Redefining Roman Imperialism on the Limes Through a Bioarchaeological Study of Human Remains from the Village of Oymaağaç, Turkey

Ave Imperii, mortui salutamus te: Redefining Roman Imperialism on the Limes through a Bioarchaeological Study of Human Remains from the Village of Oymaağaç, Turkey

Dissertation

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the of Degree Doctor of

Philosophy in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

Kathryn E. Marklein, M.A., M.Sc.

Graduate Program in Anthropology

Ohio State University

2018

Dissertation Committee:

Clark Spencer Larsen, Advisor

Mark R. Hubbe

Laurie J. Reitsema

Samuel D. Stout Copyright by

Kathryn E. Marklein

2018

Abstract

The Roman Empire sustained one of the longest and largest ruling powers in history, from the first century BC to the fourth century AD, through imperial programs of political and cultural assimilation. Prior to post-colonial reevaluations of historical colonization and imperialism, the Roman process of cultural integration (Romanization) was lauded as unidirectionally constructive and civilizing for the indigenous populations.

Recent studies, however, have demonstrated that indigenous populations in culturally- and politically-reconstituted regions of the early Roman Empire experienced diminished access to resources and, consequently, poorer physiological health relative to pre-Roman occupation populations. This research tests the hypothesis that Roman rule had similar detrimental effects on an indigenous community in the eastern Empire. I test the hypothesis via a bioarchaeological study of violence, physiological health, and dietary resource allocation. Critically applying a theoretical framework of structural violence to the analysis of skeletal remains from the Roman (AD 130-270) cemetery at Oymaağaç,

Turkey, this study investigates how Roman imperial rule impacted locally and regionally the indigenous populations of the Pontus. Because the indigenous populations of northern

Anatolia assimilated to Roman imperial rule with little political and social restructuring, it is predicted that, relative to Western indigenous populations, limited or weak evidence of structural violence existed among this rural community.

Operational variables of violence—traumatic lesions (fractures), diet (carious

ii lesions, antemortem tooth loss, calculus, abscesses, and stable carbon and nitrogen

ratios), childhood growth perturbations (linear enamel hypoplasias), non-specific infection (periosteal new bone and periodontal disease), and physical activity

(osteoarthritis, rotator cuff disease, and intervertebral disc disease)—utilized in bioarchaeological studies are contextualized within local, regional, and interregional levels to understand the transformative extent of external, imperialist influences. On a local scale, attritional (multigenerational) and catastrophic (mass) samples are assessed for differential risk of mortality in Roman period Oymaağaç associated with adult age categories and sexes. On a regional level, paleopathological and stable isotope data from contemporaneous, urban Anatolian assemblages are contrasted with prevalence of conditions and δ13C and δ15N values at Oymaağaç. Finally, on an interregional (intra-

imperial) scale, Oymaağaç is relativized and situated geophysically within the biocultural

landscape of the Roman Empire.

Results from this study render paleoepidemiological and sociohistorical

significance. Comparisons between multigenerational and mass graves at Oymaağaç

support assumptions of the osteological paradox, namely, that skeletal and dental

biomarkers of stress may, in fact, be indicators of biological resilience. Contrary to recent

paleoepidemiological findings from the Black Death, general absence of pathological

lesions correlates with increased susceptibility to catastrophic mortality at Oymaağaç.

Additionally, males and females present similar paleopathological profiles, apart from

osteoarthritis prevalence. While adult males exhibit some difference in susceptibility to

mass death, females present biologically similar profiles between attritional and

catastrophic contexts, suggesting sociocultural factors impacting exposure, transmission,

iii and vulnerability to epidemic disease.

Intra- and interregional comparisons of pathological lesions across the Roman

Empire showcase the extensive variability in trauma, diet, developmental perturbations,

non-specific infection, and chronic joint wear. While significant differences arise in the

geographical distribution of non-specific infection (periosteal new bone), the concentration of cases in central Italy, no other spatial patterns of conditions are observed from Britain to Africa to Anatolia. No homogeneous biological landscape exists across the Roman Empire, nor are their core and periphery distinctions in pathological lesions.

These findings suggest that a model of structural violence does not capture the nature and extent of Roman expansion and Romanization. Rather, the biocultural heterogeneity in the Roman period bioarchaeological record suggests a divergence from theories of

violence in Roman imperialism and, instead, advocates for more regional and intra-

regional bioarchaeological studies of biological and cultural creolization and hybridity in

future Romanization research.

Dedication

For my grandmother, Elaine Ruth Johnson Myhre, whose name I share and attempt daily to live up to. For my grandfather, Harold Lloyd Myhre, who showed me the true meaning of noble and good. Lastly, for my uncle, John Myhre, whose passion for the past has been a continuous source of inspiration and joy.

Acknowledgements

Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit [“And perhaps at some time it will help to

remember these things”] (Aeneid I.203, Virgil). These words have always stayed with me

since I translated them in Latin class senior year of high school. While the road to this

point has included many trials and tribulations, which contributed to personal and

professional growth, it is the people along this journey to whom my fondest memories

and gratitude are owed.

First to George Armelagos, my undergraduate advisor. George introduced me to

my greatest love, anthropology, and continuously believed in and motivated me as a

scholar and researcher. Throughout my undergraduate and into my graduate years, he

was a mentor, collaborator, and friend to me, and I will forever cherish our talks and time

together. During my Greek studies, I came across a word used to describe the great

warriors of Homeric epic, αρετη (excellence), and this is how I remember George. So blessed to know him, I will always strive to be the legacy he deemed his students to be.

While it saddens me that I could not share this work with him, I smile to think he would give me an approbatory “done is good.”

To Sherry Fox, a dear friend and one of the greatest treasures I encountered on my first research stint in Greece in college. For nearly a decade Sherry has been a constant source of encouragement, wisdom, and understanding. Sherry was the first anthropologist to treat me as a colleague, taking with me on adventures around the

vi Eastern Mediterranean and introducing me to the beautiful country and archaeology of

Turkey. I need an additional lifetime to repay Sherry for all her kindness, time, and

support.

To the others in my college career who supported me in the classroom, I thank

you tremendously. I thank first Molly Zuckerman, the then graduate student at Emory

whose early encouragement in human osteology and mentorship throughout my

undergraduate years gave me the confidence to pursue anthropology beyond

undergraduate years. I also thank Hillary Olivier, my dear friend and academic sister,

with whom I have shared countless, cherished memories on both sides of the pond

together.

On the first leg of my graduate studies, I spent two years completing masters degrees in London and Sheffield. To Tony Waldron and Jane Rempel, faculty along the way who supported and challenged me, I give many thanks. Finally, to the women who became my family overseas, Iris (Dutch) and Amanda (Ducky), I can think of fewer times I have felt such kinship, outside my family, as I did with these lovely friends.

Every road has an end, and I am so thankful my academic journey as a student ended in the Department of Anthropology at Ohio State. My wonderful dissertation committee has been critical at various points before and during the dissertation process to ensure my survival and ultimate success as a graduate candidate. First, I thank my advisor, Dr. Larsen, who has given me invaluable opportunities and professional support throughout my six years at OSU. I look forward to future collaborations together and reminiscences, whether they be about St. Catherines Island or Turkey. I hope my post-

OSU career includes a colleague who has a similar appreciation for goofy skeletal

vii humor, or a colleague as kind as Dr. Larsen; it made my semesters working in the bioarchaeology lab as pleasant as they were productive. Next, I thank Mark Hubbe, who has belayed me on climbing walls as much as in professional development. Since I’ve known Mark, he has always taken slack when I needed help and pushed me to heights I didn’t think possible (“hupsee-shoo!”). I thank also Laurie Reitsema for her expertise and instruction in stable isotope analyses to this project. Though I met and began working with Laurie in the last years of graduate school, her advice, knowledge, and encouragement have contributed to my growth as a researcher and academic. Finally, I thank Dr. Stout, who has expanded my mind to the marvels of skeletal biology and helped me think critically about my work and bioarchaeological scholarship.

My research would have remained two-dimensional on a page without grants from the American Society of Oriental Research, the American Research Institute in

Turkey, the Department of Anthropology at OSU, and The Ohio State University. I appreciate the opportunity to turn hypothetical research proposals into field and laboratory work.

This dissertation would not have been possible without the support of my colleagues and friends in Turkey. My first thanks are given to director Professor Rainer

Czichon for his consistent support of my anthropological studies at Oymaağaç since

2010. Next, I thank Pavol Hnila, whose unfailing and critical interest in my work has improved its quality and relevance. I am also appreciative of Henning Marquardt and

Silvio Reichmuth, incomparable friends and pillars of support in my research. Finally, I thank my European and Turkish dig family at Oymaağaç: Emine, Mevlüt, Julia, Melanie,

Toke, Christoph, Doğukan, Ender, Huseyin, Mehmet Ali, and many others. Size çok

viii teşekkürler ederim!

Although it can sometimes feel it, this dissertation was not written in a vacuum.

Amidst the anthropology department, I found a second home of friends, faculty, and

colleagues. To the many faculty who have shown daily support through smiley greetings

or sympathetic sarcasm, I thank you. You all keep the fires of curiosity burning every

day with your passion for anthropology. Among those faculty, I thank, in particular, Dr.

Douglas Crews, an unfailing mentor and colleague, who constantly has encouraged and

believed in me. To my fellow graduate students and friends, who have shared your time,

ideas, and hugs with me—Ashley, Abby, Colleen, Katie, Selin, Barbara, Leigh, Marissa,

and HEADS team—I cannot begin to convey my thanks to you. I thank especially Aaron

(and Shepard) for grounding me in a happy, often dreamlike, reality throughout the dissertation process. To several wonderful OSU undergraduates along the way—

Julianne, Sydney, Madee, Stacia, and Shannon—thank you for reminding me how much

I love anthropology with your boundless enthusiasm.

From California to Georgia to Michigan to Vermont, I thank those people throughout my life, who have loved and encouraged me well before I ventured into the academic and anthropological realms. To my family in Wisconsin and Grandma Ohmen in New Mexico, I send cumulative decades of thanks.

Lastly, to my family of wanderers. Although Kate and Iris joined our merry band of five in the last six years, I could not have asked for more loving, thoughtful, and caring sisters. My precocious nieces, Wilhelmina, Frida, and Madeline empower me daily to be a strong role model, but they also remind me not to pass a day without laughing. My brothers, Eric and Ross, I thank for decades of inspiration and motivation

ix (albeit not always intentional). You set the bar high, and I am a better person having

reached for it. To my father, my Pop, I give thanks for instilling in me a work ethic and

drive to overcome unexpected challenges and finding new solutions. I’ve summitted my

Alpe d’Huez, and I couldn’t have done it without him as a domestique. Finally, I thank my mother, my champion, who has always supported my intellectual pursuits and has unconditionally and unwaveringly provided love to help me fulfill these dreams.

Vita

June 2006 ...... Marist High School May 2010 ...... B.S. Human Biology and Anthropology, B.A. Classics, Emory University

November 2011 ...... M.Sc. Skeletal and Dental Bioarchaeology, University College London November 2012 ...... M.A. Archaeology, The University of Sheffield August 2012 ...... University Fellow, Ohio State University August 2013-2017 ...... Graduate Research Associate, Department of Anthropology, Ohio State University

August 2014………………………………….FLAS Fellow, Middle East Studies Center, Ohio State University August 2015-2018 ...... Graduate Teaching Associate, Department of Anthropology, Ohio State University

Publications

Marklein KE, Crews DE. 2017. Frail and Hale: Skeletal Frailty in Medieval London. PLOS ONE. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0176025

Marklein KE, Leahy RE, Crews DE. 2016. In sickness and in death: assessing frailty in human skeletal remains. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 161(2): 208-225.

Marklein KE, Fox SC. 2016. In morbo et in morto: transforming age and identity within the mortuary context of Oymaağaç Höyük, northern Turkey. In: AJ Osterholtz (Ed.). Theoretical Approaches to Analysis and Interpretation of Commingled Human Remains.

Fox SC, Marklein K. 2014. Primary and Secondary Burials with Commingled Remains from Archaeological Contexts in Cyprus, Greece, and Turkey. In: AJ Osterholtz, KM Baustian, and DL Martin (Ed.). Commingled and Disarticulated Human Remains: Working Toward Improved Theory, Method, and Data. New York, NY: Springer. p 193-212.

xi Fields of Study

Major Field: Anthropology

Minor Field: Anatomy

xii

Table of Contents

Abstract ...... ii Dedication ...... v Acknowledgements ...... vi Vita ...... xi Table of Contents…………………………………………………………………………………..xiii List of Tables ...... xiv List of Figures ...... xvi List of Equations ...... xix Chapter 1: Introduction ...... 1 Chapter 2: Bioarchaeological Approaches to and Mortuary Archaeology of Imperialism ...... 17 Chapter 3: “Romanization” in the limes of the Roman Empire ...... 35 Chapter 4: Skeletal and dental conditions and pathological lesions as proxies for physiological health and behavior ...... 54 Chapter 5: Stable Isotope Biochemistry and its Application in Bioarchaeology ...... 73 Chapter 6: Oymaağaç, Nerik: A Microcosm for Romanization? ...... 96 Chapter 7: Methods ...... 116 Chapter 8: Results ...... 136 Chapter 9: Discussion ...... 227 Chapter 10: Concluding remarks ...... 275 References ...... 280 Appendix A: Laboratory Form ...... 330 Appendix B: Diagenesis of Collagen ...... 334 Appendix C: Demographic and paleopathological data from Oymaağaç ...... 361 Appendix D: Paleopathological data from Roman period sites ...... 369 Appendix E: Stable isotope data from Roman sites and Oymaağaç ...... 376

xiii

List of Tables

Table 4.1 Abbreviations for pathological conditions used throughout study………………….54 Table 5.1 Collagen quality standards………………………………………………………….94 Table 7.1 Metric criteria for estimating sex………………………………………………….119 Table 8.1 Proportion of adult males and females among Oymaağaç sample………….……..137 Table 8.2 Distribution of adult age categories among grave contexts…………………….….137 Table 8.3 Distribution of age categories according to sex…………………………………...139 Table 8.4 Traumatic lesions according to grave context and sex………………………….…144 Table 8.5 Traumatic lesions according to grave context, sex, and age………………………145 Table 8.6 Individuals exhibiting AMTL according to grave context and sex…………….….147 Table 8.7 Individuals exhibiting carious lesions according to grave context and sex……….148 Table 8.8 Individuals exhibiting an abscess according to grave context and sex……………150 Table 8.9 Individuals exhibiting calculus according to grave context and sex………………151 Table 8.10 Teeth (carious lesions and calculus) or alveoli (periapical abscess) affected by pathological condition according to grave context…………………………………………...152 Table 8.11 Individuals with carious lesions according to grave context, sex, and age………154 Table 8.12 Individuals with AMTL according to grave context, sex, and age………………155 Table 8.13 Individuals with calculus according to grave context, sex, and age……………...156 Table 8.14 δ13C and δ15N for zooarchaeological and modern faunal samples……………….158 Table 8.15 δ13C and δ15N among grave contexts………………………………………….….159 Table 8.16 ANOVA tests comparing δ13C and δ15N by grave context………………………160 Table 8.17 Kruskal-Wallis results, δ13C and δ15N according to age group…………………..163 Table 8.18 Individuals exhibiting LEH according to grave context and sex………………...165 Table 8.19 Individuals exhibiting LEH according to grave context, sex, and age…………...168 Table 8.20 Individuals exhibiting PNB according to grave context and sex………………...170 Table 8.21 Individuals exhibiting PNB according to grave context, sex, and age…….……..171 Table 8.22 Individuals exhibiting PD according to grave context and sex……………….….173 Table 8.23 Individuals exhibiting PD according to grave context, sex, and age ………….…174 Table 8.24 Individuals exhibiting OA according to grave context and sex………………….176 Table 8.25 Individuals exhibiting OA according to grave context, sex, and age….…………178 Table 8.26 Individuals exhibiting RCD according to grave context and sex……….………..179 Table 8.27 Individuals exhibiting RCD according to grave context, sex, and age…………..180 Table 8.28 Individuals exhibiting IVD according to grave context and sex…………………180 Table 8.29 Cervical, thoracic, and lumbar vertebra with IVD and Chi-square results………181 Table 8.30 Individuals exhibiting IVD according to grave context, sex, and age……………183 Table 8.31 Average percent of individuals with trauma according to region………………..209 Table 8.32 Average percent of carious teeth and individuals with carious lesions according to region…………………………………………………………………………………...... …..211 Table 8.33 Average percent of teeth and individuals with calculus according to region…….213 Table 8.34 Average percent of alveoli and individuals with abscesses according to region...215

xiv Table 8.35 Average percent of alveoli and individuals with AMTL according to region…...217 Table 8.36 δ13C and δ15N across Roman Empire according to region……………………….218 Table 8.37 Intersexual comparisons of δ13C and δ15N in regions throughout the Roman Empire………………………………………………………………………………………..221 Table 8.38 Average percent of individuals with LEH according to region…………………..224 Table 8.39 Average percent of individuals with PNB according to region…………………..225 Table 8.40 Average percent of individuals with PD according to region……………………226 Table B.1 Procedural duplicates……………………………………………………………...353 Table B.2 Faunal and zooarchaeological sample collagen standards………………………...354 Table B.3 Human archaeological sample collagen standards………………………………..357 Table C.1 Demographic and paleopathological table coding………………………………...362 Table C.2 Demographic and paleopathological data from Oymaağaç……………………….363 Table D.1 Paleopathological comparative data from Roman sites…………………………...370 Table E.1 Stable carbon and nitrogen data from Roman and Oymaağaç sites……………….377

List of Figures

Figure 5.1 δ13C and δ15N values corresponding to trophic levels……………………………..83 Figure 6.1. The site of Oymaağaç-Nerik………………………………………………………97 Figure 6.2. Greek Spolia in neighboring village of Akören…………………………………...99 Figure 6.3. Plan of Oymaağaç cemetery……………………………………………………...101 Figure 6.4. Tile grave from Oymaağaç cemetery…………………………………………….102 Figure 6.5. The chronology of burial in grave 7384.009……………………………………..106 Figure 6.6. Grave 7484.020…………………………………………………………………..107 Figure 6.7. Grave 7585.010…………………………………………………………………..109 Figure 6.8 Mass burial episode within grave 7384.009………………………………………110 Figure 6.9 Cubric staining on mastoid………………………………………………………..111 Figure 6.10 Grave 7385.002………………………………………………………………….112 Figure 6.11 Grave 7385.018………………………………………………………………….113 Figure 6.12 Grave 7385.019………………………………………………………………….114 Figure 7.1 Oymaağaç Microsoft Excel database……………………………………………..121 Figure 7.2 MNI counts from individual and elemental data……………………………….…122 Figure 7.3 Funnel-flask apparatus used in collagen extraction procedure…………………...130 Figure 8.1 Distribution of sexes by grave context……………………………………………138 Figure 8.2 Distribution of age categories by grave context…………………………………..138 Figure 8.3 Distribution of males by age category and grave context………………………...140 Figure 8.4 Distribution of females by age category and grave context………………………140 Figure 8.5 Distribution of ages by sex in multigenerational graves………………………….141 Figure 8.6 Distribution of ages by sex in mass graves……………………………………….141 Figure 8.7 Antemortem fracture of left femur……………..…………………………………143 Figure 8.8 Antemortem tooth loss of maxillary teeth……...…………………………………147 Figure 8.9 Root caries of mandibular dentition………………………………………………149 Figure 8.10 Periapical abscess on maxilla……………………………………………………150 Figure 8.11 Calculus and periodontal disease on mandible………………………………….151 Figure 8.12 δ13C and δ15N distributions of faunal and human samples……………………...157 Figure 8.13 δ13C and δ15N of total Oymaağaç sample……………………………………….159 Figure 8.14 δ13C and δ15N, Oymaağaç sample by sex and grave context…………………...161 Figure 8.15 δ13C and δ15N, Oymaağaç sample by sex……………………………………….162 Figure 8.16 δ13C and δ15N, Oymaağaç sample by age………………………………………163 Figure 8.17 LEH on mandibular dentition……………………………………………………165 Figure 8.18 Active periosteal bone formation on tibia……………………………………….168 Figure 8.19 Osteomyelitis (7389.012.002)…………………………………………………...171 Figure 8.20 Periodontal disease on mandible………………………………………………...171 Figure 8.21 Eburnation of the humerus………………………………………………………175 Figure 8.22 Intervertebral disc disease of centra C3 (right) and C4 (left) vertebrae…………180 Figure 8.23 MCA Factor Map for Model 1, comparing grave contexts……………………...185

xvi

Figure 8.24 MCA Factor Map for Model 1, comparing grave contexts and sexes…………..186 Figure 8.25 MCA Factor Map for Model 2, comparing grave contexts……………………...189 Figure 8.26 MCA Factor Map for Model 2, comparing grave contexts and sexes…………..190 Figure 8.27 MCA Factor Map for Model 3, comparing grave contexts……………………...192 Figure 8.28 MCA Factor Map for Model 3, comparing grave contexts and sexes…………..193 Figure 8.29 Percent of individuals with trauma in Oymaağaç and Anatolia…………………196 Figure 8.30 Percent of individuals with carious lesions in Oymaağaç and Anatolia…...……197 Figure 8.31 Percent of teeth with calculus in Oymaağaç and Anatolia………………………198 Figure 8.32 Percent of alveoli with AMTL in Oymaağaç and Anatolia……………………..199 Figure 8.33 δ13C and δ15N at Oymaağaç, Ephesus, and Hierapolis…………………………..200 Figure 8.34 Percent of teeth with LEH in Oymaağaç and Anatolia………………………….201 Figure 8.35 Percent of individuals with PNB in Oymaağaç and Anatolia…………………...202 Figure 8.36 Percent of individuals with periodontal disease in Oymaağaç and Anatolia…....203 Figure 8.37 Percent of individuals with OA in Oymaağaç and Anatolia…………………….204 Figure 8.38 Percent of individuals with vertebral osteophytosis in Oymaağaç and Anatolia...... 205 Figure. 8.39 Map of trauma (% of individuals) across the Roman Empire…………………..208 Figure. 8.40 Map of caries (% of individuals) across the Roman Empire…………………...209 Figure. 8.41 Map of caries (% of teeth) across the Roman Empire………………………….210 Figure. 8.42 Map of calculus (% of individuals) across the Roman Empire…………………211 Figure. 8.43 Map of calculus teeth (% teeth) across the Roman Empire…………………….212 Figure. 8.44. Map of abscesses (% of individuals) across the Roman Empire………………213 Figure. 8.45 Map of abscesses (% of alveoli) across the Roman Empire……………………214 Figure. 8.46 Map of AMTL (% of individuals) across the Roman Empire………………….215 Figure. 8.47 Map of AMTL (% of alveoli) across the Roman Empire………………………216 Figure 8.48 δ13C and δ15N across the Roman Empire according to region…………………..218 Figure 8.49 δ13C and δ15N across the Roman Empire according to region, excluding African samples……………………………………………………………………………………….219 Figure 8.50 δ13C and δ15N across the Roman Empire according to sex……………………...220 Figure 8.51 Map of LEH (% of individuals) across the Roman Empire…………….……….222 Figure 8.52 Map of LEH (% of teeth) across the Roman Empire…………………….……...223 Figure 8.53 Map of PNB (% of individuals) across the Roman Empire……………….…….224 Figure 8.54 Map of PD (% of individuals) across the Roman Empire………………….……225 Figure B.1 C:N and %C, Terrestrial mammal sample………………………………………..336 Figure B.2 C:N and %N, Terrestrial mammal sample……………………………………….336 Figure B.3 C:N and δ13C, Terrestrial mammal sample………………………………………337 Figure B.4 C:N and δ15N, Terrestrial mammal sample………………………………………337 Figure B.5 C:N and %C, Terrestrial mammal sample, excluding OYM3-3…………………338 Figure B.6 C:N and %N, Terrestrial mammal sample, excluding OYM3-3…………………338 Figure B.7 C:N and δ13C, Terrestrial mammal sample, excluding OYM3-3………………...338 Figure B.8 C:N and δ15N, Terrestrial mammal sample, excluding OYM3-3………………...339 Figure B.9 C:N and %C, Fish sample………………………………………………………..340 Figure B.10 C:N and %C, Fish sample, excluding OYM16-2……………………………….340 Figure B.11 C:N and %N, Fish sample………………………………………………………341 Figure B.12 C:N and %N, Fish sample, excluding OYM16-2……………………………….341 Figure B.13 C:N and δ13C, Fish sample……………………………………………………...341

xvii

Figure B.14 C:N and δ13C, Fish sample, excluding OYM16-2………………………………342 Figure B.15 C:N and δ15N, Fish sample……………………………………………………...343 Figure B.16 C:N and δ15N, Fish sample, excluding OYM16-2………………………………344 Figure B.17 %C by C:N, Multigenerational samples………………………………………...345 Figure B.18 %N and C:N, Multigenerational Samples………………………………………345 Figure B.19 C:N and δ13C, Multigenerational Samples……………………………………...346 Figure B.20 C:N and δ15N, Multigenerational Samples……………………………………...346 Figure B.21 %C by C:N, Mass grave samples……………………………………………….348 Figure B.22 %C by C:N, Mass grave samples……………………………………………….348 Figure B.23 %C by C:N, Mass grave samples, excluding OYM7-10………………………..349 Figure B.24 %C by C:N, Mass grave samples, excluding OYM7-10………………………..349 Figure B.25 C:N and δ13C, Mass grave sample………………………………………………350 Figure B.26 C:N and δ15N, Mass grave sample………………………………………………350 Figure B.27 C:N and δ13C, Mass grave sample, excluding OYM7-10………………………351 Figure B.28 C:N and δ15N, Mass grave sample, excluding OYM7-10……………………....351 Figure B.29. Photograph of collagen isomorph from sample OYM10-2………..…………...352 Figure B.30 C:N and δ13C, Final sample (faunal)…………………………………………....354 Figure B.31 C:N and δ15N, Final sample (faunal)……………………..……………………..354 Figure B.32 %C and δ13C, Final sample (faunal)……………………………..……………...355 Figure B.33 %N and δ15N, Final sample (faunal)…………………………………..………..355 Figure B.34 C:N and %collagen, Final sample (faunal)…………………..…………………356 Figure B.35 C:N and δ13C, Final sample (human)…………………..……………………….357 Figure B.36 C:N and δ15N, Final sample (human)………………………..………………….357 Figure B.37 %C and δ13C, Final sample (human)…………………………..………………..358 Figure B.38 %N and δ15N, Final sample (human)………………………..…………………..358 Figure B.39 C:N and %collagen, Final sample (human)…………………..…………………359

xviii

List of Equations

Equation 5.1……………...... 80 Equation 5.2……………………………………………………………………………………88

xix

Chapter 1. Introduction

1.1 Background

The impacts of colonialism and imperialism represent timeless, salient issues in current and historical contexts. How indigenous populations react to incoming cultural/political impositions speaks to broader understanding of human behavior and adaptive compromise. Interactions, whether ephemeral passings or permanent relationships, are transformative to both constituents and influence, directly or indirectly, fundamentally or specifically, participant cultures (Said, 1993; Wolf, 1982).

These interactions not only alter the social and cultural landscapes but the physiological human landscapes with exposure to novel resources, technologies, and pathogens. How these interactions affect indigenous populations depends on a multitude of social, political, religious, economic, and biological dynamics (Baker and Kealhofer, 1996;

Larsen and Milner, 1994; Murphy and Klaus, 2017; Ubelaker and Verano, 1999).

Expansion of the Roman Empire into 40 [modern day] countries and over 60 million

people demanded variable, regional approaches to the incorporation and assimilation of

indigenous communities into the broader political, economic, and cultural systems of

Rome (Keay and Terrenato, 2001; Woolf, 1997). Despite the militaristic prowess and

reserves of the Roman Empire, the expansionary Mediterranean power was not met

with exclusive obeisance in the limes (borderland territories). In areas of Spain, for

example, the heavy-handed tactics for military conquest prolonged the eventual

provincialization of the peninsula for 200 years (Curchin, 2004). Military and cultural

1 resistance to consolidatory Roman imperialism also occurred throughout neighboring

Gaul and across the channel in Britain (Hingley, 1997). While the history of Roman conquest and Romanization in the western provinces cannot be swathed over in military campaigns and confrontations, the resistance put forth by the indigenous populations and the staunch persistence of Rome capture the effects of dissimilar, sometimes antipodal, cultures vying for economic and political control of homeland and hinterland

(Keay and Terrenato, 2001; Curchin, 2014).

In Hellenic and Hellenistic territories along the coastal Mediterranean, Roman culture interacted with societies, political systems, and peoples analogous to its own

(Woolf, 1994). Roman conquest in the Greek peninsula and Asia Minor did not reflect the military campaigns and history of conquest in Hispania, Gaul, or Britain. After decisive military defeats against Macedonian, Corinthian, and Seleucid factions, the

Greek peninsula and Asia Minor were annexed into the Roman Empire. Much like the

Ptolemaic Kingdom, which was later assumed into the Empire, these indigenous communities did not experience the cultural shock that characterized Roman influence in the West. Rather than uproot and install new political foundations, provincial positions were created to oversee local populaces, in some cases allowing the maintenance of local autonomy (Marek, 2009; Madsen, 2013, 2014). This interaction between indigenous populations and the Roman imperial system was fundamentally different than the conquest and Romanization of western provinces (Alcock, 1996;

Woolf, 1997).

Recent research into Roman imperialism has traversed written, Roman historical accounts, critically examining the provincial architectural, artifactual, and

2 bioarchaeological records as central, not peripheral, to Romanization (Mattingly, 1997;

Webster and Cooper, 1996). This perspective recognizes the agency of populations within their local, regional, and broader Roman context. One of the most constructive ways to recognize the agency of indigenous, liminal communities, Barrett (1996) argued, was in the people who contributed to the creations and fluctuations of

Romanization-creolization. The human bioarchaeological record is direct evidence of these people and populations, and is used more frequently to quantify and qualify changes to indigenous groups before, during, and after Roman conquest and annexation

(Redfern, 2006; Redfern and DeWitte, 2011). Human skeletal remains map biocultural life histories, which can be read to understand how Roman influence, whether by force or structuralization, affected indigenous individuals and groups physiologically (Novak and Slaus, 2010; Redfern, 2006; Slaus et al., 2004).

1.2 Theoretical significance

The proposed research expands beyond recent studies of interpersonal violence in the

Roman imperial world (Redfern, 2014) by applying a model of structural violence, adopted and employed in colonial bioarchaeology (Murphy and Klaus, 2017), to indigenous populations in the eastern Roman Empire. The application of structural violence to bioarchaeological research was first alluded to in Walker’s (2001) comprehensive review of violence and successfully executed, in practice, by Klaus

(2012) on indigenous populations from colonial Peru, Lambayeque. Structural violence theory explains the marginalization of groups and individuals by autonomous sociopolitical or socioeconomic systems (Galtung, 1969, 1971, 1990). Such social

inequalities translate into resource disparities within these structural foundations (Farmer

1999, 2004a; Farmer et al., 2006; Ho 2007) and lead to the institutionalization of

disproportionate power distribution within populations (Galtung 1969; Farmer, 2004b).

Utilizing skeletal samples from the pre- and post-colonial Hispanic periods, Klaus (2012) defined social inequality through the historical and archaeological contextualization of childhood and adult physiological stress, diet, and physical activity. From these skeletal data of indigenous Peruvian populations, Klaus observed diachronic changes in overall health and diet that suggested differential, disproportionate access to resources and exposure to infection, both direct effects of Spanish colonial infrastructure (Klaus 2008,

2012; Winkler et al., 2017).

Within the context of Roman imperialist studies, the implementation of social theories of violence is germane. Redfern (2014) examined violence within the Roman

Empire through an ecological framework, which considers violence at four social tiers of interaction—individual, proximal, communal, and regional societal relationships (WHO,

2002). However, this preliminary overview of violence centralized its discussion exclusively on direct evidence of interpersonal conflict, perimortem and antemortem traumatic lesions to the skeleton. Results from a diachronic study of skeletal markers of stress among two Dorset populations indicate a significant decrease in general physiological health from the Iron Age to Romano-British period (Redfern and DeWitte,

2011). This indigenous British community experienced a complete restructuration of its political and economic state with the arrival of Roman rule, a transformation that is observably shown to detrimentally impact the physiological health of the local population

(Roberts and Cox, 2003).

However, a recent re-examination of Late Romano-British period (AD 250-410) urban, nucleated, and rural cemetery populations in southern Britain have demonstrated

later impacts of Roman imperial rule (Pitts and Griffin, 2012). The Late Romano-British

political and cultural landscape contrasted significantly with the Early Romano-British

period. Early conquest and expansion into Britain was solidified by heavy-handed

military rule and enforced acculturation (Salway, 1965), but as the Roman Empire began

to steadily weaken and wane in the fourth century AD, Roman legionary strength was

rerouted from western territories to eastern threats in Syria and Dacia (modern day

Romania) (Whittaker, 1994). With this transformation between Early and Late Romano-

British periods from robust Roman occupation to more virtual control, the indigenous

populations were less likely to be exploited for local resources and instead reap the

economic advantages of a vestigial Roman trade system (Mattingly, 2011; Woolf,

1997b). As Pitts and Griffin (2012) observed in their comprehensive review of Late

Romano-British populations, this improvement to sociopolitical and socioeconomic situation is strongly evinced by the low prevalence of physiological stress markers

documented among urban populations. These data suggest that physiological health

within conquered Roman populations improved when regulatory military occupation

reduced and generations of Romano-British cultural assimilation had blurred social

boundaries between indigenous and colonial populations.

Intergroup violence inevitably occurred during military campaigns of expansion, but

these invasions were subsequently followed by a process of Romanization, or

creolization, which supplanted the local political system under a Roman administration

(Luttwak, 1976; Bekker-Nielsen 2006a). The diplomacy of this acculturation process,

5 albeit enacted for economic ultima, was based in aggregating indigenous populations under a central Roman culture and authority in order to mitigate local violence. While the early Empire enjoyed a supposed pax Romana, Roman peace, the histories of Tacitus and

Herodian recount frequent skirmishes with local populations across the British and

Germanic territories (Hopkins, 2009). The frequency of these violent encounters speaks to a discontented populace under Roman domination. However, such militaristic conflicts are not recorded in the history of the eastern Roman provinces of Anatolia, where Greek culture and politics were not overwhelmed but preserved under Roman domination

(Bekker-Nielsen 2006b, 2008; Madsen 2014, 2017; Marek 2009). Consequently, records of violence in the eastern provinces are more likely to assume more systemic, less direct characteristics and displays. Therefore, assess indirect violence in this region the adoption of structural violence theory would serve to illuminate any stratification in health or resource deprivation that would infer detrimental social and political infrastructure.

1.3 Study sample

Human skeletal remains from the Roman necropolis at Oymaağaç hoyuk, in northern

Anatolia were analyzed to evaluate Roman influence in the eastern rural limes. The study sample, dated 1st to 3rd centuries AD, includes individuals from multigenerational

(attritional) and mass (catastrophic) grave contexts, the latter postdating the former. This unique sample allows us to scrutinize how this community bioculturally compared with other liminal Roman populations throughout the empire; and identify what biosocial factors placed mass grave individuals at risk of death.

Demographic, paleopathological, and biochemical data of skeletons from multigenerational and mass graves were analyzed on local, regional, and international scales for patterns and variability in trauma, diet, development, infection, and activity. This multiscalar perspective facilitates the relativization of the Oymaağaç community, in terms of physical and biochemical human landscapes, from local, rural to international sociopolitical and cultural contexts. On the local scale, demographic, paleopathological, or biochemical differences between multigenerational and mass graves reveal whether specific members of Oymaağaç were susceptible to sudden, epidemic circumstances. This information conveys societal politics in place at Oymaağaç during the Roman period, politics informed by regional and international influences while overseen and implemented by local authorities within the bounds of local culture. At the regional scale,

Oymaağaç is placed and compared within the diverse geopolitical landscape of Anatolia.

This comparison considers possible vagaries in Romanization among eastern populations in Anatolia, especially between urban populaces, who were directly within the political and economic network and control of the Empire, and rural communities (e.g.,

Oymaağaç), which were indirectly ruled and monitored following expansionary annexation. Finally, on an international scale, Oymaağaç is evaluated in its liminal state relative to other populations within central and provincial geographies to understand how and whether morbidity and lifeways contrasted between culturally unique, disparate communities across the Roman Empire.

1.4 Hypotheses and outcomes

1.4.1 Local scale

1.4.1.i Hypothesis 1: Evidence of violence will remain constant between multigenerational and mass grave contexts at Oymaağaç.

Although recent human bioarchaeological data, notably from the territorial provinces of Britain and continental Europe, have shown both increases and declines in traumatic lesions following Roman occupation or annexation (Redfern, 2006; Redfern and Chamberlain, 2011; Slaus et al., 2012), there are no such accounts in the written or skeletal record of increased endemic violence within the eastern provinces of Achaea

(Greece) and Anatolia (Turkey).Within the rural site of Oymaağaç, the prevalence of violence is hypothesized to be comparatively lower than violence in western provinces.

While skeletal trauma may be contributing to susceptibility of mass death circumstances, within the Oymaağaç population it is posited that prevalence of interpersonal violence should not differ significantly between multigenerational and mass grave contexts.

1.4.1.ii Hypothesis 2: Relative to the multigenerational grave sample, the diets of the mass grave sample at Oymaağaç will not differ significantly, as assessed through oral biomarkers of health (carious lesions, calculus, abscesses, and antemortem tooth loss) and stable carbon and nitrogen ratios.

Extensive land and maritime trade routes during the height of the empire,

Emperor’s Trajan rule in the late 2nd century CE, broadened dietary possibilities, but the majority of individuals within the Roman Empire subsisted on local cereals, supplementing this staple food diet with seasonal vegetables and infrequently with terrestrial meat (e.g., pork and beef) and poor-quality fish, especially among non-coastal

towns like Neoklaudiopolis (Garnsey, 1999). As ancient and ethnohistorical records of

Anatolia attest, inland Anatolian populations in past and modern times relied almost

exclusively on wheat, legumes, and locally-grown plants (Ertuğ, 2000; Garnsey, 1999;

Karagöz, 1996; Özgen et al., 2004). For this reason, the diets of individuals from Roman period Oymaağaç should not evince a more variable, “global” diet, as their marginalized community would not have had access to animal protein supplements from coastal and inland trade markets. Furthermore, if the catastrophic death conditions at Oymaağaç were

not selective among the population, individuals from multigenerational and mass grave

contexts should not display dietary differences.

1.4.1.iii Hypothesis 3: At Oymaağaç, the prevalence of childhood stress markers will be

consistent between mass graves and multigenerational graves.

The expansion of Roman rule into liminal regions has been shown to compromise

the health of indigenous populations from early childhood to adulthood years (Redfern

and DeWitte, 2011). While the prevalence of childhood biomarkers of stress (linear

enamel hypoplasia, LEH) have been recorded throughout the Roman Empire (Perez-

Perez and Lalueza, 1992; Slaus, 2008), it is predicted that the rural community at

Oymaağaç did not experience significant increases in developmental stress—and in LEH prevalence—with the annexation of the Pontus by Rome. Consequently, the prevalence of LEH (by teeth and individuals) should be similar between multigenerational and mass grave contexts.

1.4.1.iv Hypothesis 4: The skeletal record for non-specific infection will be similar

between mass grave and multigenerational grave contexts.

The population in the Phazemon Valley would have been exposed to disease

9 through the Pontic trade system. Local trade interactions between the populations at

Oymaağaç and Neoklaudiopolis would have placed the rural community at risk of contracting the endemic and epidemic diseases harboring in the latter urban setting.

Nonethless, if the epidemic and social conditions in which the catastrophic death occurred at Oymaağaç did not make certain individuals prone to premature death (i.e., the epidemic was not selective), the prevalence of skeletal proxies for non-specific infection and immunological competence (periosteal new bone, PNB; and periodontal disease, PD) should not vary between multigenerational and mass graves.

1.4.1.v. Hypothesis 5: Daily labor and physical activity will not vary between multigenerational and mass grave groups.

Because Roman occupation in Anatolia was not associated with drastic economic and workforce shifts, the community at Oymaağaç should not be transitioning from their pastoral, agriculturally-centered subsistence and work regimes. Although the Pontus region in northern Turkey was considered a breadbasket within the Roman Empire, no records suggest that agricultural intensification, and subsequent labor intensification, occurred amidst this or other provinces in Asia Minor. Consequently, physical stress from daily activity and workload, as embodied in the onset of joint diseases (osteoarthritis, intervertebral disc disease, and rotator cuff disease), should not vary significantly between multigenerational and mass grave individuals at Oymaağaç.

1.4.2 Regional scale

1.4.2.i Hypothesis 1: Evidence of violence will remain constant between individuals from grave contexts at Oymaağaç and other contemporaneous communities in Anatolia.

Presently, no historical records attest to endemic violence or violent interactions

10 across Anatolia during the imperial Roman era (Woolf, 1997). Albeit a boundary region separating the Roman Empire from Eastern empires and adversaries, Anatolia was not a location for frequent battles or social unrest. For this reason, there should be no significant differences in the prevalence of fractures between Oymaağaç samples (mass and multigenerational) and other Anatolian samples.

1.4.2.ii Hypothesis 2: Relative to other sites in Anatolia, the diets of the multigenerational and mass grave samples at Oymaağaç will not differ significantly, as reported in oral proxies of paleodiet (carious lesions, calculus, abscesses, and antemortem tooth loss) and stable isotope ratios.

Although the rural community of Oymaağaç differed in accessible food sources from urban Anatolian populations, diets between indigenous Anatolian communities should not vary significantly. New food sources were introduced into provincial marketplaces, but oftentimes these foods were no readily adopted by the local populace but emulative provincial elites. As ancient and ethnohistorical records of Anatolia attest, inland Anatolian populations in past and modern times relied almost exclusively on wheat, legumes, and locally-grown plants (Ertuğ 2000; Garnsey 1999; Karagöz 1996;

Özgen and Kaya 2004). For this reason, skeletal and dental proxies for diet should not differ between Anatolian sites but reflect a diet based in grains, legumes, and vegetables, infrequently supplemented with animal protein.

1.4.2.iii Hypothesis 3: The prevalence of developmental stress markers in childhood

(linear enamel hypoplasia) will be comparable between the multigenerational and mass grave individuals at Oymaağaç and other Roman period sites in Anatolia.

In the Romano-British context, where urban and rural environments experienced

11 significant restructuring, developmental and nutritional health differences did emerge between urban and rural landscapes during the Roman period, notably with rural populations demonstrating higher percentages of skeletal and dental stress markers (Pitts and Griffin, 2012; Redfern et al., 2015). Because the provinces in Anatolia were not fundamentally restructured and changed under Roman imperialism, families and communities, in theory, were not beset by atypical economic struggles for survival. For this reason, the urban and rural indigenous populations within the region should not reflect increased or variable levels of developmental stress during the Roman period.

Prevalences of linear enamel hypoplasia among Anatolian samples should yield no statistically significant differences.

1.4.2.iv Hypothesis 4: Periosteal lesions at Oymaağaç will not vary significantly from the prevalence of periosteal lesions throughout Roman period Anatolia.

As with childhood stress not being significantly affected or altered during the

Roman period in Anatolia, the same is argued for occurrence and frequency of adulthood stress. Despites differences in rural and urban landscapes across Anatolia, communities should not exhibit significantly different prevalences of periosteal new bone (PNB) or periodontal disease (PD) from other populations. These pathological conditions represent localized (PNB) and systemic (PD) immunological responses to infection, a morbid state in which individuals are more susceptible to acute, sometimes fatal, viral or bacterial ailments.

1.4.2.v. Hypothesis 5: Daily labor and physical activity will vary between multigenerational and mass grave groups at Oymaağaç and other Anatolia populations, resulting in higher percentages of degenerative joint diseases in the rural sample.

Studies on skeletal samples from rural contexts throughout the empire have demonstrated the high prevalence of osteoarthritis among these physically laboring populations (Sperduti, 1997; Thould and Thould, 1983). The rural economy at

Oymaağaç, based in physically rigorous agricultural and pastoral regimes, factors into increased body wear and degeneration relative to urban lifestyles and workloads in other

Roman period Anatolian cities. Such irreversible wear on joints in rural Oymaağaç should present as significantly higher prevalences of osteoarthritis and intervertebral disc disease than observed in contemporaneous urban Anatolian samples.

1.4.3 International scale

1.4.3.i Hypothesis 1: Prevalence of trauma will be significantly lower in multigenerational grave contexts at Oymaağaç (and Anatolian populations) than other communities around the Roman Empire, particularly western provincial populations.

According to historical sources, the Roman presence in the eastern empire incited no local uprisings, which explains the absence of any permanent Roman legions across

Anatolia. This peaceful record in Roman Turkey conflicts with the constant warring of provinces along northern and eastern European borders, where the persistent state of war and Roman martial law inevitably affected local politics and economic markets

(Campbell, 2002). With variable access to resources, interpersonal violence increases within populations (e.g., Walker, 2001; Tung, 2007). As these militaristic stressors were more prominent in the western and northern Roman Empire, the frequency of intentional, interpersonal trauma should be markedly lower in the eastern provinces of Anatolia and in communities like Oymaağaç.

1.4.3.ii Hypothesis 2: The diets of individuals at Oymaağaç and within Roman Anatolia

13 will differ significantly, as reported in oral proxies of paleodiet (carious lesions, calculus, abscesses, and antemortem tooth loss) and stable carbon and nitrogen ratios, from other regions of the Roman Empire, which experienced dietary shifts following Roman conquest.

While previous research has demonstrated dietary shifts in local provincial populaces following Roman conquest, a dietary globalization did not occur systemically or wholly throughout the Empire. Increased decadence and exoticism in food consumption were not a trend every day laborers and middle-class citizens and non- citizens could maintain. This hypothesis coheres with previous findings that some rural and liminal communities across the Empire do not show increased animal protein consumption following Roman regulated trade (Bonsall, 2013; Redfern et al., 2010).

Consequently, oral dietary proxies (carious lesions, calculus, abscesses, and antemortem tooth loss) should differ significantly between liminal communities.

1.4.3.iii Hypothesis 3: The prevalence of developmental stress markers in childhood

(linear enamel hypoplasia) will be lower among Oymaağaç and Anatolian samples than among other provincial populations (Britain, continental Europe, and Africa).

Relative to other provinces, Anatolian provinces exercised more autonomy and less intervention from the Roman core. Without military interventions (e.g., martial campuses) or political disruptions on par with Britain, continental Europe, or Africa, populations throughout Anatolia were less likely to experience, and recover from, episodes of developmental stress. As such, these Anatolian communities should exhibit significantly lower prevalence of linear enamel hypoplasias than other regional populations.

1.4.3.iv Hypothesis 4: Periosteal lesions will be significantly higher among western provincial populations than Anatolian populations.

Previous skeletal studies of provincial Roman populations have shown a marked decline in population health and increase in risk of mortality (Angel, 1972; Redfern and

DeWitte, 2011; Roberts and Cox, 2003). In England, especially, where political structures were overturned and replaced by Roman law and culture, the local population was inherently affected by social restructuring. This rapid and forcible shift was detrimental to the Britons, resulting in increased physiological stress and compromised health (Redfern and DeWitte, 2011). According to the mortuary practices, the local population at Oymaağaç represents a cultural minority amidst the Roman Pontus.

Situated in a region buffered from militaristic threats, this rural community and other

Anatolian populations would have avoided the deleterious physiological effects associated with being a culturally marginalized community at the onset of Roman rule.

1.5 Organization of dissertation

This dissertation is divided into ten chapters. Chapter 2 provides an introduction to bioarchaeology and mortuary archaeology with a specific review of previous bioarchaeological studies in historical imperialism. This chapter culminates into a theoretical approach and model for analyzing Roman imperialism in human skeletal samples. Chapter 3 presents previous historical, archaeological, and bioarchaeological research examining the effects of Roman imperialism on provincial populations. In particular, this chapter sets up the dichotomy between western and eastern provincial communities as reflected in differences between the implementation and impacts of

“Romanization.” Chapters 4 and 5 outline theoretical bases and standards behind the

methods employed in this dissertation. Chapter 4 is an extensive review of the

pathological lesions and conditions (e.g., biomarkers) and their justification as proxies for

violence, diet, development stress, immunological competence, and physical activity.

Chapter 5 introduces the theoretical and methodological significance of stable carbon and

nitrogen isotopes and demonstrates their utility and applicability in archaeological and bioarchaeological studies. In Chapter 6, the site of Oymaağaç is presented historically, archaeologically, and bioarchaeologically as a case study for addressing the effects of

Roman imperialism on the eastern limes. Chapter 7 outlines the methodology for aging and sexing human skeletal remains at Oymaağaç, including the criteria for diagnosing and scoring pathological lesions and non-pathological conditions. Chapter 8 includes the results for all hypotheses, partitioned into four sections: 1) demographic results; 2) comparisons at a local level between mass and multigenerational graves at Oymaağaç; 3) comparisons between Oymaağaç samples and other contemporaneous Anatolian smaples; and 4) comparisons between Oymaağaç, Anatolian, and other regional skeletal samples across the Roman Empire. The discussion, Chapter 9, dissects and interprets the results from the previous chapter in a similar progression, from local to regional to interregional scales. In the final chapter, the multiscalar hypotheses from the introductory chapter are readdressed and answered in light of the dissertation results and discussion.

Chapter 2. Bioarchaeological Approaches to and Mortuary Archaeology of

Imperialism

2.1 Approaching imperialism in the past

2.1.1 Political, economic, and cultural imperialism

Imperialism embodies the attenuation of power by one country (empire or kingdom) over other territories and associated territorial populations (Mann, 2012).

Oftentimes, this relationship is established for economically exploitative means, one geopolitical entity seeking access to and power over the ecological and human resources of other population (Said, 1993). This exploitative dynamic is maintained, generally at a cost to the colonized or assimilated population, through ideological praxis, cultural negotiations, and various domination strategies. Said (1993: 9) argues that the practices of imperialism and colonialism are supported and impelled through an ideological, suprastructural system, whereas the imperialists/colonizers justify their subjugation of others through “notions that certain territories and people require and beseech domination.” Complementarily, the cultural superiority of the empire is forced among the colonized, subjugated, or assimilated populations, whose indigenous culture is consistently under threat or evolving within a newly imposed imperial network

(Tomlinson, 2002).

Studies evaluating modern and past global and interregional empires have adopted and imposed critically reflexive post-colonial perspectives and approaches to assessments of visible and indirect consequences of imperialism (Tomlinson, 2002; Webster and

Cooper, 1996). Part of this reflexivity acknowledges the anachronistic and dichotomizing

risks inherent in imperialism research in the past. First, the issue of essentializing

imperialism across history and geography is flawed: the global-stretching British Empire varies markedly from the Roman or Assyrian Empires in expansionary tactics and goals, to say nothing of culture and imperial climate (Freeman, 1996). While characterized as empires, these imperial forces emerged and ruled amid specialized historical, political, and environmental contexts. It is irresponsible to predictably model one empire upon the trajectory of another, and, instead, regional, diachronic studies to colonialism and imperialism should be analyzed in light of their unique histories (Lightfoot, 1995). This counter-anachronistic approach to studies in imperialism also endeavors to examine the agency that was assumed lost from indigenous responses to imperialism, while concepts like “creolization” and “hybridization” are readily adopted and spread throughout historical and archaeological discourse (Webster, 1996, 2001).

Another risk in studies of imperialism is the dichotomization of cultures and people. This dichotomization stems back to early anthropological origins in “otherness,” nativist ideology which exoticized new peoples and cultures relative to normative,

“Western civilization” populations (Haller, 1970). While Wallerstein’s (1974, 1976)

World-system Theory attempted to disassociate the cultural context (e.g., cultural superiority) from the core-periphery relationship, this theoretical model for imperial and colonial interactions nonetheless situated communities in either core (central) or peripheral positions, categorizations with inherently biased expectations and directionality (Jones, 1997). Expectations assume that peripheral zones, arbitrarily defined through geographical distance, are at the borders of the economic and political

system, when, in actuality, these peripheral communities may be nodes in many

interregional networks (Grosfoguel, 2007). In early regional studies of imperialism,

directionality concurrently implied that change occurred at the center and branched out to

peripheral populations (Cunliffe, 1988). Economic, political, and cultural aspects of

current studies in imperialism and colonialism have since selectively operationalized

aspects of Wallerstein’s theory to counter these precedent works through

multidirectional, multiscalar analyses, thereby establishing their agentive role in the

imperial world (Rowlands et al., 1987; Woolf, 1990).

2.1.2 Roman imperialism

While 19th and 20th century imperialist agendas and impacts offer heuristic

references for Roman imperialist theory, the nature of Roman expansion and imperial

governance cannot be conflated with those of post-medieval or post-industrial, global

empires. Even the name, imperium romanum, which referred to the Roman expanse, has

been critiqued in terms of its direct definition: Roman Empire. Recent scholarship in

Roman imperialism, for example, has redefined imperium to mean “power,” advocating

for a reconsideration of imperial landscapes in terms of individual and group interactions

at local and international levels (Barrett, 1996; Woolf, 2000). Understanding and defining

Roman imperialism is essential for conceptualizing, predicting, and contextualizing the impacts of Roman rule over and influence on capti populi (“conquered peoples”). Since the earliest scholarship of Mommsen (1909) and Haverfield (1911), studies in Roman imperialism have benefited from several theoretical transitions.

The novel work of German classicist Theodor Mommsen ushered in research of, what would eventually be called, Romanization. Within his nationalist social and political

environs of late 19th century (unifying) Germany, Mommsen interpreted Roman

imperialism as a necessary, defensive response to Rome’s survival (Freeman, 1996).

Adopted and studied after by British scholars amidst the social and political context of

the 20th century British Empire, Roman imperialism was nonetheless viewed in a

positive, Eurocentric light. However, rather than presenting Roman expansion as a

necessary survival tactic, it was put forth as a purposeful strategy, wherein, much like the

British imperial agenda, Rome sought to spread its culture and civilization to the

barbarous peoples in peripheral landscapes (Bailey, 1924). Recent reinventions/

repurposings of this purposeful expansion focus on the economic drive of Rome across

Europe, Africa, and western Asia for the exploitation of local resources and indigenous

populations (Hopkins, 2009).

Despite this progression away from a civilizing Roman expansionary narrative,

this acultural, world systems perspective of imperialism was nonetheless rife with

Eurocentric sentiment, one that placed Rome at the center of the economic and political

world, while brushing the communities and cultures on the limes to the background of the

expansionary stage. In the 1990s, post-colonial perspectives and theory infiltrated Roman imperialism studies, refocusing on a decentrification of expansion and emphasizing the complexity and variability in indigenous responses to Roman expansion (Hingley, 1997).

The first change, de-centering the concept of Romanization, redefined the dialogue and interactions between Rome and the frontiers, nullifying the unidirectionality of

Romanization (from the center, Rome, to the borderland communities) by acknowledging pre-empire relationships between Italy and provinces and reifying the multidirectional communication occurring within and between so-called frontier populations (Jones,

1997). A serious shortcoming of early Roman imperial literature and Romanization was

the lack of acknowledgement of pre-conquest interactions. Prior to military campaigns and colonization, trade contacts and posts already linked Roman Italy with Hispania,

Britain, Gaul, Africa, and the Eastern Mediterranean. Consequently, the provincial populations had been exposed to Roman culture and influence, in some cases, hundreds of years before rule was solidified and enforced (Curchin 1991, 2004; Keay,1988;

Mattingly, 2008). These histories of interactions ultimately fed into the responses indigenous groups had to expansion and permanent Roman authority/presence. Webster

(1996) argued that Roman imperialism had neither a resistant nor acceptant response

from territorial communities; instead, groups engaged in simultaneous and fluctuating

resistance, adaptation, and acceptance, which produced examples of “negotiated

syncretism” (e.g., creolized communities and material culture) throughout the provinces

(Webster, 1996, 2001). Variability in local responses to Roman power dialectically

affected how Roman authority was implemented and enacted across the provinces.

Implementation and enactment, therefore, was variable from region to region and

population to population. So were the diverse outcomes of Roman imperialism across the

empire. This variation across the provinces, which arose from different historical,

ecological, and cultural factors, is essential to understanding the reality of Romanization.

2.2 Power dynamics and violence

2.2.1 Dynamics of power

To understand the pervasiveness and extensiveness of the Roman Empire, a critical review of [imperial] power dynamics must be presented. The maintenance of this

Roman geopolitical authority over continental Europe, northern Africa, and western Asia was based in its capacity to exercise and assert power through economic, political, and cultural means. While many Romanist scholars have argued that imperial expansion predicated on economic opportunity and sustenance (Hopkins, 1978; Millett, 1991), the

Roman economy could not control and bring under power the whole of the Empire. In regions where Rome engaged economic relationships prior to conquest or annexation

(e.g., Spain, Britain), it still required military action to bring and consolidate these tribal populations into the provincial system of order (James, 2002).

Whether by direct force (e.g., violence) or indirect incorporation (e.g., annexation) of liminal territories and people, the success of Roman expansion was due to its effective implementation and maintenance of political, military, and economic power over populations, who were subjugated, subjected, or affiliative (Millett, 1991). Many scholars may argue against the use of imperialism (imperialistic power) when describing

Romanization (see Webster, 2001), claiming that the Roman expansionary trajectory did not emerge with the goal of cultural imperialism/domination. Rather, the process resembled a bricolage, a product of compromising Roman, indigenous, and hybrid decisions, behaviors, and customs (Terrenato, 1997). Nonetheless, local and interprovincial political institutions and economic systems were solidified and enforced under Roman authority, and these structures were inherently designed to profit the elite while maintaining the favor of the masses (Mattingly, 1997).

Post-colonial perspectives do not hedge the apparent power dynamics of Rome relative to other provinces and territories, but they also do not disavow the empowerment of liminal populations (Webster and Cooper, 1996). While applications of Marxist theory

addressed the economic power relationships between Roman and peripheral regions,

often in context of world systems theory (Rowlands et al., 1987; Woolf, 1990), more recent considerations of Romanization consider the recursive discourse between cultures and individuals. Drawing from Foucault’s Surveiller et punir (Discipline and Punish: the

Birth of the Prison), Mattingly (2006) criticized previous interpretations of Romanizing influences, which disregarded avenues for liminal empowerment within the Roman political and economic systems. Within the Roman Empire, liminal populations who came under the Roman aegis of authority, “those who negotiate[d] and…[sought] a

measure of accommodation with the dominant partner [had the opportunity to] be

empowered in the process” (Mattingly, 1997: 10). This negotiation, and habitual overt

resistance, to the “dominant” Roman culture has been captured in the hybridity of

material culture throughout provincial and adjacent regions, including Britain (Webster,

1996), Gaul (Woolf, 2000), Africa (Revell, 2009), Spain (Curchin, 1991), and Italy

(Terrenato, 1997). The power dynamic between Roman and non-Roman cultures can arguably be one created and recreated by participant communities throughout the Empire, a hegemonic dialogue liminal populations knowingly participate in and uphold for the benefits of provincial or allied status within the Roman Empire, what Gramsci would consider “consensual” rule (Gramsci, 1971).

2.2.2 Structures of power

The unwritten constitution, which upholds Roman imperial power, between Rome and Roman provincial communities was reified in the spatial and structural landscape across the Empire. Revell (2009) discussed provincial identities and Roman power in terms of Gibbons’s structuration theory (1986), which speaks to the agency of individuals

23 on a local and broader interregional level shaping the culture and structures in which they engage practically or recursively. While Revell only touched upon power relations, her work in northern Africa captures the power dynamic at work in provincial communities and landscapes. Part of maintaining power is maintaining control and essentializing this control through daily actions. For example, the patron-client relationship of Roman socioeconomics mandated that clients visit their wealthy patrons daily to confirm financial status or business. These meetings would oftentimes entail clients waiting extended periods of time until they were granted entrance into the household and an audience with the power (Saller, 1989). These power relationships were not only recursively created in daily rituals but structured in the physical and material surroundings of a Roman or “Romanized” community.

The archaeology of imperial power can be studied through the artifactual, architectural, and spatial record of past populations. In the material remains reside negotiations between the pervasive, “dominant” culture and local identities. An area for considerable negotiation involved indigenous and Roman religions, specifically the hybridization or creolization of deities. Webster (1996) and Revell (2007) have discussed the Romano-British deities, Rosmerta and Sulis Minerva, as evidence of this complicated power dynamic between provinces and Rome. Figurines, statues, and coins with depictions of deities polka-dotted the British landscape and were incorporated into routinized life through offerings or less directly as passing images along one’s daily travels (Gardner, 2003). These reminders of Roman influence served to normalize the hegemonic system within a local context. Provincial architecture similarly exuded the

Roman rule of governance with the introduction or modification of urban planning that

24 included law courts, marketplaces, entertainment, bathhouses, and aqueduct systems.

This general blueprint for a Roman town was carried out and implemented throughout the

Empire. Not only did these urban plans offer local amenities (e.g., baths, fountains), but they embodied the civic essence of Rome, what it meant to be a productive Roman citizen in terms of his political (basilica), economic (forum), and religious (temples) character (Revell, 2009). Designing or redesigning urban spaces in line with Roman culture was a clever aspect to the acculturation process on the limes, structuring Roman power into the urban landscape as a means of cementing political and cultural authority

(Hingley, 1997). The spaces, in which local communities moved and worked in, incorporated the people into the broader Roman Empire, inherently guiding or influencing the actions and behaviors of individuals, whose daily routines reaffirmed the structures and institutions in place (Revell, 2009).

2.2.3 People under power

While the physical setting of place may engender power differentials, the direct effects on the local populace may imprint visibly or invisibly on the human biological landscape (Martin et al., 2012; Osterholtz, 2016). Studies of violence have become an emergent theme in bioarchaeological research, transcending work on warfare and direct violence (Milner, 1995; Milner and Smith, 1990; Novak, 2007) to include socialized

(Osterholtz, 2012), ritualized (Tung, 2007), and systemic violence with associated health effects (Klaus, 2012; Larsen et al., 2001; Walker, 2001). These works acknowledge the

Foucaultian theory that the body is a substrate in which power relationships are played out (Foucault, 1977). Depending on the balance or imbalance of power, individuals’ bodies may become symbols of oppression or lost agency. In a study of nineteenth

25 century Indian dress, Bernard Cohn (1989) observed how Indian men in the army were mandated to keep their appearance “oriental” in order to distinguish and separate them from British soldiers and men. Though these actions may not constitute “physical force,” the intentions of such actions nonetheless fall under the realm of violence, as defined by the World Health Organization in the manner in which they result “in or [have] a high likelihood of resulting in injury, death, psychological harm, maldevelopment, or deprivation” (WHO, 2017).

Evidence of violence under powerful regimes or empires also manifest in the biologies of conquered communities. Direct and structuralized demonstrations of power in the form of violent rituals and raids characterize some empires of the past, such as the

Wari Empire (Tung, 2012). These empires generated power over other polities through forceful violence or the threat of violence. Power followed violence. In other historical settings, power differentials compromised access and availability to resources intentionally or unintentionally, wherein resources are channeled to the elite or become inaccessible to the majority of the population (Powell, 1991). Power generated indirect violence. Research in human biology has shown how sociopolitical disparities translate into poorer health in underrepresented, arguably less powerful, communities (Bird et al.,

2010; Cavigelli and Chaudhry, 2012; Crimmins et al., 2009), and these findings have been operationalized on human populations in the past. The introduction of colonial powers into the Americas, for example, has been shown to biologically alter the indigenous communities. Not only did infectious disease decimate native populations in

North and South America (Crosby,1986), but European emigrants subjugated and exploited indigenous groups, sometimes relocating them to reducciones, under cultural

facades of missionization (Klaus, 2008). These institutions of power controlled the means of production and consequently the indigenous labor force, consolidating imperial power through religiosity and ideology (Lightfoot, 2005).This institutionalized power is captured in the paleopathological and activity/workload profiles of post-contact skeletal samples, which indicate significant increases in non-specific infection (congested living conditions and compromised immunity), focalized degenerative joint disease (repetitive joint movement), and increases in skeletal robusticity (Klaus, 2012; Larsen et al., 2001).

However, it should also be noted that while power differentials inevitably exist with the advent or consolidation of outside authority over indigenous populations, these differences may not present detrimentally among all or any members of a local society.

Under Egyptian rule, the Nubian community at Tombos did not experience significant biological changes (e.g., fractures, growth perturbations, infectious disease) when compared with pre- and post-colonial periods (Buzon and Smith, 2017). The geopolitical tug-of-war between Egyptian and Nubian kingdoms, which lasted over two thousand years, meant that these neighboring populations were not foreign invaders but perpetual political and economic adversaries and communities composed of mixed Egyptian-

Nubian peoples and hybridized cultures. As a result, later imperial rule by Egypt in Nubia was less direct and officiated by a small contingency of Egyptian administrators. The spectrum of biological transitions observed in skeletal samples from colonial and imperial contexts attests to the variability in the implementation and enforcement of hegemonic rule. While human landscapes were detrimentally impacted in American indigenous populations by sustained European contact, the perpetual biological and cultural exposure to and admixture with Egyptians presented no observably negative

27 consequences on Nubian urban centers. The history, or absence of history, of interaction between colonial and native counterparts generates unique responses or adaptations to the colonizing force (Stein, 2005; Wolf, 1983).

2.3 The anthropology of structural violence

Evolutionarily and historically, violence has played a considerable role creating and shaping present human populations (Martin et al., 2012; Martin and Harrod, 2014).

However, the intentionality of violence in human history can be called into question.

Johan Galtung (1969) defined the endemic marginalization of groups as structural violence. Contrary to WHO’s definition of violence, this social theory posits that structural violence is both indirect and objective (i.e., unintentional), whereby social structures, once created, are autonomously reconstituted, becoming depersonalized actors and initiators of violence; consequently, without political or social intervention, institutions and programs, which are established for the advancement or maintenance of a population, begin to discriminate against certain divisions of the populace (Farmer 2004;

Galtung 1969, 1971). This discrimination translates into an individual’s limited access or availability to food, medical, educational, and employment resources (Famer 1999; Ho

2007; MacIntyre 2007).

2.3.1 Identifying structural violence in past populations

2.3.1.i Invisibility, isolation, and inequality

Identifying disproportionate power relationships in the past harbors myriad difficulties, stemming from preservation to misinterpretation. This dissertation analyzes

Roman power through evidence of violence, not only direct violence but the Foucaultian

definition of violence, which speaks of exclusion of or domination over others. Structural

violence is tailored to systemic, mechanistic violence or disenfranchisement, which

emerges dispassionately as a result of structuration not individuals per se (Galtung,

1969). While it may be difficult to tease apart local sociopolitical violence from structural

violence, both will be putatively addressed in the Roman period herein through direct

interpersonal conflict as well as through invisibility, isolation, or inequality among individuals. Subaltern, marginal groups (e.g., women, children, disabled) are invisible oftentimes in written record, but vestiges of their active or passive presences may be visible in the archaeological record (Derevenski, 1994, 2000; Roveland, 2001). Similarly,

isolation or marginalization of individuals may affect their portrayal, or lack thereof, in

history. Geographical isolation of sociocultural and socioeconomic groups may permeate

all aspects of life and become systemic over generations of reinforced isolation (Collins

and Williams, 1999; Stump, 2000), which may be recoverable in settlement or mortuary

archaeology. Finally, inequality, as an outcome of disproportionate access to food, social,

or medical resources, speaks to socially or legally enforced exclusion of certain

community members from normative societal standards. Inequality assumes a

socioeconomic as well as epidemiological pattern in populations, with lower

socioeconomic status communities incurring higher prevalence of biological and

psychosomatic stress (Cavigelli and Chaudhry, 2012). Invisibility, isolation, and

inequality may present similarly in the archaeological and bioarchaeological record, and

they frequently work synchronously together: isolation and invisibility coexist, while

isolation may predispose individuals to increased inequality. Data from mortuary

archaeology and bioarchaeology offer promising evidence for observing and identifying

these types of violence in the human past.

2.3.2 Mortuary archaeology

Despite the finality of an individual’s living existence in burial, in the

necropolitical landscape resides the living memory of the ancestral dead, as first

immortalized in the act of funerary burial and subsequently reaffirmed or recreated in

later visitations to and traditional rites at the grave site (Parker Pearson, 1999). The

projected identity of an individual is reflection of the individual in life, an altered

(narrated) reality version of the individual, or combinative iterations of the two (Fowler,

2004; Saxe, 1970). For this reason, the mortuary record provides an enlivening, albeit

possibly inaccurate, depiction of past individuals. Nevertheless, it is oftentimes in the

mortuary record that invisibility, insolation, and inequality in life become most apparent.

Post-processual perspectives in archaeology have infused mortuary studies with

retrospective scrutiny of the under-researched individuals of past societies, in Roman times women, children, slaves, and provincial populations (Laes, 2006). In particular, these studies have made visible members of the Roman populace, who were overshadowed otherwise by male emperors, politicians, officers, and every day citizens.

Within cemetery contexts lies a richness of dedications and honoraria to mothers, wives, daughters, sons, and infants, who remain muted in written history (Rawson, 2003).

Discovered within the tomb of an adolescent female at Brescello, Italy was miniature set of domestic objects (plates, cups, and furniture), which have been argued as evidence of either the child’s play toys or symbolic votives of unattained domestic life and womanhood (Harlow, 2013). Such monuments, epitaphs, and grave goods speak to the essentiality of these underrepresented individuals within the frameworks of the

household, local community, and wider Empire.

As with settlement patterns and remains, necropoles generate spatial, visual, and

artifactual blueprints of social isolation. In some instances, separation denotes differences

in development; infants and children, for example, receive differential burial treatment

than adults in cemeteries throughout Roman Gaul and Germania to demark their non-

adult status (Carroll, 2011). This manner of isolation did not always convey power

disparities but differences in roles within the community. Additionally, wealthy families

may isolate themselves in mausolea or burial grounds apart from the general populace to

display prominence in life in perpetuity (Toynbee, 1970). Religious sects in Roman times

often interred community members in designated cemeteries or burial grounds; notably

among these practices were the burials of Christians in subterranean catacombs in and

around Rome (Toynbee, 1971). Other contexts for isolation, such as mass graves (e.g.,

Gloucester), demonstrate circumstances in which human behaviors and responses to

death were governed arguably by pragmatism (Simmonds et al., 2008). Finally, burial

isolation or non-normative, deviant burial practices offer insight into an individual’s or group’s position or reputation within the broader community. Putative cases of human sacrifice, according to depositional placement (e.g., bogs) or perimortem body treatment

(e.g., Verulamium), in Roman Britain represent decisions of separation and arguably dehumanization (Isserlin, 1997). Isolation of the individual in lifetime can be inferred from this type of isolation in death and reify the imbalance of power between the dead and those individuals involved in his/her demise and/or deposition.

