Walls of The Prince: Egyptian Interactions With Southwest Asia in Antiquity

Walls of the Prince:
Egyptian Interactions with

Southwest Asia in Antiquity
Essays in Honour of John S. Holladay, Jr.
Edited by
Timothy P. Harrison, Edward B. Banning,
and Stanley Klassen
culture & histo ry o f th e ancie nt n e ar e ast

Walls of the Prince: Egyptian Interactions with Southwest Asia in Antiquity
Culture and History of the
Ancient Near East
Founding Editor
M.H.E. Weippert
Editor-in-Chief
Jonathan Stökl
Editors
Eckart Frahm
W. Randall Garr
B. Halpern
Theo P.J. van den Hout
Leslie Anne Warden
Irene J. Winter
VOLUME 77
The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/chan

Archaeologist
for Jack
One day I saw your trowel

dance across the balk
and I knew
you had a gift.
— Rosalyn Rubenstein
Walls of the Prince:
Egyptian Interactions with
Southwest Asia in Antiquity
Essays in Honour of John S. Holladay, Jr.
Edited by
Timothy P. Harrison, Edward B. Banning & Stanley Klassen
LEIDEN | BOSTON
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Contents
Preface vii
John S. Holladay, Jr: An Appreciation ix
Timothy P. Harrison
Publications of John S. Holladay, Jr xiii
Tabula Gratulatoria xviii
Egyptian Long-Distance Trade in the Middle Kingdom and the Evidence

at the Red Sea Harbour at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis 1
Kathryn Bard and Rodolfo Fattovich
MB II Flat-Bottom Handmade Cooking Pots from Wadi Tumilat: A Useful

Chronological Marker or an Indicator of Technical Style? 11
Stanley Klassen
Flint and Forts: the Role of Flint in Late Middle-New Kingdom Egyptian
Weaponry 37
Carolyn Graves-Brown
Geophysical Surveys at Tell el-Maskhuta, 1978–1982 60

Ted Banning
Thutmose III’s Great Syrian Campaign: Tracing the Steps of the Egyptian
Pharaoh in Western Syria, Part I: From Idlib to Aleppo 74
Douglas Frayne
The Amman Airport Structure: A Re-assessment of Its Date-Range,

Function and Overall Role in the Levant 89
Gregory Mumford
Israel and Egypt in the “Age of Solomon” 199

John Van Seters
A Fishy Business: The Inland Trade in Nile perch (Lates niloticus)

in the Early Iron Age Levant 212
Bruce Routledge
vi contents
In the Shadow of a Giant: Egyptian Influence in Transjordan during

the Iron Age 234
P. M. Michèle Daviau
Snake Cults and Egyptian Military Bases 274

Kasia Szpakowska
Anthropoid Clay Coffins of the Late Bronze Age to Early Iron

Age in Egypt and the Near East: A Re-Evaluation of the Evidence
from Tell el-Yahudiya 292
Mary-Ann Pouls Wegner
A Preliminary Analysis of Some Elements of the Saite and Persian Period

Pottery at Tell el-Maskhuta 316
Patricia Paice†
Meẓad Ḥashavyahu Reconsidered: Saite Strategy and Archaic Greek

Chronology 333
Peter James
Provenancing Basket Handle Jars from Mendes, Egypt 371

Lawrence A. Pavlish†
Sojourner in the Land: The Resident Alien in Late Period Egypt 396

Philip Kaplan
Author Index 415
General Index 423
Site Index 430
Preface
Walls of the Prince is the culmination of a long-running team effort to honor

our dear colleague and friend, John (Jack) S. Holladay, Jr. The theme of the
volume was originally chosen in conjunction with two sessions organized in
Jack’s honor at the ASOR annual meetings held in Toronto in 2002. The inten-
tion, at the time, was to publish the papers presented in these two sessions
together as a festschrift. Unfortunately, an extended illness to one of the orga-
nizers delayed the project indefinitely, and in the interim a number of the pre-
sentations were published elsewhere. Sadly, two of the presenters (Paice and
Pavlish) also passed away during this period.
Despite these setbacks, there remained a strong desire, especially among
Jack’s students, to see the project through to completion. Consequently, a
number of colleagues were invited to contribute papers in keeping with the
original theme on Egyptian interactions with Southwest Asia, and the current
editors agreed to take up the task of shepherding the volume through to pub-
lication. Authors who had participated in the initial project (Banning, Daviau,
Mumford, Routledge and Van Seters) were given the opportunity to update
their papers; several chose to write new ones. A decision was also made to
include the contributions of Patricia Paice and Lawrence Pavlish. We unfortu-
nately were not able to locate a copy of Paice’s paper, and in the end graciously
received permission from the Egyptological Seminar in New York to reprint a
related study that had appeared previously in their Bulletin.
The result is a volume that explores Egyptian interactions with Southwest
Asia during the second and first millennium BC, including long-distance trade
in the Middle Kingdom, the itinerary of Thutmose III ’s great Syrian campaign,
the Amman Airport structure, anthropoid coffins at Tell el-Yahudiya, Egypt’s
relations with Israel in the age of Solomon, Nile perch and other trade with
the southern Levant and Transjordan in the Iron Age, Saite strategy at Mezad
Hashavyahu, and the concept of resident alien in Late Period Egypt. These
are complemented by methodological and typological studies of data from
the archaeological investigations at Tell el-Maskhuta, the Wadi Tumilat, and
Mendes in the eastern Nile delta. Together, they reflect the diverse range of
Professor Holladay’s long and distinguished scholarly career.
Bringing a project like this to completion, especially one involving its com-
plicated history, has required the help and good will of many. In addition to
my co-editors, Ted Banning and Stanley Klassen, I wish in particular to thank
Sally Stewart and Amy Barron, both of whom logged considerable hours edit-
ing each contribution to meet Brill’s formatting specifications. Calypso Kenney
viii preface
and Natasha Shukor deserve thanks for their help reformatting Patricia Paice’s
paper, as do Darren Joblonkay and Stephen Batiuk for producing the maps
that appear in Douglas Frayne’s contribution and Radovan Kabatiarova for
his assistance with the indexes. Our collective gratitude also goes to the two
anonymous reviewers who provided valuable comments and feedback. Finally,
I wish to express my appreciation to Katelyn Chin and Paige Sammartino at
Brill for their patience during the final stages of production. It has been a true
privilege to call Jack a colleague and friend, and I trust the collective effort
reflected in this honorary festschrift conveys in at least a small way the high
esteem and deep respect his many colleagues and students have for him.
Timothy P. Harrison
Toronto, June 2015
John S. Holladay, Jr: An Appreciation
Timothy P. Harrison
University of Toronto
I remember vividly the first time I met John S. Holladay, Jr, affectionately
‘Jack’ to everyone. It was in November of 1990, almost twenty-five years ago.
I was a graduate student and delivering my first conference paper at the ASOR
annual meetings, held that year in New Orleans. My paper was on the pot-
tery and phasing of the Early Bronze Age strata at Tall al-‘Umayri in Jordan.
Less than confident about the substance and delivery of my paper, I remember
Jack approaching me after the session and engaging in a rigorous yet colle-
gial discussion about the finer details of ceramic typology and comparative
stratigraphy in my paper, and their broader sociocultural implications for the
Early Bronze Age southern Levant. In many ways, that exchange embodied
the qualities that have defined his more than half a century of distinguished
scholarship: an unwavering commitment to—and mastery of—the empirical
evidence, an ability to synthesize broader cultural and social patterns from this
record, and an almost pastoral devotion to the mentoring of his students and
junior scholars.
Jack Holladay is a product of the American Midwest, born and raised in
rural Illinois, yet instilled with strong values of cultural diversity and differ-
ence, as the son of Presbyterian missionaries called to serve in Thailand and
South Asia. Jack’s grounding in the scientific method occurred early in his edu-
cation, while at the University of Illinois, where he completed a Bachelor of
Science in Chemistry/Physics and Zoology. Following graduation, he enlisted
in the USAF as a radar observer and flew on all-weather fighter interceptors
during the Korean War, a posting he held between 1952 and 1956.
The war would change many things, most notably Holladay’s career path.
Returning from East Asia, he enrolled at McCormick Theological Seminary
in Chicago, earning a Bachelor of Divinity in 1959. It was also at McCormick
that Holladay first met G. Ernest Wright and was introduced to the excit-
ing developments then taking place in the field of Biblical Archaeology. He
followed Wright to Harvard University upon graduating from McCormick,
and embarked on a Th.D. under his tutelage at the Harvard Divinity School,
which culminated in a doctoral thesis, “The Pottery of Northern Israel in the
Ninth and Eighth Centuries B.C.,” defended in 1966. Holladay’s Harvard years
x john s. holladay, jr: an appreciation
also coincided with his involvement in the Drew-McCormick Expedition to

Shechem, where he served as an Area Supervisor through the 1964 season.
Holladay also began teaching while completing his doctoral studies. He was
hired at Princeton University in 1963, first as an instructor, and then promoted
to assistant professor in 1966, a position he held until 1968. He was also a visit-
ing professor at the Lutheran Theological Seminary in Philadelphia for a year
(1966-1967) during this period.
These were formative years, and they set the intellectual framework for
the half century of productive scholarship that would follow. The Biblical
Archaeology Wright championed was heavily influenced by the positivist
philosophy that dominated the social sciences in American universities dur-
ing the post-war era. In archaeology, this was expressed through the devel-
opment of rigorous artifact classification schemes and the reconstruction
of ‘culture histories’, with the aim of identifying broad cultural and social
patterns, and ultimately, even the possibility of general ‘laws’ of human cul-
tural behavior. Advances in the natural and physical sciences were also read-
ily adopted and incorporated into the research designs and data collection
regimes of archaeological field projects. These innovations found their way
into the Shechem Expedition, and with even more enthusiasm, the pioneer-
ing Hebrew Union College Expedition to Gezer launched in 1964. However,
the Biblical Archaeology advocated by Wright also sought to address historical
questions, specifically biblical history, and called for an ambitious approach
that involved the analysis of both material culture and textual sources. These
converging intellectual trends were deeply influential in giving shape to the
research agenda and field methods that would guide Holladay’s research over
the ensuing decades.
In 1968, Holladay was hired by the University of Toronto as an Associate
Professor of Syro-Palestinian Archaeology. The next two decades were devoted
to active archaeological exploration, both survey and excavation, and would
represent the primary period of field research during his career. In addition
to his involvement in the Gezer Expedition, which he had joined while still at
Harvard, serving as a core staff member between 1966 and 1971, Holladay was
also involved in excavations at Khirbet el-Qom (1971), and the Temple of Osiris
at Karnak (1972). In 1977 he launched the Wadi Tumilat Project, a long-term
project in the Egyptian Eastern Delta that included excavations at the princi-
pal site of Tell el-Maskhuta and a regional survey of the Wadi Tumilat; these
investigations continued through 1985. During these years, Holladay earned a
reputation for his skill at ‘reading’ the stratigraphic sections of balks, and for
his uncompromising attention to empirical detail, in particular the study of
pottery.
harrison
This commitment to a precise and accurate documentation of the archae-

ological record, what we might call ‘thick description’, is also reflected in
Holladay’s publications from this period. These include numerous excavation
reports, consistently a model of descriptive detail, and a number of method-
ologically oriented studies, such as “A Technical Aid to Pottery Drawing” (1976),
and “The Care and Reading of Balks” (1978). More recent contributions to ency-
clopedia projects have continued this preoccupation with topics in archaeo-
logical field methodology.
This period also saw the publication of his first major synthetical study, “Of
Sherds and Strata: Contributions toward an Understanding of the Archaeology
of the Divided Monarchy”, which appeared in the Magnalia Dei festschrift
dedicated to his teacher G. Ernest Wright (1976). A synopsis of his doctoral
thesis, “Of Sherds and Strata” is an exceptional example of the comparative
stratigraphic method, drawing on a detailed and extensive analysis of ceramic
parallels to construct a coherent cultural horizon in the Iron IIB (or ninth and
eighth centuries BC) for the northern kingdom of Israel. While subsequent
research has challenged key chronological anchors in this study, it neverthe-
less remains a model application of the comparative method.
Following the completion of excavations at Tell el-Maskhuta in 1985, the last
year he would see active fieldwork, Holladay’s research endeavors entered a new
phase. The next three decades would be devoted to an all-consuming focus on
the analysis and synthesis of the burgeoning archaeological record for insight
into the social and economic institutions of ancient Israel. Methodologically,
his approach has been consistently functionalist and processual in its theo-
retical orientation. This is perhaps best exemplified in his studies of Israelite
architecture, and in particular his contribution (“The Stables of Ancient Israel”,
1986) to the contentious debate about the function of the tripartite pillared
buildings at Megiddo (and elsewhere). Less controversial, though equally con-
sistent in their functionalist approach, have been his encyclopedic studies of
the four-room, or pillared, Israelite house. Holladay was also one of the first to
apply a functionalist, or materialist, perspective to the study of Israelite reli-
gion, adopting an ‘explicitly archaeological’ approach in a 1987 study in which
he attempted to reconstruct the religious practices of the Monarchy period
based exclusively on the material cultural record.
Holladay’s application of the comparative method continued through the
1990s, but with the important addition of statistics. “Red Slip, Burnish, and
the Solomonic Gateway at Gezer” (1990), stands out in this regard as a ground
breaking study in Syro-Palestinian archaeology, irrespective of one’s views
about the accuracy of its dating of the appearance of Red Slip Burnished Ware.
Statistical analysis was employed less controversially in other studies from this
xii john s. holladay, jr: an appreciation
period, including his richly synthetical contribution on the Iron Age kingdoms
of Israel and Judah in the widely read, The Archaeology of Society in the Holy
Land (1995), edited by T. E. Levy. For a field that has produced as rich an empiri-
cal record as it has, Syro-Palestinian archaeology has been surprisingly averse
to the explanatory potential of quantitative methods, and Holladay deserves
credit for helping to move the discipline in this direction.
In a succession of articles published over the past decade and a half,
Holladay has turned his attention to one of his most abiding interests, the eco-
nomic foundations of ancient Israelite society. Together they present a richly
textured view of the complex economic life of ancient Israel and her neighbors
as diminutive nation states navigating for position—and survival—between
the great geopolitical powers of the day. Drawing on a wealth of archaeological
and textual evidence, Holladay highlights their important role as entrepreneur-
ial agents in the long-distance trade networks and inter-regional economies
that fueled the region’s prosperity during the Pax Assyriaca of the late Iron
Age. In many ways, these articles are the culmination of more than forty years
of research, and reflect the full maturation of the comparative method that has
defined his scholarship. They also reveal a more nuanced understanding of the
complexities and vagaries of ancient Israel’s experience, and contrast with the
rigidly functionalist perspectives articulated in his earlier studies.
Finally, and most importantly, the exceptional breadth and depth of
Holladay’s scholarship are matched by a remarkable generosity of spirit.
As I experienced in my first encounter, and as his many colleagues and stu-
dents will attest, Jack exemplifies the qualities of the gentleman scholar and
teacher, rigorous and uncompromising in his pursuit of knowledge, yet ever
generous with associates and nurturing in his mentorship of junior colleagues.
This gained more personal meaning for me after my appointment as a freshly
minted assistant professor in Toronto. The Near Eastern Studies program in the
recently amalgamated Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations
was being forcefully downsized at the time through mandatory faculty retire-
ments in a manner that resembled something of an administrative scorched
earth policy. Jack provided an ever ready listening ear and much needed wise
counsel during this difficult period of transition, for which I will always be
deeply grateful. Certainly, those of us who have had the privilege of knowing
and working with Jack will forever be the better for it.
Publications of John S. Holladay, Jr
1966 The Pottery of Northern Palestine During the Ninth and Eighth Centuries BC.
Th.D. Dissertation, Harvard University.
1966 Thesis Summary in Summaries of Doctoral Dissertations. Harvard
Theological Review 59: 446–47.
1968 The Day(s) the Moon Stood Still. Journal of Biblical Literature 87:
166–78.
1970 Assyrian Statecraft and the Prophets of Israel. Harvard Theological
Review 63: 29–51.
1971 Observations in William G. Dever, Archaeological Methods and
Results: A Review of Two Recent Publications. Orientalia 31: 459–71
(469).
1971 Further Excavations at Gezer, 1967–71. The Biblical Archaeologist
34: 94–132. [co-authored with W. G. Dever, H. D. Lance, R. Bullard,
D. P. Cole, A. M. Furshpan, J. D. Seger and R. B. Wright]
1971 Chronique Archeologique: Khirtbet el-Kom. Revue Biblique 78: 593–95,
pl. 30: a, 30:b.
1971 Kh. el-Kom. Hadashot Arkheologiyot 39:24–25 (Hebrew).
1971 Notes and News: Khirbet el-Qom. Israel Exploration Journal 21: 175–77.
1974 Gezer II: Report of the 1967–70 Seasons in Fields I and II, eds. W. G. Dever
and H. D. Lance. Jerusalem: Hebrew Union College/Nelson Glueck
School of Biblical Archaeology. [contributing author]
1975 Report on the Pottery from the 1971 and 1972 Excavations at the Temple
of Osiris Heqa Djet at Karnak: Field Analysis and-Recording Procedures.
Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities Report Publication 4.
Toronto: Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities.
1976 A Technical Aid to Pottery Drawing: On Cutting the Gordian Pot. Antiq-
uity 50: 223–29.
1976 Of Sherds and Strata: Contributions toward an Understanding of the
Archaeology of the Divided Monarchy. Pp. 253–93 in Magnalia Dei: The
Mighty Acts of God, Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G.
Ernest Wright, eds. F. M. Cross, W. E. Lemke, and P. D. Miller, Jr. Garden
City, NY: Doubleday.
1978 The Care and Reading of Balks. Pp. 46–72 in A Manual of Field Excava-
tion, eds. W. G. Dever and H. D. Lance. Cincinnati, OH: Hebrew Union
College.
xiv publications of john s. holladay, jr
1978 Introduction and interpretive captions to Burton MacDonald, The

Wadi Tumilat Project, a New ASOR Research Project in Egypt: Excava-
tions at Tell el-Maskhuta, 1978. Biblical Archaeologist 43:49–58.
1979 The Wadi Tumilat Project—1977 and 1978 Seasons. Qadmoniot 12:
85–90 (Hebrew).
1979 The Year We Misplaced Pithom and Other Stories. Archaeological
Newsletter of the Royal Ontario Museum, N.S. 166: 1–4.
1981 Of Dirt and History, or The Anatomy of a Hole in the Ground. Archaeo-
logical Newsletter of the Royal Ontario Museum, N.S. 190: 1–4, and 191:
1–4.
1982 Cities of the Delta, Part III. Tell el-Maskhuta, Preliminary Report on the
Wadi Tumilat Project 1978–1979. American Research Center in Egypt
Reports, Vol. 6. Malibu, CA: Undena Publications. [with contributions
by D. B. Redford, P. G. Holladay and J. B. Brookner]
1986 Gezer IV: The 1969–71 Excavations in Field VI, the “Acropolis”, eds.
W. G. Dever and H. D. Lance. Jerusalem: The Nelson Glueck School of
Biblical Archaeology of Hebrew Union College. [contributing author]
1986 The Stables of Ancient Israel: Functional Determinants of Stable
Construction and the Interpretation of Pillared Buildings of the
Palestinian Iron Age. Pp. 103–65 in The Archaeology of Jordan and Other
Studies Presented to Professor Siegfried H. Horn, eds. L. T. Geraty and
L. H. Wood. Berrien Springs, MI: Andrews University Press.
1987 (Reprint) Assyrian Statecraft and the Prophets of Israel. Anthologized.
in D. L. Petersen, ed., Prophecy in Israel: Search for an Identity. Philadel-
phia: Fortress Press.
1987 Religion in Israel and Judah under the Monarchy: An Explicitly Archae-
ological Approach. Pp. 249–99 in Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays
in Honor of Frank Moore Cross, eds. P. D. Miller, W. E. Lemke and
S. D. McBride. Philadelphia: Fortress Press.
1987 The Wadi Tumilat Project—Tell el-Maskhuta. Bulletin of the Canadian
Mediterranean Institute 7/2: 1–7.
1988 A Biblical/Archaeological Whodunit. Bulletin of the Canadian Mediter-
ranean Institute 8/2: 6–8.
1990 Red Slip, Burnish, and the Solomonic Gateway at Gezer. Bulletin of the
American Schools of Oriental Research 277: 23–70.
1992 House, Israelite. Pp. 308–18 in Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D. N. Freedman.
Vol. III. New York: Doubleday.
1992 Kom, Khirbet el-. Pp. 97–99 in Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. by D. N.
Freedman. Vol. IV. New York: Doubleday.
publications of john s. holladay, jr xv
1992 Maskhuta, Tell-El. Pp. 588–92 in Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D. N. Freed-
man. Vol. IV. New York: Doubleday.
1992 Stables. Pp. 178–83 in Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D. N. Freedman.
Vol. VI. New York: Doubleday.
1993 The Use of Pottery and Other Diagnostic Criteria, From the Solomonic
Era to the Divided Kingdom. Pp. 86–101 in Biblical Archaeology Today,
1990. Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Biblical
Archaeology, Jerusalem, June-July 1990, ed. A. Biran and J. Aviram. Jeru-
salem: Israel Exploration Society.
1995 The Kingdoms of Israel and Judah: Political and Economic Centraliza-
tion in the Iron IIA–B (ca.1000–750 BCE). Pp. 368–98 in The Archaeo
logy of Society in the Holy Land, ed. T. E. Levy. Leicester: Leicester
University Press.
1996 The Middle Bronze Age/Second Intermediate Period Houses at Tell
El-Maskhuta. Pp 159–73 in Haus und Palast im alten Ägypten, ed.
M. Bietak. Wein: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissen-
schaften. [co-authored with P. Paice and E. C. Brock]
1997 The Eastern Nile Delta During the Hyksos and Pre-Hyksos Periods:
Towards a Systemic/Socioeconomic Understanding. Pp. 183–252 in The
Hyksos: New Historical and Archaeological Perspectives, ed. E. D. Oren.
Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum.
1997 The Four-room House. Pp. 337–42 in The Oxford Encyclopedia of
Archaeology in the Near East, ed. E. M. Meyers. Vol 2. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
1997 HOUSE: Syro-Palestinian Houses. Pp. 94–114 in The Oxford Encyclope-
dia of Archaeology in the Near East, ed. E. M. Meyers. Vol 3. Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
1997 Maskhuta, Tell el-. Pp. 432–37 in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeol-
ogy in the Near East, ed. E. M. Meyers. Vol 3. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
1997 Stables. Pp. 69–74 in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the
Near East, ed. E. M. Meyers. Vol 5. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
1997 Stratigraphy. Pp. 82–88 in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in
the Near East, ed. E. M. Meyers. Vol 5. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
1997 Stratum. Pp. 88–89 in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the
Near East, ed. E. M. Meyers. Vol 5. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
1997 Winnett, Frederick Victor. Pp. 346–47 in The Oxford Encyclopedia of
Archaeology in the Near East, ed. E. M. Meyers. Vol 5. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
xvi publications of john s. holladay, jr
1999 Tell el-Maskhuta. Pp. 786–89 in Encyclopedia of the Archaeology of

Ancient Egypt, ed. K. Bard. London: Routledge.
1999 Wadi Tumilat. Pp. 878–881 in Encyclopedia of the Archaeology of
Ancient Egypt, ed. K. Bard. London: Routledge.
2001 Pithom. Pp 50–3 in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, ed.
D. B. Redford. Vol 3. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
2001 Tell el-Yahudiya. Pp 527–29 in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient
Egypt, ed. D. B. Redford. Vol 3. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
2001 Toward a New Paradigmatic Understanding of Long-Distance Trade in
the Ancient Near East: From the Middle Bronze II to Early Iron II-A
Sketch. Pp. 136–98 in The World of the Aramaeans II: Studies in History
and Archaeology in Honour of Paul-Eugene Dion, eds. P. M. M. Daviau,
J. W. Wevers and M. Weigl. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press.
2003 Method and Theory in Palestinian Archaeology. Pp. 33–47 in
Near Eastern Archaeology. A Reader, ed. S. Richard. Winona Lake, IN:
Eisenbrauns.
2004 Judaeans (and Phoenicians) in Egypt in the Late Seventh to Sixth Cen-
turies BC. Pp. 405–37 in Egypt, Israel, and the Ancient Mediterranean
World, Studies in the Honour of Donald B. Redford, ed. G. N. Knoppers
and A. Hirsch. Leiden: E. J. Brill.
2006 Hezekiah’s Tribute, Long-Distance Trade and the Wealth of Nations
ca.1000–600 BC: A New Perspective (“Pour Little [Agrarian] Judah” at
the End of the 8th Century BC: Dropping the First Shoe). Pp. 309–331
in Confronting the Past: Archaeological and Historical Essays on Ancient
Israel in Honour of William G. Dever, eds. S. Gitin, J. E. Wright, and
J. P. Dessel. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.
2009 How Much Is That In . . .? Monetization, Money, Royal States, and
Empires. Pp. 207–22 in Exploring the Longue Duree: Essays in Honour of
Lawrence E. Stager, ed. J. David Schloen. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.
2009 “Home Economics 1407” and the Israelite Family and Their Neigh-
bours: An Anthropological/Archaeological Exploration. Pp. 61–88
in The Family in Life and in Death: The Family in Ancient Israel—
Sociological and Archaeological Perspectives, ed. P. D. Walls. New York:
F. and F. Clark.
2014 From Bandit to King: David’s Time in the Negev and the Transforma-
tion of a Tribal Entity into a Nation State. Pp. 31–46 in Unearthing the
Wilderness: Studies on the History and Archaeology of the Negev and
Edom in the Iron Age, ed. J. M. Thebes. Ancient Near Eastern Studies
Supplement Series 45. Leuven: Peeters. [co-authored with S. Klassen]
publications of john s. holladay, jr xvii
n.d. Israeli Archaeology Since the Founding of the State. Pp. 27–33 in Cel-
ebrating the Four Decades of Growth of Israel, ed. M. Goody, E. Dessen,
et al. Toronto: Canadian Zionist Federation.
Fc Gezer VIII. Field III: The Solomonic Gateway.
Tabula Gratulatoria
James S. Ackerman (Indiana University)

Susan Ackerman (Dartmouth College)
Michal Artzy (University of Haifa)
Carolina A. Aznar (Saint Louis University, Madrid)
Stephen Batiuk (University of Toronto)
Paul-Alain Beaulieu (University of Toronto)
Manfred Bietak (University of Vienna)
Eleazar Birnbaum (University of Toronto)
Jeff Blakely (Madison, Wisconsin)
Elizabeth Bloch-Smith (St. Joseph’s University)
Oded Borowski (Emory University)
Kent V. Bramlett (La Sierra University)
Marc Zvi Brettler (Duke University)
Shlomo Bunimovitz (Tel Aviv University)
Edward F. Campbell, Jr (McCormick Theological Seminary)
Deborah Cantrell (Vanderbilt University)
Michael Chazan (University of Toronto)
Lisa Cooper (University of British Columbia)
Sidnie White Crawford (University of Nebraska-Lincoln)
James L. Crenshaw (Duke University)
Ryan Defonzo (University of Toronto)
William G. Dever (University of Arizona)
Paul-Eugène Dion (University of Toronto)
Catherine A. Duff (University of Toronto)
Avraham Faust (Bar-Ilan University)
Jonathan Ferguson (University of Toronto)
Kevin D. Fisher (University of British Columbia)
Debra Foran (Wilfrid Laurier University)
Pamela Gaber (Lycoming College)
Libby Garshowitz (University of Toronto)
Lawrence T. Geraty (La Sierra University)
Garth Gilmour (University of Oxford)
Seymour Gitin (W. F. Albright Institute of Archaeological Research)
Hilary Gopnik (Emory University)
Joseph A. Greene (Harvard University)
Krzysztof Grzymski (Royal Ontario Museum)
tabula gratulatoria xix
Baruch Halpern (University of Georgia)

Larry Herr (Burman University)
James K. Hoffmeier (Trinity International University)
Robert D. Holmstedt (University of Toronto)
David Ilan (Hebrew Union College)
Morag Kersel (DePaul University)
A. Bernard Knapp (University of Glasgow)
Oystein S. LaBianca (Andrews University)
Nancy Lapp (Pittsburgh Theological Seminary)
Todd Lawson (University of Toronto)
André Lemaire (Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes)
Thomas E. Levy (University of California, San Diego)
David R. Lipovitch (University of Toronto)
Burton MacDonald (St. Francis Xavier University)
Peter Machinist (Harvard University)
Tanya McCullough (University of Pennsylvania)
Zoe McQuinn (University of Toronto)
Sarianna Metso (University of Toronto)
Carol Meyers (Duke University)
Eric M. Meyers (Duke University)
Patrick D. Miller (Princeton Theological Seminary)
Susan Niditch (Amherst College)
Linda S. Northrup (University of Toronto)
Eliezer D. Oren (Ben-Gurion University)
Steven M. Ortiz (Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary)
Victor Ostapchuk (University of Toronto)
Donna Petter (Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary)
Thomas Petter (Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary)
Albert Pietersma (University of Toronto)
Clemens Reichel (University of Toronto)
James A. Reilly (University of Toronto)
Suzanne Richard (Gannon University)
J. J. M. Roberts (Princeton Theological Seminary)
Rivanne Sandler (University of Toronto)
David Schloen (University of Chicago)
Joe D. Seger (Mississippi State University)
Ilan Sharon (Hebrew University)
Mark S. Smith (New York University)
Lawrence Stager (Harvard University)
xx tabula gratulatoria
Susan Stock (Royal Ontario Museum)

Juan Manuel Tebes (Catholic University of Argentina)
David S. Vanderhooft (Boston College)
Andrew G. Vaughn (American Schools of Oriental Research)
James Weinstein (Cornell University)
Robert R. Wilson (Yale University)
Samuel Wolff (Israel Antiquities Authority)
Bryant G. Wood (Associates for Biblical Research)
Egyptian Long-Distance Trade in the Middle
Kingdom and the Evidence at the Red Sea
Harbour at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis
Kathryn Bard
Boston University
Rodolfo Fattovich
University of Naples l’Orientale
Long-distance Trade in the Middle Kingdom
After a period of breakdown of the centralized state in the late third millen-
nium BC (the First Intermediate Period), Egypt was reunified as a result of war-
fare. The victors of this warfare were kings of the later 11th Dynasty, whose
power base was in the south, in Thebes. Known as the Middle Kingdom, this
reunified state consolidated in the 12th Dynasty. The accomplishments of this
dynasty are many, including a number of seafaring expeditions sent to the
Southern Red Sea region from the harbor of Saww at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis.
In the Early Middle Kingdom the reunified Egyptian state began to expand
its activities outside the Nile Valley and abroad, especially for the exploitation
and/or trade of raw materials used to make elite artifacts and tools, as well
as timbers with which to build boats—all not available in Egypt. Copper and
turquoise mines were actively exploited by expeditions in Southwestern Sinai,
where extensive mines date to the Middle and New Kingdoms (Kemp 2006:
141–142; O’Connor 2006: 226). Cedar was imported in large quantities from
Lebanon, and was used to make coffins for high status officials (Berman 2009),
as well as to build seafaring ships that have been excavated at Egypt’s harbor on
the Red Sea at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis (Bard and Fattovich 2007, 2010, 2012). Since
Old Kingdom times Byblos was an important trading center in Lebanon and
continued to be so in the Middle Kingdom (see Kemp 2006: 144–147; Montet
1928: 274–279; Redford 1992: 71–97). In the Middle Kingdom rulers there even
took Egyptian titles (“mayor”, “governor”) (Grajetzki 2006: 136).
Contact with the Levant is also evidenced in the Canaanite pottery found
at sites in the Delta in Northern Egypt (Bietak 1991: 28–29). The so-called Tod
Treasure, a votive deposit of four bronze chests excavated in the Temple of
Montu at Tod in Upper Egypt, shows the wide extent of connections with the
Near East. The chests were dedicated by Senusret I and contained gold and
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_002

2 Bard and Fattovich
silver ingots; silver artifacts; lapis lazuli from Afghanistan; seals and amulets
from the Aegean, Levant and Mesopotamia; and silver cups which are prob-
ably Minoan (see Pierrat-Bonnefois 2008).
Foreign/long-distance trade was not only conducted by Egyptians: Asiatics
were also coming into Egypt. At Tell el-Dab’a in the Northeastern Delta
archaeological evidence indicates the increasing presence of Syro-Palestinian
Middle Bronze Age peoples in an Egyptian city in the late 12th and 13th
Dynasties (Bietak 1996). At Beni Hasan in Middle Egypt there is the well known
scene of 37 ‘Amu (men, women and children) in the 12th Dynasty tomb of
Khnumhotep II (Tomb 3; Newberry 1893), who was nomarch of the Oryx
nome—and “Overseer of the Eastern Desert” during the reign of Senusret II.
Much has been written about this scene, which has usually been described
as a caravan of Asiatics (or Bedouin/Eastern Desert nomads; see Franke 1991:
56; Shaw 1998: 248). Their principal product of trade (“gifts”; Franke 1991: 56)
was galena (lead sulphide) used for eye paint, which may have been obtained
at Gebel Zeit in the Eastern Desert. If these ‘Amu were Asiatics, their route
to Gebel Zeit would have required a long detour to the south of the Eastern
Delta, their entry point into Egypt, and then desert tracks to the Nile Valley
(Aufrère 2002: 211).
The galena mines at Gebel Zeit are located to the north of Mersa/Wadi
Gawasis (see Castel and Soukiassian 1989). According to Shaw (1994: 111), it is
not clear whether the exploitation of raw materials outside the Nile Valley was
always a royal monopoly, and he makes a distinction between low-level exploi-
tation of mineral resources by individuals, such as may be represented in the
Beni Hasan scene, and large-scale expeditions for stone and metals for elite
purposes, such as the seafaring expeditions to Punt, the scale of which could
only have been undertaken by the Crown.
To the south of Egypt’s border with Nubia, however, Egypt faced a major
competitor for access to resources in Upper Nubia and beyond—the Kerma
kingdom, which had become a powerful polity in Upper Nubia by ca. 2000 BC
(and possibly earlier: see Bonnet 2004: 72). Thus, in Lower Nubia the Egyptians
built more permanent facilities of control in the 12th Dynasty than had existed
there earlier in the Old Kingdom.
To the southeast of the Kerma kingdom was the land of Punt, known in
ancient Egyptian texts, which was the source of several important raw materi-
als, including elephant ivory, ebony and incense, as well as gold and exotic live
animals (see Kitchen 1993). Punt was probably a region on the African side
of the Southern Red Sea (Bard and Fattovich 2013). In the later Old Kingdom
(5th Dynasty) a seafaring expedition was sent to Punt by King Sahura, as known
from information recorded on the Palermo Stone king list and reliefs recently
restored from this king’s pyramid causeway (see El Awady 2006). The sea route
Egyptian Long-Distance Trade in the Middle Kingdom 3
of Sahura’s expedition may have been a response to the rise of Nubian poli-
ties of some scale in the later Old Kingdom (see Manzo 1999: 17–20; O’Connor
1986: 43, 47–48). But it was certainly easier to acquire the products of Punt via
overland routes, despite the problems presented there by Nubian polities in
the later Old Kingdom. In his Aswan tomb, the 6th Dynasty nomarch Harkhuf
recorded his four expeditions to Yam, during which he had to deal with dif-
ferent Nubian groups (see Dixon 1958; Edel 1955; Goedicke 1981; Kadish 1966;
Kemp 2006: 126, 129–130; O’Connor 1986: 29–35). Although Harkhuf did not go
to Punt, he mentions bringing back a dwarf from Punt, acquired in Yam, which
was most likely located along the Upper Nile in the Shendi region, to the north
of Khartoum (Kitchen 2004: 25; O’Connor 1986: 35).
By Middle Kingdom times, however, overland routes via the Upper Nile
were controlled by Kerma, and desert tracks to the east of Upper Nubia were
probably also under Kerma control, as suggested by the evidence of a fortified
Kerma Classic site ca. 17 km to the east of Kerma (Bonnet and Reinold 1993:
32). The desert to the east of Upper Nubia may also have been dominated by
nomadic peoples who posed a potential threat to the Egyptian overland travel
there (Bard and Fattovich 2013; Manzo 2010a: 1562, 1565). Clearly the Nubians
of both river and desert regions posed a military threat to Egyptians (O’Connor
1993: 26, 30–31). This was the most important reason that seafaring expeditions
to obtain the exotic raw materials of Punt were sent from the Egyptian harbor
at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis on the Red Sea in the 12th Dynasty. That such seafar-
ing expeditions were very risky ventures is strongly suggested in the Middle
Kingdom literary work, The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor (for a translation see
Simpson 1973: 50–56), not to mention the difficult logistics of getting ships and
equipment from the Nile Valley to the Red Sea, but this route seems to have
been chosen in order to bypass the Kerma polity on the Upper Nile.
The large-scale state organization and logistics that were required to mount
seafaring expeditions from Mersa/Wadi Gawasis to Punt have been the subject
of the recent excavations there, but such expeditions also need to be under-
stood in terms of their historical and cultural contexts, especially the different
strategies for obtaining desired raw materials. Because of the scale of the Punt
seafaring expeditions, they were organized by the state—by decree of the king,
as indicated by inscriptions on stelae that have been excavated at Mersa/Wadi
Gawasis (Bard and Fattovich 2012: 111). Organizing these projects was an effec-
tive government bureaucracy—a characteristic of the ancient Egyptian state
that is particularly evident in the Middle Kingdom, such as the finds of ostraca
and sealings excavated at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis (Bard and Fattovich 2012: 122).
The seafaring expeditions to Punt were conducted mainly by the military, as
indicated by the stela of the early 12th Dynasty vizier Intef-iker found there by
Abdel Monem Sayed (1977: 170).
Beyond the cultural and historical context of geopolitical relations in

