiacciata).69 These different types of damage and disturbance can result from grave robbing, post-classical building, mechanized agricultural activity, and modern construction, among other activities that occur before the intervention of an archaeologist (Chapter 2).

Inattention to disturbed, damaged and reused burials has hindered the development of methodologies for excavating and theoretical frameworks for interpreting post-depositional activities in their broader social, cultural and legal contexts.70 However, a number of recent studies propose a vocabulary that we can use to analyze grave reopening activities. Terminology ranges from neutral associations

69 Mercando 1974, 152–390. See especially TT. 333-357 on page 390, which are listed as a single entry and are all uniformly classified as follows: “Si tratta di un gruppo di tombe nella zona Ovest dello scavo, completamente rovinate dal mezzo meccanico. Si evidenziano parzialmente i resti scheletrici e i limiti delle fosse.” 70 Jones 1993, 247 calls attention to Roman archaeologists’ hesitation to use theoretical frameworks, who instead prefer to let the descriptions of burials speak for themselves. If we move beyond the issues of social ranking, ethnicity and acculturation that were prominent in the 1980s and 1990s, Roman archaeologists are in an ideal position to advance methodologies and theoretical frameworks about post-depositional practices, without simply using archaeology to illustrate the written evidence.

such as ‘consecutive mortuary rites’ and ‘post-depositional activities’ to the negative implications of ‘grave robbery,’ when reopening is motivated by economic and material concerns.71 Close attention to post-depositional bodily transformations and skeletal manipulations can help to determine which graveside activities may have been part of continuing or consecutive funerary rites, which ones reflect mal-intentioned practices like opening tombs and removing grave goods for ancient or modern looting, and which overlapping burials belonged to different chronological phases.

Furthermore, the timing of any post-burial interventions is of critical importance, whether they took place during the period of regular cemetery use or several centuries later. It is important to differentiate between these phenomena in the archaeological record – to the extent that published cemetery reports permit, as well as to the extent that we can develop new methods for future excavation projects – and to highlight a range of activities that do not require us to discard burials as ‘disturbed’ and therefore uninformative. Given the vast amount of evidence for non-monumental

Roman burial grounds that has never been considered in the aggregate, we need to set aside the view that burials are unadulterated windows into the past and instead consider the post-depositional history of bodies, bones and burials. Once this distinction is made, suburban and rural cemeteries become an avenue for the exploration of reuse practices that encompass a spectrum of actions. The material affords the unprecedented opportunity to evaluate when, how often and why graves were opened and reused, all of which considerations were affected by the time between deaths and the new relationships between bodies that grave reuse creates.

71 For studies that define and employ neutral vocabulary about grave opening activities, see Aspöck 2011; Cherryson 2007; Gleize 2007; Klevnäs 2013; van Haperen 2010; 2013.

Material, Sensory and Embodied Approaches to the Body

Over the last thirty years, archaeologies of the body have been concerned with debates about: how sex and gender are biologically and/or socially constructed; the body as an artifact and a metaphor for large-scale social processes, and the body as a scene of power and display, often without any “corporeal, lived or individual identity.”72 More recently, the material turn in archaeology challenges us to think about how materials felt and why their specific properties and affordances were appropriate for use in certain ways.73 The body plays a key role in the material turn in archaeology, since it is no longer situated between irreconcilable poles: the skeletal remains are no longer the sole domain of scientific inquiry in the fields of osteoarchaeology or bioarchaeology, and the humanistic approach to bodies is no longer devoid of archaeological ones. Instead, archaeological bodies are

“simultaneously biological, representational and material.”74 The material histories of bodies in graves are not only a proxy for attitudes to the dead, but these histories emphasize how bodies and relationships between individuals can be represented, transformed and entangled over time.75

Relatedly, the ‘sensory revolution’ in archaeology takes into account the physicality of objects and corporeal human experiences and it draws attention to the multiplicity of human senses, which are both culturally constituted and physically

72 Meskell 1996, 7; Hamilakis et al. 2002; Sofaer 2006; Borić and Robb 2008 for more recent reviews of the developments in body-centered research. 73 Van Oyen and Pitts 2017, 13. 74 Sofaer 2006, 11. 75 Hodder 2012, 132–135 on the entanglements between the living and the dead, especially as the dead could be used to create a sense of ancestry and lineage.

given.76 Recent work attempts to resist the dominant, ‘opticentric’ focus of sensory approaches to the ancient world and instead considers the different sensoria in tandem with each other.77 Traditionally, archaeology as a discipline has prioritized the realms of sight and visuality: what archaeologists observe in the field is recorded and represented as a reconstruction of pasts that no longer exist. Stylistic typologies and artifact seriations, which have been the cornerstone of the classical archaeologists’ training, gain authority from their visual qualities that can be compared across sites and associated with the dating of certain deposits. Burgeoning interest in sensorial archaeology shows how individual senses can be considered separately as well as alongside each other.78 And as Eleanor Betts argues, “If we approach sensory archaeologies of Roman culture from the perspective of the emitter of sensory stimuli, by establishing the sensory properties of specific objects, buildings, and spaces

(‘sensory artefacts’), we can understand better how people would have interacted with their material world.”79 These ‘sensory assemblages’, as Hamilakis labels them, play an important role in cultural memory and in the formation of mortuary sites by means of “evocative, affective and mnemonic performances and interactions.”80

One goal of sensory accounts and embodied archaeologies is to shed light on the multitude of experiences that contact with the dead generated. A sensory approach is particularly relevant in mortuary contexts, in which the physicality of the dead body

76 Day 2013, 3–5. 77 Butler and Purves 2013, 2; Gaifman and Platt 2018, 409–410. 78 For example, in the Routledge series The Senses in Antiquity and in Betts (ed.) Senses of the Empire: Multisensory Approaches to Roman Culture. 79 Betts 2017b, 25. 80 Hamilakis 2013, 126–127, where he defines ‘sensorial assemblages’ as “not only the pairing of a body with a thing (the hand holding a jar) but, furthermore, the contingent co-presence of heterogenous elements such as bodies, things, substances, affects, memories, information, and ideas.”

transforms after death and acts upon the senses of the living. As such, dead bodies are neither living subjects nor inert objects, and through the embodied practices of the living, the bodies of the dead are redefined and ritualized.81 With the onset of decay, the changing sensory and material properties of the dead body undoubtedly played a formative role in the burial practices that the living performed, with incense and perfume to cover the smell of the corpse,82 and shrouds or coffins to conceal the onset of decay.83

Like the other topics that have already been introduced, archaeologists rarely consider how the material and sensory properties of bodies in the process of decomposition acted on the living at the time of post-burial interventions.84 Instead, sensory accounts of death in the ancient world culminate with the disposal of the body, whether cremated or inhumed. As noted above, Gregory’s treatment of both Macrina and their parents draws attention to the close correlation between the stages of corporeal decay and how the dead could act upon the senses of the living. In cases of post-burial activities, touch is implicit in the repositioning of bodies and skeletal remains, but what does this tell us about the state of the body as a sensory artifact?

Were there different ways to handle fleshed and defleshed remains and how did the smell of decay affect post-depositional manipulation?

Building on the questions that I introduced in the previous sections, the case studies will explore how the stage of decomposition at the time of grave opening affected the acts of touching and repositioning the dead. Bodies could be stacked

81 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 98. 82 Koloski-Ostrow 2015, 107–108; Hope 2017, 91. 83 Graham 2015b, 52–53. 84 Eg. Avery 2013; Squire 2018 on the magic of decay, as if bones disappear entirely.

horizontally, laid next to each other, moved over to the side of a grave or heaped up as a bundle of bones, in order to create space for the deposition of an additional body.

Archaeologists with knowledge of how the human body decomposes after death and training in the methods of anthropologie de terrain (below) are uniquely positioned to document the presence or absence of anatomical connections that can help to reconstruct various aspects of the mortuary deposit, including the stage of corporeal decay at the time of a later intervention.85 The relative stage of decomposition, combined with the architecture of the burial, I argue, created certain conditions and predictable ways to touch or to avoid entombed bodies. Mortuary archaeologists, therefore, are in an ideal position to argue for the ways in which touch could be culturally mediated, not only because of their access to the material traces of corporeal treatment in the past, but also because archaeology itself is such a tactile activity.86

The Space of Decomposition and Grave Reuse

In addition to questions about the biological processes and transformations that occur after death, Gregory of Nyssa’s account offers a point of entry into another important topic, namely, the environment in which a corpse decomposes. In the

Roman world, unburnt corpses could be laid in a subterranean pit, interred in a sarcophagus or deposited in a loculus niche inside a tomb monument, among other possibilities. The processes of decay and decomposition are heavily influenced by burial and environmental conditions. What an archaeologist uncovers at the time of excavation is closely correlated to the conditions of the mortuary deposit, which can

85 Duday and Guillon 2006, 126–127. 86 Sofaer 2012, 141.

include hermetically-sealed sarcophagi, areas that are prone to heavy rain or flooding, dry sands or acidic soils. These conditions contribute to the position of skeletal remains, the effects of weathering, erosion, and the rates of bone preservation at the time of archaeological excavation (Chapter 1).

In an approach called anthropologie de terrain (or archaeothanatology) that developed in France in the 1980s, Henri Duday and colleagues advocate for careful registration of the spatial distribution of human remains, grave structures and artifacts at the time of excavation in the field, combined with knowledge of biology and how the human body decomposes after death, which is traditionally referred to as taphonomy.87 When archaeologists combine skeletal and taphonomic evidence in their social and religious contexts, they can reconstruct past mortuary practices in a way that has only been applied recently to the field of Roman funerary archaeology. The methods of archaeothanatology permit us to investigate and analyze complex mortuary deposits, and, at the same time, to systematically document archaeological remnants of materialized practices.88

In cases of burials with multiple individuals, it is often possible to determine the order of depositions and whether the individuals were interred simultaneously or consecutively, as well as any post-depositional modifications that may have taken place at the time of subsequent interventions. Many of the cases in the present study do not attest to consistent, repeated behavior, yet by collecting and studying evidence for post-burial practices in Roman cemeteries, it is quite clear how much we overlook

87 On the methods of archaeothanatology: Duday et al. 1990; Nilsson Stutz 2003; Duday 2006; 2009; Knüsel 2014. For the most complete review of archaeothanatology and its impact outside the Francophone world, see Nilsson Stutz 2003, chapter 5. 88 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 9.

by marginalizing reuse practices. Throughout this project, I draw on the methods of archaeothanatology in order to examine the time between depositions, evidence for the presence or absence of organic tissues at the time of grave opening and reuse, as well as traces of organic structures that no longer survive at the time of excavation, such as coffins, shrouds or supports within the grave. These factors affected the environment and the rate of decomposition, and they allow us to reconstruct the treatment of the body throughout various phases of mortuary activity.

Returning briefly to Gregory of Nyssa, let us assume that the bodies of his parents were placed in a large sarcophagus, perhaps one that was made of marble or granite. We do not know whether the tomb was above ground, set into the ground or buried, but there was a lid that was removed for the addition of Macrina (Vita Mac.

35.10-13). We might imagine from the presence of a removable lid that the bodies of their parents decomposed inside a void space, and that the lid helped to prevent the entrance of scavengers and sediments into the sarcophagus.89 If the sarcophagus was above ground, it may have been transported and set on display for the addition of

Macrina’s body, in which case the skeletal remains of her parents may have shifted around, moved out of anatomic order and mingled together inside the empty space.

These hypothetical situations introduce some taphonomic considerations about the space of decomposition, which inform an archaeologist’s interpretation and reconstruction of a mortuary deposit.

89 Duday 2006, 40–41; 2009, 32–44.

Corporeal Connections

We arrive at perhaps the most fundamental question of this study: how does the entanglement of bodies create connections between the deceased and between the living and the dead, and why do these connections matter? In the context of post-burial contact with bodies in different stages of decomposition, how do these experiences differ from the time of the initial interment to the time of post-burial manipulation?

This section introduces what I mean by the phrase corporeal connections, or the act of linking individuals in a mortuary context, while reaffirming or renegotiating social and biological identities, as well as the ways in which the body acts as a locus of memory, even after deposition and decomposition.90 The decision to deposit more than one corpse in a single grave or to open and reuse an existing grave indicates a desire on the part of the burying population to create associative ties between bodies. This is what

Gregory brought about by the reunion of his mother’s and sister’s bodies after death, an act that functioned not just symbolically but one with material and corporeal consequences for the expression of continuing relationships (Vita Mac. 35.13-20).

Throughout this study, I use the term individual, both as an adjective to refer to the human skeletal remains from a single deceased person, and as a noun to reflect the formerly living subject, which requires further explication of the embedded concepts of subjectivity and personhood.91 I appropriate the term individual from the domain of physical anthropology and osteoarchaeology, in which individual connotes the skeletal remains from the same formerly-living subject. In contrast, a skeleton has no singular,

90 Graham 2011, 25 on the pre-burial body as an important site of memory. 91 On personhood in archaeology, see Fowler 2004; 2010; 2011; 2016. These concepts will be explored further in Chapter 3.

physical boundary and is susceptible to fracture and fragmentation after the processes of decomposition. Yet skeleton suggests the presence of anatomical connections and a recognizably human form that can be reconstructed from the osseous remains. Except in cases of exceptional preservation such as the Grottarossa mummy (Chapter 1), the taphonomic and diagenetic processes of decay and the span of several centuries ensure that archaeologists uncover skeletons and not the corpses that were placed in graves.

In cases of post-burial interventions, manipulations and reuse, it is often difficult to speak of the skeleton as a discrete unit or individual, and instead, skeletal remains hint at the attrition of bones, the blending of bodies, and the dissolution of the skeleton

(Chapter 4).

Osteobiographies recreate the life histories of individual deceased persons, for whom “subjectivity is embedded in the materiality of the body through the impact of lifeways and individual experiences on the human skeleton.”92 For my present interests, I am less concerned with the ways in which these lifeways and individual experiences manifest themselves as bony lesions from traumatic events or as chemical signatures from local drinking water.93 Rather, it is the treatment at the time of death and in subsequent encounters with the material remains of the dead that precipitated the curation, arrangement, manipulation and connecting of bodies and skeletal elements. An archaeology of the dead that takes into account these transformations has existed for years in the form of archaeothanatology, yet there is room to strengthen the

92 Sofaer 2012, 142. 93 See Prowse 2016 for a recent example of how stable isotopes have been used to investigate diet and mobility. The methods of bioarchaeology and osteoarchaeology can be used to reconstruct past lives, whereas archaeothanatology is expressly concerned with the treatment of individuals in death.

relationship between archaeothanatology and more theoretical approaches to the body.94

Archaeological analysis from the 1980s onwards has shifted away from the search for universally applicable laws to the understanding of culture through heterogeneous social subgroups with a greater emphasis on the individual person.

Chris Fowler takes into account the fact that the modern ‘archaeological imagination’ has prioritized western concepts of personhood, and so he defines personhood in the following manner:

Personhood in its broadest definition refers to the condition or state of being a person, as it is understood in any specific context. Persons are constituted, de- constituted, maintained and altered in social practices through life and after death. This process can be described as the ongoing attainment of personhood. Personhood is frequently understood as a condition that involves constant change, and key transformations to the person occur throughout life and death.95

For archaeologists, personhood in past societies is readily explored through the lenses of corporeality and the identities that could be maintained, altered, negotiated or relational in death.96 But we should not conflate personhood with the body when moving between the dimensions of interpretive archaeology and osteoarchaeology.

The individual is an analytical device that is associated with wholeness and indivisibility; however, the state of human skeletal remains in mortuary deposits is often unrulier since bodies could be unbound, mingled with others, removed, and distributed between graves. Archaeologists reconstitute skeletal remains as

94 Archaeothanatology would benefit from the theoretical archaeologies of the body, as outlined in Meskell 1996; Hamilakis et al. 2002; Nilsson Stutz 2003; Sofaer 2006; Borić and Robb 2008. 95 Fowler 2004, 4. 96 Graham 2009, 53.

individuals, bodies and corpses, and in doing so, they reconstruct the absent person through physical remains.97 Joanna Sofaer uses the term ‘inter-corporeal connections’ to describe relations between the living osteoarchaeologist practitioner who handles the skeletal remains of past individuals in the present.98 I extend the focus to include interactions between the living and the dead who interacted in the past, and I also introduce the material and sensory properties of a grave’s existing occupants who were active in their own encounters with other dead bodies.

Thus, the act of creating corporeal connections in mortuary contexts is simultaneously about perpetuating and transforming individual and inter-individual identities, which remain active among in the minds of the living through the embodied experiences of handling the dead and confronting the sensory realities of dead bodies.

To establish corporeal connections, whether in the early post-mortem period or long after an individual’s death, is as much about the interment of bodies together as it is a strategy for not forgetting the identities of a tomb’s initial occupant. Grave opening and reuse generated vivid, visceral reactions in response to the sight, touch or smell of the deceased, who were moved and repositioned in order to make room for additional individuals. Whether in the form of contiguous, multiple or reused burials, the creation of associative links between deceased individuals in Roman cemeteries was a powerful strategy for the localization and maintenance of memory in the body.

97 Sofaer 2012, 137. 98 Sofaer 2012, 141–142.

An Overview of the Data:

It is striking that Jocelyn Toynbee’s 1971 Death and Burial in the Roman

World represents the most comprehensive volume on Roman burial practices, yet cemeteries enter the discussion in a very limited way.99 The cemeteries that do appear are largely dependent on epigraphic and monumental evidence, with limited attention to the human remains that were the focus of mortuary treatment. Since Toynbee, there have been other syntheses of funerary practices and commemoration of the dead, but the focus remains on the tomb structures or epitaphs.100 Archaeological site reports typically include a section about funerary practices and they compare classes of material or unusual burial features to other nearby cemeteries, but non-monumental cemeteries have remained subordinate to tomb typologies, marble funerary reliefs and epitaphs that record biographical details in the general scholarship about Roman mortuary practices.101

Before moving to the dataset under consideration, I deviate slightly to outline what is not included in this study. Monumental Roman cemeteries have been thoroughly documented at Rome,102 Pompeii,103 Isola Sacra,104 Ostia,105 Aquileia,106 and Sarsina,107 to name a few prominent sites. These cemeteries are well known for

99 Toynbee 1971. 100 Von Hesberg and Zanker 1987; Baldassarre 1996; Heinzelmann et al. 2001; Carroll 2006; and Graham 2006 bring together different aspects of Roman tomb monuments and funerary commemoration. 101 For example, the archaeological site report of the Casteggio (Clastidium) cemetery sets the burial practices in the wider regional context of Lombardy and it integrates the evidence for burial ritual into the wider discussion of Roman mortuary practices. Cf. Bolla in Invernizzi 2011. 102 Steinby 2003; Liverani and Spinola 2010; Borg 2013; Duday et al. 2013. 103 Kockel 1983; D’Ambrosio and De Caro 1987; Van Andringa et al. 2013; Campbell 2015. 104 Angelucci et al. 1990; Baldassarre 1996. 105 Heinzelmann 2000. 106 Mirabella Roberti 1997. 107 Ortalli et al. 2008.

their contributions to the rich epigraphic corpus of funerary inscriptions, as well as for their frescoes, statuary, marble altars and cinerary urns. In a similar manner, there have been many recent studies of specific tomb types, such as columbaria tombs for collective burial in the late Republic and early Empire, as well as catacombs and hypogea structures in the third and fourth centuries.108 Several of these studies have brought attention to the ways in which such structures were used and reused over several generations, with subsequent modifications and renovations at later points.109

As important as these monumental tombs have been for our understanding of

Roman death and burial, there are several reasons for their exclusion from the present study. Most pertinent is when the majority of these tombs were discovered and excavated in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, at which point tombs – especially those from Greek and Roman antiquity – were sources for marble statues, inscriptions and objects of artistic value, whereas the scientific and cultural importance of skeletal remains was not yet recognized. Accordingly, human skeletal remains were removed from burials without recording details about their find spots or estimates of age or sex.

Relative to the number of inscriptions or sarcophagi from monumental contexts, bodies are virtually non-existent, which makes it difficult to assess the post- depositional treatment of the body in tomb complexes. There are, of course, exceptions: the recent excavations in the Santa Rosa cemetery under the Vatican, the ongoing work in the Catacomb of Saints Peter and Marcellinus, and the renewed

108 On Roman catacombs: Nuzzo 2000; Blanchard and Castex 2007; Bodel 2008; Borg 2013; Borbonus 2014. See in particular Borbonus (2014, 9–10) for his discussion of various economic, social and architectural explanations of why columbaria were a specifically Augustan-period phenomenon and why they were a popular choice for collective burial among a certain segment of the population in Rome into the first century CE. 109 Borg 2013, 123–160.

excavations at the Via Ostiense necropolis in Rome.110 At these sites, excavators with training in the methods of archaeothanatology not only prioritize the body in Roman cemetery excavations, but they are making broader methodological advances in corpse taphonomy in both cremation and inhumation burials. Another reason for the exclusion of monumental complexes is to focus on the iterative process of visiting the tomb in distinctly non-monumental contexts. Whether reuse was supplemental or adaptive, reused burials in non-monumental cemeteries can be compared to what we find in family tombs in urban environments, but the mechanics of grave reuse in subterranean graves differ fundamentally and therefore necessitate their own inquiry.

The present study draws substantially from stratigraphically-excavated cemeteries and well-documented sites in Roman Italy that have been published from the 1970s to the present. Before that point, excavators commented on grave structures and tomb contents, but not routinely on burial taphonomy or the skeletal remains.

Reference to the human body in its sepulchral context is the essential requirement for the inclusion of a site in this study, regardless of whether a report provides a tomb-by- tomb description of all individuals or whether it only makes mention in passing to exceptional cases of reuse or violation. Cemeteries for which there is information about the skeletons appear by 1965;111 many studies after this time continued to highlight tomb typologies and catalogs of grave goods with no mention to the human skeletal remains.112 In other cases, the absence of skeletal material results from the preliminary or synthetic state of the report, rather than the prioritization of objects

110 Preliminary reports for these excavations can be found in Blanchard and Castex 2007; Duday et al. 2013; Kacki et al. 2014; Alapont 2016. 111 Mercando 1965 (Falerone, Marche). 112 For example, in Ferraresi et al. 1987 (La necropoli romana di via Beltrami ad Arsago Seprio (VA)).

over bodies.113 Although the publication quality varies greatly, the proliferation of archaeological investigations of Roman cemeteries and the increasing involvement of physical anthropologists justifies the exclusion of excavations before the last decades of the twentieth century.

Included in this study are both partially and completely-excavated necropoleis, which offer the possibility of examining the frequency and prevalence of disturbance and reuse. Rescue excavations frequently uncover small nuclei of tombs, which are subsequently planned, photographed, documented and published in a manner that makes them easily integrated into broader discussions about Roman burial practices, although it is not common practice to do so. Particularly in northern Italy, there is a strong tradition of archaeological superintendencies that publish preliminary reports and interpretations before or as an alternative to comprehensive studies of the grave contents.114 Evidence from minimally or partially-excavated cemeteries shows that these burials, when considered in the aggregate, contribute substantially to the number of documented suburban and rural burial grounds, which otherwise escape scholarly attention. Although we may not know how representative these isolated case studies are in the absence of a full burial catalog, they document the phenomenon of post- depositional contact with the deceased in a manner that provides a valuable window into the past.115

113 Cocchiaro 2004 (Fasano (Brindisi), Savellatri: Egnazia (Necropoli occidentale). 114 Eg. Tirelli et al. 1988; Messineo and Grossi 1993; Bertani et al. 1994; Manca 1996-97; Ceccaroni et al. 2011. 115 For examples of isolated burials with post-depositional disturbances, cf. Ceccaroni et al. 2011, esp. TT. 54, 58 and 66; Agricoli et al. 2012; Cividini 2012, 55, T. 15.

In preparation for this study, I examined no fewer than 135 Roman cemeteries with just over 12,000 burials (Fig. 1) (Appendix 1). These sites ranged greatly in the level of detail and the quality of the publications. Among the sites considered, 22 cemeteries contained only cremation burials, and 46 cemeteries were missing a catalog of contents for the burials, so these sites were largely excluded. Of the remaining cemeteries, there were 61 whose use fell within the late first through early fifth centuries CE, in which the publication included a catalog of contents and at least a minimal description of each burial; in some cases, there was even a photo or drawing of the skeletal remains. When I considered the inhumation burials in those 61 cemeteries, I found no evidence for post-depositional activities at 12 sites. There remaining 49 cemeteries had documented instances of post-burial activities, which amounts to more than 300 cases across Roman Italy.

Figure 1: Map of excavated Roman cemeteries under consideration in this study.

Many of the sites that I consider were excavated under the direction of the

Italian Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici, often in conditions of emergency, salvage or rescue excavations. The distribution of excavated cemeteries on a map reveals more about the efficacy and rapidity of publishing in recent years than significant patterns about cemetery locations during the first to early fifth centuries CE

(Fig. 1). The sites considered concentrate heavily in the northern and Adriatic areas of

Italy, as well as in the areas that surround Rome. Although the quality of publication differs between the eighteen modern regions of mainland Italy based on when and how sites were excavated, the most extensively published cemeteries are found in the northern regions of Marche, Emilia-Romagna, Veneto, Friuli-Venezia Giulia,

Lombardia and Piemonte, where there is funding to support collaboration between the superintendencies, local universities and an annual archaeological publication. Large numbers of burials remain unpublished, despite thorough excavation,116 particularly in

Lazio, where more than 4000 burials have been excavated but remain unpublished.117

Many of these publications, however, are available in only a very small number of research institutions outside Italy, so it is not surprising that they are not as well- known as their monumental counterparts at Pompeii, Isola Sacra, Sarsina or Aquileia.

116 For example, more than 300 burials have been excavated at Albintimilium in Liguria, 80 at Boccone D’Aste in Lazio, an additional 330 burials at Brindisi in Puglia, more than 330 at Velia in Calabria and 113 at Vidor in the Veneto region. For preliminary reports on these sites, cf. Pallarés 1963; Tirelli 1988; Di Gennaro and De Filippis 1995; Fiammenghi 2003; Martino et al. 2004; Craig et al. 2009; Gambaro and Gandolfi 2012; Larese 2012; Cocchiaro 2013. 117 The most prominent of these cemeteries are the via Basiliano (545 burials), Casal Bertone (221 burials), Castel Malnome (289 burials), Collatina (2164 burials), Lucrezia Romana and Osteria del Curato (more than 410 burials), Padre Semeria (114 burials), and Quarto Cappello del Prete (120 burials). Cf. Bedini et al. 1990; Catalano et al. 2001; Buccellato and Catalano 2003; Egidi et al. 2003; Buccellato et al. 2008; Musco et al. 2008; Buccellato et al. 2011; Amicucci and Carboni 2015.

Two sites feature more prominently in this study than others: Musarna in Lazio and Vagnari in Puglia. At the former site, 209 graves were excavated between 1997-

2003 and published by the École Française de Rome.118 Ongoing explorations since

2002 have revealed 144 burials at Vagnari, where I have been involved with fieldwork since 2010.119 In both cases, the methods of archaeothanatology and bioarchaeology have been employed to create detailed osteobiographies of individuals in life as well as their treatment in death, with specific attention to post-burial interventions. The availability of documentation, skeletal inventories, photos and planned drawings makes these sites of exceptional interest to the present study.

Thus far, I have referred to non-monumental cemeteries, but I have yet to discuss the tomb types and grave structures that are commonly found in these cemeteries throughout Roman Italy. Graves could take the form of a simple pit burial with no grave cover (fossa terragna), or there could be a grave cover of roof tiles or stone slabs (alla cappuccina, tegole in piano, lastre in pietra) (Fig. 2). The body could be placed directly in a pit or the pit could be lined with brick, tiles or stones (cassa laterizia, cassa in muratura), in order to create a structure around the body. These are the structures that will appear most frequently in the case studies in the following chapters.

118 Rebillard 2009b. 119 Small et al. 2007; Prowse and Small 2009; Prowse 2016. Although only the first excavation season of 17 burials from Trench 09 at Vagnari has been published, I draw on unpublished burials in my case studies.

Figure 2: Tomb types commonly discussed in this study. (After Bolla in Invernizzi et al. 2011, 107, Fig. 1 at in the Casteggio (Clastidium) necropolis).

Concluding Remarks:

There has been a demonstrable absence of the human body in discussions of the afterlife of a grave, despite the body’s critical presence for the establishment of a tomb. By focusing on corporeal remains in their sepulchral contexts, this project employs a body-centered approach to the investigation of damaged, disturbed, reopened and reused burials in Roman Italy. Throughout this study, the emphasis will be on post-depositional contact with inhumed individuals, whose unburnt corpses were placed in the ground. The majority of inhumation burials from Roman Italy between the late first and early fifth centuries CE were single inhumation burials, as opposed to

simultaneous or consecutive depositions in multiple burials.120 Even in the absence of epigraphic tituli or monumental forms of commemoration, the primacy of single depositions in subterranean row or field cemeteries highlights the emphasis on the individual in Roman burial practices.

In spite of the difficulties of working with older cemetery publications and different burial conditions, this project explores whether cases of multiple burials or grave reuse were outliers within patterns of cemetery use, perhaps long after the main period of burial, or whether they were interspersed more regularly throughout the cemetery. As presaged by Gregory’s account of his sister Macrina, I will consider how the type and nature of skeletal manipulation was related to the stage of corporeal decay, what this reveals about the sensory impact of post-burial encounters with the corpse or skeletal remains, and whether the evidence is sufficient to trace a change in attitudes to the body over time.

This project calls for an approach to post-depositional mortuary practices that highlights the reasons for and the reactions to grave opening and encounters with decomposing bodies and skeletal remains. The terminology used to describe these actions deserves further attention, despite dealing with a multi-lingual tradition. From a methodological perspective, we need to develop ways of excavating disturbed, damaged and reopened burials that are in line with the aims of archaeothanatology. It is also important to pay attention to the positions of bodies at the time of interment, the space of decomposition, the sequence of depositions, as well as any subsequent modifications to the human remains in cases of repositioning, removing or introducing

120 Amicucci and Carboni 2015, 783–784.

new elements to the grave. It is also possible, I argue, for a study about Roman post- burial practices to engage with theoretical approaches to the archaeological body and methodological advances in burial taphonomy. The evidence examined here highlights the fact that Roman funerary practices, so often studied in isolation, benefit from cross-cultural comparison and different lines of evidence.

Furthermore, I argue that the addition of individuals and the manipulation of human skeletal elements was not usually transgressive behavior, as we might be tempted to understand these actions from epigraphic and legal sources or even from excavation reports, but rather, these additions reflect the creation and maintenance of inter-generational corporeal connections between the deceased and the living. Even when the integrity and the articulation of the body are compromised by subsequent depositional events, it is necessary to think more critically about the ways in which a range of activities related to the reverence and revulsion of the dead manifest themselves in the archaeological record.

The chapters in this study track the body on its journey, not to the afterlife, but through the physical transformations that death initiates.121 Chapter 1, “Corporeal

Corruption” addresses decay and decomposition from the complementary perspectives of Roman literary and visual sources and a modern scientific understanding, in order to explore some of the biological and material transformations that the body undergoes. This chapter shifts away from the traditional focus on death pollution and contaminating contact with corpses, and instead, it explores decay and decomposition that is not limited to the ways in which the dead contaminate the living, but rather, the

121 This study does not deal explicitly with Roman concepts of the afterlife. For the relevant sources, see Cumont 1922, 44–90; Toynbee 1971, 33–39; King 1998, 125–166.

various ways in which decay can inhabit the imaginations of the living. Chapter 2,

“Damaged, Disturbed and Discarded,” deviates slightly from the timeline of decay to explore how disturbance, whether early in the post-mortem interval or in recent years, transforms burials into typologically unruly deposits that have been written out of the archaeological record. This chapter argues that the documentation of disturbance and the various post-depositional modifications to a grave site are necessary starting points to understand the appearance of Roman burials at the time of excavation. The case studies explore damage and disturbance that took place both in antiquity and more recently as a lens for the exploration of fragmentary cemetery data.

The last two chapters consider how the addition of individuals to graves can be variously interpreted as ‘disturbances’, ‘reuse’ or ‘violations’, depending on the timing and circumstances of either supplemental or consecutive reuse. The third chapter, called “Simultaneous and Synchronous?” turns to simultaneous burials that can be categorized as supplemental additions to a grave early in the post-mortem period. The reuse of single inhumation graves was significant, not only for the energy expenditure or the sensory impact of handling the dead, but for the desire to link bodies and to maintain social and biological ties between the living and the dead.

Finally, Chapter 4, “Reopen, Reduce, Reuse,” introduces consecutive burials, when graves were reused after the time it takes for a corpse to decompose. In consecutive burials, the later interment may have had a less explicit connection to the original occupant of a tomb, especially when the remains of the first individual were removed or repositioned to accommodate an additional body or bodies. This final chapter explores how we arrive at the assumption that grave reuse was a predatory

practice that occurred in Late Antiquity, and how we can refine methods for dating the time between depositions in multiple graves. Methodologically, the case studies from

Roman cemeteries illustrate the different themes of this project, and, much like

Gregory of Nyssa in this Introduction, each chapter includes a literary, visual or epigraphic case study. These subsidiary examples weave together a narrative about the treatment of the body in the ancient world, and they build bridges between the anonymous bodies in obscure burials and the corpus of disembodied names from funerary epitaphs.

1. Corporeal Corruption

Abstract: This chapter explores Roman attitudes to the dead and the multi-faceted connections between corpse disposal, decomposition, and the material properties of the body. Rather than approach dead bodies from the perspective of corpse pollution or contaminating touch with the dead, I argue that we need to understand decomposition with respect to the material and sensory aspects of death before determining how Roman mortuary practices made provisions for bodies at different stages of decomposition in post-depositional encounters.

Keywords: corpse decomposition, death pollution, sensory approaches

Introduction:

Glinting in the light of the Salle Henri II in the Musée du Louvre, silver objects from the Boscoreale treasure captivate viewers with the immensity of the hoard and the intricate detail of the metalwork. More than 100 tableware items, as well as mirrors, jewels and over 1000 coins were discovered together in 1895 during excavations at the so-called ‘Villa della Pisanella’ at Boscoreale.1 Many of the tableware items are decorated in the repoussé technique with scenes that range from the mythological Twelve Labors of Hercules or historicizing images of the emperors

Augustus and Tiberius, to a pair of modioli cups with scenes of animated skeletons engaged in various activities (Fig. 3). The latter are unique in the Roman world, not only for the intricate iconography and the juxtaposition of life and death, but also for the interplay of image and text, with a combined total of 29 inscriptions that draw attention to philosophical maxims, virtues, objects, and labels that identify the skeletal figures as Greek tragic and comic poets and philosophers.

1 First published by Héron de Villefosse 1899. See also Dunbabin 1986; 2003; Kuttner 1995.

Figure 3: Copy of silver cups (modioli) from the Boscoreale treasure, Wellcome Collection, Science Museum, London L0058245.

The figures on the Boscoreale cups move between layers of representation: sculpted skeletons gesticulate with animated vitality while impersonating the long- dead. Presiding over them is a skeletal statue of Clotho, one of the three Fates, who appears as an embodied representation of the ability to control death.2 Images of dead bodies operate at other levels, as animated skeletons interact with objectified skulls and masks, and in one case, with a disarticulated skeleton that purports to actually be dead (Fig. 4). The latter example appears on cup B, where an anonymous skeleton carries a plate with cakes and wreaths in one hand and holds a flask in the other hand, as if pouring a libation over disarticulated skeletal remains on the ground. The fragmented body of the disarticulated individual has been reduced to certain representative anatomical elements: a skull, ribs that are surprisingly still connected to

2 Hope 2009, 23–24. Clotho was one of the three Fates (Parcae or Moirae) in Greco-Roman mythology. Nona (Clotho) was responsible for spinning the thread of life; Decima (Lachesis) measured it, and Morta (Atropos) cut it. See also Elsner (2018, 556) on a sarcophagus with the Fates.

the vertebral column to give the impression of a thoracic cage, and a rounded bone that looks like part of the pelvic basin.

Figure 4: Detail of Boscoreale cup B.

To the left of the libation scene, another nameless skeleton holds up a skull at eye level, seemingly deep in contemplation, despite the glaringly empty orbits (eye sockets) that can neither see nor participate in this assembly of the senseless. The contemplation of a skull functions as a memento mori, a reminder of death, and a mirror for the skull gazing back at the skeleton. A parallel meditation on death appears famously in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, in which a gravedigger picks up the skull of ‘poor

Yorick,’ the king’s jester.3 In the vignettes on the Boscoreale cups, death is embodied, animated and objectified. Death is at a double remove as the animated dead

3 Shakespeare, Hamlet, V.1.172–192. On Shakespeare’s use of the memento mori, see Gellert 1970; Mushat Frye 1979; Garber 1981; Jacobs 1993.

contemplate skulls that they cannot see, handle what they cannot feel, and offer libations to those who cannot consume. The skeletons depicted on the Boscoreale cups are symbolic of larger questions about differential states of decay and familiarity with dead bodies in the Roman world. We will return to the Boscoreale cups later in the chapter, but for now, it is important to point out how they capitalize on representations of dead bodies in different stages of decay and how these senseless bodies occupied the imaginations of the living.

As Michael Squire has argued, new cultural histories of the body require us to move fluidly between different and even seemingly disparate types of evidence, across deeply entrenched disciplinary boundaries, in order to productively explore the various points of exchange between text and visual culture.4 To this, I would add that archaeologists should benefit not only from cross-cultural comparisons of mortuary practices, but also from moving between different media and their respective strategies of presenting and representing the body. Despite the recent proliferation of studies about bodies in the ancient world, they are generally limited to living bodies, whether idealized or marginalized, and represented in various media.5 In a parallel situation, the physical body has been somewhat of an afterthought in scholarship on Roman mortuary activities. The focus is typically on tomb monuments and inscriptions, in

4 Squire 2015a, 305. 5 Recent body-oriented studies for the Roman world include Fögen and Lee 2009; Squire 2011; Graham 2013; Laes et al. 2013; Boschung et al. 2015; Squire 2015a. Graham (2013) considers the post- mortem body.

spite of the strong corporeal motivations that affected mortuary treatment at all levels of society.6

This chapter is arranged around the theme of corporeal corruption and the processes by which the human body decomposes after death. Part 1 briefly situates the corpse as a cultural entity, in order to explore some of the central tensions that exist between nature and culture. In this section, I introduce the relevant debates about the polluting effects of the corpse in the Roman world. Those individuals who had contact with corpses were seen as unclean or in some way tainted by their professions in the funeral industry.7 Although the fear of corpse pollution could be an element that controlled or limited contact with the dead in the ancient world, there is much to be learned about the treatment of the dead through new avenues of inquiry.

Part 2 explores ancient attitudes to bodies in different states of decay, whether described by ancient authors or represented visually. Perhaps unexpectedly in a study about Roman burial practices, this evidence largely derives from non-funerary contexts.8 This type of exploration prompts us to consider how the dead occupied the imaginations of the living, not in the context of corpse disposal, but in subsequent and often imaginative encounters with the dead, as depicted on the Boscoreale cups. In turn, I begin to outline a new approach to the investigation of decay and

6 See Introduction (pp. 37–41) about studies in which treatment of the dead body is largely separated from funerary commemoration. 7 These views are advanced in Bradley 2012; 2015; Bodel 2000; 2014; Bond 2013; 2016; Lennon 2012; 2014; 2018, in which contamination does not necessarily result from hygienic sources, but from the material world and religious beliefs. 8 My investigation borrows its approach from studies that shed light on a topic by approaching it from the opposite perspective. This approach can be found in Rebillard 2009a, 57–58, who adopts it from Scheid 1985, 22. Both attempt to circumnavigate the difficulties of interpreting a small number of texts by approaching their topic of study from the opposite perspective. The former studies the discourse on tomb violation as a way to understand feelings and beliefs about burial, while the latter employs impiety as a way to understand pious religious acts.

decomposition in the ancient world by considering the treatment of the body in reopened and reused mortuary deposits, as subsequent chapters will explore. This section does not attempt to compile all the evidence for ancient knowledge about decay; instead, it explores the dead body in the Roman cultural imagination in three specific examples that are found in Galen, Livy and the Boscoreale cups.

Part 3 turns from the corpse as a cultural to a biological entity. This section outlines the biology of death and the processes that occur at different stages of decomposition from a modern scientific and taphonomic understanding, in order to establish a biological basis for the material properties that inform sensory encounters with the deceased body. The physical processes of decay and decomposition are important for any discussion of the material and sensory properties of dead bodies, as well as for what archaeologists uncover at the time of excavation (Chapters 3 and 4).

Collectively, the different sections in this chapter weave together the biological and social considerations that affected the treatment of the corpse in the Roman world.

The result is a picture of death as a complex web of social and material interactions.

By moving away from the model of death as a form of pollution from contaminating contact with dead bodies, I bring together different corpora of evidence that can be used to think through the material transformations of the body: modern scientific approaches to death, ancient Roman funerary practices, as well as literary and visual evidence for encounters with dead bodies in non-funerary contexts. In doing so, I address Squire’s call to integrate disparate categories of evidence into new histories of the body, and specifically, the ‘afterlife’ of the buried body; furthermore, I lay the

foundations to explore the post-depositional treatment of the dead in the following chapters.

Part 1: Corpses as Cultural Entities

Culturally prevalent attitudes to corpses precipitate or determine funerary activities and mortuary treatment that result in various forms of burial or disposal.

Perceptions of and reactions to the biological aspects of the dead are related to cultural outlooks on decomposition and putrefaction, as well as the sensory impact of the dead.9 In what follows, I situate my inquiry of Roman burial practices in reference to the biological and cultural realities of both pre-and post- burial encounters with corpses precisely because these distinctions are blurred in cases of grave reuse at different stages in the post-mortem period. Death is a continuum that does not end with the disposal of the body and the creation of a mortuary deposit; even if the processes of putrefaction and autolysis that transform a body from a corpse to a skeleton usually take place out of sight and after burial, the body is nevertheless a dynamic, material entity that continues to transform after its removal from the world of the living. As a result, it is worthwhile to consider Roman attitudes to the corpse since they shape interactions with the body in the process of mourning, funerary display, disposal and commemoration.

For Valerie Hope, the corpse is both “an inanimate and passive symbol” of a person who has been loved and lost, one that affects the actions of the survivors.10

9 Hertz 1960, 29–30; Nilsson Stutz 2003, 93–94; Graham 2015a, 43–44. 10 Hope 2010, 34–35. For a recent critique of Hope’s approach to the corpse as a passive symbol, see Graham 2011, 22.

Upon death, the corpse is transformed from a former living being to an inanimate and distant ancestor through the process of funerary rituals, but the corpse, in her view, is also associated with decay, disease and pollution that symbolizes both the mortality and vulnerability of the living. Death destabilizes the world of the living by demanding that the latter respond to the disappearance of a living individual and the

‘emergence’ of a dead body.11 Most often in modern scholarship, the dead body is either treated as a symbol of the social actor, an entity to be removed and disposed from the world of the living, or the body exists as a skeleton from an archaeological deposit. As Liv Nilsson Stutz reminds us:

Bodies are more than metaphors. They are flesh and blood, organs, ligaments and bones, gases and fluids. This becomes especially obvious at death, when the embodied social being is transformed into a cadaver, continuously in a state of transformation, an effect of the processes of putrefaction and decomposition.12

Annie Allara’s 1995 study stands out for its emphasis on attitudes to the body.

She explores whether the Latin terms used to refer to human remains reflected the desire to control the risk of contamination that was caused by contact with the dead.

Using literary texts from the second centuries BCE to CE to study the period when cremation was the dominant burial practice, Allara establishes that Latin texts use the word mortuus to refer to a person who has just died, but two different attitudes to the corpse are reflected in the distinction between corpus and cadaver.13 Designation as a corpus associated the deceased with the world of the living by preserving a sense of

11 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 56; 2008, 22–23. 12 Nilsson Stutz 2008, 19. 13 Allara 1995, 70.

vitality, by maintaining an analogous connection to the living by controlling the corporeal corruption that death initiates, and finally, by supposing a place of burial that confirms the newfound identity of the deceased.14

References to human remains as a corpus signified a system of protection to prevent the body from becoming a cadaver, which Allara associates with ideas of abandonment, a lack of burial and contaminating touch.15 Roman funerary practices involved multi-stage rituals to help ensure that the living progressively detached from the dead, which relied on direct contact with the body to create communal ties between the world of the living and that of the dead. Most of all, it is the notion of time that distinguishes a corpus from a cadaver, since cadaver supposes a lapse of time during which there is an absence of contact between the deceased and the living, and the community loses its ability to control the post-mortem treatment of the body as a way of maintaining connections to the deceased.

For Allara, then, burial is not only a strategy for disposing the dead, but it symbolically allows for the living to control the ‘recomposition’ of the body of the deceased, which combats the effects of decomposition and dissolution.16 Even though

Allara maintains that contact with the deceased is necessary for creating connections between the living and the dead, her study ends with the cremation that allows the community to witness an irrevocable transformation of human remains, followed by the eventual interment of the dead. Her research hints at the possibilities of using

14 Allara 1995, 71. 15 Allara 1995, 74. 16 Allara 1995, 79.

decomposition as a tool to explore the different types of corporeal connections that material and sensory experiences with dead bodies engendered.

Relatedly, Yan Thomas points out that references to the body in legal texts do not emphasize post-mortem treatment, whether cremation or inhumation, but rather, they were metonyms that hinted at the integrity of the body that was required for the tomb to become a locus religiosus.17 Thomas explains that once the corpse was deposited in the ground, in whatever state of decomposition and putrefaction, “the body of the deceased was supposed to have been already reduced to its ultimate state of bones or ashes”.18 The body was reduced to a notionally fixed form precisely because the legal status of a tomb depended on the integrity of the body within, and as a result, the body that was immune to the ‘depredations of time’ guaranteed the perpetuity and inviolability of the tomb itself.19 Even if Roman civil and religious law did not acknowledge the taphonomic transformations of the body, the case studies in the following chapters will highlight patterned ways of handling human remains in different states of decomposition.

I share the view of Thomas Laqueur, who sees the dead as social beings that could dictate how the living cared for them, although I believe we can complicate this claim to account for the non-inert nature of the corpse by considering the material properties of the dead body that act on the sensory experiences of the living.20 Because the corpse is in a continual state of decay once the processes of putrefaction and autolysis set in (below), the ways in which the living interact with the dead are also in

17 Thomas 2004, 52. 18 Thomas 2004, 55. 19 Thomas 2004, 55–56. 20 Laqueur 2015, 10.

a constant state of flux. The study of mortuary practices, and especially those that interrupted or altered decomposition, is situated at the nexus between natural and cultural processes, since anthropogenic actions and biological processes mutually acted on each other as well as on the burial environment.21

Because modern experiences of contact with corpses are so distant and substantially mediated by medical and funerary professionals, an embodied approach with particular attention to the sensory impact of dead bodies can help us understand how the decomposing or decomposed body affected post-burial activities in archaeological contexts.22 Roman archaeologists and historians are increasingly aware of the need to acknowledge the sensory experiences that were activated or heightened when disposing bodies and adding individuals to existing burials, which is critical to our interpretations of post-burial practices.