Amidst the mortuary record, inequality may present as isolation in addition to

material discrepancies. When status is real estate, wealthy individuals figure visibly into

the burial landscape, leaving lasting impressions in the form of massive monuments (e.g.,

Roman imperial mausolea) or earthen mounds (e.g., kurgans in burial) (Sîrbu and

Schuster, 2012). These structures edify the people within and serve as lasting reminders

of the individuals’ status in life and associated family’s power after death. Similarly, the

consumption of labor and raw material resources toward the construction of burial

buildings testifies to individuals’ or families’ wealth and influence. Burial was critical to

Roman tradition, with many individuals contributing to burial societies so as to ensure

financial security for burial arrangements (Sano, 2012). The inability to finance funerary

proceedings and grave accommodations would reflect the destitute, abandoned state of an

individual. In this regard, the mortuary landscape provides a venue in which power can

be reaffirmed, memorialized, and feigned, while simultaneously the lack of power in

living relationships can be captured in the absence of funereal care, grave location, or

burial accoutrement (Parker Pearson, 1999).

2.3.3 Bioarchaeology

In tandem with its associated mortuary context, human skeletal remains enhance researchers’ perceptions of the past lives: bones are not a mere representation of past populations; they are the very people of the archaeological and historical context under question. Unlike mortuary archaeology, in which all manner of power relations

(invisibility, isolation, and inequality) can be extrapolated, human remains are limited to evidence of isolation and inequality, although invisibility intertwines with the former.

Isolation or marginalization on an individual or communal level may be observed in single skeletons or across an entire sample. At an individual level, marginalization may appear as compromised health or untended disabilities. Cormier and Buikstra (2017)

described the case of a pregnant female and fetus intrusively interred at the Middle

Woodland Elizabeth site. Not only did the intrusive nature of the pit burial into Mound 3

convey marginal status, but the female’s remains showed signs of skeletal dyplasia and

severe infection at the time of death. Under these mortuary and biocultural conditions, it

can be argued that the individual was on the borders of care in terms of health and burial

status. By contrast, in an examination of individuals with acquired syphilis in post-

medieval London, Zuckerman (2017) observed no non-normative burial patterns

associated with diagnosed cases of the condition, suggesting that societal burial

expectations and the immediacy for disposing the urban poor outweighed the stigma

attributed to the “pox.”

Inequality is also a pervasive theme throughout bioarchaeological research, as

daily and long-term socioeconomic and social disparities agglomerate and ossify on the

body. Human bioarchaeological research similarly has examined correlations between

SES and physiological stress to evaluate and contextualize health disparities throughout

history (Powell, 1991; Robb et al., 2001; Watkins, 2012). Operationalizing skeletal

biomarkers of stress as evidence of resource deprivation, bioarchaeologists have

identified inequality in past populations from Prehistoric Africa (Martin et al., 1982) to

Medieval England (Misziewicz, 2015) to 20th century urban United States (Watkins,

2012).

2.4 Summary

To conceptualize the character and effects of Romanization on the local populace at

Oymaağaç and communities throughout the Roman Empire, relations of power must be

33 recognized and discussed. Whether Roman imperialism assumed the systematic foundations to inflict structural violence can be addressed in the mortuary and bioarchaeological data of provincial, liminal populations. Identifying indirect and direct consequences of structural violence—invisibility, isolation/marginalization, and inequality—within a local and regional context may establish a more informed, nuanced perspective of the process and progress of Romanization throughout the imperial age.

Chapter 3. “Romanization” in the limes of the Roman Empire

3.1 “Romanization”

The vestiges of Roman conquest and expansion are still visible across Eurasia in remnant aqueducts, theatres, city-walls, and colossal buildings. While these monuments allude to a period of prosperity and assimilation, enacted by transformative political and cultural programs, recent research of archaeological and bioarchaeological data in central

(Mediterranean), provincial, rural, and urban communities challenge earlier unidirectional assumption of Roman rule and Romanization (Redfern and DeWitte,

2011a, 2011b; Revell, 2009; Roberts and Cox, 2003; Woolf, 1994, 1997a, 1997b).

Although its origins likely predate its publication, the term Romanization

(Romanisierung) was coined in 1885 by Theodor Mommsen and formalized in

Haverfield’s 1905 article (Webster, 2001). Romanization has been utilized for over a century to describe the sociocultural, political, and economic changes associated with the onset of Roman provincial rule (Bekker-Nielsen, 2006a; Hanssen, 2009). While seemingly innocuous in its etymological intent—literally, the process of a local population incorporating Romanness (Romanitas) into their daily and broader social lives—Romanization, especially in the nationalistic spirit of early 20th century

archaeological and Classics research, connoted progress and elevation for the indigenous,

recipient population (Haverfield, 1915; Rostovtzeff, 1927). Western nations and scholars

could only reflect on the positive legal, diplomatic, and literary legacies left by Rome, so

35 it was assumed that such political and cultural transformations to conquered populations had similarly positive consequences (Bailey, 1924; Gibbon, 1829; Mommsen, 1909;

Rostovtzeff, 1926, 1927). While, as Greg Woolf stated, there can be no doubt that the

Roman imperialism was not “benign, it is clear that not all subjects [across the empire] suffered equivalent fates” (1998: 27).

Despite numerous reclamations of Haverfield’s (1915) “Romanization”— promoting fusion (Collingwood, 1932), nativist (Laroui, 1970), and emulation (Millett,

1990) theories—to address this inherent Roman superiority, most explanations relied on a dichotomy between incoming Roman and indigenous cultures. This dichotomy was maintained for decades as scholars focused on the relationship between Romans and provincial elites, overlooking the role urban and rural poor played in the emulative process of Roman adoption and resistant adaptation (Webster, 2001). One of the issues with this assumption (“trickle down Romanization”) is that all classes and groups incorporated Roman culture into their daily lives for the same social and political reasons.

It expects individuals from both ends of the socioeconomic and sociopolitical spectrum to negotiate cultures in the same manner with the same intended outcome. The most recent attempt to account for all provincial social strata has implemented the theoretical perspective of creolization, a theory conceived in Caribbean and American slave archaeology. Creolization, which explains the genesis and development of a Creole culture, considers the amalgamation of African and European language, customs, and materials in the context of lower class groups, notably applied to research on American slave communities (Ferguson, 1992). Unlike hybridization, which yields a culture of recognizable, dual parts, creolization is a process that engenders a completely new

36 cultural baseline. Webster (2001) first applied this theoretical model, as an alternative to

Romanization, to the cultural changes observed in Roman Gaul. By dissecting the local population’s pantheon of Roman, native, and creolized deities, Webster argued compellingly for this nuanced, spontaneous emulation and incorporation of Roman elements into indigenous foundations. Most importantly, however, Webster suggested that Roman and provincial syncretism do not produce a hybrid culture and community, as previously theorized, but the resultant merger of native and Roman components was an entirely new cultural creation (Bhabha, 1990). Adopting this culturally relativistic stance, whereby neither Roman nor native culture is presumptively superior to the other, currently stands as the advocated approach taken by researchers studying the history and evolution of the Roman limes.

While Roman rule did alter the sociopolitical, geospatial, and socioeconomic landscape of Eurasia, these transformations varied from Britain to Africa, Spain to Asia

Minor (Ando, 2000; Wells, 1984). As the material record was reexamined, local elements and identities—once considered lost or subsumed under Roman cultural influence—resurfaced and challenged the “all-or-nothing” characterization of

Romanization (Bekker-Nielsen, 2006a; Dalaison, 2014; Madsen, 2006; Revell, 2009).

Despite calls for the retirement of “Romanization,” in favor of terminology that evokes the dual local-Roman spirit of the expansion age (e.g., creolization, hybridization), its use continues throughout Classical, archaeological, and anthropological literature, with a newfound recognition that Romanization is neither unidirectional nor standardized

(Bekker-Nielsen, 2006b): Romanization “could be allowed to stand as a term, as long as some fundamental preconceptions about the processes it purports to describe are altered”

(Alcock, 1997: 6). Romanists throughout disciplines have temporarily reconciled the application and utilization of “Romanization” within renamed Romano-British, Romano-

Iberian, Romano-Gaulic periods, which factor in the variegated identities of the

provincial populations (Houck, 1998; Woolf 1994, 1998). For the current review on

archaeological and bioarchaeological research of Roman imperialism, “Romanization”

will be employed with full awareness that the “coming of Rome” was a complicated

process that manifested differently across variable social, cultural, geographical, and

political landscapes.

3.1 Roman creolization in the Western territories

3.1.1 Archaeology

The history of Rome is a history of expansion, from its incipient years of conquest

in the Italian peninsula to its transcontinental pursuits, which pushed the Empire’s

boundary to include nearly 40 [modern day] countries and 60 million people (Adkins and

Adkins, 1994; Garnsey and Saller, 1987; Hopkins, 2009). Rome succeeded with its conquest of western provinces, such as Iberia, Gaul, and Britain, through extensive military campaigns, which often prolonged for decades (Hopkins, 2009; Petculescu,

2006). The conquest of Britain, for example, is a quintessential tale of Roman military endurance, initiated by Gaius Julius Caesar in the late first century BCE and ultimately secured by Emperor Claudius nearly a century later, in 43 CE (Mattingly, 2006;

Southern, 2012; Salway, 1993). Roman rule was violently resisted by indigenous Celtic tribes in Britain, but these uprisings eventually dissipated under Roman military occupation (Jarret, 1980; Redfern and Chamberlain, 2011).

Although Roman rule met such resistance in the northern boundary lands (limes),

Luttwak (1976), Wells (1984), and Ando (2000) maintain that invasion was not only imminent, but was eminently successful. Roman armies did not set foot on unfamiliar soil in Britain, and British eyes did not meet an unfamiliar site in the arrival of Roman legions. Local Britons had interacted with Roman traders and soldiers at and before the campaign of Julius Caesar; client kingships had allied local British elites to the Senate and people of Rome (Hardin, 2004; Jarret, 1980). The recovery of countless pre-43 CE

Roman coins within domestic and mortuary contexts across southern Britain indicates that the indigenous population of Britain had gradually adopted the capitalistic market economy of the early Roman Empire, well prior to conquest (Creighton 2004, 2006;

Garnsey and Saller, 1987). This economic shift, however, was irreversibly finalized with

Roman occupation, when permanent Roman campuses were established throughout the island’s southern half (e.g., Dorchester, Leicester). Military campuses were not simple housing quarters but economic microcosms of Rome, and consequently nexuses of regional and interregional trade (Adkins and Adkins, 1994; Allison, 2013). Therefore, it became imperative for populations within urban and nucleated settlements to abandon local trade traditions for the standardized currency of the Roman Empire.

The implementation of Roman imperium (power) over Gaul, Iberia, and Germania exhibited unique trajectories based on the indigenous culture and history of these lands relative to Rome. In addition to the economic change that befell indigenous groups agglomerated into the western Roman Empire, local and regional political restructuring occurred. The client king system introduced to Britain in the first century BCE was not only maintained into the third century CE but elaborated upon to ensure virtual control

over local politics and markets (Jarret, 1980; Lendon, 1997). Virtual control was

solidified through administrative loyalty of indigenous representatives, who reported to

the militarily experienced Roman governor of the province (Garnsey and Saller, 1987;

Mattingly, 2006). Rural politics, due to geographic isolation, generally fell outside

Roman regulation, although they theoretically were under the overarching auspices of the

Roman Empire. Urban communities, by contrast, were politically figured to accommodate Roman legal systems and obey Roman law: newly-constructed military campuses and Roman-occupied British towns were installed with basilicas and fora to

accommodate legal proceedings (Allison, 2013; Mattingly, 2006; Ward, 1911).

While architectural and town planning attest to the political and sociopolitical

transitions, which were incorporated into the local geospatial and human landscape,

artifactual remains from burial, domestic, and refuse contexts demonstrate evidence of

the social and economic interactions at work among the local populations (Evans ,2001;

Pitts, 2008; Willis, 1996). In his study of imperial age pottery from southeastern Britain,

Pitts (2008) noted a significant increase in the standardization of vessels directly after

conquest. Because no differences existed in the typological distribution of vessels within

rural or urban contexts, this study confirmed previous studies, which suggested that

communities associated with Roman military economies were exposed to more

standardized, imported goods (Evans, 2001; Going, 1992). These studies conclude that

British populations were not only exposed to the materials transported from across the

Empire, but local groups were exposed to the global culture of the Roman Empire (Pitts,

2008; Woolf, 1990). Hybridization of local and Roman burial traditions attests to the fact

that Gaulic, Iberian, and British populations assumed aspects of this global Roman

culture into their public identity (Alcock, 1980; Pearce et al., 2000; Toynbee, 1971).

The heart of Romanization research, and a continuous region of interest in this

topic, is in Britain, partly out of interest by native British scholars and partly by the extent

of archaeological richness in the country. For centuries, scholars demarcated Roman rule

by the beginning conquest of the island in 43 CE, under the rule of Emperor Claudius.

The reception to Roman invasion was captured in Tacitus’s Annals as far from

welcoming, historically characterizing Romanization in Britain until 20th and 21st century

reexaminations. After subjugation of British tribes to Roman rule, Britons were

misrepresented as concessive, passive agents (Mattingly, 1996). Archaeological studies

have since dispelled these misconceptions of Roman-British interactions, conflicts, and

concessions by acknowledging first the pre-conquest political and economic relationships between Romans and Britons and second rewriting the resistance-acceptance narrative

(Webster and Cooper, 1996).

Early scholarship in Romanization characterized the expansive process as strategically implemented, comparable to British imperialist tactics globally (Freeman,

1996). Because seminal Romanist scholars were British, this characterization was inherently felt and ascribed to Romanization. Many scholars have since criticized the assumption that broad Roman expansion was enacted strategically, although Hanson

(1997) reinvigorated the discussion by emphasizing the careful positioning of military garrisons in areas (e.g., northwest Britain) where force or the threat of force would sometimes be essential to civil stability.

However, the archaeology of Romanization in Britain now remains focused on post-colonial interests in the individual (Barrett, 1997), cultural resistance (Hingley,

1997), and creolization (Webster, 2001), themes that return power and attention to the indigenous Britons. In a survey of Romano-British housing, Hingley (1997) made the compelling case for elites utilizing round house architecture to retain authority within a native social system, one in which romanitas had not fully permeated. This interpretation also propelled the idea that Roman culture was neither transmitted nor adopted by all social strata as initially assumed. In cases where the characteristics of Roman culture have settled in Romano-British life (e.g., religion), Webster (1997) and others (Carr,

2007; Hawkes, 1999) argued that the majority of the population selectively incorporated elements of romanitas into a creole culture.

3.1.2 Bioarchaeology

3.1.2.i Britain

The bioarchaeology of Roman conquest in the western provinces is dominated by research in Britain (Cheung et al., 2012; Peck, 2009; Pitts and Griffin, 2012; Redfern and

Chamberlain, 2011; Redfern and DeWitte, 2011a, 2011b; Redfern and Roberts, 2005;

Redfern et al., 2010, 2012; Roberts and Cox, 2003). This bias reflects the early development, refinement, and application of human bioarchaeological research and methods to questions in Romano-British archaeology (Knüsel, 2010; Roberts and Cox,

2003). Utilizing demographic, isotopic, and palaeopathological data in concert with a rich archaeological record, bioarchaeological studies of Roman conquest and subsequent

Romanization of Britain currently provide the most comprehensive history of sociopolitical and socioeconomic effects sustained by the indigenous British population post-conquest.

Roberts and Cox (2003) extensively compiled published skeletal data from the

Neolithic to modern day to trace patterns in health throughout British history. This

volume was the first study to address health outcomes to the local British populations

following the arrival and departure of Roman occupation and rule (Roberts and Cox,

2003), and its publication ushered in a new wave of interest in health transitions from

Iron Age to Romano-British periods. Since then, bioarchaeological research on regional

(Bonsall, 2013, 2014; Peck, 2009; Redfern, 2006) and national (Griffin et al., 2011; Pitts

and Griffin, 2012; Redfern and Roberts, 2005) levels has been conducted to identify

shifts in physiological health, diet, and violence associated with Roman conquest.

On a national scale, Roberts and Cox (2003) concluded that an overall decline in

population health occurs from the Iron Age to Romano-British period: increased

prevalence skeletal biomarkers of stress—non-specific periostitis, metabolic diseases, periodontal disease, and reduced stature—were documented throughout Britain. Similar trends in non-specific periosteal new bone and linear enamel hypoplasia were observed among northern post-contact British populations by Peck (2009) and among the southern

Dorset population by Redfern (2006). These patterns demonstrate negative physiological effects with the onset of Roman urbanization to the British landscape. Despite the many public buildings and amenities intended for the use and benefit of their populaces—e.g.,

baths, temples, aqueducts/fountains, sewer systems—these “civilized” Roman landscapes

became incubators for disease and compromised health (Redfern and DeWitte, 2011a;

Roberts and Cox, 2003). In some urban settlements within the Empire, smaller

neighborhoods within cities were literal cess-pits. Human and animal excrement was

flung or piped out into the street, and no civic services were established to remove the

waste (Connolly and Dodge, 1998; Jansen, 2000; Scobie, 1986). Comparisons between

rural and urban communities of Romano-Britain revealed an overall lower prevalence of

skeletal and dental stress markers within city populations, which seems to counter the

conclusion that Roman occupation was detrimental to the physiological health of

Romano-British people (Bonsall, 2013; Pitts and Griffin, 2012); Pitts and Griffin (2012)

were quick to interject, however, that rural populations were invariably of a lower

socioeconomic status, which was not reflective of Roman, but local, influence.

Nevertheless, no bioarchaeological studies of British pre- and post-contact rural populations have yet been carried out to envisage how directly or indirectly Roman occupation affected non-urban communities.

Dietary research of pre- and post-conquest Romano-British populations suggests

differential access and availability to food resources associated with Roman trade

markets. The arrival and installment of Roman officials and legions onto British soil also

introduced more Roman cuisine (e.g., garum, fig, grapes, oil) into urban and high-status

contexts (van der Veen et al., 2008). According to stable isotope evidence, urban

communities generally incorporated more Mediterranean, marine components into their

diets (Gloucester, Cheung et al., 2012; Queen’s College, Oxfordshire, Nehlich et al.,

2011; York, Müldner and Richards, 2007), whether by variegations of increased access

and cultural influence, while most rural populations, with exceptions (Alington Avenue,

Redfern et al., 2010), yielded more local isotope signatures, with cereal plants and

terrestrial stock animals (Horcott Pitt Quarry and Cotswold Community, Cheung et al.,

2012; Maiden Castle Road, Redfern et al., 2010; Tubney, Nehlich et al., 2011). Stable

carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios of Iron Age and Romano-British populations from

Dorset did not exhibit significant differences (Redfern et al., 2010); however, Redfern

44 and colleagues observed more variability in carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios within the

Romano-British period, specifically related to the proportion of dietary C3-terrestrial meat components in urban and rural contexts, which they and others have interpreted as evidence of disproportionate access to food resources after Roman conquest (Cheung et al., 2012; Redfern et al., 2010). These disparities in food (e.g., nutritional) access between individuals during the Romano-British period inevitably factored into health disparities between British socioeconomic groups (Redfern and DeWitte, 2011b).

Finally, skeletal evidence of intentional violence has been interpreted within the scope of Roman imperialism (Peck, 2009; Redfern, 2006; Roberts and Cox, 2003).

Overall, Roberts and Cox (2003: 163) noted a significant increase in traumatic lesions between Iron (4.7%) and Roman (10.7%) Ages. A significant proportion of the skeletal series employed in this study, however, originated from the catastrophic sites such as

Maiden Castle hillfort, where the demographic and pathological profiles reflect episodic periods of violence (i.e., conflicts with Roman at the onset of conquest). Thus, it is possible that the Roman percentage of trauma is an overestimation of actual day-to-day endemic violence (Redfern and Chamberlain, 2011). By contrast, the regional studies by

Peck (2009) and Redfern (2006) capture more endemic profiles of violence. The former study documented an increase in skeletal trauma, while the latter indicated no significant differences in trauma between pre- and post-contact populations. This regional variation in patterns of trauma suggests that diachronic shifts in interpersonal violence may not have been directly correlated with Roman occupation.

3.2 Roman creolization in African territories

3.2.1 Archaeology

Unlike the narrative of Romanization in Britain, the Roman expansion into and consolidation of northern Africa was met with less resistance. The settlement patterns throughout the Saharan and Mediterranean zones of Africa attest to expansion and economic specialization. The African landscape provided a cornucopia of resources in crops, raw materials (e.g., marble, bronze, gold), exotic goods and animals, and people, resources which made the relationship between Rome and Africa critical to the former’s survival (Mattingly, 1997). Mattingly (1997) suggested that Africans took advantage of the economic influx that came with Roman cooperation, and the overall development and success of the province resulted from this negotiation of power concession. Whittaker

(1997) described African development as part of the second wave of Romanization, when building programs occurred throughout the empire, often to the credit of a new elite class.

In these monuments of self-aggrandizement, local elites injected their local culture, memorializing a hybrid Romano-African culture that has otherwise been underinvestigated in Romanization studies of Africa (Mattingly and Hitchner, 1995).

3.2.2 Bioarchaeology

Bioarchaeological studies in the African provinces primarily focus on the extensive work conducted on material from Kellis 2, in the Dakhleh Oasis. Over the past twenty years, researchers have examined the impact of Roman rule and influence on the local population through the examination of hundreds of skeletons from Ptolemaic and

Roman period samples (Dupras and Schwarcz, 2001; Dupras and Tocheri, 2007;

Fairgrieve and Molto, 2000; Molto, 2002; Tocheri and Molto, 2002; Tocheri et al., 2005).

Situated on a strategic trade route within the Nile Valley, Kellis became an important

point of contact and settlement for the Romans (Dupras and Schwarcz, 2001). As such,

the now skeletonized individuals who inhabited this region, have supplied a wealth of

information about immigration, biological health, and weaning and dietary practices in

the Roman and pre-Roman period communities.

Migration and immigration, especially in the African provinces, heavily

influenced the expansion and consolidation of the Roman Empire. By establishing

Roman citizens in Africa, the Italian core had a physical political presence in the

territories by means of their Roman representatives. Dupras and Schwarcz (2001)

conducted stable carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen isotope analyses on 26 adult males, 37

adult females, and 46 juveniles to determine if vagaries in isotope ratios from the average

distribution suggested a non-local diet. Among the sample, two adult males exhibited

δ18O and δ15N values outside the norm of variation, evidence that indicated that these

individuals lived outside Kellis, and its specific local dietary system, for the last ten years

of their lives. With the introduction of such non-local individuals to the region during the

Roman period came the introduction of outside customs and ideologies to the local populaces.

Of the customs introduced into African provincial culture, weaning age has been

investigated in depth among the Kellis 2 population. Through analyses of stable carbon

and nitrogen isotope ratios in collagen and dentine, Dupras and colleagues (Dupras et al.,

2001; Dupras and Tocheri, 2007) have reconstructed and refined the age of onset and

cessation of weaning for the local Kellis 2 population. The Roman period onset of

weaning at 6 months of age compared with the pre-Roman Ptolemaic period custom, but

the cessation of weaning during the later period (3 years) exceeded the 2-year weaning

age reported in the earlier Ptolemaic period. As these Roman period weaning patterns

echoed evidence in other populations throughout the Empire (Green, 1951; Temkin,

1956), it was concluded that this community adopted this Roman custom as they were

exposed directly or indirectly to the works of Roman physicians like Soranus and Galen

(Dupras et al., 2001; Dupras and Tocheri, 2007; White and Schwarcz, 1994).

While stable isotope analyses have provided insight into Roman migrants and

adopted Roman customs, paleopathological research has indicated biological changes to the Kellis population following Roman expansion into this region. Fairgrieve and Molto

(2000) compared distributions of cribra orbitalia, lesions with variable etiologies (e.g., iron deficiency anemia, folic acid and vitamin C deficiencies) associated with poor living condition, between Kellis 2 and earlier Ptolemaic skeletal samples at Ein Tirghi. Almost consistently across age groups, prevalence of cribra orbitalia and active lesions were higher in the Ein Tirghi than Kellis 2 cemetery. Of the total individuals with cribra orbitalia, a statistically higher percentage were observed in the Ptolemaic period

(78.43%; 120/153) than Roman period (54.55%; 78/143) samples. These findings conflict with those reported in the Romano-British bioarchaeological literature, suggesting that a

Roman presence decreased conditions for anemia and nutritional deficiencies in the

Dakhleh Oasis, whether by the influx of trade or the assimilation of Roman hygienic practices into local ones. Unfortunately, at this point, the cribra orbitalia study remains singular in addressing the question of Romanization at Kellis 2; with further paleopathological evidence from pre-Roman period and Roman period African populations, it is possible that these initial conclusions of an increase in biological health

within the Roman period will be strengthened, challenged, or nuanced.

3.3 Romanization in the Eastern territories

3.3.1 Archaeology

While the archaeological and textual evidence of Romanization is replete for the

western Empire, only recently have archaeologists begun to explore the effects of Roman

rule east of Greece (Alcock, 1993; Bekker-Nielsen, 2006a, 2014; Madsen, 2009).

Occupied, or “captured,” Greece (Graecia capta) presently represents the vast majority

of eastern archaeological interpretations of Roman domination (Alcock, 1993; Woolf,

1997). The history of Romanization in the eastern Mediterranean, however, demonstrates an alternative approach to imperialistic conquest and control. Domination over the eastern provinces was ensured prior to the imperial age: Pompey consolidated control of lands from the Eastern Mediterranean into the far reaches of Asia Minor by 60 BCE

(Magie, 1950; Marek, 2009; Woolf, 1997). Nevertheless, Roman domination was fundamentally different in the eastern provinces than in the western provinces. Across the

Empire, Rome may have engineered a considerable portion of the “barbaric” landscape to facilitate Roman ideology and rule, but in the Hellenic east, Rome acted as a tinkerer of politics and culture (Bekker-Nielsen, 2006a).

Politically, Roman conquest in the East resulted in minimal structural changes to local governance. New age regulations were placed on representatives, but the fundamental boule (local community legislative body) system was retained under an imperial governor (Baz, 2013; Bekker-Nielsen, 2006a; Madsen, 2006, 2009, 2014).

While the status of imperial province meant that the Roman Senate and the Emperor had

a direct hand in the political, military, and economic outcomes of the region, this

omnipotence did not stifle the local politics, economy, and culture of Anatolia. High-

level politicians and representatives in Greece and Asia Minor may have been promoted

or demoted as a result of Roman domination, but little is known to what effect local

community members were affected by the political shift. One major difference between

imperial rule in the East versus the West is the archaeological and textual absence of

military campuses stationed in Greece and Asia Minor (Hopkins, 2009; Madsen, 2009;

Petculescu, 2009). Without a military presence to regulate regional politics, local affairs

continued to be managed by town councils (Corsten, 2006; Madsen, 2009, 2014; Marek,

2009).

Despite the absence of a stable trade market, brought about by the permanent

presence of military campuses, eastern provinces nonetheless thrived during the Roman

imperial era. Newly-built road systems promoted interregional trade from as far as India

to Britain (Adkins and Adkins, 1994; Anderson, 1900; Munro, 1901; Wells, 1984). For

the East, this globalization of trade significantly increased the consumer population.

Along the Black Sea, fishermen lucratively tapped into this garum trade, producing mass

quantities of the fashionable fish paste to be sold across the Empire (Bekker-Nielsen,

2005; Garnsey, 1998, 1999). Furthermore, towns established along the East-West Via

Pontica flourished economically upon the long-distance trade market; prosperity amidst the indigenous populations led to patrons funding local building projects (Madsen, 2009;

Munro, 1901).

However, the most important aspect of Roman rule to consider for the eastern provinces was the visible retention and preservation of Hellenic culture within the

Empire. Despite the political and economic downfall that characterized the fate of

Classical Greece, [Italian] Romans viewed Greek culture as an antecedent to their own

(Alcock, 2002). Young Roman citizens grew up learning both Greek and Latin languages, reading renowned philosophers like Socrates and Plato, and emulating the rhetorical skills of Perikles and Themistocles; emperors and senators of Rome often traveled to Athens for their schooling (Alcock, 1993, 1997; Madsen, 2006). This nostalgic devotion to Classical times translated into a conscious political agenda to preserve remnants of the Hellenic past. Especially under philhellenic emperors, public buildings were erected in honor of the Roman Empire and to honor the Athenian Empire.

Notably, Emperor Hadrian renovated the ancient theatre of Dionysus and built both a

monumental arch and library to commemorate his visits to Athens (Alcock, 2002; Camp,

2004).

In the Black Sea region of Turkey, public decrees and building dedications were

written in Latin and Greek, the language of the local populace (Madsen 2009; Magie

1950). Grave stelai throughout the Phazemon Valley and southward into the district of

Amasya showed a hybridization of Roman and Hellenic cultures: tombstones were

written with both Latin and Greek languages, or a third Latin name was added to a core

Greek name to create a traditional tria nomina (Bekker-Nielsen 2010; Corsten 2006;

Madsen 2009). There was little compulsion for creolization of local and Roman religions in the eastern Empire, as both religious traditions were based in similar belief systems of pagan (Olympian) gods. Even after the institutionalization of Emperor worship cults, no major changes to the local religious landscape were observed in the landscape, either archaeologically or through textual references (Madsen, 2009; Summerer, 2014).

3.3.2 Bioarchaeology

For purposes of this review, Angel’s (1973) and Selinksky’s (2004) records of

skeletal and dental stress markers among Hellenistic and Roman period populations from

Greece (Athens and Corinth) and Cappadocia (Gordion) will be presented within the

theoretical context of Roman imperialism to provide a preliminary evaluation of possible health effects associated with conquest in the East, as Romanization in the East has otherwise been overlooked in bioarchaeological research agenda. As with the transition from Iron to Romano-British Ages in Britain, Greek populations also exhibited an increase in skeletal and dental biomarkers of physiological stress. Not only did the average age-at-death distribution decline from Hellenistic to Roman periods in males and females, but also 1) the average stature of males decreased by three centimeters, 2) the prevalence of enamel defects and porotic hyperostosis increased, 3) and the frequency of dental lesions rose (Angel, 1973). Similar physical transformations from Hellenistic to

Roman periods were observed at Gordion: 1) male stature decreased; 2) prevalence of

LEH increased (albeit not significantly; 3) frequency in carious lesions significantly increased; and 4) the occurrence of periostitis increased (Selinsky, 2004). The results from these studies, although compromised by small sample sizes (~70 individuals),

provide the most recent, albeit indefinite, bioarchaeological data from which the effects

of Romanization in the East can be interpreted. Echoing the comprehensive

osteoarchaeological studies and results from Roman Britain, current incomplete picture

conveyed by these skeletal studies confirms the post-colonial perspective of Roman

conquest and colonization: Roman rule over liminal populations was generally

detrimental to the physiological health of the conquered peoples.

3.4 Summary

Since its early denomination, “Romanization,” the concept has evolved within

pendulous theoretical climates of nativism, imperialism, and post-colonialism, impacting

interpretations of Roman sociopolitical, economic, and cultural expansion (Versluys,

2014). The current post-colonial theoretical perspective in Roman studies congregates

around indigenous responses and receptions, which span from enthusiastically

invitational to violently repulsive. As the review of Romanization studies in western,

eastern, and African provinces has demonstrated, the process of Roman expansion into or

occupation of liminal territories was variable between, but also within, geopolitical

regions. The archaeological record across the imperial limes exhibits a palimpsest of

identities and cultures, which oftentimes arose or adapted out of continued Roman rule. It is this record upon which Roman scholars have based their arguments for Romanization.

Bioarchaeological research recently has contributed new evidence to this discussion and provided a human biocultural landscape in which to examine regional iterations of

Romanization.

Chapter 4. Skeletal and dental conditions and pathological lesions as proxies for

physiological health and behavior

4.1 Introduction

Chapter 4 introduces the suite of skeletal and dental conditions employed in this

study as evidence of putative structural violence. These proxies represent interpersonal

violence, diet, childhood stress episodes, non-specific infection or immunological

compromise, and physical activity (Table 4.1). A brief review of each skeletal or dental condition is provided, as it has been operationalized in previous bioarchaeological research.

Table 4.1 Abbreviations for pathological conditions used throughout study Abbreviations for pathological conditions AMTL Antemortem tooth loss LEH Linear enamel hypoplasia PNB Periosteal new bone PD Periodontal disease OA Osteoarthritis IVD Intervertebral disc disease RCD Rotator cuff disease

4.2 Skeletal proxies of violence

Intentional interpersonal violence has been recorded extensively throughout the

bioarchaeological record (Knüsel and Smith, 2014; Martin and Harrod, 2014; Martin et

al. 2010, 2012; Novak, 2007; Redfern, 2016; Walker, 2001). Based on ethnographic and

historical accounts of violence, specific skeletal lesions can be confidently characterized

as direct evidence of interpersonal conflict (Aufderheide and Rodriguez-Martin, 1998;

Ortner, 2003; Ortner and Putschar, 1985; Walker, 2001). Cranial trauma—e.g.,

compression fractures, sharp or blunt force wounds—often indicate to endemic or

episodic intrapopulational and interpopulational violence. To distinguish between

endemic and episodic acts of violence, the distribution, prevalence, and timing of skeletal

traumata must be interpreted in reference to the regional history. In the Santa Barbara

Channel area, California, prehistoric populations exhibited a high prevalence of antemortem cranial trauma (17%), which Walker (1989) and Lambert (1997) interpreted as local, domestic violence within the population. The presence of multiple healed

wounds on the crania suggested that interpersonal violence was endemic and socialized

within this specific population (Walker, 1989). Such endemic, localized violence contrasts with episodes of war and massacres, when perimortem cranial and postcranial traumas are the likely cause of death of the individuals (Duday, 2009; Judd and Redfern,

2012; Novak, 2007, Schülter, 1999). Mass graves with high prevalence of perimortem lesions allude to either deliberate intergroup confrontations or massacre events. The warlike or massacre nature of these episodes can be extrapolated from the demographic distribution (e.g., age and sex) and distribution of pathological lesions across the victims

(Wescott et al., 2012; Willey, 1982). By contrast, Milner and colleagues recognized evidence of endemic interpopulational violence at the late prehistoric site of Norris

Farms, Illinois (Milner, 1995; Milner and Smith, 1989), where recurrent burials of individuals with antemortem and perimortem cranial and postcranial fractures happened over many generations. When variables and context are considered, intentional violence can be categorized as the effect of local (personal), regional (intergroup), or interregional

(international) confrontations. Significant overlap between levels (local, regional, and

interregional) and characterization (endemic versus episodic) of intentional trauma exists.

To iron out these differences, other variables of violence must be considered within

archaeological and historical contexts.

4.2 Skeletal and dental proxies for diet

4.2.1.i Dental caries

Dental caries is a process by which enamel matrix is demineralized. Oral bacteria

(e.g., Streptococcus sp.) produce acid as they metabolize sugars adhered to tooth

surfaces. The acid subsequently leeches away calcium ions from enamel, demineralizing

the hydroxyapatite crystalline structure. When demineralization is unchecked by

remineralization, either naturally with saliva or interventionally with fluoride and dental

hygienics, irreversible lesions arise and develop (Soames and Southam, 2005; Legler and

Menaker, 1980). Carious lesions may range in severity from a pinprick-sized hole to

complete destruction of the crown and eventual tooth loss. While the etiology of caries is

a multifactorial composite of biochemical, morphological, biological, and cultural

variables, bioarchaeologists primarily have operationalized carious lesions as proxies for

paleodiet (Larsen, 2015). Specifically, prevalence and changes in prevalence of carious

lesions are analyzed and interpreted as transitions or variability in consumed cariogenic

foods (Harris, 1963; Navia, 1994).

4.2.1.ii Dental caries and human adaptive landscapes

Carious lesions have been instrumental in bioarchaeological studies of human

adaptive landscapes, most notably with the adoption and intensification of maize

56 agriculture in North American Paleoindian populations (Cohen and Armelagos, 1984;

Larsen, 1997). Relative to indigenous vegetation, maize and maize products are more cariogenic, thereby contributing to higher percentages of carious lesions in past populations. This transition to more cariogenic, agriculturally-grown food consumption has been argued for populations throughout human history; namely, significant increases in carious lesion prevalence are associated with subsistence changes from foraging to agricultural lifeways (Larsen, 2015; contra Tayles et al., 2009). Caries evidence, consequently, provides complementary biological data to archaeological, historical, and paleoecological records for approaching and reconstructing past diets (Hubbe et al., 2012;

Keenleyside, 2008; Mant and Roberts, 2015; Temple and Larsen, 2007) and has been employed as such in previous Roman period bioarchaeological inquiries (Bonsall, 2013;

Peck, 2009).

4.2.2.i Dental calculus

Dental calculus is an accumulation and hardening of dental plaque. The process of mineralization begins with the deposition of an organic coating, known as the pellicle, over an enamel surface. Oral bacteria subsequently colonize this organic space and proliferate through energy from protein molecules (e.g., amino acids, peptide chains, glycoproteins) (Lieverse, 1999). Over time, mineral components from saliva and the oral fluids incorporate into dental plaque, creating a hard surface in which plaque can build upon and deposit more mineralized precipitate (Brothwell, 1981; Hillson, 1996). These precipitates, supra- and subgingival, may irritate the gums, causing an inflammatory response of the gingivae and eventual periodontitis (Littleton and Frohlich, 1993).

Calculus is a composite of inorganic and organic matrices, thus providing a harbor at the

cellular level for floral bacteria. Recent archaeological investigations of calculus have

examined these bacteria, preserved ancient DNA in human skeletal assemblages, for

dietary reconstructions and genetic evidence of natural selection (Warinner et al., 2014a,

2014b).

4.2.2.ii Calculus applications in human bioarchaeology

Unlike carious lesions, which are scrutinized in human bioarchaeological samples

despite conversations about biological and cultural components to pathogenesis, the

etiology and pathophysiology of calculus is well-known but less applied to archaeological questions. Part of this hesitance to employ calculus in bioarchaeological

research is the lack of calculus studies on human populations. Oral pathological research of calculus is predominated by animal studies. Nevertheless, the biochemical processes contributing to calculus formation in animals, some anthropologists argue (Lieverse,

1999), are similarly affecting calculus formation in humans. Aside from biological variation within populations, dietary decisions may impact calculus genesis and progression. In particular, increased protein consumption has been shown to directly affect oral bacterial production (Baer and White, 1966) and indirectly change oral pH through elevated urea levels (Mandel, 1974). Additionally, diets high in calcium and phosphates (minerals incorporated into the mineralized calculus matrix) and high in fats have yielded significantly higher percentages of calculus deposition (Smith et al., 1963).

While anthropologists have utilized calculus in their research (Bonsall, 2013; Klaus and

Tam, 2010), calculus results have not been interpreted beyond supporting findings from other dental lesions or the archaeological record. In a short review of calculus research in bioarchaeology, Lieverse (1999, Table 1) demonstrated the inconsistencies in calculus

interpretations: high calculus as evidence of high carbohydrate diets as well as high

protein diets. For this dissertation, calculus will be operationalized as a proxy for protein,

fat, and calcium consumption (e.g., aquatic or terrestrial meat or dairy consumption) but

with conservative recognition of the multifactorial nature of calculus (Lieverse et al.,

2007).

4.2.3 Periapical abscesses

Periapical abscesses of the maxilla and mandible occur when exogenous bacteria

(e.g., Staphylococcus, Prevotella, or Fusobacterium sp.) are introduced vascularly via

the dental pulp or an open lesion into the dental root cavity (Dymock et al., 1996;

Robertson and Smith, 2009). Bacteria will instigate inflammatory and suppurative

responses from the surrounding tissues that ultimately develop into pus-producing cavities within the alveolar bone (Gill and Scully, 1990; Nair, 2004). In the skeleton, periapical abscesses are diagnosed through the presence of an alveolar cyst and associated sinus canal for pus drainage (Waldron, 2009).

Although caries and periapical abscesses differ in their etiologies, evidence

(Costa, 1980; Hillson, 1996, 2001; Robertson and Smith, 2009) indicates that carious lesions factor into abscess pathogenesis, especially when a carious lesion develops to a point of exposing the pulp cavity. At this point, the vascular network within the tooth is susceptible to extraoral microbacteria, and exogenous bacteria (e.g., Staphylococcal sp.) are able to enter the bloodstream and affect surrounding tissues. For this reason, periapical abscess data have been interpreted as corollary evidence to caries of dietary transition, specifically to more agriculturally-based diets (Beckett and Lovell, 1994;

Keenleyside, 2008; Lukacs 1989; 1992).

4.2.4 Antemortem tooth loss (AMTL)

AMTL occurs when dentition is no longer secured in place to the surrounding mandibular/maxillary bone and gingivae. Subsequently, the tooth is lost and alveolar bone resorbed around the lost tooth. Among studies in modern populations, AMTL has been shown to be associated with carious lesions, periapical abscesses, and especially

periodontal disease (Hillson, 1996, 2014), although advanced dental attrition may also

lead to eventual pulp exposure and ultimate tooth loss (Lukacs, 1992). As with other

dental lesions, AMTL may arise from possible acute or traumatic conditions, working

separately or concurrently of one another (Lukacs, 2007). Due to the strong correlation

observed between carious lesions and AMTL (Hubbe et al., 2012; Lukacs, 1995), AMTL

has been operationalized concurrently with caries as a marker for diet in the past (e.g.,

Larsen, 2015, and references therein).

4.3 Dental proxies of juvenile growth perturbations

Chronic deprivation of basic living, nutritional, medical, and social resources is

associated with compromised physiological growth and maintenance throughout an

individual’s lifetime. Perturbations to homeostasis may manifest in the teeth and skeleton

of an individual, depending on the length and severity of the environmental, infectious, or

nutritional insult (Ortner, 2003; Ortner and Putschar, 1985). Due to the commingled state

of the Oymaağaç skeletal material, few long bones were complete to measure maximum

length. For this reason, only dental proxies (i.e., linear enamel hypoplasias) were

available for analysis.

4.3.1 Linear Enamel Hypoplasia

4.3.1.i Linear enamel hypoplasia and nutrition

Childhood events of growth stress also appear in the bioarchaeological record as disruptions in amelogenesis, linear enamel hypoplasia (LEH) (Cohen and Armelagos,

1982; Larsen, 1997, 2015; Steckel and Rose, 2002). During development of teeth, normal secretion of the enamel matrix may be upset when a child must reallocate energy and resources from growth to body maintenance (e.g., combating infection or utilizing reserve, non-dietary nutrients for basic survival); consequently, enamel thickness is reduced during these intervals, resulting in macroscopic hypoplastic bands across the teeth (Goodman and Armelagos, 1985, 1989; Goodman et al., 1991; Hillson, 1996, 2014;

Hubbard et al., 2009; Guatelli-Steinberg, 2015). Research on modern human and animal populations has indicated the efficacy of LEH as indicators of non-specific growth disruptions (Goodman and Armelagos, 1985; Goodman et al., 1987; Rose et al., 1985).

As a result, LEH have been incorporated into the standard suite of biomarkers employed by bioarchaeologists (Goodman and Martin, 2002; Steckel et al., 2005). LEH represent inalterable evidence of childhood stress periods.

4.3.1.ii Linear enamel hypoplasia, genetics, and the environment

While LEH in archaeological samples is attributed primarily to nutritional deficiencies, directly from diet or indirectly from infection and trauma, these dental defects are multifactorial in their etiology and predisposition. Recent studies in living populations have examined genetic factors contributing to not only normal dental development but dental defects. In a study of 50 families in Sweden diagnosed with different amelogenesis imperfecta conditions, researchers hypothesized autosomal

61 dominant and sex-linked inheritance mechanisms for over half of the observed defects

(Backman, 1997). These data suggest that some individuals may exhibit higher susceptibility to LEH. This individual physiological response may reflect an adaptive response within the population to previous environmental and resource pressures.

In addition to genetic predisposition to hypoplastic defects, environmental variables may contribute to disrupted amelogenesis. Mineral or metal concentrations in local groundwater, for example, have been shown to correlate with incidence of enamel defects among modern human populations. Despite the important role of fluoride in enamel mineralization, fluoridated (fluoride-supplemented) communities exhibit higher percentages of enamel defects (Milsom and Mitropoulos, 1990).

4.3.2 Growth perturbations and the osteological paradox

Wood and colleagues (1992) have called into question the use of LEH as an indicator of childhood growth perturbations and frailty, arguing that skeletal assemblages represent the frailest individuals within a population. They argued that skeletons are not an accurate reflection of the living population from which they were derived. For example, longitudinal growth (e.g., long bone stature proxies) recorded in a skeletal assemblage, by this theory, would be a misrepresentation of the population it supposedly represented, presenting oftentimes as an underestimation of the population’s actual statures. Other lesions, such as LEH, have been proposed, and proved, as possible indicators of increased resilience and lower frailty. Bennike and colleagues (2007) observed that LEH was associated with increased survival in children among a Danish population. These findings suggested that during childhood years most individuals were exposed to chronic nutritional deficiencies, and those individuals who survived them

62 were, in effect, marked with LEH, while other children succumbed to death from this malnutrition before the lesion could materialize.

Goodman and Armelagos (1989), and others since (Sandberg et al., 2014;

Yaussey et al., 2016), have demonstrated among adults how LEH prevalence and number correlate with increased mortality or decreased lifespan. Examining LEH within an exclusively adult sample enables us to test the issue of whether LEH is an indicator of frailty or resilience in later years. By principle, adults, with or without LEH, survived the hazards of childhood, whether by biocultural buffering or lack of exposure to nutritional deficiencies and infection; those individuals with LEH, by nature of LEH, experienced physiological stress during developmental years, while individuals without LEH did not sustain such stress. Whether this resilience and recovery to childhood stress improved an individual’s later resilience to adult stressors can be tested through age distribution and correlation to other osteological conditions within the archaeological context (DeWitte and Stojanowski, 2015; Wright and Yoder, 2003).

4.4 Skeletal proxies of infection

In the osteoarchaeological record, infection and disease are generally documented in terms of non-specific periosteal new bone formation and pathognomonic bony lesions, attributable to chronic bacterial diseases (Goodman and Martin, 2002; Steckel et al.,

2005; Waldron, 2009; Walker, 2012).

4.4.1 Periosteal new bone

The periosteal membrane (periosteum) is a vascular tissue that surrounds the outer surface of cortical bone, excepting articular surfaces. When the normal state of the periosteum is upset or irritated by contact, tears, or stretching, the mechanism for bone

63 formation is initiated (Richardson, 2001). The new bone that results from this somatic reaction is characterized as disorganized woven bone. Over time this bone structure remodels, eventually being entirely replaced with more ordered, organized lamellar bone.

Etiologically, most periosteal reactions derive from specific insults, such as trauma, localized or systemic infection, and metabolic, neoplastic, or vascular diseases (Weston,

2008). However, due to the absence of soft tissue and skeletal preservation in archaeological remains, it is often difficult for bioarchaeologists to differentially diagnose the etiological bases of new periosteal bone growth. Consequently, periosteal lesions are analyzed frequently in bioarchaeological studies as proxies for non-specific infection

(Cohen and Armelagos, 1982; Larsen, 2015), although this interpretation may underestimate the actual representation of system infection, disease, and trauma within the population (Weston, 2008).

4.4.1.i Nutrition and infection

Resource deprivation inherently affects an individual’s susceptibility to disease.

Comprehensive research on modern and past populations have shown that lower socioeconomic individuals, with lessened access to nutritious food and medical resources, demonstrate a weakened immunological response to non-specific infection and disease

(Marquez-Morfin, 1998; McDade, 2003; Scrimshaw, 2003; Waterlow, 1984). Periosteal new bone (PNB) deposits on the cortical surface of bones in response to either localized trauma (e.g., bump to the shin) and/or contusion or systemic infection (DeWitte, 2014).

Although previous studies have evaluated PNB, without consideration of the healed or active state of the lesion (Cohen and Armelagos, 1984; Steckel and Rose, 2002), recent studies have suggested that the active (woven) and healed (remodeled) states of PNB are

differentially correlated with risk of mortality (DeWitte, 2014; DeWitte and Wood,

2008). Not only may PNB within the skeleton indicate the presence of non-specific infection, but it also characterizes an individual’s immunological ability to respond to said infection, according to the extent of bony activity (healed versus unhealed) at the lesion site (DeWitte, 2014).

4.4.2 Osteomyelitis

Osteomyelitis constitutes a severe infection of the bone matrix and marrow

(Waldron, 2009). Unlike periosteal lesions, which have several etiological explanations, osteomyelitis develops when infectious agents enter the body and spread into the skeletal vasculature. Florid periosteal and endosteal bone formation occurs, increasing pressure within the intramedullary cavity; to relieve this pressure, by expelling pus from the medullary space, drainage canals, known as cloacae, form. These holes in the bone are pathognomonic indicators of osteomyelitis (Aufderheide and Rodriguez-Martin, 1998;

Ortner, 2003).

While multiple pathogens or bacteria may engender this infectious response, common culprits of osteomyelitis are species of Staphylococcus and Streptococcus

genera (Waldron, 2009). These bacterial infections have antibiotic remedies in modern

clinical medicine, but pre-twentieth century populations would have suffered aggressive

internal damage following exposure to these bacterial agents through uncleaned or

untreated cuts and open wounds. With regard to its association with nutritional and

immunological health, the presence of osteomyelitis indicates an epidemiological climate

in which bacterial agents are replete (e.g., urban landscape), and infected individuals are

immunologically compromised and limited in their access to medicinal care (Roberts and

Cox, 2003).

4.4.3 Periodontal disease

Periodontal disease is a condition that first affects the gingivae and progresses to

the alveolar bone. Bacteria introduced into the gums stimulate an inflammatory response

(gingivitis), which, if untreated, spreads to the surrounding bone. Toxins produced by the bacteria steadily destroy alveolar bone and connective tissue (Haffajee and Socransky,

1994; Socransky and Haffajee, 1992). As alveolar bone recedes through resorption, and

the connective tissues pull away from tooth roots, the unsecured tooth becomes more

susceptible to loss.

Although this condition is localized in the oral cavity, building research indicates

that dental and oral health is linked with broader somatic health (Cullinan et al., 2009).

For example, oral pathologists, dentists, and clinicians have observed among modern

populations a correlation between cardiovascular disease and periodontal disease

(Williams et al., 2008). While this relationship between dental and vascular health has not

been confirmed as causal, growing evidence continues to support the association between

periodontal disease and both inflammatory markers and inflammatory reactions in

peripheral systems of the body (Amabile et al., 2008; Williams et al., 2008).

4.4.3.i Periodontal disease and immunocompetence

Periodontal disease, in bioarchaeological research, has been utilized as a

biological marker (biomarker) of stress in studies of past population “health” and frailty

(Marklein et al., 2016). The presence of periodontal disease, and progressed periodontal

disease (e.g., antemortem tooth loss), speaks to not just an individual’s access to oral

health treatment but to an individual’s immunological response to infection. Periodontal

66 disease often progresses when the body’s immune system is compromised, either by insufficient nutrition or simultaneous infection (Hillson, 1996; Waldron, 2009). While the condition may heal or resolve itself, periodontal disease has long-term effects on homeostasis. The inflammatory response associated with periodontal disease imprints on the soma, increasing frailty and risk of mortality (Williams et al., 2008). Among archaeological human assemblages, both the relationship between systemic inflammatory reactions (DeWitte and Bekvalac, 2011; Crespo et al., 2017) and increased risk of mortality have been observed (DeWitte and Bekvalac, 2010), demonstrating the robusticity of this pathological condition as a direct proxy for compromised immunocompetence.

4.4.4 Bacterial infection

Chronic bacterial infections that eventually infiltrate and attack the skeleton (e.g., mycobacteria) not only reflect in individual’s contraction and susceptibility to the bacterial pathogen, but they inform us about the living conditions in which the disease survived and was transmitted (Harper and Armelagos, 2013; Zuckerman, 2014).

Prevalence of mycobacterial conditions, such as tuberculosis and leprosy, often increase in populations where living conditions are confined and sanitation is poor, variables associated with low socioeconomic living quarters (Manchester, 1984; Roberts and

Buikstra, 2003; Roberts and Cox, 2003).

4.5 Skeletal proxies for joint mobility

While the etiologies of various degenerative joint diseases maintain significant genetic components, strenuous and repetitive labor further stresses synovial joints

(Anderson and Loeser, 2010; Flores and Hochberg, 2003; Loughlin, 2001). Stress on

joints may exacerbate to debilitating conditions such as osteoarthritis, intervertebral disc

disease (IVD), and rotator cuff disease (RCD). Continuous movement on these affected

joints is often painful and leads to partial or complete immobilization of the joint

(Waldron, 2009). Bioarchaeological research has adopted these pathological conditions

as skeletal proxies for daily and cumulative wear to movable or partially movable joints

(Bridges, 1991, 1994; Larsen, 2015; Lieverse et al., 2007).

4.5.1 Osteoarthritis

In the skeleton, osteoarthritis presents as irreversible wear and surface

deformation to synovial and fibrocartilaginous joints. Bone modifications indicative of

osteoarthritis disease are associated with repetitive motions and irreparable age-related

degeneration (Burt et al., 2013; Waldron, 2009). Inflammation of the joint capsule,

whether by primary (e.g., cumulative stress) or secondary (e.g., trauma) cause, stimulates

sclerosis of the adjacent bone, eventuating in joint surface deformation and marginal

osteophytes. When joint cartilage deteriorates, no longer providing a cushioned surface

between articulating bones, these epiphyses grind on each other, polishing the surfaces

(i.e., eburnation) and causing crepitus (Rogers and Waldron, 1995). In some cases,

fragments of bone or calcium crystals become lodged in the joint, and these intrusions are

ground along the joint surfaces, like pestle to mortar.

4.5.1.i Osteoarthritis and workload

The bioarchaeological record characterizes physical activity through the prevalence and distribution of osteoarthritis (Klaus and Tam, 2009; Larsen 1997, 2015;

Steckel et al., 2002). While the etiology of osteoarthritis maintains a significant genetic

component, strenuous and repetitive labor further stresses synovial joints, resulting in the

gradually degeneration of joint cartilage and eventual bony articular surface (Anderson

and Loeser, 2010; Flores and Hochberg, 2003; Loughlin, 2000; Peach et al., 2005).

Diachronic changes to the overall distribution of osteoarthritis mark a significant change to the daily physical activities of a population. For example, with the adoption of intensive agricultural practices to the Southeastern United States, populations transitioned to new subsistence strategies that employed different patterns of movement and resulted in the general decrease in osteoarthritis relative to hunter-gatherer predecessors (Bridges,

1991; Jurmain, 1980; Larsen 1982, 1995). Regional studies of indigenous populations in pre- and post-contact Spanish Peru and Georgia have demonstrated significant shifts in the distribution of osteoarthritis, indicating physical transformations to the local political economy associated with agricultural intensification (Klaus, 2008; Klaus and Tam, 2009;

Larsen, 2015).

4.5.1.ii Osteoarthritis and genetics

“Variable” describes the general distribution of idiopathic osteoarthritis (Jurmain

2000). However, numerous and extensive studies over the last 50 years have attempted to tweeze apart the underlying, primary instigators of OA (Loughlin, 2001), genetic and epigenetic factors. Spector et al. (1996) endeavored the first monozygous (MZ) and dizygous (DZ) twin studies on OA incidence of the knee (KOA) and hand (HOA) in adult women to determine the underlying genetic contribution. Results indicated high 39%

(DZ) to 65% (MZ) heritability of the disease, similarly reflected in later studies of the hip, 60% (MacGregor et al., 2000), and spine, 75% (Bijkerk et al., 1999). Additionally,

Bijkerk et al. (1999) observed sibling concordance in cases of concomitant degenerative

joint disease (DJD) in the spine and hip, conveying the complicated genetic basis of OA.

Subsequent research has dissected population genomes in search of “OA gene(s)”

associated with sex or ethnicity. While Valdes et al. (2007) reported significant

differences between female and male frequency of the FRZB haplotype, which is

correlated with heightened risk in knee osteoarthritis, OA invariably affects both sexes.

Yoshimura et al. (2000) confirmed similar spinal osteoarthritis prevalence among men

and women, finding instead associations between OA and self-identified British and

Japanese ethnicities. Across populations genotypic patterns emerge, but these genotypes

are not identically expressed phenotypes (Kaliakatsos et al., 2006; Poulou et al., 2008).

For instance, the D13/D15 alleles correlated with hip and knee OA incidence in Japanese

populations appear in Greek, Spanish, and British populations, which exhibit lower risk

of OA at these joints (Valdes et al., 2007). Mutations and allelic anomalies at gene loci like COL2A1, VDR, and CALM1 provide further variables for OA examination, yet methodological approaches for this disease demand consideration and controls for intra-

and extrasomatic environmental influences (Peach et al., 2011).

4.5.2 Rotator Cuff Disease

The rotator cuff is composed of four muscles—subscapularis, supraspinatous,

infraspinatous, and teres minor muscles—which stabilize the humeral head within the

glenohumeral joint. Due to its wide and impressive range of motion, the glenohumeral

joint is less stable than other mobile joints and, consequently, more susceptible to

subluxation, dislocation, and tears (Waldron, 2009). Throughout decades of use, the

tendons of these muscles become strained and weakened. Approximately 25-30% of individuals in their seventh decade of life show symptoms of RCD (Tashjian, 2012).

RCD manifests as active porosity and marginal osteophytes on the humeral and scapular

muscle insertions of these muscles. As an irreversible condition, the presence of this disease would only exacerbate with years and result in decreased movement or immobilization of the shoulder joint and arm.

Osteoarthritis and degenerative joint disease preoccupy the suite of the skeletal proxies for activity in the majority of bioarchaeological studies. Rotator cuff disease, while an important indicator of cumulative microtrauma from repetitive use (sometimes associated with occupational), has been incorporated into bioarchaeological analyses only recently, and primarily in British osteoarchaeological research (Henderson et al., 2013;

Roberts et al., 2007; Waldron, 2009). Since rotator cuff disease and osteoarthritis exhibit differing pathogeneses, these complementary evidences build a more nuanced interpretation of specific joint uses, stress, and deterioration. In archaeological assemblages, the demographic representation of RCD is notably different than modern populations with the pathological condition being observed among younger age cohorts, due to the continuous stress placed on joints during daily labor (Waldron, 2009).

4.5.3 Vertebral pathological conditions

Intervertebral disc disease is diagnosed by the gradual deterioration of vertebral centra, compressing regions of the vertebral column irreversibly. Stress to the spine, whether through repetitive activity or the normal daily strain associated with bipedal locomotion, initially irritates and inflames the outer portion of the vertebral disc, the annulus pulposus (Stimpson, 1992; Waldron, 2009). Over time, severe inflammation of these vertebral discs results in macroporosity of the centra and bony growth (marginal osteophytes) along the central rims. This process eventuates in a melted candle

appearance of the vertebral bodies, whose mobility is permanently reduced. Neurological and vascular symptoms may also accompany IVD if new bony projections impinge on the nerves and blood vessels passing through transverse foramina or the changed curvature of the spine infringe on the neural canal (Waldron, 2009). In a study of spinal diseases among individuals from Postmedieval London (Christ Church Spitalfields),

Waldron (1991) observed a significantly higher percentage of IVD in cervical and lumbar vertebrae. When compared between sexes, no significant variation was observed, suggesting a lack of physical strain on the upper and lower spine of this sample. The skeletons from Christ Church Spitalfields crypt represents a higher socioeconomic group, which may account for the lack of spinal degeneration (Derevenski, 2000; Waldron,

1991).

4.6 Summary

Bioarchaeological analyses of past populations demonstrate how the skeleton may

be “read” and interpreted as evidence of human behavior. Teeth and bone encapsulate in

their morphological and biochemical structures childhood and recent lifetime occurrences

of compromised health and physiological stress. Comprehensive research into the

etiology and pathogenesis of skeletal and dental conditions has enabled the application of

such pathological conditions to questions in human history. In this chapter,

bioarchaeological literature in the last forty years was consulted and a review presented

in defense of applying skeletal and dental conditions and pathological lesions as proxies

for violence (antemortem and perimortem trauma), childhood stress (LEH), diet (carious

lesions, calculus, AMTL, and abscesses), non-specific and specific infection (PNB and

PD), and physical activity (OA, IVD, and RCD).

Chapter 5. Stable Isotope Biochemistry and its Application in Bioarchaeology

5.1 Introduction

Soon after the incorporation of stable isotope methods and theory into archaeological research of the 1970s (Vogel and van der Merwe 1977; van der Merwe,

1978), bioarchaeological research adopted these biochemical approaches into their suite of analyses (DeNiro, 1987; DeNiro and Schoeninger, 1984; Katzenberg, 1989;

Schoeninger et al., 1990; Walker and DeNiro, 1986; White and Schwarcz, 1989). For bioarchaeologists, stable isotope data provide additional evidence to investigate dietary reconstructions and nutritional deficiencies and, subsequently, social and cultural contexts contributing to dietary variability in past populations (e.g., life history events like weaning practices) (Larsen et al., 1992; Schurr, 1992; Wright and Schwarcz, 1998).

Dietary reconstructions are based on the fact that the carbon and nitrogen isotopic ratios of plant and animal species within similar geographical and climatic contexts are relatively invariable (for exceptions, see Anderson and Fourquean, 2003; Tieszen, 1991)

and therefore can be distinguished within the tissues of the animals who consume them.

Stable carbon isotope ratios indicate what vegetation consumers ate, either directly or

indirectly through the herbivores they consumed. By knowing the plant types associated

with a consumer’s diet, researchers are enlightened also to the ecological landscape in

which the consumer lived (Ambrose and Norr, 1993; Kohn and Cerling, 2002; Tykot,

2004). Stable nitrogen isotope ratios, arguable proxies for dietary animal protein, provide

information about an animal’s trophic level and may inform us about the dietary

73 behaviors (herbivory, carnivory, or omnivory) of an organism (Hutchinson et al., 1998;

DeNiro and Schoeninger 1984). Together, these stable isotope ratios offer a better understanding of not only what was consumed but the landscape in which it was consumed.

5.2 Isotopes in biological systems

5.2.1 Isotopes in biochemical contexts

Stable isotopes are naturally occurring variants of elements with different numbers of neutrons but the same number of protons within the nucleus. Consequently, atomic mass differences exist between isotopes of the same element. Such mass differences impact the strength of intermolecular bonds and lead to variation in how isotopes are fractionally incorporated into biological systems, a process called fractionation (Hoefs, 2007). Fractionation describes the increase or decrease in light-to- heavy isotope ratios that occur as molecules undergo physical or chemical changes, whether by evaporation of the ocean leading to relatively lower isotopic ratios of 18O in the surrounding air vapor or by plants chemically transforming carbon dioxide into digestible sugar. When the isotopic ratio of an organism or product is higher than its isotopic source (e.g., what is consumed or inspired), this ratio is considered enriched relative to its source; when the isotopic ratio is lower than the source, it is termed depleted.

Organisms incorporate isotopic sources into their biological systems and tissues through ingestion and respiration. These new sources of isotopes, whether from plants/animals consumed or molecules respired, are utilized by the organism for energetic

74 or structural purposes. Those isotopes which are not assimilated into the organism’s body are excreted or exhaled. Ultimately, in their stable isotopic ratios, an organism’s tissues reflect this balance between intake and expulsion of isotopes (Hedges, 2003). These ratios also vary according to tissue and isotope, and both variables should be considered and well-understood when interpreting stable isotopic ratios.

5.2.2 Stable carbon isotopes in mineralized and soft tissues

Although stable carbon isotopes are incorporated into all biological tissues and organs, diagenetic conditions influence which tissues preserve in the archaeological record. Connective, epithelial, nervous, and muscle tissues, for example, can survive for centuries and millennia past an organism’s death by natural or anthropogenic mummification processes (White, 1993). However, the majority of remains unearthed in archaeological contexts are fully skeletonized and maintain only a fraction of the organic matter possessed during life. For this reason, stable isotope studies have focused on the bones and teeth of human and faunal remains for past dietary and physiological reconstructions. Stable carbon isotopes compose both the mineral and organic components of bone and teeth, so it is crucial to understand the chemical and physical variability in these components and as well as how isotopes substitute into these molecules.

Calcium hydroxyapatite (Ca5(PO4)3OH) is a complex molecule which forms the hexagonal crystalline structures that comprise up to 70% of living bone and 96% of tooth enamel tissue (Mescher, 2013). While the phosphate backbone of hydroxyapatite is chemically inert, the functional hydroxyl group (-OH) engages in substitution reactions with trace elements (e.g., strontium, barium) and ion replacements (e.g., carbonate,

75 fluoride) (Kohn and Cerling, 2002). Through these substitutions, stable carbon isotopes, via carbonate or carbonate derivatives, are incorporated into bone and dental mineral

- through biological processes. Carbonate and derivatives (CO2 and HCO2 ) substituted into apatite structures are the byproducts of energy metabolism which are dissolved into and accessed from the body’s blood system. Because bone mineral assimilates isotopes from all manner of macromolecule—carbohydrates, fats, and proteins—the isotopic ratios captured in the hydroxyapatite structure reflect the organism’s complete, accumulated dietary components (Ambrose and Norr, 1993; Hedges, 2003).

The second reservoir for isotope incorporation into the skeleton is the organic component of bones (collagen) and teeth (dentin). In living bone, collagen accounts for

22% of the bone by weight, but this percent reduces through diagenetic processes attributable to fossilization (van Klinken, 1999). For dentin, the partially mineralized layer beneath tooth enamel, the organic matrix comprises 20% of the weight in structure, which is less subject to diagenetic changes (Goldberg et al., 2011). Unlike hydroxyapatite, collagen and the organic component of dentin are assembled from amino acids (e.g., glycine, proline, and hydroxyproline), the building blocks of proteins

(Schwarcz and Schoeninger, 1991). As most fauna cannot produce the majority of essential amino acids for survival and vital processes, they obtain these simple organic compounds from consuming plant and animal protein. Consequently, collagen isotopic ratios in bone and dentin in teeth reflect the carbon isotopes in these consumed amino acids, which have been incorporated into biological protein structures (Ambrose and

Norr, 1993; Lee-Thorp et la., 1989).

5.2.3 Stable nitrogen isotopes in organic tissue

Within living organisms, nitrogen is a central component of amino acids, and therefore, of proteins. For this reason, ingested nitrogen isotopes only incorporate into the collagen of bone and organic aspect of dentin, making these components the only observable source of stable nitrogen isotopic ratios in osteoarchaeological remains

(Richards and Hedges, 2007). Consequently, stable nitrogen isotope ratios from preserved collagen and dentin largely reflect the accumulation of nitrogen isotopes from dietary intake over the period of the bone or tooth’s development (DeNiro and Epstein,

1981; Sealy et al., 1987; Schoeninger et al., 1983).

5.2.4 Variability in isotopic fractionation and diagenesis between organic tissues

Although bone and teeth incorporate isotopes into their structures, the rate at which isotopes are incorporated and the amount of isotopes incorporated vary between hydroxyapatite, collagen, and dentin. These differences arise from the unique chemical components and arrangements of these biomolecules. Consequently, dietary carbon and nitrogen do not translate into equal stable isotopic ratios within these biological sources, namely, bioapatite, collagen, and dentin do not express the same carbon or nitrogen isotopic “signatures.” For example, the carbon isotope enrichments between plant tissue and herbivore tooth enamel and bone apatite, despite their carbonate structures, are approximately +14‰ and +12‰ (Ambrose and Norr, 1993; Kohn and Cerling, 2002).

For collagen, the enrichment of carbon isotopes from diet to collagen in a herbivore is

+5‰ (Krueger and Sullivan, 1984). Fractionation of isotopes, measured in the enrichment or depletion of stable carbon or nitrogen isotopes between living organisms varies between stable isotopes (e.g., carbon and nitrogen are differentially incorporated

77 into an organism) and within stable isotopes (as demonstrated by carbon isotope ratio variability in tissue types), and these differences must be considered when comparing isotope values across elements and analyzing isotope ratios in light of dietary contributions.

Chemical and structural differences in tissues also lead to variable issues in diagenesis. In general, the taphonomic environment in which skeletal and dental remains decay and/or are buried can be a laboratory, so to speak, for postmortem isotopic fractionation and contamination. Despite its rigid crystalline structure, bone hydroxyapatite undergoes constant isotopic exchange within the burial environment as climatic changes and bacteria cause the matrix to de- and recrystallize. Mineral ions from the soil may be integrated subsequently into the hydroxyapatite matrix, altering the original isotopic ratios of bone at time of death (Hedges, 2002; Nelson et al., 1986; Price et al., 1992). While hydroxyapatite in bone is highly susceptible to diagenesis, the hydroxyapatite comprising tooth enamel is significantly more resilient to diagenetic factors. Unlike the hydroxyapatite matrix in bone, which develops for flexibility and plasticity as well as strength, tooth enamel is an extremely compacted hydroxyapatite matrix with little porosity, reducing the amount and frequency of ionic exchange between soil and substrate (Kohn and Cerling, 2002; Wang and Cerling, 1994). An important consideration for examining and analyzing stable isotopes in hydroxyapatite sources is recognizing diagenetically altered samples. Studies on isotopic ratios in modern and archaeological fauna have demonstrated that the most porous bioapatite matrices (e.g., trabecular bone) are subjected to the greatest diagenetic alterations, resulting in inaccurate, unusable isotopic ratios (Ayliffe et al. 1994; Sealy et al., 1991).

Unlike hydroxyapatite, collagen is less susceptible to diagenetic changes that alter

stable isotopic ratios. Collagen exists within the mineral matrix of bone, and dentin

beneath enamel, so there is, in theory, a physical barrier between collagen and the

taphonomic environment (DeNiro, 1985; Hedges et al., 1995). Bonds within collagen are

not being constantly dissolved and remade as in the demineralization and

remineralization of hydroxyapatite. For this reason, the major issue in isotope analyses of

collagen is the preservation of the protein. Although collagen comprises up to 22% of

bone, by the time of excavation, under the best diagenetic conditions, less of the original

collagen will have preserved (van Klinken, 1999). However, many archaeological bone

samples will retain as little as 1% of collagen by weight. In these situations, when

collagen yield falls below 2%, the isotopic ratios are considered unreflective of the

original collagen ratio (Bada et al., 1989; Schwarcz and Schoeninger, 1991). Another

measure for collagen quality is the percent carbon (%C) to percent nitrogen (%N) ratio.