Northeast Africa and Southwest Asia during the Middle Kingdom, there are also
ideological dimensions to Egyptian exploitation of resources and the importa-
tion of exotic raw materials. The Egyptian king commanded vast resources,
both human and material, and these resources were focused on specific proj-
ects within the Egyptian belief system, especially the construction of royal
mortuary monuments and cult temples. The large-scale procurement of exotic
resources and raw materials, which in the Middle Kingdom required the con-
struction of huge forts in Nubia and the organization of long-distance seafar-
ing expeditions in the Mediterranean and Red Sea, as well as mining/quarrying
expeditions outside the Nile Valley, were also important to the status and role
of the king.
Kingship in ancient Egypt had an important ideological component. As the
king was the nominal high priest of all temples, it was necessary not only to
build and refurbish temples, but also to donate statues and furnishings to them.
And incense, some of which came from Punt, was necessary in the ceremonies
of all temples—both cult and mortuary. The burning of incense in these tem-
ples was a metaphor for communication with the gods, through which Egypt,
its king and people were ensured prosperity and the favor of the gods.
Other exotic raw materials that came from Punt and elsewhere, such as
gold, ebony, elephant ivory and turquoise, were crafted in Egypt into high sta-
tus goods which were the highly desired artifacts of living persons—the king,
elites and temple personnel. Such “preciosities” also provided royal legitimacy
for the Crown through patronage and display (Smith 2004: 215). And many of
these craft goods were also valued for use in the Egyptian afterlife—as tomb
goods. One of the most important beliefs in ancient Egypt was that of a “good
burial,” which is evidenced not only in the many tombs and burials, but also
in grave goods, some of which were made of costly imported materials not
found in the Egyptian Nile Valley. How these and other exotic raw materials
were procured by the Egyptians in the Middle Kingdom reflects expeditions
which varied greatly in scale and organization, as discussed briefly above, but
the complexities of seafaring expeditions to the Southern Red Sea could only
have been organized by the state.
The Evidence at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis of Seafaring Expeditions and

the Land of Punt
At Mersa/Wadi Gawasis there is evidence of a large sheltered harbor that

was used primarily in the 12th Dynasty (Hein et al. 2011). Material evidence of
these seafaring expeditions includes the remains of ship timbers and riggings,
expedition equipment, and food—all brought from the Nile Valley (Bard and
Fattovich 2012: 117–118, 123). Mounting these expeditions required impressive
logistics as well as a highly organized state bureaucracy. Wood for the large
ship timbers was brought in ships from Lebanon down the coast of the Eastern
Mediterranean to the Nile Delta and then up the Nile to Coptos to the ship-
building yard (see Sayed 1977: 170). Other woods from the Nile Valley, especially
Nile acacia, were also used for ship parts (Gerisch 2007: 185–187). The ships
were then disassembled and carried ca. 150 km through desert wadis across the
Eastern Desert (Bard and Fattovich 2012: 114–115), along with the riggings, as
well as all needed equipment, supplies and food to the harbor on the Red Sea.
All of the ceramics excavated at the harbor site, with the exception of some of
the bread molds and the chaff-tempered “platters,” came from the Nile Valley,
and were made of wares from Upper Egypt, the Memphis-Fayum region, and
the Delta (Wallace-Jones 2008: 49). The remains of several Canaanite jars and
a Nile E cooking pot at the harbor suggest that the Eastern Nile Delta supplied
some of the materials—or even workers—for these seafaring expeditions (see
Wallace-Jones 2008: 46; Wallace-Jones 2010: 22). Probably the most unexpected
ceramic evidence excavated at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis were two potsherds of
Minoan wares (Wallace-Jones 2010: 22–23).
Textual evidence at the site dates to reigns of the 12th Dynasty. From these
inscribed stelae and ostraca we know that expeditions were sent to both Punt
and Bia-Punt (see Mahfouz, Manzo and Pirelli 2007: 217–231). For the purpose
of Egyptian seafaring expeditions, they would have sailed to coastal regions
of Punt and Bia-Punt (the “mine” of Punt) may have been a region in the Punt
hinterland where (gold?) mining took place.
Materials from the Southern Red Sea region excavated at Mersa/Wadi
Gawasis include obsidian (Lucarini 2007: 207) and ebony (Diospyros sp.;
Gerisch 2007: 178–180, 183–184; Gerisch 2008: 71; Gerisch 2010: 55–56). Obsidian
is a hard natural glass of volcanic origin which is found on both sides of the
Southern Red Sea region, in the Horn of Africa and the Southern Arabian pen-
insula (Zarins 1989). Ebony trees grow in the Red Sea Hills of Eastern Sudan and
the western lowlands of Eritrea (Fattovich 1991: 260; see also Kitchen 2004: 26).
Over 40 wooden cargo boxes have been excavated at the harbor site—two of
which were inscribed with the cartouche of Amenemhat IV, the last king of the
12th Dynasty, and a text about their contents—the “wonderful things of Punt”
(Mahfouz 2007: 238). Frankincense would have been the most likely material
to be transported in these boxes from Punt and then perhaps unloaded into
cloth bags for easier transport to the Nile Valley by donkey caravan, but none
has yet been identified at the harbor site.
The imported ceramics at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis from the Southern Red Sea
region, as well as Middle Nubian pottery found there, have been studied by
Andrea Manzo (2007a, 2007b, 2008, 2010b, 2010c). These ceramics have pro-
vided evidence of the contacts of the seafaring expeditions from Mersa/Wadi
Gawasis, including a potsherd from the west coast of what is today the Yemeni
Tihama, dating to the 3rd-2nd millennia BC, as well as potsherds from the Aden
region in Southern Yemen (one from the site of Ma’layba, Phase 1, Sabir culture,
dating to ca. 2000–1500 BC, and two others from this region) (Manzo 2010b:
443–445). Another potsherd found at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis in Cave 3 has been
identified as Gash Group Basket Ware dating to the mid-2nd millennium BC,
from the Eritrean-Sudanese lowlands (Manzo 2010b: 445). Several other sherds
excavated at the harbor site may also be from regions in the Southern Red Sea,
but are atypical (Manzo 2010b: 445). Given the paucity of the ceramic evidence
from both sides of the Southern Red Sea region at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis, they
cannot be used to reconstruct the types of contact with this region, but none-
theless these ceramics demonstrate, along with the other excavated evidence
from the Southern Red Sea region, that Egyptian ships were indeed reaching
Punt, wherever it was located, and returning successfully to their harbor of
Saww.
Thus, at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis, the geological evidence points to the exis-
tence of a large, sheltered harbor in the Middle Kingdom that was used as the
starting and end point for Egyptian seafaring expeditions to the Southern Red
Sea region, the products and ceramics of which have also been identified at
this ancient harbor site.
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―――. 1998. Exploiting the Desert Frontier. The logistics and politicks of ancient
Egyptian mining expeditions. Pp. 242–258 in Social Approaches to an Industrial Past,
eds. A. B. Knapp, V. C. Pigott and E. W. Herbert. London and New York: Routledge.
Simpson, W. K. 1973. The Literature of Ancient Egypt. New Haven and London: Yale
University Press.
Smith, S. T. 2004. Sealing Practice at Askut and the Nubian Fortresses: Implications for
Middle Kingdom Scarab Chronology and Historical Synchronisms. Pp. 203–219 in
Scarabs of the Second Millennium BC from Egypt, Nubia, Crete and the Levant:
Chronological and Historical Implications. Papers of a Symposium, Vienna, 10th–13th
of January 2002, eds. M. Bietak and E. Czerny. Vienna: Verlag der Österrichischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften.
Wallace-Jones, S. 2008. Pottery. Pp. 43–49 in Mersa/Wadi Gawasis, Mission 2007–2008,
eds. K. A. Bard and R. Fattovich. Online: http://193.205.136.29/metarchive2/content/
mersawadi-gawasis.
―――. 2010. Pottery. Pp. 17–25 in Mersa/Wadi Gawasis 2009–2010, eds. K. A. Bard and
R. Fattovich. Online: http://193.205.136.29/metarchive2/content/mersawadi-gawasis.
Zarins, J. 1989. Ancient Egypt and the Red Sea Trade: The Case for Obsidian in the
Predynastic and Archaic Periods. Pp. 339–368 in Essays in Ancient Civilization
Presented to Helene J. Kantor, eds. A. Leonard, Jr. and B. B. Williams, eds. Chicago:
The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Studies in Ancient Oriental
Civilization No. 47.
MB II Flat-Bottomed Handmade Cooking Pots
from Wadi Tumilat: A Useful Chronological
Marker or an Indicator of Technical Style?
Stanley Klassen
Flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots are a signature vessel of the Middle

Bronze Age II in the Southern Levant. However, these cooking pots are not
just a Levantine phenomenon as they appear further south, beyond the North
Sinai, into the Eastern Egyptian Delta, first appearing in this region in the
Middle Bronze IIA1 period. Numerous discussions concerning this vessel type
have focused on whether its various morphological attributes are chronologi-
cal markers during the MB II period, however, there is little consensus among
scholars. The handmade cooking pots found in the Delta region are usually
deemed ‘Asiatic’ in style with some considered imports from the north (Aston
2002: 46), indicators of a Syro-Palestine pastoral community in the Delta region
marking the pre-Hyksos period (Redmount 1995a; 1995b). Unfortunately, these
vessels, so common in the early phases of the MBII at so many sites, are seldom
discussed in detail.
These vessels are found at a number of sites located in the Egyptian Delta,
primarily to the east of the Pelusiac branch of the Nile, and they have been
suggested to be typologically analogous to those that occur to the north. Aston
(2002: 45f), for example, lists numerous sites in the Southern Levant where
similar vessels occur to those found at Tell el-Dabʿa. However, on closer exam-
ination, similarities are less obvious than expected. The handmade cooking
pots in the Eastern Delta are different stylistically, and generalizations of mor-
phological parallels should not be used.
Redmount (1989: 251; 1995a: 187) rightly distinguishes differences in the
forms excavated at Tell el-Maskhuta from those identified at other Southern
* This paper is dedicated to John S. (Jack) Holladay Jr., who I am proud to consider my teacher,
mentor, colleague, and friend. His approach to archaeology goes beyond just putting a trowel
in the ground as he has always insisted on utilizing a multi-disciplinary approach incorporat-
ing anthropology, ethnography and the sciences, to name a few.
1 MB IIA hereafter. It is well beyond the scope of this paper to delve into the ongoing chrono-
logical debate of the Middle Bronze Age in North Egypt and Syro-Palestine (see Bietak 2013;
1997: 125f; Dever 1997; 1991; 1985; Marcus 2013; and Szafranski (2002)).

12 Klassen
Levantine sites, suggesting the forms found in the Delta are unique to the
region. Although a connection to a Syro-Palestinian heritage occurs at Tell
el-Maskhuta, the flat-bottomed cooking pots “exhibit subtle yet distinctive
differences in shape and decoration from their Syro-Palestinian prototypes”
(Redmount 1995b: 78). This is also true of those handmade cooking pots col-
lected on a survey of sites in the Wadi Tumilat. Holladay (1997: 190) is correct
in suggesting that these vessels are similar to those uncovered at Tell el-
Maskhuta. However, Redmount states that flat-bottomed cooking pots with
stick impressions are more numerous at surveyed sites than Tell el-Maskhuta
(1989: 827, fn. 15). On re-examination, there may in fact be more differences
between the sites in the region than first thought, and when compared to the
handmade cooking pots discovered at sites to the north, the disparity becomes
even more obvious. I will argue that key morphological features formed in the
initial stage of production are clearly apparent, and that the choices utilized by
the potter are technical and produced through culturally learned behavior. The
MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pot is perhaps best described by vari-
ant ‘technical styles’, rather than by using the traditional approach of regional
typologies.
Typology of Flat-bottomed Handmade Cooking Pots Southern

Levantine Forms
Scholars have long argued that morphological variation in finger impressions

and ‘stick holes’,2 and the placement of rope moulding or appliqué decoration,
are indicative of chronological change through the MB IIA/B at certain sites.
Others, however, refute this. An initial study by Albright (1932) from material
excavated at Tel Beit Mirsim, suggests that the MB IIA variations showed a
‘steam hole’ above a rope moulding, eventually changing to a stick impression,
which does not perforate the vessel wall, later in this period. These partial stick
perforations continued, along with thumb impressions, during the transitional
MB IIA/B. The MB IIB period saw a continuation of thumb impressions, with
2 This is a common term used by many scholars to indicate the small circular perforations that
penetrate completely or partially through the vessel wall. However, this term is misleading
as there are no studies, that this author is aware of, that would suggest that a stick may have
been used to create these holes. Coarse grasses, reeds or straw are equally likely to have been
used as a tool.
MB II Flat-Bottomed Handmade Cooking Pots from Wadi Tumilat 13
the rope moulding slowly moving upwards towards the rim in the latter part of
the MB IIB period.3
Cole (1984: 61–63, fig. 16, pls 23:a–d, 24:a–b) develops the typology initi-
ated by Albright, based on the excavations at Tel Shechem in strata XX–XVIII.
His typological abbreviation of this vessel4 has become widely used in the
Southern Levant (see Berelov 2006). He identifies the MB IIA form as Cf A.2
with a vertical rim and vestigial ‘stick holes’ above the rope moulding. This is
followed by Cf A.3 appearing in the MB IIB strata XX–XIX, with a vertical rim
which shows only a thumb impressed rope decoration. Cf B.3, attributed to
strata XX–XVIII, is slightly inverted with a rope decoration below the rim.
Flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots from some sites appear to fit within
this established typology. At Aphek, both thumb and stick impressions occur
simultaneously, indicating an MB IIA/Early MB IIB phase based on Cole’s
typology. There is little to no discussion of typological differences through the
four phases in which the handmade cooking pots appear at Aphek (Beck 1985;
2000; Cohen 2002; Kochavi and Yadin 2002: figs. 12:11, 16:9–11, and 23:13–14),
although based on the published images, there appears to be a trend towards
a more everted rim shape in the later phases. Adherence to this typology does
not occur at all sites, such as Beth Shean (Maeir 1997: 12), Ashkelon (Stager
2002: 354, fig. 7), and Tell el-Hayyat (Falconer and Fall 2006), which shows evi-
dence where partial or full stick impressions do not change through time and
occur contemporaneously.
Other studies have attempted to move beyond the Albright and Cole typolo-
gies due to their lack of consistency. For example, Maeir (1997: 100f) identi-
fies two types of flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots within his Group A
(Open Cooking Pots), one described as a more open or flared form CP1 (1997:
pls. 13:10–11) and the other as CP2 (1997: pls. 13:12–14:7),5 with a vertical stance.
There is a further division of the CP2 into two sub-types: with plastic decora-
tion at the rim (CP2a) and with plastic decoration below the rim (CP2b).
The typology developed at Zahrat adh-Dhraʿ emphasizes differences in ves-
sel size, rim angle and the angle of the vessel wall, rather than on the presence/
absence or positioning of rope appliqué and impressions (Berelov 2006). Three
sub-types have been identified: Cfs A.2 (2006: 69, figs. 5.1.g–h, 5.5), a small ves-
sel with vertical sides and thumb or stick impressions that partially pierce the
3 For a succinct but detailed description of the development of this typology, see Berelov
(2006: 84f).
4 Cole (1984) refers to these vessels as “flat-bottom cookpots” and abbreviates them to Cf.
5 A limited number of the CP1 types make him question this division.
14 Klassen
vessel wall above a rope appliqué;6 Cfl A.2 (2006: 69, figs. 5.1.i-j, 5.5), a larger
version with straight sides and everted rim; and Cf A 2 (2006: 69, fig. 5.1.k), a
flat-bottomed globular vessel with an inverted rim and upper wall and appli-
qué with impressions above.7
Sinai Forms
Oren does not give any typological description of the flat-bottomed handmade
cooking pots found in the Northern Sinai, but the images published (Oren 1979:
278, figs. 8.25.3–14) suggest a variety of forms and sizes. Rim types include both
rounded and flattened vertical (figs. 8.25.3, 8 and 12), everted (figs. 8.25.6, 9, and
10), and inverted (fig. 8.25.13) forms. More complex forms include grooved or
irregular shaped vertical (figs. 8.25.2 and 5), and everted rims (figs. 8.25.7 and
11). ‘Stick’ impressions that penetrate through, or partially through the vessel
wall just below the rim, appear to be a feature common to all. Another fea-
ture that appears on many of the vessels is the appearance of an appliqué,
some with what appears to be scalloping (figs. 8.25.4 and 6), vestigial handles
(figs. 8.25.12 and 13), or lugs (fig. 8.25.10). One vessel has a finger groove on the
exterior within which the pierced holes are placed (fig. 8.25.11).
Eastern Delta Forms Tell el-Dabʿa
Flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots are confined to Strata H through

G1/3 at Tell el-Dabʾa. Although Bietak (1991: 40) mentions that they occur
in stratum F, he suggests their “rare appearance” in this phase is residual as
they occur in disturbed contexts. The forms are classified based on fabric
with emphasis primarily on whether finger and stick impressions exist. Little
description is given about the rim shapes, although Kopetzky describes that
rims with a vertical stance occur (2010: 208, form 421) and the sides of the ves-
sels run perpendicular to the base (2010: 213). Based on the published images,
rims appear to range from inverted to everted, although, there does not appear
to be a development through time. Rim diameters vary between 15 to 34 cm for
form 447 (2010: 213–14), and between 13 to 47 cm for form 459 (2010: 217). This
range in diameters, along with the appearance of either ‘stick holes’ or finger
impressions, indicates a wide degree of variability. Only one example shows
6 One example does not have rope applications (Berelov 2006: fig. 5.1.h).
7 Only one example of this sub-type exists at Zahrat adh-Dhraʿ.
evidence of a bar handle (appliqué?) with a finger groove below (2010: 214, ves-
sel K3321–81).
Wadi Tumilat Survey
Excavations and a regional survey in the Wadi Tumilat,8 directed by John S.

Holladay Jr., produced an immense number of flat-bottomed handmade cook-
ing pots, perhaps the largest number in the region. Redmount (1989: 227) indi-
cates that a total of 148 examples9 of handmade cooking pots were uncovered
at 13 surveyed sites in the Wadi Tumilat, with all but two of these located in
the central division of the Wadi. An evaluation of those vessels published by
Holladay (1997: 240f) and those appearing on pottery cards in the Wadi Tumilat
archives,10 confirms Redmount’s view that ‘stick hole’ perforations are far
more prevalent at the surveyed sites than at Tell el-Maskhuta (1989: 27, fn. 15).
Table 3 lists the number of sherds that show clear evidence of finger impres-
sions and ‘stick hole’ perforations identified at the surveyed sites. It is nearly a
1:1 ration overall with some sites, such as Site 26 with an almost 3:1 ratio of ‘stick
holes’ over finger impressions.
As published in Holladay (1997), the handmade cooking pots at Site 25
(Birak el Nazzazat), have rim shapes that are predominately rounded with a
vertical (1997: 240, pl. 7.13.2) or a slightly everted stance (1997: 240, pl. 7.13.6).
At Site 37 (Tell el-Kuʾa), rim shapes vary between round (1997: 242, pl. 7.15.10),
tapered (1997: 242, pl. 7.15.11), and flattened (1997: 242, pl. 7.15.16). The variety
of these vessels is also noticeable in the stance as they occur as inverted (1997:
242, pl. 7.15.11), vertical (1997: 242, pl. 7.15.12), and everted (1997: 242, pl. 7.15.14).
A number of the vessels appear to be a bowl form (1997: 242, pl. 7.15.16 and 17).
However, a more complete profile might suggest otherwise.11 The handmade
cooking pots from Site 62/63 continue the tradition of rounded or slightly flat-
tened rims with a vertical or slightly everted stance (1997: 243, pl. 7.16.7). One
vessel has a possible ledge handle or appliqué just below the ‘stick holes’ (1997:
pl. 7.16.4). As at Tell el-Dabʿa, the noticeable morphological difference from the
8 Five seasons of excavation were conducted at Tell el-Maskhuta with surveys and excava-
tions at specific sites in the Wadi Tumilat between the 1978 and 1985 (see Holladay 1982;
MacDonald 1980; and Redmount 1989).
9 This number includes both rims and bases as does that from Tell el-Maskhuta (see below).
10 All Field records for the Wadi Tumilat Project are housed in the Department of Near and
Middle Eastern Civilizations at the University of Toronto.
11 A bowl form does appear in the North Sinai (Oren 1979: 278, fig. 8.25.3).
16 Klassen
cooking pots uncovered at sites to the north is the lack of an appliqué or rope
decoration.
Tell el-Maskhuta12
Although a full count of flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots has not been
published from Tell el-Maskhuta, I was able to isolate 447 rim and base exam-
ples in the pottery drawing records in the Wadi Tumilat archives.13 The rim
shapes at Tell el-Maskhuta vary between rounded (Figs. 1:1–18),14 tapered, (Figs.
2:9–10), grooved (Figs. 2:1–5), and flattened (Figs. 2:6–8). The majority of the
flat-bottomed cooking pots at Tell el-Maskhuta have a vertical (Figs. 1:1–7, 2:2–5,
8–9) or slightly everted stance (Figs. 1:8–15, 2:1, 6–7, 10), although some inverted
forms do appear (Figs. 1:16–18). Redmount (1989: 827) suggests that some of
the more everted forms “appear to have a ‘waist’ where the eversion begins.”
(see Redmount 1989: fig. 137:1). Un-fortunately, not enough of the vessel body
remains to see if it would follow Berelov’s (2006: 69) Cf A 2 form (see above).
If one attempts to fit the vessels from Tell el-Maskhuta into the various typolo-
gies established in the Southern Levant, it quickly becomes apparent that this
Eastern Delta material does not fall into the same categories as Redmount
suggests (1995b: 78). They appear to be distinctive and of their own unique
style. There is no correlation between an earlier ‘stick hole’ tradition as finger
impressions predominate throughout the four phases (Fig. 3). Furthermore, as
at other Eastern Delta sites, only a few vessels show evidence of appliqué or
rope decoration (Redmount 1989: figs. 137:6, 137:11; Holladay 1997: pl. 7.10.13).15
There may be a correlation between stance and phasing as inverted rims do
not appear in Phase 1 at the site. This would suggest that the inverted forms
appear in Phase 2 and continue through Phase 4 (Fig. 4). Rounded and flat-
tened rims are also common to Phase 1 whereas the grooved rims appear later
in Phase 3 and continue into Phase 6. Rims identified as tapered only occur in
12 I would like to thank Alyssa Beaudoin for assistance with the pottery plates and Calypso
Kenney for working on the Tell el-Maskhuta MB II flat bottomed handmade cooking pot
database.
13 The total number of rim and base sherds is taken from material excavated from all phases.
This also includes data complied vessel diameter unless specified. For rim shape and the
type of impression identified, the rims analyzed are restricted to phases 1 through 4 and
the tombs that are clearly identified by the project as MB II stratum (Holladay 1997).
14 For details on sherds from Tell el-Maskhuta appearing in Figures 1 and 2, see Tables 1 and 2.
15 Holladay (1997: 237) notes that this appliqué could be an impressed handle or decoration.
Figure 1 Representative examples of of MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots from

Tell el-Maskhuta.
18
Table 1 MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots from Tell el-Maskhuta in Figure 1. Distance of decoration treatment from vessel rim and base is
measured to the centre of the impression. Where more than one impression is evident, the average is taken.
Figure Reg number Diam % Locus Phase Treatment Comments Distance Rim Type
Number from rim
(mm)
1:1 M85.R1.375.2 22.0 12 1253 2 Stick 1 Impression ~ 20 from top rnd vrt
1:2 M81.R5.36.2 22.0 ? 5026 T1 Stick—through 1 Impression ~ 9 from top rnd vrt
1:3 M81.R1.14.5 27.0 2 1008 8/9? Stick 1 Impression ~ 21 from top rnd vrt
1:4 M85.R1.450.2 25.0 2 1310 2 Stick 1 Impression ~ 17 from top rnd vrt
1:5 M83.R1.269.7 28.0 4.5 1167 4 Stick 1 Impression ~ 14 from top rnd vrt
1:6 M85.R1.416.5/6 28.0 8 1180/1156 3 Finger Impression no Impressionion visable rnd vrt
1:7 M83.L12.439.4 25.0 10.0 12246 4 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, ~50mm between ~ 19 from top rnd vrt
1:8 M83.R6.140.10 20.0 6.5 6046A 4 Finger Impression 3 Impressions, 15 and 15mm between ~ 17 from top rnd evrt
1:9 M85.R7.609.29 50.0 1.5 7605 2 Finger Impression 1 Impression ~ 19 from top rnd evrt
1:10 M83.R6.117.12 24.0 4 6046A 4 Finger Impression 1 Impression ~ 24 from top rnd evrt
1:11 M83.R7.122.7 17.0 11.0 7068 3 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 14mm between ~ 20 from top rnd evrt
1:12 M83.R7.118.8 25.0 6.0 7059 3 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 15mm between ~ 19 from top rnd evrt
1:13 M83.R7.139.15 27.0 7.5 7065 2 Finger Impression 3 Impressions, 12 and 3mm between ~ 16 from top rnd evrt
1:14 M83.R8.63.8 28.0 9 8053 6/later Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 11mm between ~ 22 from top rnd evrt
1:15 M83.R7.513.3 24.0 12 7509 3 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 16mm between ~ 21 from top rnd evrt
1:16 M81.R2.99.5 31.0 6 2071 T5 Finger Impression 1 Impression ~ 21 from top rnd invrt
Klassen
1:17 M83.L12.522.9 16.0 10.0 12290 3 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 8 mm between ~ 15 from top rnd invrt
1:18 M81.R2.84.1 20.0 4 2055/56 T4/T5 Stick—through 1 Impression ~ 17 from top rnd invrt
Figure 2 Representative examples of MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots from

Tell el-Maskhuta.
20
Table 2 MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots from Tell el-Maskhuta in Figure 2. Distance of decoration treatment from vessel rim and base is
measured to the centre of the impression. Where more than one impression is evident, the average is taken.
Figure Reg number Diam % Locus Phase Treatment Comments Distance from Rim
Number rim (mm) Type
2:1 M83.L12.428.7 39.0 6.0 12236 3 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 15, between ~60 from top grv evrt
2:2 M83.R1.200.1 28.0 5.0 1140 4 Finger Impression 1 Impression 25 from top grv vrt
2:3 M83.R8.129.7 20.0 3 8091 3 Stick 1 Impression ~17 from top grv vrt
2:4 M83.R6.132.21 30.0 5 6103 4 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 20mm between ~22 from top grv vrt
2:5 M83.R6.118.1 15.0 12 7059 3 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 20mm between 20 from top grv vrt
2:6 M83.R7.513.42 24.0 5.5 7509 3 Finger Impression 1 Impression ~16 from top flt evrt
2:7 M83.R6.117.8 14.0 6 6046A 4 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 9mm between ~16 from top flt evrt
2:8 M81.R1.22.3 20.0 4 1007 8/9 Finger Impression 2 Impressions, 8mm between ~23 from top flt vrt
2:9 M83.R8.153.17 24.0 6.5 8103 2 Finger Impression 1 Impression ~17 from top tpr vrt
2:10 M81.R3.29.8 14.0 5.5 3006 T11 Finger Impression/ Stick 1 Impression ~17 from top tpr evrt
2:11 M83.R7.1.4 10.0 33.0 7001 surf. Finger Impression/ Stick 1 Impression, 1 hole; 53mm between 8 from base n/a
2:12 M83.R8.153.46 24.0 5 8103 2 Finger Impression Finger grooves inside pulling up n/a
Klassen
Table 3 Stick hole and finger impressions on MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pot
sherds from Wadi Tumilat Survey Sites. The total equals all MBII flat-bottomed
handmade cooking pot diagnotics.
Survey Site Type of Decoration Total

Number
Finger Stick
11 1 0 1
16 2 0 2
17 2 3 6
19 0 1 1
23 0 0 1
25 18 10 40
26 6 16 23
34 2 2 5
35 0 1 2
37 6 2 12
61 0 1 1
62 10 13 40
65 2 3 14
49 52 148
60
50
40
Number of Rims
Stick
30 Finger
20
10
0
1 2 3 4 5 6 Tomb
Phases and Tombs
Figure 3 Histogram showing the type of impressions evident on the MB II flat-bottomed
handmade cooking pots for Phases and Tombs at Tell el-Maskhuta.
22 Klassen
30
25
1
2
Number of Vessels
20
3
15 4
5
10 6
Tomb
5
0
rnd rnd rnd grv grv grv flt flt tpr tpr
evrt vrt invrt evrt vrt invrt evrt vrt evrt vrt
Rim type
Figure 4 Histogram showing the rim types of MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots
according to phases at Tell el-Maskhuta. (rnd =round, grv=grooved, flt=flat,
tpr=tapered, evrt=everted, vrt=vertical, and invrt=inverted).
Phase 2 and the tombs. A clear difference in context is also apparent, as there
is a prevalence of handmade cooking pots with ‘stick hole’ impressions in the
tombs (Fig. 3). In fact, 4 of the 5 handmade cooking pots in Tomb 11 have ‘stick
holes’, with the fifth undetermined.
A wide variation in diameters is also a feature that indicates disparate
production of these vessels. The majority of vessels at Zahrat adh-Dhraʿ are
between 30–38 cm in diameter, though they range from 18–60 cm (Berelov
2006: 186). In a similar manner, the range of rim diameters at Maskhuta is 6–60
cm (Fig. 5, Table 4) with a mode of 30 cm, while the bases range from 6–45
cm with a mode of 20 cm (Fig. 6). Unlike at Zahrat adh-Dhraʿ, there does not
appear to be a correlation between diameter and stance. Vertical, inverted and
everted stances occur on vessels with a variety of diameters.
This brief overview of the various attempts to classify flat-bottomed hand-
made cooking pots clearly indicates that there is little consensus on the stylis-
tic variances of these vessels found at sites in the Southern Levant and those
in the North Sinai and Eastern Delta. It is hard to argue against studies that
truly show a chronological difference in the handmade cooking pots (see Cole
1984). However, this is not consistent at all sites in the Southern Levant (Maier
1997: 102). For example, ‘stick holes’, identified as the indicator of an early form
in the MB IIA, do not always appear (Falconer and Fall 2006: 49), and there is
often unexpected diversity in the placement of appliqué or moulding, and the
presence or absences of perforations (2006: 52, fig. 4.7). This also holds true for
40
35
30
Number of Vessels
25
20
15
10
0
6 8 10 12 14 16 18 20 22 24 26 28 30 32 34 36 38 40 42 44 46 48 50 52 54 56 58 60
Vessel Diametre
Figure 5 Histogram showing rim diametres of MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots
from Tell el-Maskhuta.
Table 4 Measures of Central Tendency of Tell el-Maskhuta MB II flat-bottomed handmade

cooking pot rims and bases
Rims Bases
Mode 30 20
Median 25.1 25
Mean 27.1 24.6
Max 60 45
Min 6 6
Total 302 91
the North Sinai and the Eastern Delta, forcing one to wonder if regionalism
plays a much larger role than has been considered in past studies, due to the
difference in morphological features evident at the various sites where these
vessel are found. It is perhaps time to move away from macroscopic generaliza-
tions about the shape and style of the flat-bottomed handmade cooking pot of
the Southern Levant and look at what occurs at the micro or site level.
24 Klassen
5
Number of Vessels
0
6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 2425 2627 2829 30 31 32 33 34353637 383940 41 42434445
Diametre of Base
Figure 6 Histogram showing base diametres of MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots
from Tell el-Maskhuta.
Forming Techniques Tell el-Maskhuta
These particular vessels are usually referred to as hand-made for good rea-
son. At times, the rims of these vessels are so asymmetrical, it is often difficult
to determine an accurate rim diameter (Steiner 2001: figs. 13.7.124–128 and
3.13.38–43).16 Although few details of construction techniques emerge in print,
images indicate inconsistent shape, size, irregular rims, variation in appli-
qué, and finger or stick impressions (see Berelov 2006: fig. 5.1g–k; Kenyon and
Holland 1982: figs. 140–147). The vessels from Tell el-Maskhuta are no exception.
Bases indicate the potter likely started with a circular base and then added
coils to increase the height (see also Ziffer 1990: 36*). Both the interior and
exterior were smoothed through pinching (see also Oren 1997: 278, figs. 25.5, 7
and 10) or with fingers, evident in the irregular drag marks across the surface or
those indicating pulling the clay vertically (Fig. 2:12; see also Oren 1997: 278, fig.
8.25.9). Ridges indicative of coiling are often noticeable on the interior, hori-
zontal to the rim and evident in the section. However, some of the pots are as
small as 6.0 cm in diameter, and therefore it is possible that these were made
entirely in the pinch pot technique. Of the few samples this author analyzed,
16 Of these eleven illustrations, only one lists a diameter of 16 cm, whereas the others have a
question mark.
Figure 7 Image of voids indicating organic inclusions (image width = 4 cm).