Contact with Corpses:

The term ‘corpse pollution’ is laden with modern conceptions about Roman cultural and religious values. Before I turn to the discourse on corpse pollution, let me summarize the ancient evidence for contact with corpses and the status of those who were responsible for burial. There were prescriptions about the dress and the visibility of those in mourning and of those responsible for the removal and disposal of the dead. Mourners might be expected to set themselves apart visually by dressing in dark

21 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 139. 22 For example, Nilsson Stutz 2003; Crossland 2010; Devlin and Graham 2015 on embodied rituals, materiality and embodied approaches to the treatment of the corpse. See also Fowler (2004, 46) on the ways in which death in the modern western world distances the corpse by carefully controlling the corruption of the corpse.

colors or by placing a cypress branch outside their door.23 Mortuary workers were supposed to avoid those who needed to remain pure: magistrates, high priests and the

Pontifex Maximus.24 Among the most important sources for mortuary workers and contact with corpses in the ancient world are two inscriptions from Puteoli and Cuma in the Bay of Naples.25 The Puteoli inscription restricted not only the movement of corpses, but also the bodies of those who handled them: mortuary workers only entered the town on official business; they wore a dark cap (pilleus coloratus); and there were restrictions on bathing after the first hour of night.26 John Scheid and John

Bodel discuss other important literary sources for the treatment of the dead and the space of mourning within the home.27

For the first centuries BCE and CE, Bodel has identified a marked importance in religious rituals in tandem with practical issues of hygiene in the disposal of

23 Serv. ad Aen 3.64: “moris autem Romani fuerat ramum cupressi ante domum funestam poni, ne quisquam pontifex per ignorantiam pollueretur ingressus.” Also Serv. ad Aen 6.216: “ante cupressos constituunt cupressus adhibetur ad funera, vel quod caesa non repullulat, vel quod per eam funestata ostenditur domus, sicut laetam frondes indicant festae.” 24 Sen. Cons. ad Marc. 15.3 describes when Tiberius gave a funeral oration for his son from the rostra in Rome. Because it was not permitted for the high priest to look on a dead body, there was a curtain placed as a barrier, not unlike the sheet that Gregory of Nyssa placed over the bodies of his parents (Greg. Vita Mac. 35.10–13). 25 There is a long bibliography about the leges libitinariae. Most important are: Bove 1966; 1967; Bodel 1994, 72–80; 2000, 135–144; 2004, 149–170; Panciera and Vauchez 2004; Castagnetti 2012. AE 1971, 88 for the lex libitinaria from Puteoli. 26 AE 1981, 88 II.3–7, following the text in Bodel (1994, 77): Oper(ae) quae at eam r(em) praeparat(ae) er(unt) ne intra turrem ubi | hodie lucus est Libit(inae) habitent laventurve ab h(ora) I | noctis neve veniant in oppid(um) nisi mortui tollend(i) conlocand(i)ve aut | supplic(i) sumend(i) c(ausa); dum ita | quis eor(um) veniat quotiens | oppid(um) intrab(it) in oppid(o)ve erit ut pilleum color(atum) in | capit(e) habea{n}t […]. 27 Scheid 1984, 118–127; Bodel 2000, 135–144. Mortuary workers who had contact with the dead body might include a funeral director (dissignator), undertakers (libitinarii); corpse-carriers (vespillones), grave-diggers (fossores), corpse-burners (ustores); as well as various musicians (tibicines), horn players (siticines), mimes, dancers, lictors, and mourners. For funeral directors: Hor. Epist. 1.7.6; [Quint] Decl. Mai. 6.8. Undertakers are described in CIL I2, 2997a, X 5429; and AE 1971, 88. On vespillones: Paul. exc. Fest. 368-9; Serv. ad Aen. 11.143; grave-diggers are found in inscriptions like CIL VI, 7543, 9655; corpse burners: Cic. Mil. 33; Catull. 59.5; musicians: Cic. Leg. 2.59, Cato Orat. 220; mimes and dancers: Dion. Hal. 7.72; Suet. Caes. 84; Suet. Vesp. 19; Appian Lib. 66; and lictors: Cic. Leg. 2.61.

corpses, based on evidence for funerary professionals in the burning and disposal of the body.28 Notably, the evidence from this period corresponds to the time when the dominant burial rite was cremation, which accelerated the process of corporeal putrefaction through transformation by fire. Those who removed bodies from urban centers for cremation on the funeral pyre did so for profit, which contributed to the stigma of the profession, yet the evidence for mortuary workers and the mechanisms for disposing tens of thousands of bodies annually survive only for urban centers in

Italy, mainly at Rome and Puteoli in the Bay of Naples.29 We do not know who was responsible for the interment of the dead in the suburban and semi-rural field cemeteries of Italy.

The corpse could be seen as a source of contamination for the living, which results in the idea that handling bodies in the Roman world was a task for the fringes of Roman society.30 In current discussions of the corpse, the concept of death pollution is usually not far behind, especially when the treatment of the dead transgressed certain social boundaries or conventions.31 Certain groups were thought to “demean their living bodies through their profession,” including actors, prostitutes, gladiators

28 Bodel 2000. 29 Evidence for mortuary workers in Rome and the Bay of Naples is collected by Bodel 1994; 2000; 2004. See in particular Bodel 2000, 140–141 on the social exclusion of funerary professionals because of the nature of their contact with corpses and profit from the business of death. 30 For studies that deal with the corpse through the lens of contaminating touch and death pollution, see Bodel 2000; Hope 2000; Lindsay 2000; Bond 2013; Lennon 2014; Bond 2016; Lennon 2018. 31 See Bradley 2012, 24–26 for a review of recent scholarship that deals with the corpse as a form of ‘waste disposal.’ Since Mary Douglas’ influential book, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo was published in 1966, the concept of pollution has shaped thinking about the corpse as a marginalized entity and as a contaminant in the world of the living. Douglas 2003 [1966] introduces the concept of pollution as dirt or matter out of place. Douglas, however, deals with matter out of place more broadly and is not concerned with corpses, despite the impact of her book on recent scholarly approaches to the corpse.

and undertakers.32 In the case of funerary professionals, a particular species of ‘necro- pollution’ transfers from the corpse to the funerary professional and becomes a social contaminant. In fairly schematic terms, death pollution involved a combination of

“physical, spiritual, symbolic, and traditional factors” because the corpse was treated as unclean, decaying matter that neither belonged to the world of the living nor to that of the hereafter.33

Modern scholars make it clear that the contamination affected those who profited from the business of death and loss. In Sarah Bond’s recent book about disreputable professions, contact with corpses was both the subject and object of the contaminant that could contribute to the social stigma of funeral workers. Despite their status as non-living entities, corpses could initiate the transfer of social stigma to those who handled them. Bond suggests a spectrum of death pollution, in which those funerary professionals that had more contact with corpses like bier-carriers (lecticarii) and morticians (pollinctores) “appear to have incurred the most disrepute from their polluting contact with the dead,” whereas the funeral director (dissignator) may have been less affected because of reduced contact with corpses.34 In his work about the contaminating aspects of touch, Jack Lennon also holds the view that death pollution was far worse for those whose livelihood depended on death, such as undertakers, corpse bearers and executioners, whose location, appearance and ritual role in society were all tightly controlled.35

32 Hope 2010, 37. 33 Hope 2010, 31. 34 Bond 2016, 70. 35 Lennon 2014, 138.

The aforementioned studies about the treatment of the corpse and death pollution are important for their recognition of the dead as agents in the world of the living. Dead bodies were able to confer a certain degree of contamination onto the living through proximity and touch, but we should be careful to distinguish social and religious forms of pollution. Scheid highlights a series of temporal and sensory reversals that dominated funerary practices, and as a result, mourners were provisionally set apart by their state of alterity.36 Funerary rituals dealt with the threat of disintegration and upheaval after the death of a social member, “temporarily removing the family from ordinary society while permanently removing the corpse from the household, ensuring that pollution might not find its way back during this process.”37

Although the concept of corpse pollution is an important aspect that shaped prescriptions for how the living disposed of the dead, the discussion has yet to develop substantially in the direction of recognizing the body as an unstable, material entity during the process of decomposition. One exception is Emma-Jayne Graham’s recent work on embodiment, memory and the corpse. She argues that the change in bodily treatment from cremation to inhumation in the late first century CE was related to the growing involvement of funerary professionals like libitinarii, who played a fundamental role in distancing the living from the material aspects of the decaying body.38 Her focus is on the different ways that the body could be concealed from sight,

36 Scheid 1984, 137–138. 37 Lennon 2014, 165. 38 Graham 2011, 32–35; 2015a, 58. However, in light of scant evidence for funerary professionals, Graham perhaps overstates the degree to which the involvement of these funerary professionals could

wrapped, contained, and eventually, protected in the grave. In the following chapters, I will engage with this research and explore the physical body in different stages of decay since this topic has not yet been considered in the field of Roman mortuary practices.

Because we think of Roman funerary rites in sociological terms as a process that culminated with the disposal of the dead and the reintegration of the living into the world of society, we tend to confer a degree of finality on the act of disposal.39 The corpse, as Lennon notes, “ceased to pose a threat once removed from the space of the living and placed within its correct place, usually the graveyard.”40 Burial, therefore, removed the corpse and the threat of pollution from the world of the living. What will be important for the following chapters is that grave opening should not involve contamination, even if these acts might have other implications for the legal status of the tomb. Before I discuss grave opening activities, however, I would like to propose a new way of addressing contact with corpses and how decomposition could affect the living.

Part 2: The Importance of the Corpse in Non-Funerary Contexts

As a way of transitioning from the disposal of the corpse in Roman society to the importance of the body in the study of decomposition, I suggest that we turn to ancient examples that did not involve funerary professionals and introduce the

precipitate such a top-down shift in burial practices, since the family, peers or kin likely continued their responsibilities for corpse disposal and burial in large parts of Roman Italy. 39 Following Van Gennep 1961; Hopkins 1983, 203 and 217–226 on the customs and institutions that helped the living to cope with death. 40 Lennon 2014, 137.

material and sensory properties of the body that affected post-depositional encounters at different stages of decay. Whether real or imagined, literary and visual examples that involve dead bodies outside the normal range of funerary activities provide interesting and sometimes unexpected insight into Roman attitudes to the dead that we do not otherwise glean from the standard sources that are used to write histories of

Roman death and burial.41 Indeed, non-funerary encounters with the body provide a good starting point for understanding Roman notions of decay and decomposition in a manner that focuses on how the living were prompted to respond to the material conditions of the dead.

The following passages from Galen, Livy and Plutarch all address the body in different stages of decomposition and show that time was an important factor. In various anecdotes, these authors use time and taphonomy as explanatory mechanisms to make sense of encounters with the post-mortem body. Since these anecdotes come from non-funerary contexts, they allow us to reorient the discussion about contact with corpses away from the somewhat limiting conversation about pollution and to introduce the dynamic material realities of the post-mortem body.

a) Dead Bodies for Observation:

Two of the most interesting descriptions of encounters with dead bodies come from the physician Galen, who wrote a large corpus of medical texts in Greek, one of which, On Bones for Beginners, is the only surviving anatomical work from antiquity

41 Eg. Hope 2017. Hope’s intent is to illustrate the central rituals and beliefs associated with death, which culminate in the disposal of the dead and the attention of the living to grief, mourning and consolation, although there is much to be gained from exploring unintentional and non-normative encounters with the dead.

that is based primarily on human material.42 Born in Pergamon in 130 CE, Galen spent time studying anatomy in Smyrna, Corinth and Alexandria before settling in Rome in

162 until his death around 201. In his prefatory remarks to another medical text, Galen instructs that practicing physicians should have firsthand knowledge of human bones through autopsy and book learning. In On Anatomical Procedures, Galen advocates in favor of autopsy:

This is quite easy at Alexandria because the physicians there employ ocular demonstration in teaching osteology to students. For this reason, if for no other, try to visit Alexandria. But if you cannot, it is still possible to see something of human bones. I, at least, have done so often on the breaking open of a grave or tomb. Thus once a river, inundating a recent hastily made grave, broke it up, washing away the body. The flesh had putrefied, though the bones still held together in their proper relations. It was carried down a stadium and, reaching marshy ground, drifted ashore. This skeleton was as though deliberately prepared for such elementary teaching.43

The anecdote in this passage provides a fascinating glimpse into an ancient experience of viewing a corpse at a fairly-advanced stage of ‘semi-decomposition.’ 44

After water inundated a hastily-made grave, Galen looked upon a naturally- exhumed corpse that was washed away and subjected to decomposition in a moist environment. Such wet, marshy conditions tend to impede bacterial activity and typically decrease the rate of decomposition. The contrast between the putrefaction of flesh and the preservation of anatomical order suggests that decomposition was advanced enough for the disappearance of skin, yet not to the point of completion

42 Singer 1952, 767. 43 Cf. Greek edition Kühn 1821, vol. 2, p. 220: 14–18, p. 221: 1–13. Trans. Singer 1956, p. 3 (De anatomicis administrationibus 1.2). 44 Hope 2000, 120; Prioreschi 2004, 553, note 427 on the observation of a semi-decomposed body.

since anatomical connections were maintained (below).45 In another case, the process of decomposition in a buried environment was disrupted by the natural exhumation of a recently interred corpse, the preservation of which can be attributed to exposure to air, water and marshy conditions.

Galen proceeds to describe an exposed body that was available for osteological observation:

And on another occasion we saw the skeleton of a brigand, lying on rising ground a little off the road. He had been killed by some traveler repelling his attack. The inhabitants would not bury him, glad enough to see his body consumed by the birds which, in a couple of days, ate his flesh, leaving the skeleton as if for demonstration.46

In this example, Galen not only justifies the killing of the bandit as self-defense, but also the exposure of the body and the lack of burial because the bandit had attacked a traveler. In doing so, Galen implies that the circumstances surrounding the criminal’s death created mitigating conditions in which it was permissible to study exposed remains. The body was exposed for a period of several days, during which time it was consumed by birds and presumably other unnamed scavengers, to the point where only the skeleton remained. What Galen describes is consistent with forensic accounts of decomposition, in which insects and scavengers expedite the process of decomposition by accelerating tissue disintegration and the spread of bacteria.47

45 Duday 2006, 41–42. In inhumation burials, such anatomical connections are usually preserved by the gradual or progressive arrival of sediments into empty spaces left by the disappearance of organic matter (Chapters 3 and 4). 46 Kühn 1821, vol. 2, p. 221: 13–18 to p. 222: 1–2. Trans. Singer 1956, p. 3 (De anatomicis administrationibus 1.2). 47 Hayman and Oxenham 2016, 93.

Notably, the conditions for viewing corpses in Galen’s account were both predicated on accidents, one of which involved exhumation and the other was based on the exposure of an unburied corpse. In neither case does Galen mention the sensory properties of the dead bodies, and instead, he provides rare insight into bodies in the process of decomposition, denuded of any reference to the smell of decay, the sight of putrefied flesh or the difficulties of handling bones that barely maintained anatomical order. Importantly for Galen, these skeletons were as though “deliberately prepared for such elementary teaching” or “as if for demonstration,” and as a result, decomposition is a precondition that guarantees Galen’s authority on the practical knowledge of human bones. The dissolution of the exterior elements is a necessary step en route to studying the interior architecture of the body, yet Galen certifies that body that had not been tampered with, and that it was still complete.

These examples accentuate the agents of decomposition: a body could be inundated and exhumed or exposed and left as carrion. Decomposition differs between buried and unburied environments. In the first example, the body was still held together in anatomical connection (repeated as τὸ τοῦ νεκροῦ σῶμα). The second example, in contrast, introduces the skeleton of a brigand that was a body (τῷ σώματι) until it was consumed by birds, leaving a skeleton (τὸν σκελετόν) as if for demonstration. In the latter example, Galen makes a direct correlation between time and the effects of decomposition on the body as it transformed into a skeleton.

b) The Disappearance of Bodies:

The second example deals indirectly with post-decomposition bodies, and it is especially interesting for the concept of taphonomy in the Roman cultural imagination.

The anecdote comes from Livy, who recounts the discovery of Numa Pompilius’ sarcophagus in 181 BCE:

This same year, while some farmworkers were digging the soil at a greater than usual depth on the land of the clerk Lucius Petilius below the Janiculum, two stone coffins were unearthed. These were about eight feet long and four feet wide and had lids fastened down with lead. Each chest bore an inscription in Greek and in Latin, one stating that Numa Pompilius, son of Pompo and king of the Romans, was buried in it, and the other that the books of Numa Pompilius were contained in it. On the advice of his friends, the landowner opened the chests. The one with the inscription claiming that the king was buried in it was found empty, with no trace of a human body or anything else; the decomposition of so many years had removed everything. In the other were two bundles tied with a waxed cord, each containing seven scrolls that were not only in one piece but even appeared of very recent date.48

The passage of time is an important lens for understanding these events. Numa

Pompilius, Rome’s mythical second king, died in 673 BCE according to the traditional chronology, whereas the exhumation of his burial chest or sarcophagus took place in the consulship of Publius Cornelius Cethegus and Marcus Baebius Tamphilus in 181

BCE, leaving a gap of nearly 500 years in between. Livy’s reference to the lead fastenings on the stone chest signifies that they were sealed at the time of discovery and therefore verifies the authenticity of the contents. The implication is that from the time of deposition to the later excavation, the body of Numa Pompilius was not tampered with or disturbed. Theoretically, the body would have been interred in a

48 Liv. 40.29.3–6, Trans. Yardley 2018 (Loeb). This story is also discussed in Gruen 1990, 164–66; Orlin 2010, 168–70. Later accounts are preserved in Pliny (Nat. 13.84–87, who cites Cassius Hemina) and Plutarch (Vit. Num. 22. Plutarch draws directly from Livy and Valerias Antias).

hermetically-sealed space, and accordingly, decomposition would follow different patterns than those of corpses buried directly in the ground with no container. Livy’s remark about the lead fastenings heightens the reader’s sense of awe that the stone chest was found empty, that the bones could disintegrate so completely over the course of a long period of time. Pliny the Elder, in his discussion of limestone from

Assos that was thought to speed up corpse decomposition, claims that the etymology of the word sarcophagus (σαρκοφάγος) derives from the Greek for ‘flesh’ and ‘to eat’.49

Livy’s two stone chests each performed different functions with respect to decomposition in the narrative: the human remains in the first chest had completely disappeared after being sealed for several centuries.50 However, the contents of the other were preserved as if new, and they included seven books on Latin pontifical law and seven in Greek on the study of philosophy, which Livy claims that Valerias Antias identified as Pythagorean books.51 Important for our purposes is the manner in which

Livy uses the combination of time and the effects of decay to explain differential states of preservation. Decomposition took place over several centuries, and not even the inorganic parts of bone survived, yet the seven books in each bundle were preserved in a like-new condition.

The account of Numa’s sarcophagus survives in slightly different versions in

Pliny the Elder and Plutarch.52 In his description of the history of paper, Pliny draws

49 Plin. Nat. 2.98 and 36.131. On the sarcophagus as an agent of decomposition: Platt 2017, 367. 50 Liv. 40.29.5: “[…] sine uestigio ullo corporis humani aut ullius rei, per tabem tot annorum omnibus absumptis.” 51 Liv. 40.29.8. 52 Plin. Nat. 13.84–87 and Plut. Vit.Num. 22.

on the historian Cassius Hemina to recount that Gnaeus Terentius, not Lucius Petilius, was digging on his land when he turned up the chest of Numa, and his books were found in the same chest. Remarkably, the books were made from paper (charta); their survival owed to the placement of three books on top of a square stone in the center of the chest, and they were bound with wax cords. Because of their position, the books had not decayed, and furthermore, since they were soaked in citrus oil, they were not eaten by moths. Pliny does not mention Numa’s body, other than the fact that it had originally been buried in the chest together with the books.53

Plutarch, on the other hand, reports a third version of the chance discovery and opening of the sarcophagus during the consulship of Publius Cornelius and Marcus

Baebius:

[H]eavy rains fell, and the torrent of water tore away the earth and dislodged the coffins. When their lids had fallen off, one coffin was seen to be entirely empty, without any trace whatever of the body, but in the other the writings were found.54

In this account, Numa forbade the burning of his body, and two stone coffins (λιθίνας

σοροὺς) that contained his body and his sacred books respectively were buried under the Janiculum. In Plutarch’s account, the exposure of the coffin was the result of taphonomic and environmental conditions: water eroded the sediment that covered the chests. Plutarch’s version narrates the accidental uncovering of the lids, and his report of the discovery is devoid of any human agency until it became known that the chest

53 Plin. Nat. 13.85: “… arcam in qua Numa qui Romae regnavit situs fuisset; in eadem libros eius repertos…” 54 Plut. Vit. Num. 22.4–5, Trans. Perrin 1914 (Loeb).

lacked a body.55 Despite the varying details of how the burial chest was unearthed and opened, all three versions of Livy, Pliny the Elder, and Plutarch consistently note the absence of a body.

The episode is generally interpreted in the context of Roman struggles with foreign religious traditions after the destruction of Bacchic shrines and the banning of rites in 186 BCE.56 These are important lenses for understanding Roman religious practices in the second century BCE, but the passage has other implications for Roman conceptions of the protection and dissolution of entombed bodies in the late stages of decay. The lead fastenings and the inscription attest that the chest once contained a body whose absence was not the result of any tampering. This makes the chest a kind of time capsule whose intact nature asserts the authenticity of the contents.

Paradoxically it is the absence of the body from the lead-fastened, sealed chest that gives authority to the age of the books found in the second chest, whose ancient nature is established by the time that it takes for human remains to undergo the entire process of decomposition.

During the interval of nearly five centuries between deposition and disinterment, the decomposition of Numa’s body took place out of sight, with no sensory effects on the living, which, in a somewhat teleological manner, is precisely what justifies the opening of his burial chest. The absent body reminds us of the images of decay from Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina (Introduction). Gregory, in

55 Gruen 1990, 166, note 34 also observes that Plutarch’s account is devoid of human agency (τῶν ἐπιθημάτων ἀποπεσόντων). 56 Liv. 39.8–19. Orlin 2010, 165–70; Gruen 1990, 163–70. The discovery of the books and the eventual burning of their subversive content is usually of interest to scholars because it associated Numa, the founder of Roman religion, with the Greek philosopher Pythagoras, but it has been questioned whether the events were staged to separate Numa from Hellenistic traditions and Greek philosophy.

contrast, described the imagined bodies of his parents as “all fallen apart and decayed” and “changed to a loathsome and revolting formlessness” (Vita Mac. 35.3-7). In the accounts of Gregory and Livy, the acts of grave opening were separated by a single generation or by several centuries. These narratives prompt us to think about different timelines of decay and the reactions to grave opening, as well as other ways of measuring time and memories of the body.

It is less important to establish whether or not these case studies exaggerate in some capacity, perhaps about the coincidence of a dead body being washed ashore in anatomical order despite the flesh having already putrefied, or about the miraculous disappearance of skeletal remains from a sealed sarcophagus. What unites these accounts is how Livy, Plutarch and Galen all make use of a timeline of bodily decay, whether in the early stages of decomposition or long after the skeleton disappeared. In these instances, such a timeline and consideration of taphonomic factors enable them to make sense of and explain encounters with dead bodies in the past.

c) Visual Representations of Dead Bodies:

We now return to the images on the Boscoreale cups that contain animated skeletal figures. Some impersonate the long-dead, some are objectified as skulls and masks, and at least one appears as a disarticulated pile of bones (Figs. 3-4). Likely dated to the early first century CE and designed as a pair of drinking vessels, cup A features Greek poets and philosophers like Sophocles, Moschion, Zenon and Epicurus, while Menander, Archilochus, Euripides and Monimus appear on cup B.57 Named and

57 Héron de Villefosse 1899, 58–68, No. 7–8.

anonymous skeletons engage with a variety of objects, some of which were related to symposium contexts and inscribed with labels.58

The Boscoreale skeleton drinking vessels are best understood for the ways in which they confront Greek literary culture and for the relationship between image and text in the depiction of animated skeletons that participate in symposium-like activities. In Ann Kuttner’s view, “the skeletons impersonate a gallery of famous poets, tragedians, and philosophers engaged in various ‘real’ and allegorical activities,

[… which] parody the moralistic portrait assemblages that decorated aristocrats’ libraries and gardens.”59 Although rare, images of skeletons in Roman art elide the worlds of living and the dead in playful and slightly morbid ways. This is especially true in the context of the symposium, with which Katherine Dunbabin associates the majority of images that feature skeletons, since they are reminders of mortality and they encourage the living to enjoy their pleasures while they can.60 Trimalchio’s dinner party speaks to these themes in Petronius’ Satyricon, when the host entertains his guests with articulated skeleton figures.61

The paradox between fanciful representation and impossible anatomy is not merely a question of the skill of the artist or craftsman. For Katherine Dunbabin, ancient artists had “only the most general and approximate acquaintance with the

58 Dunbabin 1986, 226–28. Labelled objects include a lyre (τέρψιζ), a wreath (ἄνθος), a butterfly (ψθχίον), a purse (φθόνοι), a papyrus scroll (δόξαι), a mask (σάτυροι). Inscriptions also express philosophical positions, like the phrase “my aim is pleasure” (τὸ τέλος ἡδονή) beside Epicurus, or “enjoy while you are alive because tomorrow is uncertain” (ζῶν μετάλαβε τὸ γὰρ αὔριον ἄδηλον ἐστι). 59 Kuttner 1995, 11. 60 Dunbabin 2003, 132–34. In her view, references to death in Petronius’ Satyricon exaggerate the popular fashion of associating skeletons with conviviality. 61 Petr. Satyr. This is especially apparent in the episodes where Trimalchio entertains guests with articulated skeletons (34), reads his will and describes his tomb (71–72), or pretends that guests were at his funerary feast (78).

human frame,” and animated skeletons included only the major bones in simplified and schematic modes of representation.62 But my interest is not whether craftsmen had access to knowledge about human bone structures or well-developed systems of representation, whether verbal or visual, veristic or schematic. What scholars do not often take into consideration is the corporeality of these figures in their impossible anatomies, and so I highlight a complementary perspective to approach representations of the body through temporal, sensory and material lenses.

The animated figures on the Boscoreale cups – as metonymic for the corpus of images with the skeleton motif – afford fascinating insight into different ways of representing time.63 Through reanimation, these skeletal figures capitalize on their own impossibility: in the maintenance of anatomical order without structures in place to support the bones, and in the juxtaposition between vivifying actions and the defleshed bones not of the recently dead, but of the long dead. An inscription reads

‘revere the worthless dung’ or ‘honor trash’ (εὐσεβοῦ σκύβαλα), and makes explicit the theme of death and decay, which is otherwise playfully concealed and forgotten among the animated skeletons.64 The mischievous irreverence of the inscription contrasts with the pious skeleton who pours liquids that the recipient cannot drink and who offers food that the unburied body cannot eat.

Festooned with fragrant garlands, equipped with masks to conceal and transform identity, wielding torches, as well as musical instruments and food for the

62 Dunbabin 1986, 193. 63 Fewer than 150 examples of skeletons survive in Greco-Roman art, in a variety of materials that include gems, statuettes, ceramic and silver vessels, lamps, mosaics and marble grave reliefs. These have been catalogued by Olfers 1831; Treu 1874; Dunbabin 1986 respectively. 64 Dunbabin 1986, 226. Héron de Villefosse (1899, 65) translates this as “honore pieusement les ordures.”

dead, the ‘party skeletons’ on the Boscoreale cups present a vivid and sensuous picture of animated bodies in motion as the skeletal figures partake in a variety of convivial activities of the living.65 Playful, amusing, decorative, and even a little frivolous, these cups are part of a wider assemblage of table service that could have been employed in a mimetic manner in which the convivial context and images in miniature were mutually reinforcing. Whether we interpret the skeletons as parodies of the stage, as impersonations or embodied representations, they engage in a variety of sensory experiences as images on objects that were meant to be handled, gazed upon, and used to supply liquids. As an imaginative microcosm, these cups provide a lens through which we can think broadly about the body in antiquity, which turned into a corpse upon death and eventually into a skeleton with the passage of time.

Collectively, these three examples from Galen, Livy and the Boscoreale cups highlight the observation of corpses in different states of decay, whether represented textually or visually. The study of death as a transformation and the disposal of the corpse benefits from consideration of non-funerary contexts, which reveal new insights into different types of contact with bodies in various stages of decay.

Archaeologists are in a prime position to take into account how decay affected cultural practices in the creation and reuse of mortuary deposits. In order to better understand the timeline of decay and the taphonomic events that we have just explored, we need to take into account the physical, biological and chemical processes that affected the material transformations and sensory experiences of dead bodies.

65 Hope 2017, 88 on a sensory approach to the Amiternum relief, which finds interesting parallels with the Boscoreale cups.

Part 3: The Science of Death

Archaeologically documented cases of post-depositional activities offer many possibilities to ask new questions about different stages of preservation and decay that were encountered at the time of later interventions. What happens after the biological death of an individual is a continual process of decomposition that lasts until the time when only skeletal elements remain. For the purposes of my investigation, it is important to briefly outline both the chemical and biological processes (autolysis and putrefaction) as well as the various stages that result in the disappearance of soft tissue and the survival of bones and teeth. These processes affect the empirical observations of later chapters that are loosely organized around a corporeal timeline of decomposition, and they range from cases of post-depositional interventions early in the post-mortem period to those that took place long after decomposition.

Current understandings of human decomposition are situated between forensic anthropology and pathology, which study the processes of how a corpse becomes a skeleton through the destruction of soft tissues.66 Much of this research is centered upon establishing the interval between death and the recovery of human remains, usually referred to as the post-mortem interval (PMI) or the time since death (TSD).

Present approaches focus on temperature-based and biochemical methods of estimating the time since death, the applications of which are most widespread in forensic anthropology, though new research is increasingly concerned with the later stages of decomposition, which has important implications for bodies in

66 For a full review of the methods and principles associated with processes and rates of decomposition in human cadavers, see the following: Mann et al. 1990; Bass 1997; Dent et al. 2004; Duday and Guillon 2006; Pinheiro 2006; Pinheiro and Cunha 2006; Tibbett and Carter 2008; Goff 2009; Janaway et al. 2009; Sorg et al. 2012; Christensen et al. 2014; Hayman and Oxenham 2016.

archaeological contexts. There is no singular formula that authoritatively establishes the necessary time for the organic material of a corpse to decompose because the length of time is heavily dependent on factors like temperature, humidity, moisture, the nature of the burial environment, the infiltration and percolation of groundwater, atmospheric gases, local soil, flora and fauna.67

a) The Processes of Decomposition

Since the time immediately following death is critical for the both the biological and social death of an individual, it is worth outlining precisely what transformations death initiates. The following changes to the body take place in the first 24 hours after death: livor, rigor and algor mortis.68

i) Livor Mortis, also referred to as post-mortem hypostasis, reflects the cessation of blood circulation when the heart no longer functions. Blood follows the laws of gravity and begins to settle to the lowest parts of the body, which results in discoloration. Blood is red at first and eventually turns purple as the oxygen dissociates from the hemoglobin, although the color depends on the temperature and environment. In colder temperatures, the blood remains red longer before turning purple. The effects of lividity are visible one hour after death and continue for 9-12 hours.

ii) Rigor Mortis: involves the contraction and stiffening of muscles as a result of a chemical change in the muscle tissues after the release of actin and myosin, usually beginning with the face and then spreading to the rest of the body. Lower temperatures will accelerate the onset of this stiffness and will lengthen its duration. The onset of rigor mortis usually occurs 2-6 hours after death, peaks after the first 12 hours, and typically lasts from 24-84 hours after death, until muscles begin to relax again when putrefaction sets in.69

67 Dent et al. 2004, 584; Pinheiro 2006, 86–87. 68 Primarily following Goff (2009) “Early post-mortem changes and stages of decomposition in exposed cadavers”; Hayman and Oxenham (2016) Human Bone Decomposition, and the description of the chemistry of death found in Nilsson Stutz (2003). 69 The length of rigor mortis varies: Mant (1984, 142) notes that the rigidity disappears between 24–36 hours after death, whereas more recent studies (Goff 2009, 23 and Hayman and Oxenham 2016, 1–2) suggest a longer duration of up to 84 hours.

iii) Algor Mortis: occurs when the body no longer regulates its internal temperature and begins to reflect the ambient temperature, usually involving a cooling period over 18-20 hours. This occurs because metabolic activity in the muscles and the liver, which produce a significant amount of body heat, cease after death. After an initial lag that varies based on the circumstances surrounding death, there is a ‘cooling curve’ that can be predicted with mathematical formulas, which still has an error rate of 2-4 hours during the first 12 hours after death.70 The rate at which the body temperature falls has been studied more thoroughly over the past 200 years than other stages of decomposition.

The dead body undergoes other potential changes during the initial stages of decomposition, including ‘greenish’ discoloration where livor has formed, especially around the pelvis and abdomen, which is the first macroscopic sign of putrefaction.71

Purple or blue lines called ‘marbling’ appear usually between 48-72 hours after death, followed by vesicles on the abdomen, which eventually rupture and emit a foul- smelling liquid.72 Other post-mortem changes include skin slippage, discoloration of the corneas in the eyes, desiccation in areas of low humidity, ‘saponification’ or the hydrolysis of fatty tissues in wet, anaerobic situations that creates a hard, fatty wax known as adipocere. Between the time that it takes for a dead body to cool to ambient temperature and the time when only skeletal remains survive, aerobic and anaerobic bacterial action facilitate the decomposition of soft tissue in processes known as autolysis and putrefaction.73

Autolysis describes the destruction of cells and organs by an aseptic chemical process, which can include cellular autolysis by endogenous chemical destruction, and tissue autolysis by the release of enzymes or external processes, like bacteria and

70 Hayman and Oxenham 2016, 49. See Chapter 2 for a review of the past two centuries of studies on temperature-based methods of estimating the time since death. 71 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 145; Goff 2009, 25. 72 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 145. 73 Dent et al. 2004, 577; Pinheiro 2006, 86; Hayman and Oxenham 2016, 92–126.

fungus. In the minutes after death, autolysis initiates the release of water and enzymes which start to break down proteins, lipids and carbohydrates; water accumulates under the skin and releases bacteria that help with the putrefaction process.74 Generally autolysis begins in buried bodies between 48-72 hours after death, and gradually this blends into putrefaction. Putrefaction refers to destruction by bacteria and fermentation in a forensic context, although colloquial use of the term applies to all stages, from the moment of death to the dissolution of body parts. During this process, tissues gradually dissolve into gases, liquids and salts, and as a result, putrefaction is the more substantial and visible aspect of decomposition, signs of which can appear within a few hours in a warm climate or the process can be delayed by several weeks in cold temperatures.75 Summarized differently and with respect to environmental conditions, “decay involves the decomposition of protein under aerobic conditions; autolysis involves enzyme breakdown of tissue by the enzymes in the (once living) organism, enzymes that assisted in metabolic functions; putrefaction involves the bacterial breakdown of protein under anaerobic conditions, with the source of bacteria being either internal to the organism or external to it.”76 The following chart helps to visualize the processes and stages that are associated with the decomposition of human corpses (Fig. 5).77

74 Hayman and Oxenham 2016, 54. 75 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 145. 76 Haglund 1991, 25, cited in Nilsson Stutz 2003, 144. 77 Dent et al. 2004, 577. The gases noted toward the end of decomposition process include ammonia and carbon monoxide that accumulate after the putrefaction of internal organs, body fluids and tissues.

Figure 5: Processes of corporeal decomposition. (After Dent, Forbes and Stuart 2004, Fig. 1).

Stages of corporeal decomposition in modern forensic contexts in temperate climates can include: fresh, bloated, decay, postdecay, and skeletal or remains.78 The first or ‘fresh’ phase begins at the moment of death and continues until the body begins to bloat, and it is associated with a greenish discoloration of the abdomen, livor, skin cracking, and coloring of the corneas.79 The ‘bloated’ stage follows: putrefaction begins, anaerobic bacteria start to consume the soft tissues, and the production of gasses causes a slight swelling in the abdomen, which gradually assumes a balloon-like appearance. A change in internal pressure from the production

78 This model is a variation on Bass (1997, 183–185), who presents the stages as fresh, fresh to bloated, bloated to decay, dry, and bone breakdown. Dent et al. (2004, 577) identifies the stages as autolysis, putrefaction, liquefaction and disintegration that eventually results in ‘skeletonization’. 79 Goff 2009, 31–35 for a more detailed outline of the process.

of gasses causes the seepage of fluids from body openings, and there is a strong smell of ammonia. As the body swells and pressure increases, the contents of the stomach and bladder can be expelled.

The third ‘decay’ stage is often marked by bacterial putrefaction and the breaking of the outer layer of skin, a decrease in the volume of the body, as well as strong odors of decomposition. During the ‘postdecay’ phase, the body is reduced to skin, cartilage and bone through the agency of various predators and parasites. The soft tissues and organs degenerate into unrecognizable masses and become liquefied, before entering the surrounding soil and groundwater systems. Finally, in the ‘skeletal or remains’ stage, only bone and hair survive. Hair survives until fairly late in the process of decomposition because keratin is an insoluble fibrous protein, but its destruction is eventually carried out by physical or microbial agents.80 Studies of corpse taphonomy in exposed cadavers suggest that the time it takes for corpse to be reduced to skeletal remains can range from two weeks in the heat of the summer to several years.81

b) Decomposition in Buried Environments

The main variables in the time it takes for buried bodies to decompose are temperature, humidity and moisture, all of which affect rates of decomposition and the preservation of bone, while secondary, exogenous factors include insect and

80 Dent et al. 2004, 579. 81 Bass 1997, 182, 185, referring to Tennessee in July or August, with references to the case of a teenage girl whose body was almost a complete skeleton in 10 days.

mammalian activity, and the presence of clothing or wrappings.82 The more time between death and burial allows for a more advanced state of decay and accelerates decomposition in the ground. When a corpse is buried, it is protected from surface weathering and scavenging animals, although the temperature and humidity still have a large impact on the rate of decay. General estimates range from 8-12 years for a buried body to fully decompose; the main dissolution of soft tissues occurs mostly within the first 2 years, although the ligaments and tendons that surround articular joints are among the last to fully decompose.83

While there have been studies conducted experimentally on the rates of decay in exposed cadavers or in forensic or medico-legal contexts, there have been fewer studies on the rates of decomposition and the sequence of corporeal disarticulation in buried or archaeological contexts.84 As noted, the temperature, humidity and acidity of the environment in which a corpse decays will affect the rates and effects of decomposition. Particularly cold, dry or anaerobic conditions can inhibit bacterial activity, and as a result, certain environmental conditions can naturally hinder the process of putrefaction.85 Generally, bodies decompose more rapidly in oxygenated environments, so burial in the ground decreases the rate of decomposition, compared to the rate of bodies interred in coffins or of exposed corpses.86 Temperature affects the chemical processes and the breakdown of proteins and carbohydrates as well as the activity of insects and bacteria, so decomposition is faster in hot, dry climates and

82 Mays 1998, 15–22 on the factors that affect the survival of hard and soft tissues in different burial environments. 83 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 146–148. 84 Bass 1997; Goff 2009; Christensen et al. 2014. 85 Alt et al. 2003; Parker Pearson et al. 2005; Lynnerup 2007. 86 Dent et al. 2004, 577; Hayman and Oxenham 2016, 92.

slower in very cold climates.87 Depth is also a factor, since decomposition is slower in burials at greater depths, as insects and carrion activity is limited below 60 cm in depth.

Additional factors that affect decomposition processes include the texture and grain size of topsoil, which influence hydrogeological conditions, as well as the silt and organic content of the topsoil and the amount of rainfall or groundwater, which ranges throughout Italy.88 Gravitational factors also play a role since gas products of decomposition, including carbon dioxide, methane, hydrogen sulfide, and ammonia, diffuse upwards from the human remains into the less compacted soils of the grave fill.89 To give an idea of both the extent of decomposition fluids and the timing of the process, in a study of soil permeability, porosity and temperature parameters in modern Italian burial grounds, it was estimated that the decomposition process produced a quantity of 50 liters of ‘outflow’ liquids for an average weight of 80 kilograms per corpse, with the additional assumption that the flow of liquids or wastewater was limited to one year from the moment of death.90 Because soil permeability is conducive to decomposition, low soil permeability can cause stagnation around a coffin, which subsequently impedes bodily decomposition and wastewater seepage.

Bone preservation is better in aerobic, non-acidic environments but may demonstrate signs of surface coarsening or cracking in fine sands. In calcareous sand or loam in a damp burial environment where there is more oxygen, bone will crack or

87 Hayman and Oxenham 2016, 92. 88 Santarsiero et al. 2000, 138. 89 Dent et al. 2004, 588. 90 Santarsiero et al. 2000, 137.

warp as it dries. In contrast, the organic matrix of hydroxyapatite of bone in acidic soil will dissolve.91 Over time, bone is subject to chemical weathering, physical breaking, decalcification, and dissolution in acidic soil or water, which may lead to the appearance of missing skeletal elements or empty graves, though the cause is entirely taphonomic, rather than the result of post-burial interventions. The biological realities of decomposition also affect the appearance and position of human skeletal remains at the time of excavation. The formation of adipocere (a fatty wax) that is produced during the process of saponification, for example, can be an agent that helps to preserve skeletal elements in anatomical articulation.92

The field of forensic entomology is emerging as an important tool for estimating post-mortem intervals beyond 48 hours, and studies show that four main types of organisms are involved in decomposition: bacteria, fungi/molds, insects and acari, and vertebrate scavengers.93 Bacteria appear both on the interior and exterior of the human body, which begin to digest the body, primarily in the areas of the head and the abdomen. Fungi or mold colonize the outer surface of the body; insects and arthropods play a significant role in the decomposition of the body, while vertebrate scavengers include carnivores that feed on a dead body.94 Some insects that colonize dead bodies consume decomposing tissues (necrophagous species), whereas other predators and parasites feed on the necrophagous organisms themselves. The presence or absence of these organisms can drastically alter the speed of decomposition, which

91 Dent et al. 2004, 584. 92 Nilsson Stutz 2003, 146. 93 Goff 2009, 27–29. 94 Hayman and Oxenham 2016, 97. Insects tend to arrive at dead bodies in the following order: first blowflies, followed by house and flesh flies at the bloated stage, and then different flies and beetles in more active stages of decay. Larvae, maggots, pupae arrive depending on temperatures and access to the dead body.

contributes to why it is so difficult to estimate how long it takes bodies to decompose in archaeological contexts.

This study is more concerned with the decomposition, rather than the preservation of the body, but it should be noted that there is evidence for mummification and embalming in Roman Italy. The most famous example is from

Grottarossa on the Via Cassia north of Rome, where in 1964 archaeologists uncovered the remains of a girl around eight years old at the time of death. Her mummified body was found in a marble sarcophagus with an elaborate assemblage of grave goods from the second half of the second century CE.95 In the context of well-preserved and mummified bodies, the nature of a sarcophagus as a ‘flesh-eater’ or as an agent that accelerates decomposition is called into question. Depending on the treatment of the corpse, the use of preservatives, and environmental conditions, burial in a sarcophagus can have different effects on the preservation or decomposition of the body.

c) Understanding Decomposition During Excavation

Understanding the circumstances in which the body decomposes has important implications for archaeological contexts. The majority of forensic archaeology is aimed at estimating the time since death, but archaeologists are at a double remove when trying to reconstruct the relative stage of decomposition that was encountered in post-depositional events in the past. To move from forensic to archaeological contexts,

95 On the Grottarossa mummy, see Pazzini 1964; Ascenzi et al. 1996; Ciuffarella 1992; Newby 2018. Ciuffarella’s pollen analysis of resinous materials from the wrappings of the mummy suggest that body was embalmed in Italy using Egyptian techniques that were characteristic of Egypt’s Roman period with ingredients that were imported from North Africa. The Grottarossa mummy is the second example to be found in Italy; the only other one was a 12 or 13-year old girl, found on the Via Appia in 1485.

is important to introduce the principles of archaeothanatology that were briefly mentioned in the Introduction because these methods will be important for the case studies in the following chapters. The methods of anthropologie de terrain, or archaeothanatology, were developed in France in the 1980s by Henri Duday and colleagues.96

A fundamental principle of archaeothanatology is that the state of the individual’s remains at the time of excavation is vastly different than when the corpse was interred initially, and as a result, the methods provide a taphonomic basis for inferences about mortuary actions in the past.97 Where archaeothanatology differs from forensic archaeology is that the former focuses on mortuary practices in past populations, whereas the latter focuses on the earlier stages of decomposition, often in more recent contexts that involve suspicious deaths. As Duday has demonstrated repeatedly over the past forty years, the biological and chemical processes that are associated with death are essential for interpreting the formation and subsequent manipulation or transformation of mortuary deposits.

In cases of ancient interventions to an existing burial, the timeline of deposition and decomposition is accelerated or interrupted by anthropogenic actions that irrevocably alter the burial environment by exposing the corpse or skeleton and by introducing additional bodies. When presented with unusual taphonomic scenarios, a detail-oriented approach to mortuary deposits is particularly useful for understanding the circumstances in which decomposition occurred, as well as how the material properties of the body – whether as a corpse still in the process of decay or as a series

96 Duday et al. 1990; Nilsson Stutz 2003, 131–159; Pearce 2017, 8. 97 Duday et al. 2014, 235–236.

of ‘clean’ bones and fragmentary parts of a former body – are important elements in the reconstruction of burial sequences and post-depositional interventions.

The post-mortem body undergoes a series of transformations that are heavily dependent on the time and environment of decomposition. The fields of forensic anthropology and medico-legal studies have been instrumental in furthering our knowledge of bodily breakdown, and the methods of archaeothanatology help us to reconstruct and interpret post-depositional sequences that contribute to the arrangement of a burial at the time of excavation. Recent advances in forensic archaeology and archaeothanatology continue to increase our knowledge about the processes and timelines according to which buried bodies decompose. However, these processes initiate a number of transformations of the body that have accompanying sensory and material properties, which archaeologists should take into consideration to better understand how the body was an active agent in its own disposal.

The methods of archaeothanatology also provide insight into the space in which bodies decomposed. Even in the absence of material remains from a burial container or wrappings, it is often possible to infer the presence of perishable materials based on the taphonomic changes that occurred inside the grave between the time of deposition and excavation.98 Whether a corpse decomposes in a void or a filled space will affect the appearance of the skeleton at the time of excavation since the organic structures that supported bones can disappear over time and the arrival of sediment can preserve or alter the position of bones in a series of taphonomic processes. At the time of excavation, burials reflect the interaction between the deposit’s original

98 Harris and Tayles 2012, 227.

characteristics and taphonomic processes or modifications by gravitational, anthropogenic or animal agents.99

There are three basic types of evidence to suggest the original state of the space in which decomposition took place: architectural, inferential and skeletal. Tomb types and the architectural context can be a first indicator of whether burial took place in an open-air space, such as a cave or a loculus, or whether the skeletal remains were found in a sealed sarcophagus. Underground pit burials are often good examples of filled spaces, whereas cappuccina grave covers might be characterized by the progressive or delayed arrival of sediments.100 Inferences about burial containers can be found in the regular arrangement of iron coffin nails, traces of wood or the stark soil discoloration around a burial.101 Skeletal indicators of decomposition in a void or filled space occur when the disappearance of organic material allows bones to move; whether bones remains inside the original volume of the corpse, whether they fall, flatten or rotate often follows simple gravitational rules as tendons and ligaments decompose.102 Useful indicators of the environment inside the grave can be observed based on: the displacement of the patella; the rotation of the femora; the dislocation of the vertebrae; the verticalization of the clavicles; the flattening of the rib cage; the collapse of the pelvic basin; a shifting of the mandible, and movement of the cranium.103

99 Duday and Guillon 2006. 100 Duday 2009, 32–44 on how to differentiate between decomposition in a void or filled space. 101 Eg. in Blaizot 1998; Dietrich 1998; Duday et al. 2014, 239. Although, as Duday and Guillon note (2006, 142–144), this can also be the result of earth worms who feed on decomposing remains and spread their evacuations near the decomposing cadaver. 102 Duday and Guillon 2006, 129–131. 103 Duday et al. 1990, 31–33; Duday 2006, 34–35.

Void spaces can be original or secondary after the decomposition or collapse of materials within the grave.104 Furthermore, the arrival of sediment inside a burial environment can transpire in a variety of ways: backfilling a grave to partially or entirely cover a body at the time of deposition; differential, progressive or gradual infilling can replace newly freed spaces as organic material decomposes.105 These factors also affect whether archaeologists can observe the effects of constraint, in the case of shrouds or wrappings.106 Alternatively a ‘wall’ effect of sediment can support bones from falling (a supporting effect) or cause bones to be aligned following the edges of a physical limit (linear delimitation).107 Between the time of deposition and excavation by an archaeologist, the body undergoes many changes in the grave environment that take place out of sight, but that are nevertheless important for the reconstruction and interpretation of burial deposits, especially in damaged and disturbed graves (Chapter 2).