The mass ratio of carbon to nitrogen in amino acids, and consequently the larger collagen

protein structure, is 3.1 (Schwarcz and Schoeninger, 1991). Therefore, any C:N in

archaeological collagen with the range of 2.8 to 3.6 is considered well-preserved and relatively diagenetically unaltered. Further information about diagenesis and diagenetic standards are presented in Section 5.5.

5.3 Biochemistry of stable carbon isotopic ratios

5.3.1 Background

Although 12C is the most ubiquitous, 13C is the second most abundant of carbon

isotopes, accounting for just over 1% of Earth’s carbon (Faure and Mensing, 2005). The

additional neutron to the carbon nucleus increases the atom’s mass by 1.003355 amu

(8.4% increase from stable carbon-12’s 12.000000 amu). Since carbon has a relatively low atomic mass, relative to the 112 higher mass elements on the periodic table, in nature, ratios between 13C and 12C are significantly pronounced. This mass difference

between 13C and 12C also leads to selection for specific isotopes within environmental

and biological systems. While carbon isotopes, and consequent ratios, are not subject to

climatic vagaries, biological organisms discriminate between 13C and 12C during

respiration and photosynthetic processes (Ambrose and Norr, 1993; Koch, 1998; van der

Merwe, 1982). Stable carbon isotope values (δ13C) in organismal tissue are recorded in

parts per million (ppm or ‰) as the ratio of 13C to 12C relative to a universal standard, for

13C Vienna Pee Dee Belemnite (VPDB) (Equation 5.1).

13 Equation 5.1 δ C= [(Rsample-Rstandard)/Rstandard] x 1000‰ 13 12 whereby, Rsample=( C/ C)sample 13 12 Rstandard=( C/ C)standard

5.3.2 Carbon isotope ratios and fractionation in terrestrial systems

For terrestrial ecosystems, plants take in and fix carbon from CO2 in the

atmosphere. The δ13C of the modern atmosphere, relative to PDB, is -8‰ (Keeling et al.,

2005), and it is this carbon that plants preferentially incorporate into their glucose/energy

stores. Three plant types—C3 (e.g., leafy vegetables, most fruits, wheat, barley, rice), C4

(e.g., maize, millet), and CAM (e.g., succulents)—have different photosynthetic

pathways, based on structural adaptations, which allow plants to maximize energy

storage under specific environmental contexts (Fogel and Cifuentes 1993; O’Leary

1988). C3 plants fix carbon from the atmosphere and transform them into a three carbon

molecule through the Calvin-Benson cycle; in this cycle, the enzyme rubisco attaches

CO2 to 5-carbon RuBP and this these molecules are subsequently reduced and

regenerated. However, it is this cycle of reduction and regeneration that enables C3 plants

selection for lighter carbon-12 isotopes. By contrast, C4 plants do not fix carbon dioxide

directly in their mesophyll cell in the Calvin-Benson cycle. Instead, in the mesophyll

cells, carbon from the atmosphere is incorporated into a 3-carbon PEP

(phosphoenolpyruvate) molecule by PEP carboxylase to make a 4-carbon molecule; it is this molecule that passes from the outer mesophyll cells into the inner bundle-sheath cells where it is subsequently reduced by the Calvin cycle. This Hatch-Slack process of dual cycles fixes atmospheric carbon into an intermediate molecule before the Calvin cycle, which minimizes discrimination for lighter carbon isotopes. Generally, 12C and 13C are

incorporated equally as sugars into the C4 plant (Cerling and Harris, 1999; Hoefs, 2007).

CAM (Crassulacean acid metabolism) plants employ the same Slack-Hatch process as C4

plants, but the cycles are divided temporally rather than compartmentally, between

mesophyll and bundle-sheath cells. The majority of CAM plants are succulents or grow

in arid environments, so they close their stomata during the day to prevent water loss.

During the night hours, the stomata open, and carbon dioxide enters the mesophyll cells,

where it is fixed and incorporated into a four-carbon molecule. These molecules are reduced into sugars during the daytime, when the plant utilizes its Calvin-Benson cycle

(Osmond et al., 1973). Due to these structural and biological differences between the

12 13 three plant types, C3 plants have a higher proportion of C to C within their structural

framework than C4 and CAM plants. This difference records as more depleted (negative)

13 δ C values for C3 (-34‰ to -24‰) than C4 (-23‰ to -6‰) and CAM (-33‰ to -11‰) plants (Faure and Mensing, 2005: 755).

When animals consume plants, they transform, distribute/incorporate, and expel carbon isotopes through variable biological processes. These biological processes are also selective and lead to biochemical fractionation between the diet and consumer (Cerling and Harris, 1999; DeNiro and Schoeninger, 1984; Hedges, 2003). Such differences, however, are nominally consistent across mammalian species. Therefore, significant discrepancies in δ13C values rarely occur between animals consuming the same isotopically-balanced diet, as fractionation is similar between biological processes

(Ambrose and Norr, 1993; Katzenberg, 2008; Koch et al., 1997). Isotope enrichment, however, varies between organisms at different trophic levels and organisms consuming variable diets, i.e., omnivores (Figure 5.1). Herbivorous species incorporate and accumulate plant carbon protein into their tissue, resulting in an enriched carbon isotope ratio, approximately 5‰ (DeNiro and Epstein, 1978). Primary carnivores subsequently consume herbivores, leading to further carbon isotopic enrichment from the original plant, 2-4‰, while secondary carnivores display even greater enrichment (3-5‰)

(Bocherens and Drucker, 2002; DeNiro and Epstein, 1978; Hobson and Welch, 1992).

Omnivores present a more challenging carbon isotopic ratio to dissect, as their diets are a reflection of both herbivorous and carnivorous organisms, oftentimes ranging from 2-5‰

(Lee-Thorp et al., 1989).

Figure 5.1 Schematic representation of δ13C and δ15N values from bone collagen of terrestrial herbivores (N=19), terrestrial carnivores (N=6), mollusk-eating (1o) marine birds (N=5), marine fish (N=10), mollusk-eating (1o) marine mammals, marine fish- eating (2o) marine birds (N=4), and marine fish-eating (2o) marine mammals (N=25) (based on data from Schoeninger and DeNiro, 1983).

In practice, this theory has been used successfully to reconstruct general dietary information for archaeological faunal and human populations (Balasse et al. 1999;

Cerling et al. 1997; Kellner and Schoeninger, 2007). Bioarchaeologists have used carbon isotopic ratios to show dietary decisions in pre-Neolithic to industrial populations

(Katzenberg, 2008; Pearson et al., 2015; Reitsema and Vercellotti, 2012; Vigeant et al,

2017). Carbon isotope ratios between C3 and C4 plants represent discrete ranges, so

83 regional adoption and eventual intensification of C4 cultigens, like maize and millet, over wheat or wild plants are transitions for which isotopic data have provided direct evidence

(Lightfoot et al. 2013; Larsen et al., 1992). Regional transitions by Native American communities to maize subsistence diets, originally argued through changes in prevalence of dental and skeletal lesions, have been confirmed in many sites throughout North

America (Hard et al., 1996; Larsen et al., 2002). In Asia, carbon isotope ratios similarly have been used to observe agricultural decisions in the landscape, such as millet and rice cultivation (Barton et al., 2009; Hu et al., 2006, 2008; Pechenkina et al., 2002).

5.3.3 Carbon isotope ratios and fractionation in aquatic systems

Due to ecological differences, aquatic and terrestrial plants vary in their sources of carbon, and consequently, carbon isotope ratios. In addition to atmospheric carbon

(CO2), aquatic plants may obtain carbon from CO2 dissolved in water, carbonates and bicarbonates in the soil, and any dissolved plant or animal waste (Jardine et al., 2003;

Zohary et al., 1994). The amount and types of dissolved carbon also changes within water sources, especially expansive and moving sources like oceans, seas, and rivers.

Therefore, these different ecosystems within or between single bodies of water provide a unique “menu” of possible carbon sources for plants. For this reason, there is more variation in isotopic ratios of aquatic plants, despite the majority of aquatic plants having

C3 photosynthetic pathways (Boutton, 1991). Some aquatic plant species, like phytoplankton, even biologically select against heavier isotopes, leading to more depleted values (Katzenberg and Weber, 1999).

These carbon isotopic ratios are further complicated within primary consumer and higher level trophic marine, riverine, or littoral faunal species. Not only do fish and other

84 aquatic organisms vary their diets, but many migrate annually to spawn or at specific life stages to different aquatic ecosystems. Anadromous fish live in salt water, for example, but move to fresh water to lay their eggs. These fish consequently will have a mixed carbon isotopic signature of fresh and salt water sources. Secondary consumers of the planktivorous and herbivorous organisms will subsequently incorporate into their bodies the complicated isotopic ratios of the primary consumers. Although ranges for carbon isotopic ratios are more variable for aquatic than terrestrial species, trends do emerge among fish and marine mammals. Pellagic, omnivorous fish demonstrate more depleted carbon isotope ratios (-26 to -24‰) relative to littoral fish species (-15 to -11‰)

(Katzenberg and Weber, 1999). Marine mammals and fish in upper trophic levels exhibit carbon isotope ratios similar to pelagic fish, relatively depleted to smaller, freshwater species.

Stable carbon isotope ratios are generally interpreted in tandem with stable nitrogen ratios when considering aquatic dietary sources in past human populations. As aquatic environments tend to have longer trophic systems, carbon isotope ratios become more enriched and pronounced among marine organisms. Nitrogen isotopes, which experience a 3-5 ppm enrichment per trophic level, are even more dramatically enriched than in terrestrial isotopic systems. Together, these ratios can discriminate between aquatic and terrestrial protein sources and provide information about the trophic level and geoaquatic (littoral or pelagic) distribution of the organism.

5.3.4 Non-dietary factors affecting stable carbon isotopic ratios

Stable carbon isotope ratio variations primarily reflect climatic, canopy, or pollution effects on primary producers, effects which, in turn, transfer into the isotope

85 ratios of the consumers who eat these plants. Aridity and soil water availability have been shown to not only influence what plants may grow in a certain environment, but also δ13C values (Tieszen, 1991). Early research into seasonal variations—including temperature and precipitation changes—in environments has shown that annual climatic fluctuations

13 can produce 5‰ differences in δ C for C3 plants (Lowdon and Dyck, 1974). Subsequent

13 work on C3 and C4 plants has indicated that both plant types experience δ C changes due to aridity, but carbon isotope discrimination in C3 plants is more climatically determined than in C4 plants (Cerling, 1999). This isotopic discrimination is apparent in the wide

13 range of δ C values observed in C3 plants, from -35‰ to -20‰ (arid climates). By

13 contrast, the range in δ C values of C4 plants is more limited to -14‰ to -10‰ (Cerling,

1999; Wang et al., 2005). Buchmann and colleages (1996) subjected several C4 plant species to extreme light and water stress, and while their results demonstrated variation in carbon isotope discrimination, extreme conditions never caused δ13C fluctuations exceeding 2‰.

In rainforest environments, canopy effects may also lead to significant differences

13 in δ C between C3 plant species. The thick covering of canopy leaves has the potential to create different microenvironments between the canopy and rainforest floor, which affects how the carbon isotopes are taken up into a plant species and incorporated into the structure. Plants closer to the rainforest floor exhibit lower δ13C values. While van der

Merwe and Medina (1991) proposed that the depletion in 13C isotopes below the canopy was the result of recycling depleted carbon from decomposed organic material on the forest floor, Farquhar and colleagues (1982) suggested that depleted δ13C values reflected limited exposure to sunlight (Bonafini et al., 2013). Although the cause of this depletion

remains unsettled, the effects of this depletion are apparent and translate into the

herbivores which eat these rainforest plants (Drucker et al., 2008; Farquhar et al., 1989).

A final variable for carbon isotope consideration are air and soil pollution. Since

13 the industrial revolution, the δ C for atmospheric CO2 has decreased by 1.8‰. Burning

of fossil fuels has released more 12C into the atmosphere, so post-industrial plants, and

the animals which consume them, are more depleted in heavier 13C isotopes than they

would have been before the intensification of fossil fuel use (Keeling et al., 1979; Suess,

1955). This shift (Suess effect) must be accounted for with post-industrial archaeological and modern samples (Taylor, 1999).

5.4 Biochemistry of stable nitrogen isotopic ratios

5.4.1 Background

Although nitrogen is an essential component of protein in biological materials, the

majority of Earth’s nitrogen exists is a diatomic gas in the atmosphere, N2. The two

nitrogen isotopes occurring in nature are 14N and 15N with an overall abundance of 99.6%

and 0.4%, respectively (Hoefs, 2007). 15N has an atomic mass of 15.0001, relative to the

more commonly occurring 14N (14.0031 amu). As with carbon isotopes, mass differences

between nitrogen isotopes are observable, and thus isotopic changes are recorded as

15 14 ratios, namely N/ N, relative to an atmospheric N2 standard (Equation 5.2). Stable

nitrogen ratios reflect dietary protein contributions, whether plant and/or animal sources,

so these ratios reflect different trophic levels in the foodweb. Stable nitrogen ratios

become more enriched from producers (plants) to primary consumers (herbivores) and

from primary to secondary consumers (carnivores) (Ambrose, 1991; DeNiro and Epstein,

1981).

15 Equation 5.2 δ N= [(Rsample-Rstandard)/Rstandard] x 1000‰ 15 14 whereby, Rsample=( N/ N)sample 15 14 Rstandard=( N/ N)standard

5.4.2 Nitrogen isotope ratios and fractionation in terrestrial systems

Nitrogen isotopes are incorporated into biological organisms either through

fixation or consumption. In plants, fixation involves the energy-consuming process of transforming N2 into usable ammonium. Ultimately, this process results in plant proteins with nitrogen ratios close to the N2 standard (AIR), 0‰, with a -3 to +6‰ range (Hoefs,

2007; Schwarcz and Schoeninger, 2011). Relative to atmospheric nitrogen, isotopic

ranges for most terrestrial plants fall within 2‰ to 6‰. Leguminous plants, however,

tend to have nitrogen isotopic ranges equal to the atmospheric standard or relatively

depleted, -5‰ to 0‰ (Schwarcz and Schoeninger, 2011).

Nitrogen isotope ratios become more enriched from lower to higher trophic level

species. Herbivores exhibit a 3-5‰ nitrogen isotope ratio enrichment, and subsequent

trophic levels are typically enriched 2-3‰ and sometimes as much as 6‰ (Schoeninger

and DeNiro, 1984; Hedges and Reynard, 2007). This higher enrichment, relative to

carbon isotopes, has been explained in terms of nitrogen input (diet) and output (urea).

Urea is made when nitrogenous molecules are oxidized, a process which yields a more

depleted 15N product; lighter 14N contribute foremost to urea, which is expelled from the

body as urine or feces (Schwarcz and Schoeninger, 2011). Consequently, an organism’s

nitrogen isotope ratio is enriched relative to the ratio of the consumed organism.

Nuances to the trophic system emerge when considering the nitrogen isotope ratios of organisms after birth. While in utero, and in the early months or years of life, mammalian fetuses and offspring rely on their mothers for nutritional sustenance. After birth, while the newborn is nursing, the infant is a trophic level above its mother, as the former theoretically is consuming the latter (Fogel et al., 1989; Herring et al., 1998). This enrichment begins to decline as other foods are introduced into the offspring’s diet.

Eventually, after the individual is completely weaned, the nitrogen isotope ratio falls within the range of the population, rather than a trophic level above the rest of the population (Schurr, 1998).

5.4.3 Nitrogen isotope ratios and fractionation in aquatic systems

As demonstrated with carbon isotopes, aquatic and terrestrial systems have unique trophic networks that generally produce aquatic and terrestrial nitrogen isotope signatures. More sources of nitrogen isotopes are available for primary producers in aquatic than terrestrial environments. In addition to dissolved nitrogen gas, aquatic plants may absorb nitrogen from nitrates and nitrogenous molecules in the soil and dissolved organic particulars (e.g., terrestrial and marine refuse) (Hoefs, 2007). Due to the heterogeneity of aquatic systems, isotopic ratios of these nitrates vary. First, sources of nitrogen in bodies of water are influenced by terrestrial nitrogen inputs, namely waste products, such as natural and anthropogenic fertilizers. Littoral water ecosystems may have organic runoff from the shore, which inherently affects what nitrogen isotopes are available to aquatic plants. Additionally, the amount of oxygen in the water determines the extent of denitrification. Anoxic regions of the ocean, for example, provide ideal conditions for denitrifying microbes to reduce nitrates into nitrogen, a process which

results in more enriched δ15N, up to 18‰ in some tropical regions (Hoefs, 2007). In

photic zones, waters are often enriched due to the preferable selection of 14N by

phytoplankton.

Consequently, aquatic plants taking nitrogen into their biological systems will

have enriched δ15N values relative to terrestrial plants with identical photosynthetic pathways (France, 1994). All aquatic consumers, by association, generally express higher nitrogen isotope ratios than most terrestrial organisms. Omnivorous and planktivorous fish will oftentimes yield higher δ15N values than terrestrial tertiary carnivores (Schwarcz

and Schoeninger, 2011; Schoeninger and DeNiro, 1983). Marine ecosystems demonstrate

the highest nitrogen isotope ratios, due the long trophic system, which includes producers

from plankton to carnivorous whales and seals. Nitrogen isotope ratios for marine species

are so demonstrably enriched relative to terrestrial species, and for this reason, nitrogen

isotopes are employed frequently in bioarchaeological studies to examine diachronic

changes in diet, trade, and cultural interactions (Schoeninger et al., 1983).

5.4.4 Non-dietary factors affecting stable nitrogen isotopic ratios

Although dietary intake contributes significantly to nitrogen isotope ratios in

consumer organisms, these ratios may vary within species and populations due to

geographic/climatic, anthropogenic (land use), and physiological factors. Geographic and

climatic variability in terrestrial settings has a direct effect on the floral isotopic

landscape and more indirectly on the faunal isotopic landscape. In arid or coastal regions,

soil, and consequently plants, are more enriched 15N. High salinity and low pH in soils

also result in more elevated δ15N (Ambrose, 1991; Sealy et al., 1987). Aridity, salinity,

pH, and temperature impact how denitrifying bacteria, associated with the roots of plants,

reduce soil nitrates to diatomic nitrogen, and this chemical process determines the

baseline nitrogen isotopic substrate for a local ecosystem (Handley and Raven, 1992).

Within the San Francisco Bay estuary, Cloern and colleagues (2002) observed differences

in δ15N, whereby saltmarsh and submerged vascular plants exhibited significantly

elevated δ15N values relative to nearby freshwater and terrestrial plants. As with exposure to saline waters, changes in climate may lead to seasonal isotopic variability within soils; in a study of Scottish soil samples, researchers noted a 100% increase (1.9‰ to 3.8‰) in

δ15N from April to the more arid August (Handley et al., 1997). Isotopic differences

between C3 plants exposed to variable saline environments demonstrate how climate and

coastal positioning have measurable effects on the regional isotopic landscape (Britton et

al., 2008; France, 1994; van Groenigen and van Kessel, 2002).

Other factors influencing nitrogen isotope ratios in terrestrial soils are

anthropogenic sources of enriched nitrogen, i.e., land use intensity. Two common aspects

to past and present agricultural practices are land clearing/tillage and soil enrichment.

Among the ways of clearing forestland or brush for crop cultivation, and simultaneously increasing nitrogen enrichment, is burning. Burning of the plants and surface soil layers, relatively depleted in 15N to the lower soil layers, leaves a soil substrate more enriched in

15N. Plants that subsequently grow in this “new” soil also exhibit more enriched δ15N

values than plants in unburned soils (Grogan et al., 2000). Further enrichment of plants in

heavier 15N isotopes also occurs once crops are planted. Prior to synthetic fertilizers,

animal manure was used to supplement the soils with rich organic nitrates. Since the

nitrate compounds from animal (herbivore) excreta are more 15N-enriched than the

consumed plants, the addition of these wastes to crop soils leads to more enriched δ15N in

these plants. Additionally, the animals that produce these manure wastes may also

consume the crops with enriched nitrogen isotope ratios, and, as a result, herbivore

nitrogen isotope ratios may resemble more those nitrogen ratios of primary carnivores

(Bogaard et al., 2007; Fraser et al., 2011; Kanstrup et al., 2011). In is important to

recognize these manuring practices, as the anthropogenically “inflated” (enriched) δ15N

values for plants and herbivores may alter the interpretations of omnivorous, human diets.

For example, consumption of herbivorous animals, whose tissues are artificially enriched

in 15N (e.g., over 10‰), may be interpreted as the consumption of higher level trophic

animals from observed δ15N values (Bogaard et al., 2013; Kanstrup et al., 2014).

Nitrogen isotope ratios may also change within an organism during periods of

nutritional and physiological stress, irrespective of dietary contributions. As

aforementioned, mammalian fetuses obtain vital nutrients by consuming their mothers’

tissues during pregnancy. Infants’ tissues are subsequently a trophic level above their mothers in isotope ratios (Fuller et al., 2005), although, during pregnancy, mothers’ δ15N

values do not vary from pre-pregnancy δ15N values. Only when mothers are nutritionally-

stressed during pregnancy, oftentimes associated with morning sickness, do maternal

δ15N values become comparatively and significantly enriched (Fuller et al., 2004, 2005).

Deviations from normal nitrogen isotope ratios may also arise through direct

nutritional stress, as in situations of famine and starvation, or stress from disease and

infection. Research in modern human samples has reflected an increase in nitrogen

isotope ratios during periods of nutritional stress (Mekota et al., 2009). When a body

experiences periods of starvation, it will cannibalize its tissues for daily energy needs.

These tissues are already enriched relative to the individual’s diet. As the body consumes

these enriched tissues, it excretes lighter nitrogen isotopes. All these components lead to

isotopically enriched δ15N values in organisms experiencing severe nutritional stress.

While disease and infection may lead to nutritional stress or rerouting of body resources

(e.g., molecules), localized pathological conditions can cause offsets in nitrogen isotope

ratios within the same element or organ. For example, Katzenberg and Lovell (1999)

observed differences in δ15N of up to 1.9 ‰ between normal and pathological regions of

a single bone; the sample taken from the region with osteomyelitic reactions was

enriched relative to the unaffected region on the same bone. Authors suggested that the

pathological region had more enriched nitrogen ratios, as the reactive bone was only

recently remodeled with nitrogen taken from the rest of the body, and tissues that are

under similar stress and δ15N enrichment (Hobson et al., 1993).

5.5 Diagenesis

Although collagen is interspersed within bone, providing bone its flexibility, this

does not wholly protect collagen from diagenetic variables in the burial environment.

Collagen quantity and quality varies between sites based on numerous climatic and

ecological conditions (Dobberstein et al., 2009; Pestle and Colvard, 2012; Salesse et al.,

2014). Amidst the soil, bacterial microbes may infiltrate the skeletal matrix and dissolve

the available protein (Grupe et al., 1989). With regard to the soil matrix, the overall

acidity contributes to collagen diagenesis: the biochemical structure of type I collagen,

the primary component of bone collagen, is a tri-helical interweaving of three amino acid chains, which is subject to degradation (hydrolysis) under acidic conditions (Harbeck and

Grupe, 2009; von Endt and Ortner, 1984). Another portion of the organic component of

93 bone includes the non-collagenous proteins (NCP), and while NCP are not immune to diagenesis, the affinity/interaction between hydroxyapatite and NCP is thought to preferentially preserve NCP relative to collagenous amino acids (Masters, 1987).

Nevertheless, as NCP have proportionately more mass than collagen proteins (e.g., glycine), collagen quality can be confirmed through C:N, ranges between 2.9 and 3.6

(DeNiro, 1985; Masters, 1987). 13C-depleted lipid components of bone may also be retained through diagenesis and collagen extraction steps, leading to deceptively low δ13C values (Vogel, 1978). To ensure maximal removal of lipids and humic contaminants from the burial environment (e.g., fungi), sodium hydroxide soaks are standard practice in collagen extraction protocols (Ambrose, 1990).

Despite the many circumstances and conditions for diagenetic alterations to bone collagen, it is nonetheless possible to evaluate the quality of the collagen isomorph extracted from archaeological bone. Seminal research examining modern (diagenetically unaltered) and archaeological skeletal samples have established criteria, based on biomolecular expectations and experimental results. These standards, including four collagen quality variables, are presented in Table 5.1 (Ambrose, 1990; DeNiro, 1985;

Schwarcz and Schoeninger, 1991; Schoeninger and Moore, 1992; van Klinken, 1999).

Table 5.1 Collagen diagenesis criteria

Collagen Quality Variable Acceptable Range Percent Collagen (%collagen) 1.8-28.3% Percent Carbon (%C) 13-47% Percent Nitrogen (%N) 5.5-17.3% Carbon-Nitrogen Ratio (C:N) 2.9-3.6

5.6 Summary

In this chapter, I provided a theoretical background for carbon and nitrogen

isotope biochemistry and subsequently described how their ratios have been employed in past archaeological studies to address questions in diet and physiology. Then, I addressed non-dietary factors that influence isotopic ratios. Finally, I ended this chapter with a review of diagenesis and quality control standards for collagen.

Chapter 6. Oymaağaç, Nerik: A Microcosm for Romanization?

6.1 Introduction

In this chapter, the community of Roman period Oymaağaç is introduced first in a historical then in an archaeological context. Summaries of the excavation at Oymaağaç

Höyük and Roman period burials are presented herein. This overview of Oymaağaç in the

Roman landscape addresses the cultural identity of this rural populace and considers the meaning and belonging of this indigenous identity within the Roman Empire.

6.2 Oymaağaç in pre- and post-Roman history

In the Hittite period (1700-1200 BC), regional power in the Phazemon Valley

(Phazemontis) was centralized around Oymaağaç Höyük, at that time the cult site for the weather god, Nerik (Czichon and Klinger, 2006). Eventually, the site was abandoned, and the Phazemontis divided into autonomous rural villages. Following Pompey’s militaristic campaign of northern Anatolia in the first century, these rural populaces were reunited politically under a new regional power, Neapolis (later renamed Neoklaudiopolis), eight kilometers south of Oymaağaç (Bekker-Nielsen 2006b, 2010, 2013; Erciyas, 2006)

(Figure 6.1). Neoklaudiopolis was strategically stationed between major port cities on the

Black Sea, Sinope and Amisus, and along the Pontic Road, which connected the Roman western and Middle Eastern markets (Anderson, 1900; Munro, 1901). The location of this city ensured economic prosperity to support Roman architectural programs: a water

pipeline, bathhouse, sebastion (temple for local ruler), temples to divinities, gymnasium,

and theatre (Bekker-Nielsen, 2013).

Figure 6.1 The site of Oymaağaç-Nerik within the Black Sea Region, as depicted at the largest geographical expanse of the Roman Empire (inset).

Although Neoklaudiopolis developed into an urban center in Roman Pontus, the

rural settlement at Oymaağaç seemed to recede in prosperity during the Roman periods when regional authority was recentralized around its southern neighbor (Bekker-Nielsen,

2013). Hnila (2014, 2015) discussed this economic decline in terms of the overall dearth in grave goods, relative to contemporary Roman cemeteries throughout Asia Minor and the empire (Goldman, 2001; Prowse, 2012). Although a few graves have been disturbed by modern tractor ploughs, the lack of grave artifacts is not associated with either ancient or modern looting events. Relative to other cemeteries in the Black Sea region, these graves are lacking in burial accoutrement and are therefore associated with a lower socioeconomic population (Hnila, 2014).

There is no evidence to suggest that economic conditions at Oymaağaç improved from Roman to Byzantine (Late Roman) periods, according to the cemetery landscape which dwindles even more so in the 8th to 10th centuries (Hnila, 2017).

6.3 Archaeological excavations

The purview of the Oymaağaç-Nerik Archäologisches Forschungsprojekt is to identify and understand the rise and fall of the religious Hittite site of Nerik, the putative cult center to the eponymous weather god (Czichon and Klinger, 2006). After two years of survey in 2005 and 2006, excavations of the höyük (hill) at Oymaağaç began in 2006.

Excavations are ongoing still during July to September field seasons. Thus far, foundations of a Bronze Age temple and 53 Roman and Byzantine period graves have been excavated, in addition to the recovery of numerous cuneiform tablets, tools (stone, metal, or bone material), ceramics vessels, and ornaments of adornment (Czichon et al.,

2017). While the modern village overlies the ancient settlements of Oymaağaç, vestiges of the Greek and Roman periods are peppered throughout the surrounding villages as spolia, incorporated into modern architecture (Bekker-Nielsen, 2013a) (Figure 6.2).

These depictions, albeit fragmentary, are amassing gradually a corpus of comparanda for filling in this sociohistorical lacuna in Black Sea Region antiquity.

Figure 6.2 Greek Spolia in neighboring village of Akören (photograph by author)

6.4 Constructing identity from the necropolitical context

When determining how Oymaağaç factors into the wider context of Roman expansion and imperial influences, and how Oymaağaç provides an ideal case study for addressing questions of Romanization in the eastern provinces, it is imperative to reconstruct the community in terms of its local identity and cultural baseline.

Understanding the local population as a cultural substrate enables understanding and contextualization of biological changes that occurred within the rural people during the

Roman period. Unfortunately, as the Roman period settlement of Oymaağaç remains buried beneath the modern village, mortuary remains are the only direct, preserved

evidence of culture and projected identity. Nevertheless, as identities are often created

and reaffirmed through deliberate burial decisions, how a community treats and inters its

dead speaks to its local and regional position (Parker Pearson, 1999). For Oymaağaç,

burial practices attest to the rural community’s position in the Phazemon Valley, the

Pontus, Anatolia, and the periphery of the Roman Empire.

The necropolitical landscape at Oymaağaç testifies to the local populace’s

exposure to Roman influence and presence in the Pontic territory. Radiocarbon dating of

skeletons from the cemetery divide the necropolis into Late Imperial (AD 200-400) and

Late Roman (AD 700-900), with the Imperial period being subsequently divided by depositional events into pre-mass and mass grave contexts, with the latter succeeding the

former (Hnila, 2015; Marklein and Fox, 2016) (Figure 6.3). Imperial Roman graves,

represented primarily by 12 cist graves, dominate the landscape. These graves are stone-

lined, and while many were dug around the earlier Hittite complex, several graves were

built into the walls of the ruined temple. Whether this latter practice of inserting graves

into the temple was a pragmatic choice of resource availability, a deliberate choice of

reestablishing ancient connections and identity, or a combination of the two is unknown.

Regardless, the Roman period burials demonstrate the community’s awareness and

utilization of the earlier Hittite space. Other variations on the cist graves include the

presence or absence of plaster-lined walls or stone-lined floors, attestations to possible

local kinship-based variations. Situated amidst the cist graves, pit and stone-lined graves evince further local burial tradition. As with the cist graves, these burial types do not emote Roman influence. Pit, stone-lined, and pit graves were used throughout the Roman

Empire and outside the sphere of influence before, during, and after Roman rule

100

(Graham, 2006; Toynbee, 1971). However, the prominence of tile graves in the Late

Roman (i.e., Byzantine) period suggests assimilation of Roman burial customs by the

Oymaağaç population centuries after tile graves (tegulae) were in vogue (Figure 6.4).

Figure 6.3 Plan of Oymaağaç cemetery according to grave type (Hnila, 2015)

101

Figure 6.4 Tile grave from Byzantine period of Oymaağaç cemetery (photograph by Henning Marquardt)

Despite the transformation in grave structures throughout the centuries, grave orientation

(head in the west and feet in the east) remained consistent throughout the cemetery’s use, diverging little from west-northwest and east-southeast directions. The east-west orientation of the graves reflects a practice observed throughout earlier antiquity and maintained into the later Christian burial tradition. Resting the head of the deceased in the west, facing the east, was ubiquitous geographically and temporally and without definitive religious affiliation (Toynbee, 1971). The vast majority of graves at

Oymaağaç—representing Hellenistic and Roman periods in addition to the early Middle

Ages—are directed east-to-west. Even in mass burials, where individuals were laid out at one time or over the course of generations, the east-west alignment has been upheld.

Regardless of any underlying socioreligious reasons for this orientation, the continuity in

102 burial directionality speaks of a local population burying individuals in parallel relation to one another. This action emits a powerful association between the dead, an association the living made visible through the close proximity and orientation of burials.

At Oymaağaç, the höyük spans over 600 years of burial use. Its topographical placement in the landscape, a defined rise within the valleys of the Isfendiyar mountain range, allowed for visibility of the dead by the living and vice versa. Although the burial ground was clearly demarcated apart from the local community in Roman times, the cemetery, nevertheless, was incorporated into the living sphere, actively utilized until the ninth century AD.

6.5 Roman period graves at Oymaağaç

Although the Roman period graves at Oymaağaç display architectural congruity, the burials and burial patterns within the cemetery indicate differences in death circumstances. The graves have been categorized as either “multigenerational” or “mass” graves, with the former housing individuals from a normal, attritional burial profile and the latter individuals who died under atypical, catastrophic circumstances.

Multigenerational (attritional) graves were characterized as those with multiple burial episodes. In the mortuary context of Oymaağaç, this meant evidence of cist graves being opened and reopened with subsequent deposits of dead individuals. This assessment required the application of archaeothanatological approaches, namely, understanding the deposition and decomposition of bodies within a grave or burial environment (Duday,

2009). For identifying multigenerational graves, the distribution of skeletal elements provided immediate classification. Similar to the distribution of skeletal remains in multi-

103

use family and community tombs throughout the Bronze and Iron Age Eastern

Mediterranean (Soles, 1992; Liston, 1993), the multigenerational graves included

partially complete skeletons atop or next to disarticulated skeletal elements. The

stratigraphic and spatial relationship between partially articulated and loose bone

fragments confirmed a mortuary pattern of singular primary burial interments deposited

upon previously interred individuals, with subsequent deposition events resulting in the

disturbance of earlier skeletons.

During the 2010 field season, forensic anthropologist and bioarchaeologist, Dr.

Sherry Fox, and I examined the skeletal remains and excavation documentation for grave

7384.009 (Figure 6.9). After inspecting the photographs taken during the 2007 excavation

of the grave, we determined that the burial included multiple burial events, one of which

represented a mass burial. The identification of this mass burial was determined by 1) the

placement of skeletons 2) articulated state of the individuals; and 3) comparable

taphonomic changes to the skeletons. Photographs showed minimally 15 complete adult individuals placed in four stacked rows of three to four individuals. Due to the confined placement of these individuals within the grave, skeletal elements remained in articulation, even after soft tissue decomposition. Contrary, in multigenerational graves,

most skeletons were highly disturbed from multiple deposition events. Finally, articulated

and aligned skeletons within mass graves exhibit comparable diagenetic alterations,

suggesting individuals were buried at the same time or within quick succession, with a

similar duration of exposure to the same taphonomic environment.

Once graves were classified as multigenerational or mass graves, the skeletal

remains of the latter were carefully scrutinized for evidence of trauma or other indicators

104 of mass death circumstances. As no perimortem fractures were recorded among any of the individuals from mass grave contexts, interpersonal violence was eliminated as the cause for catastrophic death among this rural community. Furthermore, no pathognomonic skeletal lesions of chronic infectious disease (e.g., tuberculosis, leprosy, syphilis) were recorded on mass grave human remains. Skeletal remains were without diagnostic lesions. Although famine does not manifest pathognomonically on the skeleton or within the biochemical composition of bone (Beaumont and Montgomery,

2016), the demographic profile and suddenness of burial do not coincide with reported famine episodes (Chamberlain, 2006). The rapidity with which individuals were interred, in reclaimed multigenerational tombs or newly dug graves, suggests epidemic conditions in which individuals, once deceased, were physically and quickly separated and removed from the living community. Absence of skeletal lesions coincides with this hypothesis, wherein a viral pathogen beset and suddenly decimated the small, rural population.

Ancient DNA analyses are presently underway at the University of Tübingen to better implicate a pathogenic culprit of this catastrophic mass death.

6.5.1 Multigenerational graves

6.5.1.i Grave 7384.009

Within cist grave 7384.009 are human remains from three depositional events, the first and last of which have been defined as multigenerational (normative) burial events, while the second burial event clearly depicts a mass interment (Figure 6.5). The rough stone-built grave was constructed apart from the Hittite temple walls on the standard southwest-northeast axis to which all the Roman period grave structures adhere. Grave walls were plastered prior to burial events. Several individuals were deposited in the

105

graves and subsequently covered with a layer of soil prior to the mass interment episode.

Grave goods associated with the first and final multigenerational burials are sparse,

limited to a bronze earring and ceramic jug plug.

Figure 6.5 The chronology of burial in grave 7384.009 (from Figure 9.3, Marklein and Fox, 2016). The earliest burial (right) shows commingling patterns typical of multiple interment on site, which contrasts with the mass burial event (middle). The final burial events include two juveniles atop with the nature of their deaths putatively disassociated from the mass grave burial.

6.5.1.ii Grave 7483.048

Grave 7483.048, a limestone and mortar structure, was constructed apart from the temple while maintaining the normative southwest-northeast orientation. Although the

walls were not plastered, the quality of the smoothed northern wall was unusual among

the cist graves. The grave good cache speaks to complementary “quality” of the grave.

Seven bronze jewelry pieces (primarily rings with a putative earring) and copper alloy

106

fragments were found within the burial, presumably ornamentation left on the interred

individuals. Charcoal and red organic inclusions were discovered amidst the grave,

testifying to continuous ritual actions associated with subsequent reopenings and closings

of the grave.

6.5.1.iii Grave 7484.020

Stone-lined grave 7484.020 was oriented southwest-northeast, directly above a

Hittite wall. Individuals hypothetically were placed in the same orientation, head-to-foot,

based on articulated lower limb bones, although significant disturbance of remains

precludes definitive confirmation (Figure 6.6). This disturbance was not the result of

post-Roman period looting but the natural shifting of remains as earlier corpses

decomposed and later bodies were added into the grave. The grave walls were covered in

white plaster. Among the remains, two bronze rings and a ceramic sherd from a Megaran

cup were recovered.

Figure 6.6 Skeletal remains exposed in 7484.020 (photograph by H. Marquardt)

107

6.5.1.iv Grave 7484.021

The rectangular stone-walled cist grave, oriented northwest-southeast, ventures from the standard grave alignment on the hoyuk, although the bodies were oriented in a general western (head)-eastern (foot) direction. While the joints between the wall stones have been attentively plastered, the entire walls are not covered in a plaster layer. The artifact suite is comprised primarily of ceramic remains, a complete single-handled drinking vessel and bowl sherd, but an iron nail and fragmentary iron ring were also among the excavated finds.

6.5.1.v Grave 7585.010

Grave 7585.010, oriented southwest-northeast, was constructed of large stones

and lime mortar (Figure 6.7). Fragmentary mortar plaster amidst the grave indicated that

the walls of this cist were plastered prior to burial events. Charcoal was found around the

grave and specifically atop the ribcage of one of the interred individuals, supporting the

claim that burials were reopened and rites performed prior to the deposition of another

individual. No grave goods or other organics were discovered in this grave.

108

Figure 6.7 Overview of grave and skeletal remains (photograph by H. Marquardt)

6.5.1.vi Grave 7685.017

Grave 7685.017 was built directly into a Hittite temple wall, the grave maintaining the southwest-northeast orientation of the wall. Walls were plastered white.

No grave goods, or objects and organics indicative of postdepositional rites, were unearthed from this grave context.

6.5.1.vii Grave LOCUSGRP 20 (7685.033-7686.033)

The grave situated between loci 7586 and 7686, locus group 20, bordered one of the rooms of the temple, but the grave structure did not intrude into the Hittite foundations. Rather, the cist tomb was constructed west-east of stone and mortar elements, and the deceased individuals were sequentially deposited into the grave at this orientation (west-head, east-feet). No grave goods or indirect evidence of grave goods

(e.g., metal staining on bones) were uncovered from this context. However, small

109

remnants of charcoal, potentially attributable to funerary rites, were found amidst the

upper layers of the grave fill.

6.5.2 Mass graves

6.5.2.i Grave 7384.009

All individuals interned en masse within stone-lined grave 7384.009 were aligned southwest (head)-northeast (feet) and laid tightly within the cist grave, three to four individuals abreast and four individuals deep (Figure 6.8). Although there is indirect evidence of material remains in contact with the individuals—cubric staining on the right mastoid of an adult (Figure 6.9)—no artifacts were discovered within this phase of burial, despite the undisturbed nature of this tomb.

Figure 6.8 Mass burial episode within grave 7384.009 (photograph by H. Marquardt)

110

Figure 6.9 Cubric staining of right temporal bone (photograph by H. Marquardt)

6.5.2.ii Grave 7385.002

Grave 7385.002 was highly disturbed by modern plowing activity, which not only removed any potential grave stones/markings but destroyed cranial bones from several individuals (Figure 6.10). Oriented west (head)-east (feet), the grave included in its southern boundary part of a Hittite temple wall, while the remaining grave boundaries were delineated by stone conglomerate. No evidence of wall plaster was recovered in or around the grave. Additionally, the grave was void of any grave accoutrement. Whether this is the result of purposeful withholding, post-depositional looting, or modern plowing disturbances cannot be determined.

111

Figure 6.10 7385.002 heavily disturbed burial from modern plowing (photograph by H. Marquardt)

6.5.2.iii Grave 7385.018

Aligned with the other cist graves in this quadrant, southwest (head)-northeast

(feet), this grave also utilizes the stone foundations from the temple walls for two of its four sides (Figure 6.11). These walls were white plastered. The remaining two boundaries are composed of conglomerate and stone elements. While the material finds were few in this burial, they were nonetheless present: bronze earring and bronze Scythian arrow top.

112

Figure 6.11 Cist grave (7385.018) with similar deposition pattern to 7384.009

6.5.2.iv Grave 7385.019

The state of grave 7385.019 is comparable to grave 7385.002. As with the latter, the former was disturbed extensively from plowing activity, eventuating in similar damage to the crania (Figure 6.12). Although this grave was not built into the temple architecture, the stone-mortar conglomerate cist was oriented southwest-northeast,

113 parallel to temple foundations and other graves. No internal modifications, such as plaster, were made to the walls, nor were external grave markers excavated. As with other mass graves, no artifacts were found in association with the burials.

Figure 6.12 Mass burial episode in 7385.019 (photograph by H. Marquardt)

114

6.6 Summary

Through historical and mortuary archaeological evidence, Oymaağaç is presented as a representative liminal community of Hellenic and Roman components, an indigenous community with exposure to Roman culture and economy. Burial contexts, structural and artifactual, impart a rural community that shared more material commonalities with populations outside or at the peripheral zones of the Roman Empire. The gradual adoption of tile burials and the predominance of Greek script throughout the region further speak to a community outside the direct purview of Roman geopolitical, provincial authority. In the community at Oymaağaç is a population arguably under little direct or imposed imperial power, establishing this population as a theoretical, characteristic foil to conquered peoples in Britain and Gaul.

Furthermore, the depositional patterns within multiple interment graves at

Oymaağaç suggest differences in mortality circumstances between members of the community during the Roman period. Within six of the graves, disturbances of the human remains indicate multiple burial events, in accordance with eastern practices of multigenerational, family use, as well as an attritional burial profile for the community.

The remaining graves contain articulated skeletons purposefully stacked within. Lack of skeletal disturbance and taphonomic consistency between skeletons supports the argument that the individuals within died under atypical circumstances. After intentional violence was eliminated as the reason for these mass deaths, and epidemic circumstances were proposed as the most likely culprit, the Roman sample at Oymaağaç became as an epidemiological population of interest as well as a liminal population of interest within the Empire.

115

Chapter 7. Methods

7.1 Introduction

In the previous chapter, I described the site and skeletal remains for this study.

This chapter first includes the osteological standards by which I assigned age and sex

estimations to skeletons or skeletal elements (section 7.2 and 7.3). Secondly, I outline

methods for approaching the processing, inventory, and recording of commingled skeletal

remains (section 7.4). In Section 7.5, I expand upon the paleopathological standards

applied to skeletal and dental observations. Then, I describe the protocols for collagen

extraction and analysis (section 7.6). Finally, I discuss statistical data analytics and

exploratory data analyses utilized for assessing categorical and numerical variables

(section 7.7).

7.2 Age estimation

Partial or complete skeletons were first separated into biological juvenile (under

16 years) or adult (16 years and over) categories. Few skeletons or skeletal elements were categorized generally as unknown. Juvenile age estimations were based upon cranial and postcranial skeletal fusion and/or dental development. By contrast, adult age ranges were assessed through degenerative changes to the postcranial skeleton.

7.2.1 Juvenile age estimation

Dental growth and development, despite childhood stressors, remain conservative

across populations (Aiello and Dean, 1990; Garn et al., 1965), albeit exceptions have

116 been reported (Miletich and Sharpe, 2003; Reid and Dean, 2006). For this reason, most juveniles, where dentition was preserved, were assigned age estimates based on their dental development and supplemented by epiphyseal closure (Baker et al., 2005; Scheuer and Black, 2004). When tooth preservation was poor or limited to a solitary tooth, juvenile age ranges were estimated conservatively (e.g., not assuming sex of the individual) from fusion of cranial and postcranial elements. The final method used to estimate juvenile ages was standard metric dimensions for unfused diaphyses (Fazekas and Kosa, 1978; Maresh, 1955). Because long bone age estimates are based in modern populations, who generally were not exposed to either severe or chronic developmental stress, and have been shown to underestimate juvenile ages in archaeological assemblages (Cardoso et al., 2014; Lewis and Flavel, 2006), long bone lengths were compared with diaphyseal lengths from other juveniles within Oymaağaç, who possessed ageable dentition, and also given an age estimate range generally between four and five years. Once all juveniles were assigned age estimates, they were divided into specific juvenile categories based on Roman characterizations of broad childhood stages

(Rawson, 2003) and previous studies in Roman bioarchaeology (Redfern, 2006).

7.2.2 Adult age estimation

Adult age estimates varied between individuals based upon the preservation of diagnostic elements, such as the innominate or fourth rib. The commingled state of many multigenerational graves, in particular, precluded any age categorization beyond “adult.”

In mass graves and a few multigenerational graves, where cranial and postcranial skeletal portions could be associated with individuals, there were not enough preserved teeth, whether by antemortem or postmortem loss, for dental age seriation. Additionally, poor

117

preservation of crania precluded relative aging by cranial suture closure and obliteration.

For these reasons, most adult age estimates were based on the non-pathological degeneration of fibrous joint surfaces on the innominate, including the pubic symphysis

(Brooks and Suchey, 1990; Todd, 1920) and auricular surface (Lovejoy et al., 1985).

Individual age ranges spanned between four and 15 years. Once all adult age ranges were

estimated, individuals were categorized into one of four adult age groups: 16-19.99 years,

20-34.99 years, 35-49.99 years, and 50+ years, categories applied to other Roman

bioarchaeological research (Redfern et al., 2015).

7.3 Sex estimation

For adults, sex estimations, based on morphological and metrical observations,

were made at individual skeleton and elemental levels. Sexually dimorphic regions, the

pelvis and skull, were examined first to estimate biological sex. Several features on the

innominate bone were scored from 1 (female) to 5 (male) based on skeletal standards

(Buikstra and Ubelaker, 1994), focusing on the ventral arc, subpubic angle, greater sciatic

notch, and preauricular sulcus. If these features were not present or insufficient for

estimating sex of the individual, then sexually dimorphic features on the cranium were

observed to determine, or supplement postcranial, sex estimations (Buikstra and

Ubelaker, 1994). These features include the glabella, supraorbital margin, nuchal crest,

mastoid process, and mandibular body.

In many of the commingled burials, especially those composed of primarily

disarticulated long bones, metrical measurements were employed for probable sex

estimations. These measurements were compared to those measurements associated with

118

complete skeletons, where sex could be estimated from innominate and cranial

characteristics. Ranges for glenoid heights, maximal humeral and femoral head

diameters, and clavicular lengths were established within this population for females and

males and utilized to estimate “probable female” and “probable male” individuals and

elements when other sexually dimorphic features were absent or poorly preserved (Table

7.1).

Table 7.1. Metric criteria for estimating sex from postcranial skeletal elements Females Males References 33.5-34.2 36.6-37.4 Merrill et al. 2009; Glenoid height 33.7-36.8 36.0-41.4 Özer et al. 2006; (mm) 32.4-36.4 37.9-44.3 Dabbs and Moore-Jansen, 2010 Humeral head 38.6-43.0 44.8-50.0 Charisi et al. 2010; diameter (mm) 42.9-48.3 46.9-55.1 Atamtürk et al. 2010 (radiographs) Femoral head 35.9-41.7 39.7-43.5 Karakas and Harma, 2007; diameter (mm) 40.8-45.6 44.0-48.8 Mall et al., 2000 Clavicular 138.2-148.7 148.5-168.1 McCormick et al. 1991; length (mm) 129.3-144.8 145.9-161.9 Papaioannou et al. 2012

7.4 Commingled methods

Roman period human skeletal remains were commingled pre-, circum- and post-

excavation. Pre-excavation commingling, i.e., commingling during antiquity, was the

result of primary burial practices, specifically when cist graves were opened and newly

deceased individuals were placed into the grave. In the time that an individual is buried

and a subsequent burial event occurs, taphonomic processes eventuate in the

disarticulation, realignment, and movement of skeletal elements within the grave setting

(Duday, 2009): ligamentous and tendinous anchors in the skeleton decompose, allowing

natural forces—water, erosion, animals—to shift bones in situ. In some of the graves

119

(e.g., 7484.021), disarticulated bones were pushed to one end of the grave before another

corpse was deposited.

Circum- and post-excavation commingling occurred when archaeologists, assisted

by local anatomists, removed skeletons in parts rather as whole individuals.

Consequently, human remains were stored in groups according to side, e.g., left leg, right

forearm. Some individual skeletons, minimally all the long bones, could be confidently reassembled from photographs and field notes from these bags of grouped bones.

Unfortunately, ribs, vertebrae, and smaller bones from hands or feet were not often collected together. In these circumstances, skeletons could not be reindividualized, but skeletal elements were inventoried and analyzed as separate entities.

Despite the spectrum of commingling exhibited on site at Oymaağaç, from mass

burials with visibly discrete individuals (e.g., 7384.009) to jumbled bone concentrations

in multigenerational grave, data beyond minimum number of individuals were retrievable

through scrutiny of bones amidst their excavation context. A Word Excel database and

coding system was developed to ensure a thorough MNI count (Figure 7.1). MNI was

determined by several variables, including representation of adults and juveniles (specific ranges and general adult/juvenile binaries), representation of females and males, grave

positioning, and state of preservation. The first two variables consider the bones out of

context, and while such an approach may be best suited for highly commingled graves,

such as 7484.021, it would be an insufficient inventory approach for graves with a single

mass burial event (7385.019) or graves with elements still in articulation (7483.048). As

such, although the order of establishing MNI was the same across burials, MNI for each

grave was not identically determined within all grave contexts at Oymaağaç (Figure 7.2).

120

Figure 7.1 Excel database designed and utilized in commingled skeletal inventory

The general order for MNI started with the separation of individual skeletons from deindividualized skeletal elements. Demographic information from each skeleton was added to the MNI count, and subsequently disarticulated or partially articulated bones were analyzed first for age, sex, and other definable traits (e.g., discoloration from cubric staining). Where age could be evaluated, as with an innominate bone or unfused long bone, elements were added to the MNI count, assuming these elements did not match with missing bones from individual skeletons. (This is when excavation photographs were invaluable, reassembling skeletons which had been articulated in situ but eventually became mingled during diagenesis or circum- and post-excavation.) Next, all skeletal elements were examined for robusticity (based on morphology or metrical dimensions) to make adult sex estimations, when possible. Finally, repeated bones or features on bones were figured into the final MNI count.

121 Figure 7.2 Procedure for establishing MNI from each grave context, starting on an individual scale and ending at elemental counts.

Complete individuals Age Minimum 50% preservation of Sex skeleton Elements separated by adult and juvenile How many adults and Elements can be given Elemental counts juveniles? Do these elements a probable sex based belong to individual? Add to MNI count on dimensions or Elements and features No-add to MNI count morphology are divided generally Yes-do not add to Do these elements by adults/juveniles, MNI count belong to an sided, and counted individual? Are these Do these elements "ageable" elements? belong to an No/no-add to individual? Are these elemental count "ageable" or "sexable" elements? Yes/yes-do not add to MNI count No-add to MNI count Yes-do not add to MNI count

7.5 Evaluating skeletal and dental lesions and anomalies

7.5.1 Trauma

Skeletal traumatic lesions were classified as evidence of direct violence or accidental circumstances, according to the cause and anatomical positioning. Direct violence implies interpersonal intentionality, while accidental circumstances are hypothetically unintentional (Walker, 2001). Sharp- or blunt-force traumata to the

cranium, as well as defensive fractures to the forearm, are indicative of direct violence in

the bioarchaeological record. Accidental traumata, generally the outcome of falls, were

identified first in the extremities (hands, wrist, foot) and then in the axillary skeleton

(ribs, pelvis). Lesions were further discriminated according to the time of trauma relative

to death, perimortem or antemortem. Perimortem traumatic lesions occur around the time

122 of death, so no reparative, woven bone is laid down; the edges of the bone exhibit either

sharp or radiating fractures at or near the point of impact (Kroman and Symes, 2013;

Sauer, 1998; Ubelaker and Adams, 1995). Relative timing of antemortem trauma, relative

to death, was determined by the 1) presence of woven bone in the form of a callous; or 2)

remodeled surface of the bone (Waldron, 2009). Identification of lesions were limited,

due to lack of permissions and radiographic facilities, to macroscopic observations.

While perimortem and antemortem (under two years) lesions may not demand a radiograph for observation, it is probable that this shortcoming in methodological technology led to an underestimation of any antemortem fractures between the time of

callous obliteration and complete surface remodeling.

7.5.2 Antemortem tooth loss

Antemortem tooth loss (AMTL) was observed in whole and fragmentary

mandibles and maxillae of adult individuals at Oymaağaç. If the alveolar bone was

completely remodeled, where once resided a tooth, it was apparent that the tooth had

been lost prior to death (Hillson, 1996). In mandibles or maxillae wherein pronounced

root cysts occupied the positions of one or more teeth, AMTL was scored as absent when

these teeth included in the inventory. Despite partial destruction of the alveolar bone

around these teeth, the periodontal ligament could have held them in the dental arcade.

Therefore, AMTL was identified only when the teeth were lost, not loose, prior to death.

For the third permanent molar (M3), which oftentimes neither develops nor erupts, it can

be difficult to determine, especially without available x-ray technology, whether AMTL has occurred. As a conservative approach, AMTL was scored as present for an M3 only if there was pathological bone at maxillary or mandibular M3 positions and evidence of the

123

individual having other M3’s in occlusion.

7.5.3 Carious lesions

All deciduous and permanent dentition were examined for the presence of carious

lesions, ranging from more superficial, pinprick lesions on the enamel surface to lesions

resulting in the complete destruction of a tooth crown (Hillson, 1996, 2001; Larsen,

2015). When severe tooth wear precluded any observation of carious lesions on a tooth,

this tooth was not scored as having or not having a lesion and therefore not included in

statistical analyses. Although the location was recorded among the dentition, no statistical

analyses were performed on these data. Prevalence of carious lesions was calculated

based on individuals and total teeth. The commingled state not only reduced the

individuals for comparison but prevented any inter- or intrasexual evaluations of carious lesion distributions among total teeth.

7.5.4 Linear enamel hypoplasias

Under natural light conditions, all teeth were observed with a hand lens and macroscopically for the presence of linear enamel defects. Identification of LEH was based on established dental anthropological standards, specifically from visual and tactile

(running fingernail over enamel surface) observations (Hillson, 1996; Powers, 2012).

Presence and number of LEH were recorded per tooth. However, because permanent maxillary and mandibular canines are prone to hypoplastic stimuli and preferentially recorded in biological anthropology and bioarchaeology literature (Guatelli-Steinberg and

Lukacs, 1999; Lukacs, 1991; DeWitte and Wood, 2008), these teeth were the focus of statistical comparisons between grave groups and sexes. Only skeletons with permanent canines present were scored for LEH for cross-individual evaluations. Prevalence of teeth

124

with an LEH and individuals with minimally one LEH on a present canine were

compared between subgroups in the Oymaağaç cemetery.

7.5.5 Periosteal new bone

The formation of new periosteal bone cannot be attributed to a singular event nor

can it be used interchangeably with periostitis, because periostitis implies an

inflammation of the periosteum (Weston, 2012). All postcranial elements were examined

for PNB, with atypical bone growth described as newly “reactive” (woven bone matrix)

or “healing” (striated, lamellar matrix) (DeWitte, 2014; Walker, 2012). Any bone growth

beyond these descriptions, for example, cloaca, placed these lesions in categories of

known etiology (e.g., trauma, osteomyelitis). Unfortunately, the commingled state of the

Oymaağaç remains precluded differential diagnosis of conditions with periosteal lesions,

such as systemic infections or nutritional deficiencies. Therefore, for this study, lesions

were identified generally as PNB, and individuals with unilateral or bilateral

manifestations considered equally affected physiologically. Gross prevalence of

individuals with PNB were contrasted between Oymaağaç subgroups.

7.5.6 Osteomyelitis

Osteomyelitis, a destructive, inflammatory condition traversing the bone from within to without, develops from bacteria infiltrating the medullary cavity. Once inside the marrow, this suppurative infection increases intramedullary pressure. The bone responds to this increased pressure, attempting to relieve it, by creating drainage channels

(cloacae) from the marrow cavity out to the periosteum. This channel subsequently exposes the subperiosteum to pyrogenic bacteria, stimulating pathological periosteal bone growth. If the infection is left untreated, often inevitable for pre-antibiotic societies, a

125

layer of periosteal new bone may expand as a sheath (involucrum) over the diaphysis

(Waldron, 2009). These characteristics, in particular, the cloacae and involucra, were

considered pathognomonic indicators of osteomyelitis. While osteomyelitis was observed

in the Oymaağaç sample, the cases were not associated with the Roman period

assemblage.

7.5.7 Periodontal disease

Periodontal disease (PD) arises from the progressive destruction of the

periodontium following the introduction of exogenous, pathogenic bacteria, fungi, or

viruses into the oral environment. In response to these pathogens, the body initiates

inflammatory processes with the release of cytokines. Inflammation transforms the

surrounding alveolar bone and periodontal tissues as periodontal pockets are formed and

subsequently invaded, irreversibly, by bacteria (Pihlstrom et al., 2005). PD is diagnosed

on the maxilla and mandible from skeletal artifacts of inflammation and remodeling:

resorbed alveolar bone (horizontal and/or vertical recession), prolific new bone growth

amidst the periodontium, and increased pitting of alveoli. As horizontal recession also

correlates with age, from periodontal ligaments loosening their hold on teeth over

decades, PD diagnoses were based on clinical standards, namely the periodontal pocket

exceeding a depth of 3 mm (Armitage, 2004; Waldron, 2009). Only mandibles and

maxillae associated with individuals were observed for PD, as mandibular and maxillary

fragments could overestimate or underestimate PD prevalence within a grave. PD,

consequently, was compared between subgroups on an individual level.

7.5.8 Osteoarthritis

Osteoarthritis (primary osteoarthritis) describes the degenerative breakdown of

126 joint cartilage, and subsequent articular bone surfaces, whether by continual wear, age, or genetic contributions. Although the osteoarthritic process begins in the cartilage, inflammatory agents ultimately stimulate the production of blood vessels, to which bone responds with new growth. Eburnation is pathognomonic of advanced OA, but several other changes occur to the surrounding bone surface: marginal osteophytes (new bone on the margins, i.e., lipping), sclerosis of the bone surface due to vascularization of the subchondral bone, pitting on the joint surface, and atypical bone deformation (e.g., flattening or widening of a surface) (Roger and Waldron, 1995; Rogers et al., 1987;

Waldron, 2009). If at least two of these changes were present, a joint was recorded as osteoarthritic. Prevalence of OA was compared by joint type between grave groups and by individuals with at least one osteoarthritic joint.

7.5.9 Rotator cuff disease

Through a combination of intrinsic (e.g., age-related wear) and extrinsic (e.g., repetitive s or traumatic tear) factors, rotator cuff disease (RCD) may develop in the muscles and tendons surrounding and supporting the shoulder joint. On the skeleton,

RCD is diagnosable on the humerus at the tendon insertion sites of four muscles: subscapularis, supraspinatous, infraspinatous, and teres minor. Atypical new bone growth

(enthesophytes), pitting, and surface alteration suggest inflammation of the tendons of the rotator cuff (Hashimoto et al., 2003; Waldron, 2009). In some cases, the tendons of the subscapularis will tear, resulting in impingement syndrome, wherein the humeral head is destabilized and pulled upon into the acromion of the scapula. Impingement syndrome is identified in the skeleton from eburnation on the inferior surface of the acromion (non- articular surface) or eburnation on the most superior aspect of the humeral head (which

127

does not articulate with the glenoid) (Hardy et al., 1986). Adult individuals exhibiting any of these characteristics were diagnosed with RCD, and distributions of this joint condition were analyzed with Oymaağaç subgroups.

7.5.10 Intervertebral disc disease

Intervertebral disc disease (IVD) describes the degeneration of the disc between adjacent vertebral bodies. While an inevitable change in the skeleton associated with normal, degenerative aging, continual stress through physical labor may bring about or exacerbate this condition in a younger individual. The gradual collapse of the vertebral disc stimulates a bony response along the margins (marginal osteophytes) and center

(pathological pitting) of the vertebral bodies affected (Adams and Roughley, 2006;

Roberts et al., 2006; Waldron, 2009). All vertebrae, loose or associated with an individual, were examined for IVD based on the presence of both pitting and marginal osteophytes. Prevalence of individuals with IVD were compared between subgroups in addition to overall distributions of IVD among vertebral types (cervical, thoracic, and lumbar).

7.5.11 Comparative reference collections

For the regional and interregional aspects of this study, skeletal and dental data from contemporaneous Roman sites were collected. While the diagnostic criteria were not always identical to those standards used for the Oymaağaç sample, especially those sites reported prior to the 1990s, the assessments were determined by the author to be appropriate from cross-site statistical comparisons (Appendix D).

128

7.6 Collagen preparation

Collagen preparation was based on standard protocol employed in the

Bioarchaeology and Biochemistry Laboratory at the University of Georgia, Athens

(Reitsema, 2015) with modifications based on sample quality and preservation. These procedures were developed from previous bioarchaeological collagen extraction methods

(Ambrose et al., 1997; Katzenberg et al., 2010; Sealy, 1986). Recording sheets employed in this study, created by Dr. Marissa Stewart, are included in Appendix I.

7.6.1 Physical processing

Before chemical treatment, the bone fragments were cleaned mechanically and washed. For each fragment, periosteal and endosteal surfaces of the cortical bone were abraded with a Dremel hand drill to remove any superficial soil or detritus.

Approximately 0.500-0.600 grams of each sample were weighed and sonicated for one hour, or additional time until water was clear. Samples were air-dried overnight in a fume hood. Bone samples were prepared in batches of ten.

7.6.2 Chemical treatment

Prior to demineralization, a funnel-flask apparatus was assembled for each sample

(Figure 7.3). Each apparatus included a 60 mL filter funnel with Teflon stopcock secured by rubber stopper to a 250 mL Erlenmeyer flask with sidearm. Within the filter funnel, glass wool was placed onto the frit before adding the dremeled and washed sample.

129

Figure 7.3 Funnel-flask apparatus used in collagen extraction procedure

7.6.2.i Demineralization

After samples were placed into the filter funnels, with the stopcock closed, 50 mL of 0.2 M HCl were added. This lower concentration acid results in slower demineralization, an effective and conservative option for poorly preserved samples with little remaining collagen, e.g., Oymaağaç. Approximately 12 hours later, the solution was drained into the Erlenmeyer flask. A pipette bulb, attached to the sidearm, was used to expel remaining liquid from the filter nozzle prior to reclosing the stopcock. Once the stopcock was closed, fresh 50 mL 0.2 M was poured into the filter. The solution was exchanged twice every day until a collagen isomorph remained. Depending on

preservation, this demineralization phase took one to five days. Once demineralization

130 was complete, the funnel was drained of acid and sample thoroughly rinsed with distilled water for approximately thirty seconds.

7.6.2.ii Removal of humic contaminants

Once the collagen isomorph was isolated and rinsed, 50 mL diluted strong base

(0.125 M NaOH) were added to the funnel to remove humic contaminants. The isomorph was soaked for 20 hours (+/- 15 minutes). Additional soaking time could potentially impact isotope ratios while less time is considered inadequate for humate removal. After

NaOH was drained from the filter funnel, the sample was rinsed with approximately 30 mL of distilled water. Fresh distilled water (50 mL) was added to the funnel and substituted two to three times every day until the filtered solution was a neutral pH (pH

7.0 +/- 0.2). An electronic pH reader was used to measure the solution.

7.6.2.iii Dissolution and lyophilization of collagen isomorphs

Following neutralization of the collagen isomorph, the sample was solubilized in diluted acid. Prior to this step, a clean Erlenmeyer flask with side arm was attached to the filter funnel. Then, 50 mL 0.001 M HCl solution (pH=3.0) were added to the filter funnels, which were subsequently covered with aluminum and placed in an oven at 90 degrees Celsius. This oven temperature was maintained during the daytime but reduced to 70 degrees Celsius overnight, when there was no researcher available to check the sample, solution volume, and pH. Solution volumes and pH were checked every one to three hours, and 0.001 M HCl or 0.01 M HCl was added to funnels where volume was low or pH high, respectively. Once the isomorphs fully dissolved, the solution was drained through the frit filter into the Erlenmeyer flask. Erlenmeyer flasks were removed from the filters and returned to the oven (90 degrees Celsius) where they were reduced to

131

approximately 2-3 mL. Once the solutions reached room temperature, these 2-3 mL were

funneled into 4 mL pre-weighed vials (without caps), lightly capped, and frozen.

Lyophilization, or freeze-drying, of the samples was conducted at the Ohio State

University in the Steven J. Schwartz Laboratory, Food Innovation Center (Associate

Director: Dr. Kenneth Riedl). If any samples thawed during transportation from the

Human Biology Laboratory (Department of Anthropology) and Schwartz Laboratory,

these samples were carefully frozen with liquid nitrogen at the Food Innovation Center.

Caps on sample vials were removed, and the vials covered with Kimwipes, secured by

rubberbands. Samples were placed in lypophilizer flasks, several of which were secured

to the freeze dryer. The freeze dryer was set to -55 degrees Celsius, with the pressure preset to between 0.014 and 0.018 millibars. All samples were freeze dried for a minimum of one day, no more than 36 hours.

7.6.3 Collagen analysis

After lyophilization, vials were reweighed (sans cap) with dried samples. The among of extracted collagen was subsequently calculated by subtracting the previously recorded empty vial weights. Percent of collagen was the calculated ratio of dried, extracted collagen to dry bone sample weights. Samples were homogenized with mortar and pestle, and samples sent to the Center for Applied Isotope Studies at The University of Georgia, Athens for stable isotope analysis (isotope ratio mass spectrometry, IRMS).

Collagen percentages, in addition to carbon and nitrogen ratios and percentages obtained

from IRMS, were implemented to assess quality of samples (Appendix B).

132

7.7 Statistical analyses

7.7.1 Univariate tests

To test the four central hypotheses, Fisher’s exact tests were utilized to determine

whether differences in percent of individuals with diagnostic skeletal and dental lesions

between multigenerational and mass grave individuals were significant. Due to the

commingled state of many of the multigenerational graves, only a fraction of the entire

sample was represented by partial or complete skeletons. Consequently, the total sample

sizes for specific conditions were small (ranging between 20 and 70 individuals). The

conservative nature of Fisher’s exact tests, for this reason, made it appropriate for this dataset (Yates, 1984). Fisher’s exact tests were carried out in SPSS 24. The null hypothesis was refuted with a p-value less than or equal to 0.05.

For pathological conditions oftentimes strongly associated with age-related degeneration—osteoarthritis, rotator cuff disease, intervertebral disc disease, fracture, antemortem tooth loss, and periodontal disease—analysis of covariance (ANCOVA) tests were employed age as a covariate to assess whether age acted as a confounding variable

to any significant correlations between or within grave groups or sexes. ANCOVA tests

were performed in SPSS 24, with the null hypothesis refuted at a p-value equal to or smaller than 0.05.

Parametric ANOVA tests were used for comparing carbon and nitrogen isotope

ratios between grave contexts and within and between sexes. The total sample size for

individuals with viable carbon and nitrogen is below 50, but the subsamples (females and

males; multigenerational and mass grave males and females) were found to be normally

distributed through the Shapiro-Wilk test of normality. For isotope data for age

133 categories, which were not normally distributed, nonparametric Kruskal-Wallis tests were employed. For interregional comparisons of prevalences in pathological conditions, which included maximally no more than 40 comparative sites, nonparametric Kruskal-

Wallis tests were executed to determine whether regional differences existed. Tests were executed in SPSS 24 and R Studio, and significance was set at a 0.05 p-value.

7.7.2 Multivariate tests

To further dissect the relationships between pathological conditions, stable isotope ratios, grave context (multigenerational or mass), and sex, exploratory multiple correspondence analyses (MCA) were performed in R Studio. MCA provide a two- dimensional spatial representation of nominal categorical variables. Where variables plot, relative to one another, suggests underlying relationships: variables grouped closely indicate higher associations than scattered variables. As this form of data analysis is exploratory, relationships are speculative rather than significant.

7.7.3 Geographic Systems Information spatial maps

Regional inferential statistical results from Kruskal-Wallis tests were supplemented with spatial representations of pathological lesion distributions. Referential population data for each pathological condition (trauma, carious lesions, calculus,

AMTL, abscesses, LEH, PNB, PD, OA, and vertebral osteophytosis) were spatially mapped in ArcGIS 10.3. The interpolation feature in “Spatial Analyst” was used to create a predicted, continuous gradient of pathological condition concentrations based upon the prevalences of conditions at Roman period sites throughout Asia, Africa, and Europe.

These spatial maps enhanced the interpretative power of interregional comparisons by visually modeling and predicting patterns of specific lesions across the Empire.

134

7.8 Summary

In this chapter, methodological standards for age, sex, pathology, and collagen extraction and analysis were outlined. Additionally, the commingled state of several graves complicated observations, and the systematic directions by which skeletal elements were recorded, and in many cases “reindividualized” (Fox and Marklein, 2014), demonstrated how meaningful demographic and paleopathologic information was maximized. Finally, univariate and multivariate statistical tests and models were presented as appropriate, robust methods for correlating and explaining the collected data.