Note: finger impression (centre) impressed from the top of the
vessel (rim towards the top of the image).
secondary forming techniques are clearly evident where wiping occurs in a

relatively horizontal direction on both the interior and exterior of the sherd.
Wiping does not appear to be made while the vessel is turning, as the marks
often indicate a quick fluid change in direction, suggesting movement of the
hand while the vessel is stationary or rotated only at intervals.
Further evidence suggesting these vessels were handmade is evident in the
lack of orientation of the inclusions, primarily the voids (Fig. 7). These are
extremely random with orientation in all directions suggesting a pinching
technique (Rye 1981: 70).
The application of the finger and stick impressions further indicates
the irregularity of the construction of these vessels.17 There is no correla-
tion between rim form, diameter, or placement of the ‘stick holes’ and fin-
ger impressions below the rim (Tables 1 and 2).18 ‘Stick holes’ penetrate both
through and partially through the vessel wall. Finger impressions appear to be
applied with both hands as horizontal impression are made from both the left
and the right. They are pressed from either the top of the vessel, or the side.
There is also inconsistency in which fingers are used, which is apparent where
17 Falconer and Fall (2006: 52f) also note diversity in the flat bottomed cooking pots identi-
fied in Phase 3. Pierced “steam holes” appear as both partial and complete, and at time
nonexistent, and the placement and style of the applied decoration is very diverse.
18 The distance of the impression from the apex of the rim, or the bottom of the base, is
given as an average distance to the center of all the impressions identified on the sherd.
26 Klassen
impressions pushed to a similar depth in the vessel wall vary in width. Even
the spacing of the impressions appears random. In one example, where seven
impressions still remain, the spacing between these impressions ranges from
1 mm to as much as 16 mm. There does not appear to be a consistent pattern
where numerous impressions are evident.
Fabric and Provenance of the Eastern Delta Cooking Pots
Stylistic variances of the flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots between sites

in the Southern Levant, the Sinai and the Eastern Delta, strongly suggest local
production in and around the sites where these vessels occur (see Falconer and
Fall 2006: 107f). Neutron Activation Analyses (NAA) by Falconer (1987) indi-
cates that the chemical fingerprint of samples analyzed within a site is fairly
consistent and groups are differentiated from those of other sites, particularly
in the Jordan Valley. Maier’s (1997: 176) analysis contrasts this, as he suggests
the straight sided cooking pots (CP2) in his INAA study show a limited number
of production centres, although he concludes that these production centres
produced the handmade vessels at a household level.
Local production of flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots has also been
identified at Tell el Dabʾa through fabric analysis, where only one vessel (form
543) was identified as imported to the site (Kopetzky 2010: 249; see also Aston
2002). Kopetzky (2010: 42) indicates that three types of clays were used to pro-
duce the various forms identified: clay type I-e-1, very coarse Nile clay with
rounded sands and organic inclusions, was used for a single vessels (form 421);
clay type I-e-2 (the most dominant) identified as a coarse sand with organic
and carbonate inclusions, was used for form 447; and type I-e-3 (used exclu-
sively for the flat-bottomed cooking pots form 459) is described as a coarse Nile
clay with coarse organic material and angular to rounded sand. Both I-e-1 and
I-e-2 at Tell el Dabʾa are identified as Nile E fabrics.
The Wadi Tumilat Project was extremely thorough in recording the Ware
group assigned to each of the sherds that were drawn in the field. Of the many
vessels identified, the handmade cooking pots fall into a limited number of
Ware groups identified by the project. Ware group 74 is consistent with the flat-
bottomed handmade cooking pots from the Wadi Tumilat Survey sites. Of the
148 sherds retrieved, only two are made from a different fabric. One sherd from
Site 25 (Birak el Nazzazat) is identified as Ware 42 which is described as a red to
reddish yellow fine siliceous riverine clay with, inclusions of mica, limestone,
medium to large sand sized sub-round to round quartz with organic and chaff
casts. In addition, the only sherd from Site 61 was made with Ware 46, identi-
fied as a dark reddish brown, fine textured clay with inclusions composed of
fine mica, limestone and quartz, with a high percentage of fine to medium
organic and chaff casts. Both Ware 42 and 46 are identified as clays local to
the region.
The flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots from Tell el-Maskhuta, fall into
three Ware groups. Only one sherd was identified as composed of Ware Group
79 subgroup f, which is defined as a weak red to dark gray micaceous clay with
fine to medium riverine sand inclusions of quartz, limestone, and coarse iron
oxide matrix and fine organics inclusions. Ware group 72 was assigned to three
of the bases and two rims and is defined as reddish to light brown micaceous
clay with fine riverine sand inclusions composed of mainly fine to medium
sand sized quartz with fine sub-rounded limestone, medium iron oxides and
fine to medium organic and chaff casts. Ware group 74 was assigned to all other
examples and is described as reddish brown to brown coarse clay with riverine
sand composed largely of many small to large sub-round quartz, small sub-
rounded limestone and large organic and chaff casts.19 Although this descrip-
tion is general in nature, I have analyzed four samples20 belonging to Ware
group 74, and found that the primary difference between the sherds is the
amount and size of quartz (ranging between 5 to 15 percent) and organic tem-
per (ranging between 5 to 25 percent). Fine angular mica was also identified in
every sherd ranging from 1 to 3 percent. The clay matrix in all four samples is
silty in nature, some examples slightly more than others, the finest resembling
Nile C with the coarser resembling Nile E fabric groups of the Vienna system
(Nordström and Bourriau, 1993). A similar mineral suite is found in all four
samples suggesting a common geological source for the clay.
The petrographic analysis I conducted on these four sherds confirms the
macroscopic descriptions provided above.21 The samples range from a light
brown to dark brown or almost black in PPL and show indeterminate ori-
entation. Two samples are optically inactive while two are not. The samples
are fairly porous with voids, ranging between 6 and 25 percent. The voids are
random in orientation, representing both the cross and long section (ranging
between .4 to 2.7 mm) of plant material added as temper by the potter evident
19 The Ware group descriptions are found in the unpublished Field notes as defined by
P. Holladay, P. Paice, and C. Redmount.
20 M79.H8.223.2, M79.N1.161.1A, M79.L13.5.6 and M78.L2.74.6.
21 A more detailed petrographic report was submitted by the author to E. Oren for future
publication.
28 Klassen
Figure 8 Photomicrograph showing voids containing silica skeletons of a highly tempered

petrofabric (Plane polarized light, image width = 3.8 mm).
by the blunt nature of the ends. Sedge has also been identified as a vegetal
inclusion, however, it is very fine and may occur naturally within the clay. The
interpretation of these voids as organic negatives is confirmed by the evidence
of poorly preserved silica skeletons within many of the voids (Fig. 8).
Although there is slight variation in both the percentage and size of the
aplastic inclusions in the four samples analyzed, they appear to be fairly
uniform in the types of inclusions present. All samples show a bimodal
distribution of quartz represented by 1 to 8 percent rounded medium to coarse
sand sized quartz, and 8 to 15 percent moderately sorted, angular silt to fine
sand-sized quartz. Coarse to fine sand-sized micritic carbonates are present
in all the samples at 1 to 5 percent, with silt to fine sand-sized, sub-angular to
angular inclusions of biotite, muscovite, amphiboles, feldspars such as plagio-
clase, trace microcline, orthoclase, and sanidine, both ortho- and clinopyrox-
ene, epidote, and well-rounded opaques (Fig. 9).
The results of the petrographic analysis reaffirms the Ware groups identified
by the Wadi Tumilat Project. However, the data suggests that there are subtle
differences in the fabrics, and that the identification of subgroups may help
Figure 9 Photomicrograph of petrofabric showing bimodal quartz inclusions with fine

mica evident (Crossed polarized light, image width = 3.8 mm).
clarify whether there are differences in production that can be associated with
either sites in the region, or to specific morphology. Local production can be
assumed based on the mineral suite identified, suggesting coarse Nilotic clay
gathered from wetland areas, due to the fine inclusions of sedge common to
the Wadi Tumilat region. However, differences in the petro-fabrics suggest that
specific choices were made by the potters in the production of these hand-
made cooking pots. This is clearly evident in the form of temper added to clays,
identifiable by the voids, which indicate the addition of chaff, while the bimo-
dality of the quartz suggests the addition of medium to coarse sand.
Functional Approach
A number of scholars have attempted to interpret the function of these unique

vessels based on physical attributes. Many have argued that the perforations
in the upper part of the rim indicate the vessels were likely used for steam-
ing (Albright 1932: 1; Maeir 1997: 100f; Cole 1984: 61). Others, however, have
30 Klassen
suggested that baking (Stager 2002: 355) or roasting (Magness-Gardiner 1995:

186) may have been how the vessels were used.22 Ziffer (1990: 39*) proposes that
since two types of cooking pots appear in the MB II period (the flat-bottomed
handmade cooking pot and the ‘wheel made’ hole mouth cooking pot), they
were likely used for two different methods of cooking involving the prepara-
tion of two kinds of food. At many sites, the number of handmade cooking pots
decreases over time, while the number of ‘wheel-made’ cooking pots increases
(see Bietak 1991; Bunimovitz and Finkelstein 1993; Cole 1984; Holladay 1997;
Singer-Avitz 2004b), although the opposite is true at Tell el-Hayyat (Falconer
and Fall 2006). If one adheres to Ziffer’s view, this might indicate a change in
cuisine. Using a similar argument based on identity, some scholars have sug-
gested that the MB II handmade cooking pots were produced and used by
nomadic or local “pastoral” groups in the Delta region (Bietak 1991: 31; 1997:
97; Holladay 1997: 190) and the Sinai (Oren 1997: 279). It has been noted that
the higher percentage of cooking vessels in situ compared to smaller remov-
able items at Zahrat adh-Dhraʿ may indicate caching by semi-nomadic groups
using the structures seasonally (Berelov 2006: 98).23 However, production of
the handmade cooking pots by nomadic groups has been downplayed by other
scholars working in the Southern Levant, where these vessels occur at larger
settled sites alongside the so-called ‘wheel made’ cooking pots representing
urban production (Stager 2002: 355). Falconer and Fall (2006: 107f) propose
that the flat-bottom and vertical wall creates a weak joint, making this ves-
sel unlikely to have been transported, and therefore indicative of localized
production, whereas Aston (2002: 45) suggests they may have been easier
to carry. Although comparison with later Negebite vessels24 is compelling
(Holladay 1997: 190), the context of many of the handmade cooking pots does
not suggest a consistent connection with non-sedentary peoples. They occur
in large urban centres (Ashkelon, Jerusalem etc.), smaller rural sites (Zahrat
22 If the ‘stick holes’ are suggestive of steaming, then most of the established typologies
would be forced to limit this process to the Early MB IIA. The partial ‘stick holes’ and fin-
ger impressions believed to appear later do not penetrate the vessel wall and would not
be functional. It could be argued that perforated lids may have been used, but none have
been published from this time period to my knowledge. It would seem presumptuous to
suggest what type of cooking these vessels were used for without proper use-ware and
residue analyses.
23 Eerkens (2008) also refers to the possibility of caching by nomadic potters in the prehis-
toric period of the Great Western Basin in the Southwestern United States.
24 See Haiman and Goren (1992), Martin and Finkelstein (2013), and Meshel (2002), for dis-
cussions of the provenance of Negebite Ware and its connection to pastoral groups.
adh-Dhraʿ), temple and domestic contexts (Tell el-Hayyat), and even tombs
(Tell el-Maskhuta).25 Certainly, the MBII flat-bottomed handmade cooking
pot was uniquely diverse in all function, and is perhaps best evaluated in a dif-
ferent light than it has been to date.
Technical Style
It has been suggested that unconscious mechanical attributes, also defined as

“non-discursive” (Roddick and Hastorf 2010), relate closely to motor habits and
skill, reflecting the organization of production more directly. These uncon-
scious attributes are a learned process, often through peripheral participation
(Gosselain and Livingstone Smith 2005; 1995) and are part of social memory.
In the production of pottery, for example, the steps taken and choices made by
the potter, according to Gosselain “proceed from the social contexts in which
they learn and practice their craft” (1998: 82). The choices made are apparent
in the technique used to produce the final product, resulting in a distinctive
‘technological style’ (Lechtman 1977).26 The final product, in our case the hand-
made flat-bottomed cooking pot, can be reached through a variety of methods.
Thus producing a variety of technical styles.
Ethnographic research has shown that stylistic expression is evident at every
stage of the production process, and that this expression can be stable for long
periods of time due to ‘non-discursive’ behavior, and that the primary form-
ing techniques and attributes related to the construction of the vessel are the
most informative (Gosselain 1998: 92). Primary forming techniques are most
expressive in handmade vessels, as opposed to those produced on the wheel,
and show more variability related to learning networks (Degoy 2005). The
disparity, so apparent in the MB II flat-bottom handmade cooking pots from
the Southern Levant to the Eastern Delta, may in fact be evidence of a mul-
titude of such leaning networks. Rather than trying to fit such diversity into
large regional typologies, which has been shown to be questionable, I would
argue that identifying different ‘technical styles’ within smaller regions, at the
inter- or even intra-site level, is a more productive avenue to pursue. Gosselain
and Livingstone Smith (2005) have shown that “technical pools” are easier to
observe at the regional level, and that there is a clear relationship between
25 Tomb contexts are not common for the handmade cooking pots at other sites (see Cohen
and Bonfil (2007); and Singer-Avitz (2004a)).
26 See Kreiter (2007) for a detailed discussion on the development of the concept of techno-
logical style. I prefer the term ‘technical style’ as used by Gosselain (1998: 82).
32 Klassen
these technical pools and the spatial patterning of settlements they identify
as “technical boundaries”. I have already noted that Redmount (1989: 266) sees
the Delta region as unique and one of the three cultural provinces within the
Levantine Middle Bronze Age. When discussing the flat-bottomed handmade
cooking pots of the MB II period, I believe this should be scaled down dramati-
cally. I would argue that variant ‘technical styles’ are evident within the Wadi
Tumilat region itself, and distinct from what appears at Tell el-Dabʿa, or north-
east into the Sinai. The change in the application of, and eventual lack of rope
molding or appliqué as one moves south, is clearly recognizable. At a more
regional level (Wadi Tumilat), the difference between finger and ‘stick hole’
impressions is especially noticeable at the various sites.
The argument that these sites are not contemporary cannot be justified, as
both styles occur at Tell el-Maskhuta through Phase 1–4. There appears to be
a preference for the handmade cooking pots with ‘stick holes’ at many of the
sites in the Wadi Tumilat, but not all. That is certainly not the case for Tell el
Maskhuta, except for Tomb 11. It is perhaps possible that this tomb was closely
connected with groups sharing the ‘technical style’ more common to sites in
the Wadi Tumilat, such as Site 26. The petrographic analysis also indicates
that subtle differences occur between petro-fabrics, and with clay processing
an integral part of many choices made by the potter, this should be explored
further.
A shared technical tradition in the production of MB II handmade cook-
ing pots of the Southern Levant and Eastern Delta clearly existed. However,
there were also differences, and attempts to look for typological commonali-
ties should be avoided. Uniqueness and diversity appears to be the theme, and
we should therefore attempt to identify the technical boundaries observable
through different ‘technical styles’.
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Flint and Forts: The Role of Flint in Late
Middle-New Kingdom Egyptian Weaponry
Carolyn Graves-Brown
Swansea University
Studies of ancient Egyptian pharaonic warfare tend to privilege metal over

flint,1 giving the impression that, with the exception of arrowheads, flint weap-
ons were not normal military issue (Yadin 1963; McDermott 2004). Moreover,
there is a tendency to assume that post Middle Kingdom bifacial artefacts
found in Egypt must be foreign (Vila 1970: 192). There is good reason for these
viewpoints. It does seem that within Egypt itself there are far more extant metal
than flint weapons. Metal weaponry had been used since Early Dynastic times
and has the advantage of robustness and possibilities of elaborate forms. Flint
weapons from Nubian sites such as Buhen and Mirgissa are perhaps excep-
tional and could be explained as an inability to keep a distant outpost sup-
plied with the latest technologically advanced weapons, an inability afforded
by the ‘primitive’ nature of Nubian warfare. However, I will argue that at least
until the Early New Kingdom there is strong evidence that flint weapons were
standard military issue, and far from being a primitive technology, they were a
natural choice for both utilitarian and ideological reasons. I concur that metal
was a component of warfare, but make a plea for the role of lithics. I take as
my starting point a summary of Vila’s (1970) study of flint weapons found at
Mirgissa.
The Mirgissa Lithic Assemblage
Vila (1970) dated the Mirgissa lithics to the Early New Kingdom, and I here
assume him to be correct. As will be shown below, the technology is consistent
with near contemporary Egyptian flint-work.
As at Buhen (Emery et al. 1979: 8, 48), groups of flint tools at Mirgissa were
discovered in what would appear to be an important administrative build-
ing (Vila 1970: 174, fig. 1), presumably an armoury. The lithics described by Vila
exhibit the skill, regularity and standardisation consistent with specialist pro-
duction. Debitage was found but did not relate to the manufacture of these
1 In this paper ‘flint’ is taken to also include chert.

38 Graves-Brown
weapons, suggesting off-site manufacture (1970: 176). This concurs with lack of
debitage for the working of fine pieces at Askut (Tyson Smith, personal com-
munication). Specialist lithics workshops are known for Egypt, for example, as
evidenced by the ‘hoards’ at Kom Rabia, Memphis (Giddy 1999: 228).
Vila categorised the material according to type, though admitted the
dangers of etic, and thus possibly artificial, divisions (Vila 1970: 180). He identi-
fies 310 ‘javelots’ and ‘javelines’, 88 spears, and 2700 arrowheads. It is noticeable
that there are large numbers of arrowheads. Miller et al. (1986: 1889) estimate
that at this date the Egyptians could shoot 30 arrows every three minutes.
Vila’s ‘javelots and javelines’ (I will henceforth refer to them as ‘lances’)
average 153 mm long and only 6.4 mm maximum thickness. His belief that
these may have been thrown, is supported by their light weight, no more than
40 gm. That similar metal tools were employed as projectiles is clear
(McDermott 2004: 174). Vila’s ‘spears’ are significantly larger, averaging 222 mm
long and 17.7 mm wide. Such weapons could have been used for thrusting or
throwing. Similar items from Buhen were categorised as daggers (Emery et al.
1979: 116–18, pl. 102), but the hafting evidence from Mirgissa suggests other-
wise. No flint daggers were found. Vila (1970: 91) stated that daggers are also
rare in metal and are a personal weapon rather than military issue. Gilbert
(2004: 43) observes that daggers were usually manufactured of metal, as flint
would tend to break when twisted. Arrowheads were tranverse, of lunate and
trapezoidal shape.
Were the Lithics Standard Military Issue?
Arguments against the Mirgissa material being standard military issue rest
partly on the assumption that the artefacts appear anomalous and un-Egyptian.
However, the Mirgissa lithics are clearly not Nubian. Nubian flint work is quite
unlike the Mirgissa pieces. Bonnet states that the flint industry is not pre-
eminent in Kerma culture, and fine, bifacial Nubian flint working of large
pieces unknown (Bonnet 1990: 137). A bifacial tabular flint knife from the
town of Kerma, which Bonnet dates to Middle Kerman (contemporary with
Egyptian Middle Kingdom), is considered an Egyptian import as it is unique to
Kerma (Bonnet 1990: 137, 153, fig. 119). It is almost identical in form to a num-
ber of Middle Kingdom Egyptian specimens.2 Nubian types consist of scrapers,
sickle blades, microliths, borers, all with little core preparation (Gratien and
2 E.g., Manchester Museum M239c from Lahun.

Flint and Forts 39
Olive 1984; Säve-Söderbergh 1989: 122–25, fig. 41; Bonnet 1990: 137–39; Bracco
and Gratien 2002). Large bifacial forms are not present. Perhaps the most
beautifully executed Nubian bifacial pieces are the arrowheads, some of which
are discussed below. The raw material is largely grey pebbles, quartz, carnelian
and agate and rarely flint (Bonnet 1990: 137; Bracco and Gratien 2002), while
Egyptian forms, after the Early Dynastic, are almost invariably flint. It appears
likely that the material from Mirgissa is Theban, and Tyson Smith (personal
communication) has stated that the fine bifacial tools found at Askut appear
to be from the same source.
I will critically examine the arguments that suggest the Mirgissa material is
anomalous in an Egyptian context and conclude that the pieces actually are
consistent with Egyptian lithic technology. The arguments against are: (1) the
Mirgissa material is anomalous in technology and forms, (2) model soldiers
carry metal weapons, and (3) metal weapons are known. The first argument
for the flint being anomalous within Egyptian lithic technology is that the
technology is too fine for Egyptian lithics of this date. Assessing the decline of
Egyptian technology during the Bronze Age is not an easy exercise. Egyptian
lithic technology continues until at least the 26th Dynasty, though this later
material is not of the quality of the Mirgissa pieces. Generally, it seems that by
the Early New Kingdom flint tools tended to be ad hoc rather than formal, but
there were still specialist workshops producing fine bifacial material.
The technology of producing fine bifacial tools is not easily learnt. As it
requires specialist manufacture, one or two extant examples must indicate
that more were originally manufactured. New Kingdom fine bifacial forms,
requiring pressure flaking, are known in the case of arrowheads and knives.
Bifacial Knives
During the New Kingdom, bifacial flint knives seem to have gradually given
way to metal forms. However, bifacial knives continued in manufacture
throughout the New Kingdom. An example was found at the Akhenaten
Temple complex of East Karnak (Miller 1985: 233, fig. 2; Tillmann 1992:
fig. 77). A 19th Dynasty flint knife found in the Ramesseum at Thebes is now in
the Pitt Rivers Museum (PR1896.53.2.1–2) and several early mid-18th Dynasty
and even Third Intermediate Period bifacial flint knives were discovered at
Kom Rabia, Memphis (Giddy 1999: 238–43). A fine bifacial knife is known
from a Third Intermediate Period context from the town of el-Ashmunein
(Spencer 1993: pl. 27).
40 Graves-Brown
Arrowheads
While the technology of bifacial arrowheads is not identical to that for large
bifacial items, it does show that a tradition of producing fine bifacial pressure-
flaked forms existed. There is, however, a problem. While it is usually agreed
that the Egyptians used stone arrowheads until late (Forbes 1966: VII, 108;
Tillmann 1999; Hikade 2001), bifacial arrowheads in New Kingdom contexts are
often explained away as either Nubian or plunder from earlier graves. This rea-
soning ignores the fact that the Egyptians manufactured bifacial arrowheads
through the 19th Dynasty at least.
Although there are Middle Kingdom iconographic depictions of what appear
to be transverse arrowheads (e.g., in the Middle Kingdom tomb of Senebi at
Meir), the shape of many others apparently indicate metal forms. However,
metal and bifacial flint forms would be iconographically interchangeable
in form.
Five bifacial arrowheads are known from ‘Ezbet Helmi, Tell el-Dab’a from
18th Dynasty contexts (Tillmann 1994: 108, 257; Bietak 1996: 11). Tillmann
and Bietak both considered these to be the products of Nubian mercenaries.
A similar argument was made for the pieces from 19th Dynasty Qantir (Tillmann
1986; 1992: 91–92, figs. 24–25). There is also a preform of an arrowhead from the
same site (Tillmann 1992: pl. 23.4). The idea of a Nubian origin for the Qantir
material is tentatively supported by Hikade (2001: 123), at least until Nubian
material can be accurately dated or further Ramesside material found in
Egypt.3 However, Zibelius-Chen (1988: 14) doubts that the Qantir arrowheads
are Nubian.
Arguments for a Nubian origin rest on the following premises: (1) the raw
material looks like non-local flint, (2) other Nubian material is known from
the Eastern Delta, (3) textual evidence proves that arrows were imported from
Nubia, and (4) they are typologically similar to Nubian pieces. The raw mate-
rial may indeed be non-local flint, but this does not preclude the possibility
of Egyptian flint being used. Flint may be procured from a great many sites
in Egypt, and the actual sourcing of flint is difficult. Despite general lack of
Egyptological work on sourcing, at least one New Kingdom Egyptian flint mine
is known (Harrell 2006).
I would not deny Nubian presence in the Delta, as other Nubian material
is known from the region. Bourriau has used the presence of Nubian pottery
as evidence for Nubian mercenaries (Bietak 1996: 12, n. 18; Bourriau 1991).
3 Hikade (2001) makes no mention of the Tell el-Dab’a examples.

Flint and Forts 41
Furthermore, textual evidence shows that arrowheads were imported from

Nubia as tribute (Zibelius-Chen 1988: 114). Nubian lithic material of this date,
however, does not look like the Delta pieces either in material or form.
Tillmann (1994: 108) states that flint arrows from Tell el-Dab’a are similar
to those from Soleb II and from el-Kurru. Bifacial Nubian arrowheads of the
18th Dynasty are indeed known from Soleb II (Giorgini 1971: 94, fig. 128), but
these are quite unlike the Delta forms. With one exception, out of a group of
eleven published pieces from Soleb II, they are without a tang. Those from the
Delta and, as I will show, from other Egyptian sites are tanged. Additionally,
Nubian pieces are rarely flint, but rather quartz or carnelian.
The el-Kurru connection is more convincing but still problematic. El-Kurru
has tanged examples (Dunham 1950: 13, 15, 16, 17, 72, figs. 1c, 2c, and 3b), as
well as lunates (Dunham 1950 figs. 1C, 2C, 3B), the latter being comparable to
Mirgissa finds. The problems are those of date, size and raw materials. Dunham,
following the excavator, Reisner, dated the el-Kurru examples to c. 860–840 BC,
making them later than comparable Egyptian examples. However, the date is
disputed. In 1982, Kendall dated the context to the 12th to 10th centuries BC, but
later revised this (1982: 23–24, fig. 18; 1999a and 1999b), agreeing with Reisner
on an early 9th century date. This was disputed by Török, who preferred a date
of 1020–960 BC (1997: 88–92; 1999), still too late to be contemporary with the
Tell el-Dab’a finds, but perhaps comparable to Qantir. Additionally, the average
length of the el-Kurru arrowheads is 4.5 cm, somewhat longer than the Tell el-
Dab’a finds at 3.9 cm, and the Qantir pieces averaging 3.119 cm (Tillmann 1992:
89). Additionally, the tang of the el-Kurru examples is much more pronounced.
The slight variation in size and tang could be overlooked in view of the small
database, and the date is debatable. However, as stated above, the el-Kurru
examples, as with Nubian lithics in general, are manufactured from carnelian
or quartz, but rarely flint. The Delta examples, however, are flint. Thus, while
the Delta examples could be Nubian, there are serious doubts surrounding
this conclusion.
Other probable examples of Egyptian New Kingdom bifacial tanged arrow-
heads are extant. A group of bifacial arrows was found in the 18th Dynasty
tomb D29 at Abydos (Ashmolean 1896=1908 E2703 and Pitt-Rivers 1900.42.9–
10). Believing that fine flint work of the New Kingdom was unlikely, the exca-
vator believed that these might have been taken from an Early Dynastic tomb
(Randall-MacIver and Mace 1902: 89). However, the form of Early Dynastic
pieces is very different. The barbs of those from the 18th Dynasty graves
are more pronounced and the cutting edges straighter than those from the
1st–2nd Dynasty graves. One might argue that the Early Dynastic pieces were
originally straight but rejuvenated. Towner and Warburton (1990) show similar
42 Graves-Brown
rounding of arrowheads after rejuvenation though the Early Dynastic pieces

are so regularly knapped that they do not, in my opinion, appear rejuvenated
(the act of knapping to re-sharpen the tool). Besides, the problem remains
that the constructors of the 18th Dynasty tomb had somehow managed to
find extremely rare unused versions from Early Dynastic tombs; possible but
unlikely. The D29 examples most closely resemble the el-Kurru forms, though
again are small at c. 3 cm average length. The D29 examples are also made
from specially selected variously coloured, non-local flint. Nubian examples
likewise are made from exotic stone, though as we have seen, rarely flint. The
D29 examples are, of course, earlier than the el-Kurru examples.
Fragmentary New Kingdom bifacial arrowheads are also found at Kom
Rabia, Memphis (Giddy 1999: 227, 234, no. 1155). Their ‘crude’ form could be
the result of rejuvenation. Hikade (2001: 122) cites a 26th–27th Dynasty bifacial
arrowhead from Elephantine. Bifacial stone arrowheads and ivory points were
also found at 21st–24th Dynasty Medinet Habu (Hölscher 1954: 6, pl. 3A). Here
the stone points seem to imitate those of bone.
Ethnographic studies have shown that a wide range of arrowhead sizes
and designs can arise among archers within the same region (Wiessner 1983;
Miller et al. 1986: 189–90). There could well be a great diversity in Egyptian
lithic arrowhead form because different forms would be particularly suited for
particular uses, and because archers exchanged arrows (Miller et al. 1986: 189).
The New Kingdom spread of armour as well as improvements in the bow may
have afforded increased diversity. Armour penetration would require heavier
arrowheads which would be made more efficient through use of the composite
bow. The tranchet type may alternatively have been more suited to cutting into
unprotected flesh, causing profusely bleeding wounds (Edmonds 1987: 192–93).
Finally, one might ask, why, if flint was ubiquitous in Egypt and the tech-
nique of fine bifacial work still known, would the Egyptians go to the trouble
of importing a type of flint rarely found in Nubia, from Nubia?
Having taken all these factors under consideration, I would question the
assumption that the bifacial arrowheads found in Egypt in New Kingdom con-
texts are foreign or Early Dynastic.
Comparable Pieces
Not only does Egyptian flint work include fine bifacial lithics, but it includes
the very same types as those at Mirgissa. Admittedly, most comparable pieces
are from military sites, but this is as one would expect.
Flint and Forts 43
Transverse Arrowheads
Archaeological examples of transverse arrowheads comparable in date and
form with the Mirgissa pieces come from the tombs of Tutankhamun (McLeod
1982: 24–25, 59), Mahirpir (Daressy 1902: 33–36, pl. 11), and Senenmut (Hayes
1990: 212), and from New Kingdom East Karnak (Miller 1985: fig. 1.6). In fact,
transverse arrowheads are known from as late as the 26th Dynasty (Balfour
1897; Hickman 1959; Pitt Rivers 1896.2.1.16). There are also similarly dated
examples from Theban tombs with microlithic tips and separate barbs in the
Ashmolean Museum (Clark et al. 1974: 350, pls. XII–XIII).
It could be argued that two of these sites are not comparable with the
Mirgissa pieces. Those from the tomb of Tutankhamun appear to be blue glass
(McLeod 1982: 24–25, 59), or perhaps blue agate (Gilbert 2004: 48). Given the
quantity of blue glass found in other artefacts from this tomb and the fact that
the nearest source of blue agate would appear to be South Africa, blue glass
seems most likely. While the material is different, the technology of knapping
was the same as that for flint. The items from the tomb of Mahirpir, one might
argue, are Nubian, since the occupier was originally from Nubia. However,
as Smith has demonstrated, the grave goods he analysed are purely Egyptian
(1992; 2003: 22–23).
Spears and Javelins

A number of Late Middle Kingdom–Early New Kingdom pieces have been
described in Egyptological literature as spear or javelin heads.
I will first describe specimens that have been identified as weapons, but
which I find doubtful. A New Kingdom bifacial tool described as a spear is pub-
lished from el-Ashmunein (Roeder 1931–32: 108, fig. 3; Larsen 1935: 79). As it is
incomplete, it could be part of a slightly odd-shaped knife. Larsen mentions
possible spear-tips from Abu Ghâlib, though he points out that these may also
be parts of knives (1935: 79, fig. 18, nos. 1–7). The dating of Abu Ghâlib is disput-
able, though it is generally considered Middle Kingdom.4 Petschel et al. also
published two ‘Speerspitzen’ from Kahun in the Liverpool City Museum col-
lection (Liverpool inv. 56.20.58 and 56.20.54; Petschel et al. 2004: 118.111). Having
seen them, it is my opinion that the pieces are slightly asymmetrical and thus
probably knife-tips. In a number of other publications there are also items nei-
ther described in detail nor illustrated but instead published in such terms as
‘a finely made knife’. These items could be projectiles or knives.
4 See Kemp (1989: 161–66) and Bagh (2002: 42) for the dating of this site.
44 Graves-Brown
A rough blade was found at Qantir, which Tillmann classed as a preform of a

‘Lanzenspitzen’ (1992: 93, pl. 23.1). It measured 100 mm in length. Tillmann also
identifies two other ‘Lanzenspitzen’ fragments from the same site (1992: 93, pl.
23.2–3). These seem to have been found in the same area as the arrowheads,
reinforcing their possible use as weapons. The illustrations suggest they may
be spearheads, but the identification must remain uncertain as these are frag-
ments only.
In addition to those published by Vila in 1970, additional javelin-heads were
found at Mirgissa away from the main armoury (Dunham and Janssen 1967:
pl. XCII B and C). The illustrations show spear or javelin heads. Spear and arrow-
heads were also found at Buhen, in conjunction with Late Middle Kingdom-
Early New Kingdom pottery (Emery et al. 1979: 48). These include Birmingham
Museum 513.1965 (Emery et al. 1979: pl. 102; Emery et al. 1979: pl. 120), DUROM
1964.105 (Emery et al. 1979: pl. 102.E), and BM EA65771 (Emery et al. 1979: 116 no.
271 or 272). The British Museum labels the latter as Middle Kingdom, though
in the excavation report they are said to be from the New Kingdom. Vila (1970)
reports similar material from this site resided at the Khartoum Museum. He also
cites comparable pieces from Semna and Uronarti that were in the Khartoum
Museum (Vila 1970: 193; Dunham 1967: pl. XLVa). Again, the illustrations in the
Dunham volume confirm his identification. At least one lance-head was also
found at Askut dating to the Early New Kingdom (Smith 2003: fig. 5.8).
Other than military sites, two 18th Dynasty probable spear-heads were
found at Kom Rabia, Memphis (Giddy 1999: pp. 227, 233 no. 951/69 and
no. 1066, pp. 227, 234). These are described as crude and bifacial, which could
imply unfinished or heavily sharpened items (they are not illustrated).
Model Soldiers with Metal Spearheads
Since model soldiers in the tomb of Meseheti, 11th Dynasty Assiut, are shown
with metal spears and flint arrowheads (Saleh and Sourouzian 1987: pl. 73),
it might be thought that soldiers were commonly issued with such items.
However, as Vila points out (1970: 192), it would have been practically impos-
sible to make such tiny items in stone.
Metal Weapons are Known
In light of the fact that most extant Egyptian weapons are made of metal, it
might appear perverse to state that flint was commonly used. However, while
Flint and Forts 45
some metal weapons were certainly used in warfare, most known examples are
from burials. As Pinch states (2002: 446), no one thinks of weapons as exclu-
sively funerary, but their use in graves is not the same as that in everyday life.
I am not claiming that weapons were made especially for the grave. Rather,
because burial goods have a ritual purpose, they were consciously selected
from the wide choice of artefacts and materials. Secondly, graves from which
objects are derived are those of the elite, rarely the common soldier. The two
social groups may have had very different arms. I suggest that metal was con-
sidered particularly suited to the grave, and secondly that the items placed in
graves belonged to the individual rather than the collective military. My first
suggestion is open to dispute and needs support.
There are exceptions to the sacred context of metal weapons. I give two
examples. The first is the Qantir arms factory, which produced daggers, and jav-
elin heads, probably dating to reign of Ramesses II,5 thus slightly later than the
Mirgissa material. Avaris also produced metal arrowheads of copper or bronze
though some at least may be Greek imports as the typology suggests a Late
Helladic type (Tillmann 1994: 256; Bietak 1996: 12). However, the majority of
New Kingdom metal weapons are from burial deposits. Artefacts placed in the
grave are always ritual (Whitehouse 1996). They have a purpose relating to this
context, which must be other than kinetic, a point made particularly obvious
when they are placed with individuals who can have had no utilitarian use for
them in life (e.g., weapons in the graves of children; McDermott 2004: 72). We
can deduce from the fact that not all materials and artefact forms were placed
in tombs, that certain materials and objects were considered particularly suit-
able in the burial context. There is evidence that certain types of weapons were
employed in funerary rites. For example, McDermott (2004) discusses rituals
connected with bowmen and funerals.
The purpose of metal in burials was firstly its display value, as this mate-
rial was arguably high status compared to flint because of production costs
(Richards 2005). The public nature of Egyptian funerals would make display
apposite. Secondly, the inherent physical properties of metal may have acted
as an aid to the deceased in the afterlife. The revitalising and rebirth prop-
erties of luminosity (with which both lightness of colour and shininess are
associated) are much discussed by Egyptologists.6 The quality of shininess is
5 Spalinger (2005: 227) has further references.