Conclusions:

In recent years, pollution and contamination have been the dominant lenses for thinking about the disposal of dead bodies in the Roman world and the resulting effects on the living. These are, undoubtedly, important lenses for social and religious historians, yet archaeologists have other types of insight into ancient conceptions of

104 For example, of 157 inhumation burials at Musarna, probable evidence for 23 coffins (14.6%) was found, mostly in the form of multiple iron nails or probably wooden pegs, which caused decomposition in an empty space.104 There was evidence that 78 individuals decomposed in a void space, while only four burials (TT. 245, 337, 338 and 339) were filled spaces (colmaté).104 Considerable amounts of modern damage, looting, or the absence of indicators means that there is no information available for the other burials in the Musarna necropolis. 105 Duday 2006, 41. 106 Bonnabel and Carré 1997. 107 Duday 2009, 40.

the post-mortem body that can be added to strengthen the conversation about encounters with the dead. Decay and decomposition were critical aspects of funerary practices, since the latter often responded to the changing material properties and the non-inert nature of the body. Throughout the course of this chapter, I have argued that we need to think about the material and sensory properties that the dead body emits throughout the course of its transformations, not as a way of normalizing contact with the dead, but as a way to form a bridge between the corpse that was deposited in the ground and the skeleton that an archaeologist eventually excavates.

Beyond the practical and often unpleasant realities of handling the dead and initiating post-depositional contact with corpses, this chapter highlights the importance of considering bodies in various stages of corporeal decomposition, whose material properties and affordances need to be introduced into archaeological contexts that involve complicated burial sequences. Consideration of the various processes and the effects of decay leads us back to what I described in the Introduction as the creation of corporeal connections. Preliminarily I defined these as associative actions that permit the reaffirmation or renegotiation of the social and biological identities for which the body is a locus of memory, as subsequent chapters will explore. But beyond the symbolic function of creating or confirming inter-individual relationships in death, corporeal connections point more literally to the physicality of the intra-individual body in different stages of decomposition, as its own degree of connectivity is reduced over time with the help of biological, taphonomic, and anthropogenic agents.

It is clear that decay and decomposition are critical factors that need to be considered in any investigation of death and burial in the Roman world. On the

Boscoreale cups, images of dead bodies in motion challenge representational conventions and different ways of visualizing time, which is not reflected by the age of an individual or attributes that were appropriate to his or her station in life, but rather, by reference to the post-mortem timeline of decomposition, whether veristically or schematically rendered. The degree to which skeletons were portrayed accurately or inaccurately in visual representations has been interpreted as an indication of whether artists were informed about the internal structures of the body.108

But rather than try to reconstruct what ancient Romans knew about the internal structures of dead bodies from visual and literary sources, the examples presented in this chapter turn our attention to the underlying corporeal metaphors about connectivity and the irreversible effects of time on the post-mortem body.

Mortuary practices attempted to deny the effects of decomposition, yet visits to the tomb, post-burial encounters with the dead, exhumation, reburial and the reuse of inhumation graves attest to the unexpected frequency of these practices. The prevalence of archaeologically documented post-depositional activities in ancient

Roman cemeteries, whether accidental or intentional, conveys that visits to the cemetery for new interments, for festivals or celebrations of the dead or even for illicit activities, prompted continuing interactions with the decomposing body. The following chapters turn to ongoing contact with the dead and understudied burial practices in non-monumental cemeteries across Roman Italy, in which those individuals who were responsible for burial are largely unknown, as are the social structures that were in place to ensure that the dead were removed from the world of

108 Dunbabin 1986, 193.

the living. The timeline of decay in instances of grave disturbance and reuse allows for a novel approach to post-burial encounters with human remains. Chapter 2 will address damage and disturbance, primarily to the exterior of graves, followed by simultaneous burials in Chapter 3 and grave reuse after the decomposition of the initial occupant in Chapter 4.

2. Disturbed, Damaged, Discarded

Abstract: This chapter reviews the archaeological literature for disturbance processes as a type of skeletal disarticulation. I begin from the premise that archaeological investigations of Roman cemeteries have cast aside tombs whose integrity as a sealed deposit has been compromised. Instances of post-burial practices should not be characterized simply as ‘tomb violations,’ but they need to be further distinguished based on when the intervention occurred, as well as by the outcome, which may or may not have precipitated remedial or corrective action. The focus is predominantly on single, inhumation burials for which damage or disturbance was not the result of reuse, but rather, other forms of contact between burials or disruptive activities in the cemetery. This chapter argues that documenting disturbance is an integral part of understanding the chronology and development of Roman cemeteries, both during the main period of use and in the ‘afterlife’ of a cemetery.

Keywords: disturbance, damage, formation processes, post-depositional interventions

Introduction:

Deposits from mortuary contexts yield quantifiable data: the number of individuals that can be inferred from the bones present;1 the number of ceramic vessels that can be reconstructed from fragments of a matching fabric; the number of grave goods that were interred in the burial. When the sealed nature of a burial has been compromised and its contents have been dislodged from the place where they were initially deposited, it becomes increasingly difficult to disentangle fragmentary and comingled human and artifactual remains. For many sites, post-depositional activities have been interpreted as interference, rather than as information that reflects ongoing commemorative activities in the cemetery, especially when those activities accidentally or intentionally affected existing burials.

The present chapter moves between disturbance to individual burials and that which took place at the cemetery-wide level, both in antiquity and in more recent

1 Often referred to as the MNI, or minimum number of individuals, by physical anthropologists.

interventions. After a few introductory examples, Part 1 problematizes disturbance in the archaeological record and focuses both on disturbance as a formation process and on how disturbed human remains complicate the interpretation of a mortuary deposit.

In this section, I explore some of the ways that disturbance has been described by other scholars in site reports and in synthetic studies, before I offer a fresh consideration of ‘disturbance’ that separates damage to an existing burial or grave structure from the post-depositional treatment of human remains in various states of decay. Part 2 explores these concepts further in a series of case studies that begin with modern disturbance, whether as the result of agricultural, construction or looting activities. Subsequent case studies address damage and disturbance that occurred in antiquity, including different types of contact between burials and various activities during the main period of use in a cemetery. The body is reintroduced into these deposits whenever possible, although the focus is largely on the formation processes and the structures that were affected by post-depositional events. The effects on entombed bodies will be the focus of the next two chapters.

As a way of introducing questions about damage, disturbance and editing the past, let us begin with the burial drawings from the Portorecanati necropolis in Marche

(Fig. 6).2 Entire pages of the cemetery publication are dedicated to drawings of grave covers and human skeletal remains, and they occasionally show multiple phases of the same burial. What is important to note is that after a fold-out scale plan of the cemetery, drawings of burials on successive pages are mostly aligned with the heads oriented to the top of the pages, regardless of the actual orientation or relationships

2 Mercando 1974. See Figures 14 (p. 159) and 96 (p. 218) for representations of grave coverings and human skeletal remains that have been reoriented with the cranium towards the top of the page.

with nearby burials. This represents an attempt to impose order on data that are disorderly by nature, and depicting the body in this manner participates in a craniocentric visual repertoire that prioritizes the head as the locus of identity.

Furthermore, such a mode of representation focuses primarily on connected bodies in states of anatomical articulation, which invites the reader to view the human remains as discrete individuals, and at the same time it edits out differentially-preserved graves.

Figure 6: Drawings of Portorecanati burials oriented to the top of the page. (After Mercando et al. 1974, Fig. 194).

Without resorting to an overly critical appraisal of what was in 1974 one of the first publications of a Roman cemetery to include drawings of human skeletal remains,

this example affords the opportunity to reflect on the dichotomy between the representation of excavated bodies and the number of burials at Portorecanati that are characterized as damaged or disturbed.3 More than 80 of the 357 burials are described as disturbed, destroyed, overturned, ruined or smashed (sconvolta, distrutta, asportata, rovinata or schiacciata), which forms a striking contrast to the illusion of order that the grave drawings present. Tombs 333-357, for example, are listed as a single catalog entry, uniformly classified as a group of tombs in the western zone of the excavation, completely ruined by mechanical means.4 The edges of individual graves and the skeletal remains were only partially visible and difficult to differentiate from each other. The publication of more than 300 burials along with their grave contents is an enormous undertaking, and the Portorecanati cemetery report is one of the earliest ones to comment on post-depositional activities and the relationships between burials, even at a time in which skeletal remains were not yet subject to anthropological analyses for age and sex estimation.

The drawings from Portorecanati introduce questions of how to interpret human skeletal remains from disturbed and damaged mortuary deposits, especially when damage was integral to the discovery of a cemetery’s location, as well as how archaeologists try to impose order on unruly datasets. Archaeologists who are involved with rescue or salvage work often inherit sites that were discovered or

3 More recently than 1974, the same craniocentric orientations can be found in the publication of the Gubbio (Vittorina) necropolis in Umbria. Cipollone 2000-01, Figs. 36, 71, 7, 93, 104, 106, 118, 134, 162, 194, 228 and 285. 4 Mercando 1974, 152–390. “Si tratta di un gruppo di tombe nella zona Ovest dello scavo, completamente rovinate dal mezzo meccanico. Si evidenziano parzialmente i resti scheletrici e i limiti delle fosse.” The cemetery was discovered in 1962, much of which was destroyed by the establishment of a sand quarry that devastated the central part of the cemetery, and the western part was affected by mechanical means during the removal of the topsoil (1974: 145).

affected by mechanical damage, as was the case when Portorecanati was discovered in

1962. So much of the picture is missing before excavation even begins, and this limitation perpetuates the problem of how to publish different types of disturbance.

The contradiction between what archaeologists uncover and how they record and publish the material heightens our attention to how much information has been edited out: physical relationships between damaged, disturbed, overlapping and intersecting burials, which, in the absence of fuller descriptions, are often the only indicators of post-depositional activities, even if they were poorly understood or documented at the time of excavation. While damaged and disturbed burials may contribute minimally to questions about demography or social organization in a cemetery, they are important but often disregarded sources of evidence for post-depositional practices and the centuries-long span that Roman cemeteries could have been in use.

Before the following chapters consider the body through the processes of decomposition in reopened and reused graves, this chapter approaches the exterior of the tomb as a form of protection for the body. More specifically, it begins with the premise that archaeological field reports often treat tombs that have been damaged or disturbed as a category of uninformative and therefore dismissible evidence because their integrity as a sealed deposit is considered compromised. Traditionally, burials that have been looted, opened before scientific excavation or damaged mechanically have been discounted from cemetery publications as well as from broader discussions in funerary archaeology, largely because they do not fit into neat categories or

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typologies, in addition to other reasons that will be explored shortly.5 Interpreting the past through the physical remains of the dead from mortuary contexts is limited not only by our ability to recover evidence from the ground, but also by the state in which human skeletal remains and burial contents are preserved.6

Questions arise that concern what types of activities took place in Roman cemeteries, how excavators have documented or edited out post-burial practices, and whether the different types of disturbances can be integrated into broader conversations about Roman burial practices. The present chapter addresses the following questions: what constitutes a damaged or disturbed burial, and what are the temporal or causal factors that contribute to the various definitions of disturbance in cemetery publications? What information, if any, can be recovered from earlier archaeological publications where unsealed or overturned burials were not published in the same manner as intact deposits? Is it possible to determine whether disturbance took place soon after the deposition, generally in antiquity, or more recently? What can we learn from studying disturbance in context, by including in the conversation human skeletal remains with fragmentary grave structures and incomplete artifact assemblages? Finally, why is it important to consider damage and disturbance as separate categories from grave reuse? This chapter investigates how and why unmanageable burials that cannot be easily described and sorted into neat typologies have been written out of cemetery publications and considerations of mortuary

5 For an early example of this pattern, see Emmerson 2017, 345 on the discovery of tombs at Pompeii in 1754, which were later excavated and found to be “damaged and devoid of finds, leading to the determination that they had been looted in antiquity.” These tombs turned out to be important for their preservation of the so-called columelle grave stelae. 6 Boddington et al. 1987, 5–6.

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practices. Since it can be difficult to determine when damage or disturbance took place as well as what the causes may have been, post-depositional interventions have been largely overlooked because they complicate our understanding of the body position and grave furnishings at the time of the original deposition.

As a second introductory example, let us consider the Collatina necropolis in

Rome’s suburbium, for which an alarmingly high prevalence of tomb violation has been identified: 39.2%.7 Located near Tiburtina station and damaged by construction efforts in the nineteenth century, the Collatina cemetery contained 2164 primary inhumation burials, in which corpses were deposited into fossa pits and often covered with tegulae in a sloping arrangement (cappuccina) or laid flat (in piano).8 A nearly

40% rate of violation would mean that around 850 burials were affected – a staggering amount by any calculation.9 Questions arise surrounding when the ‘violations’ took place, what the acts entailed and how they affected the skeletal remains inside the tombs. At Collatina, tomb violation is assumed to have occurred in antiquity based on stratigraphic relationships. The interference targeted the upper half of the skeleton and was likely part of a targeted search for metal objects like coins or jewelry.10 The absence of a full excavation report should not exclude these burials from discussions about disturbance, but instead, it makes them even more important for how we interpret different kinds of post-burial interventions in the archaeological record.

7 Amicucci and Carboni 2015, 787. 8 Buccellato et al. 2008, 63. A small number of cremation burials and mausolea structures were also found in the Collatina cemetery. These are generally dated by numismatic and epigraphic evidence to the second half of the first and early second centuries CE. 9 Piccoli et al. 2015, 39. 10 Amicucci and Carboni 2015, 787.

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Whether damage and disturbance occurred during the main period of a cemetery’s use by members of the burying population, during Late Antiquity or the

Middle Ages as part of subsequent building activities, or even more recently in the form of mechanical damage or looting, it is important, whenever possible, to distinguish when the disturbance took place and the possible motivations or ensuing actions that were taken to repair or conceal traces of these activities. Rather than discard burials whose intact nature has been undermined, this project continually invites excavators to document cases of damage and disturbance, to consider the relationship between disturbance and perceived tomb violations, to pay attention to how the decomposing body or skeleton was treated at the time of post-depositional interventions, and to participate in a wider dialogue, not only about what we can learn from burials that have been overlooked, but about our own practices of editing the past.11

In European and North American mortuary archaeology, scholarship since the

1970s has recognized that archaeological formation processes and human decomposition are valuable sources of information, around which the forensic study of taphonomy has developed, and relatedly, the methods and theoretical underpinnings of archaeothanatology have been defined.12 Corporeal decay and post-mortem modifications to the body are increasingly significant aspects of mortuary archaeology, yet there has not been concomitant attention to interventions that affected

11 Manning 2008, 34 on the ‘scale of deletion’ that plagues how academics cover up, tolerate and implicitly participate in editing the past. He uses the example of Early Bronze Age Cycladic figures that have been looted, bought and sold illegally, and published without provenance. The example of anthropomorphic figures is an interesting parallel for the bodies in this chapter, which, by their disarticulated and fragmentary nature, are deemed unworthy to participate in cultural histories of the body. 12 Boddington et al. 1987, 8; Duday et al. 1990.

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the grave structure itself. Turning from the decomposing body to the grave cover and the surrounding burial environment that acted as a form of protection for the deceased individual, this chapter is concerned with the ways in which careful consideration of stratigraphic and taphonomic factors can be used to answer questions about when damage and disturbance occurred and whether there were attempts to limit or mitigate the effects. The focus shifts away from the handling and sensory impact of dead bodies, in order to introduce different forms of disturbance and contact that are present in the archaeological record. These will be important for the post-depositional treatment of the body in subsequent chapters.

Instead of invalidating the potential contributions of affected burials, we need to clearly define damage and disturbance and to test these definitions in a series of case studies, in order to explore how different types of post-depositional activities attest to broad patterns between the time of burial and the later recovery by archaeologists, as well as the implicit biases that affect the interpretation of archaeological material.13 Despite the pervasive nature of damage and disturbance in archaeological contexts, whether extended to the structure, to the objects or to the human skeletal remains, mortuary archaeologists are in an ideal position to integrate advances from geoarchaeology and the study of formation processes into the study of post-burial activities.

Part 1: Problematizing Disturbance:

The topic of disturbed graves has received a considerable amount of attention in recent scholarship, especially among Medieval archaeologists who work in northern

13 Aspöck 2015, 89.

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Europe. These phenomena have been treated in detail for the Middle Ages in other parts of Europe, including Bergeijk-Fazantlaan in the Netherlands,14 at Brunn am

Gebirge in Lower Austria,15 at Winnall II near Winchester in England,16 at 32 Anglo-

Saxon cemeteries in Kent,17 at 21 sites in Wessex,18 as well as at 14 sites from Politou-

Charentes and Aquitaine in France.19 These studies are important for the development of a cross-cultural vocabulary, which can be used to understand how grave opening and reuse constituted a form of disturbance that affected human remains in burials; however, few studies explicitly address archaeological damage or disturbance that did not involve looting or reuse.

With connotations of disarray and disruption, disturbance is often interpreted as an interruption in the ‘life’ of a burial, an act that mitigates its sealed status. Such a term is value-laden and presupposes a set of cultural implications, such as the fact that a burial is intended to have a static existence, one that is predicated on containing human remains and remaining unmolested or sealed in perpetuity. The first question that needs to be addressed is: what constitutes disturbance in the archaeological record? In its most basic form, disturbance refers to the alteration of an archaeological deposit by “the effect(s) of an unrelated activity at a later time,” including both cultural activities like construction, farming, and the “nonscientific removal of an

14 Van Haperen 2013, 89, 92. 15 Aspöck 2011, 299. 16 Aspöck 2015, 91. 17 Klevnäs 2013, 31; 2015, 157. 18 Cherryson 2007, 131. 19 Gleize 2007, 188.

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artifact from its archaeological context,”20 and environmental factors like freeze thaw cycles, landslides, and erosion.

Inherent in this view of disturbance is a divide between activities whose agents are identified as either anthropogenic or environmental.21 Consideration of disturbance introduces the formation processes that affect archaeological deposits, which archaeologist Michael Schiffer divides into those that were transformed by human behavior (culture) and those that were the product of the natural environment (the noncultural).22 The end of occupation or use at a site can be the result of natural destruction, burial by volcanic or alluvial material, or a site can become submerged in water. Between the time of occupation and eventual archaeological excavation, sites can be forgotten, transformed and repurposed. In order to understand how a Roman cemetery becomes an archaeological site, archaeologists need to engage with geoarchaeologists to consider the different formation processes that take place and how these are affected by subsequent land use or different types of interventions.

In my view, disturbance is loosely identified in two ways: first, as an action that leaves material traces in the archaeological record during the process of damaging an existing deposit. Secondly and specifically to mortuary deposits, the term is used to characterize graves that contain ‘disturbed’ human remains, as though ‘disturbed graves’ are a type of burial, like primary or secondary forms of interment.23 Important

20 Kipfer 2000, 158. 21 For a review of recent approaches to the body as an entity between nature and culture, see Nilsson Stutz 2008, 19–21. 22 Schiffer 1983, 7. 23 Sprague 2005; Prowse 2016, 231–232. See Sprague, Chapter 4 on the classification of burial terminology, in which the author explores the assumed duality between cremation and inhumation as the two principle modes of interment. Prowse (2016, 231–232) on ‘disturbed’ as a type of burial type,

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for my purposes is attention to both the anthropogenic and the environmental factors that affect what archaeologists interpret as disturbance or interference in the archaeological record, as well as the effects on human remains in mortuary deposits.

What we need is a fresh consideration of ‘disturbance’ that separates damage to an existing burial or grave structure from the post-depositional treatment of human remains in various states of decay since ‘disturbed’ is not a burial type, but rather a series of actions that leave visible traces in the archaeological record. Let us briefly examine how other scholars have defined disturbance, first in the archaeological record more broadly, then as it pertains to human burials specifically, before turning to my own definition of damage and disturbance.

a) Disturbance Processes in the Archaeological Record:

A survey of archaeological literature reveals surprisingly little explicit attention to either damage or disturbance. Disturbance as a form of interruption is inherent in the premise and activities of archaeology, yet there has been surprisingly little meditation on what constitutes disturbance in the archaeological record, how we recognize, categorize and compensate for it in our interpretation of sites. More common than characterizing disturbance is its opposite: objects are described as in situ or in context, which denotes the state of being undisturbed. Rather than being an epistemological category that shapes our understanding of the past, disturbance, particularly in archaeological contexts, implies that a site, context or feature has been

with no indication of whether disturbance extended to the grave cover or to the human remains themselves.

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compromised and that its authority to inform us of past actions is diminished; this is what I call the ‘time capsule premise’.

One of the most often cited sources for disturbance in the archaeological record is Wood and Johnson’s 1978 article, “A Survey of Disturbance Processes in

Archaeological Site Formation,” in which the authors focus on the natural and cultural factors that allow prehistorians to explore formation processes. As the authors note,

‘debris distribution’ can be the result of patterned, intentional human activity, and in order to explore the relationship between artifacts and behavior, the processes that affected soil matrices must be known.24 Disturbance can relate to processes of soil mixing or ‘pedoturbation,’ which can be variously affected by plants and animals, freezing and thawing, water, wind and earthquakes.25 With the inclusion of biological and chemical components, pedoturbation, like taphonomy and archaeothanatology, is well suited to help describe post-depositional modification to structures, objects and the human body, yet archaeologists still appear hesitant to consider the investigation of disturbance as a legitimate form of exploring multiple pasts from the time of the initial deposition and throughout the subsequent microhistory of a burial.

In the 1980s, Michael Schiffer was widely involved in the study of formation processes, both natural and cultural, which processes help archaeologists to understand the stratified deposits that they excavate.26 He argued that “by ignoring, overlooking,

24 Wood and Johnson 1978, 316. 25 Wood and Johnson 1978, 317: “Pedoturbation includes the biological, chemical, or physical churning, mixing, and cycling of soil materials.” This includes the subcategories of faunalturbation (p. 318), or the mixing of soils by burrowing animals, as well as floralturbation by plants (p. 328), cryoturbation caused by cycles of freezing and thawing (p. 333), aeroturbation by soil and wind (p. 358), aquaturbation by water (p. 359), and seismiturbation by earthquakes (p. 366), among other forms. 26 Schiffer 1983; 1987.

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or downplaying the operation and effects of formation processes, especially cultural formation processes, investigators tacitly assume, in the employment of certain analytical strategies, that assemblages have a Pompeii-like character.”27 Though primarily he considers domestic assemblages in the American Southwest, Schiffer defines disturbance processes as cultural or environmental activities that transform the form and location of artifacts.28 Cultural disturbance processes can include: earth- moving activities such as the digging of pits and foundations; disturbance caused by trampling and movement; activities related to cultivation and agriculture like plowing and preparation for planting; and disturbance from construction and the installation of electrical or sewer lines. Together, these disturbance processes affect the spatial distribution of objects and building materials by compacting them in their original deposits, by bringing other objects to the surface or by accelerating their decay and disintegration.

Related to the taphonomic processes of corporeal decomposition that were introduced in Chapter 1, there are a number of cultural and environmental formation processes that can be interpreted by archaeologists as disturbance to existing deposits.

These processes need to be carefully considered in order to understand their timing and social or cultural impacts on archaeological deposits. Schiffer, however, considers

27 Schiffer 1985, 20. Schiffer identifies a ‘Pompeii premise’ that exists in New Archaeology, as a way of exploring whether house-floor assemblages in Southwestern archaeology resulted from Pompeii- like conditions of catastrophic abandonment. However, even the Pompeii-as-a-time-capsule premise is misleading. Pompeii did not remain untouched between the time of eruption and excavation; there were searches to recover valuable objects in antiquity and again in the centuries before formal archaeological investigations. 28 Schiffer 1987, 121–122. Environmental or ‘noncultural’ formation processes are the subject of Chapter 8, which explores the arrival of sediment during a site’s post-occupation phases. Schiffer draws on the processes that Wood and Johnson (1978) introduce, including pedoturbation, faunalturbation, floralturbation, cryoturbation, graviturbation, and aeroturbation.

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disturbance processes primarily as they relate to objects and artifacts, and he does not extend the inquiry to mortuary deposits or the study of human remains as material culture.29 A shift more generally from disturbance in the archaeological record to disturbance in mortuary contexts brings the conversation back to the methods of archaeothanatology. The latter integrates the biological elements of corpse taphonomy with the study of site formation processes, and it has the additional benefit of considering the social and ritual elements of anthropogenic activities that affect the interpretation of disturbed graves.

b) Disturbed Human Remains:

The second type of disturbance is that which pertains specifically to mortuary deposits and ‘disturbed’ burials in archaeological reports. The conflation between different types of disturbance is echoed in the fact that a ‘burial’ can refer either to the human remains or to the grave structures that contain them. An operational premise of funerary archaeology is that burials are deliberate deposits, where the deceased was intentionally interred in a defined place.30 Recently, Bruno Boulestin and Henri Duday have commented on the paradoxical fact that there is little consensus on the vocabulary and criteria for the identification of burials.31 Although most definitions prioritize the treatment of the corpse (ie. cremation or inhumation) and the attendant rites, there is enough variability in post-mortem treatment to render the identification

29 I borrow the phrase ‘the body as material culture’ from Sofaer 2006. 30 Leclerc 1990, 14. 31 Boulestin and Duday 2006, 149.

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of a burial difficult in cases of poor archaeological preservation.32 In their view, a burial requires a defined place with limits, the presence of one or several dead people, the intentionality of the deposit, and the necessity of a funerary context in which the remains of the deceased individual are treated.33 Based on the state of preservation or the level of mechanical damage, high levels of disturbance can limit our ability to identify a burial or the number of individuals included. When only occasional bone scatters and dispersed materials from a grave remain, it can be difficult to establish that a burial existed in the first place, before interpreting the degree of disturbance that affected the deposit.

As anthropological archaeologists Christopher Knüsel and John Robb point out, the discovery of disarticulated human remains has been interpreted historically as the result of accidental disturbance to single primary burials, and the “result was to normalize the archaeological record, making a range of funerary practices invisible and cutting off an opportunity to investigate the rich variety of human deathways.”34

This normalization limited what data were recorded and inhibited the development of methods to address disturbance and skeletal disarticulation in the archaeological record. On account of the disciplinary divide between biological anthropology and archaeology, many field archaeologists have been “ill-equipped to deal with anything but complete skeletons.”35

Other confusion that surrounds disturbed burials stems from terminology about the form of disposal and the articulation of the body. Chapters 3 and 4 will explore the

32 Boulestin and Duday 2006, 149. 33 Duday et al. 1990, 30; Leclerc 1990, 13–14; Boulestin and Duday 2006, 154–155. 34 Knüsel and Robb 2016, 655. 35 Knüsel and Robb 2016, 655.

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treatment and position of the body both at the time of burial and upon later grave opening and reuse. These chapters highlight the distinction between a primary inhumation burial, which conceals the body in the ground, and a secondary inhumation burial, which is a multi-stage process that involves the reduction of the body and subsequent interment.36 When human remains are found in a state of disarticulation, the question is whether the individual was originally buried in a primary burial and eventually subjected to post-depositional manipulation or whether the defleshed remains were interred as a secondary burial. Such a distinction helps to disentangle continuing mortuary rituals and grave reuse from other types of damage and disturbance that precipitated disarticulation. ‘Disturbed’ is not a burial type nor does it reflect the treatment or position of the body at the time of deposition. Instead, the term highlights later taphonomic and archaeological events that need to be carefully documented.37 It is important to understand the relative stage of corporeal decay at the time of the post-depositional event, which enables excavators to estimate when and how these actions affected bodies in the decomposition process.

c) Describing Disturbance:

Thus far, I have tried to separate general disturbance and formation processes that manifest themselves in the archaeological record from what archaeologists might be tempted to label as ‘disturbed’ burials in the sense of disarticulated human skeletal

36 Sprague 2005, 91–105; Duday 2009, 14 on the form of disposal and the various terms used to describe what are here referred to as primary and secondary burials. 37 Brent and Prowse 2014, 102 on the definition of ‘disturbed rock and tile’ grave covers in the Vagnari cemetery, which stands in contrast to disturbed skeletal remains of T. 42a at Vagnari that will be explored in Chapter 4.

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remains. These definitions and discussions often exist in the abstract, so let us now explore some of the ways in which archaeologists have defined disturbance in cemeteries, which is often conflated as both an archaeological process and as a burial type. I will then propose my own definitions and test them in a series of case studies, in order to explore how damage and disturbance affected both the grave cover or the exterior of a burial and the human remains on the interior.

Medieval archaeologists have identified an increase in post-depositional disturbance of the dead at Anglo-Saxon and Medieval sites in the period from 600-

1100 CE.38 However, absent from general descriptions of disturbed burials is attention to the degree of damage and disturbance, whether it was limited to the exterior of the grave and the elements that were put in place for the protection of the body, or whether the damage extended to the decomposing or already decomposed human skeletal remains. In two papers about post-burial disturbance in early Medieval

Wessex, Annia Cherryson argues that there were low levels of disturbance in the seventh and eighth centuries at the 21 sites under investigation in both rural and churchyard cemeteries.39 The author’s classification system of disturbance as none, low, moderate or high purportedly allows for qualitative comparison between cemeteries, although the relativity and subjectivity of these distinctions make them of limited transferability for other archaeologists. Furthermore, it is difficult to assess

38 Boddington 1987, 40; Cherryson 2005, 130; Aspöck 2011, 300. The latter identifies disturbance in all 42 inhumation graves from the sixth century CE at the site of Brunn am Gebirge in Austria. 39 Cherryson 2005; 2007.

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disturbance at the site level, as there is no indication of whether it was proportional to the total number of burials or relative to the degree that it affected each burial.40

From Cherryson’s account of Medieval England, it appears that there are two types of disturbance: the first and most common is the reuse of an earlier grave, which either took care not to disturb the initial occupants because of recognition and interest in the earlier remains. Or, as in the majority of cases, the disturbance occurred without any interest towards the original occupant.41 As Chapters 3 and 4 will explore, these two forms of disturbance can be characterized as supplemental use and consecutive reuse. Alternatively, but more rarely in field cemeteries compared to churchyard burials, disturbance could be the result of later burials cutting into parts of earlier ones and displacing some skeletal remains while leaving others in place, for which scenarios “a lack of intentionality can be securely suggested”.42

Implicitly, Cherryson considers any form of post-depositional contact with graves as a form of disturbance, and in doing so, her interpretation of disturbance is characterized by a series of binary opposites: either accidental disturbance or intentional reuse; and in the case of the latter, there was either care for the original occupant of the grave or a lack of interest or concern for those remains. This type of exploration would benefit from greater attention to the role of the body in reused graves, both in terms of the timing between depositions and in the treatment of bodies

40 Cherryson 2005, 42; 2007, 130, Table 1 indicates the number of burials per site and the ‘level’ of post-burial disturbance, variously designated as none, low, moderate, or high. Low disturbance affected 1 or 2 graves; moderate meant intercutting or reuse observed in a few graves, while a high level of disturbance indicated widespread evidence of the post-burial disturbance of the deceased. The latter does not indicate whether this was proportional to the total number of burials. The ‘nature’ of disturbance, in contrast, addresses the type of disturbance, which includes: intercutting, reuse of graves, disturbance by construction of chapels, reinterment of bodies. 41 Cherryson 2005, 44; 2007, 132. 42 Cherryson 2007, 133.

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in different states of decay. In doing so, it would be possible to disentangle damage and disturbance from the reuse of an existing grave, even if both scenarios caused the displacement of human remains. Such an approach that considers both the body and the grave structure has recently been published for a Neolithic cemetery in Latvia.

In an article called, “Disturbing the Dead: Archaeothanatological Analysis of the Stone Age Burials at Zvejnieki, Latvia (excavated 2006-2009),” Liv Nilsson Stutz and Lars Larsson revisited a Middle Neolithic mortuary site that was originally uncovered in the 1960s and 1970s, and they excavated an additional 26 burials from an undisturbed area of the cemetery using the field methods of archaeothanatology.43

Despite appearing prominently in the title, disturbance is an undefined agent. At times, its absence was responsible for good skeletal preservation. In other cases

“disturbances had evacuated more than half of the remains”.44 In this brief report, disturbance as a formation process is not fully disentangled from skeletal disarticulation, since the state of skeletal preservation is listed as ‘disturbed’ for some burials and as ‘disarticulated’ for others; in some cases, there is an implied temporal and causal qualifier, such as “disturbed by house construction” (meaning modern) or

“disturbed by mortuary practices” (meaning long ago).45 Despite some conflation between preservation and skeletal disarticulation, this is a recent case where excavators employed the methods of archaeothanatology to differentiate when in the

43 Nilsson Stutz and Larsson 2016, 715. At this site, the “undisturbed and unexcavated” area of the cemetery was preserved under an abandoned construction project. 44 Nilsson Stutz and Larsson 2016, 717. Disturbance from modern construction activity seems to be separate from modern looting in the case of a burial that was looted and partially destroyed between the 2006-2007 excavation campaigns. 45 Nilsson Stutz and Larsson 2016, 717–718. At Zvejnieki, even the ‘disturbed burials’ yielded information about anatomical articulation to be considered ‘very reliable,’ which helped the excavators identify more fragmented and disarticulated burials than were previously recorded during earlier excavations, and helped to separate recent disturbances from prehistoric ones.

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decomposition process such interventions took place and how attention to disturbance can highlight previously unexplored dimensions of ritual practices in cemeteries.46

The potential of integrating human remains and archaeological observations into a study of post-depositional practices has also been demonstrated recently by

Alison Klevnäs in her exploration of grave robbing in Anglo-Saxon Kent and the

Merovingian kingdoms in western and central Europe. For Klevnäs, the primary explanation for the “epidemic of grave disturbance” in seventh-century Merovingian

Europe was to ransack burials and remove selected artifacts.47 She acknowledges that referring to the phenomenon as grave robbery (Grabraub) presupposes an interpretation that the act was illegal and immoral because items were usually removed from burials in a transgressive manner.48 Disturbance, then, is synonymous with grave opening for the purposes of removing items as “a strategy to undermine the prestige of ‘keeping-while-burying’ inalienable valuables from their owners, and undermining the memories of their bestowal.”49 For Klevnäs, disturbance is not usually a question of inserting additional bodies or causing post-depositional damage to existing graves, whether ancient or modern.

In order to strengthen the relationship between formation processes in the archaeological record and disturbed burials, Klevnäs prompts excavators to consider the various ways of identifying and recording indicators of ancient grave reopening that can lead to disturbance. When excavating in the field, signs of grave reopening include: skeletal remains and artifacts in disorder; missing part of an otherwise well-

46 Nilsson Stutz and Larsson 2016, 720. 47 Klevnäs 2015, 157. 48 Klevnäs 2015, 161–162. 49 Klevnäs 2015, 171.

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preserved skeleton; a secondary cut into the grave fill; grave goods in disorder; additions to the grave contents; later artifacts in the upper fill; and the absence of artifacts with traces of their original presence.50 These factors are complicated by poor or differential preservation; empty graves; secondary burial or reuse; natural bone tumble; the collapse of structures within a void; unusual burial positions; delayed burial; burrowing animals; agricultural damage; and modern robbing or vandalism.

These indicators prompt consideration of the fact that grave reopening, whether to remove objects or to inter additional bodies, affects all parts of a burial: its structure or cover, the decomposing or decomposed skeletal remains, as well as the objects within the grave.

If we turn back to Roman cemeteries, it is clear that disturbances to grave structures and human remains have not received nearly as much consideration in modern scholarship, nor have the various phenomena been considered beyond the level of the individual site. To describe the level of conservation at the imperial period cemetery at Lugone (Salò, Brescia in the province of Lombardia), the following scale is used:51

Designation: Translation: 0 non determinabile indeterminable 1 intatta intact 2 schiacciata dal terreno crushed by the soil above 3 sconvolta upset, overturned 4 mancante della copertura missing grave cover 5 violata in epoca recente violated in recent times 6 scheletro mal conservato poorly preserved skeleton, (scomposto/mancanti di parti) broken or missing parts

50 Klevnäs 2013, Appendix 2 (131–134). 51 Massa 1997, 166.

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Since more than one number can be assigned to describe the state of conservation for inhumation burials at Lugone, this classificatory system does not represent a scale of increasing levels of destruction, but rather, the presence or absence of certain elements, features or characteristics that can be interpreted as disturbance.52

Interesting to note is the inclusion of factors that are not comparable between categories: the preservation of the skeleton, damage to the grave cover, and the distinction that the tomb was disturbed recently. Such a system conflates temporal, skeletal, and causal factors, without providing alternative possibilities or a range of interpretations. The category of recent violation, for example, includes different types of modern interventions, whether unintentional and mechanical or deliberate acts of reopening without further comment.

No system encountered so far adequately addresses damage and disturbance in a satisfactory way; for Lugone in Roman Italy, Massa (1997) at least attempts to define various types of disturbance in a manner that is not often made explicit, even if there is room for improvement. The present study distinguishes between damage and disturbance, both of which can apply to the exterior or interior of a burial, and both of which can be the result of environmental and anthropogenic actions, whether intentional or accidental, and can affect human remains, objects and materials in the grave. The nuance between damage and disturbance refers to the degree of alteration from an original state: damage refers to breakage and fragmentation and can result in an incomplete state of objects or skeletal remains, including cracked tiles, post-

52 Eg. T. 137 / Scheda 72, variously described as 1 (intatta) and 6 (scheltro mal conservato / scomposto / mancanti di parti), meaning that the grave cover was intact, but the skeletal remains were poorly preserved. In this case, reference to burial taphonomy would help to explain the preservation of the human remains.

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mortem bone breakage, tooth loss or the fragmentation of ceramic or glass vessels. In contrast, disturbance signifies actions that caused the dislodging or displacement of grave materials, items or the body in any state of decomposition.53 While it is important to establish the relative time between the original deposit and the subsequent action, both damage and disturbance can occur immediately after the creation of a mortuary deposit or during modern excavation. Disturbance, then, does not imply causation, but instead requires careful consideration of the potential reasons for the alteration from an original state.

External damage to a grave cover can result in the shifting of tiles or rocks – the primary materials used in the construction of Roman imperial period burials – from their original position. In the case of cappuccina grave covers, these movements can lead to horizontal compression that flattens or alters the original arrangement of the human remains and grave contents. Objects or skeletal remains on the interior of a grave can be disturbed by gravitational or taphonomic factors without damage in the sense of being fractured or fragmented, and the contents can be broken without ever being dislodged from their original position. Attention to taphonomic processes and the breakdown of organic elements in a burial can help to avoid attributing disturbance to anthropogenic factors.

Bones can shift following the decay and disintegration of organs, ligaments and tissues, and they can fall into what Duday calls ‘secondary void spaces,’ which means those that are created as organic elements decompose. Alternatively, the architectonic elements of a grave can collapse and create the appearance of post-

53 Compare with Duday and Guillon 2006, 128, who take disturbance to mean “exogenous perturbation, again in reference to the complete structure around the body.”

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depositional manipulation, which does not result from grave opening or later anthropogenic activities. Instead, this impression of disturbance reflects the taphonomic processes of decomposition, as Frédérique Blaizot has demonstrated at the

Medieval cemetery at Les Ruelles in France. She found that coffins and grave floors made from wooden boards eventually collapsed and caused bone displacement in patterned ways that allow the grave architecture and the state of the body at the time of the collapse to be reconstructed.54 A similar situation is known from Musarna T. 238, in which the supine skeleton of an adult female was displaced in several areas. The femora and right scapula were overturned and the tibiae were separated. The skeleton was found in a position that is consistent with the collapse of perishable structures, for example, if the corpse had been placed on a wooden board that eventually fragmented longitudinally (Fig. 7).55 These are only some of the possible forms of disturbance to skeletal remains that archaeologists might observe at the time of excavation. Others will be explored in the following case studies.

Figure 7: Musarna T. 238, showing collapsed wooden structures. (Photo MU00_01 courtesy of Éric Rebillard).

54 Blaizot 2014, 265–266. 55 Rebillard 2009b, 218.

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Part 2: Case Studies of Damage and Disturbance in Roman Cemeteries:

Based on these definitions of damage and disturbance as well as their archaeological indicators, case studies can be distinguished by the type of disturbance, the extent of the damage, and the responses that they precipitated. Put differently, these typologically unruly burials can be explored through different criteria: ancient or modern disturbance; damage that was or was not stopped before it became disturbance; and damage or disturbance that was the result of recognizable activities like construction or looting. The following case studies begin with damage and disturbance that occurred relatively recently and are generally classified as ‘modern,’ before moving backwards in time.

Modern disturbance is critical to the discovery of Roman cemeteries, but it is even less often considered in comparison to post-depositional practices that took place in antiquity. Examples derive primarily from published cemetery reports, for which the dating and criteria for disturbance have been assessed mainly using stratigraphic and artifactual dates. The examples address damage that either resulted in or was stopped before the point of disturbance. The aim is to explore different types of disturbance, when the interventions occurred, and how contact between graves was an important element in these interactions.

Following the tenets of archaeothanatology, it is important to consider the role that the grave structure or architecture played in post-burial activities because these spaces shed light on the environment in which the body decomposed and how it was treated in subsequent encounters. As briefly mentioned in the Introduction, the burial types under consideration in the following case studies include simple pit burials with

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no grave cover (fossa terragna, fossa in tufa), roof tiles or stone slab covers

(cappuccina, tegole in piano, lastre in pietra), etc. The body could be placed directly in a soil pit or the hole could be lined with tiles (cassa laterizia) or stones (cassa in muratura), in order to create a structure around the body. Such structures were often subterranean and possibly marked on the ground surface with grave markers in wood, stone or in the form of libation tubes.56

i) Modern Disturbance Agricultural Activity in a Rural Area: Vagnari

The first type of damage is modern mechanical activity. The situation at

Vagnari in Puglia, although in many ways unique, is worth exploring because damage and disturbance to graves during agricultural activity resulted in the discovery of the cemetery. The existence of the Roman site at Vagnari was known to the landowner,

Mario de Gemmis-Pellicciari, and several inhabitants of the nearby town, Gravina, because agricultural activity in the area consistently brought archaeological material up to the ground surface. Since the 1970s, the use of mechanized tractors has made it possible to plow vast areas of land for cereal and pulse cultivation, whereas the fields were previously used for transhumant sheep grazing. Plows and combine harvesting equipment gouge into the ground to a depth of approximately 30-40 cm, both

56 At Vagnari in Puglia, for example, no evidence for grave markers been found, whether in impermanent or permanent materials. Based on the absence of grave markers and the examples of earlier burials that were disturbed by later ones, Small (2007, 133) has argued that if grave markers were employed, they were unlikely to have lasted long.

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destroying archaeological sites and, at the same time, bringing material to the surface that was subsequently recovered in field survey between 1996-2000.57

Typically, agricultural activity affects the vertical stratigraphy of an archaeological site, but there is a fairly minimal impact on the horizontal stratigraphy or the lateral displacement, which means that surface artifacts are normally found relatively close to where they were discarded or buried.58 In a plow zone, there is a tendency for larger artifacts to be over-represented on the surface, as smaller items are reburied in the tillage process. The Vagnari cemetery was one of the 154 ‘sites’ that was identified during intensive field survey in the year 2000.59 More than 9 kg of imbrices (curved roof tiles) and 215 kg of other tile forms, including tegulae (flat tiles) were found in the area of the cemetery, identified as approximately 2100 m2 during surface collection.60 Buildings with collapsed roofs were identified and excavated to the north of the cemetery, but the majority of the tile scatter around the cemetery probably came from the grave covers themselves.

To put into perspective just how much tile (224 kg) was found on the ground during one season of surface collection: 10 burials were excavated in the Vagnari cemetery in 2015 and they had an average of 36.6 kg of tile per grave cover; the

57 Small, A. 2011, 36. 58 See Ammerman 1985, 34–35; Schiffer 1987, 131 on questions about artifact movement in repeated instances of agricultural activity and field tillage. In an experiment in Calabria, Ammerman observed the lateral displacement effects of plowing on material from the surface of a site over a period of six years. Using ceramic tiles with 2.5 x 2.5 x 0.5 cm dimensions that Ammerman placed on the surface of a tilled field, he found that for every tile on the surface, there were approximately 15-20 tiles circulating within the plow zone. Materials of different sizes have different surface-to-plow-zone ratios, and pieces that are larger in size, like the tiles at Vagnari, will be found in higher proportions on the surface than smaller objects. 59 Small, C. 2014, 66. The author defines ‘sites’ in survey area of just under 100 square km as accumulations of artifacts on the ground surface that demonstrated evidence for occupation, whether seasonal or permanent. After surface collection, geophysical prospection, including magnetometer survey and resistivity, was carried out in 2001 by Kristian Strutt from the British School at Rome. 60 Small, C. 2011, 56.

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burials ranged from those with no grave covers (T. 321) to a cappuccina grave cover with 90.5 kg of tile for a burial with two individuals inside one structure (T. 308). A well-preserved cappuccina burial of an adult individual (T. 315) with two sets of four tegulae (8 tiles total) preserved 80 kg of tile (Fig. 8). During the 2000 field survey, then, the approximate weight of tiles that it would take to cover three adult cappuccina burials was collected and recorded on the ground surface in the area of the cemetery.

Although the amount of tile scatter was only quantified once, more tile fragments are found on the surface every summer when excavations resume, which fragments appear as the result of cyclical processes of planting and harvesting pulses and cereals in the

Vagnari fields.

Figure 8: Vagnari T. 315, with 80 kg of tile that formed the cappuccina grave cover. (Photo: author).

The effects of modern agricultural activity in the Vagnari cemetery are usually limited to the exterior of the grave cover, since the plow blades damage tiles and bring fragments to the surface. The result is that it can be difficult to determine the original form of a grave cover, whether it was a cappuccina structure or flat tiles (tegole a

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piano) on top of the deceased body, especially in the case of neonates or subadults, for whom the grave cover could consist of as little as two imbrex tiles positioned vertically as an imbuto libation tube (T. 282) or of one tile laid flat on top of the body

(T. 329).61 Agricultural activity appears to minimally affect the human remains inside the graves at Vagnari, which are typically too deep to be affected by the plow blades.

The effects of agricultural activities on the skeleton are best illustrated by the ‘soil’ burials that lack any form of grave cover. For these burials, poor preservation results from the loss of collagen from bone in soil with high levels of acidity, rather than disturbance from agricultural activity.62

Modern Damage and Disturbance from Construction:

The discovery of Roman cemeteries results more commonly from repair or construction work to buildings and train lines, rather than from intensive field surveys.

At the ‘Vasche dello Zuccherificio’ necropolis at Classe near Ravenna, a burial came to light when tanks from a former sugar factory were dismantled in 1984, and subsequent excavations revealed a small necropolis with 21 inhumation burials in amphorae that dated mainly to the fourth century CE.63 The first excavation sector was initially covered with grass, shrubs and exposed patches of land, but it did not yield the hoped-for results, since the area was damaged by plowing (dai lavori di aratura)

61 In Brent and Prowse 2014, 6–7, the investigation of grave goods by burial type suggests that burials with ‘disturbed’ grave covers were found with fewer items than cappuccina or flat tile burials. Those with unknown grave cover forms, when only a few tile fragments were found, often reflect damage and disturbance from modern agricultural activity. 62 Kibblewhite et al. 2015, 250. 63 Danesi 1989-90. Excavations were carried out in August 1985 by the Soprintendenza Archeologica dell’Emilia Romagna and explored an area along the via Romea Vecchia, near the Basilica of S. Apollinare, where inhumation burials in amphorae were found.

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and calcareous infiltration that was connected to sugar production.64 The first trench ran perpendicular to the train line in a sandy area where the burials were poorly preserved and mostly overturned (sconvolte) by agricultural work. The resulting publication only includes plan drawings of Trenches 2 and 3 and their respective burials in which the corporeal remains were comparatively well preserved. Tombs 2-5 in Trench 1, in contrast, were described collectively as follows:

An area of disturbed bones, immediately south of where T. 1 was found. The chaotic situation in which four skeletons were identified was with all probability the result of the plow, whose furrows reached a depth of ca. 70 cm, which affected a group of skeletons on the surface, laid next to each other at a distance of about 1 m apart, turning the bones to the ridge of the furrow. The long bones were best preserved. From the few cranial fragments that were found, it seemed that the heads were oriented to the west. There were no elements to identify the type of burial and no trace of any grave goods.65

In the cemetery at Classe, the plow zone reaches a considerably greater depth (ca. 70 cm) than what is typically the case at Vagnari (ca. 30-40 cm). The disturbed bones in

TT. 2-5 were the result of plow activity (l’aratura), which damaged any possible amphora or tile grave covers and preserved mainly the dense long bones and some cranial fragments.