135

Chapter 8. Results

8.1 Introduction

In this chapter, I outline the demographic, paleopathological, and stable isotope results from the Roman period cemetery at Oymaağaç. Individual raw data from the multigenerational and mass graves is included in Appendix C. Although a small proportion of the sample included juvenile remains, this study focuses exclusively on the adult remains. Data on juveniles have been published previously (Marklein and Fox,

2016). The results at Oymaağaç are compared with published paleopathological

(Appendix D) stable isotope (Appendix E) data subsequently on regional, Anatolian and broader, interregional levels.

8.2 Demographic reconstruction

Among the adult commingled individuals at Oymaağaç, sex and age estimations were made for 134 and 138 individuals, respectively. The sample was composed of males

(61.9%) and females (38.1%). Across the four designated age categories, the majority of individuals were aged between the middle age categories (20-34 years, 39.6%; 35-49 years, 39.9%). The youngest (16-19 years) and oldest (over 49 years) age categories characterized a fifth of the total adult sample (Table 8.1).

136

Table 8.1 Proportion of adult males and females among Oymaağaç sample Female Male Total N % N % N Mass 17 44.74 21 55.26 38 Multigenerational 34 39.53 52 60.47 86 Total 51 38.06 83 61.94 134

When observed within grave groups, there is variability between the demographic

profiles. The percentages of males (60.47%) to females (39.53%) in the multigenerational

graves indicate a disproportionate representation of males over females in contrast to the

similar percentages of males (55.26%) and females (44.74%) within the mass graves

(Figure 8.1; Table 8.1). Although not equal, this was not found to be significantly

different (χ2=0.841, p=0.359). Age distributions showed a higher percentage of 20-34-

year-old individuals (46.5%) among the mass graves than multigenerational graves

(36.8%), with the majority of individuals in the multigenerational graves (42.1%) falling

within the 35-49-year-old age category. As with the total sample, both youngest and

oldest age categories were represented by less than ten and twelve percent of the samples,

respectively. Despite the differences in age distributions between the middle age

categories, these differences were not significant (χ2=1.294, p=0.731) (Table 8.2; Figure

8.2). These results demonstrate no significant differences in the overall demographic makeup of adults from multigenerational and mass grave circumstances.

Table 8.2 Distribution of adult age categories among mass and multigenerational grave contexts 16-19.99 20-34.99 35-49.99 50+ years Total years years years N % N % N % N % N Mass 3 6.98 20 46.51 15 34.88372 5 11.63 43 Multigen. 9 9.47 35 36.84 40 42.11 11 11.58 95 Total 12 8.70 55 39.86 55 39.86 16 11.59 138

137

Figure 8.1 Distribution of sexes by grave context

70 N=52

60 N=21

50 N=17

40 N=34

20 Percent of subsample 10

0 Male Female

Mass Multigenerational

Figure 8.2 Distribution of age categories by grave context 50 N=20 45 N=40 40 N=35 35 N=15 30 25 20 15 N=5 N=11 N=9 10 N=3 Percent subsample of Percent 5 0 16-19 20-34 35-49 50+

Mass Multigenerational

When age distributions were compared intra- and intersexually, significant differences were observed (Tables 8.3). These differences were based largely on a shift in age distributions among males from multigenerational to mass grave groups (Figure 8.3).

Within the males of the mass grave group, a significantly higher percent (20%) of individuals occupy the oldest age category than multigenerational males (0%)

(χ2=12.307, p-value=0.006). In contrast, there are no significant differences in females

138 among representative age categories in multigenerational and mass grave contexts, although more mass grave female individuals (64.6%) were observed in the lower age categories (16-19 years and 20-34 years) (Figure 8.4). This increased representation of older males among the mass grave group altered the demographic relationship between sexes from the attritional, multigenerational grave contexts (Figure 8.5). The distribution of ages and sexes within the multigenerational graves demonstrated a significantly higher proportion of older females (58.8%) than males (48.1%) over 35 years of age at death

(χ2=18.291, p-value=0.004). In the multigenerational context, no male age estimates surpassed 49 years. This pattern contrasted with the mass grave age profile, which exhibited an even representation of males and females in each age category (Figure 8.6).

Table 8.3 Distribution of age categories according to sex. Chi-square tests with Bonferroni post-hoc tests show significant differences in the age profile of multigenerational males and mass grave males. 16-19.99 20-34.99 35-49.99 50+ years Total years years years Mass N % N % N % N % N Female 1 5.88 10 58.82 5 29.41 1 5.88 17 Male 1 5.00 10 50.00 5 25.00 4 20.00 20 Total 2 5.41 20 54.05 10 27.03 5 13.51 37 Multigen. N % N % N % N % N Female 3 8.82 11 32.35 10 29.41 10 29.41 34 Male 3 5.77 24 46.15 25 48.08 0 0.00 52 Total 6 6.98 35 40.70 35 40.70 10 11.63 86

16-19.99 20-34.99 35-49.99 50+ years Total years years years Female N % N % N % N % N Mass 1 5.88 10 58.82 5 29.41 1 5.88 17 Multigen. 3 8.82 11 32.35 10 29.41 10 29.41 34 Total 4 7.84 21 41.18 15 29.41 11 21.57 51 Male N % N % N % N % N Mass 1 5.00 10 50.00 5 25.00 4 20.00 20 Multigen. 3 5.77 24 46.15 25 48.08 0 0.00 52 Total 4 5.56 34 47.22 30 41.67 4 5.56 72

139

Figure 8.3 Distribution of males by age category and grave context 60

30 Percent 20

0 16-19 20-34 35-49 50+

Mass Multigenerational

Figure 8.4 Distribution of females by age category and grave context 70

Percent 30

0 16-19 20-34 35-49 50+

Mass Multigenerational

140

Figure 8.5 Distribution of ages by sex in multigenerational graves 60

30 Percent 20

0 16-19 20-34 35-49 50+

Female Male

Figure 8.6 Distribution of ages by sex in mass graves 70

Percent 30

0 16-19 20-34 35-49 50+

Female Male

8.3 Local scale

On a local scale, paleopathological profiles were compared between multigenerational and mass grave contexts to test the following hypotheses:

1) Evidence of violence will remain constant between multigenerational and mass

grave contexts at Oymaağaç.

2) Diets between multigenerational and mass grave samples at Oymaağaç will not

141

differ significantly.

3) At Oymaağaç, the prevalence of childhood stress markers will the similar

between mass and multigenerational grave contexts.

4) The skeletal record for non-specific and specific infection will not differ

significantly between mass and multigenerational grave contexts.

5) Skeletal proxies for daily labor and physical activity will not vary between

grave contexts at Oymaağaç.

8.3.1 Results for first hypothesis

Traumatic lesions, as observed in these samples from Oymaağaç, were diagnosed exclusively as antemortem due to the absence of woven bone in the form of callouses.

Furthermore, all examples of antemortem trauma were not determined to be the result of intentional, interpersonal violence, based on the location and pattern of the lesion (see

Section 7,5.1). No antemortem trauma lesions exhibited healing/healed edges or radiating, concentric fracture lines associated with blunt or sharp force impact.

Differential diagnosis of every case suggests that observed postcranial fractures sustained by the Oymaağaç population resulted exclusively from accidental falls or non- confrontational trauma (Figure 8.7).

142

Figure 8.7 Left and right femora of male adult. Right femur exhibits no pathological changes, but deformation of the left femoral head and neck—and associated acetabular alterations—intimate sustained traumatic fracture from a putative fall.

8.3.1.ii Trauma distributions in mass and multigenerational graves

Fisher’s Exact tests yielded significant differences in trauma frequencies between mass and multigenerational graves overall (Table 8.4). Antemortem trauma declined between multigenerational and mass graves, from 37.5% to 14.7% of all individuals

(p<0.05). Although declines in prevalence were statistically significant overall, this pattern did not hold within sexes. For females, evidence of trauma decreased from 18.8% to 6.3% of individuals. A demonstrable decline in trauma occurrence, from 54.5% to

23.8% of male individuals, was also reported between multigenerational and mass graves.

143

However, as with the females, this decline was not statistically significant.

Table 8.4 Percent of individuals with traumatic lesion according to grave context and sex Multigenerational Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 15 40 37.5 5 34 14.7 0.038* Females 3 16 18.8 1 16 6.3 0.335 Males 12 22 54.5 4 17 23.5 0.104 Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 5 33 15.2 16 40 40.0 0.022* Multigenerational 4 17 23.5 12 23 52.2 0.104 Mass 1 16 6.3 4 17 23.5 0.335

8.3.1.iii Trauma distributions among sexes

Just as significant differences were observed between chronological grave groups, significant differences between antemortem trauma prevalence existed between sexes.

Within the entire Oymaağaç sample, nearly half of males (40.0%) displayed evidence of unhealed trauma relative to 15.2% of female individuals (p-value<0.05). This overall difference, however, does not hold for differences within grave groups. More multigenerational males (52.2%) than females (23.5%) exhibit antemortem trauma, a relationship observed in the mass graves: 23.5% of males and 6.3% of females evince traumatic lesions. Nevertheless, this disparity in trauma between sexes in the mass grave sample is conditional on small sample size.

8.3.1.iv Trauma distributions among age cohorts

Analysis of variance and covariance tests yielded no significant differences in trauma prevalence between the four adult ages categories (Table 8.5). There appeared to be no monotonic trend in prevalence of trauma: 0% of individuals in age category 1

144

exhibiting traumatic lesions; 33% of individuals in age category 2; 31% of individuals in

age category 3; and 11% of individuals in age category 4. When age was considered as a

covariate between multigenerational and mass graves, age did not factor significantly into

the differences in trauma frequencies. This result held for any intrasexual differences

between grave groups or intersexual differences within grave groups. Overall, age did not

contribute to any statistically significant differences within subgroups/subcategories in

the Oymaağaç sample.

Table 8.5 Percent of individuals with traumatic lesion according to grave context, sex, and age covariate Multigenerational (MG) Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 14 34 41.2 4 30 13.3 0.330 0.010* 0.029* Female 3 15 20.0 1 15 6.7 0.118 0.165 0.169 Male 11 19 57.9 3 15 20.0 0.906 0.028* 0.086 Females Males Age Sex Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 4 30 13.3 14 34 41.2 0.585 0.015* 0.040* MG 3 15 20.0 11 19 57.9 0.789 0.033* 0.083* Mass 1 15 6.7 3 15 20.0 0.363 0.283 0.386

8.3.1.v Trauma summary

Within the Roman period sample at Oymaağaç, only antemortem, healed fractures

were observed among the adult populace. When compared between grave groups, the

frequencies of individuals with traumatic lesions was found to be significantly higher

among multigenerational than mass graves. Albeit lower among females and males in

mass groups, prevalence of antemortem trauma was not significantly different than

multigenerational females and males. The overall percentage of males with antemortem

trauma was significantly higher than the percentage of females. However, when these

145

differences were deconstructed further within grave groups, these disparities were not

significant. Finally, age as contributing independent variable or confounding covariate

did not have a significant effect on differences in traumatic lesions between grave groups

or sexes.

8.3.2 Results for second hypothesis

Diet provides an informative proxy for past population sociopolitical, socioeconomic, and cultural dynamics. What an individual consumes is explained by more than individual preference but an result of communal and societal influences and restrictions. Dental and skeletal proxies for diet—antemortem tooth loss (AMTL) (Figure

8.8), carious lesions (Figure 8.9), calculus (Figure 8.10), periapical abscesses (Figure

8.11)—and more direct evidence of diet—stable carbon and nitrogen ratios—are

analyzed in this study.

8.3.2.i Dental pathological conditions in mass and multigenerational graves

Individuals with antemortem tooth loss were nearly equally represented in the

multigenerational (51.0%) and mass (56.7%) grave contexts. Females associated with

multigenerational (37.5%) and mass (43.8%) graves mirrored the overall pattern.

However, among males, a decrease in percent individuals with AMTL occurred between

multigenerational (56.3%) and mass (44.4%) graves, although this decrease was not

statistically significant (Table 8.6).

146

Table 8.6 Percent of individuals exhibiting AMTL according to grave context and sex Multigenerational Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 25 49 51.0 17 30 56.7 0.672 Females 6 16 37.5 7 16 43.8 0.725 Males 18 32 56.3 8 18 44.4 0.393 Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 13 32 40.6 26 50 52.0 0.274 Multigenerational 6 16 37.5 18 32 56.3 0.149 Mass 7 16 43.8 8 18 44.4 1.000

Figure 8.8 Antemortem loss of [minimally] right maxillary premolars and left maxillary molars and premolars

147

As with AMTL, percent of individuals with at least one carious lesion does not

differ significantly between multigenerational (56.5%) and mass (51.4%) graves (Table

8.7). Sexes show alternating declines and increases in individuals with caries from

multigenerational (Females=47.4%, Males=60.6%) to mass (F=35.7%, M=58.8%) grave

contexts. Percent of females with caries decreases markedly, but not significantly from

multigenerational (56.5%) to mass (33.3%) grave groups. Males, by contrast, display a

slight increase in the percent of individuals with at least one carious lesion from

multigenerational (55.9%) to mass (66.7%) grave contexts, an increase not found to be

significant.

Table 8.7 Percent of individuals exhibiting carious lesions according to grave context and sex Multigenerational Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 35 62 56.5 19 37 51.4 0.679 Females 13 23 56.5 5 15 33.3 0.198 Males 19 34 55.9 12 18 66.7 0.558 Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 18 38 47.4 31 52 59.6 0.288 Multigenerational 13 23 56.5 19 34 55.9 1.000 Mass 5 15 33.3 12 18 66.7 0.084

148

Figure 8.9 Root caries of right mandibular canine and first premolar

Periapical abscess results for Fisher’s Exact tests mirror the results of AMTL and caries in that no significant differences exist between percent of individuals in multigenerational (15.1%) and mass (5.7%) graves with the alveolar lesion (Table 8.8).

Among females, an increase in individuals with abscesses is recorded between multigenerational (5.9%) and mass (14.3%) graves, albeit not statistically significant. For males, there was perceptive decline in abscess prevalence from 16.1% of multigenerational males to 0.0% of mass grave males. However, as with females, this difference was not significant.

149

Table 8.8 Percent of individuals exhibiting an abscess according to grave context and sex Multigenerational Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 8 53 15.1 2 35 5.7 0.304 Females 1 17 5.9 2 14 14.3 0.576 Males 5 31 16.1 0 19 0.00 0.142 Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 3 31 9.7 5 50 10.0 1.000 Multigenerational 1 17 5.9 5 31 16.1 0.402 Mass 2 14 14.3 0 19 0.00 0.172

Figure 8.10 Periapical abscess at right maxillary first molar position

Fisher’s Exact tests for comparisons of individuals with calculus between multigenerational and mass grave contexts indicated no significant differences (Table

8.9). Overall, among the 82 observable individuals, higher percentages of individuals

150

(24.1%) from multigenerational contexts possessed at least one tooth with calculus, compared with 10.5% of mass grave individuals. This pattern held within sexes, with higher percentages of multigenerational females (16.7%) and males (20.7%) having calculus teeth than mass grave females (6.7%) and males (15.8%). Nevertheless, these differences were not statistically significant.

Table 8.9 Percent of individuals exhibiting calculus according to grave context and sex Multigenerational Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 13 54 24.1 4 38 10.5 0.112 Females 3 18 16.7 1 15 6.7 0.607 Males 6 29 20.7 3 19 15.8 1.000 Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Si g. All 4 33 12.1 9 48 18.8 0.544 Multigenerational 3 18 16.7 6 29 20.7 1.000 Mass 1 15 6.7 3 19 15.8 0.613

Figure 8.11 Calculus and periodontal disease (alveolar recession and reactive bone tissue) shown on left mandibular anterior teeth (canine, second incisor, first incisor).

151

Despite the commingled state of the Oymaağaç remains, carious lesions and calculus could be examined on a tooth-by-tooth basis (Table 8.10). Comparing individual with teeth distributions informs us about potential differences in how pathological conditions manifest at an elemental and individual level. Carious lesions, when compared by teeth between grave contexts, show no significant differences in prevalence, results that coincide with individual results. Calculus, by contrast, does differ significantly between multigenerational (4.88% of teeth) and mass (1.49% of teeth) contexts, despite having no significant differences in percent of individuals with calculus.

Table 8.10 Percent of teeth (carious lesions and calculus) or alveoli (periapical abscess) affected by pathological condition according to grave context Multigenerational Mass N Total % N Total % Sig. Carious lesions 67 964 6.95 49 604 8.11 0.392 Calculus 47 964 4.88 9 604 1.49 <0.0001* Periapical 5 964 0.519 3 604 0.497 0.953 abscess

8.3.2.ii Dental pathological conditions among sexes

Fisher’s Exact tests between sexes indicate no significant differences in

individuals with AMTL between females (40.6%) and males (52.0%). While this

difference between males (56.3%) and females (37.5%) is more pronounced in the

multigenerational grave group, the disparity is not significant. Percent of males (44.4%)

and females (43.8%) with AMTL among the mass graves is nearly identical.

Across both samples, more males (59.6%) exhibit at least one carious lesion than

females (47.4%). This difference is maintained between grave types. Within the

multigenerational graves, 56.5% of females show caries relative to 55.9% of males. This

152 percentage disparity is greater between sexes in mass graves: 33.3% of females and

66.7% of males. Nevertheless, this difference between males and females, consistent between grave samples, is not significant.

Within the entire Oymaağaç sample, males (10.0%) and females (9.7%) show near equal percentages of individuals with a periapical abscess (Table 8.7). This pattern, however, is not maintained within grave groups. Among the multigenerational group, considerably more males (16.1%) than females (5.9%) have a periapical abscess. In juxtaposition, more females (14.3%) than males (0.0%) in the mass graves exhibit a periapical lesion. Despite these differences overall and within grave groups, no statistically significant discrepancies are observed.

Results from Fisher’s Exact tests indicate no significant differences in the percentage of females (12.1%) and males (18.8%) with recorded calculus. Consistently, more males are observed within multigenerational (20.7%) and mass (15.8%) grave contexts having calculus than multigenerational (16.7%) and mass (6.7%) grave females.

However, this disparity between sexes within grave groups is not statistically significant.

8.3.2.iii Dental pathological conditions among age categories

To observe the impact of age on distribution of carious lesions, Analysis of

Covariance tests were utilized. Results from ANCOVA indicated the significant effect age had on differences between percent of individuals in multigenerational and mass graves with a carious lesion, a significant contributing effect also observed in males between grave groups (Table 8.11). Age, as a covariate, also contributed to significant differences between females and males in the whole Oymaağaç sample but not within grave groups.

153

Table 8.11 Percent of individuals with carious lesions according to grave context, sex, and age covariate

Multigenerational Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 21 37 56.8 14 29 48.3 0.007* 0.675 0.021* Female 8 14 57.1 4 13 30.8 0.166 0.259 0.156 Male 13 23 56.5 10 14 71.4 0.045* 0.392 0.090 Females Males Age Sex Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 12 27 44.4 23 37 62.2 0.009* 0.075 0.013* MG 8 14 57.1 13 23 56.5 0.051 0.687 0.144 Mass 4 13 30.8 10 14 71.4 0.146 0.029* 0.039*

Analysis of variance and covariance tests indicate how age significantly contributes to differences in AMTL. Overall, percent of individuals with AMTL increases linearly and significantly from age category 1 to age category 4: age category 1

(0%), age category 2 (40%), age category 3 (64%), and age category 4 (89%). When

AMTL is considered within grave groups, percentages do not always increase significantly. With the multigenerational grave groups, percent of individuals with

AMTL increases consistently until the final age category: age category 1 (0%), age category 2 (31%), age category 3 (79%), and age category 4 (0%). These differences were determined to be significant using ANOVA and Tukey’s HSD post-hoc tests.

Percent of individuals with AMTL did not vary significantly between age categories in the mass grave group, although the AMTL was more common among older individuals: age category 1 (0%), age category 2 (47%), age category 3 (38%), and age category 4

(80%).

When age was considered as a factor or covariate impacting AMTL percentages

154 in multigenerational and mass grave groups, the results varied between grave groups

(Table 8.12). Age significantly influenced the overall percentages of individuals with

AMTL in multigenerational graves as well as contributed to the significant differences between sexes. Contrarily, age did not significantly affect percentages of individuals with

AMTL nor contribute to any differences observed between sexes.

Table 8.12 Percent of individuals with AMTL according to grave context, sex, and age covariate Multigenerational Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 19 32 59.4 14 33 42.4 0.001* 0.452 0.001* Female 5 11 45.5 7 15 46.7 0.053 0.593 0.147 Male 14 21 66.7 7 15 46.7 0.012* 0.190 0.021* Females Males Age Sex Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 12 26 46.2 21 36 58.3 0.002* 0.284 0.004* MG 5 11 45.5 14 21 66.7 0.000* 0.044* 0.000* Mass 7 15 46.7 7 15 46.7 0.272 0.927 0.541

Calculus, much like carious lesions and AMTL, is a cumulative condition in the oral environment, especially among historical populations lacking dental care and medicine. For this reason, age was considered as a covariate in comparisons between calculus distributions at Oymaağaç. Results from ANCOVA showed no significant differences between grave groups and between sexes (Table 8.13). Age did not factor significantly into any of the observed differences.

155

Table 8.13 Percent of individuals with calculus according to grave context, sex, and age covariate Multigenerational Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 7 32 21.9 3 28 10.7 0.421 0.157 0.270 Female 3 11 27.3 1 13 7.7 0.625 0.274 0.420 Male 4 19 21.1 2 13 15.4 0.283 0.905 0.556 Females Males Age Sex Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 4 24 16.7 6 32 18.8 0.706 0.883 0.926 MG 3 11 27.3 4 19 21.1 0.609 0.583 0.674 Mass 1 13 7.7 2 13 15.4 0.131 0.498 0.263

8.3.2.iv Stable isotope ratio results

Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios were only compared among samples with preserved and diagenetically unaltered collagen. Of the samples collected from the

Roman period cemetery at Oymaağaç, 50% yielded viable collagen. Similarly, only half of the zooarchaeological and modern faunal samples collected for an isotopic, ecological reference yielded diagenetically unaltered collagen samples. Human and faunal samples

(Figure 8.12) are compared within these respective animal groups and interpreted in more depth in the discussion (Section 10.3.2).

156

Figure 8.12 δ13C and δ15N, distributions of faunal and human samples. Crosses show the extent of the δ13C and δ15N ranges (maximal and minimal values), and the intersection indicates the mean δ13C and δ15N values for each category. 16 Mass grave 14 Multigenerational

10 ) ‰ (̥ 8 N 15 δ 6

4 Human samples ---- Terrestrial animals ---- 2 Fish samples ----

0 -22 -21 -20 -19 -18 -17 -16 -15 -14 13 δ Ccol (‰)

8.3.2.iv Stable isotope ratios among zooarchaeological and faunal samples

Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios were obtained for 17 samples (Table 8.14).

Subsequent comparisons of δ13C and δ15N between animal groups (e.g., terrestrial

mammals and fish) were made with nonparametric Mann-Whitney U and Kruskal-Wallis tests. When terrestrial mammal and fish samples were compared, carbon isotope ratios were significantly more depleted in terrestrial mammals (-19.5‰) than fish (-17.5‰) (p- value<0.05); no significant differences were observed for nitrogen isotope ratios, despite fish samples exhibiting more enriched nitrogen ratios. Kruskal-Wallis tests yielded no significant differences in carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios between Bos species, ovicaprids, and fish.

157

Table 8.14 Descriptive statistics of stable carbon and nitrogen ratios for zooarchaeological and modern faunal samples δ13C (‰) δ15N (‰) Min Max Mean Min Max Mean Terrestrial -21.0 -15.7 -18.9 ± 1.54 4.7 10.4 6.9 ± 2.02 mammal (N=13) Bos (N=3) -19.9 -16.0 -18.4 ± 2.09 6.0 8.1 7.3 ± 1.12 Ovicaprid (N=6) -20.1 -15.7 -18.8 ± 1.59 4.8 9.7 6.9 ± 2.21 Sus (N=1) -21.0 6.1

Fish (N=4) -17.1 -15.7 -16.5 ± 0.64 8.5 9.8 9.1 ± 0.52

8.3.2.iv Stable isotope ratios in mass and multigenerational graves

Results for all Oymaağaç stable carbon and nitrogen ratios are outlined in Table

8.15 and graphically presented in Figure 8.12. Only the 44 collagen samples which met

quality standards (Appendix B) were included in these analyses. These data are presented

without adjustment for the Suess (enrichment) effect (+1.0‰, Levin, 1987; Suess, 1955).

Such adjustments are made for modern fauna when comparing human and faunal

samples. The complete sample at Oymaağaç displays δ13C values from -20.5‰ to -

18.7‰, and δ15N values from 9.2 ‰ to 13.1‰.

158

Table 8.15 Descriptive statistics of stable carbon and nitrogen ratios among grave contexts δ13C (‰) δ15N (‰) All Female Male All Female Male All Min -20.2 -20.5 -20.5 9.2 9.3 9.2 Max -18.9 -18.7 -18.7 13.1 12.9 13.1 -19.6 ± -19.6 ± -19.6 ± 11.5 ± 11.5 ± 11.5 ± Mean 0.38 0.41 0.39 1.12 0.89 0.98 δ13C (‰) δ15N (‰)

Multigenerational Female Male All Female Male All Min -20.2 -20.5 -20.5 9.2 9.7 9.2 Max -18.9 -18.7 -18.7 13.1 12.9 13.1 -19.5 ± -19.6 ± -19.6 ± 11.3 ± 11.7 ± 11.5 ± Mean 0.37 0.39 0.38 1.11 0.75 0.92 δ13C (‰) δ15N (‰)

Mass Female Male All Female Male All Min -20.2 -19.9 -20.2 9.7 9.3 9.3 Max -19.1 -18.9 -18.9 13.0 11.6 13.0 -19.8 ± -19.4 ± -19.6 ± 11.9 ± 10.7 ± 11.3 ± Mean 0.34 0.43 0.43 1.13 0.88 1.15

Figure 8.13 δ13C and δ15N values from total Oymaağaç sample, according to grave context

14.00

13.00

12.00 (‰)

AIR 11.00 N 15 δ 10.00 Multigenerational 9.00 Mass 8.00 -21.00 -20.50 -20.00 -19.50 -19.00 -18.50 13 δ C VPDB (‰)

159

Stable carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios from collagen revealed no significant differences between mass (N=13) and multigenerational (N=31) grave samples (Table

8.16; Figure 8.13). Although mass grave samples (δ13C= -19.6 ± 0.43‰) were depleted in

13C relative to multigenerational grave samples (δ13C= -19.6 ± 0.38‰), these differences were not significant. Stable nitrogen isotope ratios also indicated no significant differences: δ15N= 11.5 ± 0.92 ‰, multigenerational; and δ15N= 11.3 ± 1.15 ‰, mass graves.

Table 8.16 ANOVA tests comparing stable carbon and nitrogen ratios by multigenerational (MG) and mass grave context

13 15 All δ C VPDB (‰) P-value δ N AIR (‰) P-value MG (n=31) -19.6 ± 0.38 0.848 11.5 ± 0.92 0.531 Mass (n=13) -19.6 ± 0.43 11.3 ± 1.15 13 15 Females δ C VPDB (‰) P-value δ N AIR (‰) P-value MG (n=13) -19.5 ± 0.37 0.088 11.3 ± 1.11 0.319 Mass (n=7) -19.8 ± 0.34 11.9 ± 1.13 13 15 Males δ C VPDB (‰) P-value δ N AIR (‰) P-value MG (n=17) -19.6 ± 0.39 0.180 11.7 ± 0.75 0.014* Mass (n=6) -19.4 ± 0.43 10.7 ± 0.88

Intrasexual comparisons of stable isotope ratios showed differences, but most were not significant between multigenerational and mass grave individuals.

Multigenerational females exhibited more enriched carbon ratios (δ13C= -19.5 ± 0.37‰) than mass grave counterparts (δ13C= -19.8 ± 0.34‰). For nitrogen isotope ratios, mass grave females (δ15N= 11.9 ± 1.13‰) yielded higher averages than multigenerational females (δ15N= 11.3 ± 1.11‰). Mass grave females, in fact, had the most enriched δ15N values throughout samples.

Within males, multigenerational individuals (δ13C= -19.6 ± 0.39‰), unlike their

160

female counterparts, were less enriched in carbon 13 than mass grave males (δ13C= -19.4

± 0.43‰), albeit not significantly. Nitrogen isotope ratios, however, differ significantly

between multigenerational (δ15N= 11.7 ± 0.75‰) and mass (δ15N= 10.7 ± 0.88‰) grave males (ANOVA, p=0.014).

Figure 8.14 δ13C and δ15N values according to sex and grave groups: GF (multigenerational females), GM (multigenerational males), MF (mass grave females), and MM (mass grave males).

14.00

13.00

12.00 (‰) 11.00 AIR

N GF 15 δ 10.00 GM MF 9.00 MM 8.00 -21.00 -20.50 -20.00 -19.50 -19.00 -18.50 13 δ CVPDB (‰) 8.3.2.iv Stable isotope ratios between sexes

Overall differences between females and males in the Oymaağaç cemetery

indicate no significant results (Figure 8.15): females (δ13C= -19.6 ± 0.38‰) and males

(δ13C= -19.6 ± 0.41‰) are nearly identical in carbon ratios, but females exhibit nitrogen

isotope (δ15N= 11.5 ± 1.12‰) ratios relative to males (δ15N= 11.5 ± 0.89‰). Within the multigenerational sample, females are enriched in carbon 13 (δ13C= -19.5 ± 0.37‰) but

depleted in nitrogen 15 (δ15N= 11.3 ± 1.11‰) relative to the multigenerational males

(δ13C= -19.6 ± 0.39‰ and δ15N= 11.7 ± 0.75‰). However, the only near significant

161 difference in stable isotope ratios between sexes is evidenced in the mass grave individuals. Females are more enriched in carbon 13 (δ13C= -19.8 ± 0.34‰) and nitrogen

15 (δ15N= 11.9 ± 1.13‰) (ANOVA, p=0.068) in comparison to isotope ratios among mass grave males (δ13C= -19.4 ± 0.43‰ and δ15N= 10.7 ± 0.88‰), but these differences were not statistically significant. Mass grave males yield the most depleted δ13C and δ15N values within the total Oymaağaç sample.

Figure 8.15 δ13C and δ15N values from Oymaağaç sample according to sex

14.00

13.00

12.00 (‰)

AIR 11.00 N 15 δ 10.00 Female 9.00 Male

8.00 -21.00 -20.50 -20.00 -19.50 -19.00 -18.50 13 δ C VPDB (‰)

8.3.2.iv Stable isotope ratios among age cohorts

Stable isotope ratios are summarized in Table 8.17 and Figure 8.16. Due to the commingled state of remains, only 28 of the 44 samples (56.8%) had associated ages.

This limited the power of tests, especially as data were not evenly distributed between age categories. Kruskal-Wallis tests show no significant differences in δ13C and δ15N values between age categories, an observation well-visualized in Figure 8.16.

162

Table 8.17 Average stable carbon and nitrogen ratios according to age group with associated Kruskal-Wallis U test results 13 P-value 15 P-value δ C VPDB (‰) δ N AIR (‰) (Kruskal-Wallis) (Kruskal-Wallis) Under 20 (n=1) -19.0 0.348 10.1 0.41 20-34 (n=6) -19.4 ± 0.19 11.4 ± 0.28

35-49 (n=14) -19.7 ± 0.12 11.5 ± 0.28

Over 49 (n=7) -19.5 ± 0.16 11.0 ± 0.47

Figure 8.16 δ13C and δ15N values from Oymaağaç sample according to age categories

14.00

13.00

) 12.00 Over 49 ‰ ( 35-49

AIR 11.00 20-34 N 15 δ 10.00 Under 20

9.00

8.00 -20.50 -20.30 -20.10 -19.90 -19.70 -19.50 -19.30 -19.10 -18.90 -18.70 -18.50 13 δ C VPDB (‰)

8.3.2.v Caries, antemortem tooth loss, abscess, and calculus summary

Results from caries, AMTL, periapical abscesses, and calculus show no overall significant differences in frequency of individuals with these pathological conditions between grave contexts and between sexes. When significant differences are observed, as with AMTL, they are explained primarily by age. Even with variability in lesions and conditions between and within sexes, these differences are still within the realm of statistical uncertainty.

163

8.3.2.vi Stable isotope summary

Examination of stable isotope ratios from Oymaağaç, in light of grave group, sex,

and age, shows only one significant difference in distributions. A significant increase in nitrogen ratios is observed between males, but no other changes to carbon or nitrogen

ratios otherwise exist between grave groups. Between multigenerational and mass grave

groups, δ13C and δ15N become more depleted. The δ13C change appears to be driven by

female carbon isotope ratios while the δ15N is determined by a significant decrease in

δ15N among males. Average male δ15N ratios decline significantly by 1 ‰ from

multigenerational to mass grave groups while female ratios increase by 0.50 ‰. Age does

not factor significantly into any of the declines or increases in isotope ratios, nor do age

categories correlate directly with any isotope ratios.

8.3.3 Results for third hypothesis

8.3.3.i Growth perturbations

To evaluate childhood growth disruptions, permanent teeth have been examined

for the presence of linear enamel hypoplasias (LEH). These lines of thinner enamel

represent periods in childhood when the body reallocated energy resources away from

amelogenesis toward more important functions (e.g., combatting malnutrition or

infection) (Figure 8.17). In these results, a tooth was scored as present or absent for LEH,

and individuals were categorized as either having an LEH or not having an LEH.

8.3.3.ii Linear enamel hypoplasias in mass and multigenerational graves

The prevalence of linear enamel hypoplasias, as determined by percent of

individuals with LEH on a mandibular canine, decreases from multigenerational to mass

grave subsamples (Table 8.18). In the multigenerational sample, 35.5% of individuals

164 examined exhibited at least one linear growth disruption. This prevalence dropped significantly (Fisher’s Exact, p-value<0.05) in the mass grave sample to 9.7% of individuals displaying at least one hypoplastic defect on an observable permanent mandibular canine. When the percent of females and males with LEH were compared between grave groups, the pattern remained (i.e., demonstrable decreases in percent of individuals with LEH), but the differences were not found to be statistically significant.

Table 8.18 Percent of individuals exhibiting LEH on mandibular canine according to grave context and sex Multigenerational (MG) Mass Affected N Frequency Affected N Frequency Sig. All 11 31 0.355 3 31 0.097 0.032* Females 2 11 0.182 1 12 0.083 0.317 Males 7 17 0.412 2 16 0.125 0.118 Females Males Affected N Frequency Affected N Frequency Sig. All 3 23 0.130 9 33 0.273 0.525 MG 2 11 0.182 7 17 0.412 0.689 Mass 1 12 0.083 2 16 0.125 1.000

Figure 8.17 Visible LEH on left mandibular premolars and canine. These LEH were mirrored on the right mandibular premolars and canine

165

8.3.3.iii Linear enamel hypoplasias among sexes

Intersexual differences in LEH prevalence do not exist among all or either grave types. Of the 23 females with observable mandibular canines, only three (13.0%) had one or more LEH. This contrasts with over a third of the adult males (27.3%, 9 of 33) showing LEH on at least one mandibular canine. When LEH distribution is dissected within grave types, the intersexual differences also are not significant. More males demonstrate at least one LEH event than females in both multigenerational (M=41.2%,

F=18.2%) and mass (M=12.5%, F=8.3%) grave contexts.

8.3.3.iv Linear enamel hypoplasias among age cohorts

To determine whether age correlated significantly with LEH within the Oymaağaç population, age is set as an independent factor or covariate in Analysis of Variance and

Covariance tests (Table 8.19). Age did not contribute significantly to any differences between the percent of individuals with LEH in mass or multigenerational graves, nor did age significantly affect differences in LEH between sexes overall or in multigenerational graves. Age was a significant covariate when comparing percent of females with LEH in mass versus multigenerational graves, as well as percent of females and males with LEH in mass grave contexts. However, when examined with ANOVA, the difference in percent male and female individuals among mass graves with LEH was not significantly influenced by age.

166

Table 8.19 Percent of individuals exhibiting LEH on mandibular canine according to grave context, sex, and age covariate

Multigenerational Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 6 18 33.3 3 22 13.6 0.109 0.159 0.096 Female 1 7 14.3 1 11 9.10 0.029 0.514 0.080 Male 5 11 45.5 2 11 18.2 0.413 0.147 0.303 Females Males Age Sex Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 2 18 11.1 7 22 31.8 0.145 0.183 0.107 MG 1 7 14.3 5 11 45.5 0.761 0.194 0.419 Mass 1 11 9.10 2 11 18.2 0.020* 0.733 0.052

8.3.3.v LEH summary

Comparisons of individuals with at least one linear enamel hypoplastic defect on a present permanent mandibular canine showed only one significant difference in percent of individuals, namely significant differences between multigenerational and mass grave groups. A decline from 35.5% to 9.7% of adults with a mandibular canine LEH was observed. Although decreases between grave groups were observed in both sexes, none of these declines were significant. In a similar vein, higher percentages of males in all graves and within multigenerational and mass grave groups exhibited LEH than percent females, but these discrepancies did not demonstrate statistical significance. When LEH distribution was compared between age groups, and as a covariate with grave type or sex, it was not found to contribute significantly to any observed differences.

167

8.3.4 Non-specific and specific infection

8.3.4.i Periosteal new bone

Presence of periosteal new bone in this sample was scored when a bone exhibited atypical periosteal new bone growth (e.g., striae) or remodeling resulting in biostructural modifications (Figure 8.18). Periosteal new bone that could be explained by a localized injury (e.g., anterior tibial diaphyseal porosity) was not included in the statistical analyses.

Figure 8.18 Active periosteal bone formation along tibial shaft

8.3.4.i Periosteal new bone in mass and multigenerational graves

The prevalence of individuals with non-specific periosteal reactions, healing or active, increased between multigenerational and mass period samples (Table 8.20). This difference is borderline significant, increasing from 2.6% (1 of 38) of multigenerational grave individuals to 16.7% (6 of 36) of mass grave individuals (Fisher’s Exact, p- value=0.053). These differences are explained primarily by changes in the percent of males with PNB. Percent of males with PNB increased dramatically, and significantly

168 from 0.0% (multigenerational grave) to 23.8% (mass grave) (Fisher’s Exact, p- value<0.05). By contrast, percent of females with PNB was identical between multigenerational (7.14%) to mass (7.14%) grave samples.

Table 8.20 Percent of individuals exhibiting PNB according to grave context and sex Multigenerational Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 1 38 2.6 6 36 16.7 0.053 Females 1 14 7.1 1 14 7.1 1.000 Males 0 22 0.00 5 21 23.8 0.021* Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 2 28 7.1 5 43 11.6 0.696 MG 1 14 7.1 0 22 0.00 0.389 Mass 1 14 7.1 5 21 23.8 0.366

8.3.4.i Periosteal new bone among sexes

Intersexual differences in the prevalence of active and healing PNB were not found within the Oymaağaç community. Among the 28 females with preserved long bones for observation, only two individuals (7.14%) exhibited PNB. Of the 43 male individuals, 11.6% (5 individuals) showed active or healing periosteal lesions. Intrasexual differences according to grave groups also were not significant. No multigenerational males exhibited PNB relative to 7.14% (1 of 14) of their female counterparts. Within the mass grave group, more males (23.8%) showed PNB than females (7.14%).

8.3.4.i Periosteal new bone among age cohorts

To consider the effects of age on PNB distributions, the sample size was reduced to include only individuals with known age categories: 31 multigenerational and 29 mass grave individuals. As Table 8.21 demonstrates, the patterns between grave groups and sexes are maintained: a significant increase is observed from multigenerational to mass

169

grave groups, while no differences are observed between sexes. However, when age is considered as a covariate, the increase between multigenerational and mass graves becomes more nuanced (Table 8.20). Overall, this change is explained by grave group and not age, but this observation does not hold for both sexes. The percent of males with

PNB increases from 0.00% to 11.8%, and this significant increase (p=0.045) is the result of grave group. When females are compared, more individuals have PNB in mass (8.3%) than multigenerational (7.7%) groups, too, but this significant difference is the result of age rather than grave group.

Table 8.21 Percent of individuals exhibiting PNB according to grave context, sex, and age covariate Multigenerational Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 1 31 3.2 3 29 10.3 0.143 0.023* 0.038* Female 1 13 7.7 1 12 8.3 0.014* 0.429 0.045* Male 0 18 0.00 2 17 11.8 0.969 0.013* 0.045* Females Males Age Sex Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 2 25 8.0 2 35 5.7 0.211 0.372 0.348 MG 1 13 7.7 0 18 0.00 0.761 0.194 0.419 Mass 1 12 8.3 2 17 11.8 0.388 0.183 0.283

8.3.4.ii Osteomyelitis

No case of osteomyelitis was observed in the Oymaağaç sample in either grave

group. This absence does not mean that no individuals in the Roman period or within this

sample suffered from such a localized bacterial infection. Osteomyelitis was identified in

other grave contexts at Oymaağaç (Figure 8.19). Three theoretical and qualitative factors

could be contributing to this absence in observed osteomyelitis: 1) osteomyelitic bones

170 were altered or destroyed by diagenesis or excavation; 2) individuals died of bacterial infections before osseous lesions could manifest; and 3) osteomyelitis did not afflict this sample but other subsections of the Oymaağaç population during this period.

Figure 8.19 Involucrum formation over adult long bone diaphysis (7389.012.002)

8.2.4.iii Periodontal disease

Periodontal disease (PD) is a condition that provides information about systemic health as well as oral disease. Consequently, the presence of PD may inform upon the immunological state of individuals at the time of death. Both grave contexts at Oymaağaç exhibited multiple occurrences of PD within the adult sample (Figure 8.20).

Figure 8.20 Vertical alveolar recession of the anterior alveoli observed in the mandible of an individual with PD

171

8.3.4.iii Periodontal disease in mass and multigenerational graves

Presence of periodontal disease among individuals increases, albeit not significantly (p-value=0.128) between multigenerational and mass grave groups, 9.4% to

16.7%. The increase between groups was also observed within females. Percent of individuals with PD increased from 5.6% (1 of 18) to 25.0% (4 of 16) of multigenerational and mass grave females, respectively. This pattern was not observed in males with both 12.5% of multigenerational males (4 of 32) and mass grave males (2 of

16) manifesting PD.

Table 8.22 Percent of individuals exhibiting PD according to grave context and sex

Multigenerational (MG) Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 5 53 9.4 6 36 16.7 0.128 Females 1 18 5.6 4 16 25.0 0.164 Males 4 32 12.5 2 16 12.5 0.413 Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 5 34 14.7 6 48 12.5 1.000 MG 1 18 5.6 4 32 12.5 0.642 Mass 4 16 25.0 2 16 12.5 1.000

8.3.4.iii Periodontal disease among sexes

Intersexual differences in PD were not significant, with near equal percentages of males (12.5%) and females (14.7%) overall exhibiting the condition. Within the multigenerational sample, twice the number of males (4 of 32; 12.5%) than females (1 of

18; 5.6%) were diagnosed with PD. Although higher overall percentages of individuals with PD were observed in the mass grave context, these differences did not hold between males and females: 12.5% of males and 25.0% of females manifested PD. None of these

172 differences within grave samples were significant between sexes.

8.3.4.iii Periodontal disease among age cohorts

Percent of individuals, male and female, in multigenerational and mass graves were compared through ANCOVA to assess how age contributed, or did not contribute, to any observed differences (Table 8.22). As with previous Fisher’s Exact tests, no significant differences were observed between grave groups or sexes or within grave groups or sexes. Age did not have a significant effect on any disparities in PD occurrence within the Oymaağaç sample.

Table 8.23 Percent of individuals exhibiting PD according to grave context, sex, and age covariate Multigenerational Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 3 32 9.4 7 28 25.0 0.923 0.113 0.278 Female 1 11 9.1 4 16 25.0 0.586 0.393 0.523 Male 2 21 9.5 3 12 25.0 0.723 0.271 0.484 Females Males Age Sex Mod el Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 5 27 18.5 5 33 15.2 0.886 0.736 0.934 MG 1 11 9.1 2 21 9.5 0.409 0.865 0.706 Mass 4 16 5.0 3 12 25.0 0.526 0.923 0.814

8.3.4.iv Periosteal new bone summary

Frequency of individuals with PNB increased significantly from multigenerational to mass grave groups, as shown in Fisher’s Exact and ANCOVA tests, although variations in results exist when age are factored as a variable. Fisher’s Exact tests indicated an overall increase (nearly significant, p=0.0513), 2.6% to 16.7% from multigenerational to mass grave groups, an increase driven by the significant increase

(0.0% to 28.3%, p=0.021) in males with PNB from the earlier to later contexts. Females

173 with PNB remained the same between periods. However, when age categories were considered in these changes, results from the reduced sample yielded significant increases in PNB for females as well as males, but the increase in PNB in females was explained only by age while the increase in PNB in males was explained exclusively by grave groups. These results suggest that while PNB may not differ significantly between males and females, other factors between sexes are contributing differentially to their diachronic increases in PNB prevalence.

8.3.4.v Periodontal disease summary

Within the Oymaağaç sample, the prevalence of individuals with PD did not reflect any pattern in distribution. In terms of temporal changes, there were no significant changes between multigenerational and mass grave groups, despite a sizeable increase in prevalence among females (5.6% to 25.0%) between groups. Although the percent of females with PD increased between groups, this shift did not result in significant differences between sexes. When age was factored into the distributions, ANCOVA results echoed initial results from Fisher’s Exact tests. No significant changes occurred overall or intrasexually between grave groups, and age did not contribute significantly to any of the relationships.

8.3.5 Results for fourth hypothesis

8.3.5.i Osteoarthritis in mass and multigenerational graves

Significantly more individuals in the multigenerational grave (83.3%; 40 of 48) exhibit osteoarthritis (OA) than the mass grave individuals (50.0%; 22 of 44) (Fisher’s

Exact, p-value=0.002) (Table 8.23). When examined within sexes, percent of females with OA is also significantly higher among multigenerational (82.4%; 14 of 17) than

174 mass (42.1%; 8 of 10) grave individuals. Significant differences, however, were not observed within males: 82.8% of multigenerational males and 58.3% of mass grave males have at least one osteoarthritic joint (Fisher’s Exact, p-value=0.069).

Figure 8.21 Eburnation of the capitulum of the left humerus indicative of osteoarthritis

Table 8.24 Percent of individuals exhibiting OA according to grave context and sex Multigenerational (MG) Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 40 48 83.3 22 44 50.0 0.002* Females 14 17 82.4 8 19 42.1 0.045* Males 24 29 82.8 14 24 58.3 0.069 Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 22 36 61.1 38 53 71.7 0.261 MG 14 17 82.4 24 29 82.8 0.716 Mass 8 19 42.1 14 24 58.3 0.364

175

8.3.5.ii Osteoarthritis among sexes

Percent of males (71.7%) and females (61.1%) with OA did not differ significantly within the combined Oymaağaç samples. Within the multigenerational sample, percentage of males (82.8%) and females (82.4%) manifesting OA were almost identical. Among the later period mass grave samples, fewer females (42.1%) exhibited at least one case of OA than males (58.3%). All these differences were not statistically significant.

8.3.5.iii Osteoarthritis among age cohorts

ANCOVA tests indicate that age does not significantly explain differences in OA between multigenerational and mass grave groups, females, and males (Table 8.24).

Significant differences, i.e., higher percentages of individuals with OA in multigenerational than mass graves, are explained by grave context rather than age.

Comparisons of percent individuals with OA across the age groups highlights the lack of correlation between age and osteoarthritis within this specific Oymaağaç sample (Table

8.24).

176

Table 8.25 Percent of individuals exhibiting OA according to grave context, sex, and age covariate

Multigenerational (MG) Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 33 40 82.5 18 37 48.6 0.787 0.001* 0.006* Female 14 17 82.4 8 18 44.4 0.908 0.023* 0.069 Male 19 23 82.6 10 19 52.6 0.806 0.040* 0.114 Females Males Age Sex Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 22 35 62.9 29 42 69.0 0.978 0.576 0.854 MG 14 17 82.4 19 23 82.6 0.552 0.916 0.836 Mass 8 18 44.4 10 19 52.6 0.893 0.633 0.884

8.3.5.ii Rotator cuff disease

8.3.5.ii.i Rotator cuff disease in mass and multigenerational graves

Rotator cuff disease (RCD) decreased from multigenerational (15.2%) to mass

(10.5%) grave samples, albeit not statistically significant (Table 8.25). Males and females exhibited contrasting patterns between patterns. A higher percent of individuals (22.7%) showed RCD in the multigenerational than mass (10.0%) grave males, but more mass grave females (11.1%) manifested RCD than multigenerational females (0.0%). Both intrasexual differences were not significant.

177

Table 8.26 Percent of individuals exhibiting RCD according to grave context and sex Multigenerational (MG) Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 5 28 17.9 2 23 8.7 0.436 Females 0 6 0.00 1 13 7.7 1.000 Males 5 20 25.0 1 10 10.0 0.633 Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 1 19 5.3 6 30 20.0 0.436 MG 0 6 0.00 5 20 25.0 0.298 Mass 1 13 7.7 1 10 10.0 1.000

8.3.5.ii.ii Rotator cuff disease among sexes

Between sexes, RCD was observed in more males (18.8%) than females (5.3%).

Dissected into grave groups, this relationship did not remain between sexes. In the

multigenerational sample, no females showed signs of RCD (0%) while five males

(22.7%) did. In the mass grave sample, RCD was recorded one male (10.0%) and one

female (11.1%). Intersexual differences in RCD were not significant within grave

samples or overall.

8.3.5.ii.iii Rotator cuff disease among age cohorts

Percentages of individuals with RCD were compared with ANCOVA to determine whether age acted as confounding variable in any differences between graves or sexes. Results from ANCOVA showed no significant differences in RCD occurrence, and no differences that were explained by an age covariate. However, any differences may be underscored by the small sample size (N=41). As with OA, there are no apparent patterns in RCD percentages based on age group (Table 8.26).

178

Table 8.27 Percent of individuals exhibiting RCD according to grave context, sex, and age covariate Multigenerational (MG) Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 4 22 18.2 1 19 5.3 0.394 0.228 0.327 Female 0 5 0.00 1 13 7.7 0.583 0.484 0.721 Male 4 17 23.5 0 6 0.00 0.294 0.149 0.263 Females Males Age Sex Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 1 18 5.6 4 23 17.4 0.406 0.280 0.378 MG 0 5 0.00 4 17 23.5 0.307 0.187 0.308 Mass 1 13 7.7 0 6 0.00 0.570 0.443 0.688

8.3.5.iii Intervertebral disc disease

8.3.5.iii.i Intervertebral disc disease in mass and multigenerational graves

Percent of individuals with intervertebral disc disease (IVD) decreased from multigenerational (57.5%) to mass (42.9%) grave contexts (Table 8.27). This decrease was observed in both females and males: over half of multigenerational females (53.8%) exhibited IVD relative to a third of mass grave females (30.0%), while a less dramatic decline occurred between multigenerational (61.5%) and mass (54.5%) grave males. All decreases in IVD were not statistically significant.

Table 8.28 Percent of individuals exhibiting IVD according to grave context and sex Multigenerational (MG) Mass Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 16 31 51.6 9 30 30.0 0.120 Females 7 12 58.3 3 15 20.0 0.057 Males 9 19 47.4 6 14 42.9 1.000 Females Males Affected N % Affected N % Sig. All 10 27 37.0 15 33 45.5 0.602 MG 7 12 58.3 9 19 47.4 0.716 Mass 3 15 20.0 6 14 42.9 0.245

179

Figure 8.22 Macroporosity, compression, and marginal osteophytes of centra C3 (right) and C4 (left) vertebrae

Although comparison of individuals with IVD does not vary between grave

contexts, significant differences emerge when examining vertebrae by type (Table 8.28).

Not only do more cervical, thoracic, and lumbar vertebrae manifest IVD in the

multigenerational versus mass grave contexts, but these differences are statistically

significant for thoracic (χ2=11.54, p-value < 0.001) and lumbar (χ2=11.26, p- value<0.001) vertebrae.

Table 8.29 Percent of cervical, thoracic, and lumbar vertebra with IVD and Chi- square results Multigenerational (MG) Mass N Total % N Total % Sig. Cervical 44 323 13.62 7 71 9.86 0.392 Thoracic 36 316 11.39 1 112 0.89 0.00068* Lumbar 44 224 19.64 4 89 4.49 0.00079*

180

8.3.5.iii.ii Intervertebral disc disease among sexes

IVD was found consistently in higher percentages of males (59.5%) than females

(43.5%) within the Oymaağaç sample. Although over half of males and females in the multigenerational sample manifested IVD, more males (61.5%) than females (53.8%) showed the condition. Percent of individuals with IVD decreased between multigenerational and mass samples, but fewer females (30.0%) than males (54.5%) were observed with IVD in the mass graves. No intersexual IVD differences were significant.

8.3.5.iii.iii Intervertebral disc disease among age cohorts

Results from the ANCOVA tests demonstrated how highly dependent IVD frequency was dependent on age within the Oymaağaç sample (Table 8.29). Significant differences between percentage of multigenerational and mass grave individuals (overall and males), specifically more individuals exhibiting IVD in the former group, were partially explained by age. The significantly higher proportion of males than females exhibiting IVD in mass graves and in the overall sample was explained by age.

Nonetheless, the small IVD sample size was likely biasing our results, as noted by the lack of represented samples in the youngest and oldest age groups.

181

Table 8.30 Percent of individuals exhibiting IVD according to grave context, sex, and age covariates

Multigenerational (MG) Mass Age Grave Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 16 30 53.3 6 25 24.0 0.019* 0.023* 0.005* Female 7 12 58.3 2 13 15.4 0.839 0.034* 0.084 Male 9 18 50.0 4 12 33.3 0.006* 0.205 0.015* Females Males Age Sex Model Affected N % Affected N % (Sig.) (Sig.) (Sig.) All 9 25 36.0 13 30 43.3 0.018* 0.392 0.050* MG 7 12 58.3 9 18 50.0 0.341 0.867 0.576 Mass 2 13 15.4 4 12 33.3 0.014* 0.295 0.028*

8.3.5.iv Osteoarthritis summary

Results from Fisher’s Exact and ANCOVA indicate overall higher frequencies of

OA among the multigenerational than mass grave sample. When examined by sex, the

difference is statistically significant between females and approaching significance in

males. Furthermore, when age is considered as a possible confounding covariate in the

relationship between OA and grave context, results show that age does not factor

significantly into sample differences.

8.3.5.v Rotator cuff disease summary

Not only is rotator cuff disease observed at low frequency, relative to OA and

IVD, within the Oymaağaç sample, but no differences were observed between grave

contexts. Furthermore, no patterns in RCD are observed between or within sexes. Despite

being an age-related degenerative disease, there is no association between age and RCD

within this sample.

182

8.3.5.vi Intervertebral disc disease summary

Intervertebral disc disease was compared at an individual and elemental level.

Fisher’s Exact and ANCOVA results yield differing results, with the former showing no

significant differences in IVD between grave contexts while the latter noted differences

based on age distributions. In particular, age explained the statistically higher frequency

of males than females overall and in mass graves having IVD. Age also contributed to the

significantly higher percent of multigenerational males having IVD than mass grave

males. At an elemental level, significant differences in IVD among thoracic and lumbar

vertebrae were observed between multigenerational and mass grave context, specifically

with more cases of IVD in the multigenerational than mass grave samples.

8.3.6 Multiple Correspondence Models

Multiple correspondence analyses (MCA) are an exploratory tool for visualizing structures and connections between categorical variables. In this capacity, MCA provide a representation of pathological lesions, especially in their binary forms (i.e., absent or present), in relation to each other as well as grave context. Three models were constructed from the Oymaağaç data to first maximize information and subsequently sample size. The commingled nature of the remains means that only a fraction of the sample could be compared, as only a fraction showed mostly to fully complete skeletons.

Model 1 compared trauma, LEH, periosteal new bone, and osteoarthritis (N=43). Model 2 included trauma, carious lesions, periosteal new bone, periodontal disease, and osteoarthritis (N=52). Finally, Model 3 comprised trauma, carious lesions, AMTL, periosteal new bone, periodontal disease, and osteoarthritis (N=52). All of these models included some combination of biomarkers and proxies for violence, diet, developmental

183 stress, non-specific infection/inflammatory responses, and joint wear. From these models patterns in and relationships pathological lesions and conditions can be observed, as well as correlations with grave context and sex.

8.3.6.i Model 1

For Model 1, the presence and absence of four biomarkers (trauma, PNB, LEH, and OA) are compared between grave contexts (Figure 8.23) and sex groups within grave contexts (Figure 8.24). Figure 8.23 shows mass grave individuals being more associated with a lack of pathological lesions (i.e., no trauma, OA, PNB, or LEH) than multigenerational individuals, who correspond more closely with trauma and OA.

184

Figure 8.23 MCA Factor Map for Model 1, comparing grave contexts (N=45). Multigenerational graves are more closely aligned with the presence of LEH, osteoarthritis, and trauma, while mass graves correspond with the absence of these biomarkers.

185

Figure 8.24 MCA Factor Map for Model 1, comparing grave contexts and sexes (N=45). While females from both grave contexts congregate closer to the absent biomarkers (trauma, LEH, and PNB), males from multigenerational and mass graves are noticeably separate, with the latter, in particular, corresponding with the presence of trauma.

186

When further dissected into sexes (Figure 8.24), it becomes apparent that

differences in pathological conditions between males in mass and multigenerational

graves are driving the overall differences between contexts. Mass grave and

multigenerational grave females plot very closely together, corresponding with absence

of LEH and PNB. Multigenerational and mass grave males, by contrast, are on opposite

ends of the MCA, with the former associating with trauma, LEH, and osteoarthritis and

the latter associating with no trauma and no osteoarthritis.

8.3.6.ii Model 2

Model 2 compared trauma, carious lesions, periosteal new bone, and periodontal

disease between grave contexts (Figure 8.25). The MCA factor map represents the division in condition types between multigenerational and mass grave groups. As with

Model 1, there is a definite correspondence between multigenerational graves and traumatic and osteoarthritic lesions, with mass graves showing the opposite relationship,

correspondences with no trauma and no osteoarthritis. With this model, there is also no

difference in the presence or absence of carious lesions, PNB, and periodontal disease.

Intra- and intersexual comparisons between mass and multigenerational grave

contexts further parse apart significant differences in skeletal and dental lesions (Figure

8.26). For example, trauma differences between multigenerational and mass graves are

driven by higher traumatic prevalence in multigenerational males than females.

Meanwhile, the defining differences in females between grave contexts are the

presence/absence of osteoarthritis and carious lesions; the presence of carious lesions and

osteoarthritis correspond with multigenerational females whereas these lesions are more

absent in mass grave females. Additionally, PNB and PD, which were outliers in the

187

MCA factor map between grave contexts, while still offset from the rest of the pathological lesions, in Figure 8.26 do correspond with mass grave males (presence of

PNB) and multigenerational females (presence of PD). As with Model 1, the MCA factor maps for Model 2 further demonstrate the antipodal relationship between mass and multigenerational males.

188

Figure 8.25 MCA Factor Map for Model 2, comparing grave contexts (N=59). Multigenerational graves show closer correspondence to osteoarthritis and trauma biomarkers, contrary to mass graves, which correspond with a lack of osteoarthritis and trauma but presence of PNB.

8.2.6.iii Model 3

189

Figure 8.26 MCA Factor Map for Model 2, comparing grave contexts and sex (N=59). Females are from mass and multigenerational contexts are more differentiated in Model 2. Differences in carious lesions and osteoarthritis mark this divide with mass grave females exhibiting no lesions while multigenerational females corresponding with both lesions. Multigenerational males correspond most closely with trauma, but mass grave males are set apart spatially from other subgroups and pathological conditions.

190

8.3.6.iii Model 3

Model 3 included and compared trauma, carious lesions, AMTL, PNB, PD, and osteoarthritis between multigenerational and mass grave contexts (Figure 8.27). As with the other models, mass and multigenerational grave differences are governed primarily by trauma and osteoarthritis differences.

Examined by sex, the grave context differences echo results from Models 1 and 2

(Figure 8.28): multigenerational males are defined by higher prevalence of traumatic lesions; multigenerational females correspond with present carious lesions and osteoarthritis; mass grave females exhibit lower carious lesion and OA prevalences; and mass grave males are set apart from the other categories and pathological conditions.

With the addition of AMTL, no major shifts from Model 2 are observed in the MCA factor map.

191

Figure 8.27 MCA Factor Map for Model 3, comparing grave contexts (N=54). The spatial distribution of these lesions and grave contexts nearly mirrors those from Model 2, with mass grave individuals corresponding with lack of lesions while multigenerational grave individuals correspond to the presence of these lesions.

192

Figure 8.28 MCA Factor Map for Model 3, comparing grave contexts and sexes (N=54). Results show comparable distributions to Model 2, with the exception that AMTLcorresponds with multigenerational females and no AMTL corresponds with mass grave females.

193

8.3.6.iv Multiple correspondence model summary

Results from the MCA provide a supplementary representation, to the statistical tests, of overall differences in pathological conditions between multigenerational and mass grave contexts. First, the correspondence of traumatic lesions to the multigenerational, and specifically male, group confirms the statistical results from

Section 8.2.1. To this, the correspondence displayed between osteoarthritis and trauma demonstrates the coincidental relationship between these lesions: at Oymaağaç, traumatic lesions correlate with osteoarthritis, intimating a linkage between physical activity and fracture prevalence. MCA factor maps for Model 1 and Models 2 and 3 both yielded informative, complementary results about grave contexts and sexes within and between grave types. MCA for Model 1 demonstrates the clear division in lesions (trauma, LEH, and OA) between multigenerational and mass grave individuals, with the former corresponding to higher prevalence of these biomarkers. Significantly higher prevalences of trauma, LEH, and OA occur in the multigenerational than mass graves. However,

PNB, which occurs in significantly more mass grave than multigenerational individuals, does not correspond well with the other pathological conditions. In Figure 8.24, presence of PNB, while closest to mass grave males, is proportionately farther away from all groups and lesion categories.

MCA for Models 2 and 3 yield comparable results, despite Model 3 having an additional biomarker (AMTL) and smaller sample size, so only the MCA for Model 3 is summarized here. For this MCA, specific pathological conditions correspond with specific groupings: multigenerational males and trauma; multigenerational females and carious lesion, AMTL, and OA; mass grave females and the absence of carious lesions

194

and OA; and mass grave males and PNB. These visual representations are particularly

insightful, especially when tweezing apart sex-based differences. For all but trauma, the

prevalences of pathological conditions (carious lesions, AMTL, PNB, PD, and OA) are

not significantly different between males and females (Sections 8.2.1 to 8.2.5). However,

by considering the distribution of pathological conditions together by individuals, not as

separate gross prevalence comparisons, there are more apparent patterns in the biological

differences of male-female and mass-multigenerational groups.

8.4 Regional scale On a regional scale, paleopathological profiles were compared between Oymaağaç and other Anatolian samples to test the following hypotheses: 1) Evidence of violence will remain constant between Oymaağaç and other contemporaneous communities in Anatolia. 2) Diets between Roman Oymaağaç and other Anatolian communities will not differ significantly. 3) The prevalence of childhood stress markers will the similar between contemporaneous Anatolian and Oymaağaç populations. 4) The skeletal record for non-specific and specific infection will not differ significantly between Oymaağaç and other Anatolian communities. 5) Skeletal proxies for daily labor and physical activity will vary significantly between grave contexts at Oymaağaç and contemporaneous, urban Anatolian populations. 8.4.1 Results for first hypothesis

8.4.1. Traumatic lesions among multigenerational and mass graves at Oymaağaç and

Anatolian samples

To evaluate the occurrence of traumatic lesions among individuals at Oymaağaç relative to other communities throughout Anatolia, fracture data from the

195

multigenerational and mass grave contexts were compared with published sites in

Turkey. Three urban sites (Elaiussa Sebaste, Hierapolis, and Klazomenai) comprised the

comparative Anatolian sample. The percent of multigenerational grave individuals at

Oymaağaç (37.5%) with a fracture was not significantly higher than those of the other sites (Single-Sample Wilcoxon test, p-value>0.10). Similarly, the percent of individuals among the mass grave contexts (14.7%) was comparative to those observed throughout the other sites in Anatolia (Figure 8.29). Unfortunately, the lack of available demographic data from Elaiussa Sebaste, Hierapolis, and Klazomenai precludes comparisons of trauma between sexes and age groups.

Figure 8.29 Percent of individuals with trauma in Oymaağaç (multigenerational, MG; mass, Mass) and Roman Anatolian sites (left); boxplot distribution of Anatolian samples with Oymaağaç multigenerational (orange) and mass (blue) percentages highlighted

196

8.4.2 Results for second hypothesis

One of the transformations brought about by imposing Roman economic and cultural networks was a supposed globalization of diet. If Anatolian communities of Asia

Minor relied on locally-grown foodstuffs with supplemental terrestrial meats, as recorded in ethnohistorical accounts, the oral biomarkers associated with these diets (carious lesions, calculus, and AMTL) should be reflected and consistent between Oymaağaç and

other Turkish skeletal series. Due to the dearth in stable isotope data from Roman period

sites in Turkey, only dental and skeletal markers are available for comparison between

Asia Minor sites.

8.4.2.i Distribution of oral markers of diet at Oymaağaç and across Asia Minor

The distribution of teeth affected by carious lesions ranges from 2.62% to 20.0%

of observed teeth among ten Roman period sites in Anatolia (mean, 8.42 ± 5.48%).

Although the percentages of carious teeth in multigenerational (6.95%) and mass grave

(8.11%) contexts at Oymaağaç fall below the average, it is not outside the distribution of

Anatolian sites (Figure 8.30).

Figure 8.30 Percent of individuals with carious lesions in Oymaağaç (multigenerational, MG; mass, Mass) and Roman Anatolian sites (left); boxplot distribution of Anatolian samples with Oymaağaç multigenerational (orange) and mass (blue) percentages highlighted

197

Percent of teeth with calculus is observed at higher frequencies than carious lesions in Roman period Asia Minor samples (Figure 8.30). While over a third of teeth demonstrate calculus (mean, 34.4 ± 25.2%), the range among the nine sites is broad, from

4.16% to 80.0% of teeth. For this reason, even though the Oymaağaç samples resonate at the lower end of calculus percentage (4.88% of multigenerational teeth; 1.49% of mass grave teeth), the rural sample does deviate significantly (Single-sample Wilcoxon test, p- values<0.05) from the distribution throughout Anatolia.

Figure 8.31 Percent of teeth with calculus in Oymaağaç (multigenerational, MG; mass, Mass) and Roman Anatolian sites (left); boxplot distribution of Anatolian samples with Oymaağaç multigenerational (orange) and mass (blue) percentages highlighted

Where significant differences between Oymaağaç and the other Anatolian sites are observed is in the percent of alveoli affected by AMTL (Figure 8.32). The percentages of affected alveoli in multigenerational (41.0%) and mass (29.3%) grave teeth at Oymaağaç significantly exceed the distribution of eight other sites (mean, 12.9 ±

8.94%) (Single-Sample Wilcoxon test, p-value<0.05).

198

Figure 8.32 Percent of alveoli with AMTL in Oymaağaç (multigenerational, MG; mass, Mass) and Roman Anatolian sites (left); boxplot distribution of Anatolian samples with Oymaağaç multigenerational (orange) and mass (blue) percentages highlighted

8.4.2.ii Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios in Roman period Anatolian sites

Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios from the 31 multigenerational and 13 mass

grave individuals at Oymaağaç were compared with published results from the urban

sites of Ephesus (n=41) and Hierapolis (n=9) (Figure 8.33). Three individuals from

Sagalassos provide another referential sample, although only average and standard

deviation values were published for δ13C (-19.2 ± 0.2 ‰) and δ15N (10.1 ± 0.7‰) (Fuller et al., 2012). Results from ANOVA, examining differences for δ13C and δ15N between

Oymaağaç, Ephesus, and Hierapolis, show significant differences in isotope ratios for

both carbon (p-value<0.001) and nitrogen (p-value<0.001), wherein multigenerational

(δ13C=-19.6 ± 0.2 ‰; δ15N=11.5 ± 0.7‰) and mass (δ13C=-19.6 ± 0.2 ‰; δ15N=11.3 ±

0.7‰) grave Oymaağaç samples are demonstrably higher than Ephesus (δ13C=-18.9 ±

199

0.06‰; δ15N=9.2 ± 0.17‰) and Hierapolis (δ13C=-19.1 ± 0.20‰; δ15N=9.6 ± 0.33‰) samples.

Figure 8.33 Stable carbon (δ13C (‰)) and nitrogen (δ15N (‰)) ratios from Oymaağaç (mass grave and multigenerational (MG) contexts), Ephesus, and Hierapolis samples

8.4.3 Results for third hypothesis

Prevalence of childhood stress proxies (linear enamel hypoplasias) are compared

between Oymaağaç and eight other contemporaneous sites in Asia Minor. Most of these

anthropological reports only reference total teeth with LEH and not individuals with

LEH, nor do they include information about the age and sex distributions of the lesion.

For this reason, LEH among all teeth only are tested statistically between Oymaağaç and

the other sites.

200

8.4.3.i Prevalence of linear enamel hypoplasia in Asia Minor and Oymaağaç samples

The range of LEH occurrence spans from 0% to 73.3% of teeth affected among the eight Roman period samples. This expansive breadth is captured in the large standard deviation (28.0%). Findings from Oymaağaç are within range of the average, 25.2%., with 35.5% of observable multigenerational teeth and 25.0% of mass grave teeth exhibiting at least one LEH. The percent of teeth with LEH at Oymaağaç is not significantly higher than the representative Asia Minor distribution (Figure 8.34).

Figure 8.34 Percent of teeth with LEH in Oymaağaç (multigenerational, MG; mass, Mass) and Roman Anatolian sites (left); boxplot distribution of Anatolian samples with Oymaağaç multigenerational (orange) and mass (blue) percentages highlighted

8.4.4 Results for fourth hypothesis

To evaluate whether the conditions in rural Oymaağaç were more conducive to non-specific infection, the percentages of individuals with periosteal new bone (PNB) and periodontal disease (PD) were compared between Oymaağaç and other Asia Minor sites. As with the oral biomarkers, the number of sites with accessible PNB and PD data

201 were limited.