6 For faience, see Friedman (1998: 15–16), Patch (1998: 32–43), for coffins, see Serpico and White
(2001: 36–37) and Taylor (2001: 166). For flint see Graves-Brown (2013).
46 Graves-Brown
associated with the blessed or transfigured dead, the Axw, of Egyptian mythol-
ogy. Their qualities of scintillation have been well studied.7
For Prehistoric Italy, it has been argued that metal daggers were put in graves
because of their divine quality of brightness (Keates 2002). One can imagine
this too for Egypt. Metal would normally have been brighter than flint. Such
an argument would help explain why pale coloured flint was selected for in
Predynastic graves (Harris 1961: 139), when metal was rarely available, and sec-
ondly why flint is quickly superseded by metal as a suitable material for grave-
goods, while continuing to play an important part in everyday life.
That metal was specifically selected for the grave is supported by the fre-
quency with which large quantities of lithics are found on settlement sites
compared with burial sites, especially after the Old Kingdom. Common use of
flint seems to have continued into the New Kingdom, for example at Memphis
(Giddy 1999: 226–43), Amarna (Spurrell 1894: 37; Graves-Brown 2009), and in
the Valley of the Kings (Carnarvon et al. 1912: 10). As well as the fine bifacial
knife discussed above, sickle blades were also found at Third Intermediate
Period el-Ashmunein (Spencer 1993: 15, 21, 33, pl. 27.20, 22, 23, 24, 27, 29, 30g,
30j, 30.l), and also Tell el-Balamun (Spencer 1999: 77, pl. 87). James Harrell has
recently discovered a Ramesside flint quarry specialising in the production
of blades at Wadi Umm Nikhaybar in Wadi Arabah.8 Flint in graves is largely
limited to occasional sickle blades and tranchet arrowheads. The small visible
flint surface area of such tools would restrict its ability to signify shininess,
or lack thereof.
Personal weapons such as daggers and perhaps axes may enter the grave,
as ‘military issue’, that is, non-personal property would not. Personal weap-
ons, one would imagine, were long-lived metal artefacts, as opposed to the
short-lived flint weapons. Thus, artefacts placed in the grave may not be a true
reflection of military arms. We might rather expect to find army weapons in
suddenly abandoned forts or on battlefields. As flint is readily reshaped, one
would not expect to see large pieces of the material other than in abruptly
abandoned contexts. The large quantity of flint work at Mirgissa compared
with other Egyptian sites could be explained as exceptional circumstances.
Except in Nubia, there are few purely military buildings built on a large scale,
not extensively reused, but extensively excavated, where one would expect to
find caches of weapons.
7 E.g., Ritner (1993: 30ff.), who gives further references.

8 Harrell (2006), with additional information kindly supplied to the author (personal
communication).
Flint and Forts 47
It could be argued that the material from Mirgissa is only feasible because of
Nubia’s backward technology, the implication being that flint was an inferior
medium considered substandard by the Egyptians. Because metal was used in
warfare, one might explain its rarity in Nubia as rationing. Metal, one might
argue, was reserved for Egypt’s eastern frontier for use against more ‘advanced’
metal-using cultures. This idea is posited by Tillmann (1992: 212–13; 1998: 265),
but is questionable. While the Egyptians would have employed different tac-
tics against the Nubians than the enemies in the north and east, the argument
that primitive Nubians were easy to put down with ‘inferior’ weapons, can eas-
ily be overplayed. It was perhaps not so much that the south was easier to con-
quer, nor that flint was inferior, but rather that flint was the best material for
the job in the particular circumstance.
First, on the question of the metal shortage, there is little real evidence for
this, though absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Vast quantities of
copper and tin are known to have been imported into Egypt from both archae-
ological and textual evidence (Smith 2003: 71–73), though of course we do not
know if this met demand. The price of copper may indicate its rare value. While
slightly later than Mirgissa, in Ramesside Egypt a bronze (or copper) spear sent
to a coppersmith was worth 1 ½–2 deben (Janssen 1975: 326). For comparison
a bundle of vegetables was worth ½ to 1 deben (Janssen 1975: 527). An ordinary
workman would get about 11 deben each month (Janssen 1975: 534). So copper
was not cheap, but was it rare? Copper was used for mirrors, statuettes and
other luxury items frequently found in New Kingdom tombs, but perhaps such
luxuries were considered more important than arms.
Copper may have been more scarce in the outposts of Nubia. However,
Smith shows metal artefacts becoming increasingly common during the
Second Intermediate Period at Askut and dominating the assemblage by the
New Kingdom (2003: 105, fig. 5.9). Nor were these tools simply weapons. This
does not suggest a shortage of the material. It simply does not make sense to
say that metal, when in short supply, was being used on a large scale for non-
military items.
Yet, it is not perhaps so much copper that was critical but tin. Sources of tin
would have come from north of Egypt, and hence may have been difficult for
Nubian outposts to acquire. However, the evidence for regular use of bronze is
not apparent until the Ramesside Period (Ogden 2000: 153, 171), the same time
as flint for weapons declines. Thus, at the time of the Mirgissa hoard, the Early
New Kingdom, the argument that a shortage of copper or bronze supplies led
to use of flint in Nubia is debateable.
There are also questions about the assumed primitive weapons technology
of Nubia. Spalinger (2005: 62) suggests that the Nubians lacked bronze, whereas
48 Graves-Brown
the Egyptians had it. Lack of metal analysis often makes it unclear whether
copper alloy items were bronze or another copper alloy, though bronze was
commonly used in Egypt from the New Kingdom. In Nubia, daggers and razors
were made of copper alloy in the Kerma Classic Period (Second Intermediate
Period–Early New Kingdom), for example at Kerma (Bonnet 2004: 86). In fact,
the copper alloy dagger is standard in Middle-Classic Kerma burials and the
short copper alloy sword is famous in Classic Kerma burials (O’Connor 1993:
30–31). Of course, we cannot be sure of the quantities available to the Nubians,
compared to the Egyptians.
We may also question the claim that Nubians were easier to defeat than
the enemies of the northeast. Why use Nubian mercenaries unless they had a
reputation for being good fighters, and why build forts unless there was a prob-
lem? However, this does not mean that tactics and weapons differed between
Nubia and the northeastern frontier. Chariots would have necessitated the
use of a longer range weapon like the composite bow, as the Nubians did not
use chariots, the composite bow was not so vital. As stated above, while flint
arrowheads were possible with the composite bow, the new technology made
the use of heavy metal tips more efficient.
Thus, I conclude that while we cannot prove that copper or tin was not in
short supply and rationed for use against the more threatening enemies of the
northeast, there is little evidence supporting this view.
Why Use Flint?
That flint-working continued in Egypt later than in neighbouring regions may

suggest that the apparent late use of flint at Mirgissa is unsurprising. Tillmann
(1998) drew up a comparative table of flint use for Egypt and adjoining regions.
The detail could be debated. For example, Tillmann stated that flint working
ceased in Greece c. 1500 BC. However, a study by Runnels (1982) has showed
that chert was used until the 10th and 9th centuries BC, and obsidian until
400–300 BC. Part of the difficulty lies in differentiating between a lithic and
metal using society when there is a continuum, not a dichotomy. For example,
threshing flints were known in the Levant until the 20th century (Rosen 1997:
163), yet this society would not be considered ‘stone age’.
However, Tillmann’s general conclusion that flint was used in Egypt until a
surprisingly late date is correct. The technological insularity of the Egyptians
is frequently offered by way of explanation. Shaw (1991: 31), for example, dis-
cusses the general lack of change in Egyptian weaponry during the Dynastic
Period. In an age still obsessed with Victorian notions of progress this
Flint and Forts 49
traditionalism may be seen in a negative light. However, one could argue that
there are good ideological and utilitarian reasons for the continued use of flint,
apart from its ubiquity. It is to these reasons that I now turn.
While accepting that the division between functional and ideological
is arguably arbitrary, I use the terms here in a pragmatic sense, taking func-
tional to imply kinetic utility, and ideological to imply social factors (including
religion).
Firstly there are utilitarian reasons why flint may or may not have continued
in use in Egypt: (1) flint cuts better than metal, (2) flint is lighter than metal,
and (3) flint is more fragile than metal.
Cutting Qualities
As late as the seventh century BC, the Egyptian army preferred stone tipped
arrows because they pierced the armour of the day (Forbes 1966: VII, 108). This
utility is borne out by experimental archaeology. Pope (1962) showed the supe-
riority of flint over metal for penetration, thus making it advantageous against
some armour clad enemies, though its light weight may have been detrimen-
tal to use against other amour. Its powers of penetration lie in the fact that it
is sharper than metal. The serrated quality of bifacial tools further enhances
cutting, and their irregular surface might additionally encourage haemorrhag-
ing. Modern hunters draw a file across metal arrowheads to produce the same
effect (Edmonds 1987: 193). Likewise, for whale hunting, the Koryak used stone
projectiles, as rifle bullets simply stuck in the blubber without causing injury
(Ellis 1997: 51).
Lightness
Flint has a specific gravity of 2.65, copper 8.2, and bronze 7.4–7.9. Thus, flint is
much lighter than Early New Kingdom metals of war. A bifacial arrow of flint
weighs one gram and a comparable one in bronze of the same size weighs 6–16
grams (Tillmann 1986). This relative lightness can be either advantageous or
disadvantageous. Heavier arrows are needed for penetrating armour, though
lighter arrows will travel farther. Since the arrow kills by bleeding rather than
impact (Miller et al. 1986: 181), once the weapon penetrates the flesh, one would
not need a heavy arrow for increased impact wounds. Choice of arrow weight
also depends upon the type of bow. An inefficient bow will reduce the distance
an arrow might fly, but an efficient bow may also cause a light arrow to be inac-
curate and even to snap (Blyth 1980). Generally, light arrows are better with
inefficient bows and heavy arrows with efficient bows. Thus, it may be argued
that the use of metal for arrows may have been influenced by the introduction
of the composite bow and, until this date, flint had the edge over metal for
50 Graves-Brown
arrow manufacture. The weight advantages/disadvantages of flint over metal

also apply to some extent with spears and lances. A heavier spear or lance may
penetrate deeper, be easier to carry, and be thrown farther.
Fragility
“The completed spearhead is a really beautiful object with a needlepoint and
wonderful symmetrical edges. . . . Yet all this highly skilled labour is for one
thrust of the spear!. . . . The wonder is that such care is lavished on an article
destined to have such a short life” (Love 1936: 75). While it is sometimes stated
that flint is not fragile, this false assumption seems to rest on experimental
archaeologists shooting into stationery meat rather than living, moving tar-
gets (Ellis 1997: 52). Fragility demands an efficient transport system. As stated
above, lack of debitage at Mirgissa and Askut affords the possibility that weap-
ons were transported there in a completed state. There is also transportation to
the battlefield to consider and once there weapon breakage would be particu-
larly acute for prolonged combat. However, the fragility of the material might
even be considered advantageous in certain circumstances. A broken blade
within a body will do more damage than a cleanly removed one.
A ready supply of replacements or use of thicker tools may to some extent
compensate for fragility. The spear-heads at Mirgissa were around 17.7 mm in
thickness, considerably thicker than the lances, or even Egyptian flint knives of
the same date (knives were around 6–7 mm maximum thickness). If the spears
and lances are indeed fragile, this reinforces the belief that the Egyptian archers
played a part in weakening the opposition so that they were ‘finished off’ at
closer range with spears and lances. As Miller et al. (1986: 181–82) state, the
Story of Sinuhe demonstrates that at least in the Middle Kingdom it appeared
normal practise to first shoot an opponent, and then follow through with one-
to-one combat. Ethnographically, a flint spear is a ‘woman’s weapon’ used on
sleeping or injured enemies, for the coup de grace (Ellis 1997: 60; Bamforth and
Bleed 1997: 12).
The Expense Factor

One would assume that an expensive material would be the least advanta-
geous. Since bronze was not commonly used for weapons until the later New
Kingdom, only the price of copper in comparison with flint is relevant here.
I discuss Janssen’s description of the Ramesside cost of copper tools above,
which shows that a copper spear was worth twice as much as an expensive
bundle of vegetables, or one sixth the wages of a workman. In another effort
to determine relative costs of materials, Richards has ranked Middle Kingdom
Flint and Forts 51
Egyptian materials, first according to effort expenditure, and second by emic

considerations (1992; 1997; 2005: 109–19). To establish a wealth index, she
identifies five variables (distance of material sources, difficulty of transport,
method of extraction, pre-working process, and hardness of material), and
assigns a value to each. Flint is ranked 10, on a scale of 1 to 19, and copper is
ranked 8. Richards’ analysis does not, of course, apply to Nubia, where the
distance from a source for both flint and copper would be greater. Likewise,
the working of the material very much depends on the form of the final prod-
uct. A fine bifacial tool requires greater effort expenditure than a simple flake,
though Richards groups these together. Richards also uses a second index with
an ascribed value to ascertain the emic view (1992: 109–19; 1997; 2005: 110–11).
In this, flint is ranked as 5, and copper as 16. Richards states that this is based
both on Harris’ ranking of materials in Middle Kingdom texts, and on a ‘cau-
tious treatment’ of Janssen’s work on monetary value for the Ramesside Period
(Harris 1961; Richards 1992: 117; Janssen 1975). However, Janssen does not give
monetary value to flint, and I know of no texts of any period that does so. He
does say that a sft knife was worth 3 deben, but the knife could be of flint or
copper (Janssen 1975: 324). Similarly, Janssen gives prices for spears and axes,
but assumes them to be metal. Richards states that the consistency with which
items were listed in Middle Kingdom texts led Harris to believe that they were
listed in order of perceived value. However, it seems to me that Harris actually
ascribes grouping to categorisation of materials, not necessarily equating this
with value (Harris 1961: 11–13). In fact, an analysis of the material the flint is
associated with shows its most common partner is meteoric iron, which is not
in Richards’ wealth index (Graves-Brown 2007: 123–24).
Meskell has ranked grave goods for New Kingdom Deir el-Medina based on
the possible cost as adduced from literary sources and material evidence anal-
ysed by Janssen and Smith, and through actual numbers of tomb goods (Meskell
1999: 183–212; Janssen 1975; Smith 1992). As stated above, the monetary cost of
flint is unknown, though Meskell (1999: 195) still gives a flint razor a value of 1
deben. Conversely, she gives the value of a ‘bronze’ razor as 3 deben (Meskell
1999: 201). Both the manufacture of copper and flint tools would require spe-
cialists. There is evidence for copper working at Old Kingdom Buhen (Ogden
2000: 152). Copper/bronze working also took place at Middle Kingdom-New
Kingdom Askut (Smith 2003: 105). While it obviously takes more time to make
a single copper tool than a single flint tool, copper has the advantage that the
artefact may be mass-produced in moulds. This is not the case for flint. Thus,
I would conclude that we cannot know if flint or metal weapons were more
expensive at Mirgissa.
52 Graves-Brown
Ideological Considerations
The efficacy of flint is established for certain contexts. In fact, its practi-
cal efficiency in killing has led to the myth that flint is “naturally poisoned”
(Ellis 1997: 47). It is to these ideological realms that I now turn. Technological
choice is not dependent solely on functional superiority, nor on effort expen-
diture. Throughout history weapon development has been guided by ideology,
including such unlikely or seemingly illogical areas as aesthetics (Van Creveld
1989: 75–76). The notion that flint or metal was functionally superior therefore
may not even be relevant!
Material culture studies now commonly hold that new technologies will
only be accepted if they fit the current ideology. Simply because one mate-
rial is better suited to a particular task on utilitarian grounds does not mean
that it will be automatically selected. For an example specifically dealing with
metal use, Bamforth (1993) shows that acceptance of apparently technologi-
cally superior metal tools by Native Americans was conditioned by symbolic
considerations. Historical and ethnographic research clearly shows that weap-
ons are subject to the same strictures (van Creveld 1989: 67–78). Spears in con-
temporary Africa are not only practical weapons, they are also markers of age,
ethnicity and social status (Larick 1986).
Egyptian weapons were unlikely to have been exempt from such consid-
erations. The ideological significance of warfare and subjugation is demon-
strated by smiting scenes on Pharaonic religious artefacts. Noblecourt and
Kuentz (1968: 219) and Routledge (2001: 204–5) argue that the activities of the
king in war were likened to a religious act in which the king was compared to
the god Horus and described as nb ir-xt. There are indications that weapons in
general had ideological import.9 Briefly, arrows were weapons of the sun-god,
and the symbolic importance of spears is shown by their appearance in rituals.
The ideological significance of flint in Dynastic Egypt is dealt with in partic-
ular by Aufrère (1983; 1991) and Graves-Brown (2005; 2006a; 2006b; 2007; 2008).
To summarize, flint is associated with meteoric iron. It is described in ophid-
ian terms (like the uraeus), and it is associated with Seth and Thoth, the fiery
daughters of Re, and with doorkeepers of the underworld and the northern
sky. It is thus a perfect celestial weapon against the enemies of Re, and perhaps
also against their metaphorical counterparts on earth.
9 For the ideological significance of arrows, see Brunner-Traut (1956) and McDermott (2004),
for spears, see Reymond (1963; 1964; and 1965) and McDermott (2004).
Flint and Forts 53
In fact, the very existence of the fragile, bifacial tool, as opposed to an equally
efficient but more crudely made weapon, in itself argues for an ideological
element, as Sinclair (1995: 55) posits for Solutrean points. The effort expended
in manufacture does not make sense in the light of the likely utilitarian return.
Organic points are significantly more robust when used in the same way.
Within Nubia, flint would have displayed its Egyptian origins, and its pos-
sible specific source from the religiously imbued hillside of Western Thebes. It
embodied the homeland in material form. While admittedly unprovable, it is
surely plausible that the use of emotive materials would have had some effect
on the fighting ability of Egyptian troops.
The limited use of lithic grave goods from the Late Middle Kingdom may
argue against flint’s ideological importance. However, ideologically, value is
contextually dependent. As discussed above, there could well have been sym-
bolic reasons why metal was considered more suitable for the grave.
As Vila has stated (1970: 195), there is no reason to see flints as replacements
for situations in which metal was not available. Indeed, one might almost won-
der why metal was ever adopted. As Rosen has noted (1996; 1997), there was
certainly nothing inevitable about its use. Thus, while the Egyptians of the Late
Middle Kingdom-Early New Kingdom clearly used metal weapons, flint weap-
ons were also important in Dynastic Egypt, and therefore warrant study. Petrie
had intended a volume on chipped stone tools and weapons (Gilbert 2004: 33),
and such a research project is surely long overdue. Our own assumptions of
the value of technological progress, of preferring the new over the old, have
perhaps blinded us to the importance of other ideologies, while denigrating
the practicalities of the old. Flint weapons were important in Egyptian war-
fare, both ideologically and pragmatically, until and possibly beyond the New
Kingdom Period.
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Geophysical Surveys at Tell El-Maskhuta, 1978–1982
Ted Banning
My first “serious” fieldwork resulted from Jack Holladay’s generous invitation

to join his team to help with mapping and to carry out a magnetometry survey
at Tell el-Maskhuta in summer 1978. This was a great opportunity that shortly
led to further survey work in Wadi Tumilat the following December (with Jack,
Ron Farquhar, Ruth Farquhar, and Claus Breede), to work as site architect in
1979 and 1981, and to carrying out a surface survey of the tell in 1982. The pres-
ent paper concerns that initial magnetometry survey.
Magnetometry in Summer 1978
The preliminary magnetometry survey at Tell el-Maskhuta had two principal

aims. The first was to determine the feasibility of detecting buried mud-brick
walls with this method in the context of the site. It was not obvious that there
would be enough magnetic contrast between the soil on the tell and walls
made essentially of the same materials. The second aim was to use a proton
magnetometer as an exploratory tool that might help with the selection of
areas for excavation. Surface survey of the site in 1977 had indicated that there
might be kilns or furnaces there, which would be particulary detectable by
magnetometry.
Magnetic sensing is useful in cases where a subterranean feature of archae-
ological interest contrasts in its magnetic properties with the surrounding
sediments. Most soils contain iron in the order of 0.5–1 percent in the form
of oxides, while top soils tend to be much more magnetic than subsoils. In
addition, some processes that occur in sediments where human activity is
intense may convert weakly magnetic alpha-Fe2O3 into Fe3O4 by the removal
of oxygen and subsequent re-oxidation converts this, in turn, into much
more strongly magnetic gamma-Fe2O3 (Tite and Mullins 1971). Consequently,
anthropogenic sediments can be much more magnetic than unaltered sedi-
ments and such bedrock materials as limestone and granite. This makes pos-
sible, for example, the recognition of buried ditches when a ditch dug through
relatively non-magnetic material was filled with anthropogenic sediment.
Even greater magnetic contrast presents itself when there is either metallic
iron or a remanently magnetized feature, such as a kiln (see below).

Geophysical Surveys At Tell El-maskhuta, 1978–1982 61
Leaving aside, for the moment, these remanently magnetized features, the
magnetic fields measured over subterranean features that contrast magneti-
cally with their surroundings are vectors combining the magnetic field of the
earth with fields induced in the features by the earth’s field. As the “dip” or
inclination of the earth’s field varies with latitude, the shape of a curve describ-
ing variation in magnetic magnitude in a traverse over a buried object or fea-
ture also varies with latitude. The induced magnetic fields are proportional
to both the external or applied fields that produce them and to the magnetic
susceptibility of the magnetized material. Thus, in the same applied field, such
as the earth’s, a feature made of highly susceptible gamma- Fe2O3 would have
a much more pronounced induced field than an identical feature made of less
susceptible alpha- Fe2O3. The overall shape and magnitude of the variations in
magnetic magnitude over a buried feature therefore depend on the suscepti-
bilities of both the feature of interest and the sediments that surround it.
Permanent or remanent magnetism is less commonly useful in archaeol-
ogy, but is useful for the detection of kilns, smelting features and perhaps large
hearths or sculptures carved from permanently magnetized rock (e.g., Breiner
and Coe 1972). Where the target feature or artifact is remanently magnetized,
it is not necessary to rely on the earth’s field to induce magnetism, as the target
already has a magnetic field of its own. This “remanent” field was usually cre-
ated when the object or feature was heated to a high temperature (generally
over 580oC in the case of clays). Heat adds energy to the object, increasing the
vibration of atoms and allowing the Fe atoms to align themselves more read-
ily with the earth’s field. When the material cools, this alignment “locks in,”
allowing the feature or object to behave as a permanent magnet. Thus a kiln
in which the clay or brick has been fired after construction will become rema-
nently magnetized and will produce a strong magnetic field that is detectable
with a magnetometer. Other kinds of structures built of fired bricks are not as
detectable because the orientation of the magnetic fields in the various bricks
is unlikely to be consistent, and their individual fields may tend to cancel one
another out.
The key to taking advantage of these magnetic anomalies is the availability
of an instrument capable of measuring small differences in magnetic intensity.
In the case of the Wadi Tumilat Project, we used a proton precession mag-
netometer borrowed from the Physics Department at University of Toronto
through the agency of Prof. R. M. Farquhar. In a proton magnetometer, a bottle
of alcohol in its sensing head will contain protons (hydrogen cations) and,
when an external field is applied to the bottle by a current in a surrounding
coil, these protons will tend to align their axes along the field. When the current
stops, these protons begin to precess or rotate until their original alignment is
62 Banning
restored, and the greater the magnetic field in their vicinity, the faster the rate
of precession. The magnetometer measures this rate by the current generated
in the coil and transforms the current into measurements of the field’s inten-
sity. The proton magnetometer that we used in 1978 and 1982 was cost-effective
and capable of measuring differences in magnetic field of 1 gamma, which is
sufficient for archaeological applications.
The Site and Its Magnetic Characteristics
Tell el-Maskhuta is a rolling, low mound with higher hills (ca. 5–10 m) along
the spoil banks of the modern sweetwater canal and smaller hills and hillocks
(ca. 2–4 m) scattered over its extent. The eastern end of the tell is somewhat
flatter than the rest, making it somewhat more suitable for magnetometer sur-
vey, since hills create their own magnetic anomalies. Some parts of the tell
were unsuitable for magnetic survey, including a flat area north of Fields A and
B that had experienced a lot of disturbance by earth moving equipment, the
high hills south of the sweetwater canal, and the vicinity of telephone lines
and the hydroelectric pylons that cross the site.
Evaluation of soil samples taken from sand and brick in Fields A and B, from
clay in Field L, and from silt and gravel in a cut through the sweetwater canal’s
spoil bank allow us to gauge how much variation in magnetic susceptibility to
expect among deposits at the site. At the University of Toronto’s geophysics
laboratory, a simple AC bridge was used to measure the samples’ magnetic sus-
ceptibilities relative to standards of known susceptibility. The alternating cur-
rent bridge measures the field induced in each sample by a generated external
field by comparing it to an adjustable internal magnetic field that is also gener-
ated. A meter approaches 0 when these two fields match and a measure of the
internal field (and thus also of the sample’s induced field) can be read directly
from the dial. The magnitude of the field is a function of magnetic susceptibil-
ity in the sample, and the relative susceptibilities indicated by the dial setting
are calibrated by similar measurements made on samples of known suscepti-
bility. The samples were equal in volume, and their mass was also recorded so
that we could compare them in units of emu/g (electromotive units per gram).
As the results in Table 1 indicate, the contrast between sand and brick or
clay is quite large and is probably sufficient for detection of mud-brick fea-
tures, such as walls by induced magnetism as long as the surrounding materials
with which they are buried contain a lot of sand. Similarly, there is some con-
trast between silt and gravel. Thus, if a ditch or canal were dug through gravel,
Table 1 Magnetic susceptibilities of samples taken at Tell el-Maskhuta in July 1978
Provenance emu emu/g
Sand, Field A, North of temenos wall 3.0 × 10–5 1.5 × 10–6

Sand, Field A, North of temenos wall 3.3 × 10–5 1.8 × 10–6
Sand, Field B, South of temenos wall 3.6 × 10–5 1.8 × 10–6
Brick from North side of temenos wall, Field A 8.4 × 10–5 5.6 × 10–6
Brick from South side of temenos wall, Field B 7.6 × 10–5 4.8 × 10–6
Sediment from spoil bank of modern canal 2.9 × 10–5 1.5 × 10–6
and was subsequently filled with silt, we could expect to see a pronounced
magnetic anomaly. Sand and gravel at this site consist mainly of non-magnetic,
iron-poor materials such as SiO2 and CaCO3.
These measurements allowed us to make some predictions about the detect-
ability of some of the things we might expect to encounter at the site.
Mudbrick walls: The magnetic susceptibility measurements indicate that
mudbrick walls should create a strong magnetic signal as long as they are sur-
rounded with sand or very sandy sediment. As it happens, the sediments at Tell
el-Maskhuta are indeed very sandy, while mud brick was the most common
architectural medium at the site. These two facts should in principle make it
easy to detect architecture at the site, especially if the walls are linear so that
they are easier to distinguish from natural variations in, for example, the depth
of topsoil.
Stone statuary: Most of the monumental sculpture one could expect to
encounter at a “Hyksos” site in Northeastern Egypt would be carved from lime-
stone or granite. Indeed, some large limestone blocks and unfinished or bro-
ken granite statues could still be seen scattered about the site in 1978, while
the Ismailia Museum and the gardens of the Suez Canal Company also house
limestone and granite statues and sarcophagi that were removed from Tell
el-Maskhuta. Granite is highly variable in its magnetic characteristics, rang-
ing from ferromagnetic granites with susceptibilities on the order of 1 × 10–3
emu/g to only weakly magnetic or “paramagnetic” granites with susceptibili-
ties not much different from some of the sediments in Table 1 (Hrouda et al.
2009). Limestone and marble can have such low content of ferromagnetic and
paramagnetic minerals that magnetic susceptibility can even be negative.
Consequently, limestone statuary could produce weakly negative magnetic
64 Banning
anomalies if buried in a site like Tell el-Maskhuta, while granite ones, depend-
ing on the mineralogy of the granite, could produce positive or negative anom-
alies or none at all.
Kilns and smelting furnaces: The presence of black glassy material, appar-
ently slag, on the site suggested the possibility that there could be kilns or fur-
naces at the site, some of which could have been used to produce some of
the huge quantities of pottery also found there. As it happens, later fieldwork
showed that there were lime kilns that had been used to burn limestone sal-
vaged from architecture and sculptures at the site. Since kilns and furnaces
would be remanently magnetized during their last firing and subsequent cool-
ing, we could expect them to produce very large magnetic anomalies.
Magnetic noise: Obviously the proton magnetometer is not sensitive to the
magnetic fields of archaeological features alone, and iron objects of recent
date, geological features, and electrical currents can all create magnetic anom-
alies that could obscure the signals from archaeological targets or be mistaken
for them. Parts of Tell el-Maskhuta were plagued by magnetic noise. In 1978, a
series of steel towers some 8 m high had already been installed roughly across
the middle of the tell (Fig. 1) but had not yet been strung with electrical cables.
Figure 1 Map of Tell el-Maskhuta, showing the locations of excavation fields and some of the
modern architecture. The hydroelectric towers that were installed in 1978 extend in a
line that runs immediately south of Fields K, J, F and C.
Figure 2 Magnetic anomaly associated with a steel hydroelectric pylon to the north of Field A
and the site bench mark. Magnetic intensity is in gammas and distance from the
pylon in metres. Note that the positive anomaly is typical of mid-latitudes in having a
strong positive peak to the north and negative peak to the south of the target.
Each of these towers produced a large but highly localized magnetic anomaly
(Fig. 2). By maintaining a distance of at least 15 m from any towers, one could
still take magnetometer readings without interference by them. In the last two
weeks of the 1978 field season, the cables went up, rendering further survey by a
single proton magnetometer impractical at this site because of the huge fields
generated by electrical currents. Similarly, a telephone line running roughly
parallel to the hydroelectric line also created fields that made magnetic sur-
vey impossible in their vicinity, but the telephone poles were mainly on the
spoil banks that were already excluded from survey. Iron litter, another source
of noise, was fortunately not abundant on the surface of the site, although
occasional pieces of barbed wire were visible and some very large magnetic
anomalies encountered during the survey could result from buried iron objects
66 Banning
of recent origin, such as shrapnel or other military junk from one of the 20th-
century wars that affected the area. Tell ar-Ratabeh, by contrast, was densely
littered with barbed wire, cans, ration boxes, iron grates and other ferromag-
netic rubbish.
Survey arrows and stakes: It is of course necessary to use non-ferrous stakes
to lay out a grid for a magnetometer survey. Archaeologists working in the
Middle East, however, often use segments of iron bar intended for concrete
reinforcement as survey stakes. In 1978, Fields A and B were laid out with
wooden stakes that would not interfere with the magnetometry, but other
fields did have some steel surveying arrows near their corners and steel nails
had been used to hold baulk-strings in place. Steel survey arrows and even six-
inch nails could create anomalies with magnitudes of 10 gammas or more with
the magnetometer’s sensing head about 15 cm from the ground. It was neces-
sary to avoid these stakes and nails during survey.
Rough terrain: Where the surface of the ground was uneven or hilly,
we could expect anomalies from large geological features to mask archaeologi-
cal ones.
Survey of Fields A and B: The Temenos Wall
During the first week of the 1978 field season, wooden stakes were used to lay
out Fields A and B on either side of a thick mud-brick structure that was ten-
tatively identified as the “temenos wall.” The top of this wall was flush with the
surface of the ground in this part of the tell, which then dropped off consider-
ably to the northeast, exposing the north face of the wall farther east.
The proton magnetometer was used to take readings at one-metre intervals
along traverses oriented 16oE (magnetic), and the traverses were spaced 1.5 m
apart. Additional readings were taken at a base station on the southeast corner
of the grid before and after each traverse in order to correct for diurnal varia-
tion (naturally occurring changes in the earth’s magnetic field over time). As it
turned out, diurnal variation was negligible during the hour or so that it took
to acquire the data (Table 2 and Figs. 3 and 4).
The contrast between the magnetic susceptibility of the temenos wall
and the surrounding sediments, as predicted, was sufficient to create a very
large anomaly. Admittedly this was not very surprising, given the great size of
the wall (8.75 m in thickness). With a detector height of 15 cm, the resulting
anomaly had a double peak and two associated “troughs” (Fig. 3), suggesting
the possibility that the wall is not solid brick, but rather has earth-filled case-
mates. If this were the case, sandy sediment in the casemates could produce
a negative anomaly that partially counteracts the positive one from the brick.
Table 2 Magnetic intensities in gammas taken at 1 m intervals from north to south along five
traverses at 1.5 m intervals (0 to 6 m), corrected for diurnal variations by reference to
readings at a base station
0 1.5 3.0 4.5 6.0
20 N 42947 42958 42961 42938 42926

42943 42947 42961 42940 42926
42955 42954 42966 42944 42916
42955 42962 42963 42953 42946
42960 42960 42968 42954 42947
15 N 42957 42960 42963 42962 42960
42965 42955 42963 42957 42954
42959 42954 42958 42960 42960
42957 42952 42957 42956 42964
42946 42952 42958 42948 42962
10 N 42942 42955 42954 42945 42935
42949 42952 42959 42955 42932
42944 42947 42954 42957 42938
42943 42947 42951 42950 42932
42944 42943 42948 42944 42931
5N 42937 42943 42946 42944 42932
42942 42942 42944 42935 42933
42935 42935 42948 42938 42932
42929 42931 42936 42930 42926
42922 42923 42925 42926 42924
0 42924 42923 42920 42915 42919
42957 42942 42959 42944 42939
42950 42943 42964 42980 42943
42954 42950 42956 42958 42964
42938 42928 42949 42941 42925
5S 42945 42941 42953 42953 42945
42949 42943 42951 42947 42942
42940 42930 42948 42954 42935
42979 42973 42982 42998 42988
42981 42972 42981 42976 42975
10 S 42970 42975 42962 42960 42961
42964 42957 42962 42961 42965
42958 42950 42959 42957 42961
42954 42943 42955 42951 42961
42952 42941 42955 42952 42955
68 Banning
Table 2 Magnetic intensities in gammas taken at 1 m intervals from north to south (cont.)
0 1.5 3.0 4.5 6.0
15 S 42949 42936 42952 42952 42953