Roman cemeteries are more often discovered during modern construction or engineering projects, rather than during agricultural activities. At Gubbio (Vittorina) in Umbria during construction for the Colacem S.p.A. offices, 237 burials were

64 Danesi 1989-90, 38. 65 Danesi 1989-90, 44. “Settore di ossa sconvolte, immediatamente a sud del punto in cui si rinvenne T1. La situazione caotica in cui si trovavano i quattro scheletri identificati, era con ogni probabilità dovuta al fatto che l’aratura, i cui solchi erano passati a ca. 70 cm, aveva preso in pieno una serie di scheletri in superficie, affiancati l’uno all’altro, alla distanza di ca. 1 m, rivoltandone le ossa verso il colmo dei solchi. Quelle meglio conservate erano le ossa lunghe mentre dai pochi frammenti di cranio rinvenuti, sembrerebbe che le teste fossero volte tutte ad ovest. Mancavano indizi per poter eventualmente stabilire il tipo di sepoltura e non vi era alcuna traccia di corredo.”

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excavated between 1980-1982 by the Soprintendenza Archeologica per l’Umbria in an area that was already partly destroyed by mechanical means.66 Like many cases under consideration in this study, the excavation was a salvage operation, and the necropolis was only partly excavated in those areas that were affected by construction or by the laying of pipe lines. Damage and disturbance by mechanical means is not restricted to shallow graves that are close to the modern ground level. At Gubbio, two individuals who were both originally interred in wooden coffins (cassa lignea) were found at depths of 2.3 and 2.05 m below the surface, and both were damaged by a bulldozer

(ruspa) that preserved only part of the skeletal remains.67 This type of damage and disturbance may limit the ability of excavators to comment on the organization of a cemetery or the representative nature of the sample.

Modern Disturbance from Building Activity: Ansedonia T. 1

Isolated burials or small nuclei of tombs are often found on their own – as opposed to being part of larger, more fully-excavated cemeteries – usually after they have been damaged and disturbed. Even though they reflect a very small sample size, these burials can nevertheless be used to reconstruct individual ‘osteobiographies’, which can then be integrated into broader discussions of Roman funerary practices. If they are published at all, such burials remain isolated in local periodicals, despite the fact that they attest to comparable trends in the treatment of the body across different areas of Roman Italy.

66 Cipollone 2000-01, 5–6. Similar circumstances for the discovery of the Portorecanati necropolis in Marche have already been discussed above. 67 Cipollone 2000-01, 155, 173, TT. 118 and 133.

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During a 1998 construction project near Ansedonia in the province of

Grosseto, a trench brought to light the remains of a cappuccina burial, which led to emergency excavations by the Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Toscana.

Sometime prior to the 1998 campaign, a gas line and a telephone line were installed adjacent to the burial, at which point one of the cappuccina cover tiles was dislodged and damaged.68 The deceased individual inside the burial was interred directly in the ground in a supine, extended position on an east-west orientation with the head to the west. At the time of excavation, the body preserved anatomical connections, and although a large proportion of the body was represented, many bones were incomplete or missing, including the entire right tibia and the feet. In addition to the gas line that ran adjacent and very close to the burial, root vegetables contributed to the incomplete skeletal preservation. Decomposition occurred in an empty space, followed by a gradual infilling of soil that covered the skeleton.

The deceased was identified as a female, aged between 18 and 20 years old at the time of death, standing 140-145 cm tall, with signs of cribra orbitalia on the cranium and enamel hypoplasia on a premolar, which suggest non-specific instances of nutritional stress or infectious disease.69 Two ceramic vessels, a lamp, two bronze rings, a gold ring, gold earrings, and a gold button accompanied the individual. Based on the object assemblage, the burial dates to the last decades of the first or into the second century CE. From this brief description of the grave structure, skeletal remains

68 Agricoli et al. 2012, 285. The disturbance from the gas and telephone lines are dated no more precisely than in recent times before the 1998 discovery. Damage from the pipeline: “il tubo del gas metano al momento del suo alloggiamento era stato appoggiato alla parte superiore, provocando una dislocazione delle tegole di questo lato verso il centro con la conseguente frattura di alcune di esse.” 69 Agricoli et al. 2012, 288–289.

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and objects, we can recognize how much of the individual’s life biography was inscribed in the body, as well as how thorough recording at the time of archaeological excavation can contribute to a micro-history of the individual at various points in the

‘lifespan’ of a burial, from the time of deposition, subsequent decomposition and more recent interventions.70 In the context of suburban, semi-urban, and rural Roman field cemeteries, however, life histories from skeletal and contextual remains have not been viewed with the same level of fascination as their material counterparts. Even though no other graves were excavated in the area, a reconstruction of the Ansedonia burial is now on display in the local archaeological museum for members of the community to engage with their cultural heritage, and, more generally, to witness how disturbed or singular burials can contribute to our understanding of Roman burial practices.

Modern Damage from Looting: Musarna

One final form of modern disturbance that affects both the interior and exterior of graves is looting, which can influence the level of skeletal preservation and affect the appearance of graves at the time of excavation. The Musarna cemetery in Lazio provides the opportunity to explore how a variety of modern activities contribute to skeletal preservation and the discovery of unruly grave contents. Of the 157 inhumation burials at Musarna, poor preservation (>50% of the skeleton) or very poor preservation (between 10-20%) limited anthropological study to 128 individuals from

120 inhumation burials. Site-wide poor preservation could be caused by a number of factors that accelerate bone degradation: the acidity of the soil; whether individuals

70 Pearce 2017, 20 on the value of publishing small nuclei of burials and performing comparative analysis between cemetery populations.

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were buried in tufo or soil pits and how deep the burials were; hydrological conditions that affect the drainage or retention of water; and finally, the infiltration of clay sediment that caused compression and bone fissures within graves.71 Beyond these environmental factors, there is a clear correlation at the site between looting and poor skeletal preservation, since the act of opening a grave disrupts the balance in a grave environment in which skeletal remains are protected by the sediments that surround them.72

Of the 209 graves that were excavated at Musarna, 53 were described as pillaged (pillée); a further seven were noted as violated (violée); three were affected by clandestine or mechanical activities; and a further four burials were found completely empty.73 However, the criteria for when these post-burial activities took place or what they entailed are not always made explicit. The majority of cases where graves were ransacked do not include a time referent, but they appear to be modern. Tomb 136 was largely destroyed by clandestine actions using mechanized equipment, at which point, the grave fill was completely overturned and only fragments from a ceramic vessel were left behind.74 Tombs 181 and 308 contained plastic that attests to a modern but nonspecific date for the looting, and T. 291 was looted (violée) during winter 2002-

71 Gleize 2009, 71–72, 79–80. 72 Gleize 2009, 72. “On enregistre une relation directe entre réouverture a posteriori et mauvaise conservation. En ouvrant une tombe assez longtemps, l’équilibre, établi entre le milieu environnant et les os, est rompu. La réouverture s’accompagne aussi de nombreuses perturbations qui fragmentent les restes osseux.” 73 Tombs described as pillée: 94, 95, 132, 140, 143, 176, 177, 178, 179, 181, 182, 183, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 209, 210, 228, 236, 237, 239, 241, 248, 249, 250, 251, 256, 261, 268, 285, 286 (?), 287 (?), 295, 296, 300, 301, 302, 303, 306, 308, 310, 311, 312, 313, 316, 318, 323, 334, 351, 352, 354. Tombs that were described as violée: 115, 128, 167, 233, 234, 235 and 291. Tombs affected by clandestine activities: TT. 136, 137 and 187. Empty graves include: TT. 90, 91, 131 and 260. 74 Rebillard 2009b, 199. “[...] en grande partie détruite par l’action de clandestins ayant utilisé un engin mécanique. Dans le comblement, totalement bouleversé, à l’extrémité sud, ont été trouvés quelques fragments d’un vase de céramique.”

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2003 between excavation campaigns.75 Tombs 286 and 287 were both affected by ransacking (du pillage de la tombe), yet both instances refer to ancient grave reuse.76

The aforementioned T. 291 that was looted in the winter between excavation seasons is in many ways emblematic of other graves that were subject to modern looting (Fig. 9). Although the grave remained covered by four large nenfro slabs, the northernmost slab was damaged and broken. The grave fill was disturbed (bouleversé) in the northern half and no skeletal elements were preserved. Looting only affected one half of the grave – presumably the half where jewelry or valuable items might be located by the head – while the southern half of the grave contained a fairly substantial bronze object, perhaps a chain, with rings up to 10 cm in diameter.77 Archaeological reports that mention grave robbing consistently note that there are certain parts of the burial that were targeted, a practice that may have been more expedient than opening the entire grave.78 Areas of the body where valuable ornaments were placed or worn, as well as anatomical extremities such as the head or feet, are among the most frequently disturbed areas; in contrast, the lower limbs are likely to survive in situ with comparatively less disturbance.

75 For a similar example of looting during the excavation season at Gubbio, see Cipollone 2000-01, 96. Tomb 71 was looted on November 3, 1980 when the excavation was halted for rain. 76 Rebillard 2009b, 232. The former was an in situ cremation burial that was reused for a later inhumation, whereas the latter was an inhumation burial that was subject to reduction and then reused for another inhumation burial in the second century CE. The dating of the tomb reuse is based on a coin (dupondius) of Marcus Aurelius that was found in contact with the mandibular teeth of the articulated skeleton (inv. 2287002.3). For reduction burials, see Chapter 4. 77 Rebillard 2009b, 232. 78 Klevnäs 2013, 51–52; Kinkopf and Beck 2016, 266.

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Figure 9: Musarna T. 291, showing damage to the nenfro grave cover at northernmost end. (Photo MU03_72 courtesy of Éric Rebillard).

Those graves at Musarna that were described as overturned (bouleversés) reflect different reasons for the disturbances that affected the grave contents. In the case of T. 315 (Fig. 10), the northern half of the grave was devoid of artifacts and skeletal remains, and other than a few tile fragments in the grave fill, no grave cover was preserved. At the southern end of the grave, a few teeth, femoral and other long bone fragments were recovered. A fairly large grave assemblage was found near the lower limbs, including a bronze mirror, spatula and ring, four glass vessels, iron hardware and a ceramic vessel. The semblance of disarray in the northern half of the grave is likely not the result of a failed attempt at looting; instead, the tufo into which the burial was excavated preserves linear gouge marks that were interpreted as plow marks, which were responsible for disturbance in the northern half of the grave.79

79 Rebillard 2009b, 237. For the Musarna cemetery, Gleize (2009, 72) establishes a correlation between the presence of bronze coins and good skeletal preservation in TT. 211 and 307, both of which were

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Figure 10: Musarna T. 315, showing plow marks in the tufo through the northern (bottom) half of the grave. (Photo MU03_84 courtesy of Éric Rebillard).

If we exclude cases of reuse, 32% of graves at Musarna were affected by looting activities, and that number rises to 35% when including graves that were overturned (bouleversés) but for which no grave cover survives. When possible, it is important to distinguish between damage and disturbance from modern looting, agricultural activities, as well as disturbance that results from environmental or taphonomic events, such as the collapse of structures in a void space. These activities affected the preservation of skeletal material and reduced the number of individuals

found with ribs preserved, which rarely survive elsewhere at the site. Bronze creates a microenvironment that is not conducive to microorganisms, which can aid in the preservation of organic and skeletal material in archaeological contexts. In the case of T. 315, poor preservation of the skeleton likely results from agricultural activities, rather than environmental conditions.

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that could be included in demographic investigations of the site, thus filtering the number of individuals in the cemetery sample to an even smaller proportion of the original population that was buried in the Musarna cemetery.

Taken together, these case studies of modern damage and disturbance demonstrate why archaeologists need to pay attention to different taphonomic and anthropogenic factors at the time of excavation. The resulting damage or rescue conditions in which burials are excavated often prohibit full publication of mortuary deposits; nevertheless, it is worthwhile to consider how modern damage and disturbance play an important role in the dispersal and discovery of material from

Roman cemeteries. Not all cemetery reports provide as much detail as some of the aforementioned examples about the nature or the extent of modern mechanical damage, whether it was caused by looting, construction or agricultural activities, but consideration of such factors is nevertheless important because they contribute to the discovery of ancient cemeteries or they enable excavators to distinguish between different types of post-depositional activities and how we should interpret them. As we shall soon see, several types of disturbance that were not specific to modern activities can also be found in antiquity, often with different effects or resulting actions.

ii) Ancient Disturbance:

The remainder of this chapter and the rest of the project shift the focus to damage, disturbance, reopening and reuse that took place in antiquity. Activities during the main period of use in a cemetery that might leave traces in the archaeological record include: commemorative rituals and festivals in celebration of

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the dead like the Parentalia; graveside banquets or offerings; or discovering the location of earlier graves during the creation of new ones.80 These actions raise questions about how materialized traces of ritual or non-ritual actions manifest themselves in the archaeological record. Further questions relate to how long graves inhabited the memories and imaginations of the living, and whether damage or disturbance to existing graves precipitated any type of corrective action or expiation.

Damage and disturbance that occurred during the main period of use in Roman cemeteries prompts us to think about cemetery organization and different types of relationships between burials. Contact between burials can include overlapping, encroaching, and intersecting burials; both the terms overlapping and encroaching imply a degree of contiguity when elements of the burial pit, tegulae or grave cover come into contact with an existing burial. These terms relate to external or structural aspects of the grave, as well as to the human skeletal remains from multiple individuals within a grave. Contact between burials and relationships of contiguity are not uncommon in Roman cemeteries where there was continual use over several centuries or the absence of systematic cemetery organization. Ancient attempts to avoid damage to existing burials while digging new pits have been inferred based on the general organization of a cemetery, where there is a mostly-consistent burial

80 For the Parentalia, see King 1998, 20–28; Lindsay 1998, 67–80; Rebillard 2009b, 142–153; Dolansky 2011, 127–137; Scheid 2011, 161–188. The Parentalia were an annual festival that commemorated the dead during a period of nine days between the 13th and 21st of February, and included sharing a symbolic meal with the dead. This festival was described in Ovid’s Fasti (2.533– 570), in which he refers to dies ferales (days of the dead) and dies Parentales (days for commemorating the dead). The festival could include offerings like flowers, libations, corn, incense, as a banquet or spectacles in honor of the deceased. Other festivals of the dead included the Lemuria in May, the Rosalia in May or June, or those connected to the birthday or the anniversary of the death of the deceased.

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orientation, as well as an overall absence of overlapping or intercutting burials.81 But rarely documented in full detail, archaeological examples of contact between burials are potential indicators of tomb visibility over time, and occasionally they allow us to identify corrective or remedial actions upon the damage or disturbance of an existing grave.

Near-Damage that Avoided Turning into Disturbance: Musarna T. 344

Two such examples can be found at Musarna in Lazio, where the excavators revealed different types of relationships between burials.82 The pit for T. 344 at

Musarna was excavated on a NW-SE axis into the tufo, adjacent to T. 345 on its west side and T. 320 on the southeast (Fig. 11).83 It appears that the gravedigger attempted to avoid damage to an existing burial (T. 345) by reorienting the main axis of the fossa into which the deceased body would be placed.84 In the absence of datable material from T. 344, a terminus post quem from T. 345 suggests that this example dates to the second century CE, during the cemetery’s main phase of use.85

81 Ceccaroni et al. 2011, 334. 82 Rebillard 2009b, 48–50. Relationships between burials at Musarna include bone tumble by the creation of new graves (recoupements); encroaching or overlapping burials (empiètements); and reuse (réutilisations). 83 Rebillard 2009b, 245. Exterior pit dimensions: 1.95 x 0.60 m; interior dimensions: 1.85 x 0.32 x 0.25 m. 84 Rebillard 2009b, 50. “Le creusement de la tombe 344 a été ainsi légèrement redressé vers l’est pour éviter de détruire davantage la tombe 345.” 85 A note on chronology: Rebillard 2009b, 245 lists T. 344 as later than T. 345, but earlier than T. 320 since the creation of T. 320 slightly damaged the NE corner of T. 344. Tomb 345 contained an as of Marcus Aurelius for Faustina II (Cat. VI.18; Inv. 2345004.2; RIC III, 1647) (ca. 161-180 CE), and is assigned chronologically to group II (pp. 39–40), which dates to the second half of the second century CE.

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Figure 11 (left): Musarna tomb group 320, 344, 345, showing the realignment of T. 344 (MU03_763). Figure 12 (right): Musarna T. 295 that avoided contact with existing burial T. 306 (MU02_766). Photos courtesy of Éric Rebillard.

In another case, two graves were parallel to each other and it is possible to detect that the later one (T. 295) attempted to respect the edges of the existing burial

(T. 306) by excavating the pit with a squared corner, rather than rounded edges (Fig.

12).86 Both of these graves, however, were affected by looting, which makes it difficult to assign them to one of the cemetery’s four chronological groups. The southern part of the tile grave cover of T. 306 was preserved; underneath, the distal ends of the femora were still in anatomical connection with the tibiae, meaning that the individual was originally interred with the head to the north. The rest of the

86 Rebillard 2009b, 232–236. Neither of TT. 295 or 306 were associated with grave goods or topographic observations that were used to assign either burial to one of the cemetery’s chronological groups. These burials are located close to the western edge of the cemetery, and the closest datable burials are TT. 111 and 113, which are dated to group III in the cemetery, which dates to the first half of the third century CE.

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skeletal remains were disturbed and disarticulated throughout the grave fill. The state of the human remains is consistent with recently-looted graves, where looting targeted the area of the burial that surrounded the head and thoracic region of the body.

Differentiating between the two taphonomic events – first the creation of T. 295 and then modern looting – after the deposition of the individual in T. 306 enables us to separate an ancient attempt to preserve the integrity of the tomb from a modern act of looting.

The geological conditions of the Musarna cemetery make it possible to detect attempts to avoid contact between burials in instances where the burial pits were excavated into the local tufo. These circumstances can be complicated by the poor preservation of grave covers and the high prevalence of looting. Nevertheless, reorienting a burial pit or squaring the edges to avoid contact with an adjacent burial denotes a level of concern for the earlier generations of the deceased in the second or early third centuries CE. Such concern is often hinted at by the absence of overlapping burials in a cemetery with fairly regular organization, but rarely documented to this extent.87 The 12 cases of encroaching burials at Musarna reflect the desire to bury individuals in close proximity to each other and to maintain relationships in death. By carefully documenting these circumstances at the time of excavation, it is possible to better understand contact between burials and organization at the cemetery level.

87 Angelucci et al. 1990, 55–57 on the infrequency of intersecting burials in trenches 10, 12, 13 and 15 from the 1988-89 excavations at Isola Sacra.

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Ancient Disturbance: Looting at Vagnari T. 342

The final example of disturbance returns to the earlier discussion of looting.

Excavated in 2017, Vagnari T. 342 was furnished with a fairly typical cappuccina grave cover that was reinforced with rock and mortar, although the grave cover was badly damaged on the eastern end where several rocks and tiles were missing (Fig.

13). At the time of excavation, the exterior of the grave was found in a stratified deposit, which will be important for my interpretation of when grave opening took place. Upon removing the outer layer of the grave cover, there were many inclusions of mortar, stone and tile, as well as bone fragments that included a right humerus at the eastern end, above the level of the grave fill. The bottom of the grave was formed by a row of three flat tiles, upon which the deceased was interred (Fig. 14).

Where this grave structure departs from all others at Vagnari is that there were several courses of tiles and mortar that were arranged to form a small structure around the body, known as a cassa laterizia construction. Nearly all the tile courses were preserved, except for the eastern end, where two tile segments were missing on the north and south sides respectively. The burial is also exceptional because of its early date: a coin from the area of the left foot dates to the mid-first century CE and makes it the earliest known burial at Vagnari.88 Nearly all the datable burials at Vagnari are from the second and third centuries CE, so T. 342 likely existed in isolation before the formal development of the cemetery.89 As we will soon see from the location and

88 RIC, Vol.1, No. 106. The coin dates to 50-54 CE from the reign of Claudius, with the head of Germanicus on the obverse and the legend: G------S CAESAR TI AVG F DIVI AVG N. 89 Of the burials with datable material at Vagnari, 40 date to the second century, 17 date to the third century, and only two burials have been found with fourth century coins.

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position of the bones, this burial was likely looted in the first century CE, shortly after its creation.

Figure 13: Vagnari T. 342 rock and tile grave cover, showing disturbance at the east end. (Plan: Franco Taccogna).

Figure 14: Vagnari T. 342 skeleton. (Photo: author).

In terms of the skeletal remains, most of the pelvis, thorax, upper limbs and cranium were dislodged from anatomical order and found scattered throughout the eastern half of the grave fill. Fragments of the occipital bone and the C1 cervical vertebra were found in the southeast corner of the grave fill; the temporal and

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zygomatic cranio-facial bones were found along the northern end of the burial above the right forearm. Fragments of the mandible, the maxilla and maxillary teeth were located in the center of the burial in what should have been the pelvic basin, along with many rib and vertebral fragments. Movement of these bones over a considerable distance within the grave structure is only possible if decomposition took place in a void space before the arrival of sediment. In contrast to the disarray at the eastern end of the burial, the lower limbs were fairly well-preserved and maintained anatomical articulations between the tibiae and fibulae at the western end. Foot bones, especially the left foot, were largely recovered from their proper anatomical positions, and hobnails were found at the distal end of the right tibia, as well as a coin near the undisturbed left foot.

The individual, who is estimated to be an adult male, was deposited into a space that was initially void, one that filled in with sediment over time. The body was originally interred with the head still connected to the neck at the eastern end of the grave; at a later point, the grave was opened when the body was likely in the late or completed stages of post-mortem decay, after decomposition had freed the cranium, thorax and upper limbs from the organic tissues that hold skeletal elements in place until the arrival of sediment to replace these structures. We can establish that the grave was opened relatively shortly after burial, likely still in the first century, for three reasons: the grave was found in stratified soil, so it was not a modern intervention. The second and third reasons are closely connected to the space of decomposition: the bones were repositioned in a void space, and so it follows that any objects were removed before the arrival of sediment. There were no observed tooth marks from

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animals gnawing on the bones, so the grave was likely not opened or left exposed before decomposition of the flesh occurred. Generally, bodies decompose more rapidly in oxygenated environments, so burial in a void space like a cassa laterizia structure increases the rate of decomposition, in contrast to the rate of bodies interred directly in the ground.90

There were no intact objects found at the eastern end of the burial, where the cranium, vertebrae, ribs, and right humerus were heavily disarticulated and dislodged from their original positions at the time of deposition. There were, however, three sherds from three different ceramic vessels and one glass fragment at the eastern end of the grave. The absence of complete artifacts at the eastern end and the presence of a coin at the western end raise the question of whether there were additional objects that had been deposited in the burial with the deceased, and whether they were removed at the time that the upper half of the skeleton was disturbed, before the grave was completely filled with sediment. The upper half of the body was so disarticulated that the disturbance was likely the result of rifling through the void space of the grave in search of objects of bodily adornment that were attached to any remains of clothing or a shroud. Relatedly, disarticulation could result from an attempt to remove objects that had fallen into the void spaces of the thoracic cavity that were created by the disappearance of organic structures. None of the surviving skeletal elements from the upper body were stained with any kind of metal corrosion. Either no jewelry or metal objects were ever deposited in the grave or any possible items did not remain in place long enough to leave traces of metal corrosion on the bones.

90 Dent et al. 2004, 577.

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From this case study, it becomes clear that the questions of when and how grave opening took place find different levels of resolution based on observations that can only be made in the field during excavation. The act of grave opening in T. 342 took place in the early period of activity in the cemetery, likely before several years had passed since bones from the upper half of the body were fragmented, shifted and repositioned within the void space before the grave was filled in with sediment. Tomb

342 predates the formal development of the Vagnari cemetery, and it was eventually surrounded by burials from the second half of the second century. Since the grave was found in a stratified deposit and the bones were shifted before the burial filled with sediment, it is reasonable to conclude that the grave opening episode took place in antiquity. Unlike the earlier examples from Musarna, the looting of Vagnari T. 342 probably occurred within 5-10 years of the deposition.

The question of why burial 342 was robbed in antiquity remains open for interpretation; the removal of objects may have occurred because the contents of the tomb were known by those who witnessed the funeral and the original deposition of its contents. Alternatively, but not verifiable, the act may have targeted an isolated tomb that received special status in the first century CE, before the formal development of the cemetery. Based on the archaeological evidence, it is hard to speculate whether any removed objects were returned to the world of the living, reused in a later burial or sold for their economic value. There may be a correlation between the fact that this is the earliest known burial at Vagnari, that it is the only cassa laterizia structure excavated so far, and that it is the only grave that was looted in antiquity. However, the story may evolve upon further excavation.

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Conclusions:

Cemetery reports often consider post-depositional activities as a form of disruption, one that constitutes an interruption in the sealed, intact nature of a burial.

Disturbed and damaged burials have received substantially less scholarly attention for the Roman imperial period than their prehistoric and Medieval counterparts elsewhere in Europe, both in terms of what defines a disturbed burial, how preservation can affect disturbance, as well as how disturbed burials can be integrated into broader investigations of burial practices. The terminology used to describe post-burial interventions differs between archaeologists in North America and Europe since

‘disturbance’ can have conflicting connotations depending on the context, whether it refers to site formation processes or disarticulated human skeletal remains. The characterization of a burial as disturbed or damaged is an inherently interpretive act, one that may unintentionally ascribe motive based on the chronology of when the post-depositional act took place, whether in antiquity as the result of continuing use in the cemetery by the burying population or whether it occurred during modern mechanized agricultural activities.

Acts of damage and disturbance are difficult to quantify because the archaeological record presents such a heavily filtered view of the past, one that is characterized by large degrees of attrition. The study of disturbed, damaged, reopened and reused burials is highly dependent on the nature of the dataset, the level of recording of tomb architecture, grave goods, and skeletal remains at the time of excavation, as well as other observations about possible post-depositional

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interventions that occurred between the time of interment and excavation.91 The subjective nature of the archaeological material, field recording practices, and highly variable publications means that a disproportionately small amount of attention focuses on processes that cause damage and disturbance in the time between deposition and excavation.

Classification and precise terminology, although difficult to achieve for disparate types of evidence and across multiple languages, is a necessary step in the direction of being able to incorporate disturbed burials and imprecise data into broader considerations of mortuary practices. Damage and disturbance in the present context are conceived of not as acts of religious or legal violation, but alternatively, as taphonomic acts of dislodgment that alter the state or location of bodies and objects within a mortuary deposit. The result of these actions may or may not leave material traces in the archaeological record, but it is important to approach these topics from a neutral perspective, without a priori ascribing intent to those who disturbed burials, either in antiquity or more recently. The chronology and timing of the disturbance play an integral role in the interpretation of these actions, whether carried out by the burying population, subsequent generations, or more recent inhabitants of the landscape.

Often inherent in the classification of a burial as disturbed is the epistemological premise that these burials do not necessitate full description or anthropological study. In contrast, the case studies in this chapter shed light on various taphonomic and destructive processes that affected the composition of the grave. One

91 Van Haperen 2013, 92.

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of the main goals of this chapter was to investigate how disturbance contributes to skeletal disarticulation at the time of excavation by considering site formation processes, cemetery organization, tomb visibility and other encounters between the living and the dead. The case studies in this chapter explored both ancient and modern damage and disturbance, some of which was the result of digging for the creation of new graves or during construction projects, while other incidents resulted from tomb looting. The effect is often that these actions leave material traces in the archaeological record that affect both human remains and mortuary structures.

In many cases, disturbance during modern construction or agricultural activities has led to the discovery and subsequent excavation of Roman cemeteries.

Damage and disturbance that took place in antiquity may have involved corrective action to expiate the damage, which sometimes leaves traces in the archaeological record. Individuals in disturbed graves may have been buried in accordance with the prevailing mortuary norms that were specific to the time and location of burial; however, post-depositional events that affected their preservation shape the ways in which they are recorded during excavation, published in cemetery volumes, and integrated into the wider body of archaeological literature. Such burials, especially when found in isolation or poorly preserved, can be difficult to integrate into broader discussions of Roman burial practices, yet they demonstrate the importance of considering modern damage and disturbance that affect what archaeologists uncover at the time of excavation.

In addition to an invitation for excavators to more completely document cases of ancient or modern interventions, this chapter provides the opportunity to reflect on

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the ways in which visual representations of archaeological data also constitute a form of editing the past. It should be pointed out that excavation itself is a form of disturbance, one that ultimately destroys mortuary deposits for the purposes of scientific inquiry. For this reason, it is important to document and to understand how grave materials and contents shift, decay, fragment and move over the long history of a burial between the time of the initial deposition and excavation by an archaeologist.

Absent from the discourse on disturbed burials thus far is the category of intentionally reopened and reused burials. At this point, Chapters 3 and 4 will turn to cases of reopened and reused graves, in order to investigate how the time between depositions was an agent that structured contact with and relationships between the dead.

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3. Simultaneous and Synchronous?

Abstract: This chapter explores the sensory and material properties of the body in the early post-mortem period. These properties can be documented in the form of simultaneous multiple burials and grave reuse when the time between depositions was relatively short, which contrasts with the exploration of consecutive multiple burials in Chapter 4. Collectively, these two chapters argue that the state of the body at the time of reuse, in combination with the grave structure and the environment of decomposition, were agents that determined how the living handled and repositioned a tomb’s original occupant at the time of a subsequent deposition. The reuse of single inhumation graves was significant, not only for the energy expenditure or the sensory impact of handling the dead, but for the desire to link bodies and to maintain social and biological ties between the living and the dead.

Keywords: simultaneous burial, memory, embodiment, corpse decomposition, corporeal connections

Introduction:

Following death, bodies become corpses and eventually decay until only skeletons remain. Between the non-linear process of death and decay, there could be various strategies to conceal the material properties of the body, as it made the journey from the world of the living to that of the dead. Roman funerary practices in many ways attempted to negate the effects of decay by the use of perfumes, incense, coffins or shrouds that could mask the sights and smells of the body.1 Nevertheless, archaeologists should not jump to the conclusion that the transformative effects of decay ended in the minds of the living once the body was buried. The view continues to be perpetuated that the cemetery was the endpoint for the funerary procession, where the body was cremated or buried, and the remains could be demarcated so that

1 Graham 2015a, 52–53 on the ability of a coffin or shroud to draw “attention to the dynamic nature of the body by visibly highlighting the need to conceal both it and the transformations it was undergoing.”

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memories of the deceased would survive among the living.2 Once funerary rites were carried out and completed, scholars imagine away the corporeal remains and the transformations of the entombed body, and they focus instead on the rituals that were associated with grief and mourning, rather than the body in its various stages of decay.

Disposal did not bring about the end of contact with the dead, as reopened and reused graves in Romans cemeteries attest. The extent to which these bodies retained their social, biological or familial identities, however, is open to interpretation since burials could continue to be sites of memory making and identity formation, especially when grave opening united bodies in different states of decomposition.

The previous chapter demonstrated how much we can learn about burials that have been overlooked because they have been damaged, disturbed and do not fit easily into established tomb typologies. The present investigation shifts the focus to the sensory and material properties of the body in the early post-mortem period. It considers the ways in which the dead body could be touched, handled and moved to make room for an additional individual in cases when the time between depositions was relatively short. In contrast to the next chapter in which reuse was separated by a fairly lengthy interval, the case studies contain at least two individuals who were buried simultaneously or within a short time of each other. Essential for our understanding of grave opening and reuse in the early post-mortem period are the biological aspects of decay that affected corpse disposal, the material properties of

2 Hope 2017, 92–93. For Hope, the sensory impact of any post-burial visits to the cemetery was limited to incense, flowers, and foodstuffs that were part of festivals or commemorative rituals, and the “smell of decay marked the tomb and cemetery as specific spaces, linked but separated from the everyday.”

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those bodies, as well as the sensory impact on the living who engaged in the curation and manipulation of human remains.

My argument throughout Chapters 3 and 4 is as follows: the identification of the stage of decay and decomposition at the time of grave opening and reuse informs us about attitudes to the corpse in ways that have not been explored in previous studies of Roman burial practices. Throughout this chapter, I investigate interments of multiple individuals that took place within a short time span, in order to demonstrate that decomposing remains were agents in encounters between the living and the dead.

These encounters were not dependent solely on the embodied experiences and memories that the living projected onto the deceased or on the religious pollution that contact with corpses before burial could create.3 Instead, I focus on the strategies for sensory engagement with corpses in cases of multiple and reused burials. The stage of corporeal decomposition and the grave architecture could facilitate or impede interactions with the dead at the time of grave reopening. As a result, deceased bodies were important factors in the creation of corporeal connections, which involved strategies for the negotiation and maintenance of memory, identity and personhood through the material properties of the dead body and the resulting sensory impact on the living.

Part 1 begins with the sarcophagus of Publius Paquius Scaeva from Vasto that introduces the salient themes of the chapter. Part 2 delves deeper into these themes, specifically as they relate to the theoretical frameworks of personhood, sensory

3 For different perspectives on pollution and how contact with corpses could temporarily alter the status of the living, see Chapter 1. See also Graham 2011, 22; Hope 2017, 101. For Graham, corpses could be susceptible to manipulation and the actions of the living; nevertheless, the corpse had an active role in funerary and commemorative practices, a view that I share.

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archaeology, materiality and memory. Part 3 turns to the archaeology of multiple burials and explores the terminology and problems that will be relevant for the case studies of simultaneous burials in Roman cemeteries in Part 4. The case studies focus on the materiality and sensory impact of dead bodies in the early stages of decay, as well as how these bodies could be linked in multiple burials. Examples are organized principally around the presence or absence of evidence for grave opening and the level of interconnectivity or commingling of human skeletal remains. These factors help to determine how the handling and placement of individuals in multiple burials, which may have been contemporary or separated by a short interval of time, were based on the relative level of decomposition and the attendant sensory impact of the first individual.

Part 1: The Sarcophagus of Publius Paquius Scaeva:

Figure 15: The sarcophagus of Publius Paquius Scaeva and his wife Flavia in the Museo Civico del Vasto. (Photo: author).

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The study of multiple burials is appropriately introduced through the lens of one specific burial receptacle: the double sarcophagus of Publius Paquius Scaeva (Fig.

15). This relatively unknown sarcophagus is a microcosm for many of the themes that are under investigation in the present chapter. Located in the Museo Civico del Vasto, it was originally found at Villa S. Angelo dell’Aquila with the remains of the tomb, cinerary urns and inscriptions from the area that refer to members of the gens.4 The aniconic marble sarcophagus is noteworthy not only for its size and the absence of exterior decoration, but it is also famous for the two inscriptions on its interior walls.5

The inscriptions list the genealogy and the cursus honorum of Scaeva on one side and of his wife, Flavia, on the other:

Publius Paquius Scaeva, son of Scaeva and Flavia, grandson of Consus and Didia, great-grandson of Barbus and Dirutia, quaestor, one of the 10 for the settlement of disputes by decree of the Senate after his quaestorship, one of the 4 for the executions by decree of the Senate after his quaestorship and his membership of the four for the settlement of disputes, tribune of the plebs, curule aedile, court judge, praetor of the treasury, governed the province of Cyprus as proconsul, curator of the roads outside the city of Rome by decree of the Senate for five years, proconsul for the second time, outside the lot, by authority of Augustus Caesar and sent to organize the state of the province of Cyprus for the future, fetial, cousin and also husband of Flavia, daughter of Consus, granddaughter of Scapula, great-granddaughter of Barbus, buried together with her.

Flavia, daughter of Consus and Sinnia, granddaughter of Scapula and Sinnia, great-granddaughter of Barbus and Dirutia, cousin and also wife of Publius Paquius Scaeva, son of Scaeva, grandson of Consus, great-grandson of Barbus, buried together with him.6

4 CIL IX, 2857 or 2902. The latter is another cinerary urn for two individuals in the Museo Civico del Vasto with the inscription: OSSA SITA | Q SABIDI GEMELLI | PAQVIA OPTATA | CONTVBERNALI. 5 Palmentieri 2013, 169. For Angela Palmentieri, the sarcophagus is interesting because it was part of a small group of aniconic sarcophagi in the early Empire. 6 ILS 915 = CIL IX, 2845, 2846. Trans. Braund 2014, no. 360.

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Scaeva rose to the rank of proconsul of Cyprus in 15 BCE and then held the position for a second time in 13 BCE.7 Based on the fact that he never held the consulship, it is usually assumed that he died sometime after 13 and that he was buried near his villa at Histonium (Vasto).8 There is a formulaic element of repetition that reiterates details and relationships in both inscriptions: Scaeva is listed as the first cousin and husband of Flavia (consobrinus idemque vir), and Flavia is likewise named as his first cousin and wife (consobrina eadem uxor). Such genealogical elements point to the family connections that were strengthened in marriage and replicated in death with their joint sarcophagus. Both inscriptions end by reiterating that Scaeva and

Flavia were buried together (simul cum ea conditus; simul cum eo condita), but the temporal indication is deliberately ambiguous. The inscription does not report whether they died within a short span of each other and the monument was commissioned to accommodate both bodies or whether they died consecutively. In the case of successive deaths, the body of whoever died first could have been placed in temporary storage until the death of the other, and then both bodies – in whatever state of decomposition – would have been interred at the same time in the sarcophagus.

Alternatively, the first corpse would have been placed in the sarcophagus, which was subsequently reopened for the deposition of the second individual, a possibility to which I will return shortly.9

7 Wiseman 1971, 159, 180. The family line is traced in PIR2 P 126. 8 Gasparri 1973, 132–133; Beltrán Lloris 2012, 101; LTUR vol. 5, p. 289. Gasparri dates the death of Scaeva to sometime after 13 BCE on the assumption that death interrupted his career and this proconsulship was the last office that he held. Beltrán Lloris dates the death of Scaeva slightly later in 10 BCE. 9 Brandenburg 1978, 284: although the lid of Scaeva’s sarcophagus is missing, Brandenburg suggests that it was originally a flat slab that snapped into place, based on the fold around the edge of the box and comparanda with a sarcophagus in the Palazzo Massimo alle Terme.

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Beyond its importance for the fields of epigraphy and prosopography, Scaeva’s sarcophagus is unique in the world of funerary commemoration. To my knowledge, it is the only example of a sarcophagus with an inscription on an interior surface; typically, inscriptions were located on the exterior surface of burial receptacles such as cinerary urns and sarcophagi or on titular plaques that could be appended to burial niches and loculi. One notable exception is a first or second century CE limestone sarcophagus from Kerch in the Crimea.10 The interior of the sarcophagus is painted with a scene of a painter’s workshop, in which a male figure gazes at a tabula panel on an easel and other finished portraits. It is unknown whether the deceased himself was the portrait painter, and the Kerch sarcophagus remains a rare example of a decorated interior surface.

Carlo Gasparri notes that once the Vasto sarcophagus was closed, the inscription would have been invisible, and he is not alone in his hesitation to venture a hypothesis that would explain its unique location.11 Jutta Dresken-Weiland suggests one plausible explanation for both the aniconic exterior and the location of the inscription: that Scaeva conscientiously abstained from self-representation on the exterior of the sarcophagus, which itself is a form of ostentation.12 In contrast to the contemporary pyramidal tomb of Gaius Cestius in Rome, Scaeva’s sarcophagus is

10 Squire 2015b, 178–179; Squire 2017, 242. 11 Gasparri 1973, 133; Bodel 2001, 10; Cheesman 2007; Cooley 2012, 136. For John Bodel, the sarcophagus raises interesting questions about its intended viewership because Roman funerary epitaphs often engaged the viewer or the passerby, but he offers no further speculation to explain the location of its inscription. Alison Cooley (2012, 136) mentions in passing: “Sometimes we simply cannot find a logical explanation for the location of an epitaph, such as the lengthy epitaphs of P. Paquius Scaeva and his wife inscribed on the inner wall of their joint sarcophagus.” And finally, Cheesman (2007) notes “What can be concluded from this I do not know, though there would clearly be some fascinating comparative work…” 12 Dresken-Weiland 2003, 189, cited by Borg 2013, 239.

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decidedly modest and inward-looking in its commemoration of the occupant’s career and accomplishments. Francisco Beltrán Lloris proposes that the sarcophagus reflects a change in epigraphic forms and expressions that developed under Augustus since

Scaeva’s sarcophagus was contemporary with the first honorific inscriptions that were erected to senators while still alive and on which the cursus honorum was included.13

Along this line, Beltrán Lloris suggests that the sarcophagus was not actually the burial place of Scaeva and Flavia since the inscriptions only state that they were buried together but not necessarily inside the sarcophagus, which could have functioned as a cenotaph for bodies that were buried elsewhere.14 This proposal is based on the evidence of two inscriptions from the Vigna Ottina near the Porta Latina in Rome, where the couple built a tomb for their liberti and familia. One inscription included the dimensions of the tomb and the other took the form of an altar that was sacred to the Manes of P. Paquius Scaeva, erected by his freedmen.15 It seems more likely to me that the Vasto sarcophagus was the burial place of Scaeva and Flavia, but

Beltrán Lloris’ suggestion introduces the mortuary treatment of the body into the conversation. Whether the sarcophagus participated in or abstained from elaborate funerary display and new epigraphic conventions is important to the study of this receptacle, yet we should think about the role of the body in its own mortuary deposit.

Barbara Borg uses the sarcophagus to illustrate that even when cremation was the dominant mortuary treatment in Roman Italy, there was a minor group of elites whose preference for inhumation burial was not dictated by economic necessity.

13 Beltrán Lloris 2012, 103. 14 Beltrán Lloris 2012, 103–104 for the suggestion that Scaeva originally wanted to be buried in his hometown of Histonium, but he either changed his mind or his heir decided to bury him in Rome. 15 CIL VI, 1483, 1484. LTUR 5, 289 for the monument.

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Eventually this practice gained momentum over the course of the first century CE.16 In terms of any corporeal remains in the Vasto sarcophagus, the antiquarian Domenico

Romanelli wrote in 1805 that the unburnt bones of Scaeva and Flavia had been found intact in the marble sarcophagus some 250 years earlier.17 Although we cannot be certain that these were the bones of the named individuals, what is important for our inquiry is that the corporeal treatment and the choice of inhumation differed from the prevailing preference for cremation at the time. Such differences were translated into material expression in the unusual form of the double sarcophagus and the inscription on the inner walls.

There are a host of other observations about the sarcophagus’ primary function as a burial receptacle that shed light on how its form and function engaged with the material and sensory properties of the dead bodies. The large sarcophagus (2.10 x 1.17 x 0.67 m), one that Theodor Mommsen called the largest he had ever seen, was carved in Dalmatian marble to accommodate two bodies that would be interred side-by-side in two connected chambers with curved short sides.18 A divisional line bisects the sarcophagus longitudinally and formed a notional barrier to keep the bodies separate in their respective ‘compartments’ once they were laid in the sarcophagus. At one end,

16 Borg 2018. The Vasto sarcophagus is part of a group of at least 20 sarcophagi that were produced in Rome in the Augustan period, as Brandenburg (1978) traces in detail. 17 Romanelli 1805, 190: “[C]he disse finanche d’essere state nella marmorea cassa ritrovate intatte le ossa, non bruciate di Paquio, e di Flavia […] [F]uori del Vasto se ne vedeva il loro gentilizio sepolcro, dove furono trovate molte urne cinerarie, e mortuarie iscrizioni.” The sarcophagus was known before 1805, but Romanelli was one of the first to mention the presence of bones. 18 CIL IX, 2845, p. 267: “arca […] qua maiorem nullam vidi.”

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there are elevated headrests, which were incised with schematically-shaped heads that served as a guide for the placement of the bodies.19

The order of depositions and questions about simultaneity return our attention to the material properties and the accompanying sensory effects of dead bodies in the process of decay. The size and interior layout of the sarcophagus signifies that it was conceived of as a receptacle for two individuals who were intended to be laid side-by- side in a carefully-contrived manner, but in what order, we do not know. The inscription seems to imply that this was a case of the simultaneous burial of two individuals, but it does not preclude that the sarcophagus was opened for the deposition of an additional body. Such a scenario is familiar from Gregory of Nyssa’s description four centuries later of the death of his sister, Macrina, who was interred in the sarcophagus that already contained the successive burials of their parents.20 It is possible that the inscription attempts to elide the time between depositions by reiterating that the couple was interred together – regardless of the time that separated their biological deaths – since this was how the deceased wished to be commemorated in death.

The scenario invites us to imagine the embodied responses of the living in an encounter with the decomposing or decomposed dead, and what one might see upon opening the sarcophagus at different points in its life history. If it were a case of consecutive burial, the inscription might draw the viewer’s eyes away from a body well into the process of decomposition. It might also remind the viewer of Scaeva’s

19 The heads resemble the anthropomorphic columellae stelae from Pompeii that Emmerson (2017) explores. 20 Greg. Vita Mac. 35.3-7.

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administrative and political accomplishments and renew the couple’s connections with their forebears, as a way of situating the body as a site of lineage and memory.

Interestingly, the inscription does not mention any children or heirs of Scaeva and

Flavia, which, if they had any, would be conspicuously absent in an inscription that records, reiterates and reaffirms family relationships.21 In that case, we might draw a connection between the inward-facing inscription and the family line that ended with the bodies of Scaeva and Flavia.

The thorny question of whether the inscription was intended to be read, and if so, by whom, is rendered less important by all of the details that highlight the interiority of the tomb as a place of prominence and the dead bodies as the focus of mortuary rituals.22 We must set aside our modern Western dichotomy between the living subject that acts in the world and the dead object that is no longer able to move, think or communicate.23 Valerie Hope notes that it is the absence of senses that characterizes the corpse; in addition to its silent, unmoving state, a corpse cannot hear, speak, move, taste or smell, yet Roman funerary practices demonstrate “almost a denial of the absence of senses. Corpses were touched and kissed, spoken to and offered flowers, perfumes and food.”24 During funerary rituals, the living accommodated the perceived or projected sensory needs of the dead, and it mattered little that once the Vasto sarcophagus was closed, light could not illuminate an inscription for the dead who could not read. The enigmatic aspects of the sarcophagus

21 Cheesman 2007, I-IVb for possible family trees, none of which include any children of Scaeva and Flavia. 22 Graham 2011, 22; 2015b, 47; Hope 2017, 94–95 on the material agency of the corpse in Roman funerary rituals. 23 Graham 2011, 23. 24 Hope 2017, 94.

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become easier to understand when viewed through the lens of how the container simultaneously concealed the sensory properties of the dead during the process of decay and accentuated the dead body as a ‘sensory emitter’ that affected the living as well as other dead bodies with whom it was intended to be linked in post-depositional encounters.25

Increasingly less enigmatic than it first appeared, the Vasto sarcophagus introduces several important points about multiple burials, grave reuse, and post- depositional encounters with the dead body that will constitute the focus of this chapter. The interaction between the decomposing body and its grave environment are of critical importance for multiple or reused burials. The inscription repeats that

Scaeva and Flavia were interred together, but even if they were deposited consecutively, this is not technically a case of ‘reuse’ since the container was always intended to accommodate two bodies. In this joint sarcophagus, individual identity was not subsumed in favor of the collective; instead, it was relational, inscribed in writing and by the practice of naming individuals and reiterating relationships. The sarcophagus’ form perpetuated corporeal identity with its longitudinal bisection that separated bodies and maintained a barrier to prevent the comingling of remains. The bodies of the two individuals were intended to be joined but distinct; personal but also relational, as the names and relationships in the inscription and the physical form of the sarcophagus reiterate.

More so than other tombs or burials in this study, the absent bodies are a stark reminder of the prominence of named individuals and the cursus honorum in studies

25 Betts 2017a, 4 on emitters of sensory data, whether animate or inanimate objects, which stimulate the senses of the perceiver.

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of Roman funerary and commemorative practices.26 The contrast between the typically nameless bodies in Roman cemeteries and the disembodied names inscribed on sarcophagi or epitaphs highlights the privileged status of known identities in the study of the ancient world. Anonymity – the very fear that the epigraphic habit aims to combat – combined with the unruly nature of cemetery datasets makes it difficult to integrate nameless bodies into the study of mortuary practices.27 Nevertheless, memories of and sensory reactions to the entombed body, even if slightly uncomfortable in the modern Western imagination, created entanglements, relationships and corporeal connections that the field of mortuary archaeology is ideally situated to address.