8.4.4.i Periosteal new bone Relative to individuals at Oymaağaç, more individuals at the urban sites of Elaiussa Sebaste, Gordion, and Ismir exhibited PNB (mean, 12.4 ± 12.5%) (Figure 8.35). Although the other sites yield PNB results an order of magnitude higher than the findings among the multigenerational grave individuals at Oymaağaç (2.6%), these differences are not statistically significant. However, the percent of individuals with PNB among the mass grave context (16.7%) at Oymaağaç is similar to the other Anatolian sites. The small reference sample unfortunately comprises the power and representativeness of these results.

Figure 8.35 Percent of individuals with PNB in Oymaağaç (multigenerational, MG; mass, Mass) and Roman Anatolian sites (left); boxplot distribution of Anatolian samples with Oymaa ğaç multigenerational (orange) and mass (blue) percentages highlighted

8.4.4.ii Periodontal disease

As with results from PNB, the distribution of individuals with PD is dramatically higher among the Asia Minor reference samples than the multigenerational individuals at

202

Oymaağaç. Among the six reference samples, the percent of individuals with PD ranges from a quarter (25.0%) to nearly all adult individuals (97.6%). The percent of individuals at Oymaağaç (multigenerational graves, 9.4%; mass graves, 16.7%) falling below the mean in other Anatolian samples (35.5 ± 30.0%) is statistically significant (Single-

Sample Wilcoxon test, p-values<0.05) (Figure 8.36).

Figure 8.36 Percent of individuals with PD in Oymaağaç (multigenerational, MG; mass, Mass) and Roman Anatolian sites (left); boxplot distribution of Anatolian samples with Oymaağaç multigenerational (orange) and mass (blue) percentages highlighted

8.4.5 Results for fifth hypothesis

Differences in physical activity are compared between rural Oymaağaç and urban sites in Anatolia through skeletal proxies, namely degenerative joint conditions. Data on osteoarthritis (OA) and intervertebral disc disease were collected from six Roman period

203

sites in Anatolia. Due to the inconsistencies in data recording between sites, only gross

prevalence information on affected individuals was accessible for comparison with the

Oymaağaç findings.

8.4.5.i Osteoarthritis

Results from OA comparisons indicate a significant difference in individuals with

OA among the Oymaağaç population, relative to other Anatolian samples (Figure 8.37).

The percent of adult individuals in multigenerational graves with OA (83.3%) is

significantly higher than those reported among Elaiussa Sebaste (64.0%), Hierapolis

(10.7%), Laodikeia (22.2%), Ismir (20.3%), and Klazomenai (59.1%) samples (mean,

30.3 ± 24.5%). Even with the small referential sample (n=5), OA prevalence exceeds the

distribution in Anatolia (Single-Sample Wilcoxon test, p-value<0.05). By contrast, the prevalence of OA within the mass grave contexts at Oymaağaç (50.0%), while higher

than the average among Anatolian sites, is not significantly different.

Figure 8.37 Percent of individuals with OA in Oymaağaç (multigenerational, MG; mass, Mass) and Roman Anatolian sites (left); boxplot distribution of Anatolian samples with Oymaağaç multigenerational (orange) and mass (blue) percentages highlighted

204

8.4.5.ii Intervertebral disc disease

Although the percent of individuals with extra-spinal OA at Oymaağaç exceeded

the findings of other contemporaneous sites in Anatolia, this pattern did not hold for

intervertebral disc disease occurrences. IVD findings at Oymaağaç coincided with data

throughout Anatolia (Figure 8.38). The urban sites of Elaiussa Sebaste, Hierapolis,

Derbe, Ismir, and Klazomenai demonstrated an average of 41.4% of individuals with

IVD. Three of the five samples reported over fifty-percent of the adult sample having

IVD. Within the Oymaağaç sample, 51.6% of multigenerational grave adults and 30.0% of mass grave adults exhibited IVD in at least one vertebra, which were not significantly different from the distribution of IVD in other sites across Anatolia.

Figure 8.38 Percent of individuals with vertebral osteophytosis in Oymaağaç (multigenerational, MG; mass, Mass) and Roman Anatolian sites (left); boxplot distribution of Anatolian samples with Oymaağaç multigenerational (orange) and mass (blue) percentages highlighted

205

8.5 Interregional scale

To assess the extent of possible Roman influence within Oymaağaç and the province of Asia Minor, gross prevalences of pathological lesions and conditions were compared between Roman period sites in Turkey and samples throughout the researched

Roman Empire. Data were collected from 61 sites in Britain, Europe (e.g., Spain, France,

Croatia), Italy, Africa, and the Eastern Mediterranean (e.g., Greece and Cyprus).

Unfortunately, not all dental and skeletal data were reported completely; for example, some researchers published percentages of teeth with calculus while other researchers published percentages of individuals exhibiting calculus. As a result, cross-regional analyses vary in comparative samples according to available data. For some pathological lesions, regional groups include only one sample, while with other pathological lesions, regional groups may include as many as ten samples. These sample size limitations are presented herein the results and considered in discussional interpretations.

On an international-interregional scale, paleopathological and stable isotope profiles were compared between Oymaağaç and other Roman samples to test the following hypotheses:

1) Prevalence of trauma will be significantly lower in Oymaağaç contexts than

other, particularly western, provincial populations.

2) Diets between Oymaağaç and other Anatolian communities will differ

significantly from other regions of the Roman Empire.

3) The prevalence of developmental stress markers in childhood will be lower

among Oymaağaç and Anatolian samples than among other provincial

populations.

206

4) Periosteal lesions and periodontal disease will be significantly higher among

western provincial populations than Anatolian populations.

8.5.1 Results for first hypothesis

8.5.1.i Traumatic lesions among Anatolian samples and across the Empire

Prevalence data on traumatic lesions (fractures) were collected from Roman

period sites throughout the provinces (Africa, Britain, Greece, and western and central

Europe) and central Italian populations (Table 8.30, Figure 8.39). Averages of regions

ranged from 11.3% (Africa) to 31.0% (Italy) of individuals exhibiting at least one skeletal

fracture. Although the prevalence of fractures was observably higher in Italian samples,

according to results from Kruskal-Wallis tests no statistically significant differences were found between regions across the Empire (H=6.256, p-value=0.282). The sites from Asia

Minor, furthermore, fall within the middle range of regional percentages of trauma, demonstrating no significantly different results from populations throughout the Empire.

207

Figure. 8.39 Spatial interpolation map of trauma (% of individuals) across the Roman Empire

Table 8.31 Average percent of individuals with trauma according to region By individual % n Africa 11.3 4 Britain 19 10 Eastern Mediterranean 15.9 4 Europe 16.6 7 Italy 31 8 Anatolia 18.8 6 P-value (Kruskal-Wallis) 0.282

8.5.2 Results for second hypothesis

The distributions of oral markers were compared on a tooth/alveolar level as well as an individual level. For the latter, representative samples for a region were frequently one site, or there were no published data for the individual percentages. Nevertheless, results from ANOVA are presented for all tooth/alveoli and individual comparisons due to their etiological differences.

208

8.5.2.i Distribution of oral markers of diet in Asia Minor and throughout the Empire

The prevalence of carious lesions across the Empire varies across regions, however no significant differences were observed (Table 8.31; Figures 8.40 and 8.41).

Percent of individuals with at least one carious lesion ranges from 30.3% (Turkey) to

64.0% (Italy). Carious lesion percentages based on teeth similarly exhibited no significant differences between regions, although regions with the lowest (6.90%, Eastern

Mediterranean) and highest (11.1%, Europe) carious lesion percentages were not Turkey and Italy.

Figure. 8.40. Spatial interpolation map of caries (% of affected individuals) across the Roman Empire

209

Figure 8.41 Spatial interpolation map of carious teeth (% of affected teeth) across the Roman Empire

Table 8.32 Average percent of carious teeth and individuals with carious lesions according to region By individual By teeth % n % n Africa 50.85 2 7.85 2 Britain 36.375 4 8.38 7 Eastern Mediterranean 0 6.9 3 Europe 47 2 11.1 7 Italy 64.02 9 7.82 10 Turkey 30.25 2 8.77 10 P-value (Kruskal-Wallis) 0.205 0.827

210

As with the distributions of carious lesions, no significant regional differences were observed in calculus, either among individuals or by teeth (Table 8.32; Figures 8.42 and 8.43). Although Africa exhibited the highest number of individuals with calculus

(100%), this difference is not significant. Furthermore, these results must be taken in check, as all of the African provinces cannot be assumed by the results of one site, Site

250 in Egypt. When examined by teeth, no region shows demonstrably more calculus than other regions. Regional averages range from 31.0% to 58.2%.

Figure. 8.42 Spatial interpolation map of calculus (% of affected individual) across the Roman Empire

211

Figure. 8.43 Spatial interpolation map of calculus teeth (% of affected teeth) across the Roman Empire

8.33 Average percent of teeth and individuals with calculus according to region By individual By teeth % n % n Africa 100 1 0 Britain 47.2 4 47.8 4 Eastern Mediterranean 0 0 Europe 0 58.2 3 Italy 77 9 55.7 9 Turkey 38.3 3 31 9 P-value (Kruskal-Wallis) 0.057 0.117

For abscesses, no significant differences were observed in regional prevalences by individual or teeth (Table 8.33; Figures 8.44 and 8.45). Among the six study regions, three regions (Africa, Eastern Mediterranean, and Turkey) demonstrated populations with approximately ten percent of individuals affected by abscesses while the other three regions (Britain, Europe, and Italy) had approximately a quarter of their populations exhibiting periapical abscesses. When comparing teeth, most regions showed populations with approximately four percent of teeth affected while Italy yielded significantly lower abscess percentages among teeth (1.6%). Post-hoc Dunn’s tests indicate that Italian samples have significantly fewer alveoli with abscesses than Anatolian and European samples (p-values<0.025).

212

Figure. 8.44 Spatial interpolation map of abscesses (% of affected individuals) across the Roman Empire

213

Figure. 8.45 Spatial interpolation map of abscesses (% of affected alveoli) across the Roman Empire

Table 8.34 Average percent of alveoli and individuals with abscesses according to region By individual By teeth % n % n Africa 10.3 3 0 Britain 23.9 4 4.25 3 Eastern Mediterranean 7.7 4 0 Europe 22.7 3 4.4 6 Italy 25 9 1.6 10 Turkey 11.4 1 4.3 7 P-value (Kruskal-Wallis) 0.525 0.039*

Finally, AMTL data on individuals and alveoli were compared between regions across the Roman Empire (Table 8.34; Figures 8.46 and 8.47). As with the aforementioned dental conditions, no significant differences were observed between regions. Fewer individuals expressed AMTL among African samples (14.7%) than other

214 regions, but these differences were not significant. When alveoli were considered, percentages of AMTL across regions were comparatively similar, all falling between

7.5% and 13.8 of teeth.

Figure. 8.46 Spatial interpolation map of AMTL (% of affected individuals) across the Roman Empire

215

Figure. 8.47 Spatial interpolation map of AMTL (% of affected alveoli) across the Roman Empire

Table 8.35 Average percent of alveoli and individuals with AMTL according to region By individual By teeth % n % n Africa 14.7 3 10 1 Britain 44.6 3 13.8 4 Eastern Mediterranean 0 10.2 3 Europe 0 10.2 4 Italy 53.2 9 7.5 10 Turkey 44.6 4 12.8 9 P-value (Kruskal-Wallis) 0.147 0.313

216

8.5.2.ii Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios

8.5.2.ii.i Regional differences in carbon and nitrogen

Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios from British, European, Italian, African, and

Anatolian sites are presented in Figure 8.48 and Table 8.35. Results show no significant differences in stable carbon ratios, but African samples exhibit significantly higher stable nitrogen ratios than other regions. When all but the African samples are compared, no significant difference in stable isotope ratios is observed (Figure 9). With the case of

African samples, nitrogen ratios are more than a trophic level enriched relative to other samples, suggesting that these elevated δ15N are more likely the outcome of an arid

environment than dietary differences. Stable isotope ratios from zooarchaeological

samples in Africa similarly demonstrate high δ15N values (Schwarcz et al., 1999).

Table 8.36 Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios across Roman Empire according to region δ13C δ15N % N % n Africa -18.7 ± 0.05‰ 238 17.1 ± 0.14‰ 240 Britain -19.7 ± 0.04‰ 279 10.1 ± 0.07‰ 280 Europe -20.0 ± 0.12‰ 19 12.9 ± 0.24‰ 34 Italy -19.0 ± 0.05‰ 217 9.5 ± 0.10‰ 234 Turkey -19.3 ± 0.05‰ 94 10.3 ± 0.15‰ 94 P-value (ANOVA) 0.033 <0.001

217

Figure 8.48 Stable carbon (δ13C (‰)) and nitrogen (δ15N (‰)) ratios across the Roman Empire according to region. Note the significantly enriched African samples relative to samples from less arid climates in continental Europe, England, and Anatolia.

218

Figure 8.49 Stable carbon (δ13C (‰)) and nitrogen (δ15N (‰)) ratios across the Roman Empire according to region, excluding climatically-enriched African samples

8.5.2.ii.ii Intersexual differences in carbon and nitrogen

Comparisons of stable carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios by sex indicate

significantly higher δ15N values in females (12.9 ± 0.23‰) than males (11.7± 0.17‰)

(Figure 9, Table 8.36). Significantly higher stable nitrogen isotope ratios are observed in

females than males among African, European, and Anatolian samples, while British

males exhibit significantly more enriched carbon and nitrogen ratios. No significant

differences were recorded between males and females in Italian samples.

219

Table 8.36. Intersexual comparisons in stable carbon and nitrogen ratios in regions throughout the Roman Empire δ13C δ15N

Females Males Females Males

ppm N ppm N Sig. ppm N ppm N Sig. -18.7 ± -18.7 ± 17.4 ± 16.8 ± Africa 131 106 0.547 134 105 0.034* 0.07‰ 0.06‰ 0.17‰ 0.24‰ -19.8 ± -19.6 ± 9.9 ± 10.2 ± Britain 95 161 0.040* 95 162 0.025* 0.06‰ 0.05‰ 0.12‰ 0.09‰ -20.0 ± -19.8 ± 13.5 ± 12.2 ± Europe 7 6 0.518 12 16 0.025* 0.20‰ 0.13‰ 0.33‰ 0.35‰ -19.1 ± -19.1 ± 9.0 ± 9.1 ± Italy 66 88 0.562 75 97 0.668 0.07‰ 0.10‰ 0.17‰ 0.12‰ -19.4 ± -19.2 ± 10.9 ± 10.2 ± Anatolia 26 59 0.055 26 59 0.027* 0.09‰ 0.07‰ 0.30‰ 0.17‰ -19.2 ± -19.2 ± 12.9 ± 11.7 ± All 325 420 0.979 342 429 <0.001* 0.05‰ 0.04‰ 0.23‰ 0.17‰

Figure 8.50 Stable carbon (δ13C (‰)) and nitrogen (δ15N (‰)) ratios across the Roman Empire according to sex (o, females; +, males)

220

8.5.3 Results for third hypothesis

8.5.3.i Prevalence of linear enamel hypoplasia in skeletal samples throughout the Roman

Empire

Percentages of LEH show considerable variability between regions, especially by

individual (Table 8.37; Figures 8.51 and 8.52). The percent of individuals with an LEH

ranged from 11.0% to 100% among regions, with African samples exhibiting the highest

frequency and Eastern Mediterranean samples the lowest frequency of LEH. These

differences were found to be statistically significant (Kruskal-Wallis, p-value<0.001).

Post-hoc tests showed further divisions between the results, in particular placing regions

into subsets: Africa and Italy with the highest LEH representation; Europe and Turkey

averaging LEH percentages around fifty percent; and the Eastern Mediterranean and

British samples with the lowest percentages of LEH, all below thirty percent. When

considered by teeth, British samples demonstrate the lowest percentage of LEH-affected teeth (8.3%) relative to European (39.4%), Italian (35.9%), and Turkish (22.9%) samples.

Despite this gap, these differences are not statistically significant.

221

Figure 8.51 Spatial interpolation map of LEH (% of affected individuals) across the Roman Empire

222

Figure 8.52 Spatial interpolation map of LEH (% of affected teeth) across the Roman Empire

Table 8.38 Average percent of individuals with LEH according to region

By individual By teeth % n % n Africa 100 2 0 Britain 29 2 8.3 6 Eastern Mediterranean 11 2 0 Europe 62.4 3 39.4 3 Italy 91.4 10 35.9 7 Turkey 46 3 22.9 9 P-value (Kruskal-Wallis) <.000286 0.257

8.5.4 Results for fourth hypothesis

8.5.4.i Periosteal new bone

Individuals with periosteal new bone vary significantly among regions in the

Roman Empire, with notably higher percentages of individuals in Italy exhibiting PNB

(Table 8.38; Figure 8.53). Post-hoc Dunn’s tests indicate that the percent of individuals in

Italy with PNB (mean, 57.8%) is significantly higher than any other region (pairwise p- values<0.025). PNB results in the provinces do not vary significantly from one another, ranging from 4.0% to 16.1% of individuals affected.

223

Figure. 8.53 Spatial interpolation map of PNB (% of affected individuals) across the Roman Empire

Table 8.39 Average percent of individuals with PNB according to region

By individual % n Africa 6.9 2 Britain 14.7 9 Eastern Mediterranean 4.0 4 Europe 14.9 5 Italy 57.8 8 Anatolia 16.1 5 P-value (Kruskal-Wallis) <.0205

8.5.4.ii Periodontal disease

The prevalence of periodontal disease yields comparable results to those of PNB, namely that significantly higher percentages of individuals in Italy manifest PD than

224 other regions (Africa, Britain, and Eastern Mediterranean samples; post hoc Dunn’s test, p-values<0.025) throughout the Empire (Table 8.39; Figure 8.54). Over eighty percent of individuals in Italian sites have PD, relative to 30%-50% of populations in Africa,

Britain, Europe, and Turkey. The percent of individuals at Eastern Mediterranean sites is also an outlier on the lower end, with only 8.8% of individuals exhibiting PD.

Figure 8.54 Spatial interpolation map of PD (% of affected individuals) across the Roman Empire

Table 8.40 Average percent of individuals with PD according to region By individual % N Africa 30.4 3 Britain 33.5 5 Eastern Mediterranean 8.8 4 Europe 50.1 2 Italy 80.4 7 Turkey 47.5 7 P-value (Kruskal-Wallis) 0.0473

225

Chapter 9. Discussion

9.1 Introduction

The discussion first explores and explains the demographic, paleopathological,

and stable isotope patterns observed at Oymaağaç. Comparisons between multigenerational and mass graves are examined first in light of recent paleoepidemiological and paleodemographic studies of mass death and plague (e.g.,

Black Death), identifying which individuals were most susceptible to mass death circumstances. These identifications are subsequently analyzed within the Roman sociohistorical and modern ethnographic context of Oymaağaç. The second element of this discussion considers the Oymaağaç sample in broader Anatolian and Roman Empire landscapes. These intra- and cross-regional comparisons enable a more nuanced interpretation of Romanization in the eastern limes and across the Empire.

9.2 Demographics

Due to the unique nature of death circumstances at Oymaağaç—attritional and catastrophic mortality—demographic profiles may reveal important information about susceptibility to and transmission of epidemic disease (see Chapter 6) in this rural community (DeWitte and Wood, 2008; DeWitte, 2010a). Demographic results from multigenerational and mass grave contexts at Oymaağaç show more similarities than differences in age-at-death profiles (Section 8.1). Among the adult sample, no differences are observed in the representation of males and females. Furthermore, when the four age

226

categories are compared between contexts, both samples exhibit higher representations of

middle age categories (20-49.99 years) than younger and older age categories. However,

when sex and age are examined concurrently, significant differences are apparent within

adult males. Unlike females, whose age profile is not statistically different between grave

contexts (although differences may be observed; Table 8.3), males in multigenerational

and mass graves disproportionately represented among higher adult age categories. In

particular, the multigenerational graves, indicative of more attritional mortality patterns,

contain no males aged over 50 years; among mass graves, by contrast, one-fifth of adult males are aged above 50 years.

Overall, the lack of difference in demographic profiles of grave contexts contrasts with recent findings about mortality risk in Medieval London during the Black Death.

DeWitte (2010a) observed higher risk of mortality among older individuals under Black

Death circumstances than attritional mortality. Unlike the Black Death, which now shows evidence of demographic and pathological selectivity (DeWitte and Hughes-Morey,

2012; DeWitte and Wood, 2008), the overall demographic makeup of the Oymaağaç samples would suggest that the epidemic circumstances that resulted in mass death were not selective. However, like DeWitte (2010b), similar distributions of males and females between grave contexts attest to a lack of overall selectivity based exclusively on sex.

The attritional age profiles for males at Oymaağaç coincide with observations among other liminal populations in the Roman Empire. Redfern (2006), for example, observed that the majority of males in Romano-British Dorset died between 20 and 35 years. Redfern (2006) explains this peak in mortality among young males through biocultural models of heightened risk behavior and actions among males (Waldron,

227

1985), which is a possible explanation for males at Oymaağaç, based on complementary

fracture prevalence. Nevertheless, females and males do not differ in age within either

grave context. Females are just as likely to die before 35 years as males, discounting the

risky behavior explanation for young male adult mortality occurrences. The age

distribution at Oymaağaç mirrors the adult age demographics at the cemeteries of

Keszthely-Dobogo (modern day Hungary), in the province of Roman Pannonia (Frier,

1983) and Dakhleh Oasis (Molto, 1986), wherein the youngest (below 20 years) and

oldest (over 50 years) age categories are least represented (Frier, 1983). These findings

demonstrate patterns of mortality observed throughout human populations, namely lower

risk of mortality in young adulthood which increases with age (Gage, 1988), resulting in

a population comprised of fewer older individuals.

The disparity in female and male ages-at-death between multigenerational and mass graves additionally is suggestive of sex-linked variability in attritional mortality and mass death mortality among the rural Oymaağaç community. When age profiles are divided by sex, a significant difference emerges for adult males, namely more older males are represented in mass graves. For females, no demographic difference occurs, although mass graves include high proportions of younger (under 35 years) female adults.

The results suggest that, although males and females were evenly represented in multigenerational and mass graves, females were at equal risk of mortality under normal and epidemic circumstances. Males under normal mortality circumstances at Oymaağaç were more likely to die before reaching 50 years. In later years, when the community was beset by putative epidemic, more males survived beyond 50 years, suggesting improvements in access to social and nutritional resources.

228

9.3 Oymaağaç in a local perspective

9.3.1 Hypothesis 1.1: Direct violence at Oymaağaç

Because direct violence coincides with factors associated with structural violence, this study considers the prevalence of trauma within the Oymaağaç population as a record of the relative degree of violence in this rural community. Overall, 27% of adult individuals at Oymaağaç exhibit at least one traumatic lesion. This percentage is comparable to other contemporaneous Roman period sites throughout the empire (Figure

8.39). Roughly a third of adults in these populations possessed a fracture of some manner. However, when individuals from Oymaağaç are divided into mass and multigenerational groups, it becomes apparent that disproportionately more multigenerational (37.5%) than mass grave (14.7%) individuals (Fisher’s Exact, p- value=0.038) sustained a fracture. When sexes are considered, a significant decline is observed from multigenerational (57.9%) to mass grave (20.0%) males. Females, while demonstrating fewer cases of trauma in the mass than multigenerational groups, show no significant difference in fracture prevelance.

Significant declines in trauma occur in males between multigenerational to mass grave contexts at Oymaağaç, while changes in females with traumatic lesions is not significantly different between grave types. Within the whole Oymaağaç sample, males with a traumatic lesion (40.0%) significantly outnumber females (15.2%) with a traumatic lesion. The percent of males with trauma is two to three times higher than the percent of females. One of the unexpected findings between multigenerational and mass graves was the higher frequency of individuals in the former demonstrating a traumatic lesion. After a traumatic episode, the immune system is compromised when the body

229

produces myeloid-derived suppressor cells, cells which suppress T-cell functions and macrophage production (Gabrilovich and Nagaraj, 2009). Nevertheless, individuals, regardless of age, with fewer traumatic lesions were most susceptible to the famine or epidemic conditions. From these data, it appears that these individuals, prior to the mass death circumstances, may have been too physiologically compromised to engage in daily activities, resulting in decreased exposure to traumatic incidents. Frequency of PNB, for example, demonstrates that significantly more mass grave individuals had non-specific, active bone lesions than multigenerational individuals. Another explanation may be that epidemic disease only impacted those individuals who did not participate in daily, laborious agricultural or herding work but were focused in domestic spheres, where disease transmission is elevated by close proximity quarters (Kaplan et al., 1982).

In addition to prevalence of trauma, the classification of lesions reveals informative details about the nature of violence in Roman period Oymaağaç. Twenty-one

individuals display evidence of trauma, with only one of the individuals exhibiting more

than one fracture. Only two individuals from multigenerational grave 7484.021, one adult

male and one middle-aged adult female, had perimortem fractures on their skeletons. The

other 19 fractures were sustained from antemortem trauma. The majority (n=8) of

antemortem fractures are observed on the hand and as compression fractures of vertebrae

(n=4). Singular cases of a healing rib, clavicular, or femoral fracture are also counted among antemortem cases. The location and severity of these fractures do not speak to a violent interpersonal environment but to agrarian and herding lifestyles rife with unavoidable, daily risks (Gimour et al., 2015). The modern (and ancient) village of

Oymaağaç is situated along the hillside of the Isfendivar mountain range, a precarious

230 terrain for farmers and herders to ascend and descend. In particular, hand, clavicular, and hip/femoral fractures observed in the Oymaağaç sample are associated with trauma sustained from frontward or side-facing falls or falls from a height (Manning, 1983).

While there are too few cases of fractures to statistically compare between grave groups and sexes, differences nonetheless are noted. First, there is more variability in location of fractures among multigenerational than mass grave groups. This difference may result from sample size or speak to changes in daily work routine and physicality. A significant decrease in osteoarthritis between multigenerational and mass grave groups suggests reduced wear to the joints, putatively attributed to work changes. It is possible that alterations to workload resulted in fewer accidental fractures. Results from Analysis of Covariance discounted the contribution of age to fracture and osteoarthritis declines between grave groups, further supporting the hypothesis that lifestyle changes occurred between multigenerational and mass grave periods. A second observation among individuals with fractures is the location of fractures among females. Within both multigenerational and mass grave samples, females almost exclusively have fractures on their hands, specifically phalanges, while males sustain healing trauma to the vertebral column and lower limbs. This difference, although speculative, may attest to labor differences between sexes during this period. The modern-day community at Oymaağaç continues the agricultural and shepherding traditions of Roman periods, albeit with technological infusion. Moreover, although men and women work together in the fields, the men assume more hazardous roles of herding livestock and constructing buildings

(from heights).

Only one individual demonstrates an antemortem wound that could be attributed

231

to interpersonal trauma. One middle-aged adult male possesses a cranial deformation potentially ascribable to confrontative trauma, though the location of the fracture could also be accidentally self-inflicted. The calvarium of the individual did not preserve, precluding any examination of concomitant or associated fractures. At the projection of the mandible, the body of the bone looks unlevel as if slightly misaligned, and the mental eminence displays additional bone growth outside the range of normal variation for the males at Oymaağaç.

The extent, character, and distribution of traumatic lesions at Oymaağaç do not emulate the stereotype of warlike, military image glorified by the Roman Empire, memorialized in monuments, victory triumphal processions, and gladiator culture (Rich and Shipley, 1993). The prevalence of trauma decreased significantly between the

Oymaağaç groups, from the earlier multigenerational to later mass grave groups, and those fractures identified on the Oymaağaç remains arguably occurred from accidental falls or collisions. The rural community at Oymaağaç, despite its location within and at the boundaries of the Roman world, was clearly not exposed to the direct, interpersonal violence engendered by either Roman occupation and military campaigns or external threats from neighboring tribes, as in other extents of the limes (Elton, 1996; MacMullen,

1974).

9.3.2 Hypothesis 2.1: Diets at Oymaağaç

Diet features prominently into biocultural interactions, as elementally food contributes to biological development and stability and culturally food represents social influences and entanglements (Garnsey, 1999; Mennell et al., 1992; Trichopoulu and

Lagiou, 1997). Within the Oymaağaç sample, diet was examined through direct (stable

232 isotope ratios) and indirect (carious lesions, AMTL, abscesses, and calculus) proxies.

Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios provided information about dietary protein contributions, while dental lesions and conditions intimated dietary components and preparation.

Contrary to expectations, no significant differences in carbon and nitrogen ratios are observed among multigenerational and mass grave groups, although mass grave individuals exhibited more depleted isotope ratios than multigenerational samples.

Among sexes, however, there is variation from the overall pattern. Nitrogen ratios are more enriched among mass grave than multigenerational grave females, but this difference is not significant. Significant changes were recorded between multigenerational and mass grave males. A significant (~1‰) depletion in nitrogen occurs from multigenerational to mass grave contexts in males. This depletion reflects less than a trophic level (3-5‰) increase, so it likely does not amount to a significant change in protein consumption (Bocherens and Drucker, 2003; Hedges and Reynard,

2007). Regardless, any decrease in protein over the last 15-20 years of these individuals’ lives may have contributed to compromised immunity and increased susceptibility to death. While famine situations may have contributed to decreased protein access and consumption, isotopic studies in famine show that such long-term fasting do not appear as observable, measurable changes in the skeletal record (Beaumont and Montgomery,

2016). Long-term alterations to diet could allude to changing socioeconomic circumstances, although it is interesting that females do not exhibit a similar shift in nitrogen ratios. Females, by contrast, become more enriched in 15N, a difference, which may indicate more access to higher trophic level dietary meat or biological buffering

233 against protein deficits (Killgrove and Tykot, 2012; Reitsema and Vercellotti, 2012).

Indirect proxies of diet indicate consumption of cariogenic foodstuffs throughout the entire Oymaağaç sample. Over half of the individuals (54.5%) at Oymaağaç show at least one carious lesion, with 7.40% (116 of 1568) of observable teeth possessing a carious lesion. Percentages of individuals and teeth with a carious lesion in multigenerational (56.5%; 6.95%) and mass (51.4%; 8.11%) grave groups do not differ significant, nor are there significant differences in the percent of males and females with carious lesions overall or within grave groups.

AMTL, which has also been shown to correlate with carious lesions (Lukacs,

1992, 1995), also does not vary between grave groups or sexes. Any significant differences in AMTL between grave groups or sexes were explained by age. These findings coincide with the caries results, suggesting that cariogenic foods likely factor into the eventual tooth loss observed widely (53.2%) among individuals at Oymaağaç.

Concomitant with carious lesion and AMTL results are the distributions in calculus across the Oymaağaç sample. As with caries and AMTL, no significant change in frequency of individuals with calculus is observed between multigenerational and mass grave contexts, although a decline is recorded from the former to latter groups. This pattern holds with intrasexual comparisons. When calculus is compared in frequency by teeth, however, significant differences are noted: 4.88% of multigenerational and 1.49% of mass grave teeth exhibit calculus (p-value<0.05). These findings indicate potential differences in food processing or dental hygiene between subsamples. Despite the same frequency of people manifesting calculus between multigenerational and mass grave groups, the severity of plaque deposits is markedly and significantly higher in the

234 multigenerational individuals. Between sexes, overall and by grave group, no significant differences in calculus are recorded between males and females.

Palaeopathological and isotopic results from multigenerational and mass grave individuals show few significant differences, indicative of dietary alterations, between groups, age categories, or sexes. Palaeopathological evidence—as captured by carious lesion, AMTL, and calculus variables—suggests no major changes to the diets between multigenerational and mass grave groups, in terms of changes to the cariogenicity and fermentable carbohydrate components of the diet (e.g., wheat). Additionally, frequency of these conditions between sexes are also comparable, with no significant differences to suggest dietary disparities between males and females. These dental and skeletal results indicate that dietary disparities did not contribute to increased mortality risk, as mass grave individuals exhibited similar frequencies of carious lesions, AMTL, and calculus.

Stable isotope ratios present a more nuanced portrayal of potential dietary differences between multigenerational and mass grave individuals. Although there are no overall differences in δ13C and δ15N between grave groups, significant differences appear between multigenerational and mass grave males. Males in mass grave contexts exhibit significantly lower δ15N values than those males from the multigenerational context, who were subject to normal attritional mortality. These results indicate that male individuals with compromised protein consumption were more susceptible to mass death circumstances than those individuals with higher δ15N ratios. Particularly intriguing is how females show no change in protein consumption between multigenerational and mass grave contexts. Relative to males, females exhibit dietary buffering of protein, which, nevertheless, does provide resilience or protect them from incumbent famine or

235

epidemic. Despite females experiencing greater dietary buffering than males in the

Roman period, this biocultural buffering did not fortify females at Oymaağaç from

whatever widespread epidemic or famine struck the local population.

9.3.3 Hypothesis 3.1: Childhood stress differences

Linear enamel hypoplasias provide indelible markers of early childhood stressors,

which can be scrutinized for their long-term consequences in adulthood. In some contexts, LEH is an indicator of resilience to and survival of childhood stress (Bennike et al., 2005), while other research has demonstrated its debilitative effects in later years

(Armelagos et al., 2009; DeWitte and Wood, 2008; Yaussey et al., 2016; Larsen, 2015).

Multigenerational and mass graves provide a unique case for interpreting LEH, enabling the analysis of dental lesions between normal, attritional and atypical, episodic death contexts.

Focusing on individuals with permanent mandibular canines, comparisons between multigenerational and mass grave contexts demonstrate a significantly higher prevalence of individuals with LEH in the multigenerational (35.5%) than mass grave

(9.7%) groups (p-value=0.032). When analyzed by sex, decreases in frequency of individuals with LEH are not significantly different between multigenerational and mass grave contexts. Despite a disproportionately higher frequency of males with LEH overall and within grave contexts, these differences are not statistically significant.

The significance difference in individuals with LEH between grave contexts, nonetheless, warrants further analysis. As expansive, cross-disciplinary research on modern and historical famines and epidemics has related, most mass death events are

selective or discriminatory in terms of victims (DeWitte and Wood, 2008; Hardy et al.,

236

1996; Morfin, 1998; Simonse et al., 1990). This selectivity may be premised in a

combination of geographical, biological, and sociopolitical variables, wherein certain

people are at higher risk of mortality than others (Collins et al., 2006; Kumar et al., 2007;

Lienhardt, 2001). If the famine or epidemic circumstance in Roman period Oymaağaç

exhibited similar selectivity of its victims, then, biomarkers or lesions in higher prevalence in mass grave contexts should infer increased vulnerability or susceptibility to mortality. LEH prevalence is one of the lesions significantly lower among mass grave contexts than multigenerational graves, suggesting that, in the Oymaağaç community,

LEH conferred resilience or resistance in adulthood to famine or epidemic. This

explanation would suggest that those individuals who survived childhood exposure to

chronic malnutrition, infection, or other physical/psychosomatic stress

developed/strengthened immunological systems of response to external insults (Bennike

et al., 2005; Wood et al., 1992; contra Boldsen, 2006).

Another perspective for interpreting these results is through the lens that the mass

death circumstances at Oymaağaç were not as selective as normal, attritional mortality.

Historical references to the Antonine Plague, Athenian Plague, and famines throughout antiquity allude to these seasonal, annual, and centurial blights indiscriminately decimating populations (Scheidel, 1994, 2003, 2009). If the famine or epidemic that cleaved part of this Oymaağaç community did not discriminate according to precedent biological frailty, the percent of individuals with pathological lesions, e.g., LEH, would not be significantly higher among the mass grave context. The results are consistent with

this hypothesis. That is, mass grave contexts do not contain more adult individuals with

LEH nor do they show significantly more canine teeth with LEH. Such results align with

237 those from DeWitte and Wood (2008) on victims from the Black Death of 1347-1351 in

London, who show that normal, attritional mortality was more selective based on biological frailty (i.e., presence of periosteal lesions, canine LEH, cribra orbitalia, and porotic hyperostosis) than selective mortality from the plague. As with medieval London, the distribution of biological frailty markers among multigenerational (attritional) and mass grave individuals and elements proposes that the famine or epidemic that beset

Oymaağaç in the Roman period did not discriminate based on childhood stress markers.

9.3.4 Hypothesis 4.1: Periosteal lesions, periodontal disease, and immunological differences

While LEH captures periods of childhood stress, periosteal new bone and periodontal disease are associated with episodes of immunological response, from systemic or localized infections or insults (e.g., trauma). Irritation of the periosteum comes in many forms, some of which may reflect more serious conditions (e.g., systemic bacterial infection [Staphylococcus sp.]) while others reflect non-pathological origins

(e.g., inflammation from general movement) (Weston, 2012). Due to the commingled state of the Oymaağaç sample, periosteal lesions were scored as present or absent on postcranial long bones, regardless of bilaterality. For this reason, PNB is interpreted conservatively as evidence of a reactive immunological response at the time of death.

Only lesions with non-associated trauma were scored as present for PNB. Between grave contexts, differences approaching significance (Fisher’s Exact Test, p-value=0.053) are recorded between percent of multigenerational (3.2%) and mass (10.3%) grave individuals. These differences are explained primarily by the significant increase in males with PNB from multigenerational (0.0%) to mass (23.8%) grave contexts.

238

Periodontal disease, which reflects not only local oral health but is a gauge for systemic health, is another measure of compromised immune function prior to death.

Over time, inflammation of the gingivae and periodontal ligaments may lead to antemortem tooth loss and eventual resorption of the adjacent alveolar bone. For this reason, PD manifests at higher frequencies in older ages. Among the Oymaağaç sample, age does not correlate with distribution of PD. Additionally, despite differences in percent of multigenerational (9.4%) and mass (16.7%) individuals with PD, these are not statistically significant overall or by sex. Similarly, no intersexual differences in PD frequency are observed in overall, multigenerational, or mass grave samples.

When comparing PNB and PD, few significant differences are observed between grave contexts. Relative to other pathological lesions in the Oymaağaç sample, PNB is recorded in proportionately fewer individuals (9.5% of the total sample). In the multigenerational sample, less than three percent of individuals manifest a PNB, and while this increases to over 16 percent in the mass grave contexts. However, this overall increase is the result of a significant increase in males with PNB from multigenerational to mass graves, as females with PNB remains identical between groups. These results, much like stable nitrogen ratios, reflect a risk in mortality for males exhibiting an active, localized periosteal lesion. Females, by contrast, were not specifically susceptible to the epidemic or famine conditions based on PNB. For PD, no significant differences are observed between grave contexts or sexes. These findings suggest that no transitions occurred in this population’s exposure to pathogenic, infectious agents during the Roman period, and no specific individuals (according to age or sex) particularly vulnerable to PD and mortality risks attributable to the condition (DeWitte and Bekvalac, 2010a).

239

9.3.5 Hypothesis 5.1: Physical activity differences

Biomarkers of degenerative joint wear—osteoarthritis, rotator cuff disease, and intervertebral disc disease—provide insight into the physical activity of the Roman period population at Oymaağaç. As a rural community, which practiced agricultural and animal husbandry, the individuals engaged in daily, physically demanding labor.

Observations of the modern day community at Oymaağaç show individuals participating in crop harvesting and herding at ages as early as five years. Consequently, individuals at

Oymaağaç begin the process of irreversible joint wear in childhood, which, among other rural populations in Turkey, has been shown to translate into high incidences of arthritis and other joint diseases among the whole adult populace (Croft et al., 1992; Kang et al.,

2009). The results of OA, RCD, and IVD from the Roman period Oymaağaç sample suggest that similarly arduous workloads and practices were practiced as the primary economy of the ancient community was based in crop production and animal husbandry.

Osteoarthritis is the highest represented pathological condition documented in the

Oymaağaç sample. Overall, 67.4% of adults evince at least one joint with osteoarthritic characteristics. Although age generally contributes to the development and progression of

OA (Anderson and Loeser, 2010), the percent of OA at Oymaağaç is not significantly affected by age (Table 8.24). Nevertheless, significant differences are observed between multigenerational and mass grave contexts, with fewer mass grave individuals exhibiting

OA. With this pattern holds for females, it is not statistically significant for males (p- value=0.069), although this may be an effect of sample size. Within grave contexts, similar frequencies of males and females with OA occur. When comparing locations of

OA between sexes, no apparent patterns arise, suggesting similarities in work and labor

240

between males and females during this period. In the present-day Oymaağaç community, men and women work together in crop fields, and any divisions of labor occur in the domestic sphere. As such, the repetitive joint movements, and OA, associated with crop sowing, maintenance, and harvesting are comparable between sexes.

Although RCD also occurs in high frequencies among populations engaged in daily labor, it is not observed as commonly as OA in the Oymaağaç sample. This low observance of RCD coincides with the preservation of humeri and scapula on site, whereas OA can be recorded for any synovial joint. For comparison, the number of individuals with observable humeri and scapula is less than half those individuals with observable OA joints. However, it is also possible that the population at Oymaağaç did not overly stress their rotator cuff ligaments as readily as one would expect of a rural, agricultural community. Regardless, no significant differences are noted in the percent of multigenerational and mass graves individuals with RCD. Despite the higher frequency of males overall and within grave contexts having RCD than females, these disparities were not significant.

Results of degenerative wear to the vertebrae, IVD, echo the results of RCD at

Oymaağaç. As with RCD, decreases in individuals with IVD occur between multigenerational (51.6%) and mass (30.0%) grave contexts, although these changes are not statistically significant. Nor are the differences between sexes significant despite more males than females exhibit IVD. Where significant differences are observed are in the number and type of vertebrae affected by IVD. Not only are more multigenerational vertebrae affected by IVD, and in each type of vertebra, but significantly more thoracic

(11.39%) and lumbar (19.64%) vertebrae exhibited IVD in the multigenerational

241

individuals than mass grave individuals (0.89% and 4.49%).

Results from OA and IVD suggest that differences in physical activity

characterized the multigenerational and mass grave individuals. These findings

complement those results from traumatic lesions and other pathological conditions at

Oymaağaç, namely, that significantly fewer mass grave individuals exhibit skeletal or

dental biomarkers associated with frailty than multigenerational grave individuals.

9.3.6 Multivariate correspondence distributions at Oymaağaç

Multiple correspondence analyses were employed as supplementary, exploratory

visual aids to ANOVA and ANCOVA tests. MCA factor maps of Models 1 and 3

provided further evidence of the biocultural variables influencing attritional and mass mortality at Oymaağaç. The human landscape portrayed by MCA models depicts

biologically different profiles of individuals among multigenerational and mass grave

contexts. Multigenerational grave contexts consistently correspond to skeletal and dental

conditions associated with childhood and adulthood stress, while mass grave individuals

correspond more readily with the absence of pathological lesions. These results

complement those from LEH observation, namely that individuals with more wear-and-

tear (i.e., frailty; Marklein et al., 2016) throughout life project more resilience to episodes

of epidemic stress. From the mortuary context, the individuals associated with more

lesions do not exhibit any evidence of ascribed status, whether comparatively higher or

lower, so there is little socioeconomic basis to explain why more “weathered” individuals

(i.e., individuals with pathological conditions) succumbed to the mass grave death

circumstances. Rather, it seems that the most robust individuals in the local community—

those who survived childhood stress and, in adulthood, engaged in rigorous, and

242

sometimes traumatic, workloads—were least susceptible to episodic, mass death circumstances, while their least frail counterparts (i.e., those who survived and sustained fewer childhood and adulthood stress events) lacked biophysiological buffering from epidemic situations.

Differentiated by sex, the mass and multigenerational grave divisions include biocultural explanations beyond biophysiological disparities. The most profound differences exist between males, with multigenerational males sustaining putatively work-related trauma and osteoarthritic joint wear than mass grave males. By contrast, females from multigenerational and mass grave contexts, albeit exhibiting significant differences in osteoarthritis and carious lesions, do not demonstrate as antipodal a relationship as their male counterparts. The MCA factor map (Figure 9) indicates no clear separation between mass and multigenerational females, and though differences are more visual in the Model 3 MCA factor map (Figure 8.28), these differences are limited to osteoarthritis and carious lesions, while other pathological conditions are comparable.

From these data, it can be argued that females, unlike males, were less discriminated against under epidemic conditions. While males with active PNB were more prone to mortality risk in mass death than attritional circumstances, females were not selectively

susceptible to epidemic. These results attest to mortality differentials observed in other

plague and epidemic contexts throughout history (DeWitte, 2017; Ell, 1989).

Furthermore, they speak to gender relations at play in Roman period Oymaağaç, wherein

women—roughly and simplistically assumed through biological skeletal sex

estimations—were not buffered as well as men from epidemic environments. This lack of

buffering is likely a composite of several sociocultural factors, including division of labor

243

and associated disparate access to resources, or biocultural vulnerability associated with

childbirth and care. Divisions of labor between men and women, while not impermeable

in ancient and modern rural Turkish communities (Ertük ,1995; Rad, 2012), have been

observed in which domestic spaces and village areas become spheres for male or female

gatherings. For this reason, such divisions may have directed and concentrated the

transmission of epidemics between and within women of the community, especially if

most men spent daily hours laboring outside the home and apart from other members of

the population. Another reason for selective sex differences in mass grave mortality may

lie in differential access to food and medical resources. While medical care is difficult to

ascertain and quantify, references to food or nutritional resource differentials between

sexes are more apparent in ancient literary and historical records (Fant and Lefkowitz,

1986). Nevertheless, it would be remiss to overlook the similarities in diet between males

and females at Oymaağaç, as represented in dental, oral, and isotopic data. Consequently,

it is less likely that dietary disparities drove overall female susceptibility to epidemic at

Oymaağaç. Rather, biocultural susceptibilities, exacerbated by childbirth, childcare, and

therein psychosomatic stress, may have contributed to females of various

biophysiological backgrounds succumbing equally to epidemic and other sources leading

to death.

9.4 Oymaağaç within the Anatolian landscape

Within the eastern provincial, Anatolian landscape, Oymaağaç was a rural village in size and economy. Despite its proximity to the Roman-established town of

Neoklaudiopolis, the village community did not expand its center or develop an urban

244

space. Oymaağaç lacked the urban design and amenities adopted or implemented in other

communities across the Anatolian province, namely, public fora, theatres, basilica, water

resources (e.g, aqueducts and fountains) (Bekker-Nielsen, 2013). As such, the social, economic, and epidemiological environment of Oymaağaç differed from its contemporaneous Anatolian urban counterparts.

9.4.1 Hypothesis 1.2: Oymaağaç and violence in Anatolia

As with traumatic lesions recorded in Oymaağaç, fractures among Anatolian sites do not indicate interpersonal, let alone endemic, violence within populations. Rather, fractures are associated with accidental trauma (e.g., falls, work injuries). Comparisons between Oymaağaç samples and other sites (Hierapolis, Elaiussa Sebaste, Klazomenai,

Ismir, and Tepekic-Ciftlik) show no significant differences. Despite higher percentages of multigenerational grave individuals (37.5%) exhibiting a fracture than urban Anatolian sites (mean, 16.6%), this difference is not significant. Percentages of individuals with fractures among Oymaağaç mass graves (14.7%), by contrast, are more reflective of trauma frequency at urban Anatolian centers. Unfortunately, the lack of data from referential Anatolian sites regarding location of trauma precludes assumptions about similarities in labor between urban and rural communities. However, the absence of significant difference in trauma prevalence between urban communities and rural

Oymaağaç potentially suggests more fluid work economies between Anatolian towns and villages, or at least similar risks of trauma. When comparing the prevalence of trauma among Roman period Hungarian, British, and Croatian sites, Gilmour and colleagues

(2015) observed significant differences in the prevalence and type of fractures recorded between urban and rural sites. These findings suggested more interpersonal traumatic

245

events, in additional to accidental trauma, in urban populaces due to congested living

conditions (Gilmour et al., 2015). However, when Croatian sites are divided by Adriatic

and Continental contexts and therein compared, there is no significant difference in

trauma prevalence between these variable environs (Šlaus et al., 2004). This pattern also

seems to be reflected in the Anatolia landscape, with rural Oymaağaç showing little

differentiation from urban communities in trauma prevalence.

9.4.2 Hypothesis 2.2: Oymaağaç diet within Anatolia

Due to limited referential data from contemporaneous Anatolian sites, only three

dental and skeletal proxies for diet were compared with the Oymaağaç samples, namely, percentages of carious teeth, teeth with calculus, and alveoli with AMTL. Overall, the percent of carious teeth at Oymaağaç (8.8%) resembles the average of Anatolian sites

(8.4%). When further divided into multigenerational (7.0%) and mass (8.1%) grave contexts and subsequently compared to the other nine Anatolian sites, few significant differences are observed. Despite a dramatically lower percent of teeth with calculus at

Oymaağaç (3.7%) than the Anatolian average (34.4%), there is considerable variability in this region (StDev=25.2). However, the lower percentage of teeth with calculus within the mass grave contexts at Oymaağaç (1.5%) is significantly different from the

comparative Anatolian sample (Single-Sample Wilcoxon test, p-value<0.05). Finally, prevalence of alveoli with AMTL in Oymaağaç samples (multigenerational, 10.0%; mass grave, 2.29%) does not divert from the Anatolian average of 12.9%.

Anatolian site comparisons of carious lesions, calculus, and AMTL indicate that there is considerable variation intraregionally in the pathogenesis of these conditions, notably dietary contributions. Since stable carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios between

246

Anatolian sites intimate similar dietary components—predominantly C3-plants and terrestrial animals (consuming C3-plants)—which could account for the lack of

significant differences in carious lesion, calculus, and AMTL prevalences, i.e.,

similarities in cariogenic food contributions. However, when comparing Oymaağaç stable carbon and nitrogen ratios with the urban sites of Ephesus and Hierapolis, Oymaağaç samples exhibit carbon and nitrogen ratios which are significantly more enriched

(ANOVA, p-value<0.001) (Figure 8.33). These findings suggest higher contributions of terrestrial meat protein composed the diet of the rural community at Oymaağaç than among the urban populaces of Ephesus. As agriculturalists and herders, this community had direct access to primary and secondary animal products, an advantage that would not be shared by the majority of the urban population, who infrequently supplemented their diets with terrestrial or fish meats (Garnsey, 1999). Increased consumption of animal proteins may also explain some of the lower frequencies of periosteal new bone and periodontal disease, especially as dietary protein contributes to immunocompetence

(McDade, 2003).

The overall variation in dental and oral conditions recorded throughout the region demonstrates the diversity in biocultural variables contributing to carious lesions, calculus, and AMTL. These differences may include, but are not limited to, variation in population demography, oral microflora, tooth morphology and crowding, food preparation, or individual choice. Previous bioarchaeological and oral pathology research into caries has indicated that, on average, females tend to manifest carious lesions at higher percentages than male counterparts, a result of biological predispositions and culturally-imposed gendered differences in food consumption (Larsen, 2015; Lukacs,

247

1992; Lukacs and Largaespada, 2006). Consequently, some of the variation in carious lesions within Roman period Anatolia may be the effect of demographic disparities between sites. Da-Gloria and Larsen (2014), for example, observed significantly higher prevalence of carious lesions and AMTL among females in communities around the

Lagoa Santa region, population dynamics which explain some of the higher rates of carious lesions among this hunter-gatherer population than others. More likely, differences exist in how populations are consuming C3 plants and terrestrial animals (or animal products) (Da-Gloria and Larsen, 2014; Marklein et al., 2015). Powell (1985) observed significant differences in carious lesion prevalence and tooth wear between

Woodland and Mississippian populations who consumed the same raw foodstuffs (maize) but varied in their processing and preparation.

Furthermore, carious lesion and calculus prevalences may differ between communities who have dairy as a protein component of their diets. Dairy products provide similar carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios to the meat of the same milk-producing animals (e.g., Bos and Capra sp.), but the macromolecular compositions of meat and dairy generate different responses within the oral cavity. Milk, for example, has proportionately more lipids than protein. Dairy also naturally contains more sugar than meat. Higher fat and sugar contents contribute to higher rates of carious lesions and calculus (Baer and White, 1966; Smith et al. 1963). Examining the geographic distributions of carious lesions (Figures 8.40 and 8.41) and calculus (Figures 8.42 and

8.43) among the Anatolian sites, there is a discernible overlap in conditions, with lower prevalences on the Aegean coast and higher rates of carious lesions and calculus in western, inland communities. Although speculative until further stable isotope or

248

archaeological evidence can confirm, these patterns in carious lesions and calculus may

suggest higher dairy components to inland communities’ diets relative to the diets of

western coastal communities.

9.4.3 Hypothesis 3.2 Developmental perturbations in Oymaağaç and across Anatolia

To evaluate the developmental stress observed at Oymaağaç, LEH prevalences for multigenerational and mass grave contexts were compared with eight contemporaneous, urban sites throughout Anatolia. The average percent of teeth with an LEH was 25.2%, although the range was broader, from 0.0% to 73.3%. Consequently, despite having lower percentages of teeth affected by LEH (multigenerational, 12.1%; mass grave,

1.23%), the prevalence of LEH at Oymaağaç was not significantly different than other

Anatolian sites. Of interest is the general absence of pattern in the distribution of LEH throughout Anatolia. There are neither apparent differences between coastal and inland communities nor between urban and rural communities (Figure 8.52). These findings contrast with comparisons between urban and rural Romano-British sites in Dorcester in particular (Redfern et al., 2015) and England in general (Pitts and Griffin, 2012), which show demonstrably and significantly higher percentages of LEH in rural than urban populations. Pitts and Griffin (2012) concluded that urban environments in Britain conduced better health for these populations, arguing against expectations of squalid urban living conditions.

The extensive range in LEH across urban Anatolian sites, as well as the lack of difference in LEH between rural Oymaağaç and urban referential collections, attest to the variability in living conditions within these eastern limes. Urban amenities, and epidemiological landscapes, do not generate a specific pathological, developmental

249

profile across Anatolia. Each community possesses its own unique amalgam of

biocultural buffering against nutritional and social stress. Burgaz, on the southern coast of

Turkey was a characteristically wealthy community in direct maritime trade with the rest

of the Empire, an advantage which may have put individuals at lower risk of childhood

stressors. By contrast, the cemetery in Sardis—the capital of Lydia and a metropolis

within Asia Minor—yielded dramatically higher prevalence of LEH (64.5% of adult

teeth). Despite both populations living with urban settings, the exposure and extent of

developmental stressors was greater within the metropolitical environment of Sardis.

Another reason for these urban differences observed throughout Roman period Anatolia could be population representation. Urban populations are a collection of sociocultural and socioeconomic groups, which are not fully represented in a single cemetery.

Consequently, with the cemeteries at Burgaz and Sardis, as an example, the former site

may be represented by an ascribed higher status burial group while the latter may be a

composite of predominantly urban poor individuals, which would obfuscate results in

LEH between urban sites.

Nevertheless, the low LEH results at Oymaağaç provide an informative look at

the risks associated with growing up in rural Anatolia during the Roman Empire. Despite

its liminal position within Anatolia and the broader Roman Empire, the rural community

at Oymaağaç did not experience differential developmental stress relative to urban populaces. In fact, fewer percentages of LEH were recorded within Oymaağaç than the overall average for this region. These findings attest to possible [relative] advantages to growing up during the Roman period in Oymaağaç, where urban population congestion and associated sanitation and health problems did not occur. Examinations of childhood

250

in Roman Britain have demonstrated consistently cases of vitamin deficiency, cribra

orbitalia, and trauma endemic in urban populations, attesting to the elevated risks of

metabolic disease, nutritional deficiencies, and violence experienced by juveniles in

Romano-British town and cityscapes (Lewis, 2010). The “pathopolis” (Scobie, 1986) which was Imperial Rome, is an excellent example of the deleterious living conditions urban poor would have experienced, unsanitary conditions that would have exposed children and adults to pathogenic diseases, infection, and chronic malnutrition (Scobie,

1986; Grmek, 1989).

Another benefit of to the rural environment at Oymaağaç is the availability of

land for food production, wherein families have accessible plant and animal resources.

Analyzing food production and consumption in modern urban and rural Turkish

populations, Tekgüç (2012) found that 19% of calorie intake among rural communities was self-produced foodstuffs. This percentage was higher when focusing on specific consumables: 36% of grain, 60% of liquid milk, 40% of cheese, 70% of butter, 76% of yogurt, and 27% of eggs in rural diets were self-produced (Tekgüç, 2012: 432). In an

ancient rural community like Oymaağaç, these percentages would have been

approaching, if not completely, 100%. As such, despite its low economic status, the

Oymaağaç community would have had the land resources for self-sustainability, contrary

to the urban poor, who were at the mercy of market availability. Famine among urban

populaces was a decadal occurrence in many Roman metropoles (Garnsey, 1989;

Stathakopoulos, 2017).

However, one of the problems with an incomplete skeletal record at Oymaağaç

and throughout Anatolia is the inability to compare mortality risks and childhood

251 mortality. The relative dearth of juvenile remains excavated from the Oymaağaç cemetery, less than 20% of the total sample, suggests that there may have been differential burial treatment for juveniles (Marklein and Fox, 2016). Consequently, the comparative lack of LEH in the Oymaağaç sample may reflect the few individuals who survived childhood disease and malnutrition, while the higher prevalence of LEH in urban skeletal series demonstrates greater resilience to and biocultural buffering of childhood stress. Future comparisons of childhood mortality, through hazard model analyses, will identify mortality risks associated with urban or rural contexts in Roman period Anatolia.

9.4.4 Hypothesis 4.2: Non-specific infection in Oymaağaç and Anatolia

Non-specific infection, recorded generally as PNB, was only published in four of the 14 referential sites in Anatolia. For this reason, statistical results comparing these four sites with Oymaağaç are preliminary, considering the small comparative sample. The percent of individuals with PNB in Oymaağaç, whether in multigenerational (2.6%) or mass (16.7%) grave contexts, does not differ from PNB prevalences in urban Anatolian sites. The lack of difference between rural and urban contexts in Anatolia is a testament to the extent and development of urban landscapes in the eastern limes as well as the multicausal nature of PNB. Comparisons of periostitis between impoverished rural

(Osteria del Curato) and wealthy urban (Collatina) cemeteries around Rome showed a markedly higher prevalence of pathological lesions with the rural (77.6%) than urban

(50.3%) sample. Minozzi and colleagues (2012) attributed this difference to increased trauma-related PNB among rural communities, rather than higher rates of non-specific infection. Although Oymaağaç non-trauma related PNB was recorded for this study, it is

252

possible that comparative Anatolian samples included PNB with putative traumatic

origins, which would inflate the percent of individuals in urban contexts with PNB. Even

if inflation accounts for part of the urban-rural disparity, the lack of difference in PNB

between city and village indicates that the epidemiological environments of town and

country in Roman period Anatolia did not perpetuate endemic, non-specific infection.

Other urban landscapes, which expanded under the Roman period, exhibited high levels of non-specific and specific infection (Boylston and Roberts, 2000; Minozzi et al., 2012;

Erdal et al., 2012).

9.4.5 Hypothesis 5.2: Degenerative joint disease in Oymaağaç and Anatolia

Degenerative joint disease for Oymaağaç samples were compared to six contemporary, urban sites throughout Anatolia. The average prevalence of joint disease between these communities (32.2%) was markedly lower than mass grave percentage

(50.0%) and significantly lower than OA in multigenerational grave contexts (83.3%).

The lack of difference between urban Anatolian sites and mass grave individuals intimates similar levels of physical activity, while the elevated prevalence of joint disease in the multigenerational community alludes to more strenuous lifestyles at work in this rural subsample at Oymaağaç. This dichotomy between rural and urban workloads is not uncommon in modern (Fransen et al., 2011;Kang et al., 2009) or archaeological samples.

However, the lower prevalence of OA among the mass grave contexts is unexpected, considering the rural background of these individuals. It is possible that the encompassing lifestyle of the mass grave group, one represented by lower prevalence of joint disease and wear, was a partial contributing factor to their heightened mortality risk.

253

9.5 Oymaağaç with the Roman Empire

9.5.1 Hypothesis 1.3: Oymaağaç and violence in the Roman Empire

Cross-regional comparisons of trauma in the Roman Empire yielded no significant differences in fracture prevalence between regions (Kruskal-Wallis test, p- value=0.282). Average percentages of individuals with a fracture ranged from 11.3% to

31.0% among the six regions. Although no significant differences were identified, some of the regions clustered together in trauma prevalence. Eastern Mediterranean (15.9%) and European (16.6%) regions hovered around 16.0% of individuals affected, while

Turkish (18.8%) and British samples resembled one another. African (11.3%) and Italian

(31.0%) samples were visual outliers. This observation, especially with regard to Italian samples, is curious in light of Roman Italian culture. The legacy of Rome is characterized by its belligerent expansion and cultural bloodlust; after all, Romans built and promoted the amphitheatre, an arena space for deadly gladiatorial matches and capital punishment spectacles, throughout the Roman world (Edmondson, 1996). The higher prevalence of trauma within Italian samples, relative to other regions, coincides with this historical perception of Roman Italy and Italian urban communities (Wiedemann, 2002).

Of particular interest is the lack of differences in trauma between provincial populations. Although many territories were “peacefully” incorporated into the Empire

(Alcock, 1997), others were subjugated or worn down through steadfast military action and required permanent martial campuses to maintain local order (Curchin, 2004). Such references to violence in the limes seems hyperbolic, and politically sensational, when considering the lower percentages of traumatic lesions among provincial skeletal series, herein presented, relative to Italian skeletal samples. Overall, the dominance of

254 antemortem over perimortem fractures within the regional samples attests to more work- related injuries than interpersonal, violent episodes (Gilmour et al., 2015; Peck, 2009).

Endemic and recidivistic violence, as observed through repetitive healing fractures

(especially on cranial bones) within residential cemeteries does not fully characterize the nature of violence within the provincial samples, although it is observed in Britain

(Redfern, 2006). Furthermore, no significant differences exist between western and eastern provinces. The hypothesis that traumatic lesions would be significantly higher in western provinces, such as Britain, than eastern provinces is not supported in this study.

In fact, prevalence of traumatic lesions in Anatolian (and Eastern Mediterranean) sites is more similar to British fracture prevalence than culturally-congruent Italian populations

(Figure 8.39).

9.5.2 Hypothesis 2.3: Oymaağaç diet within the Roman Empire

Paleodietary comparisons across the Roman Empire included carious lesions, calculus, periapical abscess, and AMTL distributions, in addition to stable carbon and nitrogen ratios. All dental and oral conditions were compared according to individuals and teeth/alveoli affected. For carious lesions, no significant differences were observed between regions at an individual (p=0.205) or tooth (p=0.827) level. Relative to other regions, prevalence of individuals in Anatolia with a carious lesion is lower, namely

30.3% of adult individuals. Percent of carious teeth in Anatolian sites, however, is comparable to other regions throughout the Roman Empire. When distributions of carious lesions were geospatially mapped (Figures 8.40 and 8.41), the lack of significant variance between regions is explained by the variance within regions. Within Anatolian sites, for example, prevalence of carious lesions ranges from 2.62% to 20% of teeth affected.

255

Similar heterogeneity of carious lesion occurrences is recorded within other provinces

(Britain: 21.2% to 67.5% of individuals, 6.7% to 10.4% of teeth; Europe: 35% to 59% of individuals, 6.3% to 27.3% of teeth).

As with carious lesion results, no significant differences were observed for calculus between regions. Unfortunately, calculus results must be interpreted tentatively as only five regions included sites with results, and Africa was represented by a single site. Consequently, the range in individuals with calculus ranges from 38.3% (Anatolia) to 100% (Africa) of samples observed. Despite this broad range, there were no significant differences between regions. Even with higher percentages of individuals with calculus in

Africa and Italy (77.0%), greater variance existed within regions than between regions.

The same analysis can be made for the percent of calculus teeth observed across Roman period sites, wherein no significant regional patterns were found (p-value=0.057; Figures

8.42 and 8.43).

Distributions of periapical abscesses, based on individuals and alveoli affected, throughout the Roman Empire exhibited no significant regional trends. The average percentages of individuals with abscesses congregated within two groups. Approximately a quarter of British, European, and Italian samples had periapical abscesses relative to ten percent of individuals in African, Eastern Mediterranean, and Anatolian samples showing the condition. Nevertheless, so much intraregional variation exists that any interregional differences are not significant (Figure 8.45). These results are echoed when examining abscesses at an alveoli level. Among the four regions with abscess data (Britain, Europe,

Italy, and Anatolia), no significant differences in percent of affected alveoli were observed (p-value=0.08), although Italian samples yielded lower percentages of abscesses

256 than any other region.

As with the other dental and oral conditions, AMTL results did not vary significantly between regions. On an individual level, African samples showed the lowest average regional percent (14.7%) relative to British (44.6%), Italian (53.2%), and

Anatolian (44.6%) skeletal series, but these did not contribute to overall significant differences between regions (p-value=0.08). Geospatial distributions of AMTL by individuals (Figure 8.46) and alveoli (Figure 8.47) affected indicate intraregional variance. On the alveolar level, there is a narrow range in percentages, from 7.5% (Italy) to 13.8% (Britain) of alveoli affected by AMTL. Nevertheless, between 2.32% and

33.71% of alveoli are affected by AMTL across the Empire, and this variation presents heterogeneously within regional groups.

Concurrently, stable carbon and nitrogen and oral dental and skeletal lesions demonstrate the heterogeneity in dietary biomarkers within provincial regions across the

Roman Empire. Previous research in Britain, comparing stable isotopic ratios between individuals in urban and rural sites, has demonstrated this intraregional variability in dietary choices during the Romano-British period (Cheung et al., 2012; Richards et al.,

1998), oftentimes explained through social stratification of food choice or access. While

Richards and colleagues (1998) noted no significant difference in marine consumption between ascribed socioeconomic groups, findings from Roman period Gloucestershire showed individuals from urban and rural contexts supplementing local diets with marine- based proteins, findings interpreted as increased access to higher quality foodstuffs

(Cheung et al., 2012). Scholars in Roman food culture attest to the enthusiastic adoption of Roman cuisine by provincial elites as means of ingratiating themselves culturally into

257

the Roman sociopolitical system, “becoming Roman,” so to speak (Garnsey, 1999; Van

der Veen, 2008). Part of the [sometimes lavish (Trimalchio, Suetonius)] Roman cuisine included regularly marine fish, especially in the form of fermented fish sauce, garum

(Faas, 1994). However, diachronic studies of indigenous diets from Iron to Romano-

British Ages in Dorchester have demonstrated that a ready adoption of Roman food choices was clearly not universal throughout the province (Redfern et al., 2010), but rather urban and rural populations maintained a local diet based in indigenous vegetation and protein sources. Results from Oymaağaç also exhibit a local diet, although the population interacted with the urban, networked community of Neoklaudiopolis. Even the referential Anatolian sites do not yield biomarker or isotopic data coincident with Italian and contrary to western provincial sites. Diets across Anatolia and the Eastern

Mediterranean, much like the populations of Africa, Britain, and Europe, do not follow a prescriptive cuisine but reflect regional and communal diversity.

9.5.2.i Intersexual differences in diet across the Roman Empire as reflected in stable carbon and nitrogen ratios

Comparisons of stable carbon and nitrogen ratios between regions indicate significant differences between African isotopic ratios and all other regions, a difference primarily explained by the arid environments of the Dahkleh Oasis and surrounding desert sites (Schwarcz et al., 1999). When African values were excluded from Kruskal-

Wallis analyses, no significant differences were observed across Britain, the European continent, and western Asia. Where differences did emerge were between the sexes overall and in four of the five regions. Within the total interregional sample, females, on average, yielded less enriched δ13C and more enriched δ15N values. Simply translated,

258

then, significantly enriched nitrogen data suggest that female diets included more animal protein than male counterparts. This pattern held for African, European, and Anatolian samples, while Italian samples exhibited no significant intersexual differences in carbon and nitrogen ratios, and British samples showed males having significantly more enriched carbon and nitrogen ratios than females.

Most gender studies of the Roman world have examined the dichotomous nature of women projected in Latin writing and literature, wherein a woman epitomizes either the Roman ideal of domestic, civic virtue or the tribal stereotype of the wild, barbaric female (Lefkowitz and Fant, 1982). Archaeological, epigraphic, and art historical research have attempted to rectify this whitewash of females in Roman history by reinserting women into the Roman sociopolitical narrative as agentive characters

(Hemelrijk, 2004; Kearsley, 1999). Power and agency among women is oftentimes argued and interpreted through indirect shows of influences, generally as a woman affecting change through a male relative on a political or social stage (Lefkowitz, 1983).

Uncommon examples of females directly engaged in public life appear in commemorative inscriptions, albeit rarely, throughout the empire. Kearsley (1999), reconstructing individuals through their stele epithets, describes first century cases of

Roman women, Iunia Theodora and Claudia Metrodora, independently financing buildings and festivals within the eastern city of Corinth and island of Chios, respectively. As Greek women who later assumed Roman citizenship, these women invested considerable resources into their respective communities, engaging in euergistic acts like taking in displaced, immigrant families. These are few among the laudable studies which have steered much of the post-processual archaeological research in the

259

direction and investigation of the muted, subaltern groups across the Empire, namely women, children, and the disabled (Derevenski, 1994; Laes, 2006). However, most of this research has been, by nature of the evidence, limited to upper class women and children, those individuals who or for whom permanent monuments and dedications could be erected. Fewer studies have scrutinized changes experienced by the non-elite subaltern groups (e.g., women) in liminal communities amidst and following Roman occupation or annexation (Redfern, 2006).

As “embodied material culture” (Dietler, 2007: 222-23), diet provides a means to characterize male and female identities and cultural roles and relationships within past populations, across social strata. Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios from across the Roman

Empire consistently show more enriched ratios among females than males, decrying preferential food choose or access by men over women within the Roman Empire

(Garnsey, 1999). Despite its essential patriarchal foundation, which is associated with gendered food disparities in modern times (Sachs and Patel-Campillo, 2014), the lack of discrepancy in stable isotope and dental pathological profiles between sexes across the empire (Marklein, 2017) indicates that any preferential treatment of children based on gender (Scheidel, 2010) was not maintained into adult years. That is, males and females appear to be, in effect, eating the same foods of a shared table.

9.5.3 Hypothesis 3.3 Developmental perturbations in Oymaağaç and across the Roman

Empire

Percentages of individuals and teeth exhibiting a linear enamel hypoplasia were observed throughout the Roman Empire. LEH is a complicated biomarker for analysis as it can represent an individual’s resilience to and survival of childhood stressors while

260

simultaneously indicating a period in which an individual was immunocompromised.