42946 42943 42952 42952 42951
42947 42945 42954 42950 42948
42941 42948 42952 42947 42944
42936 42937 42945 42948 42932
20 S 42930 42938 42934 42932 42934
Figure 3 Plot of the mean of the magnetic intensity values across five transects with length
across the mud-brick wall in Areas A/B. The y-axis represents magnetic intensity in
gammas, the x-axis distance north or south of the north face of the wall.
Figure 4 Magnetic map of the five transects across the large mud-brick wall in Areas A/B,
with contours of magnetic intensity at 10-gamma intervals.
The magnetic data can also be used to estimate the depth to the bottom of the
wall. We can commonly take advantage of a relationship whereby the width
of the anomaly at one-half its height (“width at half-max”) is equal to the dis-
tance between the magnetometer’s sensor and the centre of a buried object
responsible for the anomaly. However, the fact that we have a double-peaked
anomaly here complicates these estimates. The width at half-max across one
of the individual peaks is about 2 m, but the width across both peaks is about
8 m. The higher estimate, however, is undoubtedly due in part to the width of
the wall itself, and Aitkin (1961) suggests that the width at half-max estimates
either the depth to centre of the object or the width of the object, whichever is
greater. Subsequent excavation in Fields A, B and L demonstrated that the wall
would have been greater than 3 m in height, so the 2 m estimate to centre, or
about 4 m to the bottom of the wall would seem about right.
70 Banning
Magnetic Reconnaissance
Attempts to use the magnetometer quickly and easily as a prospecting tool

were similar to those tested at Kingscote in Gloucestershire, England (Ralph
1975). Rather than take the costly approach of setting out a one-metre grid, as
in Fields A and B, reconnaissance depended on heuristically tracking variation
in digital readouts taken at frequent intervals. Whenever there were anoma-
lously high or low readings, further readings were taken at smaller intervals in
the vicinity of the anomalous one to try and find the centre of the peak and the
location of the associated trough to its north or south (depending on whether
the anomaly was positive or negative). Non-ferrous markers were then placed
at the centres of any substantial peaks and troughs in magnetic intensity. In
some cases, it was even possible, by successive readings, to follow the magnetic
contours of a large anomaly. This approach has its drawbacks, but was fast and
actually quite efficient in that it allowed identification of peaks that could have
been missed by rigid adherence to a grid. The presence of the markers on the
ground also gave immediate feedback to excavators to help them plan their
excavations.
Field C
One application of this approach demonstrates some of its advantages, but
also its failings. I spent two days on a magnetic reconnaissance of Field C in the
eastern portion of the tell (Fig. 1) before the excavation areas of the field were
put in place. One of the goals of this reconnaissance was actually to identify a
relatively non-archaeological part of the tell where a new dig house could be
constructed. The reconnaissance identified no pronounced anomalies over the
area where the excavations later took place, indicating that this area might be a
good place for construction. Magnetic intensity only varied by about 5 gammas
in this area, with no apparent pattern. Only in the southwest portion of this
area was there a single pronounced anomaly, which the subsequent excava-
tions avoided.
However, the ensuing excavations (Holladay 1982: 38–41) actually exposed
a great many mud-brick walls belonging to a Hellenistic cemetery (Fig. 4).
This was not a great testament to the effectiveness of the magnetometry, and
could only be attributed to the probability that there were so many targets
producing so many overlapping anomalies, which thus tended to cancel one
another out, that no pattern was obvious. Here is a case where another remote-
sensing method, such as Ground-Penetrating Radar (GPR) might have been
more effective.
Field D
Reconnaissance of the area around Field D was a natural extension of the grid
survey in nearby Fields A and B. For the most part, magnetic variation was very
minor, but there were two small, linear anomalies near the centre of D1 and
near the south end of D2, and one large, circular anomaly near the northwest
corner of D2. Upon excavation of D1 in 1978, nothing of archaeological impor-
tance was found near the anomaly, the trench encountering mainly sterile
sand. There must have been a non-archaeological variation in the iron content
of this sand in this area. The 10-gamma linear anomaly across the south of D2
did prove to follow a buried wall with brick rubble piles around it. Excavations
did not come closer than 60 cm to the centre of the more pronounced, circular
anomaly but, given what was found elsewhere at the site, it is possible that
it resulted from the remains of a remanently magnetized lime kiln or from a
large and deep pit. However, there was no indication in the west baulk of D2 of
a pit or ash deposits.
Field L
Before excavation of Field L, many small fragments of a granite sculpture were
collected in this area. Magnetic survey here located several small unconnected
anomalies unlikely to be associated with buried walls as well as one immense
anomaly on a slight hill. The gradient of this anomaly was so steep, and its
magnitude so great (more than 200 gammas with a detector height of 15cm),
that it seemed likely to result from the presence of a large metallic iron object.
There were also chunks of slag-like material on the surface in the vicinity, sug-
gesting the possibility that the anomaly was due to a buried kiln or furnace.
Subsequent excavations showed that the extremely large anomaly was due
to the presence of a large, second-century AD lime kiln in L12 (Holladay 1982:
35–37). Other, smaller, anomalies in Field L could have been due to the pres-
ence of Middle Bronze II mud-brick graves buried in sand; their depth made
their signals rather small.
The “Threshing Floor”

Magnetic reconnaissance at the southern edge of the tell near the modern vil-
lage of Maskhuta, a flat surface used in 1978 as a threshing floor, revealed small
linear anomalies that probably indicate buried walls. However, the location of
these anomalies was not excavated.
The “Harbour”
South of the tell and next to the village was a rectangular field planted in maize
and onions and irrigated by a ditch. The west side of this field was bordered
72 Banning
by the southern extension of the tell, the edge of which runs along a straight
line (Fig. 1) and was topped by a row of occupied mud-brick houses. About
20 m from the southwest corner of the field, right on the edge of cultivation,
limestone blocks about 1 m × 0.5 m × 0.4 m were visible and, where they had
not tumbled down, two courses stood above ground level. East-west traverses
across this field to the row of houses revealed a drop in magnetic intensity of
10–15 gammas directly over the visible blocks, but farther west the drop steep-
ened and continued to 100–200 gammas below the magnetic intensity encoun-
tered over the agricultural field. This was an extremely large negative anomaly
that made it tempting to conclude that the line of recent houses was founded
on top of a huge limestone quay associated with the ancient canal mentioned
by Herodotus (Histories II, 158). However, it is also possible that the topography
was a factor, since the surface at the houses is several metres higher than the
field. At the time, the houses were not supplied with electricity, so we cannot
attribute the anomaly to electrical interference.
The “Temenos Square”

A large, flat, rectangular area north of Fields A and B seemed initially to be a
good candidate for the temenos shown in the plan of Édouard Naville (1903).
Subsequent comparison of Naville’s plan with that of the 1978 field season at
the site suggested that this square in fact lay farther south. We nonetheless
investigated this flat area for magnetic anomalies, but numerous traverses
across it, positioned in such a way as to avoid the steel towers, revealed no
magnetic anomalies greater than 8 gammas and no linear patterns. However,
magnetic intensity was uniformly lower in this area than in surrounding ones,
and it is likely the whole area has been subject to bulldozing by the Egyptian
army followed by infill by windblown sand.
Miscellaneous Reconnaissance
A short survey in an area just off the road that ran along the south of the canal
spoil banks, as suggested by Carol Redmount, was to investigate a scatter of
slag-like material in that area. Further magnetic reconnaissance south of
Fields E and H also aimed at investigating similar slag scatters. Both these areas
yielded results similar to those encountered near Field L. There were several
localized anomalies that might suggest kilns or furnaces, but these anomalies
were scattered without any obvious pattern.
Unfinished and broken works of monumental sculpture in the area south
of Fields L and H seemed to cause erratic behaviour in the proton magnetom-
eter. It was generally impossible, in fact, to obtain readings within 20 cm of
one of these pieces, while somewhat more distant readings were inconsistent.
However, it seems likely that the granite in these sculpture fragments was quite
ferromagnetic, which might bode well for further surveys aimed at detection
statues.
Evaluation of the Magnetic Reconnaissance
Overall, the magnetometry reconnaissance provided useful results. Anomalies

could be pinpointed well and diurnal variation did not present a problem. It
was possible to relay the results, including the location of anomalies, to exca-
vators immediately, rather than waiting for the data from a grid survey to be
analyzed, which was a time-consuming process back in 1978.
However, the failure of the reconnaissance to identify the numerous walls
associated with the cemetery in Field C was rather disappointing. Somewhat
ironically, it suggests that in these latitudes the presence of a great many tar-
gets (in this case, pits and walls) overcomplicated the magnetic signals so that
no particular anomalies stood out, with one exception. This suggests that other
methods, such as GPR or electromagnetic survey might prove more useful in
contexts like this.
Bibliography
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Breiner, S. and Coe, M. D. 1972. Magnetic exploration of the Olmec civilization.
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on the Wadi Tumilat Project 1978–1979. With contributions by D. B. Redford, P. G.
Holladay and J. B. Brookner. American Research Center in Egypt Reports. Vol 6.
Malibu, CA: Undena Publications. Published under the auspices of the American
Research Center in Egypt, Inc.
Hrouda, F., Chlupácová, M. and Chadima, M. 2009. The use of magnetic susceptibility
of rocks in geological exploration. Terraplus Geophysical Supplier (www.terraplus
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Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co.
Ralph, E. K. 1975. Cesium magnetometer survey at Kingscote, Gloucestershire, England.
Pp. 197–200 in Photography in Archaeological Research. ed. E. Harp. Albuquerque:
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archaeological sites. Archaeometry 13: 209–219.
Thutmose Iii’s Great Syrian Campaign: Tracing
the Steps of the Egyptian Pharaoh in Western Syria
Part I: From Idlib to Aleppo
Douglas Frayne
Introduction
On pylon seven of the great Amun temple at Karnak, Thutmose III listed the
names of various towns and cities that he had defeated in his campaigns in
Palestine, Phoenicia, and Syria. The greatest of these, which marked the zenith
of Egyptian military power in Syria, was his eighth campaign, carried out in his
thirty-third year. An excellent edition of the geographical names of this great
campaign has been provided by Simmons (1937). The classic examination of
the geographical locations of the place names mentioned in the Egyptian top-
ographical lists is Helck’s 1962 monograph (1962).
The present study deals only with one section of the great list, and discusses
an area in Western Syria, defined by entries 147–173, that is, twenty-seven indi-
vidual entries in toto. The remainder of the entries in the list will be examined
in a separate, future study.
Entries 147–173 have been studied in great detail (along with earlier and later
entries) by Astour in a 1963 article (1963). Unfortunately, Astour did not realize
that the entries in the list delineated an ancient itinerary of the Egyptian pha-
raoh, and while his basic assumption that the ancient place names enumerated
in the list often find reflexes in modern toponyms is valid, his work contains a
methodological flaw. This is because Astour did not restrict his investigation to
a small and well defined area, and the results he achieves are not reliable at all.
Virtually all his identifications turn out to be incorrect. As a result of this situa-
tion, a complete re-examination of the list is a distinct desideratum.
To start with, we shall discuss two entries that occur before No. 147. No. 122:
i-m-t may possibly refer to the ancient city of Hamath (modern Ḥamāh) in
western Syria. The same city likely appears in the Ebla texts written as ’à-ma-
ad. While most scholars have generally agreed with this identification, there
have been some dissenting voices (see Archi, Piacente, and Pomponio 1993:
132, for the literature).
No. 127: t-n-p likely refers to the ancient city of Tunip, attested in the Ebla
texts in the writing tú-ne-ep (Bonechi 1993: 114; Archi, Piacente, and Pomponio

Thutmose Iii ’ s Great Syrian Campaign 75
1993: 212–13). It appears in the Alalakhean VII and IV archives as tu-ni-ip

(Belmonte Marín 2011: 294), and in Hittite texts in a variety of spellings (for
these see del Monte and Tischler 1978: 440). Ancient Tunip has generally been
identified with the large mound of Tell ‘Acharneh (see Belmonte Marín 294;
Frayne 2006; Klengel 1995; Fortin 2006).
Methodology
In order to place the various ancient toponyms of the Egyptian topographical

lists at their appropriate modern locations, I have used the working hypothesis
that the list in question is an itinerary of the Egyptian pharaoh. I have assumed
that Entry 147: y-t-ḫ-b corresponds to modern Idlib, and that the list proceeds
in a general northeasterly direction from that town. To locate the place names,
I have used the so-called “linguistic method” described by Barjamovic in a
recent study:
One accepted way of approaching historical geography has been to iso-

late a given toponym in an ancient text, and then to identify it with a
modern place-name that sounds similar, or for which one may recon-
struct a feasible linguistic evolution from the ancient to the modern form.
By this procedure, one would identify a number of fixed points on the
map, and then relate such points to connected toponyrns in various avail-
able itineraries. (2008: 89)
Some scholars have rightly pointed out some pitfalls of the “linguistic
approach” for toponymic study. Caveats are raised when it is not supported by
other data, such as determining clusters of sites in individual texts. The pre-
liminary conclusions of my work within the framework of the Toronto Atlas of
the Ancient Near East Project (https://projects.chass.utoronto.ca/taane) made
it clear that there are more than a thousand examples in which ancient place
names survive into modern times. Many of these are small villages. In fact, the
congruence of ancient and modern place names is not an isolated phenome-
non, but, despite some critics’ assertions, but is rather the norm. However, with
respect to sound mutations of ancient place names through time, one cannot
approach the problem with the rigid sound laws such as those formulated by
the Neo-grammarians for the study of various Indo-European languages. This
means that one cannot predict by a set of fixed rules precisely how a given
ancient place name will mutate over time. Expected changes such as the alter-
nation between ‘m’ and ‘b’, is very common, Other common changes are as
76 Frayne
the alternation between ancient ‘s’ and modern ‘f’, and, of course, ancient ‘p’
to modern ‘f’, and ancient ‘g’ to modern ‘j’, through the influence of Arabic.
The process of Volksetymologie is extremely productive in the area of the place
names of ancient Near East.
In pursuing my research, I generally proceed by examining archival texts
that confine themselves to a small area, and then postulate a district for their
location. I have made use of the 1:200,000 scale topographical maps of the
French army map series for Syria. The toponyms are identified both on the
basis of assonance between ancient and modern names, as well as their occur-
rence together in a particular text. I have published the results of this kind of
investigation in a number of articles (Frayne 1992; 1999; 2006; 2009; 2011a; 2011b;
2013).
It is unfortunate that Astour’s methodology used in his discussion of the
Thtumoses III lists was flawed because of the grand sweep of the region he
considered. He failed to realize that the reliability of the “linguistic method”
of site location of place increases in reverse proportion to the size of the area
examined. His (Astour 1963) wide-ranging study of the topographic lists of
Thutmose III are most unreliable, whereas his research on the place names of
the much smaller kingdom of Syannu (Astour 1979) is quite reasonable.
The Itinerary of Thutmose III: From Idlib to Aleppo

The toponyms discussed in this section are listed in Table 1 and mapped in
Figure 1.
No. 147: y-t-ḫ-b is to be placed at the modern Syrian city of Idlib (36° 38´ 0´´
E 35° 56´ 0´´ N). The name also occurs in the ED IIIb Ebla texts, written there
as du-ḫu-la-bu6-um (Bonechi 1993: 111; Archi, Piacente, and Pomponio 1993:
206). While the connection of du-ḫu-la-bu6-um with Idlib was suggested by
neither Archi nor Bonechi, it was proposed by Astour (1963: 224), following
a comment of Dussaud, and is highly likely. Not only is there a similarity in
the sound of the ancient and modern place names, but there is also the fact
that Idlib (according to my reconstruction) lies a mere 22 km south of the next
entry in the list, No. 148: i-nw-q. I-nw-q corresponds to the Eblaic toponym
ù-na-gú (Bonechi 1993: 308; Archi, Piacente, and Pomponio 1993: 24–56). As
Astour points out (1963: 224, no. 18), i-nw-q appears in the Alalkhean VII and
IV archives as Unigâ (see now Belmonte Marín 2001: 323–24). It further occurs,
as Astour also points out (1963: 224, no. 18), in royal inscriptions of the Neo-
Assyrian king Tiglath-pileser III (see now Tadmor and Yamada 2011: Text 12:
lines 3’, 11’; Text 14: line 5; Text 26: line 3; Text 43: col. ii line 15; Text 46: line 20;
Text 49: obv. 26’, 27’; Text 50 obv.: line 1). The frequent occurrences of the name
suggest it was an important city, and it gave its name to the “the land of Unqi.”
Unigâ is likely to be located at the modern Syrian village of Kaukanya (36° 07´
12´´ E, 36° 36´ 36´´ N), which, as noted, lies 22 km northeast of Idlib.
No. 149: [. . .]-ṯi-na is broken, and thus no identification or placement of the
toponym is possible.
No. 150: ś-k-ḫ-y can be linked to the Alalkhean VII GN Tuḫul, which occurs
twelve times in the archive (Belmonte Marín 2001: 292). It is to be placed at
the modern village of Kafer Taharim (36° 16´ 12´´ E, 36 19´ 12´´ N), 25 km west of
modern Kaukanya.
No. 151: i-b-r-n-n can be connected with the Alalakhean VII GN Abrut (Belmonte
Marín 2001: 2). A connection with the Eblaic GN Ab(a)rudu (Bonechi 1993: 308;
Archi, Piacente, and Pomponio 1993: 35, sub A-ba-ru12-duki) has been suggested
(Zeeb 1998: 856), but this is highly unlikely in view of the geographical context
of the place names in the Ebla text. Zeeb (1998: 856) also notes a possible con-
nection with the Ugaritic GN ab?-ra-te. I-b-r-n-n is likely to be located at the
modern Syrian village of Aabreité (36° 12´ 36´´ E, 36° 43´ 48´´ N), which lies
in a small mountain valley 5 km northeast of modern Kafer Taharim (ancient
Tuḫul).
No. 152: ḏ-nw-r-ś is to be connected with the Alalakhean IV GN tar-ma-na/
tar-ma-na-še found in AlT 163 and 342 (Belmonte Marín 2001: 287). It occurs
in the form Tarmanzi in two inscriptions of Tiglath-pileser III (Tadmor and
Yamada 2011: Text 14: line 5, and Text 26: line 33). Astour (1963: 222, no. 4) con-
nects Tarmanzi with No. 125 in the Simmons list, but this is incorrect. A plausi-
ble location for Tarmanaše/Tarmanzi is at the modern Syrian town of Armanaz
(36° 41´ 24´´ E, 36° 27´ 0´´ N), approximately 8 km south of modern Aabreite, the
posited location for Egyptian i-b-r-n-n.
No. 153: ś-b-q is to be linked to the modern Syrian village of Fonndoq
(36° 07´ 12´´ E, 36° 48´ 36´´ N), which lies just southeast of modern village of
Bîdé Its Alalakhean equivalent is likely to be the GN Šanuka, that occurs in the
tablets AlT 271 and AlT 180 (Belmonte Marín 2001: 264). In AlT 271 it occurs
immediately after ancient Ḫursanu, which is to be located at the modern
village of Hannazé
No. 154: p-ṯ-r is to be located at the modern Syrian village of El Bîdé (36° 02´
54.42´´ E, 36° 32´ 03.45´´ N).
No. 155: ś-t-ḫ-b-g is to be correlated to the modern Syrian village of Joubahiyé
(36° 04´ 16´´ E, 36° 35´ 11.39´´ N), just east of El Bîdé. It likely corresponds to
Alalakean Zapulḫe (Belmonte Marín 2001: 351).
No. 156: i-m-r-s-k connects to the well-attested Alalakhean VII toponym
Amaršaggi (Belmonte Marín 2001: 18). The name occurs in AlT 341 along with
78 Frayne
the GN tar-ma-na-še. In AlT 197, it is mentioned with several other villages that
are summarized in Table 2. A probable location of ancient Amaršaggi is at the
modern Syrian town of Hafserjé (36° 01´ 05.47´´ E, 36° 32´ 02.10´´ N).
No. 157: ḫ-r-r-ś corresponds to the Alalakhean VII GN Ḫursanu (Belmonte
Marín 2001: 135). It is to be located at the modern Syrian town of Hazzané
(36° 06´ 19.06´´ E, 36° 44´ 47.07´´ N), located just 6 km northeast of ancient
Amarš̌aggi (modern Hafserjé).
No. 158: n-n-r-m-n-d equates to the Alalkhean VII GN Nuranti (Belmonte
Marín 2000: 215). A plausible location, as Astour points out (1963: 234, no. 1170),
is modern Kafer Noûrâné (36° 05´ 17.80´´ E, 36° 45´ 38.05´´ N), which lies 11 km
east of modern Hazzané. A connection with Simmons No. 323: t-r-n-ś, sug-
gested by Astour (1963: 234, no. 117), is not tenable.
No. 159: ḫ-š-w-r-n-t may be compared with the Alalkhean VII GN Šannadu
(Belmonte Marín 2001: 264), possibly from an original form *Šarnadu. A con-
nection with Ebla GN Sa-na-NE-du has been proposed by Zeeb (1998: 859). A
location at modern Zaradna (36° 2´ 20.91´´ E, 36° 45´ 17.32´´ N), 8 km southwest
of modern Kafer Noûrâné, is probable.
No. 160: m-r-r-ḫ-n-ś was considered by Astour (1963: 225, no. 29) to be a
compound of the elements m-r-r and h-n-ś. If this be correct, then the first
element, m-r-r, can be connected to the Alalakhean VII GN Murar (Belmonte
Marín 2001: 200). A location for ancient Murar at the modern Syrian town
of Maarret (36° 03´ 29.44´´ E, 36° 52´ 19.53´´ N), which lies 7 km southeast of
Zaradna, is plausible. In an Ebla text (TM.75.G1653; see Archi 2006: 5), a-la-
la-ḫu (Alalakh) and mu-ra-ar (Murar) are mentioned together, along with the
ancient GN lu-ba-an. Now, ancient Lubān here. is to be located at the modern
Syrian village of Ibbîné, situated 4.5 km northwest of modern Maarret ancient
Murar. This Murar is not to be connected with Ugaritic GN Mirar, because the
Ugaritic site can be shown to lie in a totally different region. Murar occurs in
the text AlT 456 (Wiseman 1958: 126, line 17). The modern villages of AlT 456
are listed in Table 3.
From the information in Table 3, it becomes clear that the town of Ir-ri-de
mentioned in AlT 1 and AlT456 clearly does not correspond to the large and
well-attested settlement of Irride, located east of the Eupphrates between it
and the Balikh River. Rather, it refers to a small namesake village to be located
at modern Arjîé, on the eastern border of the Alalakhean kingdom. It is this
small settlement that was exchanged in the text AlT 1. The eastern Irrite is men-
tioned in Eblaic sources (Bonechi 1993: 205–6; Archi, Piacente, and Pomponio
1993: 305–9), Hittite texts (del Monte and Tischler 1978: 144), and in Middle
Assyrian tablets (Nashef 1982: 138–39). The well-known Irrite has been dis-
cussed in detail by Hawkins (1978) He notes that, according to M. Faulkner,
Irrite lay somewhere between Carchemish and Harran. Weidner’s connection

with the small village named Ordî is not convincing. Irrite may possibly be
located at the modern Syrian settlement of ‘Ain al-‘Arous (36° 50´ 31.38´´ E 36°
0 38.27´´ N), where a spring serves as an important source of the Balikh river.
No. 161: ṯ-g-r-r. The location of this settlement is unknown.
No. 162: missing from the list.
No. 163: k-nr-t has been connected by Astour (1963: 225, no. 31) with the Neo-
Assyrian GN ki-na-li-a/ku-na-li-a, which appears in three Tiglath-pileser III
inscriptions (Tadmor and Yamada 2011: Text 12 lines 6’ and 111’; Text 14 lines 4
and Text 26 line 2). However, the entry K-nr-t in the Egyptian list is almost cer-
tainly is not to be connected to Neo-Assyrian Kunalia because of the location
of K-nr-t n the topographical list. K-nr-t should be located at the modern vil-
lage of Nabi Qandil (36° 08´ 0.37´´ E, 36° 49´ 06.1´´ N). Neo-Assyrian Kunalia has
now been positively identified with the modern mound of Tell Tayinat by the
Tayinat Archeological Project’s discovery of a copy of the so-called “Succession
Treaty” of Esarhaddon; line 3 of the newly discovered tablet mentions the city
ku-na li-a (Lauinger 2012: 91, line T I 3).
No. 164: t-r-ḏ, as Astour (1963: 225, no. 32) notes, may be equated to the
Neo-Assyrian GN ti-ri-i-[sa] that occurs in an inscription of Tiglath-pileser III
(Tadmor and Yamada 2011 Text 43: col. ii line 14). It is said to lie in the land of
Unqi. Tiri[sa] is to be located at the modern village of Dar Tazze (36° 16´ 58.70´´
E, 36° 51´ 18.25´´ N), 25 km north of Nabi Qandil.
The name of No. 165 is lost; thus its location is unknown.
The location of No. 166: i-nr-ṯ is unknown.
No. 167: i-m-r-ś. The location of this GN is unknown
The location of No. 168: ḫ-t-r-d is unknown.
At this point in the list, the place names leave the region of the Alalaḫean
kingdom and proceed first northeasterly and then southeasterly towards
modern Aleppo, ancient Halab.
No. 169: i-r-n-r is to be located at the modern Syrian village of Mayer (36° 33´
38.88´´ E, 37° 11´ 14.07´´ N), which lies 8 km north-northwest of Aleppo.
No. 170: ḫ-t-m-y appears on the map at the modern Syrian village of Hayné
(36° 26´ 50.42´ E, 37° 14´ 04.78´´ N), which lies 2.5 km south of modern Mayer.
No. 172: i-?-r-ḏ-n is to be situated at modern Syrian village of Hrytan (37° 5´
0.72´´ E, 36° 17´ 19.26´´ N), which lies just north of Aleppo.
With No. 173 in the list, our discussion this section of the itinerary ends. The
list goes on to describe a land route that proceeded northeast from Aleppo
to the Sajur River, and then southeastward down the Sajur, and beyond, to
reach ancient Emar on the banks of the Euphrates. The Egyptian troops then
apparently crossed the Euphrates at Emar and continued up the east bank of
80 Frayne
the Euphrates, crossed the Euphrates again at Carchemish, and then headed
southwestward back to Aleppo. This route will be discussed in a future study.
The Route through the Alalakhean Kingdom in Other Periods
Although this study is basically concerned with the campaign of Thutmose III
in Syria, the fact that his campaign passed through the southeastern section of
the later kingdom of Alalakh warrants a discussion of the toponyms found in
the Alalakh VII (and to some extent, Alalakh IV) texts. The relevant toponyms
are listed in Table 4, and plotted on the map in Figure 2.
The Trip of Yarīm-Līm to Aleppo

Villard (1986) has assembled a dossier of Mari documents that deal with a trip
by Yarīm-Līm to Ugarit. During the course of the trip, the Mari king stopped
at (among others) the settlements of Aleppo, Muzunnum and Layašum.
The location of Aleppo, of course, is well known. Muzunnu may correspond
to the Alalakhean town of A’ušun, to be located at modern Ej Jine, and Layašum
to be connected with ancient Nuḫašše, and located at modern Aasoûs. Although
only a small portion of the route traveled through the Alalakhean region, the
place names are noteworthy.
The El Amarna Period

In Amarna letter EA 53, lines 40–44, the governor Akizzi writes to Tutankhamun
(or possibly Amenophis IV) as follows:
My lord, just as I love my king, m[y] lord so the king of Nuḫašše, the king
of Nii, the king of Zinzar, and the king of Tunanab; all of these are my
king’s servant. (Moran 1992: 125)
The place names that occur in this section of the letter may be correlated to
modern village names in the eastern region of the kingdom of Alalakh, as listed
in Table 5.
It should be noted, in this connection, that there is no evidence to connect
the ancient Nii in the letter with the ancient Seleucid city of Apamea, modern
Qal‘at al-Madiq, as has been almost universally accepted (with some reserva-
tion). The identification goes back to a brief article by Winckler (1896), but
he gives absolutely no concrete evidence for the equation, and Nii should be
located at the modern village of Naal in the eastern district of the Alalakhean
region.
The Campaigns of Tiglath-pileser III

As noted earlier, a number of settlements in the area around Alalakḫ are men-
tioned by Tiglath-pileser III. Thanks to new research, we can now plot the very
route Tiglath-pileser traversed. The relevant toponyms are listed in Table 6.
Alexander the Great

In Quintus Curtius’s History of Alexander (Book IV 1 4), he mentions a place
named Onchae:
Then he (Alexander) arrived at Onchae where 4,000 Greeks received him;

but nevertheless he hastened with undiminished speed to the Euphrates,
believing that he would be master only of what he was able by swiftness
to keep the enemy from seizing. (Rolfe 1956: 160–61)
Although the only geographical context we have for the settlement of Onchae
is between Issus and the Euphrates, a connection with Alalakhean Unika is a
distinct possibility.
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———. 1979. The Kingdom of Siyammu. Ugarit-Forschungen 11: 13–29.
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Cunéiformes 12/1. Wiesbaden: L. Reichert.
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———. 2011a. Simurrum, Pp. 208–211 in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorder
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Figure 1 Map of toponyms in the Thutmose III itinerary through the land of Unqu
(Simmons nos. 147–173).
Figure 2 Map of Alalakhean toponyms.

84 Frayne
Table 1 Summary list of toponyms in the Thutmose III itinerary (Nos. 147–173), and their
proposed modern locations
Simmons Number Egyptian Transcription Modern Name
147 y-t-ḫ-b Idlib

148 i-nw-q Kaukanya
149 [. . .]-ṯi-na, —
150 ś-k-ḫ-y Kafer Taharim
151 i-b-r-n-n Aabreité
152 ḏ-nw-r-ś Armanaz
153 ś-b-q Fondoq
154 p-ṯ-r El Bîdé
155 ś-t-ḫ-b-g Joubahiyé
156 i-m-r-s-k Hafserjé
157 ḫ-r-r-ś Hazzané
158 n-n-r-n-m-n-d Nourante
159 ḫ-š-w-r-n-t Zaradna
160 m-r-r-ḫ-n-ś Maaret
161 ṯ -g-r-r —
162 — —
163 k-nr-t Nabi Qandil
164 t-r-ḏ Dar Tazze
165 — —
166 i-n-r-ṯ —
167 i-m-r-ś —
168 ḫ-t-r-d —
169 i-r-n-r Mayer
170 ḫ-t-m-y Hayné
171 — —
172 i-?-r-ḏ-n Hrytan
Table 2 List of toponyms in Alt 197 and their proposed modern site locations
Line number in AlT 197 Ancient Name Modern Name
2 La-az-zi Kalb Lôzé

3 Un-tu-be Tchobané
5 Za-u-ti Sandiné
8 Tu-ḫu-ul Taharim
14 Ka-tu-me Ktîné
16 Um-mu Tell Aammar
20 Za-la-ki-ia Salqiné
31 Za-ú-ti Sandiné
32 A-ri-an-te Marata
35 Ka-tu-me Ktîné
36 Um-mu Tell Aammar
39 Za-la-ki-ia Salqiné
41 A-mar-ša-gi Hafserjé
Table 3 List of toponyms in Alt 456 and their proposed modern site locations
Line number in AlT 456 Alalakh Modern
1 I-ma-ar Aambrîmé
2 Sa-a[r-ba]-at Sarmada
4 Na-aš-tar-bi Zerbée
6 Ika-az-zu!- Rhazzaouîyé
7 Am-ma-ak-ki Machhad
8 Pa-ar-ri-e Fafoura
10 Ad-ra-te Aaradé
15 A-ú-šu-un Ejlîné
16 Ḫa-al-li-wa Chaikh Aali
16 Zi-ki-ir Jezra
17 Mu-ra-ar Maaret
18 Ir-ri-di Arjîé
86 Frayne
Table 4 Alalakhean toponyms and their proposed modern site locations
Map No. Alalakhean Name Modern Name Longitude Latitude

(See Fig. 1)
1. Abatum Abudîyé 36°13’48”E 036°19’12”N

2. Abrut Aabreité 36°09’00”E 036°31’12”N
3. Adanat Ad Dana 36°16’12”E 036°29’24”N
4. Agudu Tegad 36°12’36”E 036°52’12”N
5. Akē Kelli 36°04’12”E 036°40’12”N
6. Akšiurunnē Aksata 36°11’24”E 036°18’36”N
7. Alalakh Tell Taynat/ 36°15’00”E 036°22’12”N
Tell Atchana
8. Alima Aalan 36°09’36”E 036°22’12”N
9. Amakwan Elkan 36°15’00”E 036°27’00”N
10. Amame Bouaïbîyé 36°01’12”E 036°54’00”N
11. Amaršaggi Hafserîjé 36°02’24”E 036°31’48”N
12. Ariante Marata 36°36’36”E 036°33’00”N
13. Arra Raa 36°01’12”E 036°33’36”N
14. Atrate Aaradé 36°05’24”E 036°56’24”N
15. Aušun Ej Jiné 36°07’12”E 036°48’36”N
16. Babeye Bouaibîyé 36°12’36”E 036°42’36”N
17. Bitin Besin 36°13’12”E 036°27’36”N
18. Dimat Davut Pasha 36°19’12”E 036°36’36”N
19. Emar Aambrîmé 36°11’24”E 036°46’12”N
20. Erirambi Harim 36°13’12”E 036°31’12”N
21. Gallabat Canbulat 36°15’36”E 036°23’24”N
22. Gibbi Kafer Joum 36°07’12”E 036°57’36”N
23. Gurnabit Tell Kermit 36°18’00”E 036°34’48”N
24. Halliwe Chaikh Ali 36°06’00”E 036°55’12”N
25. Halpa Behlil 36°15’00”E 036°28’48”N
26. Hursanu Hazzané 36°05’24”E 036°43’12”N
27. Hurm Kafer Hoûm 36°12’00”E 036°28’48”N
28. Igar Cayer 36°14’24”E 036°30’36”N
29. Irkille Arjilé 36°10’48”E 036°55’48”N
30. Irride Arjîé 36°06’00”E 036°58’48”N
31. Ištabar Mecherfé 36°16’48”E 036°23’24”N
32. Ituwe Atme 36°18’36”E 036°40’48”N
Map No. Alalakḫean Name Modern Name Longitude Latitude

(See Fig. 1)
33. Kazzuwe Rhazzaouîyé 36°22’48”E 036°50’24”N

34. Kisādu Keldiné 36°16’12”E 036°43’12”N
35. Lazzi Kalb Lôzé 36°10’12”E 036°34’48”N
36. Lubān Ibbine 36°05’24”E 036°46’12”N
37. Lullubu Ett Tloul 36°12’36”E 036°24’00”N
38. Murar Maaret 36°02’24”E 036°50’24”N
39. Nanap Minibo 36°14’24”E 036°19’12”N
40. Nišin Nezin 36°16’12”E 036°41’24”N
41. Nuranti Kafer Noưưané 36°05’24”E 036°49’48”N
42. Parrē Fafaoura 36°18’36”E 036°49’48”N
43. Šallun Kasr Suleimanli 36°18’36”E 036°24’36”N
44. Šannadu Zardanna 36°03’00”E 036°45’36”N
45. Šanuka Fonndoq 36°02’24”E 036°36’00”N
46. Ṣarbat Sarmada 36°11’24”E 036°43’12”N
47. Šeniruwana Maarret Misrîme 36°10’48”E 036°40’48”N
48. Šibate Cheikh Abid 36°13’48”E 036°30’36”N
49. Suharu(w)e/a Souarhîyé 36°00’36”E 036°47’24”N
50. Tudmanna Tell Toûné` 36°01’12”E 036°35’24”N
51. Taraba El Atareb 36°08’24”E 036°49’48”N
52. Tarisa Dar Taʿaze 36°17’24”E 036°51’00”N
53. Tarmannē Turmanin 36°13’48”E 036°49’12”N
54. Tarmanše Armanaz 36°04’48”E 036°30’00”N
55. Teliše Tellef 36°01’12”E 036°47’24”N
56. Tišalum Tilislam 36°15’00”E 036°25’48”N
57. Tub Su Dolabi 36°16’48”E 036°27’00”N
58. Tudmanana Tell Toûné 36°01’12”E 036°35’24”N
59. Tuḫul Kafer Taharim 36°07’12”E 036°30’00”N
60. Untube Tchobané 36°10’12”E 036°27’00”N
61. Unika Kaukanaya 36°07’12”E 036°36’36”N
62. Urē Mirmiran 36°16’12”E 036°19’12”N
63. Uu(w)e/a Bab el Haoua 36°12’36”E 036°43’48”N
64. Zalakiya Salqiné 36°41’24”E 036°27’00”N
65. Zunade Kafer Sanadal 36°07’12”E 036°48’36”N
88 Frayne
Table 5 Toponyms in the vicinity of Alalakh mentioned in Amarna letter EA 53,

and their proposed modern site locations
El Amarna Place Name Modern Village Name
Nukhašše Aasoûs
Nii Kafer Naal
Zinzar Maaret Misriné
Tunanab Tell Toûmé
Table 6 Toponyms in Western Syria mentioned by Tiglath-pileser III,

and their proposed modern site locations
Tiglath-pileser III Modern Name
Hamath Hama
Bumame Aamourîné
Atinnu Aaoueinaté
Zaita Kafer Zarta
Ašḫani Khâné Shoyoun
Ellitarbi Deir el Rhabi
Irqata Erih
Yaṭba Idlib
Bīt-Dērāya Bderi
Tarmanzi Armanaz
Kulmadar Karm Chaibar
Kunalīa Tell Tayinat
Ḫuzarra Cheikh Khosor
Ḫatatira Tetîta
Ta’e —
Irgillu Irjil
The Amman Airport Structure: A Re-Assessment
of Its Date-Range, Function and Overall Role
in the Levant
Gregory Mumford
University of Alabama at Birmingham
Introduction
This work is offered in honor of my Ph.D. supervisor, mentor, and colleague

John S. Holladay, Jr.,1 who encouraged me to reassess the Amman Airport struc-
ture2 (Figs. 1 and 2) and provided invaluable advice during my initial examina-
tion of this intriguing structure in the mid-1990s. Following the completion of
my doctorate in fall 1998 (Mumford 1998),3 more recent articles (see Mumford
2014: 69–89), scholarly input, and other considerations have augmented this
study into the form presented here.
1 In addition, I appreciate Jack’s ever generous giving of his time, ideas, boundless knowledge,
and friendship. I recall him selflessly providing additional training in archaeological
method and analysis to a small group of interested graduate students. He continues to be an
inspiration to me and his former students, colleagues, and friends. Thank you Jack for guiding
me to and placing me on this ever exciting explorative pursuit.
2 The structure measured 14.8 × 14.8 m, with 2.0 m thick exterior walls, and contained a narrow
entrance (90 cm wide) at its northeast corner along the north wall (Hennessy 1985: 88, fig. 3;
and 96, fig. 8). The building enclosed a series of six rooms (I, Ia, II, IV, VIII/VII and IX) around
a central courtyard or light well (V–IV).
3 I am grateful for funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of
Canada, an Ontario Graduate Fellowship, and a War Memorial scholarship from the Imperial
Order of the Daughters of the Empire, which supported my research during the doctoral
and post-graduate stages of this and related research. I am also indebted to further feedback
I have received during various presentations of this material between 1998 and 2005 at the
University of Toronto, Brock University, the University of British Columbia, Simon Fraser
University, the University of California Los Angeles, and the University of Wales Swansea,
and before members of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities and the American
Schools of Oriental Research. This paper has also undergone multiple updates since its initial
presentation honoring Jack at the November 2002 annual meeting of ASOR in Toronto; I
have since incorporated more recent findings into the pertinent data, narrative, notes, and
bibliography regarding the Amman Airport structure and related materials.