Part 2: Personhood, Sensory Experiences, Memory and Materiality:

The sarcophagus of Scaeva and Flavia introduced several themes that will be important for the study of multiple burials in the next two chapters, especially as they relate to linked or connected bodies in different states of decay. For archaeologists of the twentieth century in particular, the body position and the relationship between the body and the grave furnishings could be evocative of systems within the mortuary realm, or, in the vein of post-processual thinking, of social status and personal identity.28 Burials were endowed with a certain degree of symbolism, and, in tandem with the linguistic turn in archaeology, the body was a text that was meant to be

26 For a recent example of a study that approaches memory and mortuary practices through epigraphic, archaeological and skeletal evidence, see Lepetz and Van Andringa 2011; Duday and Van Andringa 2017 on the tomb of P. Vesonius Phileros in the Porta Nocera necropolis at Pompeii. 27 Carroll 2006, 59–60, 69–71; Graham 2011, 22 on the fear of anonymity and the continuity of memory in continuing commemorative activities. On the ‘epigraphic habit’, see MacMullen 1982. 28 Fowler 2004, 3.

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decoded, interpreted and read. As influential as these schools of thought have been, our deep investment in patterns of behavior and symbolic interpretations could more fruitfully engage with the ways in which both the burial environment and the stage of corporeal decomposition were factors that needed to be negotiated during episodes of post-burial manipulation. Death is not only a transition or a process. The death of a social member initiates a series of choices on the part of the living that mediate between the social and religious sanctions that govern respectful treatment of the dead, choices that acknowledge the biological – and often unpleasant – realities of death.

Personhood:

Recent work in the fields of personhood, materiality, embodiment and sensory archaeology open up new possibilities to explore the physical dimensions of death and the effects on the living in a variety of ways, but most prominently in the creation of corporeal connections. For Chris Fowler, personhood (defined as the “condition or state of being a person”) throughout the extended life course involves the active maintenance of relationships between humans and non-human entities like things, places and animals.29 Persons may be dividual (they owe parts of themselves to others), and partible (they are able to be reconfigured through the extraction or receiving of objects and substances) or permeable (the composition of their own substance is able to be altered and permeated).30 Personhood is not fixed, static or bounded, but it can be reconfigured and maintained through active relationality. More recently, Fowler has proposed a series of tensions that he considers foundational to

29 Fowler 2004, 7. 30 Fowler 2004, 8–9.

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relational personhood, which include: indivisible and divisible; autonomous and embedded, fixed and mutable, individualist and collectivist, etc.31 In any cultural context, personhood is multi-modal, as persons can move between different expressions of personhood when they participate in different activities, and accordingly, personhood should be contextualized in relation to age, sex, and kinship, among other factors.32

As Emma-Jayne Graham has argued, “[f]unerary monuments can, therefore, mask the fact that a person living in the Roman world might possess multiple, competing senses of personhood at different points in their life, in addition to hiding the way in which these were formed.”33 Beyond the ability to highlight or conceal different aspects of individual identity, mortuary deposits can emphasize inter- individual identities through the acts of linking bodies in burials and redefining interpersonal relationships between the dead. These relationships are, in turn, invested with a material form that is memorialized through the performance of funerals and the act of grave opening and reuse shortly after the initial funeral. The creation of corporeal connections was one strategy for the reaffirmation of associative identity and the performance of personhood, one that affected both the living and the dead.

Sensory Approaches to Death:

For those interested in the senses in antiquity, the body is both a universal measurement of past experiences, but one that varies between subjects, with culturally

31 Fowler 2016, 402. 32 Fowler 2016, 408. 33 Graham 2009, 52.

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specific and environmental factors that affected somatic memories of the dead body.

On the limits of such an approach, Eleanor Betts cautions us against assumptions about intellectual or emotional reactions to sensory stimuli, while recognizing that past people are “culturally constructed individuals whose personhoods differ while possessing a universal body.”34 Within studies that advocate for an archaeology of the senses, the objects of sensory experiences pertain nearly exclusively to the world of the living: food, waste, perfumes, noise.35 Following the material turn in archaeology, a solution that avoids the dislocation between past and present perceptions is to focus on the ‘sensory artifacts’ that emitted external, measurable sensory stimuli, instead of solely prioritizing the human perceiver, whose own reactions could be subjective and contextually dependent.36 Sensory artifacts – and in this case, dead bodies – both affected and were affected by the physical space that they inhabited, as well as any person within their sphere of interaction.37

Sensory artifacts that relate to touch (haptic or kinaesthetic experience) acquire materiality through the body’s direct connection to physical surfaces.38 In the case of entombed bodies, the haptic properties of the body differ drastically between those of the recently or long deceased. We might think of sensory experiences in antiquity, not in terms of ephemeral and intangible qualities, but as Hamilakis advocates, as an archaeology that relates to both materiality and time.39 Such an approach finds ready application to the dynamic, material properties of the body that undergo rapid changes

34 Betts 2017a, 24 citing Tilley 2010, 487. 35 This is the approach generally adopted in the papers included in Bradley 2015; Koloski-Ostrow 2015; Squire 2016; Betts 2017a; Purves 2018, which considers the olfactory effects of dead bodies. 36 Betts 2017b, 25. 37 Betts 2017b, 27. 38 Betts 2017b, 27. 39 Hamilakis 2013, 5.

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after death. The body is the medium through which humans experience and perceive the senses, yet the body and its senses are still fairly recent considerations in archaeology.40 Along the lines of recent work in the archaeologies of corporeality and embodiment, we can explore the phenomenological aspects of past sensorial experiences, but rather than trying to represent senses as they were in the past, we can approach them as a way to assess the impact that they had on mortuary activities.41

The empirical methods of archaeothanatology complement this type of engagement with the past as they enable us to explore different dimensions of encounters with the pre- and post-burial bodies at various temporal points.

Valerie Hope has explored how the senses, primarily sight, smell and touch, affected the mourning experience for an assortment of participants in funerary rituals, and her research opens up new avenues to explore the role that decomposition plays in the transformation of the material properties of the body.42 During the funerary process, coffins and shrouds served the functional purpose of covering, concealing and

“hiding the essential materiality of the body,” as Emma-Jayne Graham has argued.43

Certain funerary actions and apparel, therefore, reflect the practical desire to maintain the integrity of the body as it began to putrefy. At the same time, other mechanisms could conceal and deny the sensory impact of decay for those who looked on the pre- burial body and witnessed the expulsion of liquids, the changing of skin color or the

40 Meskell 1996; Nilsson Stutz 2008; Hamilakis 2013, 7; Graham 2015. 41 Hamilakis 2013, 12–13 on the misconception that the archaeology of the sensoria attempts to represent the past, rather than attempting to evoke sensorial qualities and to reignite their affective powers. 42 Hope 2017, 87. See also Hope 2000 and Graham and Hope 2016 on treatment of the corpse. 43 Graham 2015b, 52.

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swelling of the body during the early stages of decomposition.44 Graham’s claim that shrouds concurrently denied the realities of decay while also drawing attention to the dynamic nature of the body invites us to think more about the sensory responses to the effects of decomposition.45

The aforementioned pre-burial activities correspond to the early post-mortem period in forensic archaeology, in which the body cools to the ambient temperature

(algor mortis), blood circulation stops and the body begins to stiffen (rigor mortis)

(Chapter 1). Within a few days, bacteria and enzymes attack the body from the intestines, produce a vivid-smelling gas, and the body demonstrates signs of discoloration, as it turns from green to purple to black (putrefaction). By the end of a week, touching the skin of the deceased could cause it to fall off. These transformations are important in order to understand the vivid and visceral reactions to the sight, touch and smell of the dead and the effects of decomposition at different stages of post-depositional contact with bodies. We must acknowledge, however, that visual, olfactory and tactile experiences would vary enormously since they depend on the state of the body at the time of grave opening, the climate and environment of burial, the individual identity of those who performed the act, their intent and motivations for doing so, as well as any potential relationships between one who opens a grave and the occupant of the mortuary deposit. Sensory encounters with death and with the dead body could impress vivid memories on the living, to which we will now turn briefly.

44 This might be the case with the example of the Grottarossa mummy, a girl aged around 8 years old, who was embalmed in an Egyptian-style manner before she was wrapped in with linen and interred in a stone sarcophagus. Cf. Ciuffarella 1998. 45 Graham 2015b, 52.

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Memories and Materiality of the Body:

Past individuals formed somatic memories of death, dead bodies and decay, which present-day archaeologists work to identify through material traces in the archaeological record and through intangible ‘sensory artifacts’ that operated as agents in encounters with post-mortem and post-burial bodies. An embodied approach to mortuary practices situates the dead body as an entity in constant fluctuation between various dualisms: the dead body is both the subject and the object of transformative processes, which are biologically mandated and culturally determined.46 As Yannis

Hamilakis asks:

How does one deal with the embodiment of death, with its sensuous and sensory impact? Indeed, when is a person really dead, since the physical presence of that person, long after stopping breathing and talking, continues to act upon others, in a haptic, olfactory, multi-sensory, and inevitably affective manner, its flesh transformed into something else?47

The missing component is the corporeal timescale for the processes of decomposition to continually affect these multi-sensory experiences with the dead, in which flesh eventually decays and disappears, but the non-inert body continues to impress upon the living in post-mortem encounters.

My interest pertains not only to how perceptions of the corpse could influence funerary practices that are visible in the archaeological record, but how a body in the grave could act as a locus of memory, and how dead bodies could maintain social and biological identities that were activated and re-activated at various points in the ‘life-

46 Nilsson Stutz 2008, 19–23, especially p. 23 on the corpse as an entity that destabilizes the duality between the mindful body and the embodied mind, and how participants in funerary rituals formed embodied memories and knowledge of these events. 47 Hamilakis 2013, 131–132 with original emphasis.

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span’ of a grave. For both pre- and post-burial bodies in the process of decay, the physical space of the body as a material object could differ from the ‘sensory artifact,’ whose impact and somatic memories of the visual, olfactory and haptic properties of decay could extend into and survive among the world of the living.

These factors enable the living to materialize and memorialize relationships between deceased members of the community and to situate them in entombed bodies.

Physical bodies were more than abstract sites of socially-constructed identities or metaphors; they were non-inert, corporeal entities that transformed from bodies to skeletons in their respective spaces of decomposition.48 The material properties of the corpse acted on the senses of the living, while simultaneously giving them a

“framework for the process of memory.”49 Memories of the dead body could be arranged, maintained, perpetuated, associated, erased and eventually forgotten.50 For these reasons, it is important to situate the lenses of decay and taphonomy at the forefront of changing forms of personal identity early in the post-mortem period.

Throughout the case studies in Chapters 3 and 4, I will explore not only memory, but the material properties and the ways in which bodies could be connected, permeated and divided, as well as what these actions can reveal about corporeally-situated identity after death and at various stages of decay.

48 Nilsson Stutz 2008, 19. 49 Graham 2011, 35. 50 Duday and Van Andringa 2017, 79–85.

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Part 3: The Archaeology of Multiple Burials:

Chapter 1 highlighted the biological effects of death and decay that transform the body from a corpse to a skeleton. These processes affect cultural attitudes to dead bodies during mortuary treatment and especially during the early post-mortem period, to which our attention now returns. When post-depositional activities in antiquity incited contact with the recently deceased, we may reasonably speak of these material entities as bodies or putrefying corpses with flesh, blood, organs and ligaments.51 Such bodies in reopened burials could impress a vivid sensory impact on the living, yet those impressions are ephemeral and difficult to access in the archaeological record.

Since burials rarely remain static and unchanged between the time of deposition and excavation, it is fortunate for archaeologists that taphonomic events and cultural interventions provide clues about the interstitial spaces at the margins of mortuary treatment, which might include disturbance, grave opening, reuse or tomb violation.

Typically, archaeologists work backwards from ‘completed funerals’ to reconstruct the stages, treatments, behaviors, emotions and rituals, but interruptions in the form of grave opening and reuse strengthen my claim that burials did not necessarily have linear histories between the time of deposition and excavation.52 It is necessary, then, to consider grave opening and reuse – what may seem like an insignificant practice that affected only a minority of burials in Roman cemeteries – because of the crucial insights they provide about the treatment of the body at various stages of decay. In

51 Nilsson Stutz 2008, 19. 52 Graham 2015a, 5 refers to these spaces as the ‘in-between stages of mortuary behavior’ in which there was an interruption in the ritual process, as in the case of a half-burnt body.

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order to do so, we must first establish a vocabulary and framework to investigate burials with multiple individuals, and then turn to the case studies.

The Terminology of Multiple Burials:

The terminology for reopened and reused burials in this study derives largely from those working in France in the tradition of archaeothanatology, but it has not yet been fully incorporated into Anglophone or Italian archaeology. In European studies, a multiple burial refers to a mortuary deposit with a minimum of two dead bodies that were deposited simultaneously, and the terms double or triple burial refer not just to the number of individuals in a deposit, but to the concurrent nature of the deposition.53

In some studies, a multiple burial contains the remains of more than one individual, regardless of the time between depositions.54 In practice, however, when excavation reports designate burials as double or triple (bisoma, trisoma), they do not always specify whether multiple individuals were interred at the same time or on separate occasions.55 In order to avoid confusion, the present study distinguishes between simultaneous/contemporary burials in which at least two individuals were interred at the same time or within a few days of each other, and consecutive/successive depositions that were separated by a longer duration of time.56

Another important distinction is whether or not the grave was provisioned to be used on more than one occasion, an issue that has already been raised in relation to the sarcophagus of Scaeva and Flavia. Discourse about post-depositional activities

53 Duday et al. 2014, 237; Knüsel and Robb 2016, 657. 54 McCormick 2015, 350. 55 Terzani and Chiari 1997, 88–89 for the use of bisoma in a consecutive burial that can be further categorized as a reduction burial (Chapter 4). 56 Schmitt and Déderix 2018, 199.

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employs the term ‘reopening,’ regardless of whether the act was iterative or successive and whether the reason to reopen was for reuse, looting, corpse manipulation or desecration.57 Interest in this phenomenon for the early Medieval period in Europe has led to the establishment of a group of archaeologists who work on Grave Reopening

Research (GRR).58 Burials in the cemeteries under consideration in the GRR project are similar to Roman non-monumental burial grounds, in which the deceased were interred in subterranean pits, sometimes in shrouds or coffins, and usually covered by a simple earth mound or grave cover. For studies that aim to establish precise terminology to describe post-depositional events between the time of burial and excavation by an archaeologist, it seems like a misrepresentation to refer to the act of reopening, which implies repeated instances. In family mausolea or structures for collective burial, the act of entering a tomb and opening or reopening a burial container, sarcophagus or ash urn may have been an iterative process.59 But in field cemeteries, burials were not necessarily reopened, but rather, opened for the first time after the initial deposition. It is a minor point, but this study uses the term grave opening, except in instances of multiple or repeated opening.

Archaeothanatology and Simultaneous Burials:

A fundamental principle of archaeothanatology is that the state of an individual’s remains at the time of excavation is vastly different from the time when

57 On ‘reopening’ in English, see Cherryson 2007, 132; Klevnäs 2013, 3–5; Nilsson Stutz 2010, 38; Perego 2014, 169; Stoodley 2002, 106; Van Haperen 2010, 1–4; Gleize 2007, 200–203. Bolla (2015, 357–372) uses the equivalent phrase “la riapertura delle tombe.” 58 Aspöck et al. 2018. 59 Tombs for collective burial are the focus of the following studies: Nuzzo 2000; Steinby 2003; Borg 2013; Duday et al. 2013; Van Andringa et al. 2013; Borbonus 2014; Campbell 2015.

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the corpse was interred initially.60 In cases of ancient interventions to an existing burial, the timeline of deposition and decomposition is interrupted by anthropogenic actions that irrevocably altered the burial environment by exposing the corpse or skeleton and by introducing additional bodies. But what, it may be asked, was the state of the remains at the time of grave opening and reuse, and are there any archaeological indicators at the time of excavation that may help to reconstruct these aspects? In primary burials, the simultaneity of the deposits demonstrates that two or more individuals died within a short time span, but this was not necessarily the case in reduction or other forms of consecutive burials (Chapter 4).61 When the time between depositions was less than can be measured using absolute (carbon 14) or relative

(artifacts, stratigraphy) dating methods, osteological observations during excavation can be particularly useful.62 The efficacy, however, is limited when the time between depositions was even shorter than the amount required for the dissolution of certain anatomical connections. As a result, the term ‘simultaneous’ can be slightly misleading since it can refer to reuse shortly after the creation of a grave.

Human skeletal remains provide important insight into the relative timing of various post-burial actions based on their state of articulation and connectivity or disarticulation and displacement. The field recording and observation methods of archaeothanatology enable us to distinguish between the processes of corporeal decomposition that take place as part of natural decay and those that relate to the

60 Duday et al. 2014, 235–236. 61 Duday 2008, 49. 62 Duday and Guillon 2006, 150.

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mortuary treatment of a corpse.63 As Chapter 2 argued, acts of post-depositional disturbance or skeletal manipulation alter the position of the corpse during or after decomposition; however, there is a significant degree of difference between the activities of rodents, scavenging animals or earthworms that dislodge anatomical connections, and the actions of grave reuse, in which skeletal elements can be repositioned in various and often predictable ways. Careful attention to the location and position of skeletal remains and grave items at the time of excavation helps us to reconstruct social aspects of mortuary treatment alongside taphonomic and diagenetic processes.

One way to know that a burial was used simultaneously or within a short period of time is to establish that the first body maintained anatomical connections between bones at the time when any movement or repositioning took place.64 If the body maintained anatomical order and connectivity between joints, it suggests that the individual was early in the post-mortem period, before the decay of organic material, and therefore the simultaneous burial involved limited post-depositional contact with decomposing remains. Alternatively, skeletal disarticulation and certain patterns of bone repositioning can indicate whether or not the body was fully defleshed at the time of reuse, which implies that grave reuse was consecutive.

Duday and colleagues refer to two different types of connections in their efforts to demonstrate whether an individual was deposited in a primary deposit: labile/unstable anatomical connections generally refer to the small bones of the cervical vertebrae, hands, distal parts of the feet, as well as certain joints, including the

63 Knüsel 2014, 30. 64 Duday 2009, 25–30.

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scapular-thoracic joint. Persistent connections involve thick ligaments between the atlas and axis (cervical vertebrae with special functions), lumbar vertebrae, the sacroiliac joint, knees, ankles and foot tarsals.65 For the present purposes, the distinction between these two types of anatomical connections and how they demonstrate the primary character of a burial is not as important as the application of these principles to establish the stage of corpse decomposition at the time when a grave was reused.

Among Roman archaeologists, the space in which a body decomposes does not normally receive the same degree of attention as the type of grave cover or furnishings. Nevertheless, whether a body decomposed in a void or a filled space sheds light on the properties and affordances of a mortuary deposit at the time of grave reuse. The arrival or infiltration of sediment or the intentional backfilling of a burial is an important distinction to make, one that affects cases of reuse in both simultaneous and consecutive multiple burials. Subterranean pit burials are often examples of filled spaces: the dirt that was excavated to create the pit was backfilled once a body was interred. In cases where there was a cappuccina grave cover, the space of decomposition might be characterized by the progressive or delayed arrival of sediments.66 Because the present chapter is primarily concerned with graves for which the time between depositions was relatively short, there may not have been time for the arrival of sediment, and as a result, observations about the space of decomposition will become increasingly important in Chapter 4.

65 Duday and Guillon 2006, 127; Duday 2009, 25–27. Labile connections can be destroyed easily; these connections demonstrate the implicit integrity or the primary nature of the body more effectively than persistent connections, which are the more visible, yet the least informative anatomical articulations. 66 Duday 2009, 32–44 on differentiating between decomposition in a void or filled space.

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We now return to questions about the approximate timeline for corporeal decay that Chapter 1 outlined: how long does it take for a body to decompose and how does grave opening affect this process? In a temperate, humid region like southern Europe, when a corpse is buried and protected from carnivores and scavengers, the time required for natural disarticulation is never less than a few weeks, but the timeline can rarely be more precise than that.67 William Bass and colleagues have observed that bodies buried at a depth of 1-2 feet in Tennessee will decompose (‘skeletonize’) in a few months to a year, but the time is dependent on other variables such as the temperature, humidity, rainfall, insect and animal activity, size, weight and clothing of the corpse.68 In multiple burials, beyond the recognition that individuals died within a short period, can we speculate how much time separated the deaths of those individuals? The short answer is no; the individuals died either in the same mortality event or within a period of less than the time required for decomposition and disarticulation of the first individual. Since bodies decompose at different speeds that depend on environmental and biological factors, a more precise timetable of decomposition is usually not attainable, and estimates are generally around a few weeks.69

In a series of recent papers about the microtaphonomy of disturbed or reopened graves, Edeltraud Aspöck demonstrates that information about the treatment of human

67 Duday 2006, 32. 68 Mann et al. 1990, 106; Bass 1997. 69 Duday 2008, 50, citing Leclerc and Tarrête 1988 on the categories of ‘plural’ burials, which include simultaneous burials of two or more individuals. Collective burials result from staggered burial over time, which requires a system for opening and closing the funerary chamber as needed.

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remains can be used to suggest the motivations behind grave opening.70 She proposes a temporal gradation based on the relative stage of corporeal decay at the time of grave opening: shortly after the original deposition; at a point when the corpse was in the process of decomposition; when it was already a skeleton but still in a void space; when the grave was filled in or the structures collapsed around the skeletal remains.71

The following case studies address the first two categories, whereas those in Chapter 4 draw attention to reuse in the ‘skeletal’ stages of decomposition. Interruptions or disturbances to the mortuary deposit could accelerate decomposition or lead to the poor preservation of skeletal remains, and it is important to take into account how careful recording at the time of excavation enables archaeologists to consider how the decomposing body, its material properties and accompanying sensory effects were critical to the maintenance and renegotiation of memory and corporeally-situated relationships in multiple burials.

Part 4: Data and Case Studies:

In order to avoid the potential problems of reconstructing the sensory qualities of ephemeral experiences in the past, there are a number of questions that need to be addressed. If we venture into the realm of the imaginative and the phenomenological, we might ask: what would someone see upon opening and looking into a grave at different points in the lifetime of a burial? What did it mean to open a grave and to look on decaying matter that may not have resembled a recognizable individual

70 Aspöck 2018, 1–2. 71 Aspöck 2011, 304–306.

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anymore? How did notions of individual identity survive beyond visual recognition of the body?

Questions of this nature hint at a discrepancy that Joanna Sofaer identifies about the ways in which embodied and phenomenological approaches are most often applied to living bodies, although she provisions for the possibility of ongoing interactions with the dead during various stages of post-mortem transformations.72 It is not enough to acknowledge that the corpse was in a continuous state of transformation through the various processes of decomposition, but in order to truly investigate how the dead body could actively contribute to the maintenance of personal identity in mortuary deposits, we need to consider the biological realities of decomposition in tandem with an archaeology of the senses in a number of case studies that are anchored to the chronological phases of corporeal transformation.

Published Roman cemeteries offer the possibility to explore the time between depositions in multiple burials, particularly when they make note of the preservation or loss of anatomical connections. Even if excavation reports do not make explicit reference to the position of bones or the time between depositions, it is still possible to undertake inter-site comparisons about the treatment of human remains in different types of grave structures. For the cemeteries under consideration in this study, contextual and skeletal information was sufficiently published from 61 sites in order to be incorporated into the case studies about multiple burials. Of the sites listed in

Appendix 1, 23 had evidence for multiple inhumation burials. The percentage of multiple burials (out of the total number of inhumation burials) per site is represented

72 Sofaer 2006, 30–31.

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in below (Fig. 16), where the overall average of multiple burials is 8.6% of the total number of inhumation burials at these sites (Appendix 2). The following information for multiple burials is summarized in Appendix 3: the type of grave cover, the number of individuals, whether the burial was simultaneous or consecutive when known, any date estimates, as well as other relevant notes about the body positions or the treatment of the first occupant of the grave. This appendix of multiple burials is not comprehensive, but it is largely representative of the degree of variation in Roman necropoleis, in which individual burial was the dominant practice among inhumation graves, and the number of multiple burials was never more than one quarter of the total number of inhumation burials.

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Among the sites that did not contain multiple burials, some were only partially excavated; others only had limited information about the burial contexts, and the preservation of human remains in some environments was very poor.73 At San Donato and Bivio della Croce dei Missionari (BCM) in Urbino, although there were no multiple burials in the same mortuary deposit, there was a high density of burials with frequent instances of overlapping and intersecting burials.74 At the Via Rossini cemetery at Alba Pompeia, no multiple burials were recorded, which is not surprising, considering that only five inhumation burials were recorded out of 104 burials, yet excavators noted the remains of 114 individuals.75 It is unclear whether the additional individuals were found in cremation or inhumation graves or as scattered bone fragments, but the discrepancy is typical of publications that make very little mention of human remains and instead prioritize the objects that were included in the graves.

Sites with multiple burials are represented on the following map (Fig. 17), and they range from those with as few as three inhumation burials (Bossema di Cavaion) to more than 2000 at Collatina in the suburbs of Rome.76 Some of these sites are already familiar from the previous chapter’s case studies about damage and disturbance, and they will remain important in Chapter 4. It is not coincidental that multiple burials are present in regions with active archaeological superintendencies and rigorous publication programs. Furthermore, these are among the most

73 Stoodley 2002, 103–105 on some of the reasons why multiple burials were absent from 13 cemeteries in his study of early Anglo-Saxon England (22% of his sample). 74 Mercando 1982. At BCM, for example, one-third of the inhumation burials (16/48) overlapped or came into contact with each other. 75 Spagnolo Garzoli 1997. 76 Contextual data for multiple burials at these sites are not available in all cases. For example, the percentage of multiple burials in the Nomentana cemetery is recorded in Amicucci and Carboni (2015, 785) but the catalog of burials has not yet been published.

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thoroughly-excavated cemeteries, for which excavation reports note the position of skeletal remains in their grave contexts, as well as artifacts and other archaeological information. We even find multiple burials in cemeteries with exceptionally poor preservation, such as Iutizzo Codroipo in Friuli-Venezia, where 50 inhumation graves or burial pits were excavated, but human remains were entirely missing from nine graves. When they did survive, the human remains were often too poorly preserved to be used for age and sex estimation.77 Since the rates of recovery and publication are uneven across different regions, it is difficult to make any claims about the frequency or prevalence of multiple burials across Roman Italy.

Figure 17: Map showing sites with multiple inhumation burials.

77 Buora 1996, 42. The dearth of skeletal remains is most likely accounted for by the acidic soil and moisture that degrades bone, as well as indiscriminate use of chemical fertilizers in the 1960s. The one multiple burial (T. 56) was not accompanied by photos, a plan or drawings, so it is impossible to explore this burial in terms of the simultaneity or consecutiveness of the depositions.

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The case studies begin with those that do not show signs of grave opening, and proceed to those that were opened for a second interment. As noted in Chapter 2, the signs of ancient grave opening typically include one or several of the following features: skeletal remains in disorder; a secondary cut into the grave fill; grave goods in disorder; grave goods or bones in the burial fill; a damaged burial container; additions to the grave contents; later artifacts in the grave fill; and the absence of artifacts with evidence for an original presence.78 The bodies of the first individuals frequently maintained anatomical connections, with some signs of corporeal or skeletal manipulation, though not to the extent of skeletal reduction or commingling

(Chapter 4).

What happened to the initial occupant of a grave depended not only on the relative state of corporeal decomposition at the time of grave opening, but also on the grave structure or space in which decomposition took place. Sealable coffins and pseudo-sarcophagi in tiles, brick or stone construction more easily facilitate reuse because it is possible to move existing occupants over to make space for additional individuals.79 Simple pit burials or tiled grave covers, whether flat or alla cappuccina, do not create favorable conditions for grave opening and reuse, yet that should not preclude them from study. Instead, it makes reuse in unfavorable taphonomic conditions more important for the insight into ongoing interactions between the living and the dead. Even if we leave aside the difficulties of determining from published cemetery reports whether a multiple burial was simultaneous or consecutive, it appears

78 Klevnäs 2013, Appendix 2. 79 Duday 2009, 46–57 on decomposition in a void or progressively filled space.

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that simultaneous burials were limited to two individuals, whereas those that have been identified as consecutive could include two or three interments. Depending on the quality of the excavation report and the attention to the human remains, it can be hard to know whether a grave was opened and reused, even early in the post-mortem period, or whether both individuals were interred as part of a joint funerary event.

The following case studies explore the ways in which archaeologists can demonstrate the simultaneity or consecutiveness of burials in instances of a relatively short post-mortem interval between burials. They include consideration of: intertwined body positions, the maintenance of anatomical connections, positive proof of grave opening for an additional deposition, and signs of post-depositional manipulation of decaying bodies. The case studies are nominally arranged by the presence or absence of signs of grave opening, yet each provides further insight into ways of creating corporeal connections that take into consideration intergenerational relationships, relational personhood, the material properties of decomposing bodies and the sensory impact on the living.

Case Study: Placement and Decomposition: Musarna T. 247

Musarna T. 247 illustrates a number of points about the mechanics of simultaneous burials and the space of decomposition. The grave consisted of an earthen pit that was covered with flat tiles and joint covers that only survived on the western half of the burial.80 The pit contained the skeletal remains of two individuals who were interred in supine positions on the same orientation in a side-by-side

80 Rebillard 2009b, 220.

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arrangement with the heads to the south (Fig. 18). The upper limbs were extended with the hands resting on the abdomen, but because of mechanical damage to the northern part of the burial, the position of the lower limbs could not be detected. Both individuals were estimated to be adult females of unknown age, but the individual to the east was estimated to be the younger of the two.

Figure 18: Musarna T. 247 drawing. (After Rebillard 2009b, Pl. 39).

At Musarna, 112 out of 120 burials were single burials. Of the remaining eight burials, six were consecutive burials that were reused after decomposition took place, one case was inconclusive, and only T. 247 was a simultaneous deposition.81 The excavators identified T. 247 as a simultaneous burial, either at the same moment or within a very short time span, based on observations about the archaeological context, placement and decomposition of the bodies. Both individuals were deposited into the same pit without any interstitial sediment. Furthermore, there were no repositioned

81 Gleize 2009, 73. The inconclusive burial T. 148 contained the remains of an adult and an ilium of an immature individual between 0-5 years, so it was impossible to determine whether the subadult was interred at the same time as the adult individual.

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grave tiles, no secondary cut into the burial pit nor soil discoloration that might suggest reopening and reuse. The side-by-side body positions maintained contact, and the left humerus of the individual to the east overlies the right humerus of the individual to the west. At any rate, the deposition of the second individual (east) and direct contact between bodies did not cause any disturbance to the first individual

(west), so it is certain that the first individual was early in the post-mortem period at the time of the second deposition.

The arrangement of the bodies is indicative of the order of depositions, but unlike intertwined and interconnected body positions of hand-holding or an embrace, it is suggestive, though not definitive, proof of a simultaneous deposition. An example of an intertwined adult female and a child between 4-5 years comes from an early

Neolithic burial at Grotte Gazel (Aude, France).82 The two individuals may have died around the same time and they were interred in a double burial. Alternatively, as long as decomposition had not set in to the point where the ligaments had decayed, the corpse of the adult could have been handled and the skeletal elements would have remained connected at the time when the child was interred. It is therefore not possible to differentiate between “a double burial proper and two depositions separated by a short interval” of a week or two. In the latter case, such actions might be met with horror and disgust, but as Duday advocates, we should abstain from projecting our sensibilities about the body in different stages of decay onto the interpretation of past mortuary practices.

82 Duday 2009, 73–76, Fig. 60.

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There is another contextual factor to consider in the interpretation of Musarna

T. 247: the absence of grave goods, which could be the result of several factors. It is possible that none were originally deposited in the grave. The low overall number of grave goods in the cemetery (N=1.7), as well as the high number of graves that were looted, damaged mechanically or affected by post-depositional activities indicates that it is not unusual to find burials without objects from a funerary assemblage.83 The absence of grave goods raises the question of whether reused or simultaneous multiple burials typically received fewer items at the time of the first deposition or whether, in the case of grave opening within a short period of time, items were repositioned or removed to accommodate a second body. This issue will be explored again in the case of Vagnari T. 286.

We might also ask whether T. 247 was planned to include two individuals, and whether the side-by-side arrangement is typical of simultaneous burials. In his analysis of multiple burials in early Anglo-Saxon England, Nick Stoodley raises the question of whether construction methods differed between single and multiple burials based on the practical necessity of accommodating more than one body.84 His study reveals that simultaneous burials are wider by an average of 20 cm when compared to single burials since individuals were often interred side-by-side or occasionally in ‘stacked’ positions, with at least one individual in an extended position.85 Individuals in superposition (stacked on top of each other) were not particularly common (Chapter

83 Rebillard 2009b, 103. For burials that contained grave goods, the average number of items was 2.3 (Chapter 2). 84 Stoodley 2002, 107. 85 Stoodley 2002, 107, Tables 3 and 4. In early Anglo-Saxon cemeteries, the prevalence of ‘stacked’ multiples is attributed to unwillingness on the part of the gravedigger or funeral party to construct adequately large burial pits.

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4). Most of the individuals in this study who were interred in simultaneous burials were either deposited in a side-by-side or in a head-to-foot position (Appendix 3).

There is no singular way to answer the question of whether multiple burials were larger in order to accommodate multiple bodies. The field cemeteries under consideration in this study frequently include burials with a shared orientation that developed around topographic or built features in the landscape, but they are by no means ‘row’ cemeteries that share a consistent orientation and a degree of planning.

Since there were no standard burial plots, most of the burials were large enough to accommodate the deceased individual at the time of burial. In the case of the simultaneous deposition at Musarna, the measurements of the burial were not recorded because it was partially destroyed by mechanical digging; however, the grave appears wider than other pits that were dug to accommodate just one body.86 In contrast, the double burial of two infants in Vagnari T. 307 (94 x 33 cm) is smaller than the single burial of any adult individual in the cemetery. The size of a burial and its internal architecture can be an indicator of whether a grave was planned for two individuals or whether it was adapted and reused, however, the arrangement and decomposition of the bodies should likewise be considered. In the case of Musarna T. 247, negative evidence for grave opening, even with careful observation of anatomical connections at the time of excavation, does not allow us to distinguish whether the two individuals were buried at the same time or shortly within the post-mortem period. It is nevertheless certain that they were interred within a brief time, likely in a grave that was intended to be used for both individuals.

86 Rebillard 2009b, 220. Graves at Musarna typically range between 0.3-0.8 m in width.

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Case Study: Intergenerational Relationships: Vagnari T. 211

Vagnari T. 211 was a cappuccina burial that was excavated in 2007. The apex of the grave cover was shorn off by modern agricultural activity, which affected the western end of the cover. Inside the burial was an extended, supine adult individual

(A), with the head to the east and the upper limbs resting on the abdomen (Fig. 19).

The gracile skeleton was estimated to be an adult female, who was less than 30 years old at the time of death. Found in the pelvic and thoracic regions were neonate bones

(individual B), which included a radius, the distal ends of two humeri, a long bone – possibly an ulna, two petrous portions from the temporal bones, part of the occipital, five unfused spinous processes, one metacarpal and one phalanx. Despite a preservation of less than 20% of the whole skeleton, measurements of the one complete radius (42.4 mm) suggest that individual B was a neonate of less than four weeks.87 Dental development is the most reliable method for age-at-death estimation in subadults; however, no teeth were available for age estimation because of poor overall preservation.

87 Age estimation was performed by Tracy Prowse using the methods in Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994. Lewis and Gowland (2007, 2–4) note that the errors when using diaphyseal length to estimate gestational age are difficult to control in archaeological populations. If teeth were available for study, it might have been possible to determine whether the infant was born alive based on the presence of the ‘neonatal line,’ which is a hypoplastic feature on deciduous teeth that may represent a period of enamel stasis after birth.

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Figure 19: Vagnari T. 211. (Photo: Tracy Prowse).

The methods of archaeothanatology permit some observations about taphonomic changes to the burial environment. The space beneath the cappuccina cover was likely void for a time. This allowed the adult’s mandible to detach from the cranium and the right clavicle to shift into the thoracic cage. Based on the position of individual A’s radii and ulnae, the hands were placed on the abdomen or around the body of the infant. The location of the neonate bones in the pelvic and thoracic region of the adult individual raises questions about age, which bring together elements of archaeothanatology, social bioarchaeology and personhood. Was individual B a perinate who was carried to full-term and who survived ‘extrauterine’ for some time?88 If the neonate had been carried through the full gestation period to birth, he or she would have been placed in the lap of the adult female, in which case, the bones would have fallen into secondary empty spaces that were created by the decay of

88 Lewis and Gowland 2007, 2–4; Redfern 2007, 176; Carroll 2018, 11. The former make a distinction between those individuals that died before birth (late fetal or stillbirth), around birth or within the first 27 days of extrauterine life (perinatal or neonatal), or between 28 days and 12 months (post-neonatal mortality). Redfern (2007, 176) distinguishes between pre-term individuals (less than 37 weeks old), full-term (37-42 weeks old), and infants (42 weeks to 3 years). Carroll (2018, 11) uses the following age divisions from Wheeler (2012): fetal (fetus under 36 weeks’ gestation), perinate (an individual aged around birth (39-40 weeks’ gestation), and infant (an individual aged from around birth to one year). Fetal bones ossify at the end of the first trimester during pregnancy, so there is very little archaeological evidence for early-stage fetuses, and when they are recovered, fetal bones are typically found in the pelvic cavity of an adult female individual.

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organic material.89 Because of the location of the bones and the fact that only one bone was used for the age estimate, it is possible that infant was still in utero, and that the one preserved long bone was larger than expected when compared to modern reference collections. The latter scenario would mean that the adult individual was the perinate’s biological mother, who died around the time when the perinate was full term. The majority of archaeologically-documented perinates or neonates come from inhumation burials, where they are typically found interred near or resting in the pelvises of female individuals.90

If not found in the pelvic cavity of the mother, the burials of adults and infants may be found in close proximity to each other. At Gubbio (Vittorina) in Umbria, T. 74 was an adult individual who was buried in a wooden coffin, immediately adjacent to

T. 75, a neonate in a pit that was lined with two tiles.91 The individuals were interred in a T-shaped pit, in separate burial containers, but it can be assumed that their deaths occurred within a relatively short time since they were interred in one stratigraphic event. In such cases, the onset of decay may have been relatively minor, depending on the amount of time between death and burial, and depending on when funerary rites took place. When two individuals were buried at the same time, the sensory impact of the dead was likely similar to that of single inhumation burials.

Examples like those from Vagnari and Gubbio attest to the importance of careful documentation and collection of skeletal remains during excavation, as well as

89 Duday 2006; Duday and Guillon 2006; Duday et al. 2014. 90 Carroll 2011, 103; 2018, 59–60. In one case from the Kellis 2 cemetery in Egypt, a woman was found buried with a late-term fetus at the pelvic inlet, which suggests post-depositional expulsion during decomposition. This phenomenon is colloquially known as ‘coffin birth.’ 91 Cipollone 2000-01, 101–104.

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anthropological analysis of even the smallest bone fragments.92 One famous example from a cremation burial is the so-called “tomb of a rich Athenian lady” from 850 BCE, which was excavated in the Athenian Agora along the north slope of the Areopagus.93

Anthropological analysis by J. Lawrence Angel in 1967 identified the cremated remains of an adult female and animal bones inside a neck-handled amphora that was used as a cinerary urn, but the skeletal remains were recently re-studied by Maria

Liston, who found fragmentary bones of a fetus that was at least one month less than full term (32-36 weeks). Her discovery reveals that the woman was pregnant at the time of death, and the fetus bones were protected during incineration because they were cremated in the mother’s body.94 Re-assessment of the skeletal remains shed new light on the biological and social identity of the deceased, especially when considered alongside the elaborate assemblage of grave goods.

Archaeological evidence for stillbirths, newborn deaths and the death of the mother around the time of childbirth prompts us to think about how the bodies of the very young could be instrumental in the creation of corporeal connections. Because there were no archaeological indicators that the Vagnari grave was opened for the deposition of individual B, it is reasonable to conclude that the two individuals were buried simultaneously in T. 211, regardless of whether neonate lived for any amount of time outside the uterus. Following the assumption that the neonate died post-partum and not in the womb, the manner of connecting bodies in this instance reveals that

92 Duday 2009, 58–71 on the excavation of infants who died within the first six months of life. 93 Liston and Papadopoulos 2004, Tomb H 16:6. This burial has been identified as the most richly furnished burial in the post-Mycenaean Agora for its inclusion of filigree gold jewelry, ivory stamp seals, beads, several ceramic vessels, and a chest with five model granaries. 94 Liston and Papadopoulos 2004, 15.

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body positions in a grave could be a potential indicator of relationships between individuals, and more importantly, that these relationships were thought to continue after death. It is likely that the individuals were related biologically as a mother and child; yet based on the skeletal preservation, it is impossible to know if these two individuals were deliberately interred together as a way to maintain relationships through physical contact.95 As Rebecca Gowland demonstrates in her research on the

‘infant-mother nexus’ and on individuals at the margins of the life course, bodies could be fluid and interconnected, and not limited to the modern notion of the bounded body of a discrete individual.96 When multiple individuals died within a short span of each other, the creation of corporeal connections between a deceased parent and child could affirm biological relations and hint at unfulfilled social roles, as might be the case of women who died in the process of becoming mothers.

Case Study: Internal Chronology within a Grave: Casteggio T. 5

In other cases, we rely on intertwined body positions to demonstrate the simultaneity of a mortuary deposit. Tomb 5 at Casteggio had a cappuccina cover of four pairs of tiles along the north and south sides, with tiles at the east and west ends

(Figs. 20-21).97 The bottom of the burial was lined with a single row of four tiles (200 x 54 cm), upon which two individuals were interred in a head-to-toe arrangement.

Both individuals were lying in a supine position; one was a child of about 2 years with

95 Carroll 2011, 99–111; 2012, 42–45 on the burials of infants who died in the first weeks or months of life. 96 Gowland 2018. 97 Caporusso 1987; Bolla 2011, 44–45 for the initial and schematic publication of the cemetery after excavations in the 1980s by the Soprintendenza Archeologica della Lombardia.

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the head to the west, and the other was an adult male between 30-45 years with the head to the east. An illegible coin was found in association with the adult individual.

Based on the inclusion of a two-handled olla, the deposit dates to the second phase of use in this cemetery, likely in the second half of the third century.

Figure 20: Casteggio (Clastidium) T. 5. (After Invernizzi et al. 2011, Fig. 4).

The simultaneity of this burial depends less on the fact that the excavation report does not mention signs of grave opening than on the order in which the individuals were interred and the maintenance of anatomical connections. Because the lower limbs of the adult individual overlie those of the child, who maintained anatomical connections in the right upper and lower limbs, it is apparent that the deposition of the adult did not disturb or dislodge the existing child. It seems likely that the grave was not reused, but it was provisioned from the start to be used for multiple individuals since the younger individual was interred first in a grave that was

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built to accommodate the height of the adult individual.98 However, it is also possible that the child was the original occupant of the grave, which initially consisted of a bed of only two tiles beneath the body, and after an unknown but relatively short interval of time, two tiles were added to the row, in order for it to be used for the deposition of the adult male. If this were the case, then T. 5 is an example of a child’s grave being modified to accommodate an adult, although the former interpretation of a coeval deposit is supported here.

Figure 21: Casteggio (Clastidium) T. 5. (After Invernizzi et al. 2011, Fig. 10 col.).

Margherita Bolla suggests that when only a few individuals were interred together, as opposed to many individuals in a mass grave, the most commonly- suggested explanation is that the individuals shared an affective-identity bond, and that members of the same family, whether biological or extended, were interred

98 Cattaneo et al. 2011, 305–306. The estimated stature of the adult individual was 1.65 m, and the total measurements of the grave, including the grave cover, were 200 x 54 cm.

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together because they died from the same cause.99 Indeed, for T. 5 at Casteggio, she suggests that the adult and child died of the same pathologic event, although none was detected during osteological analysis.100 Within the burial, the arrangement of bodies seems to be dictated by the space available within the grave structure that was created by the tiles underneath the bodies. In the wider context of the cemetery, graves were not densely arranged, even in the second phase of use, so Bolla proposes that simultaneous burials might also reflect constrained economic resources.101 Although possible, such an explanation overlooks the critical role that the body played in the maintenance of identity and relationships.

The creation of the double burial and perhaps even a joint funeral testifies to the fact that the body was a locus of social memory and affect after death, and that the appearance of multiple individuals in a grave is far more complicated than just a convenient method for the disposal of individuals, who may have died during the same mortality event. Combined with the last example from Vagnari, these two cases remind us of the different ways in which personhood and identity could be culturally constructed at various stages of the non-linear life course in Roman society, especially when death involved the very young.102 Infants at different stages of development are

99 Bolla 2015, 360. The distinction of a few individuals is to differentiate from a mass burial that may reflect a mortality crisis after episodes of plague, epidemic or violence, rather than the isolated deaths of 2-3 individuals. For more on mass burials, see Duday and Guillon 2006, 151–152; Blanchard and Castex 2007; Castex 2008; Kacki et al. 2014. 100 Bolla 2011, 110. 101 Bolla 2011, 45, 110. 102 Harlow and Laurence 2002, 3. A life course approach takes into consideration the temporal aspects of life and the rites of passage that mark the transitions between culturally-constructed stages that take place between birth and death.

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regularly found in communal cemeteries, and they were often buried with adults, both male and female, as well as other children.103

Case Study: Grave Opening During Decomposition: Vagnari T. 286

Excavated in 2012, Vagnari T. 286 was located along the southern end of the cemetery. The burial had a cappuccina grave cover and was aligned on a northeast- southwest axis. Two subadult individuals were interred inside the grave, positioned head-to-toe, with individual A’s head to the NE and B’s to the SW (Fig. 22).

Individual A was a young adult and possibly female, who was estimated to be 16-18 years at the time of death. Individual B was a slightly younger subadult between 13-14 years, whose sex is unknown. Both individuals were in extended positions; the smaller and more gracile individual, B, was in a supine position, while A appeared to be lying on his or her side, facing left. Individual A’s right tibiae was flipped so that the distal end was oriented towards the pelvis and shifted so that it was found with the femora, instead of with the left tibia.

Figure 22: Vagnari T. 286 showing individual A (left) and B (right). (Photo: author).

103 Carroll 2018, 152–156.

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What makes this burial so interesting is that the two individuals were not deposited at the same time. Stratigraphically, individual B overlies A, who was the initial occupant of the grave and who was originally laid in a supine position on his or her back. The grave was either left uncovered for a period of time or opened for the second deposition, at which point A was shifted onto his or her left side, and the right tibia was repositioned as though bent at the knee, in order to make room for individual

B. The position and angle of the right tibia suggests that decomposition had begun, but was not entirely complete at the time of reuse, so the deposition of these two individuals was probably only separated by a few days or weeks.

As a result, the family members or gravediggers of individual B would have come into contact with and handled the decomposing, putrefying remains of individual

A at the time of reuse. Individual A likely no longer resembled the person from his or her lifetime when the grave was reused for B; indeed, the presence of insects, an increase in the corpse volume and discoloration caused by changes in temperature and the production of gas mean that individual A could have been almost unrecognizable.104 Because the body was in the fairly early stages of decomposition with its accompanying sights and smells, there was probably only minimal contact, only as much as was required to make room for a second individual.

Like Musarna T. 247, this example from Vagnari contained no assemblage of grave goods, but only two small ceramic sherds. In contrast to the site-wide average of

5.6 items in the 142 graves or 6.1 items in the 98 graves with cappuccina grave covers, T. 286 is also well below the average number of objects. For the 12 individuals

104 Duday 2009, 9.

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in the pueritia age category (8-14 years),105 their graves contained an average of 5.8 objects, so the lower number of grave goods in T. 286 may not be based on the age or ascribed social status of these individuals. Although it is entirely conjectural, the deceased bodies themselves may account for the near absence of grave goods in this burial in two ways. At the time that individual B was interred, decomposition of A was underway to the point where the sight and smell of the decomposing body prompted the living to hurry the graveside funerary rituals and to close the grave. The second reason relates to the space occupied by the bodies: the two ceramic sherds that were left behind may have been vestiges of objects that were removed to make room for individual B. As a result of the additional deposition to the burial and the increase in the volume of space that was occupied by the deceased, there may have been no room for the (re)deposition of objects inside the grave cover. Vagnari T. 286 is a vivid example of supplemental grave reuse early in the post-mortem period, for which we must imagine that the act made a strong sensory impression on the living who came into contact with decomposing remains as part of a subsequent funerary ritual or intervention.