This period of childhood stress, consequently, could impact an individual’s ability to

stave off disease or infection in adulthood years. Among the Roman Empire, regional

patterns in LEH appear at the individual level (p-value<0.0005). Dunn’s post-hoc tests

further narrowed these significant differences between regions. Significantly higher

percentages of individuals with LEH concentrate in Italian (91.4%) and African (100%) samples, followed by European (62.4%), Anatolian (46.0%), and British (29.0%) samples, with Eastern Mediterranean samples yielding the lowest average individual

LEH percentage (11.0%). By contrast, Kruskal-Wallis tests show no significant differences between regions when comparing percentages of teeth with an LEH lesion.

When viewing these data geospatially (Figure 8.52), the disparities within region are visible, especially in Anatolian sites.

The significant, and visual, differences in percentages of individuals with LEH between regions demands further scrutiny. Firstly, the individuals compared between all sites are adults, which means they survived the circumstances of high infant and childhood mortality in pre-modern environs. Unfortunately, without demographic data

from all Roman sites, it is not possible to quantify how LEH contributes to risk of

mortality. Still, from the data herein, it is apparent that, on a population level, higher

percentages of individuals in Italy and Africa were exposed to acute or chronic episodes

of childhood stress than individuals in other regions of the Empire.

When considering the effects of Roman influence on provincial communities,

bioarchaeologists have argued that conditions worsened under Roman rule, as

populations and individuals displayed more signs of developmental stress or increased

261

risk of mortality (Roberts and Cox, 2003; Peck, 2009; Redfern, 2006; Redfern and

DeWitte, 2011; Bonsall, 2013). Nonetheless, these and other regional findings have been

compared with Roman Italian sites infrequently as a reference samples. When regarded

alongside Italian samples, provincial populations show demonstrably less childhood

stress.

9.5.4 Hypothesis 4.3: Infection prevalence in Oymaağaç and the Roman Empire

Infection, non-specific and specific, was gauged through percent of individuals with PNB and PD, respectively. With PNB, results indicated significant differences between regions across the Empire. First, the lowest prevalences of PNB was observed in

African (6.9%) and Eastern Mediterranean (4.0%) populations. British (14.7%),

European (14.9%), and Anatolian (16.1%) regions exhibited a middle-range level of

PNB, but Italy undoubtedly superseded all other regions with an average of approximately 60% of adult individuals manifesting the condition. Similar, albeit not as pronounced, is the occurrence of PD. As with PNB, the highest distribution of PD is observed in Italy (80.4%). However, approximately half of adults in European and

Anatolian regions exhibit PD, and a third of adult samples in Africa and Britain show the pathological condition. Eastern Mediterranean samples yield the lowest average percent of individuals with PD, 8.8%, which may be a result of the age distribution or a difference in diagnostic standards. Regardless, the interregional findings from non- specific infection across Europe, Africa, and western Asia indicate a definite trend in living conditions and exposure and susceptibility to infection. Urban and suburban environments in central Italy were more detrimental to adult health than urban and rural conditions in the provinces. These findings are particularly compelling to the issue of

262

Romanization and understanding how biological health compared around the Roman

Empire following annexation and conquest, suggesting that life geographically peripheral

to Rome warranted healthier living standards.

In fact, these healthier living standards are testimonials to the variability in urban,

suburban, and rural landscapes and communities within and throughout the Roman

Empire. If Roman conquest beget hundreds of Rome microcosms, then one would expect

more similarity in the epidemiological landscapes across the Empire. Rather, high

prevalences of non-specific infectious lesions concentrate around Rome and dissipate

outwards with influxes in PNB or PD evidenced in a few urban centers (e.g., Sardis and

Leptiminus). Although most of these comparative liminal samples represent communities

from “Romanized” places, these results suggest that some of the epidemiologically

negative effects of Roman urbanization were buffered by indigenous populations. Instead

of communities readily adopting and replacing local culture with established Roman

mores, as is argued from the provincial elite’s alacritous response to Romanization, there appear to be differential responses among indigenous populations across the Empire to the overarching Roman power (Woolf, 1997; Madsen, 2009). Among rural, provincial communities, such as Oymaağaç, implementing more Roman planning and practices into daily life would not have been a major concern of the Roman military and political systems. Assuming rural communities continued to contribute raw materials to urban markets, there would be little issue about what these farmers spoke, which gods they worshipped, or how their town was architecturally designed (Mattingly, 2011). As a result, many of these rural communities under Roman rule would have seemed untouched by Roman urban influence.

263

Urban settings, by contrast, would have sustained more direct influence from

Roman authorities. In some instances, towns were built up directly with Roman funding

and direction, such as Neoklaudiopolis (Bekker-Nielsen, 2013a, 2016), while others experienced considerable or minimal (e.g., Italica; Revell, 2009) urban intervention.

Comparing the distributions of PNB and PD for two sites with considerable and minimal urbanization intervention may demonstrate how a hybridized liminal community may have more readily buffered the negative consequences of Roman rule.

9.8 Putting it all together

To best contextualize the scope of Romanization on the rural community of

Oymaağaç, skeletal and dental data were examined on local, regional, and international/interregional scales. These scales facilitated first how individuals in Roman period Oymaağaç were selectively susceptible to epidemic based on mortality differentials between multigenerational and mass grave samples. In this manner, biocultural variables—demographic and pathological lesions—could be identified as factors associated with increased mortality risk within this indigenous populace. Second, an intraregional comparison of Oymaağaç samples with contemporaneous Anatolian samples enabled an examination of urban and rural settings between culturally analogous populations. Finally, interregional comparisons of select skeletal and dental conditions addressed the question of uniformity or variability in liminal responses and adaptations to

Roman rule and syncretism.

264

9.8.1 Locally

Divided into multigenerational and mass grave contexts, the necropolis at

Oymaağaç provides a unique opportunity to evaluate which individuals in this rural community, during the Roman period, were most susceptible to epidemic, i.e., which individuals had neither the immunological nor social capacity to buffer widespread death.

This evaluation was established by comparing demographic, pathological, and dietary profiles between the attritional (standard death circumstances) and mass (sudden) graves.

Demographically, there were no observable differences in age and sex of individuals who succumbed to normal versus mass mortality circumstances. Paleopathological and isotopic profiles reveal a more complicated picture of living conditions within the rural community which predisposed certain individuals to arguably premature death.

Despite similarities in the demographic makeup of multigenerational and mass graves, significant difference emerge between contexts when scrutinizing paleopathological distributions. Fisher’s Exact tests, ANOVA/ANCOVA, and MCA models indicate risk of mass grave mortality associated with higher prevalence of PNB and lower percentages of trauma, osteoarthritis, and LEH. Many of these differences are driven by the males contained within samples. Overall, there are few significant differences in pathological lesions and conditions between females, apart from osteoarthritis, but there are significant differences in trauma, PNB, osteoarthritis, and

δ15N values between males. These differences were visualized further in MCA factor maps 1 and 3 (Figures 8.24 and 8.28), which show polarizing separation between male individuals. Results suggest that multigenerational males engaged in more strenuous labor, demonstrated by higher prevalence of osteoarthritis and trauma, and were more

265

resilient to epidemic conditions than those individuals who displayed less physiological

wear and more recent, active periosteal reactions (e.g., non-specific infection or

inflammatory response). Lower LEH prevalence among mass grave individuals further

suggests this explanation that adult males with immunologically underdeveloped

physiologies were less likely to survive epidemic threats (Scrimshaw, 2003). This

immunological compromise may have explained why these mass grave males were not as

actively engaged in rigorous, joint-degenerative and trauma-inducing work as their multigenerational grave counterparts.

By contrast, females do not seem to by selectively targeted by the epidemic, suggesting increased susceptibility engendered by their roles in the community (contra

DeWitte, 2017). The lack of differences in osteoarthritis suggests that females and males were engaging in equally strenuous work, although the manner of work may have varied, resulting in higher trauma percentages in males. While LEH was observed more frequently in multigenerational females, these differences in immunological exposure and resilience did not result in higher percentages of PNB or PD. Nonetheless, females of variable biological health were equally susceptible to attritional and mass death circumstances. To explain this congruency, references to female lifestyles in the Roman period may provide answers. Despite evidence of a rigorous daily workload, one that involved agricultural as well as domestic attentions, tradition mandated that women maintain roles within the household. In this setting, women are not only confined to domestic waste and dubious sanitary conditions, but they are exposed to other community members (and their germs) directly or indirectly (Wikswo et al., 2011). Furthermore, once epidemic cropped up in Oymaağaç, women would have assumed roles of caregivers

266 to their own families, friends, and neighbors, putting women—regardless of their biological health—at heightened and constant exposure to pathogenic agents (Gurley et al., 2007; Wikswo et al. 2011). Nevertheless, the sociobiological environment of

Oymaağaç did not buffer specific females from epidemic, while it buffered those males with biological robusticity (“heartiness”).

As with differences between grave groups, similarities reveal important information about the rural Anatolian community on the Roman limes. Commonalities between multigenerational and mass grave individuals exist in prevalence of pathological lesions associated with diet (carious lesions, calculus, abscesses, and AMTL) and oral inflammatory infection (periodontal disease), which intimate general homogeneity in diet within the population, within and between adult age groups and sexes. These findings suggest an atypical cultural practice within the Roman Empire, namely, equity in food resources between males and females. While some provincial populations show similar dietary similarities between sexes (e.g., Clough, 2003; Guleç et al., 1998), Roman populations exhibit disparities in skeletal proxies for diet between males and females

(Manzi et al., 1999; Minozzi et al., 2012). If “being Roman” fulfilled these gender inequalities, the community at Oymaağaç was not Roman. Additionally, stable isotope ratios show higher δ15N values among females than males within the entire sample, and notably in the mass grave context, indicating potentially higher animal protein contributions within the female diet. As these average stable isotope ratios do not differ by a trophic level, the disparity in δ15N between sexes is a matter of dietary protein proportions (or a biological offset), with females consuming more terrestrial animal protein—likely animal dairy or eggs—throughout the day, a finding observed in other

267

archaeological sites (Reitsema, 2012). With women assuming primary responsibility of

food preparation, they could enjoy initial access to animal protein prior to its

incorporation into a household meal.

In summary, the overall representation of life in Oymaağaç speaks to a rural

community, which subsisted and sustained itself on a traditional agricultural and herding

economy. This community was not a picture of Romanness per se with males and

females showing comparable representation/overlap in life (e.g., equal access to similar

food resources) and in death (e.g., non-preferential mortuary treatment). Regardless, these divisions in space and household roles inevitably contributed to the indiscriminate selectivity of the unidentified pathogenic agent against females within the Oymaağaç

community. While biologically robust males (see above) could withstand the epidemic

threat, females with immunological (e.g., LEH) and workload (e.g., osteoarthritis)

resistance were as susceptible to mass death as their less “frail,” less resilient female

counterparts.

9.8.2 Regionally

Results from Anatolia indicate that there is extensive range in quality of rural and

urban living conditions during the Roman period. There is an overall lack of

homogeneity, even within geographically neighboring communities, in this region, which

is a testament to the relatively localized pattern of authoritative rule imposed by Romans in Asia Minor, Lydia, Bithynia et Pontus, and Cappadocia (Woolf, 1997). The lack of continuity in skeletal and dental lesions within Anatolia or urban communities within

Anatolia is consistent with a retention of local traditions within the imperial system.

Buzon and Smith (2017) described such an occurrence at Kerma, a Nubian population

268

under Egyptian rule, wherein no statistically significant differences in skeletal lesions

were observed by pre-imperial and imperial eras. According to Murphy and Buzon, these

findings testify to a lack of disruption in the lives of indigenous people in towns on

geographical peripheries of the Egyptian Empire.

Another discussion this intraregional examination of skeletal and dental lesions

generates is, what economist and philosopher Amartya Sen (1981) refers to in social

development as, a measurement of deprivation based on commodity and capability.

Scheidel (2006) considers these concepts of commodity and capability in light of

deprivation and poverty in the world, arguing that, while many Roman citizens and

residents may not have exhibited much financial security in terms of material

possessions, the majority of them could have survived (and not barely) with the

capabilities (abilities) to use what little commodities they had. This argument coincides

with what is observed in Anatolia. Aside from more strenuous work conditions eventuating in joint damage, no overall physiological costs or benefits seem to be associated with a rural or urban upbringing and adulthood in this region.

When compared with their Italian counterpart populations, Anatolian samples consistently exhibit lower average distributions of pathological lesions and conditions.

This incongruity between Roman and their neighboring Greek analogs in the eastern

provinces suggests a more nuanced reality of Roman expansion, one that amassed more

benefits for certain provincial populations than for central Italian [Roman] populations.

This relationship is particularly interesting when evaluating the long-term impacts of

Roman annexation in the East. In Anatolian and eastern territories, Roman politics and military encountered urban centers with older origins than Rome, which the Empire

269

incorporated with tactical alliances that ensured provincial autonomy for local residents

(Ball, 2000). With Roman military support and increased market systems, and no major

political or cultural challenges from Rome, communities in the east were well-situated for economic growth and development. The palaeopathological record from Anatolia confirms the biocultural benefits associated with growing up and living in the eastern province relative to Rome. Within the sociopolitical and environmental landscape of

Anatolia, individuals suffered from fewer developmental growth perturbations (LEH:

46.0% of individuals) and non-specific infection (PNB: 16.1% of individuals) and relative to Italian populaces (LEH: 91.4%; PNB: 57.8%) (Pairwise Mann-Whitney U

tests, p-value<0.05). At the same time, proxies for diet and physical activity suggest that

Anatolian and Italian populations were consuming similar foods (e.g., plant-based diets

with occasional or limited terrestrial animal protein) and engaging in comparable

workloads, demonstrating some biocultural consistency between Roman and Greek

communities.

9.8.3 Interregionally

“One of imperialism’s achievements was to bring the world closer together”

(Said, 1993: xxi). For the Roman Empire, this meant bringing liminal cultures together

under a manageable market network and keeping political stability to ensure the safety

and health of this economy. How Rome managed this impressive and long-running

authority over 60 provinces and territories was by enabling, or at least not dissuading or

challenging, cultural syncretism. This strategy is apparent not only in the archaeological

evidence (Revell, 2007; Mattingly, 2012; Marek, 2009) but, as suggested by this

dissertation, in the human bioarchaeological record. On an interregional scale, the

270

geopolitical situation of Oymaağaç may be better placed and contextualized within the

broader landscape. Results from Anatolia projected a heterogeneous population within

this region based on most skeletal and dental conditions, but at an interregional scale this

intraregional heterogeneity can be evaluated as a normative or atypical pattern.

One of the important variables for assessing systemic violence in the presence and

prevalence of trauma within past populations (Walker, 2001). While all trauma data were

not reported for referential sites, most of the data recorded mentioned antemortem

fractures attributed to personal causes (e.g., falls and accidental impact). These findings

indicate that interpersonal violence was not an endemic health concern within the

Empire, or few traces of such violence and recidivism preserved into the skeletal record

(Judd and Redfern, 2012). With the Pax Romana, some historians have demonstrated

universal declines in violence throughout the Empire (James, 2003). For a society which

focused on military prowess and victory, Romans satiated and confined their bloodlust to

theatrical, public spaces (Edmondson, 2002). Such declines in interpersonal and

perimortem violence have been observed in populations across the Empire following

conquest. In Romano-British Dorchester, Redfern (2006) found a significant decline in

intentional, interpersonal trauma and violence recidivism in adult males and females from

the previous Iron Age period. Similarly, in Aquincum, Hungary, fracture prevalence was

primarily the result of work-induced trauma rather than violent confrontations (Gilmour et al., 2015). Overall, there are no regional patterns or significant differences to trauma across the Empire, suggesting that 1) the threat of Roman intervention or local “police” quelled potential threats of violence; 2) a pax was in place throughout most of the Empire from lack of invention; or 3) a combination of interventive and non-interventive measures

271

(Woolf, 1993).

Concomitant with violence under imperialized nations, is the endemicity of nutritional stress and infectious disease (Stodder and Martin, 1992; Walters et al. 2011).

Studies in colonialism, from early contact into modern day, have expressed how foreign, imposing institutions and structures may detrimentally impact and cripple the health of indigenous communities (Galtung, 1991). Bioarchaeological work investigating missionization programs in the southeastern United States of the Guale people (Larsen,

1900, 1994; Larsen et al., 2001) and in the Lambayeque Valley (Klaus, 2008, 2012) has demonstrated the negative impacts of institutionalization on local populaces with significant increases in non-specific infection (periosteal lesions) and childhood developmental stress (LEH, St. Catherines Island; stature, Lambayeque Valley). Under these sociopolitical conditions, the daily monitoring and structuralization of indigenous lives contributed to overall declines in biological health. Unlike Roman liminal communities, who even under direct, military rule were permitted to maintain cultural and social traditions (or variants thereof), the people of colonized communities could not actively and adaptively buffer the physiological cost of colonization through cultural means, as their cultures were often subsumed or diluted by invasive, uncompromising

European cultures (Klaus and Murphy, 2017). Findings from across the Roman Empire show significant differences in Italian and liminal communities. However, these results speak to better living conditions (ecological and social) outside immediate vicinity of

Roman in the provinces, potentially invalidating an argument for sweeping structural violence across the limes.

For LEH, permanent biological proxies of survived childhood stress, Italian and

272

African populations exhibit the highest percentages of adults with the condition, both on average over 90% of populations. While these results may attest to the robusticity of these populations over others with fewer LEH (see above), it is more likely that these urban centers in Italy and Africa did not have the resources to sustain the burgeoning populaces. Famine is reported consistently throughout the Roman imperial age, with famine in Rome occurring biennially (Garnsey, 1989; Stathakopoulos, 2017). By contrast, liminal (rural or nucleated) communities comparatively were more self-reliant, either with access to production or as contributors to their production (Tekgüç, 2012;

Garnsey, 1999). In addition to nutritional costs associated with urban environments in

Italy and Africa, rampant epidemiological problems would have been endemic within cosmopolitan populations where city planning (e.g., housing congestion) and sanitation generated conducive pathogenic environs. In an extensive review of mortality profiles in

Egypt and Rome, Scheidel (2006, 2010) defamed the cities for poor sanitation and argued that most individuals of non-elite classes were likely exposed to gastrointestinal diseases and malaria, in addition to caloric and nutritional deficiencies, multiple times in life as these urban landscapes were biannual hotbeds for bacterial and viral pathogens. As such, these communities would have experienced frequent insults to their somas and heightened immunological responsivity, biological fluctuations which incur irreparable changes to one’s homeostasis (McEwen, 1998; McEwen and Stellar, 1993). Arguably, prevalence of PNB is skeletal evidence of this decreased immunocompetence in the

Roman Empire. As cross-regional comparisons show, the most cosmopolitan community in the empire, Rome and surrounding suburbia, exhibits the highest percent of individuals with PNB (Figure 8.53). With the exception of coastal centers in Croatia and Ismir, the

273 percentages of PNB decrease significantly in sites farther away from Rome.

Comparing skeletal assemblages across the Empire demonstrates that there is weak evidence of interregional or intraregional uniformity, results indicating that the processes of “Romanization” (in unique regional processes of creolization and hybridization) and the impacts of Roman authority and influence varied across the

Empire. Despite material and biological (e.g., marriage; Phang, 2001) evidence of indigenous provincial elites assimilating Roman culture—architecture, clothing, food, politics, mortuary tradition—into their lives, these examples do not represent the whole of the provincial populace and how the lower and middle classes lived within the imperial purview and created their daily realities (Webster and Cooper, 1996). By examining the people, as Barrett (1996) advocated, through the bioarchaeological record, this interregional analysis of provincial and Italian samples has enlivened the physical realities—biological health, diet, and activity—of the general, non-elite populace throughout the Roman Empire.

274

Chapter 10. Conclusion

The multiscalar hypotheses in this dissertation address Romanization through the

lens of structural violence, as represented in the human skeletal remains recovered from a

provincial community in northern Turkey. At the local level, individuals from

multigenerational and mass graves at Oymaağaç were compared to evaluate what

biocultural factors disposed specific members of the community to catastrophic, mass

death circumstances. From these findings, the community was further scrutinized for

evidence of sociocultural disparities and inequalities during the Roman period,

specifically between adult females and males. On a regional level, the findings at

Oymaağaç were further contextualized within the Anatolian provinces as a rural-urban

comparative study in eastern Romanization. This comparison considered the benefits and

costs of rural and urban environments under Roman rule. Finally, at an interregional scale, Oymaağaç and Anatolian sites were situated within the broader Roman Empire.

This final scale enabled a cross-cultural assessment of Roman rule, which has not been

examined as a means of contextualizing liminal health changes amidst Roman annexation

or conquest.

Comparisons of multigenerational and mass graves showed overall similarities in

pathological distributions between contexts with some exceptions: percent of individuals

with an antemortem fracture, osteoarthritis, and LEH. Fracture and osteoarthritis

occurrences coincide with one another, as revealed in MCA, alluding to possible

275

etiological or lifestyle connections between these variables. It is hypothesized that more

strenuous physical activity, associated with OA, may have increased risk of fracture in

the rural community. The lower percentages of physiological wear and developmental

stress markers within the mass graves suggest higher risk of mortality among less frail

individuals (i.e., individuals with fewer biomarkers of stress), findings that conflict with recent paleoepidemiological studies examining mortality risk and pathological lesions in the context of the Black Death (DeWitte and Wood, 2008). As a genetically similar

sample, the individuals from multigenerational and mass grave contexts offer a unique

insight into epidemic vulnerability with a rural community.

Placed within regional and interregional scales, the paleopathological and stable

isotope results from Oymaağaç incur greater context and meaningful interpretation within the Roman Empire. The most important theme observed from these statistical and spatial

results is heterogeneity. Not only does the population at Oymaağaç compare with the

physical, human landscape within Anatolia, but results from trauma, diet, and LEH show

no consistency within the Empire, at least geographically. Where significant patterns

exist is in the concentration of PNB within the Italian peninsula relative to other

provinces, results which attest to the infectious risks of intensive urbanization, like that in

Rome and surrounding towns. Nevertheless, the biological landscape across the Roman

Empire was a collage of variable “health” and dietary profiles. These results call into question the proposed characterization of Romanization as one of structural violence.

Structural violence was operationalized through five characteristics: 1) violence,

2) diet/resource access, 3) childhood growth perturbation, 4) non-specific infection, and

5) physical activity. As previous bioarchaeological studies of European conquest and

276

cultural consolidation have shown, infrastructural (predicated on ideological,

suprastructual) changes oftentimes engender inequality or subjugation of rights (i.e., access to resources), which may manifest in permanent alterations to the skeleton. For

this study, evidence of structural violence was modeled as increases or differential

representation of interpersonal violence, access to food resources according to dental

proxies of diet and stable isotope ratios, percentages of dental growth disruptions,

prevalence of non-specific infection, and physical labor as argued by degenerative joint

diseases. What was observed within Oymaağaç, Anatolia, and the broader Roman Empire

was an overall absence of physical violence in terms of skeletal and dental lesions.

Relative to central Italy, the heart of the Roman Empire, provincial populations

demonstrated no significant declines in health proxies, nor did they embody a Roman

biological identity, at least in terms of diet.

As a result, the discussion and research direction of the bioarchaeology of Roman

imperialism or Romanization should veer away from theories of violence and

subjugation. The human osteoarchaeological map of the Roman Empire is replete with

biological vagaries and variations, and it is this variation that should be further

scrutinized on local and regional levels, and within the global and interconnective context

of the broader empire (Pitts and Versluys, 2015). In particular, the results from this study

advocate for a stronger bioarchaeological focus and operationalization of hybrid and

creolization theories. The heterogeneity of skeletal conditions arguably reflects the

biocultural heterogeneity of the Roman Empire. There is not a biological profile

associated with a Roman community or hybrid Roman community. Instead, the cultural

diversity of local populations reflects an agentive and adaptive response to Roman rule, a

277 diversity that enabled communities to buffer biological stress, obviate potentially detrimental power dynamics, and continue social, behavioral, and economic practices in an unfettered manner, albeit under Roman “rule.”

278

References

Adams MA, and Roughley PJ. 2006. What is intervertebral disc degeneration, and what causes it? Spine 31:2151-2161.

Adkins L, and Adkins RA. 1994. Handbook to Life in Ancient Rome. New York: Facts on File, Inc.

Aiello L, and Dean C. 1990. An Introduction to Human Evolutionary Anatomy. London: Academic Press, Ltd.

Alcock SE. 1993. Graecia Capta: the Landscapes of Roman Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Alcock SE. 1997. Greece: a landscape of resistance? In: Mattingly DJ, editor. Dialogues in Roman Imperialism: Power, discourse, and discrepant experience in the Roman Empire. Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology p103-116.

Alcock SE. 2002. Archaeologies of the Greek Past: Landscape, Monuments, and Memories. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Allison PM. 2013. People and Spaces in Roman Military Bases. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Amabile N, Susini G, Pettenati-Soubayroux I, Bonello L, Gil JM, Arques S, Bonfil JJ, and Paganelli F. 2008. Severity of periodontal disease correlates to inflammatory systemic status and independently predicts the presence and angiographic extent of stable coronary artery disease. Journal of Internal Medicine 263(6):644-652.

Ambrose S. 1990. Preparation and characterization of bone and tooth collagen for isotopic analysis. Journal of Archaeological Science 17(4):431-451.

Ambrose S. 1991. Effects of diet, climate and physiology on nitrogen isotope abundances in terrestrial foodwebs. Journal of Archaeological Science 18(3): 293-317.

Ambrose S, Butler BM, Hanson DB, Hunter-Anderson RL, and Krueger HW. 1997. Stable isotope analysis of human diet in Marianas Archipelago, Western

279

Pacific. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 104(3):343-361.

Ambrose S, and Norr L. 1993. Experimental evidence for the relationship of the carbon isotope ratios of whole diet and dietary protein to those of bone collagen and carbonate. In: Lambert J, and Grupe G, editors. Prehistoric Human Bone: Archaeology at the Molecular Level. Berlin: Springer-Verlag. p 1-37.

Anderson AS, and Loeser RF. 2010. Why is osteoarthritis an age-related disease? Best Practices in Research Clinical Rheumatology 24:15-32.

Anderson JGC. 1900. Pontica. Journal of Hellenic Studies 20:151-158.

Anderson WT, Fourqurean. 2003. Intra- and interannual variability in seagrass carbon and nitrogen stable isotopes from south Florida, a preliminary study. Organic Geochemistry 34(2):185-194.

Ando C. 2000. Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Andrushko VA, Torres Pino EC, and Bellifemine V. 2006. The burials at Sacsahuaman and Chokepukio: A bioarchaeological case study of imperialism from the capital of the Inca Empire. Journal of Andean Archaeology 28:63-92.

Angel JL. 1972. Ecology and population in the eastern Mediterranean. World Archaeology 4(1):88-105.

Arıhan K, Çırak A, and Erkman AC. 2009. Datça/Burgaz İskeletlerinin Paleoantropolojik Analizi. Arkeometri Sonuçları Toplantısı 25:297-310.

Armelagos GJ, Goodman AH, Harper KN, Blakey ML. 2009. Enamel hypoplasia and early mortality: bioarcheological support for the Barker hypothesis. Evolutionary Anthropology: Issues, News, and Reviews 18(6):261-271.

Armitage GC. 2004. Periodontal diagnoses and classification of periodontal disease. Periodontology 2000 34:9-21.

Atamtürk D, Akçal MA, Duyar I, and Mas N. 2010. Sex estimation from the radiographic measurements of the humerus. Eurasian Journal of Anthropology 1(2):99-108.

Aufderheide AC, and Rodriguez-Martin C. 1998. The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Human Paleopathology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

280

Ayliffe LK, Chivas AR, and Leakey MG. 1994. The retention of primary oxygen isotope compositions of fossil elephant skeletal phosphate. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 58(3):5291-5298.

Backman B. 1997. Inherited enamel defects. Dental Enamel 205:175.

Bada JL, Schoeninger MJ, and Schimmelmann A. 1989. Isotopic fractionation during peptide bond hydrolysis. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 53(12): 3337-3341.

Baer PN, and White CL. 1966. Studies on experimental calculus formation in the rat. IX The effect of varying the protein and far content of the diet on calculus deposition and alveolar bone loss. Journal of Periodontology 37(2):113-117.

Bailey C. 1924. The Legacy of Rome. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Baker BJ, Dupras TL, and Tocheri MW. 2005. The Osteology of Infants and Children. College Station: Texas A&M.

Balasse M, Bocherens H, and Mariotti A. 1999. Intra-bone variability of collagen and apatite isotopic composition used as evidence of a change of diet. Journal of Archaeological Science 26(6):593-598.

Ball, W. 2002. Rome in the East: the Transformation of an Empire. London: Routledge.

Barrett JC. 1996. Romanization: a critical comment. In: Webster J, and Cooper N, editors. Roman imperialism: post-colonial perspectives. Leicester: School of Archaeological Studies, University of Leicester. p 51-66.

Barton L, Newsome SD, Chen F-H, Wang H, Guilderson TP, and Bettinger RL. 2009. Agricultural origins and the isotopic identity of domestication in northern China. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 106(14):5523-5528.

Baz. 2013. Considerations for the administration of the province Pontus et Bithynia during the Imperial Period. Cedrus 1:261-284.

Beaumont J, and Montgomery J. 2016. The Great Irish Famine: identifying starvation in the tissues of victims using stable isotope analysis of bone and incremental dentine collagen. PLoS ONE 11(8):e0160065.

Beckett S, and Lovett NC. 1994. Dental disease evidence for agricultural intensification in the Nubian C-Group. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 4(3):223-239.

281

Bekker-Nielsen T, editor. 2006a. Rome and the Black Sea Region: Domination, Romanisation, Resistance. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. 31-46 p.

Bekker-Nielsen T. 2006b. Local politics in an imperial context. In: Bekker-Nielsen T, editor. Rome and the Black Sea Region: Domination, Romanisation, Resistance. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. p 109-118.

Bekker-Nielsen T. 2008. Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia: The Small World of Dion Chrysostomos. Aarhus: University of Aarhus Press

Bekker-Nielsen T. 2010. New milestones from Neoklaudiopolis. Epigraphica Anatolica 48(87-91).

Bekker-Nielsen T. 2013b. Neapolis-Neoklaudiopolis: a Roman city in northern Anatolia. In: Yalcin Ü, editor. Anatolian Metal VI (Der Anschnitt, Beiheft 25). Bochum: Deutsches Bergbau-Museum. p 203-214.

Bekker-Nielsen T. 2013b. 350 Years of research on Neoklaudiopolis (Vezirköprü). Orbis Terrarum 11(3-31).

Bekker-Nielsen T. 2016. Trade, Strategy and Communication on the Roman North- East Frontier. Cedrus 4:31-46.

Belcastro G, Rastelli E, Mariotti V, Consiglio C, Facchini F, and Bonfiglioli. 2007. Continuity or discontinuity of the life-style in central Italy during the Roman imperial age-early middle ages transition: diet, health, and behavior. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 132:381-394.

Bennike P, Lewis ME, Schutkowski H, and Valentin F. 2005. Comparison of child morbidity in two contrasting medieval cemeteries from Denmark. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 128(4):734-746.

Bhabha HK. 1990. Interrogating identity: the postcolonial prerogative. In: Goldberg DT, editor. Anatomy of Racism. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. p 183-209.

Bijkerk C, Houwing-Duistermaat JJ, Valkenburg HA, Meulenbelt I, Hofman A, Breedveld FC, Pols HA, Van Dujin CM, and Slagboom PE. 1999. Heritabilities of radiologic osteoarthritis in peripheral joints and of disc degeneration of the spine. Arthritis & Rheumatology 42(8):1729-1735.

Bird CE, Seeman T, Escarce JJ, Basurto-Dávila R, Finch BK, Dubowitz T, Heron M, Hale L, Merkin SS, Weden M et al. . 2010. Neighbourhood socioeconomic status and biological 'wear and tear' in a nationally representative sample of US adults. Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health 64(10):860-865.

282

Bocherens H, and Drucker D. 2003. Trophic level isotopic enrichment of carbon and nitrogen in bone collagen: case studies from recent and ancient terrestrial ecosystems. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 13(1-2):46-53.

Bogaard A, Heaton TH, Poulton P, and Merbach I. 2007. The impact of manuring on nitrogen isotope ratios in cereals: archaeological implications for reconstruction of diet and crop management practices. Journal of Archaeological Science 34(3):335-343.

Boldsen JL. 2006. Early childhood stress and adult age mortality--a study of dental enamel hypoplasia in the medieval Danish village of Tirup. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 132(1):59-66.

Bonafini M, Pellegrini M, Ditchfield P, and Pollard AM. 2013. Investigation of the 'canopy effect' in the isotope ecology of temperate woodlands. Journal of Archaeological Science 40(11):3926-3935.

Bonsall LA. 2013. Variations in the Health Status of Urban Populations in Roman Britain: A Comparison of Skeletal Samples from Major and Minor Towns. Edinburgh: The University of Edinburgh.

Bonsall LA. 2014. A comparison of female and male oral health in skeletal populations from late Roman Britain: implications for diet. Archives of Oral Biology 59:1279-1300.

Boutton TW. 1991. Stable carbon isotope ratios of natural materials: II. Atmospheric, terrestrial, marine, and freshwater environments. In: Coleman DC, and Fry B, editors. Carbon Isotope Techniques. New York: Academic Press. p 173-184.

Boylston A, and Roberts CA. 2000. The Roman inhumations. In: Dawson M, editor. Archaeology in the Bedford Region. Oxford: Hadrians Books. p 309-336.

Boylston X, Charlotte A. 2004. Palaeopathology. In: Dawson M, and Allen MJ, editors. Archaeology in the Bedford Region. Oxford: Archaeopress. p 309-336.

Brickley M, and Ives R. 2008. The Bioarchaeology of Metabolic Disease. London: Academic Press.

Bridges PS. 1991. Degenerative joint disease in hunter-gatherers and agriculturalists from the southeastern United States. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 85:379-391.

Bridges PS. 1994. Vertebral arthritis and physical activities in the prehistoric

283

southeastern United States. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 93(1): 83-93.

Bridges PS, Jacobi KP, and Powell ML. 2000. Warfare-Related Trauma in the Late Prehistory of Alabama. In: Lambert PM, editor. Bioarchaeological Studies of Life in the Age of Agriculture: A View from the Southeast. Tuscaloosa: The University of Alabama Press. p 35-62.

Britton K, Müldner G, and Bell M. 2008. Stable isotope evidence for salt-marsh grazing in the Bronze Age Severn Estuary, UK: implications for palaeodietary analysis at coastal sites. 35 8(2111-2118).

Brooks S, and Suchey JM. 1990. Skeletal age determination based on the os pubis: a comparison of the Acsadi-Nemeskeri and Suchey-Brooks methods. Human Evolution 5(3):227-238.

Brothwell DR. 1981. Digging up bones: the excavation, treatment, and study of human skeletal remains. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

Buccellato A, Catalino P, and al. e. 2003. Il comprensorio della necropoli di via Basiliano (Roma): un'indagine multidisciplinare. Melanges de l'Ecole francaise de Rome Antiquite 115:311-376.

Buccellato A, Catalino P, and Musco S. 2008. Alcuni aspetti ritulai evidenziati nel corso dello scavo della Necropoli Collatina (Roma). Coll Ecole Franc Rome 2008:59-88.

Buchmann H, Brooks JR, Rapp KD, Ehleringer JR. 1996. Carbon isotope composition of C4 is influenced by light and water supply. Plant, Cell, and Environment 19:392-402.

Buikstra JE, and Ubelaker DH. 1994. Standards for Data Collection from Human Skeletal Remains. Fayetteville: Arkansas Archaeological Survey.

Burt NM, Semple D, Waterhouse K, and Lovell NC. 2013. Identification and Interpretation of Joint Disease in Paleopathology and Forensic Anthropology. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas Publisher.

Büyükkarakaya AM, Erdal YS, and Özbek M. 2009. Tepecik/Çiftlik insanlarının antropolojik açıdan değerlendirilmesi. Arkeometri Sonuçları Toplantısı 24:119-138.

Buzon MR, and Richman R. 2007. Traumatic Injuries and Imperialism: The Effects of Egyptian Colonial Strategies at Tombos in Upper Nubia. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 133:783-791.

284

Buzon MR, and Smith ST. 2017. New Kingdom Egyptian Colonialism in Nubia at the Third Cataract: A Diachronic Examination of Sociopolitical Transition (1750-650 B.C.). In: Murphy MS, and Klaus HD, editors. Colonized Bodies, Worlds Transformed: Toward a Global Bioarchaeology of Contact and Colonialism. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. p 70-94.

Camp JM. 2004. The Archaeology of Athens. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Campbell B. 2002. Warfare and society in imperial Rome, C. 31 BC-AD 280. New York: Routledge.

Cardoso HFV, Abrantes J, and Humphrey LT. 2014. Age estimation of immature human skeletal remains from the diaphyseal length of the bones in the postnatal period. International Journal of Legal Medicine 128(5):809-824.

Carr G. Creolising the body in Early Roman Britain. In: Hingley R, Willis S, editors. Roman Finds: Context and Theory. Oxford: Oxbow Books. p 106-115.

Carroll M. 2011. Infant death and burial in Roman Italy. Journal of Roman Archaeology 24:99-120.

Cavigelli SA, and Chaudhry HS. 2012. Social status, glucocorticoids, immune function, and health: can animal studies help us understand human socioeconomic-status-related health disparities? Hormones and behavior 62(3):295-313.

Cerling TE. 1999. Paleorecords of C4 plants and ecosystems. In: Sage RF, Monson RK, editors. C4 Plant Biology. San Diego: Academic Press. p 445-469.

Cerling TE, and Harris JM. 1999. Carbon isotope fractionation between diet and bioapatite in ungulate mammals and implications for ecological and paleoecological studies. Oecologica 120(3):347-363.

Cerling TE, Harris JM, Ambrose S, and Leakey MG. 1997. Dietary and environmental reconstruction with stable isotope analyses of herbivore tooth enamel from the Miocene locality of Fort Ternan, Kenya. Journal of Human Evolution 33:635-650.

Chamberlain AT. 2006. Demography in Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chambers RA, Haddon-Reece D, Harman M, Molleson TI, Price JL, and Wilson B. 1987. The late- and sub-Roman cemetery at Queensford Farm, Dorchesteron- Thames, Oxon. Oxoniensia 52:35-69.

285

Charisi D, Eliopoulos C, Vanna V, Koilias C, and Manolis SK. 2011. Sexual dimorphism of the arm bones in a modern Greek population. Journal of Forensic Sciences 56(1):10-18.

Chenery C, Muldner G, Evans J, Eckardt H, Lewis M. 2010. Strontium and stable isotope evidence for diet and mobility in Roman Gloucester. Journal of Archaeological Science 37:150-163.

Cheung C, Schroeder H, and Hedges REM. 2012. Diet, social differentiation and cultural change in Roman Britain: new isotopic evidence from Gloucestershire. Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences 4:61-73.

Cloern JE, Canuel EA, and Harris D. 2002. Stable carbon and nitrogen isotope composition of aquatic and terrestrial plants of the San Francisco Bay estuarine system. Limonology and Oceanography 47(3):713-729.

Clough S. 2003. Report on 37 skeletons, disarticulated remains and 28 cremations from the Cambridge to Matching Green High Press Pipeline. The Rudyard Consultancy.

Coheeney J. 2000. Inhumation burials. In: Barber B, and Bowsher D, editors. The eastern cemetery of Roman London: excavations 1983-1990. London: Museum of London. p 277-333.

Cohen MN, and Armelagos GJ, editors. 1984. Paleopathology at the Origins of Agriculture. Orlando: Academic Press.

Cohn B. 1989. Cloth, Clothes and Colonialism: India in the 19th Century. In: Weiner AB, and Schneider J, editors. Cloth and Human Experience. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press.

Collins AE, Lucas ME, Islam MS, and Williams LE. 2006. Socio-economic and environmental origins of cholera epidemics in Mozambique: guidelines for tackling uncertainty in infectious disease prevention and control. International Journal of Environmental Studies 63(5):537-549.

Collins CA, and Williams DR. 1999. Segregation and mortality: the deadly effects of racism? Sociological Forum 14(3):495-523. Connolly P, and Dodge H. 1998. The Ancient City: Life in Classical Athens and Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Cook MA. 1994. The mummies of Dahkhleh. In: Herring A, and Chan L, editors. Strength in Diversity: a Reader in Physical Anthropology. Toronto: Canadian Scholars Press. p 259-277.

286

Cooper L, Buckley R, Wakely J, Carter R, Pollard R, Dickinson B, Marsden P, Davies S, Sawday D, Harvey D et al. . 1991. A Roman cemetery in Newarke Street, Leicester. Transactions of Leicestershire Archaeological and Historical Society 70:1-90.

Cormier AA, and Buikstra JE. 2017. Impairment, disability, and identity in the Middle Woodland Period: life at the juncture of achondroplasia, pregnancy, and infect. In: Byrnes JF, and Muller JL, editors. Bioarchaeology of Impairment and Disability. Cham: Springer. p 225-248.

Corsten T. 2006. The role and status of the indigenous population in Bithynia. In: Bekker-Nielsen T, editor. Rome and the Black Sea Region: Domination, Romanisation, Resistance. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. p 85-92.

Costa RL. 1980. Incidence of caries and abscesses in archaeological Eskimo skeletal samples fro Point Hope and Kodiak Island, Alaska. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 52(4):501-514.

Craig OE, Biazzo M, O'Connell T, Garnsey P, Martinez-Labarga C, Lelli R, Salvadei L, Tartaglia G, Nava A, and Reno L. 2009. Stable isotopic evidence for diet at the Imperial Roman coastal site of Velia (1st and 2nd centuries AD) in southern Italy. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 139:572-583.

Creighton J. 2004. Coins and Power in Late Iron Age Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Crespo FA, Klaes CK, Switala AE, and DeWitte SN. 2017. Do leprosy and tuberculosis generate a systemic inflammatory shift? Setting the group for a new dialogue between experimental immunology and bioarchaeology. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 162(1):143-156.

Crimmins EM, Kim JK, and Seeman TE. 2009. Poverty and Biological Risk: The Earlier "Aging" of the Poor. Journal of Gerontology 64A(2):286-292.

Croft P, Coggon D, Cruddas M, and Cooper C. 1992. Osteoarthritis of the hip: an occupational disease in farmers. British Medical Journal 304:1269-1272.

Crosby Jr. AW. 2003. The Columbian Exchange: Biological and Cultural Consequences of 1492. Westport: Duke University Press.

Cucina A, Vargiu R, Mancinelli D, Ricci R, Santandrea, Catalano P, and Coppa A. 2006. The necropolis of Vallerano (Rome, 2nd-3rd century AD): an anthropological perspective on the ancient Romans in the Suburbium. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 16(2):104-117.

287

Cullinan MP, Ford PJ, and Seymour GJ. 2009. Periodontal disease and systemic health: current status. Australian Dental Journal 54(S62-S69).

Cunliffe BW. 1988. Greeks, Roman and Barbarians: spheres of interaction. London: Batsford, Ltd.

Curchin LA. 1991. Roman Spain: Conquest and Assimilation. New York: Routledge Revivals.

Curchin LA. 2004. The Romanization of Central Spain: complexity, diversity and change in a provincial hinterland. New York: Routledge.

Czichon RM, and Klinger J. 2006. Interdisziplinare Gelandebegehung im Gebiet von Oymaağaç-Vezirkopru/Provinz Samsun. Mitteilungen der Deutschen Orient- Gesellschaft zu Berlin 138:157-197.

Dabbs GR, and Moore-Jansen PH. 2010. A method for estimating sex using metric analysis of the scapula. Journal of Forensic Sciences 55(1):149-152.

Da-Gloria P, Larsen CS. 2014. Oral health of the Paleoamericans of Lagoa Santa, central Brazil. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 154(1):11-26.

Dalaison J. 2014. Civic pride and local identities: the Pontic cities and their coinage in the Roman period. In: Bekker-Nielsen T, editor. Space, Place and Identity in Northern Anatolia. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. p 125-156.

DeNiro MJ. 1985. Postmortem preservation and alteration of in vivo bone collagen isotope ratios in relation to palaeodietary reconstruction. Nature 317(6040): 806-809.

DeNiro MJ. 1987. Stable isotopy and archaeology. American Scientist 75(2): 182-191.

DeNiro MJ, and Epstein S. 1978. Influence of diet on the distribution of carbon isotopes in animals. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 42(5):495-506.

DeNiro MJ, and Epstein S. 1981. Influence of diet on the distribution of nitrogen isotopes in animals. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 45(3):341-351.

DeNiro MJ, and Schoeninger MJ. 1984. Nitrogen and carbon isotopic composition of bone collagen from marine and terrestrial animals. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 48:625-639.

Derevenski JS. 1994. Where are the children? Accessing children in the past. Archaeological Review from Cambridge 13(2):7-20.

288

Derevenski JS. 2000. Sex differences in activity-related osseous change in the spine and the gendered division of labor at Ensay and Wharram Percy, UK. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 111(3):333-354.

DeWitte SN. 2009. The effect of sex on risk of mortality during the Black Death in London, AD 1348-1350. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 139(2): 222-234.

DeWitte SN. 2010a. Age patterns of mortality during the Black Death in London, AD 1348-1350. Journal of Archaeological Science 37(12):3394-3400.

DeWitte SN. 2010b. Sex differentials in frailty in medieval ENgland. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 143(2):285-297.

DeWitte SN. 2014. Differential survival among individuals with active and healed periosteal new bone formation. International Journal of Paleopathology 7:38-44.

DeWitte SN. 2017. Sex and frailty: patterns from catastrophic and attritional assemblages in Medieval Europe. In: Agarwal SC, and Wesp JK, editors. Exploring Sex and Gender in Bioarchaeology. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. p 189-222.

DeWitte SN, and Bekvalac J. 2010. Oral health and frailty in the medieval English cemetery of St. Mary Graces. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 142(3):341-354.

DeWitte SN, and Bekvalac J. 2011 The association between periodontal disease and periosteal lesions in the St. Mary Graces cemetery, London, England AD 1350-1538. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 146(4):609-618.

DeWitte SN, and Hughes-Morey G. 2012. Stature and frailty during the Black Death: the effect of stature on risks of epidemic mortality in London, AD 1348-1350. Journal of Archaeological Science 39(5):1412-1419.

DeWitte SN, and Stojanowski CM. 2015. The Osteological Paradox 20 Years Later: Past Perspectives, Future Directions. Journal of Archaeological Research 23:397-450.

DeWitte SN, and Wood JW. 2008. Selectivity of Black Death mortality with respect to preexisting health. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences USA

289

105:1436-1441.

Dietler M. 2007. Culinary encounters: food, identity, and colonialism. In: Twiss KC, editor. The Archaeology of Food and Identity. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University. p 218-242.

Dobberstein RC, Collins MJ, Craig OE, Taylor G, Penkman KEH, and Ritz-Timme S. 2009. Archaeological collagen: why worry about collagen diagenesis? Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences 1(1):31-42.

Drucker DG, Bridault A, Hobson KA, Szuma E, Bocherens H. 2008. Can carbon-13 in large herbivores reflect the canop effect in temperate and boreal ecosystems? Evidence from modern and ancient ungulates. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 266(1-2):69-82.

Duday H. 2009. The Archaeology of the Dead: Lectures in Archaeothanatology. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Dupras TL. 1999. Dining in the Dakhleh Oasis, Egypt: determination of diet using documents and stable isotope analysis. Hamilton, Ontario: McMaster University.

Dupras TL, and Schwarcz HP. 2001. Strangers in a Strange Land: Stable Isotope Evidence for Human Migration in the Dakhleh Oasis, Egypt. Journal of Archaeological Science 28:1199-1208.

Dupras TL, Schwarcz HP, and Fairgrieve SI. 2001. Infant Feeding and Weaning Practices. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 115:204-212.

Dupras TL, and Tocheri MW. 2007. Reconstructing Infant Weaning Histories at Roman Period Kellis, Egypt Using Stable Isotope Analysis of Dentition. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 134:63-74.

Dymock D, Weightman AJ, Scully C, and Wade WG. 1996. Molecular analysis of microflora associated with dentoalveolar abscesses. Journal of Clinical Microbiology 34(3):537-542.

Edmondson JC. 1996. Dynamic arenas: gladiatorial presentations in the city of Rome and the construction of Roman society during the early empire. In: Slater WJ, editor. Roman Theater and Society. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. p 69-112.

Ell SR. 1989. Three days in October of 1630: detailed examination of mortality during an early modern plague epidemic in Venice. Reviews of Infectious Diseases 11(1):128-139.

290

Elton H. 1996. Frontiers of the Roman Empire. London: B.T. Batsford, Ltd.

Erciyas DB. 2006. Wealth, Aristocracy, and Royal Propaganda under the Hellenistic Kingdom of Mithridatids in Central Black Sea Region in Turkey. Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers.

Erdal ÖD, Eroğlu S, Erdal Y, and Büyükkarakaya AM. 2003. Şaşal/İzmir iskelet topluluğu'nun paleopatolojik ve demografik analizi. Arkeometri Sonuçları Toplantısı 18:1-14.

Eriksson G, Linderholm A, Fornander E, Kanstrup M, Schoultz P, Olofsson, Liden K. 2008. Same island, different diet: Cultural evolution of food practice on Öland, Sweden, from the Mesolithic to the Roman Period. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 27:520-543.

Eroğlu S. 1998. Sardis Roman-Bizans toplumlarında diş hastalıkları ve ağız sağlığlı. Ankara: Ankara Üniversitesi.

Ertuğ F. 2000. An ethnobotanical study in central Anatolia (Turkey). Economic Botany 54(2):155-182.

Ertük Y. 1995. Rural women and modernization in South-eastern Anatolia. In: Tekeli Ş, editor. Women in Modern Turkish Society: a reader. London: Zed Books.

Evans J. 2001. Material approaches to the identification of different Romano-British site types. In: James S, and Millett M, editors. Britons and Romans: Advancing Archaeological Agenda. York: Council for British Archaeology. p 26-35.

Faas P. 1994. Arond the Roman Table: Food and Feasting in Ancient Rome. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Facchini F, Rastelli E, and Brasili P. 2004. Cribra orbitalia and cribra cranii in Roman skeletal remains from the Ravenna area and Rimini (I-V century AD). International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 14(2):126-136.

Fairgrieve SI, and Molto JE. 2000. Cribra Orbitalia in Two Temporally Disjunct Population Samples From the Dakhleh Oasis, Egypt. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 111:319-331.

Fant MB, and Lefkowitz MR. 1982. Women's Life in Greece and Rome: A Source Book in Translation. London: Bloomsbury Publishing.

Fant MB, and Lefkowitz MR. 1986. Women's Life in Greece and Rome: a Source Book in Translation. London: Bloomsbury Academic.

291

Farmer P. 1999. Pathologies of power: rethinking health and human rights. American Journal of Public Health 89(10):1486-1496.

Farmer P. 2004. Pathologies of power: health, human rights, and the new war on the poor. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Farmer P. 2004. An anthropology of structural violence. Current Anthropology 45(3): 305-325.

Farmer P, Nizeye B, Stulac S, and Keshavjee S. 2006. Structural violence and clinical medicine. PLoS Medicine 3(10):e449.

Farquhar GD, Ehleringer JR, Hubick KT. 1989. Carbon isotope discrimination and photosynthesis. Annual Review of Plant Molecular Biology 40:503-537.

Farquhar GD, O'Leary MH, and Berry JA. 1982. On the relationship between carbon isotope discrimination and the intercellular carbon dioxide concentration in leaves. Functional Plant Biology 9(2):121-137.

Farwell DE, and Molleson TI. 1993. Excavations at Poundbury 1966-80. Volume II: the cemeteries. Dorset: Dorset Natural History and Archaeological Society.

Faure G, and Mensing TM. 2005. Isotopes: principles and applications. Malden: John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Fazekas IG, and Kosa F. 1978. Forensic Fetal Osteology. Budapest: Akademiai Kiado.

Ferguson L. 1992. Uncommon Ground: Archaeology and Early African America, 1650- 1800. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press.

Fletcher WG. 1939. The Pontic cities of Pompey the Great. Transactions of the American Philological Association 70:17-29.

Flores RH, and Hochberg. 2003. Definition and classification of osteoarthritis. In: Brandt KD, Doherty M, and Lohmander LS, editors. Osteoarthritis. New York: Oxford University Press. p 1-8.

Fogel ML, and Cifuentes LA. 1993. Isotope fractionation during primary production. In: Engel M, and Macko SA, editors. Organic Geochemistry. New York: Springer US. p 73-98.

Fogel ML, Tuross N, and Owsley DW. 1989. Nitrogen isotope tracers of human lactation in modern and archaeological populations. Carnegie Institution of Washington Yearbook 88:111-117.

292

Foucault M. 1977. Discipline and punish: the birth of the prison. London: Allen Lane.

Fowler C. 2004. The archaeology of personhood: an anthropological approach. London: Routledge.

Fox SC, and Marklein KE. 2014. Primary and secondary burials with commingled remains from archaeological contexts in Cyprus, Greece, and Turkey. In: Osterholtz A, Baustian K, and Martin DL, editors. Commingled and Disarticulated Human Remains. New York: Springer. p 193-211.

France RL. 1994. Nitrogen isotopic composition of marine and freshwater invertebrates. Marine Ecology Progress Series 115(1/2):205-207.

Fransen M, Bridgett L, March L, Hoy D, Penserga E, and Brooks P. 2011. The epidemiology of osteoarthritis in Asia. International Journal of Rheumatic Disease 14(2):113-121.

Fraser RA, Bogaard A, Heaton TH, Charles M, Jones G, Christensen BT, Halstead P, Merbach I, Poulton P, Sparkes D et al. . 2011. Manuring and stable nitrogen isotope ratios in cereals and pulses: towards a new archaeobotanical approach to the inference of land use and dietary practices. Journal of Archaeological Science 38(10):2790-2804.

Freeman P. 1996. British imperialism and the Roman Empire. In: Webster J, and Cooper N, editors. Roman imperialism: post-colonial perspectives. Leicester: School of Archaeological Studies, University of Leicester. p 19-34.

Frier B. 1983. Roman life expectancy: the Pannonian evidence. Phoenix 37(4): 328-344.

Fuller BT, De Cupere B, Marinova E, Van Neer W, Waelkens M, and Richards MP. 2012. Isotopic reconstruction of human diet and animal husbandry practices during the Classical-Hellenistic, Imperial, and Byzantine periods at Sagalassos, Turkey. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 149:157-171.

Fuller BT, Fuller JL, Harris DA, and Hedges REM. 2006. Detection of breastfeeding and weaning in modern human infants with carbon and nitrogen stable isotope ratios. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 129(2):279-293.

Fuller BT, Fuller JL, Sage NE, Harris DA, O'Connell T, and Hedges REM. 2004.

293

Nitrogen balance and δ15N: why you're not what you eat during pregancy. Rapid Communications in Mass Spectrometry 18(23):2889-2896.

Gabrilovich DI, and Nagaraj S. 2009. Myeloid-derived-suppressor cells as regulators of the immune system. National Review of Immunology 9(3):162-174.

Galtung J. 1969. Violence, peace, and peace research. Journal of Peace Research 6(3):167-191.

Galtung J. 1971. A structural theory of imperialism. Journal of Peace Research 8(2): 81-117.

Galtung J. 1990. Cultural violence. Journal of Peace Research 27(3):291-305.

Gardner A. 2003. Seeking a material turn: the artefactuality of the Roman Empire. Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference:1-3. Garn SM, Lewis AB, and Kerewsky RS. 1965. Genetic, nutritional, and maturation correlates of dental development. Journal of Dental Research 44(1):228-242.

Garnsey P. 1989. Famine and food supply in the Graeco-Roman world: responses to risk and crisis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Garnsey P. 1998. Cities, Peasants and Food in Classical Antiquity: Essays in Social and Economic History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Garnsey P. 1999. Food and Society in Classical Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Garnsey P, and Saller R. 1987. The Roman Empire: Economy, Society and Culture. London: Duckworth.

Gaspardy G. 1956. A Gyorben feltart keo romai-kori csonvazleletek paleopathologiai vizsgalata. In: Mihaly M, editor. Anthropologiai kozlemenyek. Budapest: Akameiaei Kiado. p 15-24.

Gibbon E. 1892. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. New York: J&J Harper.

Giddens A. 1986. The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Gill Y, and Scully C. 1990. Orofacial odontogenic inections: review of microbiology and current treatment. Oral Surgery, Oral Medicine, Oral Pathology 79(2): 155-158.

294

Gilmour RJ, Gowland R, Roberts CA, Bernert Z, Kiss KK, and Lassanyi G. 2015. Gendered differences in accidental trauma to upper and lower limb bones at Aquincum, Roman Hungary. International Journal of Paleopathology 11:75-91.

Going CJ. 1992. Economic "long waves" in the Roman perid? A reconnaissance of the Romano-British ceramic evidence. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 11:93-117.

Goldberg M, Kulkarni AB, Young M, and Boskey A. 2011. Dentin: structure, composition and mineralization: the role of dentin ECM in dentin formation and mineralization. Front Biosci 3:711-735.

Goldman AL. 2001. A Roman town cemetery at Gordion, Turkey. Expedition 43:9-20.

Goodman AH, Allen LH, Hernandez GP, Amador A, Arriola L, Chavez A, and Pelto GH. 1987. Prevalence and age at development of enamel hypoplasias in Mexican children. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 72(1):7-19.

Goodman AH, and Armelagos GJ. 1985. Factors affecting the distribution of enamel hypoplasias within the human permanent dentition. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 68(4):479-493.

Goodman AH, and Armelagos GJ. 1989. Infant and childhood morbidity and mortality risks in archaeological populations. World Archaeology 21(2):225-243.

Goodman AH, and Martin DL. 2002. Reconstructing health profiles from skeletal remains. In: Steckel RH, and Rose JC, editors. The Backbone of History: Health and Nutrition in the Western Hemisphere. New York: Cambridge University Press. p 11-61.

Goodman AH, Martinez C, and Chavez A. 1991. Nutritional supplementation and the development of linear enamel hypoplasias in children from Tezonteopan, Mexico. The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition 53(3):773-781.

Gosden C. 2004. Archaeology and Colonialism: Cultural Contact from 5000 B.C. to the Present. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Graham E-J. 2006. The burial of the urban poor in Italy in the late Roman Republic and Early Empire. Oxford: Archaeopress.

Gramsci A. 1971. Selections from the prison notebooks of Antonio Gramsci. New York: International Publishers.

Green RM. 1951. Galen. Hygiene (De sanitate tuenda). Springfield: Thomas.

295

Griffin R, Pitts M, Smith R, and Brook A. 2011. Inequality at late Roman Baldock, UK: the impact of social factors on health and diet. Journal of Anthropological Research 67:533-556.

Grogan P, Burns TD, and Chapin III FS. 2000. Fire effects on ecosystem nitrogen cycling in a Californian bishop pine forest. Oecologica 122(4):537-544.

Grosfoguel R. 2007. The epistemic decolonial turn: beyond political-economy paradigms. Journal of Cultural Studies 21(2-3):211-223.

Grupe G, Piepenbrink H, and Schoeninger MJ. 2009. Note on microbial influence on stable carbon and nitrogen isotopes in bone. Applied Geochemistry 4(3):299.

Guatelli-Steinberg D. 2015. Dental stress indicators from micro- to macroscopic In: Irish JD, and Scott GR, editors. A Companion to Dental Anthropology. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell. p 450-464.

Guatelli-Steinberg D. Lukacs JR. 1999. Interpreting sex differences in enamel hypopolasia in human and non-human primates: developmental, environmental, and cultural considerations. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 110(S29):73-126.

Güleç E, and Guyar İ. 1998. Panaztepe M.Ö. İlkinci Bin ve Roma dönemi iskeletlerinin antropolojik analizi (1985-1990). Antropoloji 13:179-206.

Güleç E, Sevim A, and Özer MS. 1998. Klazomenai'de yaşamış insaların sağıksorunları. Arkeometri Sonuçları Toplantısı 13:133-159.

Gurley ES, Montgomery JM, Hossain MJ, Bell M, Azad AK, Islam MR, Molla MAR, Carroll DS, Ksiazek TG, Rota PA et al. . 2007. Person-to-person transmission of Nipah virus in a Bangladeshi community. Emerging Infectious Diseases 13(7):1013-1037.

Haffajee AD, and Socransky SS. 1994. Microbial etiological agents of destructive periodontal disease. Periodontology 5(1):78-111.

Haller Jr. JS. 1970. Concepts of race inferiority in nineteenth-century anthropology. Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 25(1):40-51.

Handley LL, Austin AT, Stewart GR, Robinson D, Scrimgeour CM, Raven JA, and Schmidt S. 1999. The 15N natural abundance (δ15N) of ecosystem samples reflects measures of water availability. Functional Plant Biology 26(2): 185-199.

Handley LL, and Raven JA. 1992. The use of natural abundance of nitrogen

296

isotopes in plant physiology and ecology. Plant, Cell & Environment 15(9): 965-985.

Hanssen AB. 2009. Romanization--discourse and changing concepts: an analysis of altering interpretations of Roman-native cultural encounters, their participants and dynamics. Oslo: University of Oslo.

Harbeck M, and Grupe G. 2009. Experimental chemical degradation compared to natural diagenetic alteration of collagen: implications for collagen quality indicators for stable isotope analysis. Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences 1(1):43-57.

Hard RJ, Maudlin RP, and Raymond GP. 1996. Mano size, stable carbon isotope ratios, and macrobotanical remains as multiple lines of evidence of maize dependence in the American Southwest. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 3(3):253-318.

Harding DW. 2004. The Iron Age in Northern Britain: Celts and Romans, Natives and Invaders. New York: Routledge.

Hardy DC, Vogler JB, and White RH. 1986. The shoulder impingement syndrome: prevalence of radiographic findings and correlation with response to treatment. American Journal of Roentgenology 147:557-561.

Hardy IRB, Sutter RW, and Dittmann S. 1996. Current situation and control strategies for resurgence of diphtheria in newly independent states of the former Soviet Union. Lancet 347(9017):1739-1744.

Harlow M. 2013. Toys, Dolls, and the Material Cuture of Childhood. In: Grubbs JE, Parkin T, and Bell R, editors. The Oxford Handbook of Childhood and Education in the Classical World. Oxford: Oxford University Press. p 322-340.

Harma A, and Karakas HM. 2007. Determination of sex from the femur in Anatolian Caucasians: a digital radiological study. Journal of Forensic and Legal Medicine 14(4):190-194.

Harper KN, and Armelagos GJ. 2013. Genomics, the origins of agriculture, and our changing microbe-scape: time to revisit some old tales and tell some new ones. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 152(S57):135-152.

Harris R. 1963. Biological of the children of Hopewood House, Bowral, Australia. 4. Observations on dental-caries experience extending over five years. Journal of Dental Research 42:1387-1399.

Hashimoto T, Nobuhara K, and Hamada T. 2003. Pathologic evidence of

297 degeneration as a primary cause of rotator cuff disease. Clinical Orthopedics 415:111-120.

Haverfield F. 1911. An inaugural address delivered before the First Annual General Meeting of the Society. Journal of Roman Studies 1:xi-xx.

Haverfield F. 1915. The Romanization of Roman Britain. Fourth edition. London: Clarendon Press.

Hawkes G. 1999. Beyond Romanization: the creolization of food. A framework for the study of faunal remains from Roman sites. Papers from the Institute of Archaeology 100:89-95.

Hedges REM. 2002. Bone diagenesis: an overview of processes. Archaeometry 44(3):319-328.

Hedges REM. 2003. On bone collagen--apatite-carbonate isotopic relationships. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 13(1-2):66-79.

Hedges REM, Millard AR, and Pike AWG. 1995. Measurements and relationships of diagenetic alteration of bone from three archaeological sites. Journal of Archaeological Science 22(2):201-209.

Hedges REM, and Reynard LM. 2007. Nitrogen isotopes and the trophic level of humans in archaeology. Journal of Archaeological Science 34(8):1240-1251.

Hemelrijk EK. 2004. City Patronesses in the Roman Empire. Historia: Zeitschrift fur Alte Geschichte 53(4):209-245.

Henderson CY, Craps DD, Caffell AC, Millard AR, and Gowland R. 2013 Occupational mobility in 19th century rural England: the interpretation of entheseal changes. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 23(2):197-210.

Herring D, Saunders SR, and Katzenberg MA. 1998. Investigating the weaning process in past populations. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 105(4):425-439.

Hillson S. 1996. Dental Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Hillson S. 2001. Recording dental caries in archaeological human remains. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 11(4):249-289.

Hillson S. 2014. Tooth development in human evolution and bioarchaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

298

Hingley R. 1997. Resistance and domination: social change in Roman Britain. In: Mattingly DJ, editor. Dialogues in Roman Imperialism: Power, discourse, and discrepant experience in the Roman Empire. Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology p81-102.

Hnila P. 2014. Hellenistic, Roman, and Byzantine graves at Oymaağaç Hoyuk: first impressions. Landscape dynamics and settlement patterns in Northern Anatolia during the Roman and Early Byzantine period. Amasya, Turkey.

Hnila P. 2015. Rural necropoleis and settlement dynamics: thoughts on Roman and Byzantine graves at Oymaağaç, Hoyuk, Samsun Province. In: Winther- Jacobsen K, and Summerer L, editors. Landscape Dynamics and Settlement Patterns in Northern Anatolia during the Roman and Byzantine Period. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. p 147-164.

Ho K. 2007. Structural violence as a human rights violation. Essex Human Rights Review 4(2):1-17.

Hobson KA, Alisauskas RT, and Clark RG. 1993. Stable-nitrogen isotope enrichment in avian tissues due to fasting and nutritional stress: implications for isotopic analyses of diet. Condor 95(2):388-394.

Hobson KA, and Welch HE. 1992. Determination of trophic relationships within a high Arctic marine food web using δ13C and δ15N analysis. Marine Ecology Progress Series:9-18.

Hoefs J. 2007. Stable Isotope Geochemistry. Berlin: Springer.

Hopkins K. 1978. Conquerors and Slaves. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Hopkins K. 2009. The Political Economy of the Roman Empire. In: Morris I, and Scheidel W, editors. The Dynamics of Ancient Empires: State Power from Assyria to Byzantium. Oxford: Oxford University Press. p 178-204. Houck ML. 1998. Roman conquest of Spain: the economic motive. Lubbock: Texas Technical University.

Hu Y, Ambrose SH, and Wang C. 2006. Stable isotopic analysis of human bones from Jiahu site, Henan, China: implications for the transition to agriculture. Journal of Archaeological Science 33(9):1319-1330.

Hu Y, Wang S, Luan F, Wang C, Richards MP. 2008. Stable isotope analysis of humans from Xiaojingshan sites: implications for understanding the origin of millet agriculture in China. Journal of Archaeological Science 35(11):2060-2965.

Hubbard A, Guatelli-Steinberg D, and Sciulli PW. 2009. Under restrictive conditions,

299 can the widths of linear enamel hypoplasias be used as relative indicators of stress episode duration? American Journal of Physical Anthropology 138(2): 177-189.

Hubbe M, Torres-Rouff C, Neves WA, King LM, Da-Gloria P, and Costa MA. 2012. Dental health in norther Chile's Atacama oases: evaluating the Middle Horizon (AD 500-1000) impact on local diet. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 148(1):62-72.

Hutchinson DL, Larsen CS, Schoeninger MJ, and Norr L. 1998. Regional variation in the pattern of maize adoption and use in Florida and Georgia. American Antiquity 63(3):397-416.

Isserlin RM. 1997. Thinking the unthinkable: human sacrifice in Roman Britain? Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference 120:91-100.

James S. 2002. Writing the legions: the development and future of Roman military studies in Britain. Archaeological Journal 159:1-58.

Jansen G. 2000. Systems for the disposal of waste and excreta in Roman cities: the situation in Pompeii, Herculaneum and Ostia. Sordes Urbis 24:37-49.

Jardine TD, McGeachy SA, Paton CM, Savoie M, and Cunjak RA. 2003. Stable isotopes in aquatic systems: sample preparation, analysis and interpretation. Fredericton: Minister of Supply and Services Canada.

Jarrett JG. 1980. Introduction: setting the scene. In: Clayton PA, editor. A Companion to Roman Britian. Oxford: Phaidon. p 9-35.

Jones GDB. 1997. From Brittunculi to Wounded Knee: a study in the development of ideas. In: Mattingly DJ, editor. Dialogues in Roman Imperialism: Power, discourse, and discrepant experience in the Roman Empire. Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology p185.

Jordana X, and Malgosa A. 2002. Terrassa, una Villa Medieval en transicion a la epoca moderna: estudio bioantropologico de la necropolis de la Placa Vella. Rev Esp Antrop Fis 23:1-25.

Judd MA, and Redfern RC. 2012. Trauma. In: Grauer AL, editor. A Companion to Paleopathology. Malden: Blackwell Publishing. p 360-379.

Jurmain RD. 1980. The pattern of involvement of appendicular degenerative joint disease. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 53:143-150.

Kaliakatsos M, Tzetis M, Kanavakis E, Fytili P, Chouliaras G, Karachalios T, Malizos

300

K, and Tsezou A. 2006. Asporin and knee osteoarthritis in patients of Greek origin. Osteoarthritis and cartilage 14(6):609-611.

Kang X, Fransen M, Zhang Y, Li H, Ke Y, Lu M, Su S, Song Z, Guo Y, Chen J et al. . 2009. The high prevalence of knee osteoarthritis in a rural Chinese population: the Wuchuan osteoarthritis study. Arthritis Care & Research 61(5): 641-647.

Kanstrup M, Holst MK, Jensen PM, Thomsen IK, and Christensen BT. 2014. Searching for long-term trends in prehistoric manuring practice. δ15N analyses of charred cereal grains from the 4th to the 1st millenium BC. Journal of Archaeological Science 51:115-125.

Kanstrup M, Thomsen IK, Andresen AJ, Bogaard A, and Christensen BT. 2011. Abundance of 13C and 15N in emmer, spelt and naked barley grown on differently manured soils: towards a method for identifying past manuring practice. Rapid Communications in Mass Spectrometry 25(19):2879-2887.

Kaplan JE, Schonberger LB, Varano G, Jackman N, Bied J, and Gary GW. 1982. An outbreak of acute nonbacterial gastroenteritis in a nursing home: demonstration of person-to-person transmission by temporal clustering of cases. American Journal of Epidemiology 116(6):940-948.

Karagöz A. 1996. Agronomic practices and socioeconomic aspects of emmer and einkorn cultivation. In: Padulosi S, Hammer K, and Heller J, editors. Hulled Wheat Promoting the Conservation and Use of Underutilized and Neglected Crops. Rome: International Plant Genetic Resources Institute. p 172-177.