90 Mumford
Our conceptions regarding the date-range, function and overall role of

the Amman Airport structure4 within the Levant and East Mediterranean in
general have evolved since its accidental discovery and salvage work in 1955
(Harding 1958: 10; Hennessy 1966a: 155–62). Further excavations took place
within and beside the site in 1966 (Hennessy 1985) and 1976 (Herr 1983a), while
significant portions of its material cultural assemblage, surviving in records
and the Amman Museum collections, have been published over the past few
decades (Hankey 1974a; 1974b; 1995; Hennessy 1985; Ward 1964). Although the
building contains artefacts spanning the Early through Late Bronze Ages, the
bulk of the published material places it firmly in the Late Bronze Age, par-
ticularly LB IIB (ca. 1300–1200 BC). The site’s function has received less uni-
versal acceptance, having been posited as a tribal league center serving a
semi-nomadic population (Campbell and Wright 1969: 104–116), a fire temple
(Wright 1966: 351–7), a temple for human sacrifice (Hennessy 1966a: 161; 1985),
a Hittite mortuary complex with cremation burials (Herr 1983b: 225, 228; 1997a:
103), a cultic installation/temple (Harding 1958: 12; Gonen 1992: 229; Hankey
1995: 171), a military watchtower, or “magdalu” (Fritz 1971: 140–52; Burke 2007:
46–7), a “governor’s residency” associated with trade (Mazar 1990: 257),5 or a
somewhat more complex fortified trading post and elite center (Holladay 2001:
163–7).
The current study is indebted to the meticulous work and publications of
the various excavators and subsequent scholars who have provided the data
upon which this reassessment depends. This writer argues there is sufficient
cause to reinterpret the LB IIB date-range normally assigned to the Amman
structure, allowing for its initial construction (levels 4–3) to begin earlier, pos-
sibly at the end of LB I, but more likely in LB IIA; the poorly preserved and
most disturbed last phase probably terminates somewhere towards the end
of LB IIB, or possibly into Iron Age IA (under Ramesses III/IV?). Regarding
the structure’s function, although a similar wealth and diversity of artefacts
occur in cultic settings elsewhere in Syria-Palestine, both the absence of key
cultic elements and the presence of certain architectural features, material
remains, and contextual evidence favor a non-cultic interpretation. In addi-
tion, aside from differing professional perspectives concerning its function,
4 This site is situated in the middle of a flat plain surrounded by low hills, 40 km to the east of
the River Jordan (Harding 1958: 10–11). The building lay 50 km to the east of Jericho, and 50 km
to the southeast of Deir ʿAlla in the Jordan Valley. It was reached via Wadi Zarqa and a southern
wadi, forming a two to three-day journey from these centers.
5 See Herr (1983a: 224), who notes various scholars held this view, but had not published it.
The Amman Airport Structure 91
a quantification of the building’s surviving material cultural assemblage and

foreign influence is crucial to sharpening our perceptions about cross-cultural
relations in the context of Egypt’s Levantine empire and neighboring states.
Stratigraphy and Date-Range
Several projects and excavations have exposed a series of six layers (Phases
6–1) and four architectural levels (4–1) associated with the structure (table 20):
(1) Phase 6, a deposit of mostly sterile soil that lay above a hard-packed sur-
face; (2) Phase 5, foundation trenches and fill layers associated with archi-
tectural levels 4–3; (3) Phase 4, a 2–6 cm thick layer of soil surrounding the
structure and contemporary with architectural levels 2–1; (4) Phase 3, a debris
layer beside the building and dating to its destruction and abandonment;
(5) Phase 2, a thin layer of disturbed debris with some modern artefacts from
the recent construction and excavations at the site; (6) Phase 1, the latest dis-
turbed layer containing ex-situ materials from the Late Bronze Age construc-
tion (Herr 1983a: 11–20; Hennessy 1966a: 155–62; 1985: 88, fig. 3). Some of these
phases may be further subdivided.
Phase 6: Pre-foundation Trench

Phase 6 predates the construction of the Amman structure. It consisted of a
30 cm thick deposit of brown soil, clay and stones that covered the ubiqui-
tous terra rossa (red clay and soil) and underlying bedrock (Herr 1983a: 8, fig. 6,
69–73; Hennessy 1985: 89, fig. 4 and 91, fig. 5). The 1966 and 1976 excavations
yielded minimal Late Bronze Age materials (Herr 1983a: 14, fig. 11, 69–73;
Hennessy 1985: 95–100) (Table 1). The date of Phase 6 relies mostly on Late
Bronze Age pottery and more broadly dated items from Phase 5 that span ca.
1900–1225 BC, with a minimum date range of 1500–1300 BC (below). Phase 6 may
date as early as LB I (1540–1400 BC), but the overall evidence suggests a time
following Thutmose III and his immediate successors, namely 1400–1300 BC.
Phase 5 (Levels 4–3): Foundation Trenches and “Dedicatory Fill”

Phase 5 is somewhat more complicated. It has yielded evidence for three
stages, Phases 5a–c, during architectural levels 4–3 (Table 2). Hennessy’s soil
sections reveal that the back room (Ia–I) was built first in Phase 5a, before
the remaining interior walls were completed. The occurrence of Cypriot Base
Ring I and Red Lustrous Ware in the foundation trench at the exterior north-
west corner only confirms that Phase 5a cannot predate LB I (Hennessy 1966a:
162; Hankey 1974a: 135, table 3 notes).
92 Mumford
Phase 5b (level 4/3) is characterized by the accumulation of an 8–9 cm deep

layer of soil inside the structure prior to the cutting of a foundation trench
for cross-wall E (Hennessy 1985: 90, 97, 88–9, figs. 3–4, section A-A: layer no. 4
in room Ia). It post-dates the Phase 5a foundation trenches and predates the
Phase 5c “dedicatory fill” (Hennessy 1985: 92, 89, fig. 3, section A-A). Hennessy
(1985: 92, 97) noted that some of the structure’s initial fill layers contained frag-
ments of bone and pottery and a few rare items of jewelry, but did not fully
publish these items or their specific find context (Table 3).
Phase 5c (level 3) encompasses the installation of the remaining interior
walls (Hennessy 1985: 89, fig. 4). It should be noted that while the interior walls’
first course was not bonded into exterior walls B and D, all Phase 5 walls were
bonded together in the second course (Hennessy 1985: 84 fig. 4, 92). Therefore,
unless the second course of fieldstone represents the rebuilding of an earlier
structure, the building’s basic plan was established at the advent of Phase 5c,
prior to the deposition of the “dedicatory fill.” This fill contained deposits of
ash, burnt clay (mud brick?), artefacts, and bone fragments from fowl, sheep/
goats, and humans in a matrix of brown soil and yellow clay debris (Hennessy
1985: 89, 92, 97, and 99; Hennessy 1966b: 357). This mixture implies debris from
an earlier Late Bronze Age mud brick building, its destruction, and subsequent
clearance, some residual debris, and reconstruction.6 Of note, the nearby and
similar, partly excavated structure at Umm ad-Dananim contained many types
of animal bones in its initial fill layer, but lacked human remains (McGovern
1997: 273). However, the Umm ad-Dananim (Dananir) structure did contain
an altar and has more evidence for a cultic function (McGovern 1989: 35–36).
Regarding its date, the “dedicatory fill” contains diagnostic pieces span-
ning collectively a maximum period from 1900–1225 BC, with a minimum date
range between 1500 and 1300 BC (Table 4). This fill has been generally inter-
preted as a foundation deposit dating to Late Helladic III B1 (1300–1225 BC).7
Its material culture assemblage includes Mycenaean potsherds from Late
Helladic II A (ca. 1500–1460 BC), III A2 (1375–1300 BC), III B1 (1300–1225 BC),
and III B (1300–1190 BC), Cypriot wheel-made Red-Lustrous pottery (LC I B1-II
A2: 1525/1500–1360 BC), Base Ring I (1550–1360 BC), Base Ring II (LC II A1-II
6 This yellow clay and brown soil layer ranged in depth across the seven chambers, being 5 cm
thick in room VI, 7–11 cm in room Ia, 12–14 mm in room VII–VIII, 14–25 cm in room VI, and
9–25 cm in room V–VI (Hennessy 1985: 89, fig. 4).
7 See Hennessy (1985: 90 stage 1), Herr (1983a: 11–13) and Hankey (1974a: 142, 154 no. 75);
Mountjoy (1993: 4, tbl. 1) provides date ranges for Mycenaean pottery.
C2: 1425–1190 BC), and White Slip I–II (LC II A2-II B: 1550–1320 BC).8 Other
artefacts, such as scarabs and cylinder seals from Phase 5c, date from Dynasty
15 to Early Dynasty 18, up to Thutmose III (1650–1425 BC) (Ward 1964: 47–52).
However, the “LB iiB” attribution for this fill rests mainly on two anoma-
lous sherds dating to Late Helladic III B1 and III B (1300–1225 BC; 1300–1190
BC), which otherwise stand out from the remaining, earlier materials in this
matrix. The exclusion of these outliers, or acceptance of their placement at the
advent of their time range (ca. 1300 BC), shifts the termination point of Phase
5c to the end of LB IIA (or earlier). Of note, the undulating interface and pit-
ting between Phase 5c and 4a (levels 3–2), evident in published soil sections,
easily allow for one or two intrusive sherds from the overlying ash layer (Phase
4a; level 2). Phase 5 is thus better interpreted as having a wider time span,
encompassing an earlier occupation phase, destruction, and re-modelling,
rather than postulating, on the basis of two potsherds, an otherwise almost
exclusive introduction (ca. 1300 BC) of antique pottery and other items. Hence,
this writer would suggest either a relatively longer-term existence for Phase 5,
spanning an uncertain length at some point between 1500 and 1300 BC (with
fewer antiques), or a probably somewhat shorter-lived occupation in Late
LB IIA (with more antique imports).9
In addition, this writer contests that the Phase 5c (level 3) debris pockets
need only represent successive “dedicatory offerings” (Hennessy 1966a: 157;
1966b: 357).10 The published details are quite insufficient to exclude other
interpretations, such as the plausibility of an earlier occupation, destruction,
clearance, and renovation of the remaining building’s shell, and the retention
of some earlier debris beneath raised floor levels. The ash pockets and pieces
of yellow clay (mud brick?), potsherds, jewelry, other items, and very frag-
mentary human and animal bone chips, much of which exhibited evidence
8 See Hennessy (1966a: 162), Astrom (1972: 662–701), Hankey (1974a: 142), Hennessy (1985: 95),
Mountjoy (1993: 4, tbl. 1), and Eriksson (1993: 105, 274, no. 1276, from A.IA.3, 24, fig. 5b:1276).
9 The antiques included such things as Egyptian Predynastic and Middle Kingdom (Dynasty
12) stone vessels, scarab seals, a Kassite cylinder seal, and some beads (?). If one does not
accept a LB IIA date for the earlier strata, the numerous Dynasty 18 Egyptian stone ves-
sels, and many of the Mycenaean and Cypriot potsherds, would also represent antiquities
brought to this site, either from Egypt or via other Levantine sites.
10 Of note, the 1955 and 1966 excavations uncovered an exterior layer in Areas B and D
with some artefacts dating to Phase 5b–c (level 3) (Harding 1958: 10–11; Hennessy 1966a:
155–6, fig. 1) (Table 5). The 1976 excavation of exterior Areas A, C and D yielded a layer and
items spanning Phase 5a–c (levels 4–3). The latter items will be discussed in a subsequent
section.
94 Mumford
of charring, are not contested as indicating a conflagration. However, like the

fire destruction levels at Umm ad-Dananir, Deir ʿAlla, and other sites to the
northwest (below), it is equally if not more likely that an enemy force (‘Apiru?)
attacked and killed some of the occupants, and looted and burnt down the
mud brick superstructure, its wooden fittings, and other flammable contents,
leaving the bodies of slain individuals to be burnt in the conflagration.11 The
proposed “destruction” of level 3 (Phase 5c) before or around 1300 BC, may
date to the reigns of Akhenaten through Horemheb (ca. 1340–1294 BC), or even
to the co-regency of Ramesses I and Seti I, when Shasu-Bedouin hostilities
erupted along Egypt’s desert frontiers in Sinai and Southern Palestine
(Mumford 2001: 341).
Phase 4a (level 2): Ash Layer and Associated Deposits

Phase 4a (level 2) is characterized by two stages: the interface between Phases
5c (level 3) and 4a (level 2), including the foundation hole for a central column
base (elsewhere called an “altar”)12 and an overlying 2–5 cm accumulation
of ash throughout the structure.13 Hennessy (1966a: 154, fig. 1) also discerned
an exterior layer and artefacts dating to this phase in Areas B, C, and D
11 The 211 fragmentary burnt human bones from rooms V–VII and IX in levels 4–3 appar-
ently represent two or more individuals (Hennessy 1985: 97–100; see also Little 1983). In
another scenario, the partly burnt human debris may already have been incorporated
into the mud brick during construction, originating from disturbed and disarticulated
earlier human remains found elsewhere, near the excavated clay source. Such tiny, frag-
mentary bones could then have been re-dispersed throughout the Amman structure after
its multiple destructions, partial collapse, and the subsequent exposure and erosion of
the mud brick.
12 A foundation hole was cut from the lower surface of level 2 to install or strengthen the founda-
tion for a central, circular column base (elsewhere called an “altar”) in room V–VI (Hennessy
1985: 89, fig. 4, room V–VI section E–E’). This foundation reached bedrock (Hennessy 1985:
88–9, figs. 3–4), thereby demonstrating the necessity for a sufficiently stable foundation to
support a wooden column bearing the roof’s weight rather than an “altar” which would not
need such stability.
13 The 2–5 cm thick, grey-brown ashy layer covered the entire the surface of the structure’s
rooms and areas left undisturbed by the 1955 excavations: rooms Ia, part of II, IV, V–VI,
VII–VIII, and IX (Hennessy 1985: 92, 88–9, figs. 3–4). The ash layer covered and obscured
much of the circular column base and was left largely in place below the later stone pave-
ment (Hennessy 1985: 89, fig. 4, room V–VI section E-E’). Unfortunately, the 1955 salvage
work excavated large portions of rooms I, II and IX to bedrock, thereby collecting material
culture from levels 4–1 in one unit.
(Table 6).14 The advent of Phase 4a is dated to the 13th century BC by the pres-
ence of the aforementioned intrusive (?) Mycenaean III B1 stirrup jar sherd
and III B lentoid flask fragment from the fill of underlying Phase 5c15 (Hankey
1974a: 153, no. 65, and 155, no. 91, 135, tbl. 3). The acceptance of these sherds
as probably being “intrusive” and their reassignment to Phase 4a aid in dat-
ing its advent closer to 1300 BC. However, should their retention in Phase 5c
prove correct, it is still possible to argue that they represent the beginning of
the time range within which they normally fit, namely 1300 BC. Phase 4a itself
has yielded a Mycenaean vessel dating to Late Helladic III A2 (1375–1300 BC),
two Late Helladic III A2/III B1 pieces (1375–1225 BC), a Late Helladic III B frag-
ment (1300–1190 BC), and part of a Late Minoan III B stirrup jar (1300–1190 BC)
(Mountjoy 1993: 4, tbl. 1; Betancourt 1985: 19 table 1; Hankey 1974a: 149–57, nos.
31, 43, 50, 101 and 107) (Table 7).16
Hence, the presence of Late Helladic III B pottery in both levels 3 and 2
(Phases 5c and 4a) suggest phase 4a began around 1300 BC, or some point
during the reign of Seti I (ca. 1294–1279 BC). The added presence of LH III B1
and III B potsherds and restored vessels above the overlying level 1 pavement
bolsters the placement of level 2 in the early 13th century BC. The termination
point for the apparent ash destruction(?) layer in Phase 4a (level 2) may occur
between 1274 BC and 1269 BC, at some point during Egypt’s withdrawal from
Kadesh in regnal year five of Ramesses II (ca. 1279 BC), the subsequent period
of rebellion in Egypt’s Levantine territories, or Ramesses II’s campaigns into
Syria-Palestine in years eight and 10 (ca. 1271 BC and 1269 BC), during which he
suppressed rebellions in Moab, Ammon, Galilee, Damascus, and up to Kumudi
in central Syria (Kitchen 1982: 67–8, 240–1, chart 2).
14 Exterior Areas A.1–4, C.1, and D.1 contained a layer encompassing both levels 2–1 (Phase
4a–b). The items from this phase will be discussed in a later section covering the overall
strata.
15 The preserved top of level 3, which forms the initial surface for level 2, contains an uneven
surface with varying slopes and shallow, ash-filled hollows (Hennessy 1985: 89, fig. 4, room
Ia section A-A’). This undulating surface could easily account for two intrusive sherds.
16 The overlying level 1 paving contained a Mycenaean LH I–IIA sherd (no. 99) (ca. 1575–
1460 BC), six Mycenaean III A2 sherds (nos. 16, 28, 30, 35, 96; no number) (1375–1300 BC),
four Mycenaean III A2/III B sherds (nos. 47, 68, 86–7) (1375–1190 BC), two Mycenaean III
B1 sherds (nos. 70–1) (1300–1225 BC), and five Mycenaean III B sherds (nos. 15, 81, 92–4)
(1300–1190 BC) (Hankey 1974a: 145–57).
96 Mumford
Phase 4b (level 1a–b): Paving and Associated Occupation

Phase 4b (level 1) is characterized by the installation of a rough stone paving17
in most rooms, a 2 m wide plaster walkway along two sides of the building,18
and modifications to the structure’s interior in the second half of Phase 4b.19
Phase 4b also exhibits two stages of use: levels 1a–b. Level 1a contained a small
“hearth” placed on the pavement (Hennessy 1985: 95); level 1b witnessed the
addition of a poorly built wall covering this fireplace and splitting room VII
into chambers VII–VIII (Hennessy 1985: 95; 1966a: 160 fig. 3). Several other
alterations also date to level 1b: (1) the blocking up of the door between rooms
VII–VIII and the central room (V–VI), (2) the cutting of a new entrance
between the central room and room II, and (3) the modification of the central
room into two rooms (V–VI) (Hennessy 1966a: 159, 160 fig. 3). These subdivi-
sions may imply a greater desire for privacy, or perhaps intensified security
measures, rather than a need for more (i.e., smaller) chambers (however, the
latter idea remains a plausible option).20 For instance, the remaining large
rooms (IV, Ia and I) did not lie along the route to room VI and were not sub-
divided (Hennessy 1966a: 158, fig. 2, 160 fig. 3). This architectural change may
also include a shift in the structure’s function, which seems even less easily
fitted into a continued cultic application versus a residential or related usage:
perhaps squatter occupation?
The material culture assemblage from Phase 4b (levels 1a–b) remains poorly
defined (Tables 8–9) since the 1955 bulldozer clearance destroyed and re-
dispersed much of the upper layers and material culture along the structure’s
northern side. In addition, the salvage work removed practically all the mate-
rial overlying the pavement in each room, and excavated major portions of
rooms I, II and IX to bedrock (Harding 1958: 10; Hennessy 1985: 85). However,
17 The paving included irregularly shaped slabs of fieldstone, between which lay soil and other
debris (Hennessy 1985: 88–9, figs. 3–4).
18 The 1955 salvage work almost entirely cleared level 1 within the structure (Hennessy 1985:
85). Further traces of level 1 appeared during the 1966 excavations in Areas B–D, along the
structure’s northern and eastern exterior sides (Hennessy 1985: 87, fig. 2). The 1976 exca-
vations investigated this level in trenches A, C and D (Herr 1983a: 13, 15; Hennessy 1966a:
157–9).
19 A new column base (“altar”) was placed directly above the first one, which had been partly
obscured by paving stones and the underlying level 2 ash layer (Hennessy 1985: 88–9,
figs. 3–4).
20 To reach room VI, visitors entered via chamber IX, turned right to traverse a narrow corri-
dor along rooms VIII–VII (now blocked-off from rooms V–VI), made a left turn into room
II, turned left again, into room V, and headed right to reach room VI (Hennessy 1966a: 160
fig. 3).
the majority of the items probably date to level 1 since Harding noted that
most finds originated from the central rooms,21 whose pavement remained
undisturbed until the 1966 project (Harding 1958: 10; Hennessy 1985: 85, 88,
fig. 3). The 1966 investigations in the paved rooms revealed a few areas above
the pavement with a grey ashy layer similar to the one in underlying Phase 4a
(level 2) (Hennessy 1985: 95). This may represent a destruction associated with
the level 1a (?) building, before its modification and abandonment in level 1b.
The Phase 5c–4a diagnostic artefacts sealed below the pavement imply
that Phase 4b began at some point between 1300 and 1190 BC.22 The diagnostic
potsherds from this upper stage range in date from ca. 1575 through 1190 BC,23
with most pieces dating to LB IIB. Hence, it appears likely that Phase 4b spans
the latter portion of LB IIB, succeeding an underlying habitation from Early
LB IIB. The termination points for levels 1a and 1b are equally uncertain. The
absence of Late Helladic/Mycenaean III C pottery (ca. 1190–1050 BC)24 and the
predominance of LB IIB potsherds (Kafafi 1983: 36) suggest that occupation
did not extend much beyond this period, or that such imports had virtually
ceased to reach this region (Mee 2008: 377–8). Kafafi (1983: 35–6) admitted,
however, that some of the regional, Levantine pottery may extend into Iron I,
thereby allowing for minimal occupation at the advent of Iron Age 1A. It is
possible that the same massive earthquake that destroyed Deir ʿAlla in ca.
1184 BC, affected the level 1a/b structure near Amman, which lay only 50 km
to the southeast. Another option, and perhaps the ultimate factor behind the
abandonment of the Amman Airport structure, is the Sea Peoples’ invasion(s)
and related overland refugee/raider movements, ca. 1176 BC, which mark the
destruction and abandonment of Deir ʿAlla and other towns throughout Syria-
Palestine (Sandars 1985; Oren 2000; Cline 2014). Despite the continuation of
Egypt’s diminishing northern empire under Ramesses IV–VI, there is little
21 In 1955, only rooms I, II and IX were excavated below the pavement.
22 The Mycenaean potsherds from levels 3–2 include one Late Helladic III A2 sherd (1375–
1300 BC), two LH III A2/B1 vessel fragments (1375–1225 BC), part of a LH III B vessel (1300–
1190 BC), and a fragmentary Late Minoan III B stirrup jar (1300–1190 BC) (Mountjoy 1993:
4, tbl. 1; Betancourt 1985: 19, tbl. 1; Hankey 1974a: 149–57, nos. 31, 43, 50, 101 and 107).
23 The pavement produced a (Mycenaean) Late Helladic I–II A sherd (no. 99; ca. 1575–1460
BC), six Mycenaean III A2 sherds and restored vessels (nos. 16, 28, 30, 35, 96; an additional
piece: 1375–1300 BC), four Mycenaean LH III A2/B sherds and restored vessels (nos. 47, 68,
86–7: 1375–1190 BC), two Mycenaean III B1 sherds and restored vessels (nos. 70–1: 1300–
1225 BC), and five Mycenaean LH III B sherds (nos. 15, 81, 92–4: 1300–1190 BC) (Hankey
1974a: 145–57).
24 See Hankey (1974a: 133) and Mountjoy (1993: 4, tbl. 1) for general dates for Helladic wares.
98 Mumford
to no published material evidence surviving for level 1b extending into Iron

Age IA.
Phases 5–4 (levels 4–1) and Phases 3–1 Disturbed Contexts

The disturbance generated by the 1955 Amman Airport runway expansion and
salvage work produced mostly poorly stratified items from levels 4–1 in Phases
5–4 (Table 10).25 In the 1976 excavation, the exterior strata yielded artefacts
dated more broadly to Phase 4, paralleling architectural levels 3–1 (Table 11).26
Herr (1983a: 16) also delineated other deposits, labelling them Phases 3–1. He
interpreted Phase 3 as “the abandonment of both the structure (at least its
exterior surface) and the structured rock pile,” equating the soil from this layer
with the erosion of the neighboring structure (Table 12).27 Phase 2 contained
dump debris from the 1955 or 1966 projects and yielded artefacts either missed
or discarded from these investigations (Table 13).28 Phase 1 consists of wind-
blown loess that had partly covered the 1966 excavation area (Table 14).29
The Overall Material Culture Assemblage from Phases 6–1

(levels 4–1)
Despite the recent publication of various items surviving in the Amman

Museum collections and excavation records (Hankey 1974a; 1974b; 1995), the
25 The 1955 excavations cleared mainly the debris and material culture above the level 1
pavement in rooms I–II and IV–IX, and determined that most artefacts concentrated in
the central rooms, especially room V–VI (Hennessy 1985: 85; Hankey 1974b: 161; Harding
1958: 10). Major portions of rooms I, II and IX were also excavated to bedrock, thereby
incorporating an unknown number of artefacts from levels 4–2 (Hennessy 1966a: 156–7,
158, fig. 2; 1985: 85). Hankey (1974a: 134, tbl. 1) later published a listing of Mycenaean pot-
tery found during the 1955 and 1966 excavations, including some provenances from levels
3, 2 and 1.
26 The 1976 excavations reached Phase 4 in Areas A.1:2, A.1:8, A.2:3, A.4:4, C.1:3 and D.1:3 (Herr
1983a: 69–73). Herr (1983a: 16) concluded that Phase 4 represented “the post-foundational
use of the first, second and third architectural stages found by the 1966 excavation.”
Elsewhere he assigned Phase 4 to architectural levels 2–1 (Herr 1983a: 13; Hennessy 1966a:
157–8).
27 Phase 3 occurs in Areas A.1:4, A.2:2, A.3:2, A.4:2 [=3] and C.1:2 (Herr 1983a: 69–73). The
artefacts consisted of 85 potsherds and seven non-pottery artefacts.
28 Phase 2 appears in Areas A.4:5, A.4:6, A.4:8, A.4:9, and A.4:11 (Herr 1983a: 69–73).
29 Phase 1 was traced in Areas A.1:1, A.2:1, A.3:1, A.4:1, C.1:1, and D.1:1 (Herr 1983a: 69–73). In
addition to 198 potsherds and 16 other items from Phase 1, five potsherds and a non-pottery
item have also been placed here since their original contexts remain uncertain.
greater balance of the missing regional artefacts present the largest obstacle
to quantifying and assessing the full implications of cross-cultural relations at
the site. It is possible to reduce this bias/loss by considering Harding’s (1958:
11) statement that the 1955 clearance produced “an enormous quantity” of
locally made pottery amounting to two thirds (i.e., about 67 percent) of the
pottery corpus from levels 4/3–1. Harding noted that these locally made vessels
included dozens of forms and mentioned large storage jars (some measuring
1.5 m in height), lamps, small bowls, and pilgrim flasks. Likewise, Hennessy
(1985: 101–2) reported that the 1966 excavations produced “normal Late Bronze
Age ceramics,” including large pithoi and a number of lamps. In addition,
Kafafi (1983: 34–45, figs. 20–2, nos. 1–163) published 163–4(?)30 diagnostic,
locally-made sherds from the 1976 project: 57 bowls, 39–40(?) bowls/jugs, 30
jugs, 17 saucer lamps, 11 possible kraters, two pedestal-based bowls (chalices),
two cooking pots, and five painted body sherds. Hence, by extrapolating that
the locally-made pottery found in the structure’s interior (in 1955) amounted
to about twice the number of imported vessels (which tend to be better pub-
lished; see Tables 16–17), the site may have originally included around 1,360
diagnostic potsherds from over 300 vessels, representing a full range of domes-
tic and finer wares.
The recompilation of the otherwise scattered publication of artefacts (Tables
1–20) 31 enables further conclusions regarding their distribution over time and
within the site. The adjusted artefact types and quantities confirm Harding
and Hennessy’s observations that the wealthiest finds occurred mainly inside
the structure (Table 17), particularly in the central rooms, while less luxurious
items tended to cluster outside.32 Despite incomplete publication, biased pres-
ervation, and other debilitating factors, sufficient evidence survives indicating
that various foreign luxury products either became more popular, or are sim-
ply better preserved, over time from levels 4 through 1, namely Mycenaean pot-
tery, Egyptian products, and items from Crete (Table 18 and Fig. 3).33 Despite
30 Of note, an additional bowl/jug appears in the catalogue (Kafafi 1983: 42, no. 102.1).
31 Miller (1983: 63–5, 66, fig. 25) published 22 lithics from different phases associated with
the structure, but noted that they are quite worn and appear to pre-date the building.
32 Herr (1983a: 69–73) made a similar observation during the 1976 excavations: only 18
(4.9 percent) of the 369 registered sherds from the exterior areas represented imported
pottery. Of interest, Bikai (1978: 18, 53–6, imports 1–15) noted a similar percentage of
imported pottery from strata XVII-I at Tyre, numbering 1,229 pieces (4 percent) from
31,039 specially studied diagnostics.
33 The pattern of intensified Ramesside activity in Sinai and Syria-Palestine has already
been noted elsewhere (Mumford 2006: 160). Ramesside votives were better preserved
than Dynasty 18 ones at Serabit el-Khadim (Mumford 2006).
100 Mumford
the more “realistic,” albeit still conservative, reconstructed estimates for the
missing and perishable components of the artefact assemblage (Table 16),
the gaps in sequential and spatial data also necessitate their consideration in a
single, broader time span.
The combination of stratified, unstratified, and unprovenanced artefacts
provides a larger and more reliable total for local-regional items (64 per-
cent), regional/foreign imports (6 percent), Mycenaean pottery (19 percent),34
Egyptian materials (9 percent),35 Cypriot products (2 percent),36 Minoan
(Cretan) imports (2 percent),37 goods from Syria-Mesopotamia (1 percent),38
and some Qurraya Ware vessels from Northwest Arabia (0.4 percent)39 (Tables
17–18). Contrary to the somewhat misleading impressions one might gain from
34 Hankey estimated the existing corpus of Mycenaean vessels to consist of 50 to 60