Case Study: Grave Opening in a Void Space: Brindisi T. 138 and Casteggio T. 28

The final case study turns from alla cappuccina grave covers to sarcophagi and pseudo-sarcophagi, in which the space of decomposition was void. The type of burial, the grave cover, as well as the length of time between the deaths of individuals were

105 The pueritia age category includes those individuals between the categories of infantia (from birth until seven years) and adulescentia from 15-30, as outlined by Varro (ap. Censor 14), and detailed in Harlow and Laurence (2002, 16).

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all factors that could affect the decision to inter multiple individuals in the same grave.

This case study introduces the two examples of Brindisi T. 138 and Casteggio T. 28

(Fig. 23), both of which included two individuals in either a large stone sarcophagus or a pseudo-sarcophagus made of tiles.

Figure 23: Left: Brindisi T. 138 (Photo after Cocchiaro and Andreassi 1988: 194, Fig. 121). Right: Casteggio (Clastidium) T. 28. (After Invernizzi et al. 2011, 35, Fig. 4).

Tomb 138 from the via Cappuccini cemetery at Brindisi is an example of a burial with two individuals, but the question is whether they were interred simultaneously or consecutively, and how to determine the time between depositions.

Interred in a large sarcophagus (175 x 50 x 45 cm) that was carved from caparo stone, the initial occupant was an adult male (A), who was laid in a supine, extended burial.106 The additional individual was an adult female (B), who was also in an extended, supine position, but whose thorax and pelvis overlapped with the corresponding parts of individual A. The second example from Casteggio was a pseudo-sarcophagus that was lined at the bottom with flat tiles and some positioned

106 Cocchiaro and Andreassi 1988, 194.

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vertically along the sides (sesquipedali manubriati); it was eventually disturbed by the creation of T. 29 in the fourth century.107 The tomb was used for the deposition of two subadult individuals: a child of around 11 years old (individual A) who overlies another child of 9-10 years (B). The cemetery publication notes that the two subadult individuals in T. 28 were buried successively, separated by only a short amount of time, and that they were probably united by a family bond.108

These two burials come from sites that were separated by nearly the entire length of Roman Italy, with different local geographies: coastal Brindisi in the southeast in the Salento peninsula, and Casteggio in the northwest, between the first hills of the Ligurian Apennines and the Po Valley. They are separated temporally by about two centuries: T. 138 from Brindisi must predate the construction of ustrinum B and so the burial likely dates to the early first century CE. The burial from Casteggio, on the other hand, is from the first phase of the necropolis and is dated before 230

CE.109 They involve different combinations of members from different demographic groups: the former contained an adult male and an adult female, while the latter housed two subadult children of indeterminate sex.

More compelling than the disparate features is the strikingly similar treatment of bodies in different stages of decomposition. In both cases, the first occupant of the tomb was moved laterally to the side of the grave, which was still a void space before the arrival of sediment. Decomposition was fairly advanced, but the partial maintenance of anatomical connections in both cases suggests that it was not

107 Bolla 2011, 76. 108 Bolla 2011, 110, “[…] morti a breve distanza di tempo e probabilmente uniti da un legame familiare.” 109 Cocchiaro and Andreassi 1988, 194; Bolla 2011, 76 for the respective dates of these two burials.

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complete. Both burials therefore involved the handling and manipulation of bodies in either active or advanced stages of decay. In the later stages of decomposition, the rate of decay decreases as the body loses mass, so there may have been organic material that was accompanied by a pungent smell. In the case of the stone sarcophagus at

Brindisi, decomposition fluids may not have seeped downwards into the ground, but they may have pooled at the bottom of the sarcophagus and could therefore cause different patterns of decomposition than in a tile-lined burial pit.110

It is impossible to speculate the time between these depositions, but they provide an interesting link between the case studies of simultaneous burials in this chapter and the consecutive burials that involved considerably more skeletal manipulation in Chapter 4. In both cases, grave opening and reuse disturbed and dislodged the decomposing remains of the initial occupant of the tomb, yet depending on the temperature, climate and depth of these burials,111 reuse may have taken place fairly early in the post-mortem interval, in the weeks or early months after interment.

In such cases, we might expect that the location of the grave was still known to the burying population, and that there were strong motivations to physically and symbolically connect bodies.112 Despite the material transformations that took place during the processes of decomposition and the accompanying sensory effects on the living, these examples of grave opening and reuse are powerful attestations of the ways in which bodies could continue to be sites of corporeally-based identity after death, when the recognition of individual features was no longer possible.

110 Pinheiro 2006, 101 on relative speeds of decomposition of buried bodies in stone or wood coffins. 111 Janaway 2008, 164–165. 112 Bolla 2011, 76. In the case of Casteggio T. 28, a tile at the northern end by the feet may have functioned as a grave marker.

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Discussion: Corporeal Connections and Memories of Touch:

Death required the living to reconfigure relationships as they negotiated the loss of a member of their community. High rates of infant mortality (estimated at approximately three hundred per thousand) in ancient Rome suggest that it was not unusual for families to bury at least one of their children.113 When the beginning of life was cut short by an early death, families may have mourned the lost potential of an unrealized future generation, but that mortality event was even more complicated when it had a multi-generational impact. As the case of an adult male and a young child (2-3 years) at Casteggio attests, multiple burials with children were not limited to those that we might interpret as a mother and child. Indeed, in the Parentalia, a collection of 30 poems from the 370s and 380s CE by Ausonius of Bordeaux, there were different kinds of inter-generational relationships that burial could emphasize and perpetuate.

This is the case in the tenth poem, which was dedicated to Ausonius’s little son, also called Ausonius (Ausonius Parvulus Filius):

I will not leave you unwept, my son, nor rob you of the complaint due to your memory – you, my first-born child, and called by my name. Just as you were practicing to transform your babbling into the first words of childhood and were of ripe natural gifts we had to mourn for your decease. You on your great-grandfather’s bosom lie sharing one common grave, lest you should suffer the reproach of your one lone tomb.114

113 Harlow and Laurence 2002, 7–8, 133; Carroll 2018, 147–151. 114 Auson. Par. 10. 1–6. Loeb Trans. H. Evelyn White.

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Ausonius’ little son was placed in the grave of his great-grandfather (tu gremio in proavi funus commune locatus, invidiam tumuli ne paterere tui) (10. 5-6). Roger

Green favors a specific reading of the family relationship between the child Ausonius and his great-grandfather, in which proavi refers to a maternal grandfather in a common grave (funus commune).115 Conversely, Suzanne Abrams Rebillard translates these lines as, “You were laid in a shared grave in the bosom of your ancestors, that you not be exposed to the harm of a lone tomb.”116

Whether Ausonius meant a specific relationship or ancestors more generally, the point remains that his son Ausonius was interred in a family grave, where he could benefit from protection or companionship in death.117 If Ausonius meant that his son was buried in the lap of a relative, he does not specify whether the two individuals died at the same time or whether there were stronger motivations to open the tomb of the dead child’s great-grandfather to inter their bodies. Since historical details and personal anecdotes are largely absent from the Parentalia,118 we might imagine either scenario of simultaneous or successive burial. What is important is that corporeal connections between dead bodies could be generated in the minds of the living, and that death could replicate or reorder the social world of the living.

115 Green 1991, 314. 116 Abrams Rebillard 2015, 240. 117 The subject of Par. 4 is Caecilius Argicius Arborius, the maternal grandfather of the poet Ausonius and the great-grandfather of his son by the same name. We cannot assume that his son was buried with that particular relative, although it remains a possibility. As Hopkins (1961) points out, there are no details about Ausonius’ paternal grandfather. Green (1991, 314) suggests that this refers to a noble, maternal grandfather since the Caecilius from Par. 4 apparently died after this child around 370 CE. Elsewhere in Par. 7.12–13, Ausonius note that his uncles Clemens Contemtus and Julius Callippio “lack the privilege of a common tomb,” but he offered them a single farewell, despite the fact that their tombs lay far apart. 118 Green 1991, 299.

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Graham has argued for a more nuanced perspective on the mutable nature of identity after death, which is affected by the relationship between personhood, memory and the body.119 I would add that memories of the body may not have ended with the disposal of the corpse, as cases of post-depositional manipulation, rearrangement and grave reuse attest. Liv Nilsson Stutz states succinctly that:

“[t]hrough the ritual structure, mortuary practices contribute to redefining the cadaver and transform it from the subject it used to embody, into an object from which the mourners can separate. The rituals thus redefine the cadaver and stage it in order to reinstall order and produce a proper death.”120 But once the funerary process was carried out and completed, the addition and linking of bodies further renegotiated identities in a manner that did not end with the individual, but could be dependent on inter-corporeal relationships that the living imposed on the dead.

Valerie Hope suggests that among the less well off – those that could not afford the services of funerary professionals to remove and dispose the corpse – the normative sensory experiences of daily life may have prepared them for the elevated sensoria that Roman mortuary practices involved.121 As the sarcophagus of Publius

Paquius Scaeva and his wife Flavia attests, regardless of who was responsible for touching the dead, both the ultra-elite and ordinary individuals who lived all over

Roman Italy could be involved in post-depositional contact with the dead. The living could actively project identity onto the deceased in imagined or actual encounters, but through biological processes and the changing materiality of death, the dead

119 Graham 2009, 67. 120 Nilsson Stutz 2008, 23. 121 Hope 2017, 98.

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maintained their agency and their ability to impress upon the memories and sensory experiences of the living.

Conclusions:

This chapter brings together developments in the study of burial taphonomy and forensic archaeology, in order to explore multiple burials and grave reuse that took place early in the post-mortem period. While conditions of burial vary in different environments and time periods, the biological and chemical principles of decomposition remain constant. As a result, knowledge of corporeal decomposition and the identification of post-burial interventions using the methods of archaeothanatology can be combined with theoretical insights from the archaeologies of the senses, embodiment and corporeality, in order to examine the ways in which

Roman cemeteries bear witness to the creation and maintenance of corporeal connections. Although we should be careful about blurring lines between modern social realities and notions about the corpse in ancient societies, drawing on recent body-oriented research from the social sciences and humanities generates fruitful ways of considering post-burial contact with decomposing individuals in reused graves.

As I argue throughout this study, the dead continued to act upon the world of the living through the sensoria that were tied to the processes of decay and decomposition. As a result, the visual, olfactory and tactile considerations of interring multiple individuals together, when coupled with the relative stage of decay at the time of deposition, are important indicators of the ways in which the dead body was a locus of memory and an agent in the creation of corporeal links between bodies.

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Distinct patterns in the type of graves that accommodated or were adapted for simultaneous or multiple burials emerge, which, as I argue, were more dependent on the stage of corporeal decay than Roman archaeologists have ever considered. When the time between depositions was relatively short, Bolla suggests that affective and identity-based reasons were among the most common ones for grave opening and reuse, especially for members of the same family who shared the same cause of death.122 The explicit contrast, then, is between simultaneous burials with few or many individuals; the latter case might refer to individuals who died in a mortality crisis and who may not share familial bonds.123

To conclude, corporeal connections refer to the creation and maintenance of relationships between the living and the dead, as well as between multiple deceased individuals in mortuary contexts precisely because the body continues to act as a locus of personal and corporeally-situated identity after death and burial. Connections occur at different stages throughout the post-mortem and post-depositional processes of funerary activities and are relational in reference to other bodies. What separates the examples in the present chapter from those in Chapter 4 is the preservation of the body as a loosely bounded yet permeable entity, one that often maintained anatomical connections. In cases of grave reuse, the putrefying body may not have been recognizable as the individual if the processes of autolysis and putrefaction were far advanced. However, as the following chapter will explore, the time between depositions is critical for the interpretation of multiple burials and how the bodies of

122 Bolla 2015, 360 uses the term affettivo-identitaria. 123 Such an event usually results in a mass grave for individuals who died of an epidemic, family, natural catastrophe or violent event. Castex 2008; Blanchard and Castex 2007. For the terminology of mass burials, see McCormick 2015, 350–52.

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those individuals – whether they were putrefying corpses or decomposed skeletons – were moved, linked or repositioned.

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4. Reopen, Reduce, Reuse: Consecutive Multiple Burials

Abstract: Following the body through the process of decomposition in a grave, this chapter turns to grave opening and reuse after the decomposition of a tomb’s original occupant. This chapter investigates the different types of contact with the deceased that grave opening incited, as well as how the material properties of decayed bodies were conducive to different forms of contact and repositioning in the grave. Case studies test the interpretation that skeletal reduction and grave reuse was the result of running out of space in a cemetery or Late Antique disregard for earlier burials. Whether or not grave reuse was predicated on direct relationships between the deceased who were interred together, the performative act of grave opening and physical contact with the interred remains could incite new acts of remembering or intentional forgetting.

Keywords: grave reuse, corpse decomposition, reduction, superposition, touch, consecutive burials

Introduction:

Survey and excavation since 1987 in the district around Kalkriese north of

Osnabrück in Germany has brought to light archaeological material in an area of 30 km2, in which eight pits were found that contained a mixture of fragmentary human and animal bones.1 The human remains were estimated to come from male individuals aged 20-40 years at the time of death. It has been suggested that decomposition took place on the ground surface since the bones were exposed to the sun and show signs of weathering before deposition, which was estimated to take place between 2-10 years after death.2 The discovery of this material has been associated with the battle of the

Teutoburg Forest in 9 CE, in which the Roman general Publius Quinctilius Varus and his three legions were defeated by the German leader Arminius. Tacitus, writing in the late first century, recounts that Germanicus visited the site in 15 CE, six years after the

1 For the most recent summary in English of archaeological fieldwork and the human remains, see Pagán 1999; Östenberg 2014; Seidman 2014; Rost and Wilbers-Rost 2017. 2 Rost and Wilbers-Rost 2017, 158. 206

battle and buried the ‘bleaching bones’ (albentia ossa) that were found scattered or in small piles.3 His soldiers also buried splintered spears, limbs of horses and the human skulls that had been nailed to tree trunks.4 Whether the bones belonged to strangers or kinsmen, Germanicus’ soldiers treated the dead as friends and family members

(coniunctos, consanguineos), and they were interred in the ground with a funeral mound (tumulus).

For the present purposes, it is of little importance whether Kalkriese can be identified positively as the site of the historic Varian battle or whether the human remains can be attributed to Roman soldiers or local Germans. Instead, this episode concerns the issues to which my attention now turns: the archaeological remains of disarticulated, fragmentary, commingled and incomplete skeletal remains. For Jessica

Seidman, this passage in Tacitus is “one of the most vivid, horrifying, poetic descriptions in the entire work,” and it engenders three different ways of thinking about the preservation of memory: through the landscape and the site of historical events; through the memories and imaginations of individuals who could reanimate the past, and through the burials as physical memorials of the past.5 To this, I would add an emphasis on the embodied acts of handling the dead that created new memories of past individuals, since the dead serve as more than a visual metaphor for the shame of military defeat or for Germanicus’ act of piety when he returned to bury the fragmented, unbound and nameless bodies.

3 Tac. Ann. 1.60–62. 4 Tac. Ann. 1.61. 5 Seidman 2014, 95–96. 207

The act of compiling remains from anonymous individuals and creating a mortuary deposit after the passage of time introduces questions about individual and collective identities, the handling of defleshed and dry bones, as well as the reburial of individuals following the decomposition of organic material. As Chapter 2 argued, the chaotic appearance of graves at the time of excavation can be the result of environmental and taphonomic factors like pedoturbation or the movement of water through a grave. Alternatively, disturbance can result from anthropogenic actions like modern agricultural activities, construction or looting. Chapter 3 introduced grave opening and reuse in the early post-mortem period when skeletal disarticulation was often minimal but the sensory impact was strong. During the early stages of decomposition, touching the dead could leave a strong sensory impression on the living who were responsible for the creation of corporeal connections between the occupants of a reused grave. Since this study follows the body through the process of decomposition, our attention now turns from simultaneous to consecutive burials for which the time between depositions was enough for at least partial decomposition of the body’s organic material.

Consecutive Burials and Corporeality:

Let us return briefly to Gregory of Nyssa, who was responsible for the burial of his sister Macrina around 379 CE (Introduction). The episode highlights varying degrees of concern for bodies in different states of decomposition. Recall that upon

Macrina’s death, Gregory hesitated to open the grave that contained the bodies of his parents, whose own deaths were separated by 25 years. In order to avoid looking upon 208

“the common shame of human nature” in their decayed bodies, he covered his parents with a linen cloth.6 Gregory then placed the body (σῶμα) of Macrina by the side of his mother, and he asked God that their bodies should be mingled with each other after death as a way of perpetuating the relationship that they enjoyed in life. In doing so,

Gregory hints at the power of corporeal connections as an affirmation of bonds between deceased individuals. Furthermore, the desire to link dead bodies, when paired with an aversion to touch and the denial of decay, hints at the complexities of re-negotiating the memory and identity of individuals when bodies were connected or displaced in mortuary deposits.

It is a recurring theme in this study that burials containing disarticulated human skeletal remains are the result of a type of disturbance that makes them difficult or not worthwhile to study, despite how much information they provide about post- depositional attitudes to the dead. Graves with consecutive burials, however, provide a source of insight into individual and collective identities in death, depending on the number of eventual occupants in a grave. In cases where an individual burial was transformed into a collective deposit, we might ask: did the first individual retain a sense of corporeal integrity and identity, or were the skeletal remains of the fully- decomposed first individual absorbed into the new identity of a communal burial?

Once freed from the confines of bodily boundaries after the decomposition of organs, ligaments and tissues, individuals become partible, unbound entities. Buried bodies are transformed from corpses to skeletons, but in some cases, post-depositional activities in the course of grave reuse eliminate the structures that preserved the

6 Greg. Vita Mac. 35.3–7. Trans. Clarke 1916. 209

skeleton as a discrete unit. Joanna Sofaer reminds us that skeletons are neither sealed nor joined wholes once the processes of decay and decomposition take place, but instead, they are divisible and fragmented entities whose individual subjectivity is not always immediately perceptible during excavation in the field.7 Skeletons are no longer indivisible once decomposition occurs, so reusing the graves of decomposed individuals permits the curation and entanglement of bodies in different states of preservation and connectivity. For this reason, Yannis Hamilakis proposes a shift in terminology from body to corporeality, when referring to deceased individuals:

[…] I want to avoid the connotations of stasis and boundedness that the term ‘body’ may at times imply, and foreground instead the fluid processes of corporeal existence, thinking and practice. In addition, corporeality is less about bodily boundaries and more about relationships, bodily movement, and circulation through bodies, variously conceived.8

The material presence of bones and fragmentary bodies allow the living to create corporeal connections between individuals, bodies and bones at a time when the individual is a partible entity and no longer able to participate directly in the physical and corporeal performance of his or her own personhood.9

7 Sofaer 2012, 138. 8 Hamilakis 2018, 317. To contextualize, Hamilakis is referring to the compartmentalization and the subdivision of mortuary space that appears with the emergence of individual burial containers in Early Bronze Age Crete, where collective burial was typically the norm. Although he tries to avoid creating an overly functionalist, neo-evolutionist narrative in which burial practices shifted from communal to individual burials and from undifferentiated to compartmentalized mortuary spaces, he acknowledges that the evidence often seems to fit this pattern. 9 Hamilakis 2018, 317. 210

Argument and Chapter Organization:

That Roman burial practices involved encounters with bodies in different states of decay is at the center of this study, but the objectification and the handling of bones, rather than decomposing bodies, has yet to be treated in detail. One of the most readily recognizable archaeological indicators that a grave was opened and reused consecutively, rather than simultaneously, is the skeletal disarticulation of the bones of a grave’s initial occupant, as it indicates that reuse took place in the period after corporeal decomposition. There are several questions that we might ask about consecutive burials in Roman cemeteries, including: when and why they were reused, whether individuals were related, and if not, whether reuse constituted a violation of the tomb. Even though consecutive multiple burial remained a minority practice in

Roman field cemeteries, we should nevertheless consider when and why they appear in the archaeological record. The fact that consecutive burials are absent from the majority of cemeteries in this study does not diminish their importance; instead, these burials provide valuable insight into the different types of corporeal connections that are enabled by handling the body at various stages of decay.

It is a common assumption in archaeological site reports that consecutive burials date to the fourth century CE or later. Margherita Bolla reviews two main hypotheses to explain the appearance of multiple burials: one theory credits the Jewish

Diaspora and the westward movement of soldiers and merchants with the custom of collecting and redepositing bones in family tombs in the manner of charnel pits.10 The

10 Bel and Gleize 2011, 215; Bolla 2015, 364–366. Bolla assigns the appearance of consecutive burials to Late Antiquity, which she interprets as the fifth century. 211

other explanation attributes to Christianity the appearance of multiple burials since the religion precipitated a shift in attitudes to the dead body, one that was connected with the search for relics, and because many ‘Christian’ burials contained multiple individuals or took the form of ossuaries. Models of cultural diffusion and religious change are familiar tools in the study of Roman burial practices. They are used, for example, to explain the origins of various forms of collective burial like the columbaria or the catacombs.11 There are many possible and conflicting explanations for the reuse of graves that vary circumstantially, even if they are not discernable from material traces in the archaeological record. Grave reuse over long periods of time has been explained by economic or spatial concerns: that the burying population lacked the resources to create new graves, that space in a cemetery was restricted or that the burying population no longer respected the sanctity of graves from earlier generations.12 When reuse occurred after a cemetery’s main period of use, it is assumed that there was a rupture between the later burying population and the earlier occupants of a tomb, and the practice is presented as subversive and outside normative burial practices.

Instead of looking to models of diffusion or religious change, I propose to investigate when and why consecutive burials appear in Roman cemeteries by focusing on the material properties of the decomposed body that were central to the creation of corporeal connections. My approach inscribes this development in local cemeteries that were in use for multiple centuries and it posits grave reuse as an act of

11 For example, Bodel 2008, 189 on explanations for the development of columbaria and catacomb structures and their ability to accommodate large numbers of individuals. 12 E.g. Stoodley 2002; Gleize 2007; Cividini 2012, 55; Klevnäs 2013, 74–77. 212

remembering, even when it could have the controversial effect of seeming to efface the individual identity or corporeal integrity of a tomb’s initial occupant. Such a perspective reveals new questions about the material properties of the decomposed body and the physical characteristics of the grave structure. It invites us to investigate how the space of decomposition could facilitate or impede the handling of human remains in reused graves.

Additionally, this type of inquiry pertains to the realms of memory, corporeality, and individuality by exploring how the body could be a locus of continuing memory, even after the dissolution of organic material and fragmentation that transforms a body from a corpse into a skeleton.13 Other questions include: how was the body of a tomb’s original occupant treated at the time of grave reuse and how do we characterize these types of corporeal connections among decomposed and disarticulated individuals? How does the movement of unbound, fragmented bodies within burial environments harness the affective power and material qualities of objectified individuals?

Previous research on Roman burial practices largely sought to identify points of inception and departure, rather than transitions and changing practices.14 Inherent in the aim of reconstructing a monument or tomb’s original phase is a deleterious attitude to later additions, alterations or modifications. Disarticulated human skeletal remains – if they are given any consideration in a cemetery publication – are treated as intrusive, even when they belonged to the original occupant of a tomb. Indeed, when the body

13 Nilsson Stutz 2008, 20–21. 14 Borg 2013, 123. 213

appears in archaeology, it is largely as a linguistic metaphor, treated like a text to be deciphered, rather than foregrounded in embodied experiences. Reused burials highlight what Yannis Hamilakis calls the “dialectic between remembering and forgetting.”15 They do not necessarily preserve the identity of specific individuals after the passage of time, but they do highlight the continuity of mortuary spaces in a manner that both acknowledges and elides the earlier stages of decomposition of a tomb’s original occupant.

My argument throughout the present chapter is as follows: by focusing on the disarticulated skeletal remains that are often characterized as intrusive additions to a grave, a new avenue for exploration emerges with the body at the center, one that partially rejects the limiting notion of the body as a bounded entity. Through the handling and manipulation of unbound skeletal remains in reused graves, the corporeal remains of a tomb’s initial occupant could function as a material signifier of an individual, even if the act of remembering was the same as the act that effaced the integrity of the skeleton or the maintenance of individual identity. Whereas Chapter 3 explored multiple burials in which the time between depositions was relatively short, this chapter is predicated on the idea that the post-depositional manipulation of dry bones was a profoundly different experience than handling a decomposing body.

Part 1 begins with the methodological questions that archaeothanatology helps to answer: how do we recognize that a burial was reused successively rather than simultaneously? In cases of consecutive burials, how were the existing remains handled? Part 2 turns to case studies and explores how fragmented and unbound

15 Hamilakis 2013, 154–156; 2018, 314. 214

bodies were touched, handled and repositioned within graves. I reconstruct the state of the body at the time of grave opening and interpret it as the main indicator of the amount of time elapsed between the original deposition and reuse. In doing so, this chapter will answer questions about how the stage of decomposition and the specific burial environment dictated the conditions that facilitated or impeded grave reuse.

Part 3 discusses the low chronological resolution and the issues of sample size that concern reused burials. It may be true that numerous graves in this study were reused in the third and fourth centuries in the later phases of a cemetery’s ‘lifespan.’

However, it is important to independently investigate the time between burials, the treatment of the original occupant of a grave at the time of reuse or manipulation, as well as the role that the architecture of a grave played in facilitating these activities, without beginning from the assumption that consecutive reuse was necessarily a predatory practice. New methodological and interpretive questions allow us to examine how the connecting of bodies served as an active strategy to create links between individuals in cemeteries that were in use for multiple generations and even centuries.

Part 1: Secondary and Consecutive Multiple Burials

We now return to the mechanics of grave reuse, and it is worthwhile to define some of the scenarios that archaeologists find in the field, before exploring in the case studies how these reflect the different ways of touching, handling and manipulating the dead. The terms collective or consecutive burial signify that human remains were

215

deposited successively over time, and not in a singular episode.16 Collective burial does not necessarily refer to communal burial in large funerary complexes, but it can have that connotation, especially in the context of monumental tombs that were built to accommodate subsequent depositions, like the Roman columbaria that housed hundreds of cremation burials in niches.17 Individual inhumation burials could be transformed into consecutive burials by moving or displacing the original occupant in order to create space for one or multiple additional depositions. The mixture of skeletal remains from two or more individuals is referred to as commingled. It is often difficult to understand how many individuals were involved, as well as why, how and when the commingling took place.18

Consecutive burials – the term that is employed in this study – often involve disarticulated and fragmentary skeletons of individuals, and they raise questions of where decomposition took place and whether disarticulation was the result of a secondary burial or a reduction of the skeleton in its original space of interment.

Perhaps as a testament to the widespread influence of Robert Hertz’ paper on secondary rites, the term secondary evokes multi-stage funerary rites and the deposition of defleshed human skeletal remains.19 In the Roman world, cremations were typically secondary burials. Relatively exceptional was the practice of burying

16 Knüsel and Robb 2016, 657. ‘Collective’ depositions refer to the presence of more than one body in the same feature over time, regardless of whether or not the deposit was intended to accommodate multiple individuals. 17 Duday 2009, 114–118; Borbonus 2014 in general for burial in Roman columbaria tombs. 18 Knüsel and Robb 2016, 657; Lambacher et al. 2016. 19 Hertz 1960; Parker Pearson 1999, 50; Knüsel and Robb 2016, 658. The latter defines secondary rites as “involving a long intermediary period after which the remains of a dead body are recovered from their original place of deposition and moved to a new location […] With secondary burial, the ultimate destination of the disaggregated human remains is likely to be well removed from the contexts of earlier funerary stages.” 216

the ashes where they were burned. Henri Duday and Mark Guillon approach the problem from the contexts of forensic science and archaeology, and they further differentiate between a secondary deposit and a secondary grave. In the former scenario “dry bones are brought to the spot where they have been discovered; however, in some situations, the reintervention can occur at a time when a few ligaments from persistent joints still subsist.”20 Conversely, a secondary grave is the result of a double funeral ceremony that involves the transfer of the corpse to a definitive grave, without reliance on the state of anatomical connection or decomposition. Secondary inhumation burials that involved delayed burial or a transfer of the deceased’s remains from a temporary storage place to a permanent burial were not common practices in Roman Italy, although Tacitus’ account of

Germanicus returning to gather and bury the battlefield dead serves as a reminder of the different scenarios that can be found in organized cemeteries and other forms of mortuary deposits.21

These concepts are complicated when a grave was reused at a later point for a subsequent inhumation burial, and there is an ongoing tendency to conflate primary and secondary mortuary deposits with the initial and additional depositions respectively, even if scholars make the distinction between contemporary/simultaneous and consecutive/successive multiple burials.22 In his study of multiple burials in Anglo-Saxon England, Nick Stoodley describes the scenario in

20 Duday and Guillon 2006, 146; Duday 2009, 45. 21 On the transport and repatriation of those who died away from home, see Laubry 2007; Tybout 2016. There could also be seasonal or environmental reasons for delayed burial if frost or snow prevented the burying population from digging a pit until warmer temperatures caused the ground to thaw. 22 Stoodley 2002, 109; Klevnäs 2013, 75. 217

which secondary burials disturbed the primary interment of earlier burials, and he writes that in several cases the primary burials were moved to the edges of the grave

“in order to accommodate secondary interments.”23 Stoodley’s use of primary and secondary in this context does not refer to the treatment of the body at the time of the final deposition, but rather to the order in which individuals were interred in the grave.

Such confusion can be easily remedied by distinguishing between the order of depositions, meaning the initial and additional depositions, and the state of the skeletal remains within the burial, whether they were part of primary or secondary deposits, which can be established at the time of excavation based on the level of anatomical connection or disarticulation.

Roderick Sprague advocates for a distinction between simple disposals that involve one method of treatment at one specific time and compound disposals that suppose two or more distinct stages of burial, though the latter can also be referred to as multi-phased or multi-stage.24 In his view, a compound or multi-stage disposal involves at least two processes: a reduction process, followed by a secondary or final disposal.25 Reduction involves the removal of soft tissue from the skeleton, whether by natural processes of burial and subsequent disinterment, exhumation, exposure to animals, or by direct human action such as chemical decomposition or cremation. The next stage is secondary or final disposal.

23 Stoodley 2002, 109. This same confusion about ‘secondary’ interments of integral corpses is repeated by Klevnäs (2013). 24 Sprague 2005, 57–70. Sprague avoids the terms complex disposal, by which he means a multi-stage process, in order to avoid confusion with a burial structure or complex. 25 Sprague 2005, 70. 218

What Sprague refers to as the ‘reduction’ phase is simply called

‘decomposition’ in the present study, whether it took place naturally or in an accelerated manner. I follow the archaeothanatological definition of a ‘reduction’ as a type of secondary burial that involves a decrease in the volume of space that was occupied by a dead body, usually after decomposition took place, at which point a grave was used for a subsequent deposition. In a reduction, the bones of a grave’s initial occupant could be moved out of place or piled up in the corner or along the sides of a burial; they could be stacked vertically on top of each other or the long bones could be arranged parallel to each other. It is to these forms of contact and ways to touch, rearrange and handle the bones of an existing deposition that I now turn.

Contact with the Dead:

In his work on a collection of 900 burials from 14 cemeteries in Nouvelle-

Aquitaine from the Middle Ages, Yves Gleize identifies three main scenarios that involved handling the dead in reused inhumation graves: réduction, vidange and superposition. The first (réduction) describes the consolidation of at least the larger bones within the same space where the primary deposition was made; a vidange refers to the removal of some bones and a partial emptying of a tomb, and a superposition signifies the overlay of a deceased body on top of the corpse or skeleton of the original occupant.26 Before I turn to the case studies, it is worth elaborating on these three scenarios in slightly more detail.

26 Gleize 2007, 189. “La réduction correspond à la diminution importante de la place occupée par le squelette et au regroupement de ses ossements (au moins les plus volumineux) à l’intérieur même de l’espace où a été effectué le dépôt primaire. Lorsqu’au contraire une partie des ossements est sortie de 219

a) Reduction Burials:

As suggested above, reductions are defined by: the regrouping of all the bones of an individual, or at least the majority, inside the space in which the initial deposit was made.27 This type of deposit involves some degree of handling ‘dry bones,’

(defleshed, ‘clean’ bones), although this does not exclude remnants of organic material. The possibility to reposition bones out of anatomical order implies the passage of time and allows for at least partial decomposition of skin and ligaments.

Bones can be regrouped and repositioned; they are usually pushed laterally to the side of a burial pit or container, or they are stacked at one end of the grave.28 Which bones were repositioned and how they were arranged was directly affected by the type of burial structure and the space of decomposition. Reductions take place not only in the primary space where decomposition occurred, but that place is usually a void or empty space, such as a sarcophagus or container.29 For Duday, it is important to establish whether the reduction took place inside or outside the container, which affects whether the bones were stacked up at the end of a burial, along the sides of a pit, on the lid of a coffin, etc.30 Typically, a reduction was then followed by reuse of the space for the deposition of another or multiple individuals.

Whereas secondary deposits are defined by pre-planning and multi-stage funerary rites, the post-depositional handling of ‘dry’ bones in reductions does not

la tombe, on parlera de “vidange”. La réutilisation de certaines tombes s’accompagne parfois de gestes plus limités: ainsi, dans le cas d’une superposition, le corps du défunt est déposé sur le cadavre ou sur le squelette en connexion avec l’occupant precedent.” 27 Duday et al. 1990, 44. “Celle-ci correspond au regroupement de tous les os d’un individu, ou du moins de la majorité d’entre eux, à l’intérieur de l’espace où a été effectué le dépôt initial.” 28 Gleize 2010, 49–53. 29 Duday et al. 1990, 44; Duday 2009, 72. 30 Duday 2009, 72. 220

require proof that the manipulation was a planned element of the burial.31 Duday makes a critical but potentially-unknowable distinction between the two: pre-planning.

In the case of secondary burials that involved the transfer of loose bones to the place where they were eventually found, it is “necessary to prove that the manipulation of dry bones had been planned from the start.”32 In summary, a reduction is a type of secondary burial that involves a multi-stage process and the post-decomposition handling of skeletal remains in the original space of decomposition, in order to create space for the later deposition of an additional individual, even if the original deposit was not necessarily planned to be reused at a later point.

b) Partial Emptying (Vidange):

Another type of post-depositional manipulation is referred to in French as a vidange, which is a partial or complete emptying of a tomb. When a burial was reused for a subsequent deposition, one solution to make space was to remove the existing occupant and to rebury or dispose of the remains elsewhere.33 Whereas a reduction involved the regrouping of the bones within the space of decomposition, a vidange removed at least some bones from that space, whether it was a coffin, sarcophagus, burial niche, or a pit in the ground. In conditions of poor skeletal preservation, it can be difficult to distinguish the taphonomic circumstances that lead to the erosion and disappearance of bones from the anthropogenic act of emptying a grave.

31 Duday et al. 2014, 237. 32 Duday 2009, 14. 33 Gleize 2007, 189. 221

One indicator that a tomb was emptied and reused for a later deposition is when the size of the burial pit appears too large or too small for the individual for whom it was reused. Another indicator is when small bones such as phalanges or vertebrae that do not belong are found with a later individual. These bones might represent the residual remains of an individual who was removed to make space for a subsequent deposition, as is the case in a tomb from the Collatina cemetery near

Rome, where foot bones were found under the skeleton of a later deposition.34

Alternatively, the remains might not be small, residual bones but larger skeletal elements that could have been added to a grave or left behind when one was emptied.

This was the case in T. 243 at Musarna, in which all that remained of an earlier burial were two humeri.35 In cases where a grave was partially or completely emptied and reused, it is impossible to determine whether the remains were reinterred elsewhere in a secondary deposit or whether they were discarded without reburial.

For both reduction and partial emptying, whether decomposition took place in a void or a filled space is determined by the type of grave container, the burial environment and often, the skeletal remains of the later deposition. Duday and colleagues indicate that the intentional removal of bones (prélevement) after corporeal decomposition generally presupposes the existence of an empty space.36 Although

34 Buccellato et al. 2008, 66; Bel and Gleize 2011, 221 for an example of a partial emptying of a grave at the Collatina cemetery in the vicinity of Rome. 35 Rebillard 2009b, 219, Fig. 38. T. 243 was a pit burial in the tufo, in which two individuals were found. One was an adult female in a supine position with lower limbs crossed at the tibiae. The two humeri of the earlier individual were found near the right humerus of the individual who was still in anatomical order. The possibility of a secondary burial cannot be excluded. If the two humeri were not part of an emptying, they may have been added to T. 243. 36 Duday et al. 1990, 44. “Le prélèvement intentionnel d’ossements après dislocation du cadavre impose la réouverture de la tombe et présuppose généralement l’existence d’un espace vide.” 222

they do not state explicitly that decomposition in a void is a prerequisite for reduction, the removal or grouping of bones within the same container strongly implies that the space was void.

c) Superposition:

As mentioned in Chapter 3, the positioning of bodies vertically on top of each other in ‘superposition’ is a solution for the creation of either simultaneous or consecutive multiple burials. Sometimes they involve minimal disturbance to the existing occupant of a grave, and typically cases of superposition create contact between bodies by stacking at least one individual on top of another.37 The later deposition can adhere to the orientation of the earlier one when the heads are positioned in the same direction. Alternatively, the later interment can reverse the orientation (head-to-foot), or, as in the case of Vagnari T. 308 (below), the cranium can be repositioned before the deposition of the later individual. For consecutive burials in the Merovingian kingdoms, Louis Maurin proposes that the type of contact depended on the state of corporeal decomposition: skeletal reduction was more common in cases of complete decomposition, whereas superposition occurred when the original deposition was not fully decomposed at the time of grave reuse.38

Part 2: Case Studies

The archaeothanatological methods that were employed in the last chapter form a heuristic basis for the excavation and analysis of burials and human remains.

37 Gleize 2007, 189. 38 Maurin 1971, 157–58; Gleize 2007, 186. 223

These methods are equally applicable to the present investigation, in which careful field recording and observations about corporeal decomposition are necessary to demonstrate the simultaneity or consecutiveness of depositions.39 Chapter 3 also introduced the importance of the body to determine when grave reuse took place after the initial deposition. Following Edeltraud Aspöck’s temporal gradation, reuse could take place shortly after the original deposition; at a point when the corpse was in the process of decomposition; when it was already a skeleton but still in a void space; when the grave was filled in or when the structures had already collapsed around the skeletal remains.40 Bolla further differentiates among the latter categories between when there still existed the memory and identity of an individual and those in which the occupant of a grave was typically anonymous.41 The present case studies turn to the later stages of decomposition, in the interstices between individual identity and anonymous graves, since there was no linear relationship between decomposition and memory. Among the different types of consecutive multiple burials in published cemetery reports, reductions are the most readily recognizable because the time between depositions was enough to allow for at least partial and usually complete decomposition of the first occupant of a tomb.

The terminology for the position of bones in consecutive multiple burials that involved substantial skeletal manipulation or repositioning is far from standardized

(Table 1). Cases are most easily recognizable when there is a combination of a drawing and/or photograph of the burial, as well as a description of the disarticulated

39 Duday 2009, 73–76. 40 Aspöck 2011, 304–306. 41 Bolla 2015, 362. 224

skeletal remains and their relationship to any subsequent depositions. Excavators might identify the action as a reduction in the volume of space that was originally occupied by the skeleton or, more commonly, a cemetery publication will mention the presence of heaps, bundles or piles of bones, often in the corner or at the side of a burial, with no further consideration of the burial taphonomy. The former typically signifies that a burial was excavated with consideration of the space of decomposition and the taphonomic or anthropogenic transformations at various points in the

‘lifespan’ of grave. The latter, in contrast, does not necessarily imply a dismissive attitude to remains that were not found in an articulated, primary burial, though it is often the case.

Table 1: Terminology used to describe reduction burials in Roman cemeteries.

Site Description Albintimilium42 i resti ridotti Beligna43 ributtate al momento della seconda deposizione Bossema di Cavaion44 accatastate Brindisi45 deposizione secondaria ammassata; deposizione in giacitura secondaria Casteggio46 collocati alla rinfusa resti; accumulate Celano47 ricollocate; riduzione Coseano48 spostamento dell’inumato precedentemente Isernia49 le ossa ammucchiate;

42 Martino et al. 2004, 93, T. 275. 43 Giovannini et al. 1998, 272–273, T. 42. 44 Salzani 1995, 15, T. 8. 45 Cocchiaro and Andreassi 1988, 198, 209–210, 213, TT. 50, 87 and 89. 46 Invernizzi 2011, 66–69, 72–73, TT. 25, 21/26. 47 Ceccaroni et al. 2011, 334–335, T. 54, 58. 48 Cividini 2012, 55, loc. Angories (CO12), T. 15. 49 Terzani and Chiari 1997, 54–55, 61–66, 72–73, 88–89, 113, 177–180. TT. 13, 16, 21, 29, 48 and 103. In the case of T. 29, the tomb is described as bisoma, but the bones of a second individual were heaped up (ammucchiate) at the extreme southwest of the tomb. Typically, bisoma refers to a burial with two individuals, but the term does not specify whether they were interred simultaneously or consecutively. It is interesting to note that the other Isernia burials with more than one individual are 225

bisoma … le ossa ammucchiate Foligno50 le ossa ammucchiate Guidonia51 le ossa ammucchiate Lazio52 riduzione Lugone (Salò)53 spostato e accostato Musarna54 réduction; en désordre complet Seriate55 in posizione secondaria; le ossa addossati; le ossa non più in connessione anatomica Vagnari56 disturbed; the skeletal remains were piled up

As the varied language above suggests, few cemetery publications employ the equivalent term ‘reduction,’ which is limited to Musarna as well as those cemeteries in which Italian archaeologists have collaborated with practitioners or are themselves trained in the methods of archaeothanatology. The skeletal remains described by these terms imply disorder in the arrangement of bones and a partial or complete lack of anatomical connections. This suggests that there was a degree of post-depositional manipulation before the graves were reused. The different types of contact and rearrangement will be explored in greater detail below.

all characterized as riutilizzata, and even though T. 29 appears to be a case of reduction, it is the only one that is called bisoma. 50 Bergamini 1988, 23, 89, 100, TT. 62 and 102. 51 Moscetti et al. 2004, 179, T. 16. 52 Amicucci and Carboni 2015, 786–787. Sites with reduction burials in their study include: Castel Malnome, Collatina, Lucrezia Romana, Nomentana, Osteria del Curato, San Palomba and Tenuta Redicoli with 28 cases of reductions (out of 4781 inhumed individuals). 53 Massa 1997, schede 61, 69, 71; TT. 84, 88 and 89. 54 Rebillard 2009b, TT. 175, 185, 243, 287, 333 and 342. 55 Poggiani Keller 1980-81, 162, Tomb F. 56 Small et al. 2007, 186. 226

Figure 24: Locations of reduction burials discussed in this study.

Reductions in Roman imperial period cemeteries were generally rare. So far, I have identified 61 examples out of the 12,000 burials that were included in this study.

These examples range from the late first through the fourth/fifth centuries CE and come from different regions in Italy (Fig. 24) (Appendix 3). The number of reductions from the suburbs of Rome (n=28) is almost the same as the total number of reductions for the rest of Italy, and there are various possible reasons for this discrepancy. There may have been different spatial concerns that necessitated grave reuse in the suburbs of Rome.57 Alternatively, since these 28 examples come from recent excavations by

Italian archaeologists who have adopted the term riduzione and are aware of the

57 Cividini 2012, 55. “Per M. Buora, l’accumulo di deposizioni nelle stesse sepolture, spesso semplici fosse, deve essere collegato ad un problema di sovraffollamento, a fronte di ridotti spazi disponibili; tuttavia se tale ipotesi può valere per le necropoli urbane, non regge qualora ci si trovi in un contesto rurale, dove non ci sono oggettivi problemi di spazio.” 227

methods of archaeothanatology, it is likely that this type of deposit has been under- identified and relegated to the status of ‘disturbed’ burials.

The majority of subterranean burials under consideration in this study were dug directly into the clay or tuff, depending on local soil conditions. Of the reductions that are documented in Appendix 3, the majority were found in some kind of structure that permitted decomposition in a void. These include various burial types in the cemeteries throughout Italy: stone or tile structures (20 examples); pits that were lined at the bottom with tiles (three examples); and unlined pits in the dirt or tufo (10 examples). For the 28 cases of reductions in 11 recently-excavated cemeteries around

Rome, 20 were in fosse, while eight were found in loculi (Fig. 25). Other than Osteria del Curato and Collatina, the archaeological information for these burials in the suburbs of Rome still awaits publication.58 The rest of the case studies will focus on published examples, many of which were neither uncovered in the tradition of micro- stratigraphic excavations, nor published in a manner that indicates the location of and relationships between skeletal elements and the grave context, whether published in isolation or as part of a full cemetery volume; nevertheless, they contribute in a significant way to our understanding of Roman grave reuse and post-burial practices.

58 Amicucci and Carboni 2015, 786–87. For Osteria del Curato, see Egidi, Catalano and Spadoni 2003; for Collatina: Buccellato, Catalano and Musco 2008; Buccellato et al. 2011. Because of the way data from the suburbs of Rome are separated between the archaeologists who excavate the material and the physical anthropologists who analyze human skeletal remains, no full description of these burials is available. In the absence of burial plans, photos and a general catalog, material that has been excavated in Rome is largely absent from this study. 228

Reductions in the Suburbs of Rome

Quarto Cappelle Lucrezia Romana Osteria del Curato S. Palomba Castellaccio P. Semeria Castel Manome T. Redicicoli Nomentana Collatina Casal Bertone 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Number of Burials

Loculi Fosse

Figure 25: Reductions in 11 Roman cemeteries in Lazio. (After Amicucci and Carboni 2015: Fig. 3).

The following case studies explore the material and sensory properties of dead bodies and the ways in which the grave structure and the environment of decomposition facilitated grave reuse. The case studies draw attention to actions at the time of grave opening and how they affected the entombed body. They address the following topics: how adaptive reuse transformed the grave structure from a single to a collective burial; how a sense of individuality could be maintained or effaced among fragmented and unbound skeletal remains; the material properties of the skeleton; which parts of the body were moved and how they were positioned; how the head may have received special treatment as the seat of individual identity as pars pro toto; and how to establish whether reuse was intentional or resulted from disturbance to an earlier grave. These thematic questions are coupled with recurring issues about timing and chronology, which relate to when in the process of decomposition grave reuse took place and, more generally, how we can date the use and reuse of consecutive multiple burials over several centuries. Since reductions are the most readily- 229

identifiable form of successive burial, the thematic case studies are weighted towards this type of contact, although there are some examples of superposition and the partial emptying of graves.

Case Study: Decay and Corporeality Seriate Tomb F

Typically, reductions concerned the most voluminous bones of a skeleton. This is not surprising since certain skeletal elements are more resistant to decay. For example, dense, cortical bones are generally better preserved than spongy, trabecular elements.59 But preservation does not always equate to recovery in archaeological assemblages. Nearly-inorganic tooth enamel is one of the most resistant elements to degradation in soil, yet small elements like teeth are less likely to be recovered during excavation than larger elements like the cranium and long bones. The smaller bones of the hands, feet, ribs and vertebrae are prone to fragmentation and degradation in moist environments; they are easily dislodged by scavengers and earthworms, and they require meticulous excavation and recording since they fall easily into secondary void spaces that are created by the decomposition of organic material. These skeletal elements are more difficult to document in planned drawings, and they are not often discernable from excavation photography alone.

In published cemetery reports, the disarticulated bones of a tomb’s first occupant are generally treated homogenously as the remains of a previous inhumation, with only occasional comments about the position of specific bones in unusual

59 Mays 1998, 21–22. 230

circumstances.60 This inhibits an attempt to inventory skeletal remains in published reduction burials or to assess how much of the body was handled at the time of reuse, even if only a fraction of the body survives until the time of excavation. While this question – namely which bones were affected by consecutive multiple burials – has been infrequently studied or described in detail, the impression from photos, illustrations and tomb descriptions is that the long bones, most often the femora, tibiae and humeri, were arranged parallel to each other, while the outcome for the thorax, pelvis, hands and feet is less certain.