Katzenberg MA. 1989. Stable isotope analysis of archaeological faunal remains from southern Ontario. Journal of Archaeological Science 16(3):319-329.

Katzenberg MA. 2008. Stable isotope analysis: a tool for studying past diet, demography, and life history. In: Katzenberg MA, and Saunders SR, editors. Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Katzenberg MA, Bazaliiskii VI, Goriunova OI, Savel'ev NA, and Weber AW. 2010. Diet reconstruction of prehistoric hunter-gatherers in the Lake Baikal Region. In: Weber AW, Katzenberg MA, and Schurr TG, editors. Prehistoric Hunter- Gatherers of the Baikal Region, Siberia. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. p 175-191.

Katzenberg MA, and Lovell NC. 1999. Stable isotope variation in pathological bone. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 9(5):316-324.

301

Katzenberg MA, and Weber AW. 1999. Stable isotope ecology and palaeodiet in the Lake Baikal region of Siberia. Journal of Archaeological Science 26(6): 651-659.

Kearsley R. 1999. Women in public life in the Roman East: Iunia Theodora, Claudia Metrodora, and Phoebe, benefactress of Paul. Tyndale Bulletin 50(2): 189-211.

Keay SJ. 1988. Roman Hispania/Iberian Peninsula (Spain and Portugal). Berkeley: University of California Press.

Keay SJ, and Terrenato N, editors. 2001. Italy and the West: Comparative Issues in Romanization. Oxford: Oxbow Books, Ltd.

Keeling CD, Mook WG, and Tans PP. 1979. Recent trends in the 13C/12C ratio of atmospheric carbon dioxide. Nature 277(5692):121-123.

Keeling CD, Piper SC, Bacastow RB, Wahlen M, Whorf TP, Heimann M, and Meijer 13 HA. 2005. Atmospheric CO2 and CO2 exchange with the terrestrial biosphere and oceans from 1978 to 2000: observations and carbon cycle implications. In: Ehleringer JR, Cerling TE, and Dearing DM, editors. A History of Atmospheric CO2 and its effects on Plants, Animals, and Ecosystems. Berlin: Springer. p 83-113.

Keenleyside A. 2008. Dental pathology and diet at Apollonia, a Greek colony on the Black Sea. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 18(3):262-279.

Keenleyside A, Schwarcz HP, Stirling L, and Ben Lazreg N. 2009. Stable isotopic evidence for diet in a Roman and Late Roman population from Leptiminus, Tunisia. Journal of Archaeological Science 36(1):51-63.

Kellner CM, and Schoeninger MJ. 2007. A simple carbon isotope model for reconstructing prehistoric human diet. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 133(4):1112-1127.

Kiesewetter H. 2016. Toothache, back pain, and fatal injuries: what skeletons reveal about life and death at Roman and Byzantine Hierapolis. In: Brandt JR, editor. Life and Death ins Asia Minor in Hellenestic, Roman and Byzantine Times: Studies in Archaeology and Bioarchaeology. Oxford: Oxbow Books. p 750.

Killgrove K. 2014. Bioarchaeology in the Roman World. In: Smith C, editor. Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. New York: Springer. p 876-882.

Killgrove K. 2017. Imperialism and physiological stress in Rome, first to third centuries AD. In: Murphy MS, and Klaus HD, editors. Colonized Bodies,

302

Worlds Transformed: Toward a Global Bioarchaeology of Contact and Colonialism. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. p 247-277.

Killgrove K, and Tykot RH. 2012. Food for Rome: a stable isotope investigation of diet in the Imperial period (1st-3rd centuries AD). Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 32(1):28-38.

Killgrove K, Tykot RH. 2017. Diet and collapse: a stable isotope study of Imperial-era Gabii (1st-3rd centuries AD). Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jasrep.2017.05.054.

Klaus HD. 2008. Out of Light Came Darkness: Bioarchaeology of Mortuary Ritual, Health, and Ethnogenesis in the Lambayeque Valley Complex, North Coast Peru (AD 900-1750). Columbus: The Ohio State University.

Klaus HD. 2012. Bioarchaeology of structural violence: theoretical model and case study. In: Martin DL, Harrod RP, and Perez VR, editors. The bioarchaeology of violence. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. p 29-62.

Klaus HD, and Tam ME. 2009. Contact in the Andes: bioarchaeology of systemic stress in colonial Morrope, Peru. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 138(3):356-368.

Klaus HD, and Tam ME. 2010. Oral health and the postcontact adaptive transition: a contextual reconstruction of diet in Morrope, Peru. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 141(4):594-609.

Knüsel CJ, Goggel S, and Lucy D. 1997. Comparative degenerative joint disease of the vertebral column in the medieval monastic cemetery of the Gilbertine Priory of St. Andrew, Fishergate, York, England. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 103:481-495.

Knüsel CJ, and Smith MJ, editors. 2014. The Routledge Handbook of the Biaorchaeology of Human Conflict. New York: Routledge.

Koch PL. 1998. Isotopic reconstruction of past continental environments. Annual Review of Earth and Planetary Sciences 26(1):573-613.

Koch PL, Michener R, and Lajtha K. 2007. Isotopic study of the biology of modern and fossil vertebrates. In: Michener R, and Lajtha K, editors. Stable Isotopes in Ecology and Environmental Science. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc. p 99-154.

Kohn MJ, and Cerling TE. 2002. Stable isotope compositions of biological apatite. Reviews in Mineralogy and Geochemistry 48:455-488.

303

Kroman AM, and Symes SA. 2013. Investigation of skeletal trauma. In: DiGangi EA, and Moore MK, editors. Research Methods in Human Skeletal Biology. London: Academic Press. p 219-239.

Krsmanovic D, and Anderson W. 2012. Paths of the dead: interpreting funerary practice at Roman-period Pessinus, Central Anatolia. Melbourne Historical Journal 40(2):58-87.

Krueger HW, and Sullivan CH. 1984. Models from carbon isotope fractionation between diet and bone. In: Turnlund JR, and Johnson PE, editors. Stable Isotopes in Nutrition. Washington, D.C.: American Chemical Society. p 205-220.

Kumar CJ, Baboo CA, Krishnan BU, Kumar A, Joy S, Jose T, Philip A, Sambasivaiah K, and Hedge BM. 2007. The socioeconomic impact of the chikungunya viral epidemic in India. Open Medicine 1(3):e150-152.

Laes C. 2006. Children in the Roman Empire: Outsiders Within. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Lalueza C, and Garcia M. 1994. La necropolis romanade la calle Prat de la Riba (Tarragona): indicadores deestres ambiental. Sociedad Espanola de Antropologia Biologica 15:91-100.

Lambert PM. 1997. Patterns of violence in prehistoric hunter-gatherer societies of coastal southern California. In: Martin DL, and Frayer DW, editors. Troubled Times: Violence and Warfare in the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon & Breach. p 77-109.

Lambert PM. 2007. The Osteological Evidence for Indigenous Warfare in North America. In: Chacon RJ, and Mendoza RG, editors. North American Indigenous Warfare and Ritual Violence. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. p 202-221.

Lambert PM, and Walker PL. 1991. Physical anthropological evidence for the evolution of social complexity in coastal Southern California. Antiquity 65:963-973.

Larsen CS. 1982. The Anthropology of St. Catherines Island: 3. Prehistoric Human Biological Adaptation. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, No. 57, Part 3.

Larsen CS. 1990. The Archaeology of Mission Santa Catalina de Guale: 2. Biocultural Interpretations of a Population in Transition. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, No. 68.

304

Larsen CS. 1994. In the wake of Columbus: native population biology in the postcontact Americas. Yearbook of Physical Anthropology 37:109-154.

Larsen CS. 1997. Bioarchaeology: Interpreting Behavior from the Human Skeleton. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Larsen CS. 2015 Bioarchaeology: Interpreting Behavior from the Human Skeleton. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Larsen CS, Crosby AW, Griffin MC, Hutchinson DL, Ruff CB, Russell KF, Schoeninger MJ, Sering LE, Simpson SW, Takacs JL et al. 2002. A biohistory of health and behavior in the Georgia Bight. In: Steckel R, and Rose J, editors. The backbone of history: health and nutrition in the Western Hemisphere. New York: Cambridge University Press. p 406-440.

Larsen CS, Griffin MC, Hutchinson DL, Noble VE, Norr L, Pastor RF, Ruff CB, Russell KF, Schoeninger MJ, Schultz M et al. . 2001. Frontiers of contact: bioarchaeology of Spanish Florida. Journal of World Prehistory 15(1):69-123.

Larsen CS, and Milner GR, editors. 1994. In the Wake of Contact: Biological Responses to Contact. New York: WIley-Liss.

Larsen CS, Schoeninger MJ, van der Merwe NJ, Moore KM, and Lee-Thorp JA. 1992. Carbon and nitrogen stable isotopic signatures of human dietary change in the Georgia Bight. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 89(2):197-214.

Lee-Thorp J, Sealy JC, and van der Merwe NJ. 1989. Stable carbon isotope ratio differences between bone collagen and bone apatite. Journal of Archaeological Science 16(6):585-599.

Lefkowitz MR. 1983. Influential women. In: Cameron A, and Kuhrt A, editors. Images of Women in Antiquity. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. p 49-64.

Lendon JE. 1997. Empire of Honour: the Art of Government in the Roman World. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Leonard SCF. 1997. Comparative health from paleopathological analysis of the human skeletal remains dating to Hellenistic and Roman periods from Paphos, Cyprus and Corinth, Greece. Tucson: University of Arizona.

Levin I, Hammer S, Kromer B, and Meinhardt F. 2008. Radiocarbon observations in atmospheric CO2: determining fossil fuel CO2 over Europe using Jungfraujoch observations as background. Science of the Total Environment 391:211-216.

305

Lewis ME. 2010. Life and death in a civitas capital: metabolic disease and trauma in the children from late Roman Dorchester, Dorset. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 142(3):405-416.

Lewis ME, and Flavel A. 2006. Age assessment of child skeleta remains in forensic contexts. In: Schmitt A, Cunha E, and Pinheiro J, editors. Forensic Anthropology and Medicine. New York: Springer. p 243-257.

Lienhardt C. 2001. From exposure to disease: the role of environmental factors in susceptibility to and development of tuberculosis. Epidemic Reviews 23(2): 288-301.

Lieverse AR. 1999. Diet and the aetiology of dental calculus. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 9(4):219-232.

Lieverse AR, Link DW, Bazaliiskiy VI, Goriunova OI, and Weber AW. 2007. Dental health indicators of hunter-gatherer adaptation and cultural change in Siberia's Cis-Baikal. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 134(3): 323-339.

Lightfoot KG. 1995. Culture contact studies: redefining the relationship between prehistoric and historical archaeology. American Antiquity 60(2):199-217.

Lightfoot KG. 2005. Indians, Missionaries, and Merchants: the Legacy of Colonial Encounters on the California Frontiers. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Liston MA. 1993. The human skeletal remains from Kavousi, Crete: a bioarchaeological analysis, PhD Dissertation. Dept. of Anthropology, University of Tennessee, Knoxville.

Liston MA, and Baker BJ. 1996. Reconstructing the Massacre at Fort William Hentry, New York. Journal of Osteoarchaeology 6:28-41.

Littleton J, and Frohlich B. 1993. Fish-eaters and farmers: dental pathology in the Arabian Gulf. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 92(4):427-447.

Lösch S, Moghaddam N, Grossschmidt K, Risser DU, Kanz F. 2014. Stable Isotope and Trace Element Studies on Gladiators and Contemporary Romans from Ephesus (Turkey, 2nd and 3rd Ct. AD) - Implications for Differences in Diet. PLoS ONE 9(10): e110489. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0110489

Loughlin J. 2001. Genetic epidemiology of primary osteoarthritis. Current Opinions in Rheumatology 13:111-116.

Lovejoy CO, Meindl RS, Pryzbeck TR, and Mensforth RP. 1985. Chronological metamorphosis of the auricular surface of the ilium: a new method for the

306

determination of adult skeletal age at death. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 68(1):15-28.

Lowdon JA, and Dyck W. 1974. Seasonal variations in the isotope ratios of carbon in maple leaves and other plants. Canadian Journal of Earth Sciences 11:10915-10933.

Lukacs JR. 1989. Dental paleopathology: methods for reconstructing dietary patterns. In: Iscan MY, and Kennedy KAR, editors. Reconstruction of life from the skeleton. new York: Wiley-Liss, Inc. p 261-286.

Lukacs JR. 1992. Dental paleopathology and agricultural intensification in South Asia: new evidence from Bronze Age Harappa. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 87:133-150.

Lukacs JR. 1995. The 'caries correction factor': a new method of calibrating dental caries rates to compensate for antemortem tooth loss. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 17(2):157-173.

Lukacs JR. 2007. Dental trauma and antemortem tooth loss in prehistoric Canary Islanders: prevalence and contributing factors. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 17(2):157-173.

Luttwak EN. 1976. The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

MacGregor AJ, Antoniades L, Matson M, Andrew T, and Spector TD. 2000. The genetic contribution to radiographic hip osteoarthritis in women. Arthritis & Rheumatology 43(11):2410-2416.

MacIntyre S. 2007. Deprivation amplification revisited: or, is it always true that the poorer places have poorer access to resources for health diets and physical activity? International Journal of Behavioral Nutrition and Physical Activity 4:32-38.

MacMullen R. 1974. Roman Social Relations, 50 B.C. to A.D. 284. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Madsen JM. 2006. Intellectual resistance to Roman hegemony and its representativity. In: Bekker-Nielsen T, editor. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. p 63-83.

Madsen JM. 2013. Eager to be Roman: Greek response to Roman rule in Pontus and Bithynia. London: A&C Black.

307

Madsen JM. 2014. Being Roman and Greek: Local responses to the influence from Rome in northern Asia Minor. In: Jankovic MA, Mihajlovic VD, and Babic S, editors. The Edges of the Roman World. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. p 145-158.

Madsen JM. 2017. The coming of Rome and the redefinition of cultural and ethnic boundaries in north-central Anatolia. In: Baysal EL, and Karakatsanis L, editors. Border Places Bounded Times Cross-Disciplinary Perspectives on Turkey. London: British Institute at Ankara. p 123-134.

Magie D. 1950. Roman rule in Asia minor in the the end of the third century after Christ. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Mall G, Graw M, Gehring K-D, and Hubig M. 2000. Determination of sex from femora. Forensic Science International 113(1):315-321.

Mandel ID. 1974. Biochemical aspects of calculus formation. Journal of Periodontal Research 9(4):211-221.

Mann M. 1986. The sources of social power. Vol 1. A history of power from the beginning to A.D. 1760. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Mann M. 2012. The sources of social power. Vol. 3 Global empires and revolution, 1980-1945. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Manning DP. 1983. Deaths and injuries caused by slipping, tripping and falling. Ergonomics 26(1):3-9.

Manzi G, Salvadei L, Vienna A, and Passarello P. 1999. Discontinuity of life conditions at the transition from the Roman imperial age to the early middle ages: example from central Italy evaluated by pathological dento-alveolar lesions. American Journal of Human Biology 11:327-341.

Marek C. 2009. Hellenisation and Romanisation in Pontos-Bithynia: an overview. In: Højte JM, editor. Mithridates VI and the Pontic Kingdom. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. p 35-46.

Maresh MM. 1955. Linear growth of long bones of extremities from infancy through adolescence. American Journal of Diseases of Children 89:725-742.

Marklein KE. 2017. Life on the limes of the Roman Empire: biological health in the rural town of Oymaağaç, Turkey (2nd-4th centuries CE). In: Gregoricka L, editor. American Society of Oriental Research 2017 Annual Meeting. Boston, MA.

308

Marklein KE, Leahy RE, and Crews DE. 2016. In sickness and in death: assessing frailty in huma skeletal remains. American Journal of Physical Anthropology.

Marklein KE, Torres-Rouff C, Hubbe M. 2015. The precarious state of subsistence: reevaluating dental pathological lesions associated with agricultural and hunter-gatherer lifeways. Paper presented at the 84th Annual Meeting of the American Association of Physical Anthropologists, 25-28 March 2015, in St. Louis, MO.

Martin DL, and Harrod RP. 2014. Bioarchaeological contributions to the study of violence. Yearbook of Physical Anthropology 156(S59):116-145.

Martin DL, Harrod RP, and Fields M. 2010. Beaten down and worked to the bone: bioarchaeological investigations of women and violence in the ancient Southwest. Landscapes of Violence 1(1):3.

Martin DL, Harrod RP, and Perez VR, editors. 2012. The Bioarchaeology of Violence. Gainesville: University of Florida Press.

Martin DL, Harrod RP, and Perez VR, editors. 2012. The bioarchaeology of violence. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. 29-62 p.

Masters PM. 1987. Preferential preservation of noncollagenous protein during bone diagenesis: implications for chronometric and stable isotopic measurements. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 51(12):3209-3214.

Mattingly DJ. 1997. Dialogues of power and experience in the Roman Empire. In: Mattingly DJ, editor. Dialogues in Roman Imperialism: Power, discourse, and discrepant experience in the Roman Empire. Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology p7-26.

Mattingly DJ. 2006. The imperial economy. In: Potter DS, editor. A Companion to the Roman Empire. Malden: Blackwell. p 283-297.

Mattingly DJ. 2011. Imperialism, Power and Identity: Experiencing the Roman Empire, 54 BC-AD 409. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Mattingly DJ, and Hitchner RB. 1995. Roman Africa: an archaeological review. The Journal of Roman Studies 85:165-213.

McCormick WF, Stewart JH, and Greene H. 1991. Sexing of human clavicles using length and circumference measurements. The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology 12(2):175-181.

McDade TW. 2003. Life history theory and the immune system: steps toward a human ecological immunology. American Journal of Physical Anthropology

309

122(S37):100-125.

McEwen BS. 1998. Stress, adaptation, and disease: allostasis and allostatic load. Annals of the New York Academy of Science 840:33-44.

McEwen BS, and Stellar E. 1993. Stress and the individual. Mechanisms leading to disease. Archives of Internal Medicine 153(18):2093-2101.

Mekota A-M, Grupe G, Ufer S, and Cuntz U. 2009. Identifying starvation episodes using stable isotopes in hair. Rechtsmedizin 19(6):431-440.

Meniel P. 1989. De restes humains dans les habitats gaulois. Nouvelles de l'archeologie 35:17-19.

Mennell S, Murcott A, and Van Otterloo AH. 1992. The Sociology of Food: Eating, Diet, and Culture. Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications.

Merrill A, Guzman K, and Miller SL. 2009. Gender differences in glenoid anatomy: an anatomic study. Surgical and radiologic anatomy 31(3):183-189.

Mescher AL. 2013. Junqeira's Basic Histology Text and Atlas. New York McGraw-Hill

Miletich I, and Sharpe T. 2003. Normal and abnormal dental development. Human Molecular Genetics 12:69-73.

Millett M. 1991. The Romanization of Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Milner GR. 1995. An osteological perspective on prehistoric warfare. In: Beck LA, editor. Regional Approaches to Mortuary Analysis. New York: Plenum Press. p 221-244.

Milner GR, and Smith VG. 1991. Oneota human skeletal remains In: Santure SK, Harn AD, and Esarey D, editors. Archaeological Investigations at the Morton Village and Norris Farms 35 Cemetery. Normal: Illinois State Museum Reports of Investigations. p 111-148.

Milsom K, and Mitropoulos CM. 1990. Enamel defects in 8-year-old children in fluoridated and non-fluoridated parts of Cheshire. Caries Research 24:286-289.

Minozzi S, Catalano P, Cardarini C, and Fornaciari G. 2012. Palaeopathology of Human Remains from the Roman Imperial Age. Pathobiology 79:268-283.

Miszkiewicz JJ. 2015. Linear enamel hypoplasia and age-at-death at Medieval

310

(11th-16th centuries) St. Gregory's Priory and cemetery, Canterbury, UK. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 25(1):79-87.

Molto JE. 1986. Dakhleh Oasis Project: human skeletal remains from the Dakhleh Oasis, Egypt. The Journal for the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities 16(3/4):119-127.

Molto JE. 2002. Bio-archaeological Research of Kellis 2: An Overview. In: Hope C, and Bowen G, editors. Dakhleh Oasis Project: Preliminary Reports on the 1994-1995 to 1998-1999 Field Seasons. Oxford: Oxbow Books. p 239-255.

Mommsen T. 1909. The Provinces of the Roman Empire from Caesar to Diocletian. London: Macmillian and Company, Ltd.

Morfin LM. 1998. Unequal in death as in life: a sociopolitical analysis of the 1813 Mexico City typhus epidemic. In: Goodman AH, and Leatherman TL, editors. Building a New Biocultural Synthesis: Political-Economic Perspectives on Human Biology. Ann Arbor: The University Michigan Press. p 229-242.

Muldner G, Richards MP. 2007. Stable Isotope Evidence for 1500 Years of Human Diet at the City of York, UK. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 133:682-697.

Munro JAR. 1901. Roads in Pontus, Royal and Roman. The Journal of Hellenic Studies 21:52-66.

Murphy MS, and Klaus HD, editors. 2017. Colonized Bodies, Worlds Transformed: Toward a Global Bioarchaeology of Contact and Colonialism. Gainesville: University Press of Florida.

Nair PNR. 2004. Pathogenesis of apical periodontitis and the causes of endodontic failures. Critical Reviews in Oral Biology & Medicine 15(6):348-381.

Navia JM. 1994. Caries prevention in infants and young children: which etiologic factors should we address? Journal of Public Health Dentistry 54(4):195-196.

Nehlich O, Fuller BT, Jay M, Mora A, Nicholson RA, Smith CI, Richards MP. 2011. Application of sulphur isotope ratios to examine weaning patterns and freshwater fish consumption in Roman Oxfordshire, UK. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 75:4963- 4977.

Nelson BK, DeNiro MJ, Schoeninger MJ, De Paolo DJ, and Hare PE. 1986. Effects of diagenesis on strontium, carbon, nitrogen and oxygen concentration and isotopic composition of bone. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 50(9): 1941-1949.

311

Novak M, and Slaus M. 2010. Health and disease in a Roman walled city: an example of Colonia Iulia Iader. Journal of Anthropological Sciences 88:189-206.

Novak S. 2007. Battle related trauma. In: Fiorato V, Boylston A, and Knüsel C, editors. Blood Red Roses: The Archaeology of a Mass Grave from the Battle of Towton, AD 1461. Oxford: Oxbow Press. p 90-102.

O'Leary MH. 1988. Carbon isotopes in photosynthesis. Bioscience 38(5):328-336. Organization WH. 2002. World Report on Violence and Health. Geneva: World Health Organization.

Ortner DJ. 2003. Identification of pathological conditions in human skeletal remains. New York: Academic Press.

Ortner DJ, and Puschar WGJ. 1985. Identification of pathological conditions in human skeletal remains. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press.

Osmond CB, Allaway WG, Sutton BG, Troughton JH, Queiroz O, Luttge U, and Winter K. 1973. Carbon isotope discrimination in photosynthesis of CAM plants. Nature 246(5427):41-42.

Osterholtz A. 2012. The social role of hobbling and torture: violence in the prehistoric Southwest. International Journal of Paleopathology 2(2):148-155.

Osterholtz A. 2016. Patterned processing as performative violence. In: Osterholtz A, editor. Theoretical approaches to analysis and interpretation of commingled human remains. New York: Spring International Publishing. p 125-138.

Özer I, Katayama K, Sahgir M, and Güleç E. 2006. Sex determination using the scapula in medieval skeletons from East Anatolia. Collegium Antropologicum 30(2):415-419.

Özgen U, Kaya Y, and Coşkun M. 2004. Ethnobotanical studies in the villages of the district of Ilica (Province Erzurum), Turkey. Economic Botany 58:691-696.

Paine RR, Vargiu R, Coppa A, Morselli C, and Schneider EE. 2007. A health assessment of high status Christian burials recovered from the Roman- Byzantine archeological site of Elaiussa Sebaste, Turkey. HOMO-Journal of Comparative Human Biology 58(2):173-190.

Paine RR, Vargiu R, Signoretti C, and Coppa A. 2009. A health assessment for Imperial Roman burials recovered from the necropolis of San Donato and Biovio CH, Urbino, Italy. Journal of Anthropological Sciences 87:193-210.

312

Palfi G. 1997. Maladies dans l'antiquite et au Moyen-Age. Paleopathologie comparee des anciens Gallo-Romains et Hongrois. Bulletins et Memoires de la Societe d'anthropologie de Paris 9(1-2):1-205.

Papaioannou VA, Kranioti EF, Joveneaux P, Nathena D, and Michaelodimitrakis M. 2012. Sexual dimorphism of the scapula and clavicle in a contemporary Greek population: applications in forensic identification. Forensic Science International 217(1):231-e231.

Parker Pearson M. 1999. The Archaeology of Death and Burial. Stroud: Sutton Publishing.

Peach CA, Carr AJ, and Loughlin J. 2005. Recent advances in the genetic investigation of osteoarthritis. Trends in Molecular Medicine 11(4):186-191.

Pearce J, Millett M, and Struck M, editors. 2000. Burial, Society and Context in the Roman World. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Pearson JA, Bogaard A, Charles M, Hillson S, Larsen CS, Russel N, and Twiss K. 2015. Stable carbon and nitrogen analysis at Neolithic Çatalhöyük: evidence for human and animal diet and their relationship to households. Journal of Archaeological Science 57:69-79.

Peck JJ. 2009. The Biological Impact of Culture Contact: a Bioarchaeological Study of Roman Imperialism in Britain. Columbus: The Ohio State University.

Perez-Perez A, and Lalueza C. 1992. Indicadores de estres nutricional y patologico en series de epoca romana en Catalunya. Munibe Antropologia y arqueologia 8:145-151.

Perez-Perez A, and Lalueza C. 1992. Indicadores de estres nutricional i patologico en seriies de epoca romana en Catalunya. Munibe Antropologia y arqueologia 8:145-151.

Pestle WJ, and Colvard M. 2012. Bone collagen preservation in the tropics: a case study from ancient Puerto Rico. Journal of Archaeological Science 39(7): 2079-2090.

Petculescu L. 2006. The Roman army as a factor of Romanisation in the northeastern part of Moesia Inferior. In: Bekker-Nielsen T, editor. Rome and the Black Sea Region: Domination, Romanisation, Resistance. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. p 31-42.

Phang SE. 2001. The marriage of Roman soldiers (13 BC-AD 235): law and family in the imperial army. Leiden: Brill.

313

Pihlstrom BL, Michaelowicz BS, and Johnson NW. 2005. Periodontal diseases. Lancet 366:1809-1820.

Pitts M, and Griffin R. 2012. Exploring health and social well-being in late Roman Britain: an intercemetery approach. American Journal of Archaeology 116(2): 253-276.

Pitts M, Versluys MJ, editors. 2015. Globalisation and the Roman World: World history, connectivity and material culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Pomeroy SB. 1975. Goddesses, whores, wives, and slaves: women in classical antiquity. New York: Random House.

Poulou M, Kaliakatsos M, Tsezou A, Kanavakis E, Malizos KN, and Tzetis M. 2008. Association of the CALM1 core promoter polymorphism with knee osteoarthritis in patients of Greek origin. Genetic testing 12(2):263-265.

Powell ML. 1985. The analysis of dental wear and caries for dietary reconstruction. In: Gilbert RI, and Mielke JH, editors. The Analysis of Prehistoric Diets. New York: Academic Press. p 307-338.

Powell ML. 1991. Ranked status and health in the Mississippian chiefdom at Moundville. In: Powell ML, Bridges PS, and Mires AMW, editors. What Mean These Bones? Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press. p 22-51.

Powers N, editor. 2012. Human osteology method statement. London: Museum of London.

Price TD, Blitz J, Burton J, and Ezzo JA. 1992. Diagenesis in prehistoric bone: problems and solutions. Science 19(5):513-529.

Prowse TL, Schwarcz HP, Saunders SR, Bondioli L, and Macchiarelli R. 2004. Isotopic paleodiet studies of skeletons from the imperial Roman cemetery of Isola Sacra, Rome, Italy. Journal of Archaeological Science 31:259-272.

Pujol-Bayona A, Rissech C, Prida D, and Turbon D. 2011. Estudio bioantropologico del conjuncto funerario de epoca tardorromana Carrer Ample 1 de Barcelona. Rev Esp Antrop Fis 32:1-19.

Rad S, Ates HÇ, Delioğlan Ş, Polatöz S, and Özçömlekçi G. 2012. Participation of rural women in sustainable development--demographical and socioeconomic determinants. Sustainable Development 20(71-84).

Rawson B. 2003. Death, burial, and commemoration of children in Roman Italy. In: Blach DL, and Osiek C, editors. Christian families in context: an

314 interdisciplinary dialgoue. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.

Rawson B. 2003. Children and Childhood in Roman Italy. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Redfern RC. 2006. A gendered analysis of health from the Iron Age to the end of the Romano-British period in Dorset, England (mid to late 8th century BC to the end of the 4th century AD). Birmingham: University of Birmingham.

Redfern RC. 2008. A bioarchaeological investigation of cultural change in Dorset, England (Mid-to-Late fourth century BC to the end of the fourth century AD). Britannia 39:161-191.

Redfern RC. 2014. A bioarchaeological study of violence in the Roman world. In: Knüsel C, and Smith MJ, editors. The Routledge Handbook of the Bioarchaeology of Human Conflict. London: Routledge. p 203-212.

Redfern RC. 2016. Injury and Trauma in Bioarchaeology: Interpreting Violence in Past Lives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Redfern RC, and Chamberlain AT. 2011. A demographic analysis of Maiden Castle hillfort: evidence for conflict in the late Iron Age and early Roman period. International Journal of Paleopathology 1(1):68-73.

Redfern RC, and DeWitte SN. 2011. A new approach to the study of Romanization in Britain: a regional perspective of cultural change in late Iron Age and Roman Dorset using the Siler and Gompertz-Makeham models of mortality. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 144(2):269-285.

Redfern RC, Hamlin C, and Athfield NB. 2010. Temporal changes in diet: a stable isotope analysis of late Iron Age and Roman Dorset, Britain. Journal of Archaeological Science 37(6):1149-1160.

Redfern RC, and Roberts CA. 2005. Health in Romano-British urban communities: reflections from the cemeteries. In: Smith W, Smith DN, and Brickley M, editors. Fertile Ground: Papers in Honour of Susan Limbrey. Oxford: Oxbow Books. p 115-129.

Regoly-Merei G. 1970. Paleopathological examination of skeletal finds in the Roman period and description of diseases in Greek and Roman medical texts. Orvostorteneti Kozlemenyek 4:55-67.

Reid DJ, and Dean MC. 2006. Variation in modern human enamel formation times. Journal of Human Evolution 50(3):329-346.

315

Reitsema LJ. 2012. Stable Carbon and Nitrogen Analysis of Human Diet Change in Prehistoric and Historic Poland. Columbus: The Ohio State University.

Reitsema LJ. 2015. Bioarchaeology and Biochemistry Laboratory Protocol Collagen Extraction from Bone. The University of Georgia.

Reitsema LJ, and Vercellotti G. 2012. Stable isotope evidence for sex- and statusbased variations in diet and life history at medieval Trino Vercellese, Italy. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 148(4):589-600.

Revell L. 2007. Religion and ritual in the western provinces. Greece & Rome 54(2): 210-228.

Revell L. 2009. Roman Imperialism and Local Identities. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Rich J, and Shipley G, editors. 1993. War and Society in the Roman World. London: Routledge.

Richards MP, and Hedges REM. 1999. Stable isotope evidence for similarities in the types of marine foods used by Late Mesolithic humans at sites along the Atlantic coast of Europe. Journal of Archaeological Science 26(6):717-722.

Richards MP, Hedges REM, Molleson TI, and Vogel JC. 1998. Stable isotope analysis reveals variations in human diet at the Poundbury Camp cemetery site. Journal of Archaeological Science 25(12):1247-1252.

Richardson M. 2001. Approaches to differential diagnosis in musculoskeletal imaging: periosteal reaction. Seattle: University of Washington.

Rife J. 2001. Catalogue of burials from Site 250. Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 41:342-358.

Rife J. 2012. Isthmia IX: The Roman and Byzantine Graves and Human Remains. Princeton: The American School of Classical Studies at Athens.

Rissech C, Pujol A, Christie N, Lloveras L, Richards MP, Fuller BT. 2016. Isotopic reconstruction of human diet at the Roman site (1st-4th c. AD) of Carrer Ample 1, Barcelona, Spain. Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 9:366-374.

Robb J, Bigazzi R, Lazzarini L, Scarsini C, and Sonego F. 2001. Social "status" and biological "status": a comparison of grave goods and skeletal indicators from Pontecagnano. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 115(3):213-222.

Roberts AM, Peters TJ, and Brown KR. 2007. New light on old shoulders:

316

palaeopathological patterns of arthropathy and enthesopathy in the shoulder complex. Journal of Anatomy 211(4):485-492.

Roberts CA, and Cox M. 2003. Health and Disease in Britain: from Prehistory to the Present Day. Gloucester: Sutton Publishing.

Roberts S, Evans H, Trivedi J, and Menage J. 2006. Histology and pathology of the human intervertebral disc. The Journal of Bone and Joint Surgery 88A:10-14.

Rogers J, and Waldron T. 1995. A Field Guide to Joint Disease in Archaeology. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons.

Rogers J, Waldron T, Dieppe P, and Watt I. 1987. Arthropathies in palaeopathology: the basis of classification according to most probable cause. Journal of Archaeological Science 14:179-193.

Rose J, Condon KW, and Goodman AH. 1985. Diet and dentition: developmental disturbances. In: Gilbert RI, and Mielke JH, editors. The analysis of prehistoric diets. Orlando: Academic Press. p 281-305.

Rostovtzeff MI. 1927. A History of the Ancient World, II: Rome. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Roveland BE. 2001. Archaeological approaches to the study of prehistoric children: past trends and future directions. In: Schwartzman HB, editor. Children and anthropology: Perspectives for the 21st century. London: Bergen & Garvey.

Rowlands M, Larsen M, and Kristiansen K, editors. 1987. Centre and Periphery in the Ancient World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Saches C, and Patel-Campillo A. 2014. Feminist food justice: crafting a new vision. Feminist Studies 40(2):396-410.

Said EW. 1993. Culture and Imperialism. New York: Random House, Inc.

Salesse K, Dufour E, Lebon M, Wurster C, Castex D, Bruzek J, and Zazzo A. 2014. Variability of bone preservation in a confined environment: the case of the catacombs of Sts Peter and Marcellinus (Rome, Italy). Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 416:43-54.

Saller R. 1989. Patronage and friendship in early imperial Rome: drawing the distinction. In: Wallace-Hadrill A, editor. Patronage in ancient society. New York: Routledge. p 49-62.

Salway P. 1965. The Frontier People of Roman Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge

317

University Press.

Salway P. 1993. A History of Roman Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Sandberg PA, Sponheimer M, Lee-Thorp J, and Van Gerven D. 2014. Intra-tooth stable isotope analysis of dentine: a step toward addressing selective mortality in the reconstruction of life history in the archaeological record. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 155(2):281-293.

Sano M. 2012. Collegia through their funeral activities: new light on sociability in the early Roman Empire. Espacio, Tiempo y Forma, Serie II, Historia Antigua 25:393-414.

Sauer NJ. 1998. The timing of injuries and manner of death: distingishing among antemortem, perimortem and postmortem trauma. In: Reichs KJ, editor. Forensic Osteology: Advances in the Identification of Human Remains. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas. p 321-332.

Saxe AA. 1970. Social dimensions of mortuary practices. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan.

Scheidel W. 1994. Libitina's bitter gains: seasonal mortality and endemic disease in the ancient city of Rome. Ancient Society 25:151-175.

Scheidel W. 2003. Germs for Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Scheidel W. 2004. Stratification, deprivation and quality of life. In: Atkins M, and Osborne R, editors. Poverty in the Roman World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. p 40-59.

Scheidel W. 2009. Disease and death in the ancient city of Rome. In: Erdkamp P, editor. The Companion to Ancient Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Scheidel W. 2010. Greco-Roman sex ratios and femicide in comparative perspective. Princeton/Stanford Working Papers in Classics.

Scheuer L, and Black S. 2004. The Juvenile Skeleton. London: Academic Press.

Schoeninger MJ, and DeNiro MJ. 1984. Nitrogen and carbon isotopic composition of bone collagen from marine and terrestrial plants. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 48(4):625-639.

Schoeninger MJ, DeNiro MJ, and Tauber H. 1983. Stable nitrogen isotope ratios of bone collagen reflect marine and terrestrial components of prehistoric human

318

diet. Science 220(4604):1381-1383.

Schoeninger MJ, and Moore KM. 1992. Bone stable isotope studies in archaeology. Journal of World Prehistory 6(2):247-296.

Schoeninger MJ, van der Merwe NJ, Moore K, Lee-Thorp J, Larsen CS. 1990. Decrease in diet quality between the prehistoric and contact periods. In: Larsen CS, editor. The Archaeology of Mission Santa Catalina de Guale: 2. Biocultural Interpretations of a Population in Transition. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, No. 68. p 78-93.

Schülter W. 1999. The battle of the Teutoburg Forest: archaeological research at Kalkreise near Osnabruck. Journal of Roman Archaeology 32:125-159.

Schurr MR. 1992. Isotopic and mortuary variability in a Middle Mississippian population. American Antiquity 57(2):300-320.

Schurr MR. 1998. Using stable nitrogen-isotopes to study weaning behavior in past populations. World Archaeology 30(2):327-342.

Schwarcz HP, Dupras TL, and Fairgrieve SI. 1999. 15N enrichment in the Sahara: in search of a global relationship. Journal of Archaeological Science 26(6): 629-636.

Schwarcz HP, and Schoeninger MJ. 1991. Stable isotope analyses in human nutritional ecology. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 34(S13): 283-321.

Schwarcz HP, and Schoeninger MJ. 2011. Stable isotopes of carbon and nitrogen as tracers for paleo-diet reconstruction. In: Baskaran M, editor. Handbook of Environmental Isotope Geochemistry. Berlin: Springer Berlin Heidelberg. p 725-742.

Scobie A. 1986. Slums, sanitation, and mortality in the Roman world. Klio 68(68): 399-433.

Scrimshaw NS. 2003. Historical concepts of interactions, synergism and antagonism between nutrition and infection. The Journal of Nutrition 133(1):316S-321S.

Sealy JC. 1986. Stable Carbon Isotopes and Prehistoric Diets in the South-Western Cape Province, South Africa. Oxford: BAR International Series.

Sealy JC, van der Merwe NJ, Lee-Thorp JA, and Lanham JL. 1987. Nitrogen isotopic ecology in southern Africa: implications for environmental and dietary tracing. Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta 51(10):2707-2717.

319

Sealy JC, van der Merwe NJ, Sillen A, Kruger FJ, and Krueger HW. 1991. 87Sr86Sr as a dietary indicator in modern and archaeological bone. Journal of Archaeological Science 18(3):399-416.

Selinsky P. 2004. An Osteological Analysis of Human Skeletal Material from Gordion, Turkey. Masters Thesis. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania.

Semchuk, L. 2016. A Stable Isotope Investigation of Diet at Vagnari. Masters thesis. Hamilton: McMaster University.

Sen A. 1981. Poverty and Famines: an Essay on Entitlement and Deprivation. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Simmonds A, Marquez-Grant N, and Loe L. 2008. Life and death in a Roman city: excavation of a Roman cemetery with a mass grave at 120-122 London Road, Gloucester. Oxford: Oxford Archaeological Unit Ltd.

Simonse JN, Plummer FA, Ngugi EN, Black C, Kreiss JK, Gakinya MN, Waiyaki P, D'costa LJ, Ndinya-Achola JO, Piot P et al. . 1990. HIV infection among lower socioeconomic strata prostitutes in Nairobi. Aids 4(2):139-144.

Şimşek N. 2011. Laodikeia Popülasyonunun Diş ve Çenelerini Paleopatolojik Açıdan İncelenmesi. Ankara: Ankara Üniversitesi.

Sirbu V, and Schuster C, editors. 2012. Tumuli Graves--Status Symbol of the Dead in the Bronze and Iron Ages in Europe. Oxford: Archaeopress.

Slaus M. 2008. Osteological and dental markers of health in the transition from the Late Antique to the Early Medieval period in Croatia. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 136(4):455-469.

Slaus M. 2008. Osteological and dental markers of health in the transition from the late antique to the early medieval period in Croatia. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 136:455-469.

Slaus M, Bedic Z, Sikanjuc PR, Vodanovic M, and Kunic AD. 2010. Dental health at the transition from the late antique to the early medieval period on Croatia's eastern Adriatic coast. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 21(5): 577-590.

Slaus M, Novak M, Bedic Z, and Strinovic D. 2012. Bone fractures as indicators of intentional violence in the Eastern Adriatic from the Antique to the Late Medieval Period (2nd-16th century AD). American Journal of Physical Anthropology 149:26-38.

320

Slaus M, Pecina-Slaus N, and Brkic H. 2004. Life stress on the Roman limes in continental Croatia. HOMO-Journal of Comparative Human Biology 54(3): 240-263.

Smith LW, Baer PN, King CTG, and White CL. 1963. Studies on experimental calculus formation in the rat. Journal of Periodontology 34(4):327-329.

Socransky SS, and Haffajee AD. 1992. The bacterial etiology of destructive periodontal disease: current concepts. Journal of Periodontology 63(4s): 322-331.

Soles JS. 1992. The Prepalatial Cemeteries at Mochlos and Gournia and the House Tombs of Bronze Age Crete. Hesperia Supplement 24. Princeton: American School of Classical Studies at Athens.

Southern P. 2012. Roman Britain: A New History 55 B.C>--AD 450. Stroud: Amberley Publishing.

Spector TD, Cicuttini F, Baker J, Loughlin J, and Hart D. 1996. Genetic influences on osteoarthritis in women: a twin study. British Medical Journal 312(7036): 940-943.

Sperduti A. 1997. Life conditions of a Roman Imperial Age population: occupational stress markers and working activities in Lucus Feroniae (Rome, 1st-2nd cent. AD). Human Evolution 12(4):253-267.

Sperduti A, Bondioli L, and Garnsey P. 2012. Skeletal evidence for occupational structure at the coastal towns of Portus and Velia (1st-3rd c. A.D.). In: Schrufer- Kolb, editor. More than Just Numbers? The Role of Science in Roman Archaeology. Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology. p 53-70.

Stathakopoulos DC. 2017. Famine and pestilence in the late Roman and early Byzantine empire: a systematic survey of subsistence crises and epidemics. London: Routledge.

Steckel RH, and Rose J, editors. 2002. The backbone of history: health and nutrition in the Western Hemisphere. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Stein GJ. 2005. Introduction: the comparative archaeology of colonial encounters. In: Stein GJ, editor. The Archaeology of Colonial Encounters. Santa Fe: School of American Research Press. p 3-31.

Stodder ALW, and Martin DL. 1991. Health and disease in the southwest before and after Spanish contact. In: Verano JW, and Ubelaker DH, editors. Disease and Demography in the Americas. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution

321

Press. p 55-74.

Stump RW. 2000. Boundaries of faith: Geographical perspectives on religious fundamentalism. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield.

Suess HE. 1955. Radiocarbon concentration in modern wood. Science 122(3166): 415-417.

Summerer L. 2006. Topographies of worship in northern Anatolia. In: Bekker-Nielsen T, editor. Rome and the Black Sea Region: Domination, Romanisation, Resistance. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. p 189-214.

Tashjian RZ. 2012 Epidemiology, natural history, and indications for treatment of rotator cuff tears. Clinical Sports Medicine 31:589-604.

Tayles N, Domett K, and Sian H. 2009. Can dental caries be interpreted as evidence of farming? The Asian perspective. In: Koppe T, Meyer G, and Alt KW, editors. Comparative Dental Morphology. Basel: Karger Publishers.

Taylor RE. 1999. Science-based dating methods in historic preservation. Archives and Museum Informatics 13(3):227-247.

Tekgüç H. 2012. Separability between own food production and consumption in Turkey. Review of Economics of the Household 10(3):424-439.

Temkin O. 1956. Soranus of Ephesus. Gynecology. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press.

Temple DH, Larsen CS. 2007. Dental caries prevalence as evidence for agriculture and subsistence variation among the prehistoric Yayoi of Japan: biocultural interpretations of an economy in transition. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 134:501-512.

Terrenato N. 1997. The Romanization of Italy: global acculturation. Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference 97:20-27.

Thould AK, and Thould BT. 1983. Arthritis in Roman Britain. British Medical Journal 287:24-31.

Tieszen LL. Natural variations in the carbon isotope values of plants: implications for archaeology, ecology, and paleoecology. Journal of Archaeological Science 18(3):227- 248.

Tocheri MW, Dupras TL, Sheldrick P, and Molto JE. 2005. Roman Period Fetal Skeletons from the East Cemetery (Kellis 2) of Kellis, Egypt. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 15:326-341.

322

Tocheri MW, and Molto JE. 2002. Aging Fetal and Juvenile Skeletons From Roman Period Egypt Using Basiocciput Osteometrics. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 12:356-363.

Todd TW. 1921. Age changes in the public bone.I: the male white pubis. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 3:285-334.

Tomlinson J. 2002. Cultural Imperialism: a critical introduction. London: Continuum.

Toynbee JMC. 1971. Death and burial in the Roman world. London: Thames and Hudson.

Trichopoulou A, and Lagiou P. 1997. Healthy traditional Mediterranean diet: an expression of culture, history, and lifestyle. Nutrition reviews 55(11):383-389.

Tung T. 2007. Trauma and violence in the Wari empire of the Peruvian Andes: warfare, raids, and ritual fights. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 133(3):941-956.

Tung T. 2012. Violence, ritual, and the Wari Empire: a social bioarchaeology of imperialism in the ancient Andes. Gainesville: University Press of Florida.

Tykot RH. 2004. Stable isotopes and diet: you are what you eat. In: Martini J, Milazzo M, and Piacentini M, editors. Physics Methods in Archaeometry. Bologna: Societa Italiana di Fisica. p 433-444.

Ubelaker DH, and Adams B. 1995. Differentiation of perimortem and postmortem trauma using taphonomic indicators. Journal of Forensic Sciences 40(3): 509-512.

Ubelaker DH, and Rife JL. 2011. Skeletal analysis and mortuary practice in an early Roman chamber tomb at Kenchreai, Greece. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 21:1-18.

Uzel İ, Alpagut B, and Sofuoğlu K. 1988. Aslantepe (Malatya) Geç roma dönemi iskeletlerinde diş çürüğü, diş aşınmaları ve periodontal hastalıklar. Arkeometri Sonuçları Toplantısı (6-10 Nisan) 3.

Valdes AM, Loughlin J, Van Oene M, Chapman K, Surdulescu GL, Doherty M, and Spector TD. 2007. Sex and ethnic differences in the association of ASPN, CALM1, COL2A1, COMP, and FRZB with genetic susceptibility to osteoarthritis of the knee. Arthritis & Rheumatology 56(1):137-146. van der Merwe NJ. 1982. Carbon isotopes, photosynthesis, and archaeology: different pathways of photosynthesis cause characteristic changes in carbon

323

isotope ratios that make possible the study of prehistoric human diets. American Scientist 70(6):596-606.

van der Merwe NJ, and Medina E. 1991. The canopy effect, carbon isotope ratios and foodwebs in Amazonia. Journal of Archaeological Science 18(3): 249-259.

van der Merwe NJ, Vogel JC. 1978. 13C content of human collagen as a measure of prehistoric diet in woodland North America. Nature 276(5690):815-816.

van der Veen M. 2008. Food as embodied material culture: diversity and change in plant food and consumption in Roman Britain. Journal of Roman Archaeology 21:83-109.

van der Veen M, Livarda A, Hill A. 2008. New plant foods in Roman Britain—dispersal and social access. Environmental Archaeology 13(1):11-36.

van Groenigen J-W, and van Kessel C. 2002. Salinity-induced patterns of natural abundance carbon-13 nitrogen-15 in plant and soil. Soil Science Society of America Journal 66:489-498.

van Klinken GJ. 1999. Bone collagen quality indicators for palaeodietary and radiocarbon measurements. Journal of Archaeological Science 26(6): 687-695.

Verano JW, and Ubelaker DH, editors. 1991. Disease and Demography in the Americas. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press.

Versluys MJ. 2014. Understanding objects in motion. An archaeological dialogue on Romanization. Archaeological Dialogues 21(1):1-20.

Vigeant J, Ribot I, and Helie JF. 2017. Dietary habits in New France during the 17th and 18th centuries: an isotopic perspective. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 162(3):462-475.

Vogel JC. 1978. Isotopic assessment of dietary habits of ungulates. South African Journal of Science 74:298-301.

Vogel JC, and van der Merwe NJ. 1977. Isotopic evidence for early maize cultivation in New York State. American Antiquity 42(2):238-242.

Von Endt DW, and Ortner DJ. 1984. Experimental effects of bone size and temperature on bone diagenesis. Journal of Archaeological Science 11(3): 247-253.

324

Waldron I. 1985. What do we know about causes of sex differences in mortality? A review of the literature. Population Bulletin of the United Nations 18:59-76.

Waldron T. 1991. The prevalence of, and relationship between some spinal diseases in a human skeletal population from London. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 1(2):103-110.

Waldron T. 1991. The prevalence of, and the relationship between, some spinal diseases in a human skeletal population from London. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 1:103-110.

Waldron T. 2009. Palaeopathology. Cambridge Cambridge University Press.

Walker D. 2012. Disease in London, 1st-19th Centuries. London: Museum of London Archaeology.

Walker P. 1989. Cranial Injuries As Evidence Of Violence In Prehistorica Southern California. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 80:313-323.

Walker P. 2001. A bioarchaeological perspective on the history of violence. Annual Review of Anthropology 30(1):573-596.

Wallerstein I. 1974. The rise and future demise of the world capitalist system: concepts for comparative analyses. Comparative Studies in Society and History 16(4):387-415.

Wallerstein I. 1976. The Modern World-System: Capitalist Agriculture and the Origins of the European World-Economy in the Sixteenth Century. New York: Academic Press.

Walters KL, Mohammed SA, Evans-Campbell T, Beltran RE, Chae DH, and Duran B. 2011. Bodies don't just tell stories, they tell histories: embodiment of historical trauma among American Indians and Alaska Natives. Du Bois Review: Social Science Research on Race 8(1):179-189.

Walth CK. 2001. The human remains from Site 10/Catalogue of burials. Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 41:169-201.

Wang G, Han J, Zhou L, Xiong X, and Wu Z. 2005. Carbon isotope ratios of plants and occurrences of C4 species under different soil moisture regimes in arid region of Northwest China. Physiologia Plantarum 125(1):74-81.

Wang Y, and Cerling TE. 1994. A model of fossil tooth and bone diagenesis: implications for paleodiet reconstruction from stable isotopes. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 107(3-4):281-289.

325

Ward J. 1911. Romano-British Buildings and Earthworks. London: Methuen & Co., Ltd.

Warinner C, Hendy J, Speller C, Cappellini E, Fischer R, Trachsel C, Arneborg J, Lynnerup N, Craig OE, Swallow DM et al. . 2014. Direct evidence of milk consumption from anicent human dental calculus. Scientific reports 4:7104.

Warinner C, Rodrigues JF, Vyas R, Trachsel C, Shved N, Grossmann J, Radini A, Hancock RY, Fiddyment S, and Speller C. 2014 Pathogens and host immunity in the ancient human oral cavity. Nature genetics 46(4):336-344.

Waterlow J. 1984. Protein turnover with special reference to man. Quarterly Journal of Experimental Physiology 69:409-438.

Webster J. 1996. Roman imperialism and the "post imperial age". In: Webster J, and Cooper N, editors. Roman imperialism: post-colonial perspectives. Leicester: School of Archaeological Studies, University of Leicester. p 1-17.

Webster J. 2001. Creolizing the Roman provinces. American Journal of Archaeology 105(2):209-225.

Webster J, and Cooper NJ, editors. 1996. Roman imperialism: post-colonial perspectives. Leicester: School of Archaeological Studies, University of Leicester.

Wells CM. 1984. The Roman Empire. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Wescott DJ, Baker LE, Wernecke C, and Collins MB. 2012. A mass grave of Mexican soldiers from the Resaca de la Palma battlefield (41CF3): demography and battle-related injuries. Bulletin of the Texas Archaeological Society 83:1-21.

Weston DA. 2008. Investigating the specificity of periosteal reactions in pathology museum specimens. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 137(1): 48-59.

White CD. 1993. Isotopic determination of seasonality in diet and death from Nubian mummy hair. Journal of Archaeological Science 20(6):657-666.

White CD, Schwarcz HP. 1989. Ancient Maya diet: as inferred from isotopic and elemental analysis of human bone. Journal of Archaeological Science 16(5): 451-474.

White CD, Schwarcz HP. 1994. Temporal trends in stable isotopes for Nubian mummy tissues. American Journal of Physical Anthropology 93(2):165-187.

Whittaker CR. 1994. Frontiers of the Roman Empire: a social and economic study.

326

Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Wiedemann T. 2002. Emperors and Gladiators. London: Routledge.

Wikswo ME, Cortes J, Hall AJ, Vaughan G, Howard C, Gregoricus N, and Cramer EH. 2011. Disease transmission and passenger behaviors during a high morbidity Norovirus outbreak on a cruise ship, January 2009. Clinical Infectious Diseases 52(9):1116-1122.

Willey PS. 1982. Osteology of the Crow Creek Massacre. Knoxville: University of Tennessee, Knoxville.

Williams RC, Barnett AH, Claffey N, Davis M, Gadsby R, Kellett M, Lip GY, and Thackray S. 2008. The potential impact of periodontal disease on general health: a consensus view. Current Medical Research and Opinion 24(6): 1635-1643.

Wolf ER. 1982. Europe and the People Without History. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Wood JW, Milner GR, Harpending HC, and Weiss KM. 1992. The Osteology Paradox: problems of inferring health from skeletal samples. Current Anthropology 33(4):343-370.

Woolf GD. 1990. World-systems analysis and the Roman empire. Journal of Roman Archaeology 3:44-58.

Woolf GD. 1993. Roman peace. In: Rich J, and Shipley G, editors. War and Society in the Roman World. London: Routledge. p 171-194.

Woolf GD. 1994. Becoming Roman, staying Greek: culture, identity and the civilizing process in the Roman East. The Cambridge Classical Journal 40:116-143.

Woolf GD. 1997. The Roman urbanization of the East. In: Alcock SE, editor. The Early Roman Empire in the East. Oxford: Oxbow Books, Ltd. p 1-14.

Woolf GD. 1997. Beyond Romans and natives. World Archaeology 28(3):339-350.

Woolf GD. 2000. Becoming Roman: the origins of provincial civilization in Gaul. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Wong M, Naumann E, Jaouen K, Richards M. 2017. Isotopic investigations of human diet and mobility at the site of Hierapolis, Turkey. In: Brandt JR, Hagelberg E, Bjornstad, Ahrens S, editors. Life and Death in Asia Minor in Hellenistic, Roman and Byzantine Times: Studies in Archaeology and Bioarchaeology. Oxford: Oxbow Books. p 432

327

World Health Organization. 2017. Violence and injury prevention. www.who.int/violence_injury_prevention/en/

Wright LE, and Schwarcz HP. 1999. Correspondence between stable carbon, oxygen and nitrogen isotopes in human tooth enamel and dentine: infant diets at Kaminalijuyu. Journal of Archaeological Science 26(9):1159-1170.

Wright LE, and Yoder CJ. 2003. Recent progress in bioarchaeology: approaches to the Osteological Paradox. Journal of Archaeological Research 11:43-70.

Yaşar Z, Yiğit A, Gözlük Kırmızıoğlu P, and Sevim Erol A. 2008. Smyrna agorası insanlarının ağız ve diş sağlığı. Arkeometri Sonuçları Toplantısı 23:127-140.

Yates F. Tests of significance for 2 x 2 contigency tables. Journal of the Royal Statistical Society. Series A 147(3):426-463.

Yaussy SL, DeWitte SN, and Redfern RC. 2016. Frailty and Famine: patterns of mortality and physiological stress among victims of famine in Medieval London. American Journal of Physical Anthropology.

Yavuz AY, Özdemir S, Ürker K, and Sevim Erol A. 2012. Parion iskeletlerinin antropolojik analizi. Arkeometri Sonuçları Toplantısı 28:69-82.

Zohary T, Erez J, Gophen M, Berman-Frank I, and Stiller M. 1994. Seasonality of stable carbon isotopes within the pelagic food web of Lake Kinneret. Limonology and Oceanography 39(5):1030-1043.

Zuckerman MK, editor. 2014. Modern environment and human health: revisiting the second epidemiological transition. Malden: John Wiley & Sons.

Zuckerman MK. 2017. The "poxed" and the "pure": a bioarchaeological investigation of community and marginalization relative to infection with acquired syphilis in Post-medieval London. Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association 28(1):91-103.

328

Appendix A. Laboratory Forms

329

Collagen Sample Preparation Form

Site Name: ______Start date-End date: ______Individual Number: ______Skeletal Element: ______Species: ☐ Human ☐ Fauna ______Total Sample Weight:______

1. Sample Description and Preparation: Sample Weight Targets: ☐ Cleaned with Dremel Date: ______- Historic Samples: 0.100 – 0.400 g, max 0.150 g ☐ Ultrasonicated (1 hour) Date: ______- Prehistoric/Poorly Preserved: 0.300 – 0.500 g (100 mL of distilled water) - Well-mineralized Animal Bone: 0.300 – 0.500 g ☐ Dry in Hood (repeat ultrasonication step if necessary) Sample Weight: ______(to nearest 0.001g) ☐ Photograph Sample

2. Demineralization: Add glass wool (1.5”x1.5”); 50mL 0.2 M HCl once or twice daily; cover loosely Date Time Solution Squish Scale Color

2 H Hard Clear Other Brown Mostly Yellow Slightly Squishy 50% HCl 50% 100% HCl 100% (1) ______☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ Not __ __ es: (2) ______☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ Not __ __ es: (3) ______☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ Not __ __ es: (4) ______☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ Not __ __ es: (5) ______☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ Not __ __ es: (6) ______☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ Not __ __ es: (7) ______☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ Not __ __ es: (8) ______☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ ☐ Not __ __ es:

330

3. First Distilled Water Rinse: ☐ Rinse Distilled Water (~30mL; open stopcock) Date & Time_____Vacuum with bulb ☐ Soak in Distilled Water (2 hours – overnight) Duration: ______Can rinse with water 3-4 times soaking or pouring through rinses until water is neutral ☐ Rinse with Distilled Water (open stopcock) Date & Time:______pH: ______

4. Removing Humic Contaminants: 50mL 0.125 M NaOH; cover with foil ☐ Add NaOH Date: ______Time: ______☐ Drain in 20 hours and +/- 15 minutes Date: ______Time: ______Appearance of Bone (Number of pieces, color, etc.): ☐ Photograph Sample

5. Second Distilled Water Rinse: ☐ Rinse w/ distilled water (~30mL; open stopcock) Date: ______Vacuum with bulb Soak with water 4 times, ensuring at least one overnight soak and three 2-hour soaks. ☐ Soak in Distilled Water (2 hours – overnight) Date & Time: ______Duration: ______☐ Soak in Distilled Water (2 hours – overnight) Date & Time: ______Duration: ______☐ Soak in Distilled Water (2 hours – overnight) Date & Time: ______Duration: _____ ☐ Soak in Distilled Water (2 hours – overnight) Date & Time: ______Duration: _____ ☐ Check isomorph suspension has pH of <6.5 Date & Time:______pH: ______☐ Rinse with distilled water (~30mL; open stopcock) Vacuum with bulb

6. Dissolution: Transfer funnels to new flask. Flask should have a label on it. Date & Time: _ ☐ Add 50mL 0.001 M HCl (pH=3) to funnels, cover with foil. ☐ Place apparatus in oven at 88o C for 6-20 hours. ☐ Check pH after 2 hours to see if it is 3-3.5. Adjust with 1 drop 0.1 M HCl, if pH is >5.5 (dissolution requires a pH of at least 4.0). Try and keep solutions at 50mL by adding 0.001 M HCl. Stir once or twice to tease apart isomorphs. ☐ Once dissolved, drain solution into flask. Appearance of Sample (note and debris, dirt, etc.):

7. Liquid Condensation: ☐ Condense in oven (70-88o Celsius); 6-12 hours Date & Time: ______Add distilled water if sample dries out; do not leave open flasks in oven at temperatures over 60o C

331

8. Vial Transfer: Label glass vials and cap with batch number Date & Time: ______☐ Pre-weigh vials (without cap): ______(to nearest 0.001g) ☐ Transfer liquid from flask to vial with funnel (if vial is full, condense until approx. half full) Loosely cap vials, let cool before placing in freezer ☐ Photograph Sample

9. Lyophilization: Target temperature = -55o C Target pressure: 0.014-0.018 millibars ☐ Transfer to lab (loose caps) Date & Time: ______Dry Time: ~ 1 day ☐ Process complete Date & Time: ______

10. Final Weighing: Date: ______☐ Weight of Sample and Vial (without cap): ______(to nearest 0.001g) ☐ ☐ Collagen Weight: ______Percent Collagen ( ): ______𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐𝑐 𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤ℎ𝑡𝑡 𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖 𝑠𝑠𝑠𝑠𝑠𝑠𝑠𝑠𝑠𝑠𝑠𝑠 𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤𝑤ℎ𝑡𝑡

332

Appendix B. Diagenesis of collagen

333

Collagen quality

This chapter reviews the quality of collagen and reliability of stable carbon and nitrogen results from the modern faunal, archaeological faunal, and archaeological human samples collected from contexts in northern Turkey, inland Oymaağaç and coastal Samsun. Before stable isotope ratios can be statistically examined in results, poorly preserved samples should be removed from examination, as these data are diagenetically altered and will confound the analysis and interpretation of human diets.

Collagen standards

As previously stated in Chapter 5, several criteria are employed to validate the quality of preserved collagen. If these standards are not met, the integrity of carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios is speculative. Burial environments vary between sites, based on soil acidity, humidity, microbes, and aerobic conditions, inter alia, so it is necessary to consider all collagen quality control factors in cemetery contexts. The soil within the necropolis of Oymaağaç, for example, is basic and dry, leaving many of the bones brittle and chalky. From the total human sample of 113 processed for collagen extraction, 98 were sent to the Center for Applied Isotope Studies at the

University of Georgia for mass spectrometry analysis. Of these samples, 45 yielded results from the ICP-MS. The remaining 53 samples were below the limit of detection. A similar pattern was observed with the faunal samples: 17 of the sampled 35 collagen isomorphs were below detection. With such proportionately low overall yields, it is apparent that burial environments at

Oymaağaç diminished the quantity of preserved bone collagen. For this reason, it was determined that percent collagen yield would not be the exclusive determinant of collagen quality, but percent carbon (%C), percent nitrogen (%N), and carbon-nitrogen ratios (C:N) all would be critical to evaluating the quality of what little collagen was extracted.

334

Faunal bone collagen

Comparison of human and faunal samples shows higher percent preservation of collagen in the latter group. Of those 18 samples with detectable carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios, the average percent collagen was 6.84%, with a minimum yield of 1.62% and maximum yield of

22.59%. The histomorphology of faunal bone results in a denser cortex than human cortical bone, protecting not just the quality but quantity of collagen from degradation. Furthermore, the average percent carbon and nitrogen, 31.25% and 11.06% respectively, are within the ranges of published literature (van Klinken, 1999). Only two of the remaining 18 samples, a modern Bos and fish sample, yielded carbon-nitrogen ratios (3.68 and 3.86) beyond the acceptable range.

Terrestrial faunal collagen

Of the 19 zooarchaeological samples (18 individuals with one duplicate), ten yielded detectable carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios. A higher yield of samples with measurable results was recorded for modern Oymaağaç fauna (3 of 4 with detectable carbon and nitrogen yields).

Although modern bones were not subjected to the same 1500 years of diagenetic pressures as the zooarchaeological samples, collagen quality criteria are virtually indistinguishable from one another. Among zooarchaeological samples, percent collagen averaged 6.85%, the highest percent preservation among human and faunal samples. Average %C (mean, 31.25 ± 7.21%) and

%N (mean, 11.06 ± 2.77%) values further confirmed the quality of these ten samples, with no samples showing %C or %N values outside the specified ranges (Table B.1). Finally, C:N values

(averaging 3.34), excepting one sample (OYM3-3), fell within the 2.9 to 3.6 range.

Relative to zooarchaeological samples, lower collagen percentages were recorded among modern faunal samples (mean, 6.61%). Carbon percentages (mean, 37.12%), nitrogen (mean,

13.39%) percentages, and C:N (mean, 3.24) values also met criterial ranges. Unlike the zooarchaeological sample, no modern terrestrial faunal samples showed indications of diagenetic alterations. Diagenesis was scrutinized further graphically to determine whether any correlations

335

between collagen quality variables existed. Figures B.1 to B.4 include all terrestrial mammals,

including the potential diagenetically altered sample, OYM3-3. The relationships between %C

and %N, as well as δ15N, relative to C:N indicate correlations over 10%. When the outlier is removed from the terrestrial sample (Figures B.5-B.8), all correlations with C:N diminish, with

R2 values at or below 5%. These data confirm the removal of OYM3-3 from the final faunal

sample.

Figure B.1 C:N and %C, Terrestrial mammal sample 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 y = -0.0078x + 3.5345 3.4 R² = 0.1192 3.3 C:N 3.2 3.1 3 2.9 2.8 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00 35.00 40.00 45.00 %C (by weight)

Figure B.2 C:N and %N, Terrestrial mammal sample 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 3.4 y = -0.0286x + 3.6212 R² = 0.244 3.3 C:N 3.2 3.1 3 2.9 2.8 6.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 11.00 12.00 13.00 14.00 15.00 16.00 %N (by weight)

336

Figure B.3 C:N and δ13C, Terrestrial mammal sample 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 3.4 y = 0.006x + 3.3864 R² = 0.0037 3.3 C:N 3.2 3.1 3 2.9 2.8 -22.00 -21.00 -20.00 -19.00 -18.00 -17.00 -16.00 -15.00 13 δ CVPDB (‰)

Figure B.4 C:N and δ15N, Terrestrial mammal sample 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 3.4 y = -0.0405x + 3.5175 3.3 R² = 0.3043 C:N 3.2 3.1 3 2.9 2.8 0.00 2.00 4.00 6.00 8.00 10.00 12.00 15 δ NAIR (‰)

337

Figure B.5 C:N and %C, Terrestrial mammal sample, excluding OYM3-3 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 y = -0.0007x + 3.2551 3.4 R² = 0.0032 3.3 C:N 3.2 3.1 3 2.9 2.8 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00 35.00 40.00 45.00 %C (by weight)

Figure B.6 C:N and %N, Terrestrial mammal sample, excluding OYM3-3 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 y = -0.007x + 3.3183 3.4 R² = 0.0376 3.3 C:N 3.2 3.1 3 2.9 2.8 6.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 11.00 12.00 13.00 14.00 15.00 16.00 %N (by weight)

Figure B.7 C:N and δ13C, Terrestrial mammal sample, excluding OYM3-3 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 3.4 y = -0.0029x + 3.173 3.3 R² = 0.0027 C:N 3.2 3.1 3 2.9 2.8 -22.00 -21.00 -20.00 -19.00 -18.00 -17.00 -16.00 -15.00 13 δ CVPDB (‰)

338

Figure B.8 C:N and δ15N, Terrestrial mammal sample, excluding OYM3-3 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 y = -0.0107x + 3.2992 3.4 R² = 0.0514 3.3 C:N 3.2 3.1 3 2.9 2.8 4.00 5.00 6.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 11.00 15 δ NAIR (‰)

Modern fish collagen

From the ten collagen fish samples, half had detectable carbon and nitrogen readings.

Percent of preserved collagen averaged 10.20%, with a range of 2% to 22%. Three of the five samples exhibited %C values (mean, 31.25 ± 9.75%) within the acceptable 15.3-47% range.

Although the average %N (mean, 11.06 ± 3.74%) was well within the acceptable range, the same two samples (OYM16-1 and OYM16-2) were below 5.5%. Only OYM16-2 possessed a C:N higher than 3.6. Despite OYM16-1 and OYM16-2 both having %C and %N values outside published criteria, only OYM16-2 was removed from the final fish sample. Although OYM16-1 only met C:N and %collagen standards, this sample was nonetheless retained for analysis.

OYM16-2, by contrast, was an apparent outlier among this group as diagenetically altered

(Figures B.9-B.16). The fish sample without OYM16-2, albeit still demonstrating correlations between quality variables (a likely effect of sample size), graphically shows weaker associations between C:N and %C, %N, and isotope ratios.