Mycenaean pots (462 sherds; 10 partly restored vessels) (Hankey 1974a: 133); the additional
14 Mycenaean sherds from the 1976 excavations may represent another Mycenaean vessel
(Kafafi 1983: 33).
35 The three excavations produced 178 Egyptian stone vessel fragments that may reflect
52–64(?) containers (Table 17). Hankey (1974b: 162) catalogued 27 Egyptian calcite vases
from 100 fragments. She also catalogued 13 Egyptian gray-green serpentine vessels from
20 pieces (Hankey 1974b: 163). The remaining stone vessels include three of black serpen-
tine vessels, one of diorite, a badly burned Predynastic example in limestone, and a vase
of porphyritic rock (Hankey 1974b: 163–4). The 1976 excavation produced four Egyptian
calcite (“travertine”) diagnostic sherds (a tazza; bowl; handle; cup; two body sherds), a ser-
pentine jug stand, and a Predynastic limestone vessel (Herr 1983a: 58–9, nos. S.318–2359,
S.332, and no. S.329).
36 The 49 published Cypriot sherds from the 1955 and 1966 excavations, and an additional
four sherds found by the 1976 project, included Base Ring I and II Wares, Red Lustrous
Ware, White Slip I and II, and milk bowls (Harding 1956: 80; 1958: 11; Hennessy 1966a: 155,
162; Kafafi 1983: 33; Hankey 1974a: 142). This reflects at least six or more vessels.
37 The 11 Late Minoan sherds form at least two Late Minoan III B kraters with different diam-
eters, one of which bears an octopus design (Hankey 1974a: 157–8, fig. 10). The structure
also produced six Cretan limestone vessels (Hankey 1974b: 163–4).
38 Aside from the Syrian-style cylinder seals, the site also produced a possible Mesopotamian
quartz-schist vessel (Hankey 1974b: 164, 176).
39 The presence of Qurayya (“Midianite”) Ware vessels is significant, revealing contact with
Northwest Arabia and presumably the Red Sea aromatics trade (Hennessy 1985: 95; Parr
1992: 595–6; Hankey 1995; Holladay 1995: 384). A pair of incised cartouches of Ramesses
III occur on rock-face at Borot Roded (site 582), beside some wells, which lie about 11
km to the northwest of the Gulf of Aqabah (Rothenberg 1972: 201, fig. 62; Rothenberg
1988: 12, ill. 4). Direct, Late New Kingdom Egyptian contact with the region around Tayma‘
Oasis, which lies over 400 km southeast of Aqabah, is attested by the presence of rock-cut
cartouches of Ramesses III to the west of Tayma‘ Oasis, while further Egyptian contact,
whether by trade or direct missions, is revealed via the discovery of fragmentary Egyptian
containers, faience figurines (e.g., part of an Apis Bull), and a faience scarab from an Early
the retention and better publication of more luxurious pieces, the minimal
reconstruction of local-regional pottery quantities reveals a clear domination
(64 percent) by “regular” artefacts (Table 18, Figs. 3 and 4).
The next level of assessment entails reducing various potsherds, stone ves-
sel fragments, and other items (e.g., beads) to a more realistic number reflect-
ing the original quantity of containers suggested by Hankey for Mycenaean
pottery and estimates by this writer for other pottery, Egyptian stone vessels,
and strung beads (i.e., smaller groupings of “necklaces” versus numerous
loose beads) (Table 19; Fig. 5). These conservative calculations produce a shift
between the Egyptian and Mycenaean proportions of the foreign imports:
Egyptian items rise to 15 percent, while Mycenaean pottery fall to 9 percent.
The other items exhibit less radical changes in their proportions (compare
Figs. 4 and 5).
This adjustment and clarification does not reduce the highly significant
presence, richness and diversity of the material culture assemblage. Despite
the inclusion of reconstructed and adjusted local-regional pottery totals, the
Mycenaean pottery still retains an unusually high ratio (9 percent) in relation
to other imports (21.5 percent), including Egyptian items, both at this site and
throughout the Levant.40 An acceptance of the diverse biases in the data base
does not diminish the implications for this anomalous result, and suggests
either particularly strong commercial ties with the Aegean, or possibly even
the presence of Aegean merchants or perhaps mercenaries (?) in this region.41
Any further enquiries about the role of these and other imports in the Amman
Airport Structure, however, lead to the next and crucial question concerning
the building’s function(s).
Iron Age building (shrine?) located in Area O of a 12th to 10th/9th century BC settlement
at Qraya in Tayma‘ Oasis (Hausleiter 2011: 108 fig. 5, 113, fig. 10).
40 The LBA imported and mostly Cypriot pottery from Tyre amounted to 24 percent in stra-
tum XVI (1425–1375 BC) and 10 percent in stratum XV (1375–1225 BC), of which Mycenaean
pottery formed the minority: 2 percent and 1 percent, respectively (Bikai 1978: 54, tbl. 13A,
import 15).
41 The question regarding the association between Mycenaean warriors and the Egyptian
army during Akhenaten’s reign, based upon the discovery of a painted papyrus from
Amarna (Parkinson and Schofield 1995: 125–6), in conjunction with Tubb’s (2000: 186,
192–3) evidence for a Sea Peoples’ presence, via 37 double-pithos Sherdan (?) burials at
Tell es-Sa‘idiyeh in the Jordan Valley, raises some interesting speculation over possible
Mycenaean involvement at the Amman structure, whether as auxiliaries, traders, or in
another capacity? Distinctive Mycenaean soldiers with probable boars’ tusk helmets and
Mycenaean-style body armor appear on a fragmentary papyrus from a royal cult chapel
near the main palace and King’s House at Amarna, and may reflect Mycenaean mercenar-
ies employed as auxiliaries in Akhenaten’s army (Mee 2008: 378–9, pl. 14.2).
102 Mumford
Reassessing the Amman Airport Structure’s Function(s)
At a first glance, the Amman Airport structure is unusual in relation to its

apparent isolation, its architectural form and setting, its abnormally high
quantities of and diversity in luxury imports (including antiques), and the
numerous very small fragments of human bones found within and outside
the building. The growing perspective gained through more recent archaeolog-
ical investigations, however, has assisted in clarifying these and other aspects.
For instance, regarding the structure’s presumed isolation,42 the 1955 expan-
sion of the Amman Airport runway and salvage work generated rumors of
additional, nearby find spots of Late Bronze Age pottery (Hennessy 1985: 90).
Saleh reported traces of a settlement a few hundred meters to the northeast,
but this area remains unconfirmed and inaccessible for further investigation
(Harding 1958: 11; Hennessy 1966b: 359; 1985: 90). A Middle Bronze Age to Late
Bronze I town, tombs, and artefacts have been located 3 km to the southwest
in Amman (Bennett 1978: 8, fig. 7; McGovern 1987: 267; Dornemann 1997: 99).
A similar Late Bronze Age structure appears at el-Mabrak, only 4 km to the
southeast (Yassine 1988), while more LBA sites and burials are emerging in a
12–30 km radius around Amman (Herr 1983a: 29): Khirbet Umm ad-Dananir,
Jebel al-Qasir, and Jebel al-Hawayah in the Baq‘ah Valley, approximately 15 km
to the northwest (McGovern 1987: 267; 1997: 273); Tall Safut, 12 km to the north
(Wimmer 1997: 449); Tell Saḥab, 12 km to the southeast (Ibrahim 1997: 451); Tall
al-’Umayri, 15 km to the south (Geraty 1997a: 273); Madaba, 30 km to the south
(Piccirillo 1997: 395); and Hesban, 19 km to the southwest (Geraty 1997b: 20).
Some of these sites have walled settlements, cave tombs, graves, and imports
from Egypt, Cyprus and the Aegean (Leonard 1987: 262–3, fig. 1; LaBianca and
Younker 1995: 407; McGovern 1997: 273; see also Strange 2008).
The growing discovery of neighboring settlements is not surprising: the
Amman structure is located in a fertile flat plain and steppe land (Iron Age
Ammon),43 which lie along the eastern edge of a north-south mountain range
42 Holladay (personal communication; Holladay 2001) has already compared the apparent
segregation of the Amman structure and other foreign trading enclaves outside settle-
ments, such as the Old Assyrian merchant colony (Karum), ca. 1920–1740 BC, which lay
about 150 m northeast of Kultepe-Kanish in East Central Anatolia (Veenhof 1995: 860,
fig. 1; Atici et al. 2014).
43 The site’s water source remains unknown, suggesting either the introduction of water in
storage jars or an undetected well or cistern in the vicinity. This area forms the heartland
of Ammon, which emerges at the end of the LB Age and advent of Iron Age 1 (Herr 1997b:
103). See Strange (2008) for a summary and an assessment on Late Bronze Age Jordan.
and foothills. This adjacent region receives adequate precipitation, experi-

ences moderate temperatures, and features dense Mediterranean maquis
forestland (Rogerson 1985: 60–1). The historically known “King’s Highway”
extends through this belt of forest and steppe land towards the Red Sea,
providing the likeliest route for distributing copper, Qurayya (“Midianite”)
pottery containers and their contents, and other Arabian products (e.g., aro-
matics?), via Northwest Arabia and the Southern Arabah (e.g., Timna) to West
Jordan (e.g., Wadi Faynan; Amman; Umm ad-Dananir) (Parr 1982: 127–33; Levy
2007: 89).
In its architectural layout, the Amman Airport structure is typified by a
square plan, wide walls, stone foundations, and an ambulatory around a cen-
tral pillared room. Some of these features occur in both elite buildings and cul-
tic structures over a greater geographic and temporal scale (Arnold 1997: 117–18,
fig. 3; Holladay 1997: 109–11, figs. 7–10; Oren 1984: 40, figs. 2–3). The closest
parallels occur in Jordan. A similar structure at el-Mabrak (Fig. 6) has yielded a
few sherds dating to the Late Bronze and (Early) Iron Ages. Although it is a bit
more rectilinear and has a corner stairwell, it is similarly sized (18.6 × 24.5 m),
has 2.2 m wide stone walls, and displays a series of rooms around a central
chamber (Yassine 1988: 61–4). Unfortunately, it was virtually devoid of con-
tents. Another similar building (albeit a shrine) at Umm ad-Dananir remains
not fully excavated, but may measure an identical 15 × 15 m and has a central
“pillared” chamber like the Amman structure (Herr 1983a: 29; McGovern 1989:
33–6, fig. 3a; 1993: 145–6; Burke 2007: 47). Burke (2007: 47) argues effectively
that these Jordanian structures may represent magdalu (watchtowers) like the
Amman structure.
Other architectural similarities occur in Palestine, Syria-Mesopotamia,
and Egypt. The Amman structure is broadly related to the central room-style
“governors’ residences” in Palestine (e.g., Beth Shan House 1500; Fig. 7)44 and
affluent dwellings at Tell el-Amarna (Badawy 1968: 92–108, 148, pl. vi; Kemp
2006: 312, fig. 109; 2012: 182–87, fig. 5.21). Although they are somewhat differ-
ent in specific form and status, both the Late Bronze Age palace (IV) at Tell
Atchana and an elite, late 7th century BC dwelling at Carchemish (Fig. 8)
offer noteworthy architectural, material cultural, and contextual points of
comparison (discussed here and further below). Portions of the level IV pal-
ace at Atchana appear as discreet blocks arranged around a central room or
courtyard (Woolley 1955: 113–17, figs. 44–5 and 47). For instance, the southwest
component measures 30 × 33 m. This is significantly larger than the Amman
44 For example, these “governors’” residencies appear at Beth Shan and Tells Farah South,
Sera‘, Jemmeh, Hesi, and Masos (Oren 1984: 37–56, fig. 2, pls. 1–3; 1992: 117–20, fig. 17).
104 Mumford
structure, but has walls around 2 m in width enclosing chambers laid around
a central room. House D at Carchemish also covers a larger area (25 × 28 m),
but, like the Amman structure, has an exterior walkway (i.e., a cobble paving)
along two sides, contains stone foundations supporting 1.8 m wide walls, fea-
tures stone and clay paved floors, and exhibits a central room with a circuitous
access (Woolley 1921: 123–9, pl. 19, House D). Both buildings are larger affluent
residences and administrative centers, but have a common link through their
central room designs. However, it is especially in other facets of their contents
and destruction that they provide more pertinent comparative data (below).
In contrast, cultic structures with similar designs to the Amman structure
are quite rare. The Levantine “migdol”-style temples have thick walls, but
reveal entirely different interior designs (Gonen 1992: 223–9). Other Levantine
shrines and temples follow divergent architectural traditions and plans,45 dif-
fering from the Amman structure’s interior. Most cultic installations have a
structural focal point, emphasized by a niche, platform, or altar, something
that is not evident at the Amman structure: unless one promotes as an “altar”
what would normally be interpreted as a column base (Fig. 9). The only close
contemporary “cultic” parallel occurs at Hazor (Yadin 1975: 68–9). Here, in
Stratum 2 of Area F, a heavily destroyed 18 × 18 m LB I structure overlies a
MB II rectilinear temple. It displays a similar plan, albeit heavily reconstructed
and extrapolated, in comparison to the building at Amman (Yadin et al. 1989:
151, 154–5, pl. 29). This link is even more tenuous when one scrutinizes the
mostly destroyed “square shrine” and its close architectural relationship to an
underlying MB II rectilinear “temple” that extends further west. Of particular
note, Mazar (1990: 257) has emphasized that there is actually quite little evi-
dence for either the “square shrine,” or its underlying rectilinear building at
Hazor representing a “temple” versus a residence.
Although the specific circumstances regarding the Amman structure are
different, it should be pointed out that examples do exist in which Late Bronze
Age way-stations appear to combine both cultic and non-cultic attributes. For
example, Gebel Abu Hassa, which lies in the Southern Isthmus of Suez between
Ramesside forts at Tell er-Retabeh and Kom el-Qolzoum, features an isolated
14.8 × 14.8 m stone shrine (Clédat 1916: 209–12, fig. 3; Mumford 1998: 545–50).
The parallel ends here, however, since this building is well-constructed with
dressed limestone, has a slightly buttressed entry, contains three parallel rec-
tilinear chambers (perpendicular to the entrance), and bore wall scenes and
45 Mazar (1992: 174, figs. 18–28) illustrates various Late Bronze Age Syro-Palestinian temples,
which are quite different from the otherwise debated “temples” at Mt. Gerisim and Amman
(figs. 15–6) and the extensively extrapolated “square” temple plan at Hazor (fig. 17).
texts dedicated to Horus of the East (Clédat 1916: 206, 208–12, figs. 3–4; Kitchen
1996: 232, no. 153B i–v). It also yielded a small faience Anubis figurine, seven
sunken pithoi (bearing the names of Seti I and Ramesses II), and had two
nearby stelae: a commemorative stela of Ramesses II and a smaller stela dedi-
cated to “Hathor, Mistress of the Turquoise.” This Egyptian structure appears to
have multiple functions as a roadway shrine, a storage depot (i.e., the sunken
pithoi), and presumably some shelter and partial protection (if garrisoned)
from the sun, wild animals, and potential Shasu-Bedouin marauders. It likely
had a nearby well and catered to mining expeditions travelling to South Sinai
and military traffic to and from the fort at Kom el-Qolzoum (Suez) (Leclant
1964: 342 no. 11; Mumford 1998: 553–61, tables 3.26–28, fig. 3.1; Monnier 2010:
89–91, fig. 49). Of note, the fortified, or otherwise secured, isolated Iron Age
shrines at Kuntillat ‘Ajrud and Horvat Qitmit also combined defensive and
cultic features (Meshel 1978; Beit-Arieh 1995). In contrast, the postulated forti-
fied way-station near Amman lacks any obvious cultic-specific components.
The Amman structure has been singled out more for its wealth in luxury
imports,46 but has received far less attention for its remaining, and admittedly
generally poorly published, local-regional artefacts. It is in their rich material
culture assemblages that both cultic and non-cultic elite structures furnish
some of the closest similarities. For example, the Level IV palace at Atchana
contained a wide range of regional through imported wares (e.g., rough pot-
tery, fine Nuzi Ware, Cypriot Monochrome, White Slip, Base Ring), weapons
(lance heads, arrowheads, daggers, swords), bronze tools, spindle whorls, stone
mortars, pounders, hones/whetstones, boxes with bone and ivory inlay, con-
tainers of stone, metal and glass, jewelry, and seals (scarabs; cylinder seals)
(see Woolley 1955: 110–31; Table 21).47 Like the Amman structure (excepting
a few different artefact types), House D at Carchemish produced numerous
weapons with evidence for heavy use (e.g., lance heads; arrowheads; swords),
metal tools, containers of stone, metal, and faience, jewelry, and seal impres-
sions (Woolley 1921: 125–9) (Table 21). Both of these Northern Levantine
46 Herr (1983b: 224) has remarked that, “the inordinately rich finds, including numerous
objects imported from Greece, Cyprus, and Egypt, as well as the bronze weapons and gold
jewelry, certainly speak against a domestic dwelling, patrician or no.” Although this state-
ment has validity for most dwellings throughout the Levant and elsewhere, it should be
noted that similar luxury goods do appear in elite houses and larger residences, whether
in the palace at Atchana (admittedly a regional royal center) or a smaller elite house, such
as House D at Carchemish (Woolley 1921: 125–9; 1955: 110–31).
47 This palace also contained tablets and figurines otherwise not attested in the Amman
structure.
106 Mumford
residences are also characterized by conflagrations, preserving their mostly

looted, but better preserved assemblages.
As in these elite dwellings, the Amman structure’s relatively high proportion
of wealth is perhaps not so surprising owing to its partial preservation via a
succession of three probable destructions, their associated debris, and rebuild-
ing phases, and regarding the installation’s postulated role (perhaps amongst
other functions) in the movement and collection of such products through
trade, taxation/tariffs, long- and short-term storage (including equipment and
possessions), and local-regional re-dispersal. This traffic would thereby have
enriched the local elite, and presumably associated dependents, via the impo-
sition of tariffs upon in-transit caravans and related regional taxation (Holladay
2001). For instance, at the New Kingdom fortress of Askut and other forts in
Nubia and Sinai, the commanding officials and elite appear to have formed a
very affluent group, with “. . . access to luxury goods like glass vessels, pottery
imported from the Levant, Cyprus and the Aegean, and large amounts of pot-
tery from Egypt in the Marl A, B and D fabrics” (Smith 1995: 156). A sequence
of Egyptian New Kingdom forts at Tell Heboua, Tell el-Borg, Deir el-Balah,
elsewhere in North Sinai, and at Tel Mor, have also yielded luxury products
in associated mortuary and settlement contexts, emphasizing the re-dispersal
of such wealth to the elite and selected members of the populace affiliated
with such fortified way-stations (Dothan 1982; 1985; 2008: 66–71; Maksoud 1998;
Hoffmeier and Maksoud 2003: 179, 184–6, figs. 6 and 11; Hoffmeier 2006: 13;
2014; Barako 2007: 4, 20 plan 2.4; Dothan and Brandl 2010: 77–85, figs. 5.8 and
5.12; Monnier 2010: 94–103; Mumford 2010: 347–8; 2012).48 Hence, the Amman
structure may have re-dispersed some luxury items to the local-regional elite
and affiliated dependents during its lifetime, while also retaining a seemingly,
abnormally high quantity of luxury items within its occupation matrix owing
to several destructions that preserved much wealth that is normally not found
in abandoned, or otherwise remodeled, non-cultic structures.
Although cultic structures may also contain all of these artefact types, the
Amman structure is conspicuous by the absence of common cultic features
and furnishings. These typically include niches, altars, stelae, standing stones,
benches, offering stands of various materials, cult statues, figurines, and often a
48 The imported Canaanite, Cypriot, and Mycenaean pottery from the public and cultic
area (Field II) at Tell el-Borg amounts to 12 percent of the overall ceramic assemblage
(Hoffmeier 2014; see also this writer’s contribution on Field II in J. Hoffmeier’s forthcom-
ing second volume on Tell el-Borg). The 23 × 23 m Ramesside fort at Tell Mor, in the coastal
plain of Canaan, yielded “a considerable amount of Egyptian, Mycenean, and Cypriot
pottery” (M. Dothan 1993: 1073).
predominance of bowls or other ritual vessels.49 Indeed, the Amman structure

housed more wealth than is normally found in most excavated non-cultic and
non-mortuary settings, but with the noted significant exception of destroyed
residential and related structures, which often retain wealthier assemblages
than abandoned and/or remodeled structures. This seeming “abnormality” in
preserved wealth in a non-cultic structure is further diminished, however, by
the presence of a majority of non-luxury items (unfortunately mostly lost and
unpublished), the occurrence of wealth in other non-cultic, elite buildings,
and the otherwise unusual preservation of luxury items during the successive
destructions of this building and its contents. Furthermore, the argument that
this structure virtually lacked domestic items, such as cooking pots and storage
jars,50 is negated by the incomplete publication of the 1955 (and 1966) regional
pottery, which Harding asserted included a full range of forms, while this argu-
ment is also reduced via the confirmed presence of at least several pithoi and
cooking pots in and beside the Amman structure.51
Of note, a variety of the non-pottery items in the Amman structure also have
equal non-cultic implications. The stone grinders, mortars, and platters, which
do occur in cultic contexts, also often imply food processing and other resi-
dential industries. The spindle whorls, which are manufactured from local to
regional materials, suggest the seasonal production of woolen textiles, which
can and do appear in occupation contexts. The toiletries, cosmetic containers,
and jewelry, which range from local through regional and imported materials
and types, are equally comfortable in domestic settings. The weaponry, while
probably representing a mixture of examples both belonging to the struc-
ture’s occupants (e.g., a garrison?; caravan escort?) and perhaps other items
introduced to the artefact assemblage (e.g., by postulated attackers?), imply
a military component for, or present within, this building, with the discarded
weaponry presumably reflecting both the structure’s defense and defeat (other
scenarios might include selected weaponry in transit, storage [armory?], and
49 For instance, Late Bronze Age temples at Hazor have yielded statuary, stelae, orthostats,
altars, figurines, offering stands, and other ritual vessels (Yadin 1975: 44–9, 84, 98–119). See
also the Lachish Fosse Temple and its associated favissa and their contents (Tufnell, Inge
and Harding 1940: 43–4).
50 Herr (1983b: 224) stated that “. . . the types of local pottery that were found, primarily
bowls, jugs, and lamps, with a few kraters, lacked two basic forms of the domestic reper-
toire: storage jars and cooking pots.”
51 Kafafi (1983: 35) noted one definite cooking pot and a possible cooking pot sherd in the
corpus of 163 sherds from the 1976 excavations. Harding (1958: 11) reported large storage
jars (some 1.5 m high), while Hennessy (1985: 103–4) recorded finding large pithoi for the
storage of provisions.
108 Mumford
other contexts at the time of the destruction). Thus, although many of the
mundane through more valuable items are certainly found elsewhere as wor-
thy “votive” and mortuary offerings, the overall situation appears far more
complex and definitely need not only reflect a “ritual” context.
Perhaps the most unusual feature at the site is the presence of approxi-
mately 1,780 very small and mostly minute fragments of burnt and unburnt
human bones from all levels within and outside the structure.52 Many of
these bones concentrated around an exterior 4 × 4 m cluster of field stones
(interpreted as an “incinerator” platform), and included 211 well-burnt bones.
Hennessy (1985: 99) estimated that 714 of the fragments from the structure’s
interior represented six “immature” individuals, while Herr (1983a: 47–50) sug-
gested the exterior bone fragments originated from a 40 year old woman and
a male in his late teens, possibly of Indo-European derivation. Hennessy and
Herr speculated that these bones might signify human sacrifice and crema-
tion, respectively, but a broad range of other possibilities have equal merit.
For example, (1) the execution by fire of captives (admittedly an uncommon
execution technique),53 (2) the inadvertent incorporation of fragmentary
human mortuary remains into mud brick and their later re-dispersal through
the structure’s collapse and remodeling, or (3) one or more destruction levels
and fires producing burnt and unburnt human osteological debris (see discus-
sion on Carchemish below).
52 The 1955 and 1966 excavations produced 714 tiny pieces of bone: 211 bits from levels
4–3, 208 chips from level 2, 222 fragments from level 1, and 73 pieces from the surface
(Hennessy 1985: 97). The 1976 project yielded 1,127 bone fragments, 95 percent of which rep-
resented human remains (Herr 1983a: 47–50; 1983b: 224–5; Hennessy 1985: 99). A few bones
suggested a sheep/goat, or a juvenile. The presence of an elderly female, and young male, in
the context of this structure need not be surprising in a fortified structure depending upon
the specific circumstances, nature of the building, or what the individuals represented: e.g.,
residents?; dependents?; in-transit travelers?; an assortment of small, osteological debris from
earlier mortuary areas incorporated into mud brick production and re-dispersed amongst
wall collapse debris and re-modeling?; burnt bodies and disintegrated bones scattered and
re-dispersed during building clearance, re-modelling, and other activities; other scenarios. Of
note, some of the Late New Kingdom, anthropoid coffins associated with the Egyptian forti-
fied way-station at Deir el-Balah in North Sinai yielded the bodies of a child, an adolescent
male, females of various ages, and elderly adults, in addition to adult males (Dothan 1972:
67–8; 1979: 92–4; 1981: 131; 1982: 757; Mumford 1998: 1634–56, pit graves 114, 116, 118, and 301),
revealing that even well-defined military installations and their cemeteries contained a cross-
section of genders and age groupings.
53 The Egyptian execution of rebels by fire formed the ultimate punishment since it
destroyed both the body and chances for an afterlife. Although it is noted in the New
Kingdom, it is better attested in the Third Intermediate Period (McDowell 2001: 317).
The Amman structure exhibits two to three potential ash destruction lay-
ers: Phase 5c (level 3) yielded burnt and hardened clay, pockets of ash, burnt
artefacts, and scattered fragments of human bone, suggesting the remnants of
brickwork, timber fittings, furnishings and burnt bodies (or osteological debris
already in the mud brick matrix). Phase 4a (level 2) produced a continuous
ash layer beneath the paving, further bits of human bones, charring on the top
of the column base, and arrowheads, lance heads, swords, and daggers with
dinted edges and bent tips (Hennessy 1985: 95, 100, figs. 7 and 9). The arrow-
heads concentrated in the ash layer in the central room (Hennessy 1985: 96,
fig. 8), perhaps reflecting conflict between defenders from an upper floor and
attackers storming this high-ceiling chamber, which might have functioned as
a ladder well in a fort-tower (Vogel 2010: 20–21, 39; Figs. 10 and 11). The last
potential destruction layer in the Amman structure, Phase 4b (level 1), lies over
the pavement in room VII, prior to the re-modelling in the building, and is
characterized by ash and burnt pavement (Hennessy 1966a: 162). Each of these
conflagrations also contains numerous pieces of burnt pottery (Harding 1958:
10). All three destruction scenarios are well-matched by a very similar circum-
stance in House D at Carchemish, which is well-attested as being captured and
burnt down in 605 BC (Woolley 1921: 123–9). For instance, House D had numer-
ous weapons displaying heavy usage, a distinct ash layer, charred patches
from the bases of wooden columns, and burnt human bones in Rooms 2 and 3
(Fig. 8; Table 21).
The specific agents and dates for the conjectured destruction layers in the
Amman structure remain more speculative. The Phase 5c (level 3) artefacts
span the 15th through 14th centuries BC (above), with a probable termination
point around the mid- to late-14th century BC.54 The Amarna letters from the
time of Amenhotep III55 and Akhenaten refer to ‘Apiru and Sutean hostilities
54 Towns 89–101 in Thutmose III’s topographical list have been placed in Western Jordan,
including the Amman region, and reveal Egypt’s interest and nominal domination of this
region (Redford 1982: 115–9; 2003; Kitchen 1992: 25). Although vassal rebellions are known
in Southern Palestine in year 9 of Amenhotep II, he apparently retaliated against settle-
ments (e.g., Anharath) far to the west and north of Amman (P. Der Manuelian 1987: 69,
73–4). Thutmose IV may also have subdued rebels in Retenu (e.g., Gezer), but few details
exist (Bryan 1991: 344–7).
55 Bienkowski’s (1986: 152–6) recent study of Late Bronze Age Jericho concluded that the
town became increasingly impoverished under intensified Egyptian control, and was
abandoned in ca. 1275 BC. Another re-evaluation of the destruction and abandonment of
City level IV at Jericho confirmed Garstang’s destruction date of ca. 1400 BC (Wood 1990:
57), but admits the associated cemetery yielded two scarabs of Amenhotep III (1390–1352
BC) (Wood 1990: 53, photo). The 1400 BC date relied on a radiocarbon sample dating to
110 Mumford
and general unrest amongst Egypt’s Levantine vassals, including a few places
in the hill country of Southern Palestine (Moran 1992: 392–3; Redford 1992: 179;
Mumford 2009: 936–41). Other discontent and hostilities against Egypt arise
under Tutankhamun, Horemheb, and Seti I, who mention campaigning in
Palestine and against the Shasu-Bedouin, to restore peace (Giveon 1971; Redford
1992: 177–8, notes 249–50, 180–1). The more extensive Phase 4a (level 2) destruc-
tion is best equated with the period of Ramesses II, who is attested fighting in
the region surrounding Amman, including activity against Seir and Moab dur-
ing his year 6/9 campaigns (ca. 1274/71 BC) (Redford 1982: 115–9; Kitchen 1992:
23–9; Spalinger 2005: 226–7). The proposed Phase 4b (level 1) destruction layer
and re-modelling phase may span either the time of Merenptah’s suppression
of the Shasu-Bedouin of Edom (Northern Negev), Ramesses III’s subjugation
of the Bedouin in Seir in the Southern Negev (i.e., suggesting troubles in adja-
cent regions), or, perhaps more likely, the turmoil surrounding the widespread
Sea People raids and overland migrations and invasions by refugees and others
in year 8 of Ramesses III (Kitchen 1992: 23–9, fig. 3.2; Dever 1992: 100, fig. 13.1).
The likelihood of three successive destruction layers within a single building
is not so unusual in light of the frontier nature of this region, and the frequency
of local seismic activity. For instance, the site lay beside desert lands and semi-
nomadic populations (e.g., ʿApiru). In addition, nearby Deir ʿAlla experienced a
destructive earthquake and resulting fire ca. 1184(?) BC, followed by a series of
destructions by fire at the end of Phases F (ca. 1176 [?] BC), G (ca. 1136 [?] BC),
and H in the Early Iron Age (Franken 1992: 96, 102, 102–3; Mumford 1998: 2844,
2847). Hence, the Amman structure’s three destructions and architectural re-
modelling phases may easily reflect regional hostilities and seismic activity,
spanning the Late Amarna period until year 8 of Ramesses III.
Conclusions
What conclusions can we draw about the structure, its material cultural
assemblage, and its date range? Following Holladay’s (2001) paradigmatic
understanding of long distance trade in the Ancient Near East, further insight
can be extracted concerning international commerce. Aside from recycled
materials and items already in Syria-Palestine, the imports at Amman speak
of a broad trading network. Mycenaean, Minoan, and Cypriot products (Tables
18–19: 21 percent to 12 percent) reached one or more of the main Levantine
1410 BC +/– 40 years (Wood 1990: 53, note 39), which allows a date as late as 1370 BC, mid-
way through the reign of Amenhotep III. However, this radiocarbon date really only dates
the sample rather than the associated context in which it occurs.
sea ports (e.g., Tell Abu Hawam; Byblos; Tyre) and accompanied overland cara-
vans along one of the diverse land routes leading to Amman (Aharoni et al.
1993: maps 9–10; see Nicolaou 1982: 121–2, figs. 1–3). Of note, Leonard (1987:
264–5, fig. 3) points out that Tell Abu Hawam has the highest concentration
of Mycenaean pottery along the coast and reconstructs a plausible disper-
sal route to Amman via Megiddo, Beth Shan, Pella, Tell es-Saidiyeh, and Deir
‘Alla.56 He adds that many of the Mycenaean vessels likely held specialty oils
and unguents (Leonard 1987: 264; see also Shelmerdine and Bennet 2008: 304;
Mee 2008: 365).
Egyptian items (Tables 18–19: 9 percent to 15 percent) entered Southwest
Canaan, or a northern port, and may have taken either a southern or northern
overland route to Amman. These imports are dominated by stone unguent and
oil containers,57 but also include jewelry, toiletries, a khepesh-sword, and an
axe. The Egyptian items are accompanied by regional-foreign imported jewelry
(Tables 18–19: 6 percent to 15 percent), including bead-necklaces of bronze, sil-
ver, gold, glass, onyx, crystal, and quartz (Table 17). A series of northern overland
caravans, or a more complex form of local-regional reuse, presumably trans-
ported the preserved, minimal quantities of Syro-Mesopotamian trade goods
(Tables 18–19: 1 percent to 3 percent) from the Euphrates River to a major com-
mercial hub (such as Damascus), from which the emerging “King’s Highway”
reached Amman (Aharoni et al. 1993: maps 9–10; Astour 1995: 1415). Last, and
perhaps most intriguing, the Qurraya (“Midianite”) Ware pottery (Tables 18–19:
0.4 percent to 0.5 percent) also probably arrived via the “King’s Highway,” pass-
ing through Northwest Arabia, Seir, Edom, and Moab (Kitchen 1992: 23–9, fig.
3.2; Shackley 2007: 149, fig. 8.1; Hausleiter 2011: 105–6, 111–13). The Amarna letters
reveal the dangers to caravans travelling through Canaan and neighboring king-
doms, noting the occurrence of robberies (Moran 1992: 14, EA 7), the extortion
of money from merchants (Moran 1992: 16, EA 8), and the murder of traders and
others (Moran 1992: 16, EA 8; Mumford 2009). These dangers are often reduced
by the provision of armed escorts (Moran 1992: 276, EA 199; 308, EA 255).58
56 Leonard (1987: 261–6) lists other Jordanian sites with Mycenaean pottery: Umm ad-
Dananir, Saḥab, and Madaba.
57 See also Mumford (2006: 168); Lilyquist (1995: 2) discusses the contents of stone vessels.
58 Such measures are common in other time periods, including the provision of armed
troops to escort Egeria’s during her travels across Sinai and Arabia in AD 381–4 (Wilkinson
1999: 155). Concerning Egyptian relations with Northwest Arabia, one expedition is
attested during the reign of Ramesses III by a pair of rock-cut cartouches near Tayma‘
Oasis, while the occurrence of some Egyptian, Late New Kingdom artifacts appear in an
Early Iron Age shrine at Tayma‘, thereby confirming some form of Egyptian contact, trade,
and material influence in Northwest Arabia (Hausleiter 2011: 105–6, 111–13).
112 Mumford
The transshipment of abnormally rich luxury products either to, or through,