A cemetery was discovered at Seriate (Bergamo) in Lombardy, in which nine burials were excavated between 1979-1981 after the first three were accidentally uncovered by a backhoe. All burials were single inhumations, with the exception of

Tomb F, which consisted of a rectangular brick, stone and mortar structure (2.1 x 1.4 m), with no grave cover at the time of excavation (Fig. 26).61 Tomb F contained three individuals in total, with two in superposition on top of each other. In the layer between skeletons, there were two large stones (ciottoli), as well as a flat stone slab

(lastra) above the pelvis of the second individual. Both individuals were deposited in a supine position with the heads to the north. The upper individual was in a poorer state of anatomical connection and preservation. The third individual was found at the same

60 Giovannini et al. 1998, 272–273 (le ossa di un secondo individuo); Martino et al. 2004, 95 (i resti di una precedente inumazione); Terzani and Chiari 1997, 61–66 (le ossa di altre deposizioni). 61 Poggiani Keller 1980-81, 162. 231

level as the bottom skeleton, but resting along the eastern wall of the tomb, and the skeletal remains only consisted of a cranium and disarticulated long bones.62

From the written and visual description of Tomb F, we gather that this burial includes two articulated skeletons in superposition and one disarticulated, secondary burial, most likely in the form of a reduction.63 Although the burial description does not specify which bones were included in the reduction, they include a mix of readily recognizable long bones from the lower limbs (femur, tibia, fibula) to the north of the cranium. There is an apparent order to the long bones, which were arranged parallel to the eastern wall of the tomb and to the lower limbs of the later depositions. It is probable that the bones were defleshed at the time of reduction, based on the dense

62 Poggiani Keller 1980-81, 162 “in posizione secondaria con le ossa e il cranio addossati al lato E […] si rinvennero le ossa lunghe non più in connessione anatomica ed il cranio di un terzo individuo.” 63 A minor point, but the description is slightly misleading, since the individuals are numbered in reverse order of deposition, with the ‘first’ skeleton likely being the last of the three depositions. 232

arrangement and the positioning. The absence of anatomical connections confirms that the third skeleton was not part of a primary deposit, but it is difficult to determine whether the rest of the skeleton was missing because it was transferred from another location or because the lack of grave cover created an oxygenated environment that accelerated bone degeneration before the grave was reused. Based on the type of grave structure, it seems likely that the third individual was the initial occupant of the tomb, and that his or her skeletal remains were later moved to the eastern wall, in order to create room for two subsequent depositions within the tomb. Accordingly, this would be a reduction inside the space where decomposition occurred, rather than a true secondary burial.

Movement affected bodies at different stages of decomposition in various ways, depending on whether individuals were stacked on top of each other or reduced to a bundle of bones. It is interesting to note that there were two large ciottoli and a slab over the pelvis of the lower of the two superimposed individuals, as well as a head ‘cushion’ made of three ciottoli on which the uppermost individual’s head rested.

The rocks that were placed between individuals created a separative layer, a strategy that will be discussed in other case studies. It is thus possible to connect individuals while also maintaining a sense of individuality.

The missing grave cover and the two missing sides of the tomb structure are frequent signs of post-depositional intervention, but not an indicator of when the reuse occurred. Grave goods found near the crania of the two superimposed individuals include a cup from the first century CE and an olpe from the third-fourth century CE,

233

so the grave is thought to reflect a fourth century reuse of a first century burial.64 It is difficult to exclude the possibility that Tomb F was pre-planned to be reused since the dimensions are large enough to allow for the deposition of multiple individuals and decomposition could have taken place in a void space, but for now, Tomb F at Seriate introduces many of the concerns that will be explored in further detail.

Case Study: Maintaining Individuality Isernia T. 29, Celano TT. 54 and 58, and Coseano T. 15

In nearly all of the examples presented here, we observe that the bones of the initial occupant were moved to the opposite end from where the head of the later deposition would eventually rest. The cranium was often the focus of differential treatment, whether it was removed from the grave at the time of reduction or repositioned in a place of prominence.65 In T. 29 at Isernia, the position of the cranium at the southwest end of the grave and of the long bones along the eastern edge are illustrative of this phenomenon (Fig. 27). Not only were the bones of the original occupant moved out of the way to make space for an additional individual, but the later deposition was interred with the head at the opposite end of the grave. This could have been for the practical reason that the superposition of crania may have required more depth than an existing grave allowed or because the round nature of the cranial vault made it difficult to stack in such a manner. Alternatively, it could represent an attempt to keep individuals separate, in order to preserve a semblance of individuality among disarticulated skeletal remains.

64 Mori 1980-81, 170–174. 65 Duday et al. 1990, 44. 234

Figure 27: Scale drawing of T. 29 at Isernia, showing the cranium at the southwest end. (After Terzani and Chiari 1997, 89).

There were other strategies to demarcate individuals and keep them separate from later depositions. At Pratovecchio near Celano (Abruzzo), a cemetery with 67 burials was excavated and now awaits publication; most of the burials were covered alla cappuccina and date to the second century CE. The preliminary report states that the practice of grave opening and reuse was widely attested, and there are a number of consecutive multiple burials, which include at least two reductions that involved an unspecified number of individuals (TT. 54 and 58).66 In one case, the bones from the initial deposition were collected and pushed to the sides of the tegulae that lined the bottom of the pseudo-sarcophagus. In the other instance, the excavators think that the

66 Ceccaroni et al. 2011, 334, “[…] ampiamente attestata è la pratica di riapertura e conseguente reimpiego delle singole, tanto che numerose risultano le sepolture multiple, a seguito di una successiva deposizione di altri defunti all’interno della stessa tomba.” The cemetery at Pratovecchio was divided into two nuclei of burials. The second nucleus was characterized by a greater density of burials with some overlapping and intersecting ones, as well as some that were thought to be violated and destroyed, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Grave goods suggest an overall date of the second century CE for the cemetery, although it is unclear whether the same burying population was responsible for the reduction and reuse of graves in the second century. 235

bones from the initial deposit were placed in a small wooden box before it was reinterred in the burial.67

Near Coseano in Friuli-Venezia Giulia, recent excavations in the Angories cemetery brought to light 26 burials. These include 20 cremations and six inhumations that range in date from the first century BCE to the fourth century CE.68 Among the inhumation graves was one cassa in muratura structure that was made of tile fragments (T. 15). It contained the remains of nine individuals from multiple episodes of reuse (Fig. 28). A layer of tile fragments was placed directly above the disarticulated remains of earlier individuals, in order to separate some of the later depositions from the earlier ones. Above the false floor of the tomb were two individuals in superposition with the crania of two individuals at their feet. Since

Coseano was a rural necropolis with very few burials spaced out over several centuries, Tiziana Cividini does not interpret T. 15 as a response to overcrowding, though it certainly could be, but instead, she views it as the burial ground of individuals who played a particular role within the small community.69

67 Ceccaroni et al. 2011, 334: “Le ossa, probabilmente raccolte all’interno di cassette di legno, venivano poi ricollocate nella sepoltura, poche volte all’interno della cassa o al di sotto della copertura.” 68 Cividini 2012, 55. 69 Cividini 2012, 55. 236

Figure 28: Coseano (Angories) T. 15 cassa in muratura burial with a false bottom of the grave and the remains of nine individuals. (After Cividini 2012, Fig. 55.)

Collectively, these examples from Isernia, Celano and Coseano attest to the repeated practice of moving individuals to the edges of the tomb, which were usually at the opposite end from the head of the later deposition. There were attempts to collect and collate the remains of individuals, to create a separative layer that could symbolically act as a boundary between individuals, which may have helped to preserve individuality among the fragmentary bodies of disarticulated individuals.

Such a separation did not prevent the mixing of bodies, as the reduction and comingling of multiple individuals in T. 16 at Isernia or T. 15 at Coseano demonstrate, but there could be attempts to separate the ‘recently deceased’ from the ‘already decomposed’ dead in consecutive multiple burials. Finally, the head typically received special treatment, as the following example from Vagnari will explore in further detail.

237

Case Study: Superposition in an Infilled Space of Decomposition Vagnari T. 308

The next case investigates whether the handling of defleshed skeletal elements depended on a void space of decomposition and if the arrival of sediment precluded the ability to regroup bones. In cases of perishable wooden coffins, cappuccina grave covers or brick, stone and mortar tomb constructions (cassa laterizia, cassa in muratura), the corpse might have begun to decompose in an empty space, but those spaces were often gradually filled in with sediments that made it difficult to reduce the volume of the skeleton and to reuse the space. Tomb 308 at Vagnari was a gabled structure alla cappuccina, with large rock reinforcements on the north side. Inside the grave fill was a cranium at the center on the northern side (individual A), beneath an extended, primary burial (individual B) (Fig. 29).70 After the skeleton of individual B was removed, there was a layer of soil approximately 10 cm thick between individuals.

Figure 29: Vagnari T. 308 individual B in an extended position, with the cranium of individual A to the north of B’s right femur (Photo: author).

70 For a more detailed description of this burial, see Brent 2017, 42–47. 238

The lower limbs of individual A were fairly well preserved, including the persistent connection of the foot tarsals, but only faint traces remained of the pelvis, thorax, and right radius and ulna (Fig. 30). The cranium of individual A was found resting on the proximal end of the right femur, while parts of the mandible and some mandibular teeth were found to the north of the right humerus, which was rotated with its anterior surface facing down (or inferiorly), rather than in proper anatomical position like the left humerus. Fragments of tegulae were found at the edges of the pit once both skeletons were removed.

Figure 30: Vagnari T. 308 individual A, with the cranium on top of the right femur (Photo: author).

At the time of deposition, the corpse of individual A was laid in an extended, supine position in a burial that was planned for only one person. A’s head was still attached at the neck at the far eastern end of the burial. The tile fragments at the edges of the pit were part of the grave cover for the first deposition, but they were disturbed when the grave was opened. Decomposition took place in a space that was probably empty under the original tile grave cover, until sediment filtered in through the cracks 239

between tiles. At the time of reopening, individual A’s head was most likely elevated and resting against a tile fragment at the eastern end of the grave. The entire skull

(cranium and mandible) was then lifted, but only the cranium was repositioned by the pelvis, since the mandible detached and separated from the rest of the head during this repositioning. The muscles and ligaments had already decayed since the anatomical connection at the temporomandibular joint was lost.71 At the same time that the cranium was repositioned, the right humerus was flipped posteriorly and angled towards, if not beyond, the northern extent of the original pit. Afterwards, two large rocks were placed to the north and south of individual A’s knee joints at the same level as the disarticulated cranium, and a layer of soil was deposited on top of individual A.

The pelvis was unfortunately too poorly preserved to be used for sex estimation, but the individual is of gracile proportions with unfused cranial sutures, so likely a young adult and possibly female. The fragmentary state of individual A’s thorax, in comparison to the good preservation of the lower limbs, is consistent with the type of disturbance that results from opening a grave when decomposition was mostly complete.72 The arrival of sediment underneath the cappuccina grave cover

71 Duday and Guillon 2006, 132. Neither the first nor the second cervical vertebrae were recovered at the time of excavation, and the absence of these vertebrae likely results from generally poor preservation, which was made worse by the taphonomic event of grave reopening. 72 Radiocarbon analysis of bone was performed at the University of Salento’s Centro di Datazione e Diagnostica (CEDAD) and calibrated using OxCal Ver. 3.10. Dates ranging from A.D. 235–405 for individual A (95.4%) and A.D. 228–405 for individual B (95.4%) indicate a potentially wide amount of time between the depositions, but contextual and taphonomic observations suggest that the individuals were interred fairly closely within that period. Given the loss of certain anatomical connections in the skull and right glenohumeral (shoulder) joint, the time between depositions in T. 308 at Vagnari was likely more than a few weeks, and probably in the order of several months or a few years, since it was enough to allow for corporeal decomposition by the time of the repositioning and reuse. 240

protected the lower limbs from disturbance and equally made the thorax susceptible to fragmentation and disintegration. The missing bones were not the product of differential preservation within the grave, but, because damage to individual A was limited to the eastern half of the grave, the bones were likely shoveled out by the gravedigger who excavated into the burial fill to make room for the second deposition.

Individual B was also interred in an extended position that followed almost exactly the same east-west orientation as individual A, in a pit that appears to be too small for this more robust individual, who was an adult male. This scenario corresponds to a superposition with manipulation and movement of the head. The presence of the rock and cranium to the north of B’s lower limbs created a wall effect that supported the right leg during decomposition and maintained the right patella on top of the right femur. In contrast, the left patella fell to the south, beyond the space originally occupied by the body, and was accompanied by the lateral rotation of the left tibia. The fact that there was no commingling of skeletal elements between individuals confirms that there was a layer of soil between them, which prevented the bones of individual B from falling into the empty spaces that were freed by the decomposition of organic material below.

In T. 308 there was a deliberate attempt to separate individuals, which may have functioned in tandem with practical matters like the depth of the grave, the repositioning of A’s cranium or the creation of structures that supported the body. The addition of rocks between individuals and outside the cappuccina grave cover may signal the acknowledgement of disturbance to a pre-existing tomb and an attempt to ameliorate or contain the damage, as well as an attempt to protect and secure the 241

newly-interred body. Gabled cappuccina burials do not lend themselves easily to opening and reuse because of the gradual arrival of sediment that fills in through cracks in the grave cover, so the example of T. 308 at Vagnari is an interesting and rare case of a superposition that damaged the remains of the first individual.

Case Study: Partial Emptying Casteggio (Clastidium) TT. 21/26

Thus far, the case studies have focused on examples of reductions and superposition, and although they are in the minority of burials in Roman cemeteries, they fall within recognizable and defined actions in the archaeological record. There are other examples of successively reused burials that involved contact with and the manipulation of skeletal remains. One such example of a partially-emptied tomb that was reused on successive occasions comes from the cemetery at Casteggio

(Clastidium) in Lombardia, in which there were 34 burials that were constructed in the second and third centuries CE.73 Tombs 21 and 26 both contained the skeletal remains of multiple individuals inside twin cassa laterizia structures that had separate cappuccina grave covers and shared one common wall. On the interior of each structure was one niche (ca. 32 x 35 cm) on the outward-facing wall, as well as one niche at the southern end of the shared wall that communicated between the two structures (Figs. 31-32).74

73 Invernizzi 2011. 74 Invernizzi 2011, 67–70, Fig. 20, Color Figs. 39–47. 242

Figure 31: Left: Twin cassa laterizia structures with T. 21 (right/east) and T. 26 (left/west). Right: T. 21 niche with the remains of two individuals at Casteggio (Clastidium). (After Invernizzi ed. 2011, Color Figs. 42 and 45).

Figure 32: Casteggio (Clastidium) T. 26 during excavation (left) and T. 21 during excavation (right).

Each tomb contained the skeletons of two adult male individuals in supine positions with the heads all oriented to the south. In T. 21, the first individual maintained partial anatomical connections and was pushed laterally to the eastern wall of the structure, in order to make space for the second, but the cranium was found near the southern niche that joined with T. 26, and the mandible was inside the niche (Figs.

31, 32 right). The grave fill included a terra sigillata cup, a lamp, a coin of Tiberius with the head of the deified Augustus, and a coin of an unknown emperor that was 243

found with the second individual. Inside the western tomb, T. 26, were two adult male individuals. The first was moved towards the west wall, in order to make space for the second individual, whose cranium was poorly preserved but not actually moved, as the photo might seem to indicate. In the vicinity of T. 26, a coin of an unidentified fourth- century emperor was found, as well as two glass vessels in the grave fill. Underneath the two individuals were scattered, fragmentary bones of a third individual who was identified as an older adult female.

In cases where more than two individuals were interred in the same burial container or deposit, it is useful to examine how many individuals were deposited inside the tomb and if it is possible to ascertain whether reuse took place at the same moment or if there were multiple episodes of reuse. Beyond the minimum number of individuals (MNI), consecutive multiple burials complicate the ability to identify which bones belonged to which individual, as well as the sequence of depositions.75

To address this problem, Duday and colleagues have advocated for the exploration of anatomical connections and ‘second-rate osteological links’.76 In the absence of anatomical connections, these second-rate links help to unite skeletal elements from the same individual in multiple or collective burials. The following links can help to establish that bones originally belonged to the same individual: joining fragments of

75 Lambacher et al. 2016. Osteological methods for estimating the Minimum Number of Individuals (MNI) or Minimum Number of Elements (MNE) are borrowed from the field of zooarchaeology, which divide skeletal elements by side, then assess the state of completeness, while sorting the bones of juveniles and adults separately. Whichever skeletal element from a collection is present in the highest number represents the minimum number of individuals. For example: if a burial contains three left femora but five right femora, then there was a minimum of five individuals, even if it is uncertain what happened to the two missing left femora. This is complicated when skeletal elements are fragmentary and do not connect, which makes it possible to double count elements such as the shafts of long bones when no epiphysis is present. 76 Duday and Guillon 2006, 152–153. 244

the same bone; articular continuity (ie. the sacroiliac joint); bones from individuals at the same stage of maturation or age at death; pathological identification; and links by symmetry, since the bones of an individual will resemble paired elements more closely than the bones of another individual.77 Inside each of the three niches in Casteggio TT.

21 and 26 were the fragmentary remains of two individuals, which helps to establish the minimum number of individuals as 11, whose skeletal inventories are summarized below in Table 2.

Table 2: Skeletal inventories from Casteggio TT. 21 and 26 summarized.

Burial Individual Notes on Skeletal Preservation and Post-Depositional Manipulation T. 21 1 Adult, male, 30-45 years, supine, leaning against the eastern wall of the burial. Even if individual 1 was moved over to make room for the later deposition, the individual maintained partial anatomical connections. After the deposition of individual 2, the cranium of 1 was found in the niche that articulates with T. 26.

Skeleton: mostly complete (cranium, sternum, rib fragments, most of the vertebral column, clavicles, scapulae, humeri, radii, ulnae, hand bones, left and right ilium, left ischium, right femur, both tibiae and fibula, foot bones). T. 21 2 Adult, male, 30-40 years, supine, with traces of direct trauma to the head, suggested to be the cause of death. Individual 2 was the latest deposition in T. 21; found with a coin from the late fourth century near the cranium.

Skeleton: complete (cranium, sternum, rib fragments, vertebral column, clavicles, scapulae, humeri, radii, hand bones, pelvis, femora, right patella, tibiae, fibulae, foot bones). T. 26 1 Adult, male, 30-40 years, supine, with traces of direct trauma to the head, suggested to be the cause of death. Individual 1 was the first deposition and was moved laterally to make room for individual 2.

Skeleton: mostly complete (cranium, sternum, ribs, some

77 Duday and Guillon 2006, 153. 245

cervical vertebrae and fragments of thoracic vertebrae, clavicles, right scapula, humeri, radii, ulnae, fragments of the ilium and pubis, both femora, tibiae, fibulae and foot bones). T. 26 2 Adult, male, 50-60 years, supine; the second deposition.

Skeleton: fragmentary (cranial fragments, fragmentary thoracic vertebrae and sacrum, humeri, right radius, hand bones, ilium, ischium, both femora, tibiae and fibulae, a patella, both calcanei, fragmentary foot bones). T. 26 3 In the thin layer of brick and mortar under the two individuals in T. 26 were sparse bone fragments of an old adult female.

Skeleton: sparse and fragmentary (mandible, calcaneus, patella, cervical vertebrae, ulna, scapula, hand bones). Niche A Fragments of two adult individuals: humeri, cuboid (foot bone), femora, tibiae.

Niche B Fragments of two adult individuals: femora, humeri, radius, calcaneus, tarsals. Niche C Fragments of two individuals, one male, one female: cranium, scapula, ulnae, clavicles, ribs, cervical vertebrae.

These twin cassa laterizia burials were both reused consecutively at multiple points, which may have first involved a reduction and a partial emptying of the tomb’s earlier occupants when ‘individual 1’ was interred. In both cases (TT. 21 and 26), the skeletons that the excavators identified as individual 1 were likely not the first individuals deposited into the grave, but rather, the first of two skeletons that were largely complete at the time of excavation. After individual 1 was interred, both tombs were reused at a later point, which involved the lateral movement, but not a reduction, of the decomposed body, in order to make room for individual 2. When T. 21 was reused, individual 1 had decomposed sufficiently to allow for the whole skull to be moved into the niche. The excavators suggest that at a later point when the bones were

246

placed in the niche from the side of T. 26, the cranium slid back into T. 21 but the mandible remained in place.78

This is an interesting case where the grave structure lent itself to consecutive multiple burials, potentially over the course of several centuries. The tomb structure may have been built around or sometime after 230 CE in the cemetery’s second phase, and it remained in use until the fourth century. Interestingly, the excavators do not comment on the coin of Tiberius, which predates their dating of the cassa laterizia structure. Although they do not make this suggestion, it is possible that the coin was interred with an earlier burial from the first century that was disturbed at the time the structure of TT. 21-26 was built, and the remains of the earlier individuals were reinterred with the later structure. This type of scenario will now be investigated.

Case Study: Reduction or Disturbance? Vagnari T. 42

For disarticulated remains in fossa terragna pits or gradually filled spaces, it is sometimes unclear whether a later burial disturbed and destroyed an earlier one or whether it was a deliberate reuse of space. One such example comes from the densely- occupied area of Trench 09 in the Vagnari cemetery, where there were at least two examples of fourth century burials that damaged or came into contact with earlier ones from the second and third centuries (Fig. 33).79

78 Invernizzi 2011, 68. 79 Small et al. 2007, 137. These burials include T. 42 and T. 95; only the former is featured below in Fig 33. 247

Figure 33: Vagnari Trench 09. Left: grave covers before excavation. Right: burials after removal of the grave covers. (After Small et al. 2007, Figs. 9-10).

Tomb 42 had a cappuccina grave cover that was reinforced externally with conglomerate blocks of irregular size. The burial contained a primary adult male inhumation that was resting on a flat row of three tegulae. There were also the disarticulated remains of another adult male individual that were found piled up on the south side of the burial (T. 42a) (Fig. 34).80 Despite the disarticulated nature of T. 42a, the excavators recovered approximately 75% of the skeleton, along with ca. 90% of the later individual T. 42, which suggests that the gravedigger of T. 42 took care to reinter nearly all the surviving remains of the decomposed individual.81 Skeletal elements that do not usually survive in undisturbed burials at Vagnari were preserved among the remains of T. 42a. These include partially preserved scapulae (50-90% complete), both clavicles, both os coxae, the sacrum, 13 vertebrae, and nearly the

80 Small et al. 2007, 144, 150, 153, 187–188. 81 Cf. Prowse in Small et al. 2007, 188–190 on the estimated preservation for these individuals. 248

entire mandible and cranial vault, in addition to well-preserved long bones. The disruption of the grave environment and the removal of the remains of individual 42a from the space of decomposition, which was probably filled with sediment during the time between depositions, caused surprisingly little damage to the skeleton.

Figure 34: Left: scale drawing of Vagnari T. 42 grave cover and skeletal remains of T. 42a. Right: Scale drawing of T. 42 skeletal remains. (After Small et al. 2007: 187, Fig. 31).

Based on five joining pieces of a fragmentary lamp and an African red slipped dish that were found in association with the disarticulated remains, the earlier burial likely dated to the early third century.82 A worn nummus of Constantine (330-335 CE) that was found by the right knee of the extended, articulated individual provides a mid-fourth century date for the disturbance and collation of human skeletal remains.83

Contrary to the laws of stratigraphy, the objects and skeletal remains of the earlier burial were repositioned on the top of the later one, and thus created a stratigraphic inversion.

82 Inv. No. P839 and P706 respectively in Small et al. 2007, 188–189. For the dish: Hayes 1972, form 16, dated to 200+ CE. 83 Inv. No. P808, nummus of Constantine in Small et al. 2007, 190–191, Fig. 35. Based on the worn state of the coin, Small suggests that the coin may have been in circulation for a considerable amount of time before deposition in the grave, even into the fifth century. 249

The disarticulated remains of T. 42a came from the earlier deposition of an individual who had already decomposed to the point where the bones could be piled up or redeposited with the later interment. There are several possible interpretations for the burial: this could be an example of a secondary grave after decomposition took place elsewhere. It is also possible that individual 42a was originally deposited on the three tegulae that were used in the later burial, and the space was reused for a later deposit, which would make this scenario a reduction that was piled up outside the space of decomposition. The most likely case and the one favored by the excavators is that a later burial accidentally disturbed an earlier one, and the resulting corrective action was that the gravediggers reinterred the human remains and the associated grave goods as part of a new grave.84

Based on datable material from the third and fourth centuries from the respective depositions, it is unlikely that T. 42a was planned to be part of a multi-stage burial or that the space was intentionally reused for T. 42, although it remains a possibility since the later burial occupied at least some of the space that was originally intended for individual A. It seems more likely that this was a situation of unintentional damage and disturbance to an existing grave, but one that precipitated the reburial of the remains of an individual from the previous century and created a consecutive multiple burial in the process of doing so. Even though the remains of the earlier burial were incorporated into the grave cover of the later burial, there was an attempt to gather and group what survived of individual 42a, and to maintain a degree of individuality and separation from the later deposition. Unlike the examples of

84 Small et al. 2007, 186–191. 250

disturbance in Chapter 2, this one likely resulted in the complete destruction of a grave and in the reinterment of the well-preserved remains, but other scenarios of reduction and reuse cannot be ruled out entirely. This example reiterates the necessity of employing standard terminology, not only for human skeletal elements, but in the description and interpretation of a disturbed burial. ‘Disturbed’ is not a burial type, but instead it refers to the altered condition of the grave cover and its contents between the time of the original deposition and excavation.

Even if there were no relationship between individuals, the careful handling of the disinterred remains points to the recognition and continuing respect for the dead after a span of perhaps a century and a half between burials. Most likely, the location of the earlier grave was forgotten or was no longer visible by the mid-fourth century

CE after the end of the cemetery’s main phase of use, at which point the main settlement at Vagnari transferred from across the central ravine and new buildings from the late fourth and early fifth centuries were constructed immediately to the north of the cemetery.85 The creation of T. 42 caused the unintentional destruction of T. 42a, and thus prompted a reburial of the disarticulated human skeletal remains as well as the associated grave goods within the newly created grave cover. This example speaks more generally to issues of tomb visibility rather than Late Antique disregard for

85 T. 42 is one of two burials at Vagnari that is datable to the fourth century CE. Burials in the immediate vicinity of T. 42 were dated to the second century, including T. 41 with an as of Antoninus Pius (140-144 CE, Inv. No. P807), T. 59 with a heavily worn as of Hadrian (117-138 CE, Inv. No. P809), and T. 67 with a worn as or dupontius of the deified Faustina I that dates to the reign of Antoninus Pius (141-161 CE, Inv. No. P1294). Based on their location in Trench 09, it is entirely possible that additional fourth century burials are located further to the north of the excavated area, where the Late Antique settlement developed in the late fourth and fifth centuries CE (buildings A and B) (Small 2011, 29–35). 251

earlier burials, but one that nevertheless appears similar to the reduction and reuse of a mortuary deposit.

Case Study: Partial Decomposition and Dating Reuse Musarna T. 205

One final case study draws attention to two main questions: how did the experience of handling partially decomposed remains differ from the movement of bodies after decomposition, and secondly, how can excavators document when reuse took place? Thus far the assumption has been that cases of skeletal manipulation in reduction burials involved ‘dry’ or ‘clean’ bones. The ability to reposition bones at the edge of a tomb is predicated on partial or complete decomposition that disentangles bones from the bounded body after the passage of time. However, it is not always the case that skeletal reduction excludes the remains of tissues, muscles and ligaments, which highlights the sensory impact and the non-linear process of decomposition when the act of grave opening incited contact with human remains that were in between those of a corpse and a skeleton.

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Figure 35: Musarna T. 205, showing a reduction with partial anatomical connections preserved. (After Rebillard 2009, pl. 26).

Figure 36: Musarna T. 205, detail showing partial anatomical connection of the forearm (white arrow). (Photo courtesy of Éric Rebillard).

Tomb 205 from Musarna was a fossa pit with a flat tile grave cover that contained the remains of two adult female individuals inside (Fig. 35). At the time of the reuse, the remains of the first individual were moved laterally towards the pit walls, and the cranium was found at the southern end of the burial at a considerable distance from the mandible.86 The bones maintained partial anatomical connections in the left and right radius and ulna as well as the left lower limb (Fig. 36). The second

86 Rebillard 2009b, 212. 253

individual was interred in a supine position with the head to the north at the opposite end of the burial from the cranium of individual 1. A coin, possibly of Valens (r. 364-

378 CE) was found to the east of the second individual’s mandible, perhaps placed in the mouth of the deceased at the time of deposition.87

The case of grave opening and reuse in T. 205 at Musarna prompted substantial rearrangement of the human remains in an advanced state of decomposition, which suggests that reuse of the grave did not occur long after the initial deposition, and which hints at a vastly different sensory experience than dealing with only inorganic, skeletal remains. In this case, some bones were still held together by organic material that may have had a vivid and visceral impact on the living with the attendant odor-causing chemicals of decomposition, including cadaverine and putrescine, and the smells of rotting flesh. This example reminds us of Hamilakis’ claim that corporeality is less concerned with bodily boundaries and more interested in relationships that are enacted when touching and moving through bodies, variously conceived.88 The reuse and reduction of T. 205 at Musarna may have resembled the sensory impact of a simultaneous burial that took place in the weeks or months after death, rather than that of a consecutive burial in which reuse took place after several years or decades.

Whenever possible, the dating of reused deposits can and should rely on three strands of evidence: contextual, scientific and anatomical. Contextual evidence for dating deposits can include topographic information about where the burial is situated

87 Musarna Cat. VI.4; inv. 2205005.2. 88 Hamilakis 2018, 317. 254

in the cemetery; architectural indicators about the tomb construction; as well as datable artifacts that can be associated with the skeletal remains of particular individuals. Contextual information does not always provide insight into the timing of reuse since inversions and the re-deposition of artifacts can complicate our understanding of which items were buried with which individuals.

Carbon 14 dating for Musarna T. 205 indicates a high probability that the first individual was interred between 320-470 CE, whereas the second individual followed between 340-540 (Table 3).89

Radiocarbon Calibrated date Individual Age (BP) δ13 (‰) (OxCal v.3.10) Probability (%)

T. 205 – 1 1652 ± 35 -19.7 ± 0.1 260-290 4.5 320-470 79.7 480-540 11.2 T. 205 – 2 1624 ± 35 -18.7 ± 0.1 340-540 95.4 Table 3: Radiocarbon dating of T. 205 at Musarna (after Rebillard 2009b, 65).

The following assumptions were entered into OxCal v4.2.4 to perform a multi- parameter Bayesian analysis of the dates: individual 1 died before individual 2; the coin that may date from the reign of Valens (r. 364-378) is a terminus post quem for individual 2; the maintenance of anatomical connections suggests that individual 1 and

2 died within 10 years of each other. The highest probability density (hpd) suggests that individuals 1 and 2 date to 386-426 CE (68.2%), which helps to anchor the date of

89 Although it is not explicit in the excavation report, the bone samples from T. 205 were likely numbered in order of deposition, following the interpretation that the bones found in a lateral reduction against the sides of the fossa belonged to an individual for whom decomposition took place in the space that was subsequently reused. The broader date range for T. 205-1 is therefore appropriate for the original occupant of the tomb, while T. 205-2 represents the later deposition. 255

reuse probably to the last quarter of the fourth century or the first quarter of the fifth century (Fig. 37).90

Figure 37: Modelled date for individuals 1 and 2 in Musarna T. 205 (by Sturt Manning, using OxCal v4.2.4).

A combination of radiocarbon dating and the maintenance of partial anatomical connections confirms that the two individuals were likely interred within a relatively short time span, probably between the fourth and mid-fifth centuries CE. If interpreted on their own, the radiocarbon dates could propose a maximum span of nearly three centuries between depositions; however, the preserved anatomical connections and the modelled dates suggest that reuse and reduction took place within a considerably closer time span than that allowed by the maximum values.

90 If we do not assume that individuals died within 10 years, then the modelled dates are 388-422 CE, 68.2% hpd (Individual 1) and 392-426, 68.2% hpd (Individual 2). 256

Topographic information locates the burials at the edge of the Musarna cemetery, which indicates that they were not part of the main nucleus of burials from the second and third centuries.91 Nevertheless, it is important to arrive at these dates independently and without confirming the prejudice that reductions or consecutive multiple burials were late before investigating multiple chronometric strands of evidence.

Part 3: Discussion Chronological Resolution

This section broadens the discussion about dating consecutive multiple burials, in order to document how issues of low chronological resolution affect the perception and wider study of reused burials in Roman cemeteries. As Chapter 2 argued, attempts to date disturbed and reused burials are complicated since absolute dates tend to reflect a tomb’s point of inception, rather than varying points in the post-burial history of a tomb. Reduction burials are generally considered a phenomenon that begins in the fourth century, at which time the reuse of earlier burials has been interpreted as a predatory or degenerative practice.92 This particular type of grave reuse needs to be situated in a multi-scalar manner: at the level of individual tombs in which additional bodies were placed after the passage of time, as well as within Roman society more broadly, in order to better understand the historical and cultural contexts. Several of the examples discussed so far (Musarna T. 205, Casteggio TT. 21/26, Vagnari T. 42) contained coins or datable material from the fourth century CE, which seems to

91 Rebillard 2009b, 41. 92 Bolla 2015, 364–366. 257

confirm the impression that reductions really did take place after the main period of activity in a cemetery. However, there are further discussions about memory, individual identity and how consecutive burials could participate in the creation of corporeal connections.

At the Via dei Cappuccini cemetery in Brindisi, T. 87 was a cassa laterizia construction with a tile covering (Fig. 38). Inside were two individuals: the primary inhumation of an adult female in a supine position with a bronze coin of Marcus

Aurelius from 167-168 CE in the thoracic cage, and the remains of a disarticulated individual stacked up in the southern corner.93 In their dating of the tomb to the second half of the second century, the excavators have compressed events by assuming that the coin and tomb construction were synchronous, which could be possible in one of several situations. First, if the disarticulated bones were part of a secondary burial in which decomposition took place elsewhere and the remains were transferred to the tomb at a later point, possibly coeval to the deposition of the supine, articulated individual. Another possibility is that the coin was associated with the initial burial before reduction and it was subsequently redeposited on the chest of the later deposition at the time of reuse. Alternatively, and more likely, the coin may be a terminus post quem for the time of reuse, with no absolute date for the construction of

T. 87 or the initial burial.

93 Cocchiaro and Andreassi 1988, 209–210, “deposizione secondaria ammassata nell’angolo sud in giacitura secondaria.” Coin: N37 in the Brindisi volume, pp. 251. Cf. RIC III, p. 289, n. 953. Obverse: M. ANTONINVS AVG. [ARM. PARTH. MAX.] with portrait bust of Marcus Aurelius, facing right. Reverse: [TR. P. XXII] IMP. IIII [COS III] S.[C.], with Minerva in armor. 258

Figure 38: Brindisi T. 87 cassa laterizia structure. (After Cocchiari and Andreassi 1988, 209, Figs. 134 and 135).

Brindisi Cassa Laterizia Graves

6 s

l 5 a i r

u 4 B

f o

3 r e

b 2 m u

N 1

0 1st-2nd 2nd late 2nd 2nd-4th 3rd 3rd-4th

Century (CE)

Figure 39: Proposed dates for the cassa laterizia graves (n=15) at Brindisi, as assigned by the excavators in Cocchiari and Andreassi (1988).

Elsewhere in the same cemetery at Brindisi, the construction of cassa laterizia structures ranges from the late first to the third/fourth centuries CE. This suggests a potentially long span of use for this type of grave, so it cannot be dated on stylistic or typological grounds alone (Fig. 39). It seems likely that the coin of Marcus Aurelius belonged to the later deposition, in which case the tomb’s construction and initial burial predate the reuse by at least the length of time required for the first individual to decompose to the point where reduction and reuse was a viable option at the time of 259

the later burial. A similar situation can be found in other cemeteries. For example, at the Beligna necropolis in Friuli-Venezia Giulia, reduction and reuse occurred in two cassa laterizia structures (TT. 21 and 42). Despite the inclusion of a coin of Antoninus

Pius (ca. 140-144 CE) in T. 42, the only date listed for the grave was the third/fourth century, without specifying any criteria or how the excavators arrived at this date, which was presumably that of the reuse.94

Examples like those from Brindisi and Beligna hint at the difficulty of dating multiple episodes of use in a burial deposit. As the following chart (Fig. 40) demonstrates, the available evidence seems to suggest an increase in the frequency of reductions and consecutive multiple burials in the third and fourth centuries CE.

However, it is problematic in its resolution and representation with only 24 burials, of which 16 included only one date for the entire burial. There were no dates available for the 28 reductions from the suburban cemeteries around Rome, which were generally in use from the first to third centuries CE. The time between depositions may have been as little as the time that it takes for a body to decompose, rather than centuries between the initial use and reuse of a grave. In short, it would be misleading to characterize reductions as a fourth-century practice when more information is needed.

94 Giovannini et al. 1998, 272–273. Coin: Antoninus Pius, BMC IV, p. 22. 260

Dating of Roman Reduction Burials 9 Initial Use Reuse Date Only one date given 8

7 s l

a 6 i r u

B 5

f o

r 4 e b

m 3 u

N 2

Century (CE)

Figure 40: Dates listed for use and reuse of reduction burials in Roman cemeteries.

In field cemeteries where primary inhumation burial was the dominant form of disposal, the increase in consecutive multiple burials may relate to changing views about the body in mortuary contexts, as has been suggested for the Middle Ages in

France.95 In Italy, the preference for single inhumation burial endured until the beginning of the fifth century, but that is not to say that individual burials disappeared entirely after this point.96 When consecutive burials appear before that time, they are most commonly found in structures that could support additional depositions. Further study is needed to determine whether there are regional patterns or how these numbers change over time.

95 Gleize 2007. 96 Bolla 2015, 367, note 120. 261

Grave reuse has been attributed a priori to the time after the main period of use in Roman cemeteries. This is usually based on a perceived change in burial practices and new attitudes to the dead in the fourth century, as well as a lack of respect for the burials of earlier generations; however, in many cases, the time between depositions has not been thoroughly investigated.97 Rather than view these actions as a predatory practice, it is possible that reuse occurred shortly after the deposition of a grave’s first occupant since it only takes a few years for a body to decompose. As a result, the body could continue to be a site for memory making, even when it was no longer recognizable as the individual from his or her lifetime. In the case of consecutive multiple burials in which a grave was reused after decomposition of the original occupant, it is important not to situate these burials within a singular interpretative framework that prioritizes only the human skeletal remains that were found in anatomical connection at the time of excavation. It is also important to develop more precise dating methods that can address the issue of change over time.98

Locating the Individual Among the Collective:

Somewhat surprisingly, the case studies showed that grave reuse after decomposition did not necessarily reduce the skeletons from a recognizably human form to anonymous masses of bones. The transformation of a mortuary deposit from a single to a multiple burial did not necessarily efface or obliterate the identity or physical space that was occupied by the initial occupant of a tomb, even if bundles of

97 Thomas 2004, 60. 98 Valentin et al. 2013, 60. 262

bones may give that impression. The act of repositioning often took care to maintain a sense of individuality among the disarticulated remains, and some of the strategies for separation included a layer of dirt, stones and slabs between bodies in superposition.

The rocks that were positioned as a layer between two skeletons could be interpreted as the material traces of a religious action, perhaps the re-sanctification of a grave, or as the act of establishing a separative layer between individuals. The example of

Celano T. 58 suggested that disarticulated remains could be reinterred in a wooden box, and it is entirely possible that others were placed in sacks or small bags as a way to maintain the bodily boundaries of a fragmented and partible individual.

The body could continue to act as a locus of identity and memory, even after death and decomposition. The movement of a disarticulated head or the interment of a later individual on a new orientation was a deliberate choice that may signal preferential treatment for the head as the seat of individual or personal identity. Bolla suggests that the head was special as pars pro toto in both a symbolic and a legal sense.99 The Digest preserves the opinion of Paul that “the place which is religious is the one where the most important part of us is buried, that is, the head from which likenesses are made, by which we are recognized.”100 This pertains to the transfer of remains and burial in more than one place, but the opinion is illustrative of the ongoing importance of the head, even, in cases long after decomposition, once the ability to recognize the deceased as they appeared in life had faded.

99 Bolla 2015, 369. 100 Dig. 11.7.44. Trans. Watson 2009. 263

Unlike the case studies of simultaneous burials in Chapter 3, there were no instances of reduction that involved an adult and child, which may be for a number of reasons. Depending on age and stature, the burials of children could be smaller and therefore less likely to be reused. The built structures that were conducive to reuse for consecutive multiple burials were not frequently selected for the burials of children.

Only 1/17 of the cassa laterizia structures at Brindisi contained the remains of a subadult, so perhaps these structures were associated with special economic or social status that children did not attain, which raises additional questions that are beyond the scope of this chapter.

Conclusion:

The relationship between the body and the space in which it decomposed has only recently become a major form of inquiry in archaeological investigation. When studied together, the physical properties of a grave and the material properties of the body are informative about the movement of skeletal elements in consecutive multiple burials. Although reduction burials have been documented in several non-monumental

Roman cemeteries, this particular practice was not as common in cemeteries as it may have been in marble sarcophagi or loculi in catacombs. This is not necessarily because there was an aversion to handling bones or reusing graves, but because the main types of structures that are conducive to reduction burials were not as common in the cemeteries under investigation here. In the case of hermetically sealed sarcophagi, such as those that are often studied in connection with reduction burials in Medieval

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contexts, there was no immediate, progressive or delayed infill of soil, which facilitates the ability to reposition bones.101

The reduction of human skeletal remains followed by the reuse of burial space is most feasible when decomposition took place in a void because skeletal remains can be handled and regrouped more easily than in an in-filled burial environment. Many of the documented examples of reductions in Roman burials occurred not only in the void spaces of wood coffins, but also in what may be termed as built spaces, in opposition to a simple pit or a fossa terragna burial. Certain grave structures appear to be more favorable to reuse in this manner, including the cassa laterizia and struttura in muratura types, and less frequently, cappuccina graves, often with the bottom lined in bricks or tiles. The reuse of a cappuccina grave is usually destructive to the human remains, especially if it is already filled in with sediment. The types of structures that supported reductions or consecutive multiple burials may imply general knowledge of the grave’s contents as well as the state of the corporeal or skeletal remains within the grave.

Terminology is neither standardized nor consistent; nevertheless, the actions that result from the reuse of graves are fairly easily identifiable in published cemetery reports in which there is a description of the bones that were moved to make room for an additional deposition. In cases of disturbance or reuse, complicated stratigraphic sequences and seemingly contradictory artifact dates contribute to the reasons that these types of compromised burials are sometimes overlooked as a lesser category of evidence. Because of different archaeological traditions and when burials were

101 Cf. Gleize 2007, Bolla 2015. 265

excavated, reports from Roman cemeteries rarely make reference to the presence or absence of anatomical connections in primary inhumations burials, despite how important they are for the interpretation of disturbed and reused burials.

A full skeletal inventory exists for only a few of the case studies, so it is impossible to quantify which bones were affected most frequently during the creation of a consecutive multiple burial. It is unsurprising that the discussion of skeletal elements in these burials is often limited to the cranium and long bones; however, future excavations should attempt to document anatomical elements whenever possible since they provide insight into the sequence of decomposition, as well as the ways in which the decomposed and fragmented body could exert influence during post-burial manipulations. Bones were not necessarily heaped up in a manner in which disarticulation denotes disorganization, but rather, the absence of anatomical connections presents epistemological problems of how fragmented bodies could be manipulated in order to reuse burial spaces.

Once decay and decomposition were well advanced, if not fully complete, bones were freed from organic structures like skin and ligaments, which created a new set of affordances and properties. During grave opening and reuse, the body was transformed into a type of material culture that differed from previous encounters, especially when the skeletal remains were characterized by static, object-like qualities.

In these instances, touch defied typical subject/object relations, especially after the collapse of the boundary between the interior and exterior of a bounded individual,

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and so human remains could retain their affective power over the living during post- depositional encounters.102

As Yannis Hamilakis states, “the senses are materiality’s way of producing remembering and forgetting”, since memory depends on the senses, which in turn draw on the materiality and physicality of the world.103 In his model, the mixing, covering, destruction, deformation and fragmentation of bones and objects from a grave are connected to deliberate acts of forgetting, in order that positively-valued spaces for new kinds of active remembering can be generated.104 Typically, burials were designed to last forever, or at least for the length of time necessary to distinguish the individual from collective forms of forgetting.105 Such a model finds a correlation with the Roman examples of grave reuse after the decomposition of the first individual, and in the ways of negotiating, remembering and forgetting corporeal- based identities. However, as this chapter has demonstrated, the aforementioned cases of reuse and the transformation of mortuary spaces in the Roman imperial period differ from what Hamilakis has suggested for the Early Bronze Age on Crete, where material practices in mortuary spaces suggest attempts to forget individuals as active social agents, as they were transformed into parts of a collective whole in their new role as ancestors.106

102 Sofaer 2012, 142. 103 Hamilakis 2013, 6–7. 104 Hamilakis 2018, 324. 105 Leclerc 1990, 16; cited in Duday and Van Andringa 2017, 76. 106 Hamilakis 2018, 324. 267

Conclusion: Corporeal Connections

Gravedigger: [Song.] A pickax and a spade, a spade, For and a shrouding sheet; Oh, a pit of clay for to be made For such a guest is meet. [He throws up another skull.] Shakespeare, Hamlet, V.1.94–97.

Death, and even burial, did not mark the end of interactions between the living and the dead. In fact, the continuing nature of post-mortem rites, commemoration and other activities in Roman cemeteries ensured that this was not the case.1 The methods of archaeothanatology enable us to incorporate single or isolated nuclei of burials into broader discussions and to better understand non-elite mortuary practices that are typically excluded from histories of Roman death and burial. Grave reuse was not a dominant practice among inhumations, yet the archaeological record attests to numerous instances and interventions in the afterlife of a tomb that can only be explained by careful excavation and recording of the relationships between skeletal elements and their archaeological contexts.2 This calls to our attention that spatial, temporal and corporeal concerns need to be considered concomitantly, not merely as the provenance of social anthropology or mortuary archaeology, but in line with the tenets of archaeothanatology since the location and position of skeletal remains inform us about the timeline of decomposition.

There are various reasons why Roman post-burial practices have not been explored through the logical lens of human skeletal remains from actual Roman

1 Hope 2000, 122. 2 Duday 2009, 154–155. 268

cemeteries. Historically, a disciplinary divide has existed between classical and anthropological archaeologists and the types of evidence that they use, although this is changing as the methods and techniques from bioarchaeology, osteoarchaeology and archaeothanatology are being employed alongside each other in current cemetery excavations.3 Many of the cemeteries that were investigated in this study are distinctly non-monumental in nature and they are situated in suburban and semi-rural settings.

Despite the frequent anonymity of a cemetery’s occupants at the time of excavation, non-monumental inhumation burials are far from mundane attestations of how Roman communities disposed of their dead. The repetition of grave structures and funerary assemblages from Friuli-Venezia Giulia in the northeast to Calabria in the southwest demonstrates a high degree of comparability in burial practices between the late first and fourth centuries CE across Roman Italy.

Many forms of burial in the Roman world were concerned with the protection of the deceased as well as with the denial of different phases of decomposition.4 Once deposited in a grave, the dead body is far from a text to be read, but rather, it is the site of corporeally-based individual identity. Most individuals in field cemeteries were interred directly in the ground, in a coffin, or a structure that involved some combination of tiles, rocks, bricks or mortar. Although multiple burials reflect a minority of burials in Roman field cemeteries, the study of disturbance and post- depositional interventions sheds light not only on Roman mortuary practices, but also on broader trends in body-oriented studies that affected both the living and the dead.