339

Figure B.9 C:N and %C, Fish sample

3.8 y = -0.0097x + 3.7668 3.6 R² = 0.324

3.4 C:N 3.2

2.8 0.00 5.00 10.00 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00 35.00 40.00 %C (by weight)

Figure B.10 C:N and %C, Fish sample, excluding OYM16-2

3.8 y = -0.002x + 3.5279 3.6 R² = 0.0714

3.4 C:N 3.2

2.8 0.00 5.00 10.00 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00 35.00 40.00 %C (by weight)

340

Figure B.11 C:N and %N, Fish sample 3.9 3.85 3.8 3.75 3.7 3.65

C:N 3.6 3.55 y = -0.03x + 3.7732 3.5 R² = 0.3754 3.45 3.4 3.35 0.00 2.00 4.00 6.00 8.00 10.00 12.00 %N (by weight)

Figure B.12 C:N and %N, Fish sample, excluding OYM16-2 3.6 3.58 3.56 3.54 3.52 3.5 y = -0.007x + 3.5371 C:N R² = 0.1037 3.48 3.46 3.44 3.42 3.4 0.00 2.00 4.00 6.00 8.00 10.00 12.00 %N (by weight)

Figure B.13 C:N and δ13C, Fish sample 4 y = 0.2054x + 7.1105 3.8 R² = 0.6537

3.6

3.4 C:N

3.2

2.8 -18.20 -18.00 -17.80 -17.60 -17.40 -17.20 -17.00 -16.80 -16.60 -16.40 -16.20 13 δ CVPDB (‰)

341

B. 14 C:N and δ13C, Fish sample, excluding OYM16-2 4

3.8 y = 0.0912x + 4.9859 3.6 R² = 0.5558

3.4 C:N

3.2

2.8 -17.20 -17.00 -16.80 -16.60 -16.40 -16.20 -16.00 -15.80 -15.60 13 δ CVPDB (‰)

Figure B.15 C:N and δ15N, Fish sample

3.9

3.7 y = 0.077x + 2.7876 3.5 R² = 0.6831 C:N 3.3

3.1

2.9 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 11.00 12.00 13.00 14.00 15 δ NAIR (‰)

342

Figure B.16 C:N and δ15N, Fish sample, excluding OYM16-2

3.9

3.7

3.5 C:N 3.3 y = -0.1351x + 4.7127 3.1 R² = 0.8186

2.9 8.40 8.60 8.80 9.00 9.20 9.40 9.60 9.80 10.00 15 δ NAIR (‰)

Archaeological human remains

The low percent of samples with detectable isotope readings (45 of 98; 45.9%) intimates that low collagen yields are expected for this burial environment. Among those samples that yielded carbon and nitrogen isotope ratios from the mass spectrometer, eighty percent (36 of 45) had collagen yields below the 5-17% range. Percent collagen ranged from 0.601% to 13.3%

(mean, 4.13 ± 2.97%). Results from carbon and nitrogen percentages and C:N ratios confirm the quality of these samples, despite low collagen yields. Only two samples showed carbon and nitrogen percentages below standard criteria. Including these outliers, the percent carbon ranged from 11.63% to 41.52% (mean, 31.66 ± 8.01%) and percent nitrogen between 4.20% and 15.44%

(mean, 11.59 ± 3.05%). C:N only veered outside criterial ranges in one sample (OYM7-10,

C:N=5.12). Otherwise, C:N fell between 2.90 and 3.46 (mean, 3.20 ± 0.29). These data were further assessed in grave groups, and samples, which were determined to be chemically compromised, were removed from statistical tests and final analyses and interpretations.

Multigenerational graves

From the multigenerational grave sample, carbon and nitrogen data were retrieved for 31 individuals (36 samples total including 5 duplicates). Percent of retrieved collagen ranged from

343

0.64% to 13.26%, although the mean was short of standards (3.64 ± 2.83%). Percent carbon

ranged from 12.43% to 41.33% (mean, 30.07 ± 7.90%) and percent nitrogen 4.20% to 15.35%

(mean, 11.03 ± 2.90%). All samples demonstrated carbon-nitrogen ratios, 2.90 to 3.46, within the acceptable range (mean, 3.18 ± 0.11). Only one sample (OYM14-8) exhibited carbon and nitrogen percentages below criterial ranges, 12.43% and 4.20%, respectively. These percentages, coupled with the relatively high C:N (3.46, the highest in the multigenerational sample), suggest possible contamination through sample processing, namely the presence of salts, which formed when samples were not completely rinsed between NaOH and HCl steps (Ambrose, 1990).

Although carbon and nitrogen percentages were both below standard ranges, the integrity of this sample was further scrutinized, due to its acceptable C:N.

Relationships between %C, %N, and C:N were weak within the multigenerational sample

(Figs. A.17 and A.18), as indicated by the R2 values, all below 0.01. Stronger correlations were presented for the relationship between C:N and δ13C and δ15N (Figures B.19 and B.20). Despite a higher coefficient of determination between C:N and isotope ratios, these relationships were not so high as to suggest contamination of humates. When these linear relationships with C:N (%C,

%N, δ13C, and δ15N) were refigured with the outlier sample (OYM14-8), no major changes

occurred to R2 values. This observation and the general closeness of the OYM14-8’s %C and

%N, less than a percentage below acceptable standards, provided convincing justification to retain this sample within the final analysis, albeit with the aforementioned caveats.

344

Figure B.17 %C by C:N, Multigenerational samples 3.70

3.50 y = 0.0007x + 3.1616 3.30 R² = 0.0022

3.10 C:N

2.90

2.70

2.50 0.00 5.00 10.00 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00 35.00 40.00 45.00 %C (by weight)

Figure B.18 %N and C:N, Multigenerational Samples 3.50

3.40 y = -0.0018x + 3.202 3.30 R² = 0.0022 3.20

C:N 3.10

3.00

2.90

2.80 0.00 2.00 4.00 6.00 8.00 10.00 12.00 14.00 16.00 18.00 %N (by weight)

345

Figure B.19 C:N and δ13C, Multigenerational Samples 3.80 3.70 3.60 3.50 3.40 y = -0.1145x + 0.94 3.30 R² = 0.1578 C:N 3.20 3.10 3.00 2.90 2.80 -21.00 -20.50 -20.00 -19.50 -19.00 -18.50 -18.00 13 δ CVPDB (‰)

Figure B.20 C:N and δ15N, Multigenerational Samples 3.80 3.70 3.60 3.50 3.40 y = -0.0099x + 3.296 3.30 R² = 0.0065 C:N 3.20 3.10 3.00 2.90 2.80 9.00 9.50 10.00 10.50 11.00 11.50 12.00 12.50 13.00 13.50 14.00 15 δ NAIR (‰)

Mass graves

From the mass grave sample, stable carbon and nitrogen data were detected from 14 samples (16 total samples, including 2 duplicates). Percent collagen yields were comparable to those from the multigenerational contexts, 0.60% to 8.75% (mean, 4.35 ± 3.17%). Although multigenerational graves were repeatedly opened with successive burials, this exposure did not have negative effects on collagen quantity, as mass and multigenerational grave samples presented equally low collagen yields. Percent carbon values ranged from 11.63% to 40.96%

346

(mean, 33.30 ± 8.86%). Percent nitrogen values ranged from 4.67% to 15.44% (mean, 12.14 ±

12.14%). Due to a singular outlier, carbon-nitrogen ratios showed considerable variance, ranging from 2.90 to 5.12 (mean, 3.26 ± 0.54). When this outlier (C:N=5.12) was removed, the mean

(3.11) and standard deviation (0.082) dramatically decreased. As with the multigenerational

sample, only one individual (OYM14-7) had carbon and nitrogen percentages below acceptable standards. However, another individual (OYM7-10) exhibited a C:N value well above standards but with acceptable %C and %N.

Relationships between C:N and %C, %N, δ13C, and δ15N were examined to determine whether either or both of these samples should be removed from the analysis due to contamination. When C:N values were plotted with carbon and nitrogen percentages, an outlier was demonstrably apparent (OYM7-10) (Figures B.21 and B.22). OYM7-10, with a C:N value of

5.12, significantly skewed the distribution, as noted by the plots excluding the outlier (Figure

B.23 and B.24). By contrast, the removal of OYM14-7, with relatively reduced %C and %N, did not confer any observable differences to the distributions. With the removal of OYM7-10, however, the correlations between C:N and carbon and nitrogen percentages became positive, albeit weakly, which is the expected relationship between these variables if carbon and nitrogen are in amino acid proportion to each other.

347

Figure B.21 %C by C:N, Mass grave samples 5.50

5.00

4.50

4.00 C:N y = -0.0026x + 3.3416 3.50 R² = 0.0018

3.00

2.50 0.00 5.00 10.00 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00 35.00 40.00 45.00 %C (by weight)

Figure B.22 %C by C:N, Mass grave samples 6.00

5.00

4.00 y = -0.0558x + 3.9329 R² = 0.1382 3.00 C:N

2.00

1.00

0.00 %N (by weight)

348

Figure B.23 %C by C:N, Mass grave samples, excluding OYM7-10 3.60 3.50 3.40 3.30 y = 0.0034x + 2.9993 3.20 R² = 0.1431 C:N 3.10 3.00 2.90 2.80 0.00 5.00 10.00 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00 35.00 40.00 45.00 %C (by weight)

Figure B.24 %C by C:N, Mass grave samples, excluding OYM7- 10 3.25 y = 0.0076x + 3.017 3.20 R² = 0.1006 3.15 3.10 3.05 C:N 3.00 2.95 2.90 2.85 0.00 2.00 4.00 6.00 8.00 10.00 12.00 14.00 16.00 18.00 %N (by weight)

Comparisons between C:N and both carbon and nitrogen percentages suggested that all but one sample (OYM7-10) yielded acceptable data. These results were confirmed further by an examination of isotope values relative to carbon-nitrogen ratios. When plotted alongside the other samples, δ13C and δ15N from OYM7-10 fell far outside the range of the other samples (Figure

B.25 and B.26). Once OYM7-10 was removed, the reduced sample plotted differently, specifically linear regressions inverting and R2 values reducing (Figures B.27 and B.28). The high

C:N ratio of OYM7-10 indicates that lipids or humic contaminants were not removed from the sample during processing, resulting in a high carbon-low nitrogen isomorph. Additionally, the

349

δ13C of this sample fell nearly 10 standard deviations outside the average of the sample. Despite the low %C and %N of OYM14-7, the associated C:N and position of this sample within the mass grave distributions did not provide cause to eliminate it from analyses. However, the elevated

C:N discounted the quality of OYM7-10, so this sample was removed from analyses.

Figure B.25 C:N and δ13C, Mass grave sample 5.50

5.00

4.50

4.00 C:N y = -0.4246x - 5.1877 3.50 R² = 0.8058

3.00

2.50 -24.00 -23.00 -22.00 -21.00 -20.00 -19.00 -18.00 13 δ CVPDB (‰)

Figure B.26 C:N and δ15N, Mass grave sample 5.50

5.00

4.50

4.00 C:N y = -0.1578x + 5.0303 3.50 R² = 0.1224

3.00

2.50 9.00 9.50 10.00 10.50 11.00 11.50 12.00 12.50 13.00 13.50 15 δ NAIR (‰)

350

Figure B.27 C:N and δ13C, Mass grave sample, excluding OYM7-10 3.80 3.70 3.60 3.50 3.40 y = 0.0933x + 4.941 R² = 0.2419 3.30 C:N 3.20 3.10 3.00 2.90 2.80 -20.50 -20.30 -20.10 -19.90 -19.70 -19.50 -19.30 -19.10 -18.90 -18.70 -18.50 13 δ CVPDB (‰)

Figure B.28 C:N and δ15N, Mass grave sample, excluding OYM7-10 3.80 3.70 3.60 3.50 3.40 y = 0.004x + 3.0665 3.30

C:N R² = 0.0033 3.20 3.10 3.00 2.90 2.80 9.00 9.50 10.00 10.50 11.00 11.50 12.00 12.50 13.00 13.50 15 δ NAIR (‰)

Procedural duplicates

Prior to collagen samples being analyzed by the mass spectrometer, subsamples (1 g or less) were removed from vials, homogenized on agate mortar with pestle, transferred to another vial, and finally weighed and “packaged” in an aluminum capsule. During this final step, approximately 14 procedural duplicates were made, i.e., 14 samples were sampled twice (28 in total). Sample duplicates are recommended for every 10-15 samples to assess the homogeneity of the ground sample (agate mortar and pestle step) and the precision of the mass spectrometer.

Of the 14 duplicate samples, 10 yielded carbon and nitrogen data. Evaluation of average

351

and maximum differences between duplicates of the same sample indicated some discrepancies between samples, as shown by maximum differences (Table B.1). Nevertheless, these differences were comparatively small and suggested overall high reproducibility with average isotope differences below 0.30 ‰ and maximum isotope differences below 0.50 ‰. These disparities are arguably the result of incomplete homogenization of samples. Several of these samples (e.g.,

OYM1-9, OYM9-1, OYM10-2) produced “fluffy” collagen (Figure B.29), which was difficult to homogenize.

Table B.1 Procedural Duplicates (N=10) %C (by weight) %N (by weight) δ13C (‰) δ15N (‰) Average difference between 0.79 0.25 0.16 0.27 duplicates Maximum difference between 1.67 0.71 0.36 0.49 duplicates

Figure B.29 Photograph of collagen isomorph from sample OYM10-2, following lyophilization

352

Final sample

Faunal sample

From the initial sample, 16 zooarchaeological and modern faunal samples met the quality standards for collagen preservation and composition (Table B.2). Among the samples with detectable carbon and nitrogen results, two yielded C:N above 3.6. These samples were removed, although a sample with low %C and %N was retained due to acceptable C:N and collagen percent. Collagen quality characteristics (C:N, %C, %N, and %collagen) for the final sample are plotted in Figures B.30-B.34. The correlations between isotopic ratios and percent carbon and nitrogen are comparatively stronger than among the human sample. Similarly, a correlation

(R2=0.234) is observed between C:N and %collagen. Although this may indicate greater diagenetic alteration of the samples, it is more likely that the small sample size is constructing this correlation. For example, if a random datum point (OYM16-7) is removed from the C:N and

%collagen graph, the strong correlation immediately dissolves (R2=0.0.0042). Consequently, the

16 samples, based on their %C, %N, and C:N, are maintained for subsequent analysis.

Table B.2 Final sample (N=16) Collagen yield (%) %C (by weight) %N (by weight) C:N Minimum 1.13 9.16 3.04 3.13 Maximum 22.59 40.44 14.74 3.57 Mean 7.03 32.77 11.69 3.29 StDev 4.98 8.85 3.34 0.14

353

Figure B. 30 C:N and δ13C, Final sample (faunal) 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 3.4 3.3 C:N 3.2 y = 0.0419x + 4.0746 3.1 R² = 0.3277 3 2.9 2.8 -22.00 -21.00 -20.00 -19.00 -18.00 -17.00 -16.00 -15.00 13 δ CVPDB (‰)

Figure B.31 C:N and δ15N, Final sample (faunal) 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 3.4 3.3 C:N 3.2 3.1 y = 0.0255x + 3.1072 R² = 0.1262 3 2.9 2.8 4.00 5.00 6.00 7.00 8.00 9.00 10.00 11.00 15 δ NAIR (‰)

354

Figure B. 32 %C and δ13C, Final sample (faunal) -14.00 -15.00 -16.00 -17.00

(‰) -18.00 -19.00 VPDB y = -0.1612x - 13.43 C -20.00

13 R² = 0.5674 δ -21.00 -22.00 -23.00 -24.00 0.00 5.00 10.00 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00 35.00 40.00 45.00 50.00 %C (by weight)

Figure B.33 %N and δ15N, Final sample (faunal) 11.00

10.00

9.00

(‰) 8.00

AIR y = -0.3083x + 10.823 N 7.00

1 5 R² = 0.2852 δ 6.00

5.00

4.00 4.00 6.00 8.00 10.00 12.00 14.00 16.00 %N (by weight)

355

Figure B.34 C:N and %collagen, Final sample (faunal) 3.8 3.7 3.6 3.5 3.4 3.3

C:N y = 0.0134x + 3.197 3.2 R² = 0.2342 3.1 3 2.9 2.8 0 5 10 15 20 25 15 δ NAIR (‰)

Archaeological human samples

After the samples with detectable carbon and nitrogen readings were scrutinized for

collagen quality, 44 samples were retained for further analysis (Table B.3). Only one sample was

removed due to an extremely high C:N, although two other samples with %C and %N below

standards were retained. The final data are presented in Figures B.35-B.39, comparing isotopic

ratios to collagen quality characteristics (C:N, %C, %N, and %collagen). The weak correlations

between C:N and stable isotope ratios, δ13C and %C, and δ15N and %N, C:N and %collagen yield

demonstrate that the final dataset is composed primarily of diagenetically unaltered samples.

Theoretically, stable isotope ratios should not correlate strongly with collagen quantity or quality,

and any deviance from this would suggest that the biochemistries of samples were similarly

affected by burial (diagenesis) or procedural variables.

Table B.3 Final sample (N=44) Collagen yield (%) %C (by weight) %N (by weight) C:N Minimum 0.60 11.63 4.20 2.90 Maximum 13.26 41.33 15.44 3.46 Mean 3.86 31.09 11.48 3.16 StDev 2.92 8.34 3.10 0.11

356

Figure B.35 C:N and δ13C, Final sample (human) 3.80 3.70 3.60 3.50 3.40 y = -0.0451x + 2.2776 R² = 0.0274 3.30 C:N 3.20 3.10 3.00 2.90 2.80 -21.00 -20.50 -20.00 -19.50 -19.00 -18.50 -18.00 13 δ CVPDB (‰)

Figure B.36 C:N and δ15N, Final sample (human) 3.80 3.70 3.60 3.50 3.40 y = -0.0016x + 3.18 3.30 R² = 0.0002 C:N 3.20 3.10 3.00 2.90 2.80 9.00 9.50 10.00 10.50 11.00 11.50 12.00 12.50 13.00 13.50 14.00 15 δ NAIR (‰)

357

Figure B.37 %C and δ13C, Final sample (human) -18.50

-19.00 y = -0.0012x - 19.543 R² = 0.0006 (‰) -19.50 VPDB

C -20.00 13 δ

-20.50

-21.00 0.00 5.00 10.00 15.00 20.00 25.00 30.00 35.00 40.00 45.00 %C (by weight)

Figure B.38 %N and δ15N, Final sample (human) 15.00 y = 0.1131x + 10.199 14.00 R² = 0.124 13.00 12.00 (‰) 11.00 AIR N

1 5 10.00 δ 9.00 8.00 7.00 0.00 2.00 4.00 6.00 8.00 10.00 12.00 14.00 16.00 18.00 %N (by weight)

358

Figure B.39 C:N and %collagen, Final sample (human) 3.50

3.40

3.30

3.20

C:N 3.10 y = -0.0041x + 3.1771 3.00 R² = 0.0122

2.90

2.80 0 2 4 6 8 10 12 14 %collagen (by weight)

359

Appendix C: Data from Oymaağaç

361

Demographic and paleopathological data from Oymaağaç Appendix C includes demographic and paleopathological data from Roman period multigenerational and mass graves at Oymaağaç. These data are outlined in Table C.2. The coding system for these data are provided below in Table C.1. Table C.1 Column designation Description and scoring “QUAD.”, “LOCUS”, “FIND” These numbers and characteristics designate the quadrant (trench), location, and find information associated with each individual “M/G” “M”=mass grave context; “G”=multigenerational grave context “SEX”, “SexBIN” “SEX”: On a 1-5 scale (Buikstra and Ubelaker, 1994), individuals or individual bones are identified as female to male; “SexBIN”: females/probable females (“0”), males/probable males (“1”), and indeterminate (“2”) are grouped “AGE”; “Age Categories” “AGE”: age ranges based on postcranial degenerative changes or dental development; “Age Categories”: age ranges are condensed into adult (“1”: 16- 19.99 years; “2”: 20-34.99 years; “3”: 35- 49.99 years; “4”: 50 years and older; “5”: Adult; “6”: gestational and neonate; “7”:0- 4.99 years; “8”:5-10.99 years; “9”: 11- 15.99 years) “LEH”, “OA”, “IVD”, “RCD”, “PNB”, For these pathological conditions: “0” “AMTL”, “CARIES”, “PD” indicates that the condition is absent from the individual; “1” indicates that the individual has the condition; and “9” indicates that this condition could not be observed/scored “TRAUMA” For this pathological conditions: “0” indicates that the condition is absent from the individual; “1” indicates that the individual has a perimortem fracture; “2” indicates that the fracture is healing (occurred antemortem); and “9” indicates that this condition could not be observed/scored

362

Table C.2

SexBIN Age QUAD. LOCUS FIND M/G SEX (0=F, AGE LEH OA IVD RCD TRAUMA PNB AMTL CARIES PD Categories 1=M) 7384 9 5 M 1 1 Adult 6 0 1 1 0 2 0 0 0 0 7384 9 5 M 5 0 Adult 6 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7384 9 6 M 1 1 26-34 2 9 9 1 9 2 9 1 1 1 7384 9 8 M 1 1 40-49 3 9 1 9 9 2 9 1 9 9 7384 9 9 M 5 0 20-32 2 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7384 9 9 M 1 1 27-30 2 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7384 9 10 M 1 1 43-55 4 0 1 9 9 9 9 1 1 0 7384 9 11 M 5 0 30-34 2 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 1 0 7384 9 12 M 5 0 Adult 6 0 1 1 9 9 9 1 1 1 7384 9 13 M 1 1 22-34 2 9 1 9 9 9 1 9 9 9 7384 9 13 M 5 0 40-44 3 9 1 9 9 9 1 9 9 9 7384 9 13 M 1 1 40-49 3 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 1 9 7384 9 14 M 5 0 30-34 2 9 1 1 9 9 9 1 1 1 7384 9 14 M 5 0 30-35 2 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7384 9 15 M 1 1 25-29 2 9 0 0 9 2 9 9 1 1 7384 9 15 M 1 1 35-39 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7384 9 18 M 1 1 Adult 6 9 1 1 1 9 9 1 1 1 7384 9 18 M 5 0 33-63 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7384 9 25 M 5 0 25-40 2 0 9 9 9 2 9 0 0 0 7384 9 20 M 2 1 Adult 6 0 1 9 9 9 9 0 0 0 7484 20 21 G 1 1 40-44 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 1 1 35-39 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 5 0 Adult 6 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 5 0 >60 4 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9

363

7484 20 21 G 5 0 49.1 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 5 0 60 4 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 5 0 30-39 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 5 0 40-44 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 5 0 35-44 3 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 2 1 35-44 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 2 1 40-44 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 5 0 35-39 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 1 1 35-39 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 5 0 38.2 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 1 1 25-30 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 2 1 45-49 3 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 20 21 G 1 1 30-39 2 9 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 21 3 G 1 1 Adult 6 1 1 9 9 9 9 9 1 9 7484 21 G 1 1 Adult 6 1 1 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 1 1 25-30 2 1 1 9 9 9 9 9 1 9 7484 21 G 5 0 25-29 2 0 9 1 9 9 9 0 0 0 7484 21 G 1 1 Adult 6 0 1 9 9 9 9 1 1 9 4.5- 7484 21 G 3 2 6.5 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 5 0 30-44 3 9 1 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 1 1 35-45 3 1 1 1 9 9 9 9 1 9 7484 21 G 4 0 20-25 2 0 1 9 9 9 9 0 0 0 7484 21 G 1 1 25-30 2 9 1 9 9 9 9 1 1 9 7484 21 G 1 1 40-45 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 2 1 45-49 3 1 9 9 9 9 1 9 9 9 7484 21 G 5 0 35-39 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 1 1 27-30 2 1 9 1 9 9 9 0 1 0 7484 21 G 3 2 17-21 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 364

7484 21 G 1 1 30-35 2 1 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 1 1 40-49 3 9 1 9 9 2 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 1 1 40-49 3 9 0 1 9 2 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 3 2 4-6 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 5 0 50-59 4 9 1 1 9 9 1 1 1 9 7484 21 G 5 0 >60 4 9 1 1 9 9 1 1 1 9 4.5- 7484 21 G 3 2 6.5 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7484 21 G 1 1 40-49 3 1 1 1 1 9 9 9 1 1 7484 21 G 1 1 35-45 3 0 1 1 0 2 9 0 0 0 7484 21 G 4 0 30-34 2 0 1 9 9 2 9 1 0 0 7484 21 G 5 0 30-34 2 0 1 1 9 9 9 1 1 0 7484 21 G 4 0 40-44 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7385 18 3 M 5 0 45-59 3 0 1 1 9 9 1 1 0 0 7385 18 3 M 5 0 30-40 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7385 18 5 M 1 1 17-20 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 7385 18 8 M 1 1 >50 4 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 7385 18 9 M 1 1 >50 4 1 9 0 9 9 9 1 1 9 7385 18 9 M 1 1 25-29 2 9 0 9 9 0 1 9 9 9 7385 18 10 M 5 0 35-39 3 0 9 9 9 9 9 0 0 0 7385 18 10 M 1 1 25-30 2 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7385 18 13 M 5 0 30-40 2 0 1 0 1 9 9 1 0 0 7385 18 6 M 5 0 20-30 2 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 7385 18 11 M 2 1 25-29 2 0 9 9 9 9 9 0 1 0 7385 18 4 M 5 0 25-29 2 0 0 0 0 9 0 0 0 0 7385 18 14 M 1 1 40-45 3 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 7385 18 26 M 1 1 25-29 2 9 9 9 9 9 1 9 9 9 7385 18 26 M 1 1 40-45 3 0 0 9 0 0 0 0 0 0 7385 18 26 M 5 0 35-45 3 9 0 9 0 0 0 9 9 9

365

7385 18 26 M 1 1 30-35 2 9 0 9 0 0 0 9 9 9 7385 19 1 M 1 1 50-59 4 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 7385 19 2 M 4 0 40-44 3 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 7385 19 5 M 1 1 25-30 2 0 0 0 9 0 0 0 0 1 7385 19 0 M 4 0 40-44 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 7385 2 1 M 5 0 40-44 3 0 9 9 0 0 0 0 1 0 7385 2 2 M 2 1 22-26 2 0 9 9 9 9 9 0 0 0 7385 2 9 M 2 1 45-49 3 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 7385 2 11 M 5 0 35-39 3 1 0 0 0 9 0 0 0 0 7385 2 5 M 5 0 25-29 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 7385 2 0 M 4 0 20-24 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7385 2 0 M 2 1 35-39 3 9 0 9 0 0 0 9 9 9 7385 2 0 M 5 0 >50 4 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7385 2 0 M 2 1 30-35 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 LOCGRP20 G 1 1 30-35 2 0 9 9 9 9 9 0 0 9 LOCGRP20 G 2 1 30-35 2 0 0 9 9 0 0 1 0 0 LOCGRP20 G 4 0 35-45 3 1 9 9 0 0 0 0 1 0 LOCGRP20 G 4 0 30-34 2 0 1 9 9 9 9 0 0 0 LOCGRP20 G 2 1 30-35 2 1 1 9 9 9 9 0 1 0 LOCGRP20 G 4 0 18-22 1 0 9 9 9 9 9 0 1 0 LOCGRP20 G 2 1 19-20 1 0 0 0 9 0 0 0 1 0 LOCGRP20 G 1 1 35-39 3 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 Young LOCGRP20 G 2 1 2 0 9 9 9 9 9 0 0 0 adult LOCGRP20 G 2 1 20-24 2 0 9 9 9 9 9 0 0 0 LOCGRP20 G 2 1 25-26 2 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 LOCGRP20 G 5 0 Older 3 0 9 9 9 9 9 1 0 0 7585 10 2 G 5 0 >50 4 9 0 9 0 0 0 9 9 9 7585 10 2 G 2 1 30-34 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9

366

7585 10 2 G 2 1 35-39 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7585 10 2 G 1 1 30-35 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7585 10 2 G 1 1 40-44 3 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7585 10 2 G 2 1 14-16 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7585 10 6 G 2 1 35-39 3 0 1 1 0 0 0 1 1 0 7585 10 11 G 1 1 20-25 2 1 9 0 9 9 9 0 1 0 7585 10 7 G 4 0 30-34 2 0 0 0 9 2 9 0 0 0 7585 10 7 G 1 1 35-39 3 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 7585 10 9 G 2 1 40-49 3 9 1 1 0 2 0 1 0 1 7585 10 18 G 2 1 40-44 3 0 1 1 0 2 0 1 1 0 7585 10 19 G 5 0 20-24 2 0 0 0 9 0 0 0 1 0 7585 10 22 G 2 1 30-34 2 9 0 0 0 2 0 9 9 9 7585 10 24 G 1 1 35-39 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 7585 10 28 G 1 1 22-24 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7585 10 33 G 2 1 20-21 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7585 10 33 G 2 1 27-30 2 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 7585 10 34 G 1 1 30-34 2 0 1 0 0 2 0 1 1 0 7585 10 35 G 1 1 18-19 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 7483 48 4 G 1 1 40-44 3 1 1 1 0 2 0 1 0 0 7483 48 4 G 1 1 >60 4 0 1 9 1 2 0 1 1 0 7483 48 4 G 1 1 30-35 2 0 1 9 0 0 0 9 0 0 7483 48 4 G 1 1 25-29 2 1 1 1 1 2 0 0 1 0 7483 48 4 G 2 1 30-34 2 1 1 0 0 2 0 1 0 0 7483 48 4 G 1 1 25-34 2 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 7483 48 4 G 5 0 >60 4 0 1 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 7483 48 4 G 5 0 38.2 3 1 1 1 0 2 0 0 0 0 7483 48 4 G 5 0 30-34 2 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 7483 48 4 G 5 0 48.1 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0

367

7483 48 4 G 5 0 50-59 4 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 7685 17 2 G 3 2 Adult 6 9 0 0 0 0 0 9 9 9 7685 17 2 G 1 1 35-44 3 0 1 0 0 2 0 1 0 0 7685 17 2 G 2 1 45-49 3 1 1 1 1 2 0 1 1 0 7685 17 2 G 4 0 35-39 3 9 0 9 0 0 0 9 9 0 7685 17 2 G 1 1 40-44 3 9 0 9 0 2 0 9 9 9 7685 17 2 G 4 0 25-29 2 9 0 9 0 0 0 9 9 9 7685 17 2 G 4 0 35-39 3 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 7685 17 2 G 2 1 27-30 2 0 1 9 0 0 0 1 1 0 7685 17 2 G 4 0 50-59 4 0 0 9 9 0 0 0 1 0

368

Appendix D: Paleopathological data from Roman period sites

369

Table D.1 Percent of individuals (Ind), teeth, or alveoli (alv) with pathological condition from referential Roman sites

- -

- - - - -

Ind Ind Ind alv Ind - - - -

Publication Site alv alv Ind Ind Ind Ind Ind Ind teeth teeth teeth LEH PD Caries Caries PD AMTL AMTL Trauma DJD - VertOA - - Abscess - Abscess LEH PNB Calculus Calculus Marklein Oymaagac- 56.6 6.95 24.1 4.88 15.1 0.52 9.4 51 41 35.5 2.6 83.3 51.6 37.5 2018 MG Marklein Oymaagac- 51.4 8.11 10.5 1.49 5.7 0.50 16.7 56.7 29.3 25 16.7 50 30 14.7 2018 Mass Killgrove Casal 58.3 6.3 100 88.1 41.7 2.5 95.8 58.3 6.1 100 2.65 71.4 25 2017 Bertone Castellacci Killgrove o 2.5 2017 Europarco Cucina et al. Vallerano, 2.5 1.1 3.4 63.5 2006 Italy Facchini et Ravena, 4.3 al. 2004 Italy Facchini et Rimini, al. 2004 Italy Manzi et al. Isola Sacra, 52 6.1 58.6 33.9 4.7 0.2 41.8 43.8 6.8 81 35.5 1999 Italy Lucus Manzi et al. Feroniae, 35.9 4 66.7 26.9 12 0.6 63.6 48 12.4 82 46 1999 Italy Belcastro et Quadrella, 71.6 15 83.6 50.8 20.3 1.3 60 12.5 95.2 58.9 al., 2007 Italy

370

Ind alv Ind Ind Ind alv teeth Ind - Ind - - - - Ind Ind teeth - Ind alv teeth Ind - - - - - Publication Site - PD PD DJD - PNB LEH LEH Caries AMTL AMTL Trauma Caries - Abscess VertOA - - Abscess Calculus Calculus

via Buccellato Basiliano 72.1 10 85 46.2 45.5 3.2 61.1 7.7 80 42 85 22.3 2003 (Roma)

Sperduti et Velia, Italy 53.3 al. 2012 Paine et al. Urbino, 100 31 52 39 20 2009 Italy Castel Minozzi et Malnome, 71.4 8.1 98.7 52.6 34.5 2.2 95.8 54.2 5.6 96.4 70.4 33.3 al. 2012 Roma Padre Minozzi et Semeria, 64.8 6.2 96.2 66 8.5 0.6 96.4 54.3 6.9 98 58.9 23.2 al. 2012 Roma Roma Minozzi et (Osteria de 70 8.8 87.7 49.7 26.3 1.8 72.7 49.7 6.6 88.7 74.4 20.8 al. 2012 Curato) Elaiussa Paine et al. Sebaste, 20 64 87.5 11 2007 Turkey Ubelaker Kenchreai, and Rife 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 22.2 11.1 22.2 Greece 2011

371

- -

- - - -

Ind

Ind Ind - Ind alv teeth - Ind - - - -

Publication Site alv alv Ind Ind Ind Ind Ind teeth teeth PD Caries PD AMTL AMTL Trauma DJD - VertOA - PNB - Abscess - Abscess LEH Calculus Calculus LEH Caries 60- Isthmia, 13.1 Rife 2012 7.4 13.2 15.8 8.8 80 22.8 26.5 Greece 3 (ind) Fox 1997 Corinth 5 5.3 8.5 4.6 12.8 2.1 1.7 5.1 Fox 1997 Paphos 8.3 4.7 10.9 12.8 9.1 5.1 2.6 9.9 Selinsky Gordion, 6 58.8 3.27 14 13.3 2004 Turkey Kiesewetter Hierapolis, 8.5 23.5 0.9 33 15.1 3.6 10.7 37.1 10 2016 Turkey Kerti Kiesewetter Hoyuk 12.7 54.9 97.56 14.3 70.4 73.3 13.3 2016 (Derbe) Hoyuk Yavuz 2012 Parion 5.06 31.25 5.4 Smyrna 16.9 Yasar 2007 4.46 1.63 33.3 7.61 11.7 Agorasi 6 Simsek, Laodikeia, 31.2 2.62 3.8 50.61 7.78 11.4 22.2 2011 Turkey 3 Guleç and 11.1 14.7 Panaztepe 11.1 22.7 Duyar, 1998 1 6 Uzel et al., Aslantepe, 1987; Gulec 9.52 80 14.0 Turkey et al., 1998 Sardis, Eroglu 1998 8.7 49.5 7.26 82.31 16.0 64.5 Turkey Datça/Burg Arihan 2009 20 4.16 11.1 25 33.8 0 az

372

- -

- - - - -

Ind Ind Ind alv Ind - - - -

Publication Site alv alv Ind Ind Ind Ind Ind Ind teeth teeth teeth LEH PD Caries Caries PD AMTL AMTL Trauma DJD - VertOA - - Abscess - Abscess LEH PNB Calculus Calculus Guleç and Klazomena 2.7 37.5 62.9 30 59.1 59.1 3.6 Duyar, 1998 i Buyukkarak Tepekic- aya et al. 0 50 66.7 Ciftlik 2009 Erdal et al. Sasal-Ismir 37.5 20.3 58.8 11 2003 Redfern Dorset 19.1 2.94 41.7 19.5 8.4 33.9 32.3 2006 Bonsall Ancaster, 8.7 55.4 32.7 6.6 10.7 6.39 23.5 2013 UK Bonsall Winchester 8.1 40 25.5 5.5 12 5.16 23 2013 , UK Yorkshire, Peck 2009 6.7 2.3 6.4 23.2 17.2 11 UK Griffin et al. Baldock, 6.98 19.5 12.4 2011 UK Cooper et Leicester, 10.1 64 27.9 14 al., 1991 UK Coheeny London, 46. 75.4 11.9 2.6 47.3 34.5 2000 UK 7 Chambers et Queensford 67.5 10.4 56.5 8.2 62.8 14.4 0.99 13.9 5.94 5.94 al. 1987 Farm, UK Farwell and Poundbury, Molleson, 1.1 10 26.7 19.8 5.2 UK 1993 Boylston and Roberts 37.7 7.68 81.2 57.7 33.3 2.25 57.6 51.5 14.8 34.8 4.84 44.9 34.8 39.1 40.6 2004

373

- -

- - - -

Ind

Ind Ind - Ind alv teeth - Ind - - - -

Publication Site alv alv Ind Ind Ind Ind Ind teeth teeth PD Caries PD AMTL AMTL Trauma DJD - VertOA - PNB - Abscess - Abscess LEH Calculus Calculus LEH Caries Clough, Cambridge, 21.2 12.1 3.03 3.03 0 27.2 0 2003 UK Novak and Zadar, 40.2 Slaus, 2010 Croatia Adriatic Slaus 2008 (including 9.7 76.7 2.3 61 2.3 63.3 10.9 28.9 Zadar) Slaus 2008; Continental Slaus et al 10.2 10.5 10.5 65.8 49.8 7.3 11.1 18.7 Croatia 2004 Gaspardy Szazadbol 5.9 47.7 35.3 5.6 1956 Szarmazo Jordana y Vila de Malgosa 6.7 58.2 3.1 44.7 35.9 Madrid (2002) Perez-Perez Romanos y Lalueza catalanes 6.3 (1992) (Catalonia) Pujol- Barcelona, Bayona et 27.3 39.7 4.8 4.8 55.5 32.5 37.5 Spain al. 2011 Lalueza and Tarragona, 59 10.6 43.4 3.9 14.3 58 Garcia 1994 Spain Tabacalera, 35 7 20 2 13.5 Spain Regoly- Sopianae, 4 20 0 Merei 1970 Hungary

374

- -

alv Ind Ind Ind alv

Ind Ind -

- - Ind Ind teeth - Ind alv teeth Ind - - - - - Publication Site - Ind teeth PD PD DJD - PNB LEH Calculus Calculus LEH Caries AMTL AMTL Trauma - Abscess Caries VertOA - - Abscess 8 sites in Meniel 1989 northern 10.2 France Ein Tirghi (DK31), Molto 1986 10 12 10 100 13.8 24.1 Dahkleh, Egypt Site 250, Rife 2001 60 100 80 100 Egypt

Site 10, Walth 1991 Leptiminus 41.7 5.7 27.3 27.3 0 20 50 10 , Tunisia Kellis 2 (west Cook 1994 3.7 11.1 11.1 3.7 11.1 0 cemetery), Egypt Kellis 2 (east Cook 1994 0 0 5.6 11.1 0 11.1 cemetery), Egypt

375

Appendix E. Stable Isotope Data

376

Table E.1 Stable carbon and nitrogen ratios from published Roman period sites and current study

Age δ13C δ15N Country Period Sex Site (years) (‰) (‰) References 1st-4th Chenery et UK 26-35 F -19.9 11.8 Gloucester c AD al., 2010 1st-4th UK 26-35 -19.9 11 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 M -18.8 10.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 M -19.7 11.1 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 F -20.4 10.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 36-45 M -18.8 11.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK Adult -19.8 11.1 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -19.6 12.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 -19.6 10.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -19.3 11.1 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK Adult -20.5 10.2 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th Cheung et UK 36-45 F -19.9 12 Gloucester c AD al., 2012 1st-4th UK 18+ -20 10.9 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 -19.9 11 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 M -19.7 9.7 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 -20.2 11.6 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 M -19.7 11.1 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 F -20.8 11 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ M -19 10.9 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 F -203 10.5 Gloucester c AD

377

1st-4th Cheung et UK 18+ -19.8 11.1 Gloucester c AD al., 2012 1st-4th UK 18-25 M -19.3 11.6 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 13-17 -19.1 10 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -19.7 11.6 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -20.2 10.9 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 F -20.6 10.2 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 36-45 -19.6 9.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 -19.4 9.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -19.3 10.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 -19.7 11.4 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 F -19.7 11.2 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -19.6 10.7 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -20 10.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -19.8 8.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -19.6 9.1 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -19.6 10.7 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -19.7 8.7 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -19.8 11.7 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -19.5 9.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 36-42 F -19.3 8.7 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -20 8.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -19.3 11.1 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -20.5 10.2 Gloucester c AD

378

1st-4th Cheung et UK 18-25 F -20.3 8.4 Gloucester c AD al., 2012 1st-4th UK 18+ M -19.8 9.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -19.7 9.4 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -19.5 9.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -20.2 9.6 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 36-42 F -20.4 9.4 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ F -20.2 10.1 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 M -20 9.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 36-42 M -20.3 9.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ F -20.1 8.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -19.9 8.7 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 F -19.8 10.4 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 36-42 M -20.3 10.9 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ M -20.3 9.6 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ M -20 9.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -19.7 7.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 M -20.3 9.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ M -20.7 9.1 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ M -19.9 8.1 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -19.8 9.2 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ M -20.7 9 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ M -20.6 9.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 F -20.8 10.2 Gloucester c AD

379

1st-4th Cheung et UK 26-35 -20.9 9.2 Gloucester c AD al., 2012 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -20.6 10 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ M -20.7 9.9 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-35 F -20.8 9.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -20.8 9.2 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 F -20.2 10.9 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -20.1 10.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 M -19.8 11 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 M -20.4 10.6 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -20.3 10.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-45 M -20.1 9.2 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -20.8 10.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -20.6 7.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ F -20.7 11.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ F -20.1 9 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-45 M -21 10.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18+ -20.7 11.2 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 18-25 F -20.5 9.3 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -20 9.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -21.5 9.8 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 45+ M -20.6 8.4 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-45 F -21.2 8.5 Gloucester c AD 1st-4th UK 26-35 M -20.6 8.5 Gloucester c AD

380

1st-2nd Craig et al., Italy 50+ M -20 8.6 Velia c AD 2009 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 M -19.2 14 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ M -19.1 8.4 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.6 7.7 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40–50 M -19.6 9.6 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 M -19.8 8.1 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 F -19.6 8.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.7 7.8 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 20-25 F -19.4 8.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 F -19.5 8.6 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ F 19.4 8.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ F -19.6 7.5 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 F -20 7.5 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 15-18 -19.4 7.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.5 8 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ M -19.1 9.5 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ F -19.6 9.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ F -19.7 9.1 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.5 7.6 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.3 8.7 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 20-25 F -19.3 7.7 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19 9.2 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 M -19.6 11.4 Velia c AD

381

1st-2nd Craig et al., Italy 50+ M -19.5 8.5 Velia c AD 2009 1st-2nd Italy 20-25 F -19.1 9.4 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 20-25 M -19.2 8.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 M -19.4 8.5 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 F -19.6 7.5 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ M -19.4 9.4 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 25-30 F -19.2 8.2 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 F -19.3 8.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 F -19.6 6.6 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.9 8.4 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ M -19.4 8.8 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 F -19.7 7.9 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.4 7.9 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ F -19.1 10.1 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ M -19.6 8.8 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ M -19.2 8.6 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 F -19.6 8.2 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 25-30 M -19.3 8.4 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 M -19.5 11.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 M -19 9.2 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ M -19.6 8.1 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.5 8.9 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ F -19.6 12.7 Velia c AD

382

1st-2nd Craig et al. Italy 40-50 M -19.2 8.5 Velia c AD 2009 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.4 8.4 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Young Italy M -19.2 8.8 Velia c AD adult 1st-2nd Italy 18-20 M -19.4 7.2 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 50+ F -19 8.7 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 20-25 M -19.1 8.8 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 M -19.6 7.6 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 20-25 M -19.7 9.8 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 20-25 F -19.5 8.7 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 M -19.6 6.4 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-50 F -19.5 8.2 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 M -19.4 7.9 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy Adult -19.2 7.5 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy Adult -19.2 12.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 25-30 F -19.6 10.5 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 F -19.3 8.3 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 F -19.2 7.5 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 20-25 F -19.7 8 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Young Italy F -19.5 8.1 Velia c AD adult 1st-2nd Italy 30-35 M -19.5 7.8 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 20-30 F -19.7 7.5 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 30-40 M -19.2 8.8 Velia c AD 1st-2nd Italy 40-45 F -19.3 9.3 Velia c AD

383

0-400 Eriksson et Sweden Adult M -20.4 11.5 Bjarby AD al., 2008 0-400 Sweden Adult M -19.5 12.4 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult -19.9 11.1 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult F -19.4 13 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult M -19.8 13.1 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult -19.5 13.6 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult -20 13.2 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult F -20.9 15.3 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult M -19.8 11.5 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult F -20.2 13.7 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult -21.5 13.4 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult F -20.3 13.4 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult F -19.5 12.5 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult M -19.9 13.4 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult F -20.1 13.3 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult F -19.6 13.5 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult M -19.6 11.5 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult -19.7 11.6 Bjarby AD 0-400 Sweden Adult -19.8 13.3 Bjarby AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Dupras, Egypt 26 M -19.03 Cemetery AD 1999 ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 22 M -19.11 17.6 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 26 M -18.98 18.1 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 26 M 17.3 Cemetery AD

384 ein Tirghi 400-500 Dupras, Egypt 28 M -18.93 17.5 Cemetery AD 1999 ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 29 M -19.26 15.2 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 29 M -19.27 15.8 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 29 M -19.01 17.4 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 29 M -19.04 18.6 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 29 M -19.11 16.6 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 35 M -19.21 17.2 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 35 M -19.09 18.9 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 35 M -19.04 17.2 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 35 M -18.97 15.8 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 16 F 18.4 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 20 F -18.82 17.1 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 25 F -19.01 16.8 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 25 F -18.96 16.7 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 30 F -19.44 15.3 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 32 F -18.56 19.3 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 32 F -18.99 16.9 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 38 F -19.31 16.7 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 48 F -19.43 16.6 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 48 F -19.39 16.5 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 55 F -19.01 15.7 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 55 F -18.93 16.9 Cemetery AD ein Tirghi 400-500 Egypt 55 F -19.17 16.6 Cemetery AD

385

332-30 Dupras, Egypt 45 F -19.41 17.86 Kellis 1 BC 1999 332-30 Egypt 45 M -19.31 18.37 Kellis 1 BC 332-30 Egypt 45 M -19.5 18.03 Kellis 1 BC 332-30 Egypt 45 F -19.46 18.18 Kellis 1 BC 332-30 Egypt 25 M -19.59 18.44 Kellis 1 BC 332-30 Egypt 23.5 M -19.94 17.75 Kellis 1 BC 332-30 Egypt 48 F -19.6 18.35 Kellis 1 BC 332-30 Egypt 15 M -19.3 18 Kellis 1 BC 332-30 Egypt 19 F -19.78 19.16 Kellis 1 BC 332-30 Egypt 25 F -19.47 18.55 Kellis 1 BC 332-30 Egypt 30 F -19 17.73 Kellis 1 BC 250-450 Egypt 29 M -18.87 16.95 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 46 M -18.54 19.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 63 F -19.3 18.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 30 F -19.06 17.65 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 38 F -18.65 18.39 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 48 F -18.84 17.56 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 46 M -18.58 16.65 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 37 M -18.71 18.25 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 31 F -18.92 18.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 28 M -18.76 19.35 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 60 F -18.88 19.75 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 38 F 20.28 Kellis 2 AD

386

250-450 Dupras, Egypt 38 F -18.88 17.55 Kellis 2 AD 1999 250-450 Egypt 55 M -19.22 19.67 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 50 F -18.93 19.74 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 37 M -18.63 19.44 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 60 F -18.86 18.73 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 48 F -19.06 18.27 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 56 F -18.88 19.15 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 M -18.85 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 57 F -19.03 19.47 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 28 M -18.33 17.75 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -18.79 16.19 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 61 M -19.03 16.77 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 M -18.82 14.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 37 M -19.17 17.57 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 27 M -18.64 18.68 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 25 F -19.21 18.03 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 18.5 M -19.02 16.28 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 F -18.99 17.94 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 29 M -18.51 17.94 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 46 M -18.95 17.36 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 29 M -18.3 17.64 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 F -19.14 17.77 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 19 M -18.54 20.06 Kellis 2 AD

387

250-450 Dupras, Egypt 18 F -19 19.04 Kellis 2 AD 1999 250-450 Egypt 22 F -19.21 17.42 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -19.22 16.47 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 31 F -19.24 16.03 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 60 F 17.17 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 19 F -18.87 16.84 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 25 F -19.4 18.23 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 30 F -19.25 17.95 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 45 F -19.37 18.47 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -18.92 16.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 22 F -18.91 17.34 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 50 F -18.98 18.78 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 19 F -19.12 17.85 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 48 F -19.03 17.69 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 M -19.04 17.04 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 38 F -19.09 17.28 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -18.81 18.06 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 66 F -18.79 17.61 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 60 F -19.19 16.64 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 30 F -19.11 17.53 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 54 F -19.1 17.26 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 50 F -19.06 17.21 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 54 M -19.15 17.31 Kellis 2 AD

388

250-450 Dupras, Egypt 23 F -19.17 19.36 Kellis 2 AD 1999 250-450 Egypt 28 M -18.7 18.59 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -19.02 17.77 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -18.87 17.65 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 M -18.59 17.18 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -18.57 17.86 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 F -19.1 19.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 F -18.9 18.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 27 M -19.1 18.6 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 33 F -18.5 18 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 F -18.7 19.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 20 F -18.7 19.4 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 25 F -18.8 17.4 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 60 F -19.2 16.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 38 M -18.5 16.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 M -18.2 18.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 30 F -18.7 17.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -18.7 14.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -19.2 16.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 25 F -19.2 18.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 M -19.1 19.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 F -19 18.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -18.8 17.7 Kellis 2 AD

389

250-450 Dupras, Egypt 55 F -19.2 17.8 Kellis 2 AD 1999 250-450 Egypt 38 M -18.4 14.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 50 F -19.4 18.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 33 F -18.8 18.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 F -18.5 17.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 45 M -18.9 17.6 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 33 F -18.7 16.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 50 M -18.7 18.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 F -18.8 18.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 22 F -19.1 17.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 45 F -18.8 18.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 25 F -19.2 18.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 25 F -18.8 19.4 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 22 M -18.6 17.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 60 M -18.3 19.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 27 M -18.6 19.4 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 20 F -18.8 17.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 F -19.2 17.3 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -18.8 19.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 F -18.5 18.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -18.4 19.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -19.4 17.4 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 M -17.8 18.9 Kellis 2 AD

390

250-450 Dupras, Egypt 25 M -18.7 19 Kellis 2 AD 1999 250-450 Egypt 50 F -18.6 17.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 50 F -18.8 18.3 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 20 M -19 7.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 31 F -18.2 18.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 19 F -18.6 19.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 44 M -19.1 20.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 M -18.5 17.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 M -18.4 18.4 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 50 M -18.5 19.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -18.9 17.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -17.9 20.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 M -18.7 18.3 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 31 F -18.5 19.6 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 20 M -18.9 13.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -18.7 18 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 F -19.1 18.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 60 F -18.6 19.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 60 M -18.8 18.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 27 F -18.9 18 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -18.7 18.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 33 F -18.7 18.3 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 19 F -18.7 19.8 Kellis 2 AD

391

250-450 Dupras, Egypt 17 M -18.3 12.9 Kellis 2 AD 1999 250-450 Egypt 34 F -19.1 17.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 50 F -18.5 17.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 45 M -17.9 15.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 45 F -18.5 18.3 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 60 F -18.8 18.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 19 M -18.6 17.4 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 M -18.5 18.3 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 29 M -18.4 18.2 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 65 F -19 19.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 F -18.8 18.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 35 M -18.5 17.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 32 M -19.1 18.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 21 M -18.8 18.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 37 F -18.7 17.6 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 21 F -17.5 18.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 65 M -21.9 16.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 38 M -18.3 17.4 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 27 M -18.8 18.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 45 M -19 18.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 F -19.1 18.3 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 23 F -18.9 15.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 29 M -18.8 18.2 Kellis 2 AD

392

250-450 Dupras, Egypt 25 F -18.9 18.5 Kellis 2 AD 1999 250-450 Egypt 51 M -19.1 8.3 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 M -18.7 18.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 40 F -18.9 16.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 27 F -18.9 16.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 25 F -18.5 17.3 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 50 M -17.9 17.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -18.7 18.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 72 F -18.9 19.1 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 29 M -18.9 17.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 45 F -18.7 19 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 55 F -18.6 17.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 45 F -18.8 17.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 22 F -18.5 19.7 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 19 F -18.6 17.6 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 19 F -18.7 18 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 30 F -18.7 16.8 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 70 M -18.9 17.9 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 25 M -17.9 18.4 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 45 M -18.8 18.5 Kellis 2 AD 250-450 Egypt 61 M -18.3 18.8 Kellis 2 AD 200-400 Keenleyside Tunisia 35–40 M -17.8 14 Leptimius AD et al., 2009 200-400 Tunisia 15–20 F -17.5 14.1 Leptimius AD

393

200-400 Keenleyside Tunisia 39–44 M -16.5 13.9 Leptimius AD et al., 2009 200-400 Tunisia 25–30 F -17.6 14.5 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 36–50 M -17.5 13.9 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 M -18.3 11.9 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 21–35 F -18.1 13.7 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 26–40 F -17.4 14.9 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–21 -18 12.6 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–21 M -18.2 13.5 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–25 M -18.8 11.5 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 30–40 F -17.5 14.6 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 25–30 M -18 13.5 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 F -17.4 15.1 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 36–50 F -17.4 11.3 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 25–30 F -17.8 14.4 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 36–50 F -18.2 11.1 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 M -17.1 13 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia >18 F -17.8 11.7 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 36–50 F -17.6 12.9 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia >18 M -18.9 14 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 36–50 F -19 13.2 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 F -17.1 13.2 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 M -16.9 15.7 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 F -17.9 12.6 Leptimius AD

394

200-400 Keenleyside Tunisia 36–50 M -17.9 12 Leptimius AD et al., 2009 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 F -10.7 11.8 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia >18 F Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia >18 M -17.5 12.9 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia >18 F -17.5 11.4 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 M -17.8 12.4 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 13–18 M -18.2 10 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia >18 F Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia >18 M -16.9 12.2 Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia >18 F Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 F Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia >18 F Leptimius AD 200-400 Tunisia 18–35 M -17.6 13.7 Leptimius AD Killgrove 0-200 Italy 41–50 F -17.9 9.5 and Tykot, AD Rome 2012 0-200 Italy 21–30 F -18.8 11 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 41–50 F -18.1 11.5 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 31–40 M -17.8 9.1 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 21–30 M -19.5 7.8 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 41–50 M -18.4 8.8 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 16–20 M -19.1 8.5 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 31–40 M -12.5 8.3 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 16–20 M -19.5 8.4 Rome AD

395

Killgrove 0-200 Italy 41–50 F -19.1 7.6 and Tykot, AD Rome 2012 0-200 Italy 16–20 M -19 8 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 51–60 F -18.6 11.3 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 41–50 M -18.2 11 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 16–20 F -18.2 11.8 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 61–70 M -18.2 11.1 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 31–40 M -18.1 11.6 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 31–40 F -18.1 9.8 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 51–60 M -18.1 9.6 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 21–30 M -18.1 11.6 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 21–30 F -18 10.8 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 41–50 F -17.8 11 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 41–50 M -16.8 9.7 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 51–60 F -19.4 7.1 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 31–40 F -18.7 7 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 41–50 M -18.6 10.1 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 31–40 M -18.1 11.2 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 51–60 F -18.1 10.3 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 16–20 F -18.1 11.3 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 41–50 F -17.7 11 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 16–20 M -17.7 10.8 Rome AD 0-200 Italy 21–30 M -17.5 9.3 Rome AD

396

100-200 Losch et al., Turkey Adult M -19.1 7.6 Ephesus AD 2014 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.3 10.6 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19 9.2 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.9 9.8 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.4 8.7 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19 8.4 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.8 8.7 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.5 9.4 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19 9.6 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.3 9.4 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19 7.6 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -17.8 8.9 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.1 10.7 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.6 9.7 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.2 8.6 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.3 10.1 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.1 8.8 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.2 9.9 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.5 11.2 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.4 9.2 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.4 9.8 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.1 8.8 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.9 9.4 Ephesus AD

397

100-200 Losch et al., Turkey Adult M -19 10.4 Ephesus AD 2014 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.8 8.8 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.8 8.9 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.6 10.5 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19 8.8 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.9 10 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.9 9 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -19.3 9.2 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.7 9.2 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.9 9.1 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult M -18.7 9.4 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult F -19.4 7.4 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult F -19 8.3 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult F -19.7 4.8 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult F -19.2 8.8 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult F -18.2 9.5 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult F -18.7 10.1 Ephesus AD 100-200 Turkey Adult F -19 9.8 Ephesus AD Muldner and 150-300 UK 26–45 F -19.9 11.4 Richards, AD York 2007 150-300 UK 26–35 M -19.5 9.2 York AD 150-300 UK 26–35 M -19.3 11 York AD 150-300 UK 46 M -19.7 11.2 York AD

398

Muldner and 150-300 UK 36–45 M -20.3 12.6 Richards, AD York 2007 150-300 UK 36–45 F -20.5 9.9 York AD 150-300 UK 18–25 M -19.4 10.3 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 M -19.4 9.7 York AD 150-300 UK 18–25 M -19.2 11.9 York AD 150-300 UK 26–35 F -19.5 11.1 York AD 150-300 UK 18–25 M -20 11.3 York AD 150-300 UK 46 M -19.4 11.6 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 M -19.1 10 York AD 150-300 UK 18–25 M -19.1 10.5 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 M -19.3 11.8 York AD 150-300 UK 18–25 M -19 10.8 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 M -19.2 11.1 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 F -20.4 11.8 York AD 150-300 UK 26–35 M -19.7 10 York AD 150-300 UK 18–25 F -19.8 10.4 York AD 150-300 UK 46 M -20.3 10.7 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 F -19.4 11.7 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 M -19.2 11.4 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 M -19.7 11.4 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 M -19.3 11.7 York AD 150-300 UK 46 M -19.6 10.9 York AD

399

Muldner and 150-300 UK 18–25 M -20 11.2 Richards, AD York 2007 150-300 UK 18–25 M -19.2 11.4 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 M -18.9 11.3 York AD 150-300 UK 26–35 M -19 11.8 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 M -19.6 11 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 M -19.4 11.2 York AD 150-300 UK 26–35 M -18.9 11 York AD 150-300 UK 26–35 F -19.1 11.4 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 M -19 11.2 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 M -17.1 14.1 York AD 150-300 UK 46 F -20 10.2 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 M -20.3 10.4 York AD 150-300 UK 46 M -19.5 11.5 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 F -19.7 11.1 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 M -19.1 11.4 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 F -19.4 11.4 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 M -19.7 11.2 York AD 150-300 UK 26–45 M -19.5 10.5 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 F -19.8 11.6 York AD 150-300 UK 26–35 F -19.9 11.2 York AD 150-300 UK 46 M -19.6 10.9 York AD 150-300 UK 26–35 M -18.9 11.8 York AD

400

Muldner and 150-300 UK Adult F -20.5 10.9 Richards, AD York 2007 150-300 UK 18–25 F -20.5 10.4 York AD 150-300 UK 18–25 F -19.6 11 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 F -19.9 12 York AD 150-300 UK Adult M -20 11.4 York AD 150-300 UK 26–35 F -18.8 11.8 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 M -20.3 11.4 York AD 150-300 UK 36–45 M -19.2 12 York AD 150-300 UK 46 M -19.2 11.8 York AD 0-200 Prowse et Italy Adult -19.2 11 Isola Sacra AD al., 2004 0-200 Italy Adult 9.2 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 13.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.9 10.9 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.9 9.8 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 11.5 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.8 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.7 10.4 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.8 8.6 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 12.8 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.7 11 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.9 11.4 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.5 11.4 Isola Sacra AD

401

0-200 Prowse et Italy Adult -18.5 11.7 Isola Sacra AD al., 2004 0-200 Italy Adult -18.8 11.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.7 11.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.9 11.5 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.5 9.2 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.9 9.7 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18 11.5 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.7 11.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.5 8.9 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19 10.5 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.9 11 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19 10.5 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.9 11.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.7 11.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19.2 9.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.4 12.3 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.7 11.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.2 11.2 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.5 9.8 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 11.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19.1 9.8 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19.2 10.7 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19 10.9 Isola Sacra AD

402

0-200 Prowse et Italy Adult -18.6 10.5 Isola Sacra AD al., 2004 0-200 Italy Adult -18.5 10.8 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 12 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19.1 9.6 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult 11.9 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.8 10.4 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.8 13 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 14.4 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 11.5 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19.2 9.2 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 9.9 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19.3 10.9 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19.5 10.1 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.7 11.7 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.7 10.9 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19 9.5 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19 10.5 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19.1 10.9 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.8 8.7 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.6 9.4 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.9 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -19.3 8.8 Isola Sacra AD

403

0-200 Prowse et Italy Adult -18.6 10.7 Isola Sacra AD al., 2004 0-200 Italy Adult -18.7 11.5 Isola Sacra AD 0-200 Italy Adult -18.8 11.3 Isola Sacra AD 0-400 Redfern et UK Adult M -19.1 8.8 Dorset AD al., 2010 0-400 UK Adult M -19 10.8 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19 10.2 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19.9 8.9 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult F -19 11.4 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult F -18.8 11.4 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult F -19.4 9.5 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -17.7 11 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19.6 9.1 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -18.8 10 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19.8 9.1 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult F -19.5 7.9 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult F -18.7 8.9 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19.6 10 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19.6 10.3 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -20.3 10.2 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19 8.8 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M 8.2 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -20.1 8.9 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19.5 8.7 Dorset AD

404

0-400 Redfern et UK Adult M -20.3 9.1 Dorset AD al., 2010 0-400 UK Adult F -19.5 8.5 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult F -19.8 9.6 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -20.1 9 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -18.8 9.8 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19.8 9.1 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19.7 9.9 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult F -19.3 9.5 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult F -19.1 10 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -18.6 9.8 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -20.6 8.6 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult M -19.4 7.8 Dorset AD 0-400 UK Adult F -19.4 8.7 Dorset AD Iron UK Adult M -19.1 10.1 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20.5 10.3 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -19 9.8 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -19.3 9.5 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -19.8 9.6 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -19.9 10 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -19.9 9.4 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -19.9 9 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -19.6 9.5 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -19.9 9.1 Dorset Age

405

Iron Redfern et UK Adult M -19.6 9.2 Dorset Age al., 2010 Iron UK Adult F -19.4 8.7 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20.1 8.8 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20 9.5 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20 9.5 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -19.9 9 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -19.9 9.7 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -20.1 8.7 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20.6 9 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20.2 8.9 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -20.3 9 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -20.2 8.7 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20.2 8.3 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -19 9.6 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -19.9 8.7 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -20.2 9.3 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -19.7 9.3 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -20.6 9.6 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -19.8 11.9 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20.1 9.7 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20.3 9.7 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult F -20 9.7 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -20 9.7 Dorset Age

406

Iron Redfern et UK Adult F -20.2 9.6 Dorset Age al., 2010 Iron UK Adult M -19.8 9.4 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -20 9.9 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -20 9.7 Dorset Age Iron UK Adult M -20 9.4 Dorset Age Richards et UK 300 AD 50 M -17.8 11.5 Dorset al., 1998 Dorset UK 300 AD 25 M -17.9 10.8 Dorset UK 300 AD 25 M -18.5 10.4 Dorset UK 300 AD 40 M -18.3 9.8 Dorset UK 300 AD 50 M -18.4 10.1 Dorset UK 300 AD 25 F -18.2 7.3 Dorset UK 300 AD 25 F -17.8 10.4 Dorset UK 300 AD 40 F -18.7 10.1 Dorset UK 300 AD 30 M -18.1 10.7 Dorset UK 300 AD 30 M -18.6 9.7 Dorset UK 300 AD 35 F -18 8 Dorset UK 300 AD 45 F -18.3 10.2 Dorset UK 300 AD 40 M -18.7 10.4 Dorset UK 300 AD 25 F -19.4 6.7 Dorset UK 300 AD 25 F -19 7.9 Dorset UK 300 AD 30 F -20 9.3 Dorset UK 300 AD 45 F -19.7 8.9 Dorset UK 300 AD 50 F -20.1 10.5 Dorset UK 300 AD 50 F -19.6 8.8 Dorset UK 300 AD 50 F -20 7 Dorset UK 300 AD 60 F -19.6 8.8 Dorset UK 300 AD 60 F -19.2 8.4 Dorset UK 300 AD 18 M -20.1 8.9 Dorset UK 300 AD 25 M -20.5 9.8 Dorset UK 300 AD 30 M -19.4 9.2 Dorset UK 300 AD 30 M -19.5 10.2 Dorset UK 300 AD 35 M -18.6 10.1 Dorset UK 300 AD 40 M -18.8 12.1 Dorset UK 300 AD 40 M -19 10.9 Dorset UK 300 AD 40 M -19.6 9 Dorset UK 300 AD 45 M -19.2 11

407

Richards et UK 300 AD 45 M -19.4 10 Dorset al., 1998 Dorset UK 300 AD 45 M -18.6 9.5 Dorset UK 300 AD 50 M -19.4 8.6 0-300 Rissech et Spain >20 F −19.1 10.4 Barcelona AD al., 2016 0-300 Spain >20 M −19.0 10.6 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain >20 M −18.5 10.7 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 20–25 F −19.0 11.1 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 20–40 M −19.0 10.6 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 24–28 M −18.5 10.8 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 24–28 M −18.7 10.9 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 25–30 M −18.8 11 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 25–30 F −18.8 11.4 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 35–40 F −19.2 11.6 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 50–55 M −18.6 11.3 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 50–55 M −19.3 11.6 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 55–60 F −19.1 10.8 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 55–60 M −19.5 10.7 Barcelona AD 0-300 Spain 60–65 M −18.4 11.7 Barcelona AD 100-200 Semchuk, Italy 15-29 F -18.5 9.8 Vagnari AD 2016 100-200 Italy 15-29 M -19.5 9.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 15-29 F -18.4 9.8 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 15-29 F -19.3 9.7 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 30-49 M -18.6 9.9 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 50+ F -19.1 10.6 Vagnari AD

408

100-200 Semchuk, Italy 15-29 M -19.3 9 Vagnari AD 2016 100-200 Italy 45-59 M -19.4 9.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 30-48 F -19.3 9.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult F -19.7 8.2 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 50+ F -19.4 9.3 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy <30 M -19.4 9.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 14-16 F -19.1 8.6 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy <30 F -19.4 9.3 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy >35 M -19.5 10.3 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 45-59 M -19.7 8.5 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 27-50 F -19.9 9.6 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 25-45 F -20.2 9.5 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 50+ M -19.7 9.7 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 50+ M -18.8 9.8 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult M -19.2 9.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 25-45 M -18.6 9.6 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 37-63 M -19.6 9.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 19-22 F -19.1 9.7 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult M -19.3 9.8 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 20-24 M -19.6 8.5 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult M -19 9.7 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 35-39 M -18.9 10.9 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 17-22.5 F -19.6 7.6 Vagnari AD

409

100-200 Semchuk, Italy 37-59 M -19.2 10.3 Vagnari AD 2016 100-200 Italy 35-45 M -19.3 10.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 30-35 F -19.3 10.3 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 16-18 F -19.6 8.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 50+ M -19.2 9.5 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 30-40 M -19.6 10.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 45+ M -19.1 9.4 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult M -19.5 9.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult M -19.3 9 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 50+ M -19.5 8.9 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 25-29 F -19.4 8.2 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult F -19.2 9.7 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult F -19.1 10.4 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy <30 M -19.5 8.3 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult M -18.9 9.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult M -18.8 10.3 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 15-29 F -19.5 8.2 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 15-30 M -18.8 8.7 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 30-49 M -18.8 9.3 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 15-29 M -19.3 9 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 30-49 M -18.3 9.5 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult F -19.7 6.9 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult F -18.1 6.1 Vagnari AD

410

100-200 Semchuk, Italy 40+ M -19.2 9.1 Vagnari AD 2016 100-200 Italy Adult F -18.8 9.4 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy 30-49 F -18.5 9.7 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult M -18.8 7.1 Vagnari AD 100-200 Italy Adult F -18.4 9.8 Vagnari AD Oxford 400-500 Nehlich et UK Adult F -19.4 9.1 AD al., 2011 Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.8 9.9 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.9 9.7 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.3 10.7 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.7 11 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.8 11 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.4 9.7 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -20 10.1 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.8 8.6 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -20.1 10.8 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.8 11 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.8 10.7 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -20 9.5 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.3 8.9 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.9 8.2 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult F -19.2 10.5 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -19.7 10.2 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -19.7 11.4 AD

411

Oxford 400-500 Nehlich et UK Adult M -19 11.4 AD al., 2011 Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -19 10.7 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -18.9 10.1 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -19.2 10.6 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -20 11.2 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -19.9 9.7 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -19.7 11.4 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -20 10.2 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -19.9 10.3 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -19.2 10.2 AD Oxford 400-500 UK Adult M -19.9 10.7 AD Gabii Killgrove AD Italy YA F −18.9 10.8 and Tykot 240-440 2017 Gabii AD Italy MA M −18.8 11.5 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA F −18.8 11.1 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA M −19.2 11.3 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA M −19.3 11.3 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA M −19.3 11 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA M −19.0 11.2 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA F −19.0 8.5 240-440 Gabii AD Italy YA F −18.8 11.2 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA F −18.9 11.5 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA M −18.8 11.2 240-440

412

Gabii Killgrove AD Italy MA F −19.3 9.9 and Tykot 240-440 2017 Gabii AD Italy MA F −19.3 10.4 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA M −19.3 10.7 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA F −19.3 9.7 240-440 Gabii AD Italy OA F −18.5 11.4 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA M −18.8 11.3 240-440 Gabii AD Italy MA M −15.8 8.6 240-440 Hierapolis AD Wong et al., Turkey Adult M -20.5 9.6 200-800 2017 Hierapolis AD Turkey Adult M -19 11.1 200-800 Hierapolis AD Turkey Adult -19.2 8.9 200-800 Hierapolis AD Turkey Adult -19.2 10.6 200-800 Hierapolis AD Turkey Adult -18.9 9.7 200-800 Hierapolis AD Turkey Adult -19.4 9.6 200-800 Hierapolis AD Turkey Adult -19.1 9.2 200-800 Hierapolis AD Turkey Adult -18.5 7.6 200-800 Hierapolis AD Turkey Adult -18.4 9.9 200-800 Oymaağaç- AD Marklein, Turkey Adult M -19.39 11.24 MG 200-400 2018 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.39 11.23 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.70 10.91 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -18.90 12.41 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.48 11.07 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.27 12.22 MG 200-400

413

Oymaağaç- AD Marklein, Turkey Adult M -18.66 11.75 MG 200-400 2018 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.62 11.90 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.40 10.17 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -18.90 11.97 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.20 9.83 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.56 11.37 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.44 12.41 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.60 13.11 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.43 12.87 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.73 12.05 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.95 12.39 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.84 10.99 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.51 11.59 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.36 12.15 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.56 11.21 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.82 12.27 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.87 12.52 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -20.48 12.27 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.34 11.27 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -20.01 11.49 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -20.03 11.58 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -20.18 11.31 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.59 9.15 MG 200-400

414

Oymaağaç- AD Marklein, Turkey Adult M -19.89 9.74 MG 200-400 2018 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult -19.66 11.26 MG 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.01 10.13 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -18.93 10.70 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.15 9.30 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.38 11.52 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.73 9.68 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.10 11.75 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.92 11.61 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -20.00 12.25 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.75 11.28 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult M -19.85 11.03 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -19.80 13.00 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -20.15 12.31 Mass 200-400 Oymaağaç- AD Turkey Adult F -20.03 12.78 Mass 200-400

415