3 Nilsson Stutz 2016, 23–26. 4 Graham 2015b, 52–53. 269

Throughout this investigation, the body in its different stages of decomposition has received a place of prominence, and of the important themes that have emerged, nearly all relate to my definition of corporeal connections. The present study has explored the different forms that corporeal connections can take: in the articulation and disarticulation of bodies, bones and skeletons and in the physical linking of bodies in simultaneous and consecutive burials. I define corporeal connections as the act of linking individuals in a mortuary context as a way of reaffirming or renegotiating social and biological identities. The joining of bodies can both perpetuate and transform individual and inter-individual identities, which remain active in the minds of the living through the embodied experiences of handling and confronting the sensory realities of dead bodies. Such connections can occur early in the post-mortem period, throughout the various stages of decay, or long after a body’s organic components have decomposed. The attendant effects on the senses of the living could vary in accordance with the physical and material properties of the dead body. Even the modern archaeologist participates in the creation of corporeal connections by bringing together disparate datasets from the various regions of Roman Italy and centering the inquiry around bodies as a type of material culture. Time is important in the creation of these associative links, whether it is the time required for a body to decompose, the time between burials or the time between remembering and forgetting.

It is to a summary of these connections that our attention now turns.

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i) Articulating Corporeality:

Corporeal connections highlight the physicality of the body in different stages of decomposition, as the body’s own degree of connectivity is reduced over time with the help of biological, taphonomic, and anthropogenic agents. Ancient disturbances that transformed skeletons from the recognizable vestiges of human bodies into fragmentary and disordered states do not sit comfortably in the minds of modern archaeologists. Reconstruction of the state of the body at the time of post-depositional interventions is fundamental to any investigation of burial taphonomy. The predominance of the skeleton over the corpse or the conflation between bones and bodies in archaeological literature is an imbalance that is increasingly being redressed, one that provides insight into the nature of burial practices at the time of grave opening and reuse.5

As Chapter 1 noted, depictions of skeletons in Roman art, although rare, often present skeletal remains in a state of anatomical articulation, as a body that is still recognizably human. These representations typically elide the processes of decomposition, in order to depict fully articulated skeletons, with the end result that defleshed bones act as a metaphor and a symbol for the entire process of decay. The few exceptions that portray disarticulated human skeletal remains, such as the first century CE Boscoreale skeleton cups, hint at non-linear conceptions of time, as the processes of decomposition are elided in imaginative ways. The body-skeleton

5 Graham 2015a, 6–8. 271

dichotomy is best expressed as a “collective tendency” to form a contrast between the bones of the dead and the flesh and fluids of the living.6

Archaeologists often prioritize points of genesis and inception at the expense of other moments in the span of an object or monument’s existence.7 Archaeological reports tend to describe the later depositions in multiple burials in greater detail on account of the recognizable arrangement of human skeletal remains, and there is usually very little attention to intrusive bones or those found piled up in the corners of graves. A dismissive attitude to taphonomic disturbances or bundles of bones represents an inversion of the accustomed modus operandi of archaeological inquiry that prioritizes the original form or phase of a tomb. As a result, human remains are routinely edited out of their own graves since they are viewed as intrusive or secondary remains, despite the fact that, originally, they may have been part of a primary interment. In contrast, this study has shown how much we can learn about the different ways of handling the body at various stages of decomposition, which might involve the separation or deliberate commingling of individual bodies.

In particular, the case studies repeatedly called attention to the head as the focus of post-burial movement and manipulation. The prominence of the head reflects its status as the seat of individual identity in both Roman law and culture. As the jurist

Paul noted in the time of Septimius Severus, if a body was divided and interred in multiple places, the only part that became a locus religiosus was where the head was deposited, since it was from the head that imagines were taken and by the head that

6 Graham 2015a, 4. 7 Hamilakis 2013, 123. 272

individuals were recognized.8 In the last 150 years, a small corpus of plaster ‘death masks’ have been found in non-elite funerary contexts around the Mediterranean.

Dating to the second and third centuries CE, these masks have been interpreted as post-mortem impressions that could be transferred to other materials in order to create a ‘living’ image of the deceased.9 Even after decomposition and when the head no longer preserved an individual’s likeness, the cranium could represent the individual as pars pro toto, and it could be repositioned in a place of prominence within a grave, as the case studies in Chapter 4 showed.

ii) Connections in Life and Death:

Throughout this study, cases of post-burial contact with the dead brought to light different reasons for grave opening and reuse. Central throughout was the desire to maintain preexisting relationships between individuals as a way to signify the continuity of social and biological ties between the living and the dead. Deposition in a communal grave could reaffirm and perpetuate relationships that individuals shared in life, and such a motivation falls under what Margherita Bolla calls affective and identity-based bonds.10 As the different case studies explored, individuals may have been related biologically as siblings, cousins, or as a parent and child; they could have been associated as kin, peers, age-mates or by marriage. Alternatively, individuals may have created ethnic, religious or corporate ties based on aspects of their identities

8 Ducos 1995, 138; Thomas 2004, 50; Crowley 2016, 82. 9 Crowley 2016, 72–73. Crowley reiterates the suggestion that these masks appropriated the elite practice of making and displaying wax images (imagines maiorum) of noble ancestors. As Harriet Flower (1996) argues, the imagines were cast from living subjects. 10 Bolla 2015, 362. 273

that they wanted to perpetuate in death.11 Grave reuse can also create non-specific corporeal connections between individuals who were not associated in life, so the reuse of a grave could have been more convenient than creating a new one.

Gregory of Nyssa knew that his sister, Macrina, wanted to be interred together with their parents, so the opening and reuse of the family grave reflected the wishes of the deceased, who were interred in the order in which they died. His account mediates between the maintenance of personal identity and an apprehension about corporeal decay by concealing the post-burial body from the consequences of decay in the minds of the living. Not all relationships are as explicit as those in the Life of Macrina or the double sarcophagus of Publius Paquius Scaeva and his wife, Flavia, from Vasto.

Inside the sarcophagus, marital and familial relationships were inscribed and reiterated poignantly. The inscription makes no mention of who was predeceased by whom, which suggests that at least one individual was still alive at the time when the sarcophagus was commissioned and that both individuals wished to be buried together.

Beyond the relationships that can be perpetuated or reconfigured in death, some cases of grave reuse hint at the imagined sentience that the living projected onto the dead. As Abrams Rebillard points out, throughout the collection of poems that we call Ausonius’ Parentalia, there is repeated attention to what the dead perceived

(sentire) because the poetic project is diminished if the recipients are unaware of the honor.12 We might imagine a similar concern for the dead in field cemeteries, as in the

11 Amicucci and Carboni 2015, 786; Bolla 2015, 362. 12 Abrams Rebillard 2015, 234. 274

case of young children who were buried with adults or with another child as a form of protection or to avoid loneliness in the grave. Chapter 3 drew attention to examples of simultaneous and consecutive burials that involved neonates, infants and subadults, who could be interred together in the same grave or appended onto an earlier grave.

This was the case with TT. 117 and 123 at Vagnari, where the cappuccina burial of an infant aged approximately 18 months was built on top of and into the side of an existing cappuccina structure that contained an adult female between 20-25 years at the time of death (Fig. 41).

Figure 41: Vagnari TT. 117 and 123, showing the cappuccina burial of an infant that overlies the earlier cappuccina structure of an adult female. (Photo: Tracy Prowse).

The desire to identify these practices as either veneration or violation has created a dichotomy in which the disturbance or reuse of an existing grave is conceived of in a binary manner, which critically subsumes possible relationships between individuals, the amount of time between depositions, tomb visibility, and the

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continuing use of a cemetery over several generations or centuries. Since it is next to impossible to know positively whether individuals had the legal right to be interred together (ius mortuum inferendi) and to reuse graves in field cemeteries,13 it has been more productive to explore deposits with disarticulated skeletal remains with an emphasis on contiguity rather than consanguinity and through the body’s role in affecting the senses and memories of the living.

In many of the case studies, it was not possible to determine who was responsible for burial or what the exact reasons for grave reuse might have been. For nearly all the evidence under consideration in the present investigation, we have no insight into who was responsible for burial, whether it was the family, community inhabitants or funerary professionals whose services were for hire. Nevertheless, the amount of effort required to intermingle bodies and to manipulate skeletal elements in various tomb structures and subterranean environments suggests that there were often strong motivations to connect bodies. Furthermore, the material properties of the body and the attendant sights and smells of rotting flesh and liquefying remains affected how the living handled and repositioned the initial occupant of a grave in cases of reuse.

In many cases, the skeletal remains of a burial’s initial occupant were carefully handled and rearranged, an action that challenges the interpretation that reuse was predatory. As Barbara Borg has noted for monumental tombs in Rome, there has been a shift in attitudes away from the assumption that reuse was a ‘late’ phenomenon, one

13 Bolla 2015, 359. 276

that was indicative of decline or that suggests an inability to build new tombs.14

Adaptive reuse in cemeteries in which single, primary inhumation burial was the dominant mode of disposal suggests that there could be stronger bonds and identity- based reasons to inter individuals together.15

Certain instances of grave reuse could coincide with a shortage of space, like the 28 cases of reductions in the cemeteries on the outskirts of Rome.16 Other cemeteries are characterized by the intensive use of space, but it is hard to know how much is missing from the archaeological record if we do not know what percentage of a cemetery was excavated or what structures may not have survived. There are, however, exceptions, such as at the Bossema di Cavaion cemetery in the Veneto region of Italy, in which tombs 7A, 7B and 8 contained the remains of almost 25 individuals, where, according to the excavators, there was no shortage of space.17

Nevertheless, we cannot discount the argument that the reuse of graves was convenient or a response to the lack of space, and these explanations do not diminish the value of connections between bodies. Over time, personhood and individuality could transform as memories of the specific individual were forgotten and eventually elided with a more general recognition that the displaced remains belonged to a formerly discrete body (Chapter 4).

14 Borg 2013, 123. 15 Amicucci and Carboni 2015, 785–786: individual burial was the preference in 85% of the 4758 individuals from 11 cemeteries in Lazio. 16 Bel and Gleize 2011, 223. 17 Salzani 1995. 277

iii) The Importance of Time:

Throughout this study, I have contended with the premise that burials are time capsules whose integrity lies in their sealed, intact nature. What may appear to archaeologists as a sealed deposit may have been opened previously, and the existing corporeal or skeletal remains were handled in some manner before the interment of an additional individual. The various archaeological examples presented in the preceding chapters prompt us to reevaluate why disturbance, whether in antiquity or in the more recent past, has been considered a reason to overlook the affected burials and the possible relationships or temporal sequences that can be deduced by close attention to stratigraphic and taphonomic factors. Contact between graves was not always intentional, but neither should it be considered a form of damage or disturbance before investigating the possible relationships and different motivations for connecting bodies in mortuary deposits (Chapter 2). Fragmentary, partial and incomplete human skeletal remains need to be disentangled from the general category of disturbance and set within the context of grave opening activities that incited contact with the deceased.

Rather than view burials as time capsules whose inherent value is compromised by post-depositional activities, it is important to disentangle complicated archaeological sequences and to understand the multitude of ways in which the living and the dead interacted after corpse disposal.

Time is also an important factor in terms of the length that it takes for a body to decompose (Chapter 1). Corpses begin to putrefy in the hours after biological death, and depending on the environmental and taphonomic circumstances, bodies can

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decompose in as little as a few weeks to several months.18 With the disintegration of skin, tendons, ligaments and organs, human skeletal remains were susceptible to handling and manipulation. The corporeality of the deceased is not simply a sliding timescale that denotes the relative state of bodily preservation or disintegration, one that makes reference first to a body, then to a rotting corpse, and finally, to a dry skeleton or bones. Those who excavate skeletal remains face the risk of desensitization to the material and biological realities of past bodies, which could retain their emotive power over the living at different stages in the history of a grave. For these reasons, sensory, embodied and taphonomic approaches to post-depositional practices introduce the body as an active agent in the formation and reuse of mortuary deposits.

Time is at a double remove in the case of reopened and reused graves since archaeologists reconstruct sequences of events and actions at different times: the corpse at the time of the original deposition as well as any subsequent manipulations or taphonomic changes to the burial environment. These past actions can only be inferred through close observation of the relationships between human remains, grave structures and objects at the time of excavation.19 Relative time estimates might frustrate the archaeologist who seeks absolute dates, but this study has demonstrated the value of using the timeline of decomposition as an important metric. As Chapter 3 argued, there can be little archaeological evidence to distinguish simultaneous burials from those that were separated by a few days or weeks, yet the sensory impact on the living could differ greatly.

18 Mann et al. 1990, 104–105. 19 Duday 2009, 16–20. 279

If we zoom out and take a macroscopic view of time, it affects what we perceive of as the ‘lifespan’ or the main period that a cemetery was in use. For three suburban cemeteries in the environs of Rome, John Bodel suggested an average

‘lifespan’ of approximately 150-200 years for the period of most active use.20 The majority of cemeteries under investigation in this study date to the second and third centuries CE, with some activity into the fourth and fifth centuries (Appendix 1).

Based on the datable material from these cemeteries, it is reasonable to assume an average period of use of 150-200 years. Cemeteries may have gone out of use for a variety of reasons: because communities moved to other nearby areas or because the settlements expanded and reclaimed land from the dead. This study has shed light on how the living interacted with the dead when they accidentally or intentionally uncovered grave structures or human remains in formal cemetery areas, whether during or after the main period of cemetery use.

When mortuary spaces were reused and transformed for non-burial purposes, there could be an attempt to curate, handle and respect the skeletal remains of the deceased. In the 320s, Constantine’s builders laid the foundations of a monumental funerary basilica above the Via Triumphalis cemetery on the Vatican hill. At the time, they “took care to respect the dead themselves, carefully stacking in sarcophagi bones from those burials which they could not avoid disturbing.”21 But such care for the dead

20 Bodel 2014, 177. Bodel investigates the closing down of three cemeteries over a span of four centuries: the Esquiline burial ground that Maecenas closed around 35 BCE; the Via Salaria necropolis that Trajan built over around 110 CE, and the Vatican cemeteries near the Via Cornelia that Constantine built over in the 320s CE. 21 Bodel 2014, 182–183; Toynbee and Ward Perkins 1956, 12–13. 280

was not always the norm, and there are many instances in which later graves or construction projects cut through and damaged existing graves.

I conclude with an anecdote that is, in many ways, a metonym for the case studies and the non-monumental cemeteries under investigation. In a letter to his nephew in the second half of the fifth century, Sidonius Apollinaris details the near- desecration of the tomb of his grandfather in an overcrowded cemetery that was no longer in use. He describes the terrain of the cemetery:

The field of burial itself had for a long time been so filled up with ashes from the pyres and with bodies that there was no more room for digging; but the earth which it is customary to pile upon the buried had spread out until the surface resumed its original flatness, the various heaps having gradually sunk down owing to the weight of snow and a long exposure to downpours of rain.22

In a cemetery where the burial mounds were flattened and weathered away by natural elements, the undertaker’s men who dug in the area presumed that it was free from existing graves.23 The difficulty in this case is reconciling why those identified as funerary professionals were digging in a cemetery in which interment had long finished, particularly in a flattened spot that was believed to be unoccupied by bodies.

The anecdote is of relevance for the ‘lifespan’ of Roman cemeteries and for the ways in which burial mounds can disappear into the landscape within two generations.

Sidonius Apollinaris does not describe disturbance that dislodged a buried body, exposed human remains or even polluted the world of the living with the sight of a corpse. His concern, instead, is for the near-destruction of the monument and memory

22 Sid. Apoll. Epist. 3.12.1-2. Trans. Lafferty 2013. The episode is recounted in Rebillard 2009a, 70; Lafferty 2013, 282; 2014, 255–256. 23 Rebillard 2009a, 70. 281

of his grandfather, an act that prompted him to compose a new verse epitaph to be inscribed on stone.

This episode bears witness to the uneasy relationship between post-mortem bodies and the monuments in which they were interred. The disturbance or reuse of these structures complicate the relationship between time and memories of the individual when the location of earlier graves was neither entirely remembered nor completely forgotten. As Chapters 2-4 demonstrated, material from Roman field cemeteries readily awaits integration into wider discussions about the corpse, post- burial practices and the afterlife of both tomb and cemetery, precisely because the dead body continued to remain active in the imaginations and embodied experiences of the living.

282

Appendix 1: Roman Cemetery Sites

The following cemetery sites were considered in the present investigation, and they reflect what was published and available at the time of writing. Other cemeteries have been uncovered since the time of data collection, but this Appendix lists the sites that were examined in preparation for this study. Many of these sites have not been fully published; some exist only as preliminary reports while others await full publication. In some cases, the cemeteries included only cremation burials, so they do not appear elsewhere in this study. Other cemeteries included both cremation and inhumation burials, but in some cases, the position of the human remains was not recorded at the time of excavation or there was no evidence of post-depositional activities.

* = cremation burials only (N=22) † = sites with no instances of post depositional manipulation (N=12) ‡ = missing contextual data or still awaiting publication (N=46)

Site Region Date # of Main Bibliography Burials Alagna Lomellina* Lombardia 1st-2nd c. 10 Diani 1999 CE Alba (San Cassiano) Piemonte 1st-4th c. CE 23 Filippi 1982 Alba Pompeia (Via Piemonte 4th-5th c. CE 11 Filippi 1997 Mazzini) Alba Pompeia (Via Piemonte 1st-2nd c. 82 Garzoli 1997 Rossini) CE Alba Pompeia (Via Piemonte 1st-2nd c. 36 Garzoli 1997 Rossini II) CE Albintimilium‡ Liguria 1st-2nd c. 300 Pallarés 1963; Martino et al. CE 2004-05; Gambaro and Gandolfi 2012 Almese‡ Piemonte 1st-4th c. CE 9 Gabucci 1996 Altino (Le Veneto 1st c. BCE- 365 Tirelli et al. 1988 Brustolade) 1st c. CE Angera Lombardia 1st-3rd c. CE 196 Sena Chiesa 1985; Sena Chiesa and Lavizzari Pedrazzini 1985

Ansedonia‡ Toscana 1st or 2nd c. 1 Agricoli et al. 2012 CE Arsago Seprio‡ Lombardia 1st-4/5th c. 264 Ferraresi et al. 1987 CE Baruchella Veneto 1st-2nd c. 8 Salzani and Biondani 2002 (Minerbe)* CE Beligna Friuli-Venezia 1st-4th c. CE 60 Giovannini et al. 1998 Giulia Bevagna† Umbria 1st-2nd c. 83 Bergamini et al. 1983-84 CE Biella* Piemonte 1st-4/5th c. 454 Brecciaroli Taborelli 2000a 283

CE Boccone D'Aste‡ Lazio 1st-2nd c. 80 Di Gennaro and De Filippis CE 1995 Bossema di Cavaion Veneto 2nd-4th c. 8 Salzani 1995 CE Brindisi (Via Puglia 3rd c. BCE- 283 Cocchiaro and Andreassi 1988 Cappuccina) 4th c. CE Brindisi (Via Puglia 1st c. BCE- 271 Cocchiaro 2013 Adamello)‡ 2nd c. CE Brindisi (Via Puglia 2nd-4th c. 59 Cocchiaro 2013 Provinciale San Vito, CE Via De Carpentieri)‡ Capodaqua di Assisi Umbria 2nd-4th c. 20 Manca 1997 CE Capiago Intimiano Lombardia 1st c. BCE- 39 Luraschi 1977; Bianchi et al. (Mandara)* 1st c. CE 1983 Capiago Intimiano Lombardia 1st c. BCE- 31 Bianchi 1984 (Villa Soave)* 1st c. CE Cascina San Piemonte 1st-2nd c. Unknown Sommo 1978 Bartolomeo‡ CE Cascina Trebeschi Lombardia 1st-3rd c. CE 44 Portulano and Ragazzi 2010 (Manerbio)* Cascina Vignazza Piemonte 2nd c. CE 220 Brecciaroli Taborelli 1996; (Biella)* 2000b; 2002 Casteggio Lombardia 2nd-3rd c. 34 Invernizzi 2011 (Clastidium) CE Castions di Strada† Castions di 3rd-5th c. CE 11 Buora 1993 Strada Cavallara II* Lombardia 1st-2nd c. 158 Piccoli 1975 CE Cavriana (Mantova)‡ Lombardia 1st-3rd c. CE 20 Piccoli 1971 Celano Abruzzo 2nd c. CE 67 Ceccaroni et al. 2011 (Pratovecchio)‡ Cesena‡ Emilia- 2nd-3rd c. 26 Fadini 1998 Romagna CE Classe (Le Emilia- 1st-4th c. CE 71 Lasi 2002 Palazzette) Romagna Classe (Vasche dello Emilia- 4th-5th c. CE 21 Danesi 1989-90 Zuccherificio) Romagna Classe (via Romea Emilia- 1st-4/5th c. 8 Leoni and Montevecchi 1997 Vecchia)† Romagna CE Corticella di Emilia- 1st-2nd c. 7 Patroncini 1970 Rubiera† Romagna CE Coseano (Angories)‡ Friuli-Venezia 1st c. BCE- 26 Cividini 2012 Giulia 4th c. CE Denteferro Campania 1st-3rd c. CE 20 Romito 1995 (Pontecagnano)‡ Egnazia‡ Puglia 1st-2nd c. 12 Cocchiaro 2004-05 CE Falerone Marche 2nd-3rd c. 46 Mercando 1965 CE Fano Marche 2nd-3rd c. 25 Mercando 1970 284

CE Fano (Via Fanella)‡ Marche 1st-4th c. CE 135 Quiri 1992 Fermo (loc. Marche 2nd c. CE 34 Profumo 2010 Salvano)‡ Foligno Umbria 1st c. BCE- 181 Bergamini 1988 3rd c. CE Gabii (Terenato Lazio 1st-5th c. CE 27 Mogetta and Becker 2014 Excavations)‡ Gabii (Eastern Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 53 Musco 2006 Sanctuary)‡ Garlasco Baraggia* Lombardia 1st c. BCE- 184 Bottinelli and Melley 1999 2nd c. CE Garlasco (Madonna Lombardia 1st-3rd c. CE 23 Vannacci Lunazzi 1982 delle Bozzole)‡ Gropello Cairoli Lombardia 1st c. BCE- 34 Fortunati Zuccàla 1979 (Pavia)* 1st c. CE Gubbio (Vittorina) Umbria 1st-2nd c. 237 Cipollone 2000-01 CE Guidonia (Le Fosse)‡ Lazio 2nd c. CE 25 Moscetti et al. 2004 Isernia (Quadrella) Campania 1st-4th c. CE 110 Terzani and Chiari 1997 Isola Sacra (‘il campo Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE ~2000 Angelucci et al. 1990 dei poveri)‡ Isola Vicentina (Cava Veneto 1st-3rd c. CE 53 Vigoni 2008 Silma) Iutizzo Codroipo Friuli-Venezia 1st-4/5th c. 69 Buora 1996 Giulia CE La Pieve (Scarlino Toscana Unknown 24 Aranguren and Castelli 2007 Scalo, Grosseto)

Lazzago (Como)* Lombardia 1st c. BCE- 6 Caporusso 1995 1st c. CE Levante (Aquileia)* Friuli-Venezia 1st c. BCE- 19 Guida 1963 Giulia 1st c. CE Levante (S. Egidio)* Friuli-Venezia 1st-2nd c. 21 Maselli 1969 Giulia CE Lucca (S. Michele)‡ Toscana 1st-2nd c. 2 Ciampoltrini et al. 2009 CE Lucca (Campannori- Toscana 1st c. CE 22 Ciampoltrini et al. 2009 B)† Lugone (Salò) Lombardia 1st-4th c. CE 171 Simoni 1975; Massa 1997 Lugugnana di Veneto 1st c. CE 6 Croce Da Villa 1989 Portogruaro* Lurate Caccivio* Lombardia 1st-3rd c. CE 9 Butti Ronchetti 1985 Luzzi† Calabria 1st-2nd c. 26 Guzzo 1974; Paoletti 2002 CE Macerata (S. Marche 1st c. CE 9 Mercando 1974 Severino)† Macerata (S. Vittore Marche 1st c. CE 6 Mercando 1974 di Cingoli)† Marino Lazio 1st-2nd c. 73 Angelelli et al. 2013 (Mazzamagna)‡ CE

285

Menabrea (Pavia) Lombardia 1st c. BCE- 42 Macchioro Mainati 1994 1st c. CE Mergo (via Raffaello Marche 1st-3rd c. CE 26 De Marinis et al. 2007 Sanzi) Musarna Lazio 1st-4th/5th c. 209 Rebillard ed. 2009 CE Nave (Sub Ascia)* Marche 1st c. BCE- 52 Passi Pitcher 1987 1st c. CE Nespoledo di Friuli-Venezia 1st c. BCE- 9 Buora et al. 2002 Lestizza* Giulia 1st c. CE Oderzo Veneto 2nd-4/5th c. 25 Cipriano and Pujatti 1996 CE Ordona (Via Puglia 2nd c. CE Unknown Mazzei 2001 Traiana)‡ Osteria del Curato I Lazio 2nd-3rd c. 67 Egidi et al. 2003 CE Osteria del Curato II Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 90 Egidi et al. 2003 Osteria del Curato III Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 139 Egidi et al. 2003 Osteria del Curato IV Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 142 Egidi et al. 2003 Osteria del Curato V Lazio 2nd-3rd c. 55 Egidi et al. 2003 CE Ottobiano* Lombardia 1st c. CE 38 Vannacci Lunazzi 1986 Padova (Via Beato Veneto 1st-2nd c. 22 Pesavento Mattioli and Ruta Pellegrino)† CE Serafini 1995 Parabiago (S. Lombardia 1st c. BCE- 39 Binaghi Leva 1996 Lorenzo)* 1st c. CE Pergola† Marche 1st-3rd c. CE 6 Mercando 1974 Piacenza, ex area Emilia- 1st c. BCE- 35 Guarnieri 1998 Sift‡ Romagna 1st c. CE Pianello Vallesina Marche 1st-4th c. CE 17 Virzí Hägglund 1982 (Monteroberto) Pianetto Galeata Emilia- 1st-4th c. CE 18 Gamberini et al. 2004 Romagna Pieve del Finale‡ Liguria 2nd-3rd c. 4 Pallarés 1965 CE Pinerolo Piemonte 2nd-3rd c. 31 Barello 2006 CE Ponterosso (Aquileia) Friuli-Venezia 2nd-4th c. 32 Giovannini 1991 Giulia CE Portorecanati Marche 2nd c. BCE- 357 Mercando 1974 4th c. CE Rasa di Velate Lombardia 2nd-4/5th c. 42 Nobile de Agostini 1994 (Varese)‡ CE Riccione- via Emilia- 1st c. BCE- 30 Belemmi 1999 Flaminia‡ Romagna 3rd c. CE Rimini (Grotta Emilia- 1st-2nd c. 100 Morrone 1998 Rossa)‡ Romagna CE Rome Lazio 4th c. BCE- 109 Pagliardi and Cecchini 2004 (Grottaperfetta) 3rd c. CE Rome (via Basiliano) Lazio 1st c. BCE- 545 Buccellato et al. 2003 4th c. CE

286

Rome (Casal Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 221 Musco et al. 2008 Bertone)‡ Rome (Castel Lazio 1st-2nd c. 289 Catalano et al. 2010 Malnome)‡ CE Rome (Ciampino, Lazio 2nd-3rd c. 14 Palladino and D’Agostino Pian del Colle)‡ CE 2013 Rome (Collatina)‡ Lazio 1st-2nd c. 2164 Buccellato et al. 2008 CE Rome (Colle del Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 11 Piccoli et al. 2015 Sole)‡ Rome (Lucrezia Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 410 Egidi et al. 2003 Romana) Rome (Nomentana)‡ Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE Unknown Amicucci and Carboni 2015 Rome (Padre Lazio 2nd-3rd c. 114 Benassi et al. 2011 Semeria)‡ CE Rome (Quarto Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 120 Musco 2006 Cappello del Prete)‡ Rome (Pontina – Lazio 1st-2nd c. 49 Piccoli et al. 2015 Mostacciano)‡ CE Rome (Vigne Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 13 Piccoli et al. 2015 Nuove)‡ Rovello Porro* Lombardia 1st c. BCE- 40 Giorgi 1981; 2009-10 2nd c. CE S. Giuliano (Abbazia) Emilia- 3rd-4th c. CE 8 Zaccaria 2001 Romagna Sandanielese (La Friuli-Venezia 1st c. BCE- 9 Puzzi and Zuccolo 1983 Cava)* Giulia 1st c. CE Sanremo (Via Liguria 1st-3rd c. CE 6 Ricci 1961 Cappuccini)† Sarsina† Emilia- 1st-2nd c. 117 Ortalli et al. 2008 Romagna CE Saxa Rubra Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 32 Messineo 2007 (Grottarossa) Seriate (Bergamo) Lombardia 2nd-4/5th c. 6 Poggiani Keller 1980-81 CE Sezze Lazio 1st-3rd c. CE 20 Cassieri and Garofalo 2011 Sirmione‡ Lombardia 4th-5th c. CE 18 Bolla 1996 Sparanise (Caserta)‡ Campania 2nd c. CE 19 Passaro 1996 Suasa (meridionale)‡ Marche 1st-2nd c. 41 Bertani et al. 1994-95 CE Strongoli‡ Calabria 1st c. CE 8 Capano 1981 Urbino (BCM) Marche 1st-3rd c. CE 92 Mercando 1982 Urbino (San Donato) Marche 1st-3rd c. CE 101 Mercando 1982 Urbino (BCM) Marche 1st-3rd c. CE 7 Monacchi 1993 Pandolfi Vagnari Puglia 1st-3rd c. CE 144 Small et al. 2007; Prowse 2016 Vallerano‡ Lazio 2nd c. CE 88 Bedini et al. 1995 Velia‡ Calabria 1st-5th c. CE 330 Fiammenghi 2003 Vasto Abruzzo 2nd-3rd c. 27 Staffa 1999 CE 287

Verdello* Lombardia 1st c. BCE- 16 Fortunati et al. 2003 1st c. CE Vidor‡ Veneto 2nd-5th c. 113 Tirelli 1988; Larese 2012 CE Voghenza Emilia- 1st-3rd c. CE 67 Berti 1984; Bandini Mazzanti Romagna 1985

288

Appendix 2: Sites with Multiple Burials

Cemeteries with only cremation burials are excluded from this list. Cremation burials are included in the total number of burials per site, but the number and proportion of multiple burials reflect only inhumations burials.

Site Number of Number of Number of Proportion of Burials Inhumation Multiple Inhumation Burials Burials Burials (%) Beligna (Aquileia) 60 41 2 4.9

Bossema di Cavaion 8 3 2 25 Brindisi (Cappuccini) 283 253 15 5.9 Casal Bertone 221 ? ? 9 Casteggio (Clastidium) 34 30 6 20 Celano 67 67 4 6.0 Foligno 181 125 4 3.2 Grottaperfetta 109 79 1 1.3 Gubbio (Vittorina) 237 92 2 2.2 Isernia (Quadrella) 110 67 9 13.4 Iutizzo Codroipo 69 50 1 2 Lugone (Salò) 171 39 6 15.4 Musarna 209 157 7 4.5 Nomentana ? ? ? 11.7

Osteria del Curato I 67 67 1 1.5

Osteria del Curato II 90 73 8 11.0

Osteria del Curato III 139 119 10 8.4

Osteria del Curato IV 142 132 5 3.8

Portorecanati 357 228 4 1.8

S. Giuliano (Abbazia) 8 8 2 25 Scarlino Scalo 24 25 1 4.2 (Grosseto) Seriate (Bergamo) 6 8 1 12.5 Vagnari 144 138 8 5.8

289

Appendix 3: Simultaneous and Consecutive Multiple Burials

Site Tomb Grave Cover Number of Notes on Age / Sex Simultaneous Date Notes No. Individuals M= male or consecutive F= female U= unknown sex

Beligna 21 Tile structure, 2 Young adult (U) Consecutive 4th c. CE (?) Reduction missing grave Unknown (U) cover Beligna 42 Tile structure, 2 Adult (U) Consecutive 3rd-4th c. CE Reduction missing grave Unknown (U) cover Bossema di 7 Stone and tile 3+ All unknown (U) Consecutive 3rd c. CE Ossuary Cavaion structure with (late) Originally used for a two pits (loculi) single inhumation and later reused as an ossuary Bossema di 8 Tile and stone 3+ Unknown (U) Consecutive 3rd-4th c. Reduction Cavaion structure Unknown (U) construction, Unknown (U) 4th-5th (?) c. reuse Brindisi 2 Tile structure 6 Adult (M) x 6 Consecutive 4th c. CE Reduction (second half) Individuals on different orientations; burial positions not reconstructed from the remains Brindisi 28 Unknown 2 Adult (U) Unknown 2nd-4th c. CE Listed in appendix, not Infant (U) catalog

290

Brindisi 34 Tile structure 4 Adult (U) x 4 Consecutive 3rd-4th c. CE Reduction Individuals on different orientations; burial positions not reconstructed from the remains

Brindisi 35 Tile structure 2 Adult (U) Unknown 3rd-4th c. CE Superposition that uses the Adult (U) Two adults on the same walls of nearby orientation tombs Brindisi 50 Tile structure 2 Adult (M) Consecutive 2nd c. CE Reduction Adult (M) (Antonine) Brindisi 51 Pit burial (fossa 2 Adult (M) Unknown 2nd c. CE Listed in appendix, not terragna) Adult (M) catalog Brindisi 67 Tile structure 2 Subadult (U) Unknown 2nd c. CE Order and relationship of with a marble Subadult (U) (Antonine) depositions not recorded slab cover Brindisi 72 Pit burial with 2 Adult (M) Unknown 2nd c. CE Order and relationship of stone slab cover Adult (M) (Antonine) depositions not recorded Brindisi 87 Tile structure 2 Adult (F) Consecutive 2nd c. CE Reduction with Adult (F) (second half- cappuccina Marcus cover Aurelius) Brindisi 89 Tile structure 2 Adult (U) Consecutive 1st c. CE Reduction with stone Unknown (U) (late) cover Brindisi 136 Unknown 2 Adult (U) Unknown 3rd-4th c. CE Listed in appendix, not Subadult (U) catalog Brindisi 138 Stone 2 Adult (M) Simultaneous? 1st c. CE Side by side sarcophagus Adult (F) (early) One individual slightly

291

overlaps the other

Brindisi 165 Wood coffin 2 Adult (M) Unknown 1st c. CE Listed in appendix, not Adult (M) catalog Brindisi 179 Pit burial (fossa 2 Adult (U) Unknown 1st c. CE Listed in appendix, not terragna) Adult (U) catalog Brindisi 210 Pit burial (fossa 2 Adult (F) Unknown 1st-2nd c. CE Listed in appendix, not terragna) Adult (F) catalog Casteggio 5 Tiles at bottom 2 Adult (M) Simultaneous 3rd c. CE Adult and child lying head (Clastidium) of pit with Subadult 2 years (U) to foot cappuccina (230-250 CE) cover Casteggio 12 Tile structure 2 Adult 17-25 (F) Consecutive 3rd c. CE Side by side (Clastidium) with stone slab Adult 20-35 (M) Slight lateral movement of cover (230-300 CE) the first individual (still in anatomical connection) to make space for the later deposition Casteggio 21 Tile structure 2+ Adult 30-45 (M) Consecutive 3rd-4th c. CE Side by side (Clastidium) with Adult 30-40 (M) Lateral movement of the cappuccina first individual (still in cover anatomical connection) to make space for the later deposition Casteggio 26 Tile structure 3 Adult 30-40 (M) Consecutive 3rd-4th c. CE Side by side (Clastidium) with Adult 50-60 (M) Lateral movement of the cappuccina Old adult (F) first individual (still in cover anatomical connection) to make space for the later deposition

292

Casteggio Niches Niches inside 6 A: adult (U), adult (U) Consecutive 3rd-4th c. CE Partial emptying (Clastidium) 21-26 tile structure B: adult (U), adult (U) Fragmentary remains of C: adult (M), adult (F) six adult individuals inside niches of the tile structure Casteggio 25 Pit burial with 3 Adult 40-50 (M) Consecutive 3rd-4th c. CE Reduction (Clastidium) tile grave cover Adult 40-50 (M) (230-350 CE) Infant 18-24 months (U) Casteggio 28 Tile structure 2 Subadult 9-10 (U) Consecutive 2nd-3rd c. CE Side by side (Clastidium) Subadult 11 (U) Lateral movement of the (before 230 first individual (still in CE) anatomical connection) to make space for the later deposition Celano 46 Unknown 2 Unknown Simultaneous Unknown ‘Bisome’ Celano 58 Tile structure 2+ Unknown Consecutive Unknown Order and relationship of depositions not recorded Celano 66 Unknown 2+ Unknown Consecutive Unknown Reduction Foligno 62 Pit burial (fossa Unknown Unknown (U) Consecutive Unknown Reduction (?) terragna) Foligno 63 Pit burial (fossa Unknown Unknown (U) Consecutive Unknown Reduction (?) terragna) Foligno 102 Pit burial (fossa Unknown Unknown (U) Consecutive Unknown Reduction (?) terragna) Foligno 127 Cappuccina 2 Unknown (U) Unknown 1st-2nd c. CE Missing excavation data. grave cover Suggested ‘bisoma’ tomb based on burial size Grottaperfetta 200-201 Pit burial (fossa 2 Adult 20-25 (M) Simultaneous 2nd c. CE Adjacent burials terragna) Adult 30-35 (F) (?) (100-150 CE) Possibly simultaneous

293

Gubbio 53 Pit with wood 2 Adult (U) Simultaneous Unknown Adult and child – (Vittorina) coffin (cassa Subadult (U) (?) probably simultaneous in lignea) coffin (?) Gubbio 74-75 Pit with tile 2 Adult (U) Simultaneous 2nd c. CE Interred at the same time (Vittorina) cover Neonate (U) (Hadrianic) in a T-shaped pit Isernia 13 Tiles at bottom 2 Old adult (M) Consecutive 1st c. CE Reduction (Quadrella) of pit with Old adult (F) cappuccina cover Isernia 16 Wood coffin, 3 Subadult (F) Consecutive 4th c. CE Reduction (Quadrella) cappuccina Old adult (M) (second half) (of two individuals) cover Old adult (M) Isernia 21 Tiles at bottom 3 Old adult (M) Consecutive 2nd-3rd c. CE Reduction (Quadrella) of pit Old adult (U) Adult (F) Isernia 27 Tile-lined with 2 Adult (F) Consecutive 2nd-3rd c. CE Superposition (Quadrella) cappuccina Old adult (M) (?) cover Isernia 29 Tile structure 2 Old adult (M) Consecutive 1st-2nd c. CE Reduction Adult (F) Isernia 32 Pit delineated 2 (?) Adult (M) Unknown 1st c. CE (?) Unknown (Quadrella) by stones Young adult (F) Appendix lists two individuals but catalog only refers to one Isernia 48 Tile-lined with 2 Adult (M) Consecutive Late 3rd - Reduction (Quadrella) cappuccina Old adult (M) early 4th c. cover CE Isernia 79 Tile-lined with 3 Old adult (F) Consecutive 3rd-4th c. CE Superposition (Quadrella) cappuccina Old adult (F) (?) cover Old adult (M)

294

Isernia 103 Tile-lined with 3 Old adult (F) Consecutive 3rd c. CE Reduction (Quadrella) cappuccina Young adult (M) (of two individuals) cover Adult (U) Iutizzo 56 Pit burial (fossa 2 Adult (M) Unknown Unknown Order and relationship of Codroipo terragna) Adult (F) depositions not recorded

Lugone (Salò) 26 Stone and 2+ Unknown (U) Consecutive 4th c. CE (late Ossuary mortar structure Unknown (U) 350-410 CE) First reused for a second deposition, then reused as (coin: an ossuary 260/270 CE) Lugone (Salò) 84 Stone and 2 Unknown (U) Consecutive 4th c. CE (late Reduction mortar structure Unknown (U) 350-410 CE)

Lugone (Salò) 88 Stone and 2 Unknown (U) Consecutive 4th c. CE Reduction mortar structure Unknown (U)

Lugone (Salò) 89 Tile and stone 2+ Unknown (U) Consecutive 4th c. CE Reduction structure Unknown (U) (coin 337-361 CE) Lugone (Salò) 137 Tile and stone 2 Unknown (U) Consecutive 4th c. CE Superposition structure Unknown (U) (second half)

Lugone (Salò) 169 Stone walls and 2+ Unknown (U) Consecutive 4th c. CE (late Superposition wood coffin Unknown (U) – Individuals separated by a 350-410 CE) flat tile

Musarna 148 Tile cover 2 Subadult > 15 (U) Unknown Unknown Unknown relationship Subadult 1-5 years (U) between depositions Musarna 175 Tile cover 2 Adult (U) Consecutive 2nd c. CE Reduction Adult (U) (first half)

295

Musarna 185 Flat tile cover 2 Adult > 20 (U) Consecutive 4th-6th c. CE Reduction Adult > 20 (U) (330-540 CE radiocarbon) Musarna 203 Cappuccina 2 Adult > 20 (U) Consecutive 3rd-6th c. CE Reduction grave cover Adult > 20 (U) (late) Musarna 205 Flat tile cover 2 Adult > 20 (U) Consecutive 3rd-6th c. CE Reduction Adult > 20 (U) ca.400 CE – (radiocarbon) Musarna 243 Cappuccina 2 Adult > 20 (F) Consecutive 3rd-6th c. CE Reduction grave cover Adult > 20 (U) (partially destroyed) Musarna 247 Flat tile cover 2 Adult > 20 (F) Simultaneous Unknown Side by side Adult > 20 (F) No disturbance to bones at the time of inhumation so probably a simultaneous burial Osteria del 8 Pit burial (fossa 2 Adult (U) Unknown Unknown Two individuals in Curato I terragna) Adult (U) primary position; possibly simultaneous (?) Osteria del 4-5 Pit burial (fossa 3+ Adult 43-49 (M) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato II nel banco) Adult 25-35 (F) (Rimaneggiata) Unknown (U) Osteria del 9-12 Pit burial (fossa 2 Adult 16-22 (F) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato II nel banco) Subadult 3-4 (U) (Rimaneggiata) Osteria del 21 Pit burial with 2? Adult 25-35 (F) Unknown Unknown Inhumation, cremation Curato II cappuccina Unknown (U) cover Osteria del 24-25 Pit burial with 2? Adult 40-50 (M) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato II cappuccina Infant 16-32 months (Rimaneggiata) cover (U)

296

Osteria del 29 Pit burial with 2? Adult 18-22 (F) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato II cappuccina and Infant (U) (Rimaneggiata) stone cover Osteria del IV Missing grave 2 Adult 40 (U) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato II cover Subadult (U) (Rimaneggiata) Osteria del 13 Flat tiles 2 Adult 30-40 (M) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III Subadult 10-15 (U) (Rimaneggiata) Osteria del 43 Flat tiles (?) 2 Young adult 15-18 (U) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III Adult 20-24 (F) (Rimaneggiata) Osteria del 77 Flat tiles 3 Adult 30-35 (M) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III Adult > 21 (U) (Rimaneggiata) Subadult 12-18 (U) Osteria del 83 Pit burial with 2? Subadult 12-16 (U) Unknown Unknown Unknown Curato III cappuccina Unknown cover Osteria del 97 Pit burial with 2 Adult 37-42 (M) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III flat tile cover Adult 35-40 (M) (‘Primaria’ e ‘secondaria’) Osteria del 120 Pit burial in 2 Adult (U) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III (Ipogeo tufo Subadult 4-8 (U) (Rimaneggiata) A) Osteria del 128 Pit burial in 2 Infant 1-2 (U) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III (Ipogeo tufo with Unknown (U) (Rimaneggiata) A) marble fragments Osteria del 129 Pit burial in 2 Adult 37-42 (M) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III (Ipogeo tufo with flat Adult > 21 (U) (Rimaneggiata) A) tile cover Osteria del 136 Pit burial in 2 Adult > 21 (F?) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III (Ipogeo tufo, missing Adult > 21 (M?) (Rimaneggiata) A) grave cover Osteria del 137 Pit burial in 3 Adult > 21 (M) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive?

297

Curato III (Ipogeo tufo with Adult > 21 (U) (Rimaneggiata) A) marble slab Adult > 21 (U) cover Osteria del 158 (A Pit burial 2 Subadult 2-4 (U) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III Canalette) missing grave Young adult 16-20 (U) (Rimaneggiata) cover Osteria del 165 Pit burial in 2 Subadult (U) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III (Ipogeo tufo Adult > 21 (U) (Rimaneggiata) A) Osteria del 168 Pit burial in 2 Adult 37-42 (M) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III (Ipogeo tufo Adult > 21 (U) (Rimaneggiata) A) Osteria del 170 Pit burial in 2 Infant (U) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato III (Ipogeo tufo Adult (U) (Rimaneggiata) A) Osteria del 15 Pit burial 3 Adult 40-50 (U) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato IV missing grave Adult 40-50 (U) (Rimaneggiata) cover Subadult (U) Osteria del 23 Pit burial with 2 Adult 25-35 (M) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown; consecutive? Curato IV cappuccina Adult (U) (Rimaneggiata) grave cover Osteria del 24 Pit burial with 2 Young adult (U) Consecutive? Unknown Unknown Curato IV cappuccina Adult (U) grave cover Osteria del 63 Pit burial with 4 Adult 28-38 (F) Consecutive Unknown Reduction (?) Curato IV cappuccina Adult (U) One primary, two grave cover Adult (U) secondary and one Subadult (U) disturbed burial Osteria del 111 Pit burial 2 Adult 22-32 (F) Unknown Unknown Unknown Curato IV missing grave Adult 27-37 (M) cover

298

Portorecanati 37 Pit burial 2 Unknown (U) Unknown Unknown Order and relationship of Unknown (U) depositions not recorded Portorecanati 72 bis Pit burial 2 Adult (U) Unknown Unknown Order and relationship of Subadult (U) depositions not recorded Portorecanati 73 bis Pit burial 2 Unknown (U) Unknown Unknown Order and relationship of Unknown (U) depositions not recorded Portorecanati 92 Pit burial 2 Unknown (U) Unknown Unknown Order and relationship of Unknown (U) depositions not recorded Portorecanati 156 Pit burial 2 Unknown (U) Unknown Unknown Order and relationship of Subadult (U) depositions not recorded Portorecanati 213 Tile cover 2 Adult (U) Consecutive 2nd c. CE Head to foot Subadult (U) S. Giuliano 5 Tile structure 2 Unknown (U) Simultaneous 3rd-5th c. CE Side by side (Abbazia) Unknown (U) Anatomical articulation S. Giuliano 6A Tile structure 2 Unknown (U) Consecutive Unknown Reduction (?) (Abbazia) Unknown (U) (3rd-4th c. CE?) Seriate F Stone structure, 3 Unknown (U) Consecutive Late 4th c. CE Reduction (1 individual) missing grave Unknown (U) reuse of a 3rd Superposition (2 cover Unknown (U) c. burial individuals) Vagnari 42 Cappuccina 2 Adult 25-33 (M) Consecutive 4th c. Reburial of damaged grave cover Adult 35-45 (M) disturbance to burial; partial reduction (lined with tiles 3rd c. CE at the bottom) burial Vagnari 96 Cappuccina 2 Adult (M) Consecutive 2nd c. CE Earlier burial damaged grave cover Adult (U) during construction of a later one Vagnari 137 Cappuccina 2 Adult 20-25 (M) Consecutive 2nd c. CE Superposition grave cover Adult (U) (second half) Upper individual in prone position Vagnari 211 Cappuccina 2 Adult (F) Simultaneous Unknown Adult female and neonate

299

grave cover Neonate (U) in pelvic / thoracic cavity Vagnari 286 Cappuccina 2 Subadult 16-18 (F?) Consecutive Unknown Head to foot grave cover Subadult 12-13 (U) (within short time) Vagnari 307 Cappuccina 2 Subadult 3-5 (U) Simultaneous Unknown Neonate and infant: grave cover Subadult 2-3 (U) (?) positions not discernable

Vagnari 308 Cappuccina 3 Young adult > 16 (F?) Consecutive 3rd-5th c. CE Superposition grave cover Adult > 21 (M) (radiocarbon) Residual bones of a third Subadult 3-5 (U) individual (subadult)

300

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