this volatile eastern frontier site begs the question: Why?
One of the first and potentially key factors is that the otherwise mostly
“invisible” (i.e., archaeologically perishable) aromatics trade may have played
an emerging and increasingly important role in the accumulation of wealth at
Amman (cf., Parr 1982: 130). This site and its hinterland are well-situated along a
north-south strip of arable and inhabited land (i.e., Edom, Moab, and Iron Age
Ammon) beside the foothills to the east of the less hospitable region occupied
by the Negev and Dead Sea. Although Egypt had its own access to incense via the
Red Sea and Punt (Kitchen 1993: 591–602, 603–4), and also imported Levantine
aromatics (e.g., terebinth; cedar oil), it is likely that the Amman structure, and
other sites in this region, straddled a fairly active, emerging, secondary LB IIB
route to the Red Sea and Tayma‘ Oasis in Northwest Arabia (Strange 2008: 298):
Some recently discovered Egyptian and Canaanite artifacts and influence from
a structure/shrine(?) in Tayma‘ Oasis, and the presence of Ramesses III’s car-
touches in a rock-cut text to the west of Tayma‘ Oasis, confirm that at least
one Egyptian expedition visited this region (Hausleiter 2011: 105–6, 109–13;
Somaglino and Tallet 2013); the dispersal of Northwest Arabian, Egyptian, and
Canaanite artifacts and influence in the Negev and adjacent regions during Late
LB IIB and the Early Iron Age also suggest some Egypto-Levantine commerce
with Northwest Arabia, the latter of which played an increasingly important
role in the aromatics trade during the Iron Age (Astour 1995: 1415; Breton 1999:
67–71; Hoyland 2001: 58–63; see also Gunter 2005). Regarding evidence for New
Kingdom Egyptian overland and Red Sea contact with or influence in Southern
Arabia, to-date only a few sporadic and mostly ex-situ Egyptian amulets and
seals appear in this region (Saleh 1972: 253, notes 5–6; Muhammed 1981: 125–6,
fig. 8 row 1; Kitchen 2002: 383, 398; Meeks 2002: 288, notes 121–2). Further to the
south, along the Red Sea coast, the Egyptian anchorage at Mersa Gawasis has
yielded some New Kingdom activity and Southwest Arabian potsherds, sug-
gesting maritime contact with Southern Arabia, be it direct, indirect via Punt or
other intermediaries, or a combination of such cross-cultural relations (Manzo
and Perlingieri 2007: 131; Bard and Fattovich 2007: 251). The West Arabian over-
land route becomes better known and highly prosperous59 in the Iron Age
59 The aromatics trade appears highly lucrative in the Late Bronze Age and later times (Miller
1969; Casson 1989; Kitchen 1993; Manniche 1999). A roster of items arriving at Port Suez in
AD 1795–98 (Jondet 1919: 17) reveal that coffee and incense formed about 81 percent and
12 percent, respectively, of items shipped through Suez. If all non-ancient products are
removed, incense shipments rise to 81 percent of the represented items (Mumford 1998:
796–800, tbl. 3.174).
and later periods, once camels become adopted more widely for transporting
such goods across Arabia (MacDonald 1995: 1355; Singer 2007: 4–5). The pres-
ence of camel bones and Qurraya (“Midianite”) sherds from Areas E and G at a
Ramesside copper smelting site, No. 2 near Timna (Rothenberg 1972: 68–9, 80;
1993: 1481–2), do not provide conclusive proof regarding the use of camels in
Late LBA overland caravans from Arabia, but are very tantalizing regarding the
question of the nature of transportation between this region and el-Qurraya,
over 450 km to the southeast in Northwest Arabia (Gauthier-Pilters and Dagg
1981: 115–16).60
Despite the absence of both identified Red Sea fish remains at LBA Levantine
sites and a gap in Middle through Late Bronze Age sites in the Northeast
‘Arabah (Van Neer et al. 2004: 134–5, fig. 2; MacDonald 1992: 159), there is other
evidence for direct contact between Southwest Palestine, the Red Sea, and
Northwest Arabia: Some Qurraya Ware sherds and numerous Red Sea mollusc
shells are found at several LB IIB sites in Southwest Palestine and Transjordan,
respectively (McGovern 1997: 273),61 while Mediterranean fish appear at LBA
Levantine sites and a Ramesside shrine at Timna in the Southern Arabah
(McGovern 1997: 273; Van Neer et al. 2004: 134–5, fig. 2). In addition, the copper
mines, camps, and Hathor shrine in the region around Timna (in addition to
Wadi Faynan) display contact with Syria-Palestine (63 percent), Egypt (27 per-
cent), the Negev (5 percent), and Qurraya (5 percent) (Mumford 2006: 160–1),
providing another desirable resource along or near the caravan route between
Amman and Northwest Arabia.
This north-south strip of Jordan, including Gilead, is also historically known
for herding sheep and goats (milk; cheese; meat; wool) and agricultural pro-
duce (spices, gum, tragacanth, balsam, resin), both for local usage and for
export to Egypt and elsewhere (Franken 1992: 174–5; Aharoni et al. 1993: 10–11).
Whether or not one accepts the Amman structure as a non-cultic site does not
affect the implication that the local elite had attracted and accumulated signif-
icant wealth, presumably via tariffs/taxation on caravan traffic.62 This situation
60 Arguments for the domestication and use of camels range widely: the 4th millennium
BC, 2000 BC, 18th century BC, and 13th–12th centuries BC (Gauthier-Pilters and Dagg 1981:
115–6); for an LB IIB date, see Jasmin (2006).
61 Parr (1982: 127–9) points out that the Qurraya Ware pottery concentrates in Northwest
Arabia (Qurayyah; al-‘Ula) and the Southern Arabah (Timna; Yotava; Jaziret Fara’un; Tell
el-Kheleifeh), but are distributed in small quantities in Jordan (Amman) and Southern
Palestine (Tell Masos [Khirbet Meshash], Tell Farah South, Lachish [Tell ed-Duweir], and
Jdur).
62 Tarrifs on foreign caravans travelling through different territories are known as early as
the Old Assyrian trade with Kanesh in Anatolia (Veenhof 1995: 864), and continue later,
114 Mumford
augments Artzy’s (1994: 139) suggestion that the “King’s Highway” and camels
were already in use during the 13th century BC, transporting incense (albeit
not necessarily requiring transport overland in heavy collared rim jars versus
sacks or other lighter containers) via Transjordan to Canaan, and especially Tel
Nami, which has produced bronze “incense burners” and great wealth.63 Thus,
in considering how to explain the otherwise enigmatic and anomalous wealth
at Amman, this issue is partly resolved by the Amman Airport structure’s pres-
ence in an economically viable pastoral and agricultural zone at the junction
of several major and secondary caravan routes (the later prosperity of the
Nabataeans at Petra is a prime example of the lucrative nature of the Arabian
aromatics trade in this region).
Concerning the accumulation of wealth in the Amman structure, it seems
appropriate here to summarize the evidence against a cultic or mortuary (i.e.,
“crematorium”) function for this building. Although many of the Amman
structure’s artefact types are found in both cultic and non-cultic elite struc-
tures, some types occur more commonly in domestic settings: mortars and
pounders, weaving implements, storage jars, and at least one or more cook-
ing pots. The mostly unpublished 1955 and 1966 regional pottery from the
Amman structure’s interior was described as representing all Levantine forms
and may have had additional cooking pots. The building lacks specialized
cultic features, furnishings, and votives, such as niches, altars, statuary,
benches, offering stands, ritual vessels, and figurines (see above). The build-
ing’s plan has virtually no parallels with contemporary temples throughout the
Levant, excepting a partly excavated cultic building at Umm ad-Dananir, and
displays more similarities in plan with a postulated fort-tower (?) at el-Mabrak,
“governors’ residencies” in Canaan, and more loosely with Egyptian Amarna-
style houses (above). The numerous minute human bone fragments from six
to eight individuals may reflect diverse, more mundane scenarios (e.g., sec-
ondary deposition; warfare) rather than only “human sacrifice” or postulated
Hittite cremations. For instance, human sacrifice is not indigenous to and/or
being well attested from the Iron Age (Holladay 2006: 309–31) and onwards (Bellorini and
Hoade 1945: 76).
63 The late 14th century BC Ulu Burun shipwreck contained numerous storage jars con-
taining terebinth (Bass 1987: 709), which shows that bulk shipments of aromatics did
use ceramic containers, and may bolster Artzy’s case for their overland application. On
the other hand, aromatics could easily be transferred from lighter containers to sturdier
ones for stacking in ships’ hulls and protection from water during sea travel. Although
such aromatics could be and were obtained frequently in Syria, Cyprus, and sub-Saharan
Africa, the higher quality Arabian sources of frankincense and myrrh later become more
popular and increasingly sought (Manniche 1999: 29).
common in this region and time period,64 while the artefact assemblage lacks
Hittite material culture, thereby lending much less merit to these ideas.
In contrast, there is more evidence supporting the Amman structure func-
tioning as some form of a combined watchtower (magdalu), a fortified com-
mercial way-station (caravanserai), and perhaps a local-regional taxation
center along the “King’s Highway,” controlling and safeguarding the secu-
rity and transmission of trade goods through this frontier area (Fig. 11). The
establishment of fortified way-stations along major routes through dangerous
regions is well-attested in other periods.65 Presumably the personnel manning
this proposed fortified tower-type building interacted regularly with its neigh-
boring installations at el-Mabrak and perhaps Umm ad-Dananir(?). These
buildings combine very strong thick walls66 with defensive features such as a
narrow doorway and circuitous route leading to a pillared central room. The
latter chamber may represent a ladder well accessing upper floor(s), while the
larger building at el-Mabrak contains a stairway beside its entrance. The walls
64 The concept of human sacrifice appears in a later biblical account: “Take your son . . . and
offer him there as a burnt offering . . .” (Genesis 22:1–19). Ribichini (1988: 120–3) discusses
the practice of child sacrifice amongst the later Phoenicians, asserting that it probably
took place far less frequently than is portrayed in classical and other sources. Elsewhere,
human sacrifice is well-attested in Middle Bronze Age to Early Late Bronze Age royal
burials at Kerma in Upper Nubia (O’Connor 1993: 54–5; Kendall 1997: 64–8, figs. 29–30).
Sporadic examples of potential, albeit contested, human sacrifice from Crete are attested
by the remains of a young male who had been placed on a bier and possibly sacrificed in
a building (interpreted variously as a peak shine or way-station) at Anemospilia, which
was destroyed by an earthquake at the advent of the Neopalatial period (Middle Minoan
III: ca. 1750+ BC), and the defleshed bones from several children, who may have been
ritually cannibalized, found in a house at Knossos dating to Late Minoan IB (1600–1490
BC) (Younger and Rehak 2008: 170). A Linear B tablet (Tn 316) from a cache at Pylos in
Mycenaean Greece, ascribed to the Late Bronze Age, may allude to a rare rite of human
sacrifice (Palaima 2008: 343).
65 For instance, in AD 381–384 Egeria travels through Sinai along routes protected by gar-
risoned staging posts (Wilkinson 1999: 115). In AD 570, the Piacenza pilgrim notes passing
staging posts in the Sinai manned by troops accompanied by their wives and provisioned
from Egypt (Wilkinson 1977: 6, 88). Fortified caravanserai continued in Palestine until
more recent times, including descriptions in Chelebi’s travels in AD 1648–1650 (Stephan
1980: 32–3). One of these pilgrim accounts, the reference for which I have yet to relocate,
refers to the Bedouin siege of a fortified caravanserai, witnessed by a caravan in route to
Egypt. Details may change, but human nature and behavior are more constant.
66 Of note, an Egyptian New Kingdom fort at Deir el-Balah, in Northeast Sinai, measured 20 ×
20 m and contained 14 rooms (Dothan 1985: 39–40, fig. 1; see Fig. 12).
116 Mumford
are sufficiently thick to support a fort-tower style building (Figs. 10 and 11),67
which would be appropriate for this frequently turbulent area.
On the other hand, the 15 × 15 m fort-tower near Amman differs from the
Egyptian types illustrated by Seti I and partly excavated across North Sinai
(Dothan 1982; 1985; Gardiner 1920: pl. 11; see Figs. 10 and 12). The depictions and
physical examples of these Sinai forts are a little larger (e.g., 20 × 20 m) and
display either corner bastions, such as at Deir el-Balah, or broad walls enclos-
ing open courtyards, such as at Haruba (Oren 1993: 1390, plan). However, the
Amman structure may fall into a slightly more modest category of fort-tower,
being smaller than the 20 × 20 m and larger bastioned mkdrw and nḫtw types
exemplified at Deir el-Balah, Haruba, and elsewhere (Morris 2005: 825). Morris
(2005: 817–20) furnishes a more detailed discussion of the Egyptian designa-
tions for small fortified installations, such as mkdr (or mktr), which she sum-
marizes as being conceived “. . . like their Canaanite counterparts, to indicate
a fortified structure of relatively modest proportions.” Likewise, the term
nḫtw covers a modest stronghold and is usually applied to places in Egypt and
North Sinai (Morris 2005: 821). The smaller Amman structure is generally well-
interpreted as a magdalu, namely a “watchtower,” already effectively argued by
Fritz (1971) and Burke (2007).
The Amman structure’s resemblance to Levantine and Egyptian central
room-style dwellings, particularly the so-called “governors’ residencies” (not
to mention a later Phoenician fortified trading post in the Levant),68 suggests
a conscious conceptual and architectural link with the ruling elite and con-
trollers of commerce. Of this residential type, Houses 1500 and 1700 at Beth
Shan feature stone door jambs bearing the titles of Egyptian military officers.69
Although these dwellings had a square plan, central room, and many similar
67 Dunmore castle in Ireland illustrates a broad continuity in the construction and usage of
fort-towers in other cultures and time periods. It measures 12.5 × 17 m, contains 2.3 m wide
walls, and rises to 31 m in height (McNeill 1997: 136–7, fig. 86).
68 An Iron Age Phoenician structure at Horvat Rosh Zayit measures about 22 × 22 m, has 2.8 m
wide walls, a central room surrounded by 10 chambers, and is interpreted as a “fort,” or a forti-
fied trader’s residence (Holladay 1997: 109, fig. 7:b).
69 In level lower VI, Houses 1500 and 1700 represented Egyptian-style buildings dating to
Iron IA (Ramesses III), and yielded Egyptian T-shaped door sills and plain and inscribed
door jambs and lintels (James 1966: 11–13, fig. 77; Ward in James 1966: 161–5). House 1500
was better preserved than House 1700 (James 1966: 6, 211–13, figs. 77, 88:2–3, 89:1–3, 90:1,
91:1 and 91:6; Oren 1984: 49). House 1500 measured 21 × 22 m, had 2 m wide walls, and
yielded texts identifying its resident as Rameses-Wesr-Khapesh (Ramesses III) (Oren
1992: 118–19, fig. 19).
artefact types to the Amman structure,70 their differences71 aid in distinguish-

ing them from the broadly related, albeit distinct form typified by the Amman
“migdol” and several similar buildings. In its role of provisioning its occu-
pants, the Amman structure would naturally require some domestic utensils
for processing, cooking, and consuming food. The virtual absence of known/
published cooking pots (n=2) has already been noted as an argument against
the Amman structure containing a domestic component. However, it should
also be emphasized that only two cooking pots are published from the other-
wise well-attested residential settings in Beth Shan Houses 1500 and 1700 (see
note 70).
These general parallels and variants illustrate yet another facet to this
elite-style LBA structure. They reveal a wide range of conscious and sub-
conscious symbolism associated with a given building and its occupants’
socio-economic status and political affiliation(s): Regardless of the particular
architectural variant and its setting, these proposed high “fort-towers” could
also symbolize Egypt’s domination of Syria-Palestine, whether through an
Egyptian-sanctioned or Egyptian run local-regional garrison, administra-
tion, or commercial center. In essence, these particularly sturdy structures
are not too unlike medieval keeps dominating towns, villages, borders, and
trade routes. Both the presumed symbolic and functional nature of such LBA
structures—as “Egyptian” sanctioned guardians and transmitters and reposi-
tories of wealth along caravan routes—would have made them ready targets
for hostile semi-nomadic tribes and/or other disgruntled, impoverished, or
otherwise motivated portions of the local-regional populace. In addition, to
function effectively as a frontier watch-tower, way-station, and taxation cen-
ter, a defensive design and garrison would have been essential to safeguard
70 Houses 1500 and 1700 at Beth Shan produced 82+ potsherds: 64 Canaanite potsherds
(cooking pots [3], bowls; cup-and-saucer bowls, chalices; jars, juglets, lentoid flasks, pyxi-
des, and a stand), eight to ten Egyptian potsherds (4 beer bottles, 2 bowls, 3 spinning
bowls, and 1 duck-headed bowl), three Mycenaean potsherds, and five Cypriot sherds
(James 1966: 192–3 figs. 8:1–5 and 9:1–3, 240–5 figs. 49–50, 51:3, 5–6, 8, 10 [4 discards], 328,
fig. 107:9). The houses had 20 Egyptian and 12 plain architectural pieces. 37+ other items
consisted of regional and Egyptian containers (calcite; limestone; faience), a basalt mor-
tar, toiletries (a comb), Egyptian-regional necklaces (beads) and seals (scarabs, plaques, a
stamp seal, and a cylinder seal), local figurines (female, horse, leg), utensils (knives, pins),
spindle whorls, and fittings and fragments (e.g., nails and cylinders) (Mumford 1998:
3436–42). In total, the 151 artefacts (including architectural pieces) sub-divide into 111 (74
percent) local-regional, 35 (23 percent) Egyptian, 5 (3 percent) Cypriot and 3 (2 percent)
Mycenaean items.
71 For example, an urban setting, inscribed doorways, and Egyptian pottery.
118 Mumford
individual localities, the region, its highways, and revenues.72 That the patrons,
architects, and personnel of the Amman structure anticipated and realized
such possibilities is suggested by the defensible nature of the building and the
presence of Egyptian and Levantine weaponry (khepesh-sword, daggers, axes,
lance heads, and arrowheads). These features and finds are well in keeping
with a small local garrison, perhaps commanded by either an Egyptian or an
Egyptian-appointed/sanctioned official.
Confirmation that the Amman structure and its contents represented a
highly desirable target (i.e., whether to neutralize it militarily and/or plunder
its contents) is borne out by the multiple ash destruction layers, burnt paving
stones and artefacts, heavily worn weaponry, minute human bone fragments,
and rebuilding phases (perhaps including an attempt to make the interior even
less accessible in level 1b). These destructive episodes find various duplicate
scenarios elsewhere, such as at Deir el-‘Alla and Carchemish, thereby aiding the
suggestion that armed defenders manned the Amman structure. The tenacity
with which the Amman structure appears to have been rebuilt, modified, and
reoccupied several times demonstrates the perceived and real necessity and
significance for maintaining this installation at a local and regional level. On
the other hand, the progressive inability by either the Egyptians or local vas-
sals to introduce more effective defenses, a larger garrison, or other security
measures, reveal the relatively minor role relegated to this border zone and
fortified building (be it a keep, outpost, or alternate function) within Egypt’s
broader Levantine and Nubian empire. In other words, the Amman structure’s
defenses would normally, presumably have been sufficient to secure it, its con-
tents, and its occupants against more localized and smaller-scale unrest, but
apparently could not deal with more determined and/or sustained attacks,
wider spread turmoil, natural disasters (e.g., earthquakes), or other frailties in
Egypt’s Levantine empire and the Canaanite vassal states.
72 Another form of control included the issuing of travel permits, a practice attested in
the Middle Kingdom during which a small caravan of 37 Asiatics are provided written
permission, on a papyrus, to enter Egypt bearing mesdemet (kohl eye-paint) (Newberry
1893: 69, pls. 30, 38:2). A travel permit survives amongst the Amarna letters (Moran 1992:
100, EA 30), while reference is made to travel documents for Wenamon’s trip to Tanis and
Byblos (Wente 2003: 119). Travel permits are common in later travels through foreign
lands, including references to their purchase, usage, and difficulties in AD 724 (Wilkinson
1977: 128), AD 870 (Wilkinson 1977: 141, 142), and AD 1346–1348 (Bellorini and Hoade 1945:
98, 101).
Since Egypt overshadowed Transjordan throughout much of the Late

Bronze Age,73 beginning notably with Thutmose III, and becoming more mili-
tarized in the Ramesside period (cf., Higginbotham 2000), it is possible that
a few Egyptians or Egyptianized locals accompanied the otherwise probable
local-regional auxiliaries manning such fortified way-stations (caravanserai)
and other installations. It is also evident that such luxuries, as stored and pre-
served between the three destructions of the Amman building, were often re-
distributed at a local level. For instance, several settlements and graves in
Jordan and Palestine have produced a similar range of products in smaller
amounts and less diversity (Nicolaou 1982: 122, fig. 2; Hankey 1995: 185;
McGovern 1995: 273), demonstrating that even such relatively isolated and
peripheral centers and way-stations also served as conduits for the local elite
and portions of the greater populace. Thus, rather than functioning as a “sealed”
cultic or mortuary repository for luxury goods and other items, it would appear
that the Amman Airport structure and its sister installations played a more sig-
nificant storage, redistributive, and transshipment role in the local, regional,
and international economies of the Levant. Unfortunately, without detailed
administrative texts and other documentation from this building, it is exceed-
ingly difficult to obtain greater clarity and discern the precise nature of the
complex roles the Amman structure and its immediate affiliated hinterland
played within Transjordan, the Levant, the Egyptian empire, and the broader
East Mediterranean and Near East.
Summary
In brief, the foregoing comparison of the Amman Airport structure and its arte-
facts to contemporary Late Bronze Age buildings, their assemblages, and simi-
lar circumstances, reveal that this building has less in common with temples
and shrines (i.e., lacking specific cultic features, equipment, and votive offer-
ings); it contains various components and items that appear in both ritual and
secular settings (e.g., sturdy walls and luxury items); it displays more parallels
with non-cultic edifices and their furnishings (e.g., Near Eastern and Egyptian
central room houses and palaces); and it yielded unusual circumstances that
73 For a detailed assessment of the Egyptian military and military bases and related struc-
tures in Syria-Palestine (and elsewhere), see the comprehensive study by Morris (2005).
For a more detailed study of the Egyptian and Levantine Red Sea trade, including the
transmission of aromatics and other items through the Southern Levant, see Mumford’s
forthcoming study: Egypt’s Trade with the Red Sea and Neighbouring Regions.
120 Mumford
could reflect multiple factors from cultic to secular ones (e.g., numerous small
pieces of burnt and unburnt human bones). Likewise, the site’s stratigraphy,
salvage and excavation conditions, and other factors allow placement of the
building’s foundation prior to Late Bronze Age IIB (i.e., perhaps at the end of
LB IIA), while the structure’s termination point is more ambiguous and might
easily extend into Iron Age IA. In addition, recent surveys, excavations, and
findings have produced compelling evidence for earlier and more extensive
contacts with Northwest Arabia, and presumably an earlier emergence of the
aromatics trade with Southwest Arabia, including passage through Transjordan.
Although the Amman Airport structure, its assemblage, and function(s) con-
tinue to be debated, this paper argues for some form of secular usage, such
as a fortified way-station, fort-tower, and perhaps re-dispersal center, while
regardless of its specific function(s), the site remains undeniably significant at
a local, regional, and international level, forming part of an increasingly better
defined and important trade and re-dispersal network in the latter part of the
Late Bronze Age through Early Iron Age.
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Figure 1 Map of key sites mentioned in the text. Note: Egypt’s province of Canaan lies south
of Damascus; Jebels al-Qarir and al-Hawayah lie near Umm ad-Dananir (adapted
from Roaf 1990: 12).
132 Mumford
Figure 2 Plan of the Amman Airport Structure (adapted from Hennessy 1985: 9,
fig. 77).
100
80
60
40
20
0 Level 2
Level 4
l
na
ae
t
io
yp
en
us
eg
e
Eg
yc
pr
et
ia
l-r
ia
M
Cr
Cy
am
ca
ab
ot
Lo
Ar
op
nw
es
-M
ria
Sy
Figure 3 Percentages of diverse cultural influence in Levels 4–1 artefact assemblages.

(see table 18)
70
60
50
40
30
20
10
0
l
na
Levels 4-1
na
pt
io
s
y
e
eg
ru
Eg
e
yc
et
l-r
ia
p
M
Cr
Cy
am
ia
ca
ab
Lo
ot
Ar
op
nw
es
-M
ria
Sy
Figure 4 Percentages of diverse cultural influence in overall artefact assemblages from Phases
6–1 (Levels 4–1). (see table 18)
134 Mumford
70
60
50
40
30
20
10
0
l
na
Levels 4-1
na
pt
io
us
y
e
eg
Eg
e
yc
pr
et
l-r
ia
M
Cr
Cy
am
ia
ca
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Lo
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Ar
op
nw
es
-M
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Sy
Figure 5 Adjusted (“realistic”) percentages of diverse cultural influence in overall artefact

assemblages from Phases 6–1 (Levels 4–1). (see table 19)
Figure 6 Plan of el-Mabrak (adapted from S. Balderstone’s plan in Yassine 1988:

62, fig. 1).
Figure 7 Plan of Beth Shan House 1500 (adapted from James 1966: fig. 3).
136 Mumford
Figure 8 Plan of Carchemish House D, late 7th century BC (adapted from Woolley 1921: pl. 19).
Figure 9 Section of Amman structure central room (adapted from Hennessy 1985: 89, fig. 4,
Rooms 5–6).
Figure 10 Seti I portrayal of Egyptian Sinai forts (adapted

from Gardiner 1920: pl. 11).
138 Mumford
Figure 11 Reconstruction of the Amman Airport Structure. Note that the fire platform
(“incinerator”) is actually less regular and larger (4 × 4 m), while the persons should
be a bit smaller to match the building’s scale (15 × 15 m); the reconstruction follows
typical New Kingdom depictions of Egyptian tower-forts (drawing by G. Mumford).
Figure 12 Egyptian New Kingdom fort at Deir el-Balah (adapted from Dothan
1982: 758, plan).
Table 1 Phase 6 artefacts from “Pre-Foundation Trench” level (1976)
No: Type: Details: References:
11 Potsherds Unpublished Herr 1983a: 70 pail-6, 72 pail-7

1 Lamp sherd Local (Loc.A.4:7) Kafafi 1983: 45, 41 fig. 22:156
no. 216
1 Ceramic bead Local-regional Herr 1983a: 59, 60–1, 70,

figs. 23–4:335 no. 44
1 Calcite/travertine jar Egy.?; two handles Herr 1983a: 58, 60–61, 72,
figs. 23–24:320 no. 22
TOTAL 14 artefacts: 13 (93%) local-regional; 1 (7%) Egyptian items.

140 Mumford
Table 2 Phase 5a artefacts from exterior wall foundation trenches
16 Potsherds Unpublished Herr 1983a: 69–70 pails-4, 5, 6,

7, 11, 12, and 15
1 Bowl rim Local; Loc. A.1:3 Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:23 no.
144
1 Bowl/jug sherd Local; Loc. A.1:5 Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 22:117
no. 162
1 Diorite bowl fragment Regional; Loc.A.1:6 Herr 1983a: 58 no.S.306, 70 no.

31, 69–73.
TOTAL 19 artefacts: 19 (100%) local-regional items.
Table 3 Phase 5b (level 4/3) artefacts from initial construction layer (1966)
3+? Potsherds Unpublished
TOTAL 3+? artefacts: 3+? (100%) local-regional potsherds.

Table 4 Phase 5c (level 3) “dedicatory fill” (1955 and 1966 excavations)
12 Plain Mycenaean sherds Foundation area Hankey 1974: 135 table 3 notes
1 Myc.IIA pithoid jar Area A room 1a Hankey 1974: 135 table 3, 145, fig. 1:1 FS 24
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area A room VI Hankey 1974: 135 table 3, 149, fig. 5:32 (alabastron)
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Area A, Rms.VII–VIII Hankey 1974: 135 table 3, 153, fig. 6:65
1 Myc.IIIB1 stirrup jar Area A, room VI Hankey 1974: 135 table 3, 154, fig. 7:75 FS 179
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Area A, room VI Hankey 1974: 135 table 3, 154, fig. 7:84
The Amman Airport Structure
1 Myc.IIIB lentoid flask Area A, Rms.VII–VIII Hankey 1974: 135 table 3, 155, fig. 8:91, FS 186
1 Mycenaean flask Area A, Rms.VII–VIII Hankey 1974: 156
2+? Base Ring I sherds Unquantified; unpub. Hankey 1974: 135 table 3 notes; Hennessy 1966a: 162
2+? Red Lustrous sherds Unquantified; unpub. Hankey 1974: 135 table 3 notes; Hennessy 1966a: 162
1+? Other? Cypriot sherds Unquantified; unpub. Cypriot sherds unquantified and unpublished
5+? Local potsherds Unquantified; unpub. Local wares unquantified and unpublished
13 Gold items No details; no photo Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161; Hennessy 1966b: 358
3+? Small weapons No details Hankey 1974: 142, not illustrated; Hennessy 1985: 95
2+? Cylinder seals No details Hankey 1974: 142; Hennessy 1966b: 358; idem 1985: 95
Hankey 1995: 174.
2+? Inlay from boxes(?) Bone and ivory inlay Hennessy 1966a: 157, 162; Hennessy 1966b: 358
141
3+? Silver jewellery No details Hennessy 1966a: 161, not illustrated

Table 4 Phase 5c (level 3) “dedicatory fill” (1955 and 1966 excavations) (cont.)
142
1 Gold strip (headband?) Hole at both ends Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34B:<1> top row
1 Gold strip (headband?) Hole at both ends Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34B:<1> centre row
1 Gold togglepin – Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.35A:<1>
1 Gold wire earring – Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34B:<1> bottom row
1 Gold wire earring – Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34B:<2> bottom row
1 Gold C-shaped earring With a pendant Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34A:<2> top row
1 Gold C-shaped earring mulberry pendant Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34A:<1> centre row
1 Gold C-shaped earring With a pendant Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34A:<2> centre row
1 Gold C-shaped earring – Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34A:<3> centre row
1 Gold crescent pendant – Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34A:<3> top row
1+? Necklace with beads 100s AE beads Hennessy 1966a: 161 not illustrated; idem 1966b: 358
Mumford
1+? Necklace with beads 100s glass beads Hennessy 1966a: 161 not illustrated; idem 1966b: 358
1+? Necklace with beads 100s crystal beads Hennessy 1966a: 161 not illustrated; idem 1966b: 358
1+? Necklace with beads: Beads below: See beads itemized below:
– 2 gold cylindrical beads – Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34A:<5–6> bottom row
– 4 gold disk beads – Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34A:<1–4> bottom row
– 1 gold disk bead – Hennessy 1966a: 157, 161, Pl.34A:<1> top row
1 1 Mitannian cylinder seal Onyx; Kassite period Cuneiform text: “handmaid of the goddess Banitu, daughter of
– Level 3 below paved floor Sappittu, handmaid of the god Marduk and of the goddess
– Sarpanitu” (Herr 1983a: 3; idem 1983b: 227; Hankey 1974: 176;
– Hennessy 1966a: 161; idem 1985: 101; Hankey 1995: 174).
1 Ivory cosmetic container Egy.; duck-head Hennessy 1966a: 161–62, Pl.36A

1+? Ivory cosmetic container Egy.; duck-head frag. Hennessy 1966a: 161–62, no image; Hankey 1995: 178 pl.13:1
AM6278 (possibly identical with 2nd duck-head)
1 Ivory hair pin (15 cm) Egyptian; duck-head Hennessy 1966a: Pl.36B
3+? Scarabs Egyptian; Dyn.17–18 Hennessy 1966a: 162 no image; Late 2IP—Thutmose III;
Hankey 1995: 174 (3+? of 15 scarabs found in 1966)
1+? Necklace with beads 100s amethyst beads Hennessy 1966a: 161, not illustrated; idem 1966b: 358
1+? Necklace with beads 100s serpentine beads Hennessy 1966a: 161, not illustrated; idem 1966b: 358
1+? Necklace with beads 100s carnelian beads Hennessy 1966a: 161, not illustrated; idem 1966b: 358
1+? Necklace with beads 100s paste beads Hennessy 1966a: 161, not illustrated; idem 1966b: 358
TOTAL 87 artefacts: 51 (59%) regional; 19 (22%) Mycenaean; 10 (12%) Egyptian; 5 (6%) Cypriot; 1 (1%) Mitannian items; 1 (1%)
143
Syro-Mesopotamian item.
144 Mumford
Table 5 Phase 5b–c (Level 3) artefacts from Areas B.II–III and D.I–III (1955 and 1966
excavations)
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1 piriform jar Area B, Trench II Hankey 1974: 147, similar

to fig. 2:14 (FS 45/166–7)
1 Cretan limestone knob Area B, Trench III Hankey 1974: 161, 176,
fig. 3:48 (spherical; from
knife?)
1 Egy. calcite shallow bowl Area B, Trench II Hankey 1974: 161, 174,
fig. 3:39 (Dyn.18-style)
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area D, Trench III Hankey 1974: 134–5

tables 2–3, 149 fig. 5:31
FS 85/94–5
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Area D, Trench I Hankey 1974: 134–5
tables 2–3, 154 fig. 7:89
1 Myc.IIIA2 stirrup jar Surface level (1 sherd) Hankey 1974: 134–5

Area D, Tr.I, lev.1 (4) tables 2–3, 153 fig. 6:58
Area D, Tr.II lev.2 (1) FS 166/167
Area B, Tr.II, lev.3 (1)
1955 excavation (9)
3+? Potsherds Regional; unpublished Local/regional pottery

remains unpublished
TOTAL 9+? artefacts: 4 (44%) Myc.; 3+? (33%) regional; 1 (11%) Cretan; 1 (11%)
Egyptian item.
Table 6 Phase 4a (level 2) artefacts beside structure (1955 and 1966)
1 Myc.IIIA2 piriform jar Area B, Rm II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2,
146, fig. 2:10 (FS 45)
Area A, Rm III, level 1
1 Myc.IIIA2 pict. Krater Area B, Rm II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2,
148, fig. 4:21 (FM 10A:8)
1 Myc.IIIA2 pict. Krater Area B, Tr. II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2
level 1, 149, fig. 4:25
Area D, Tr. III, level 1
1 Myc.III piriform jar Area D, Tr. I level 2 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2,
145, fig. 2:3 (FS ?)
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1 squat jar Area D, Tr. I, level 2 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2,
149, fig. 5:33 (FS 85)
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Area D, Tr. II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2,
150, fig. 6:40
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Area D, Tr. II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2,
151, fig. 6:53
1 Myc.IIIA1/2 open vessel Area D, Tr. II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2,
157, fig. 9:106 (FS 334)
1 Ring-based basalt dish Area B, Tr. II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:51
no. 100 (mortar)
1 Ring-based basalt dish Area B, Tr. I, level 2 Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:52
no. 100 (mortar)
1 Basalt dish/mortar Area B, Tr. II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:53
(2 pieces)
1 Sandstone hone/pendant Area D, Tr. II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:56
(perforated; rectangular)
TOTAL 12 artefacts: 8 (67%) Mycenaean items; 4 (33%) regional items.

146
Table 7 Phase 4a (level 2) artefacts from ash layer in structure (1955 and 1966 excavations)
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area A, Rms.V–VI Hankey 1974: 149, similar to fig. 5:31, FS 85/94–5
1 Myc.IIIB stirrup jar Area A, Rms.VII–VIII Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 150, fig. 6:43
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1stirrup jar Area A, Rms.VII–VIII Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 150, fig. 6:50
1 Myc.IIIA2/IIIB1 cup/bowl Area A, Rms.VII–VIII Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 156, fig. 9:101
1 Late Minoan IIIB stirrup jar Area B, Tr. II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 133, 157, fig. 9:107 (octopus design)
(6 sherds) Area A, Rm II, level 2 (found on surface)
1 Basalt dish/mortar rim Area A, Rm II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 161, 177, fig. 3:54 (below the paved floor)
1 Basalt dish/mortar rim Area A, Rm II, level 2 Hankey 1974: 161, 177, fig. 3:55 (below the paved floor)
1 AE javelin/arrowhead With a tang Hennessy 1966a: 157 Pl.35B(1); idem 1985: 94 fig. 7:63
1 AE lance/arrowhead With a tang Hennessy 1985: 94 fig. 7 no. 331
Mumford

1 AE arrowhead With a tang Hennessy 1985: 96 fig. 8 no. 248

TOTAL 28 artefacts: 23 (82%) local-regional items; 4 (14%) Mycenaean items; 1 (4%) Minoan item.
147
148
Table 8 Phase 4b (level 1) materials from the structure (1955 and 1966)
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area A, Rms.VII–VIII, lv.1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 149, fig. 5:30 alabastron
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area A, Rms.VII–VIII, lv.1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 150, fig. 5:35 (FS 94)
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area A, room V, level 1 Hankey 1974: 150, not illustrated (alabastron)
1 Myc.IIIA2/B stirrup jar Area A, room V, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 150, fig. 6:47
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Area A, Rms.VII–VIII, lv.1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 153, fig. 7:68
1 Myc.I–IIA cup/bowl Area A, room V, level 1 Hankey 1974: 156, fig. 9:99 (FS 211/213/214)
1 Myc.IIIB piriform jar Above paved floor (restored) Hankey 1974: 136, 147, fig. 2:15 FS 47; AM6248
1 Myc.IIIA2 pictorial krater Above paved floor (restored) Hankey 1974: 136, 147, fig. 3:16 FS 54; AM6261
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Above paved floor (restored) Hankey 1974: 136, 149, fig. 5:28 FS 85; AM6249
1 Myc.IIIB1 stirrup jar Above paved floor (restored) Hankey 1974: 136, 153, fig. 7:70 FS 178; AM6286
1 Myc.IIIB1 stirrup jar Above paved floor (restored) Hankey 1974: 136, 153, fig. 7:71 FS 178; AM6285
1 Myc.IIIB stirrup jar Above paved floor (restored) Hankey 1974: 136,154 fig. 7:81 FS179/182;6284
1 Myc.IIIB lentoid flask Above paved floor (restored) Hankey 1974: 136, 155, fig. 8:92 FS 186; AM6255
Mumford
1 Myc.IIIA2 globular flask Above paved floor (restored) Hankey 1974: 136, 155, fig. 8:96 FS 189; AM6258
1 Quartz-schist, ovoid jar Mesopotamian?; from floor Hankey 1974: 161, 176 fig. 3:50 snake in relief
1 Calcite ovoid flask Egy. Dyn.12; from floor Hankey 1974: 161, 170, fig. 1:3
1 Calcite flask Egy. Dyn.12; from floor Hankey 1974: 161, 170, fig. 1:4
1 Calcite squat jar (4 sherds) Egy. Dyn.12; from floor Hankey 1974: 161, 170, fig. 1:5
1 Lm/travertine jug Egy. Dyn.18; from floor Hankey 1974:161, 171, fig. 2:15 copies Cypriot BR I
1 Green serpentine juglet Egy. Dyn.18; from floor Hankey 1974: 161,172, fig. 2:27 copies Base Ring I
1 Black serpentine jar Egy. Dyn.18; from floor, 5 pc Hankey 1974: 161,173, fig. 2:28, tall-neck; ring base
1 Calcite squat vase Egy. Dyn.18; from floor Hankey 1974: 161, 173, fig. 2:29, ring base, no lid
TOTAL 26 artefacts: 18 (69%) Mycenaean items; 7 (27%) Egyptian items; 1 (4%) Mesopotamian item.
149
150 Mumford
Table 9 Phase 4B (level 1) exterior of structure (1955 and 1966)
1 Myc.IIIA2 piriform jar Area B, Tr. II level 1 Hankey 1974: 145, similar to
fig. 2:5 (FS 45)
1 Myc.IIIA2/B1 piriform jar Area B, Tr. II, level 1 Hankey 1974: 147, similar to
fig. 2:14 (FS 45/166–7)
1 Myc.IIIA2 pictorial krater Area B, Tr. Ia, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 149,
fig. 4:22
1 Myc.IIIA2 stirrup jar Area B, Tr. I, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 150,
fig. 6:39
1 Myc.IIIA2 flask (6 sherds) Area B, Tr. II, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 156,
fig. 8:97 (FS 189)
1 Myc.IIIA2 piriform jar Area D, Tr. II, level 1 Hankey 1974: 145, similar to
fig. 2:5 (FS 45)
1 Myc.IIIA2/IIIB1 piriform jar74 Area D, Tr. I, lev.1/3! Hankey 1974: 135 table 3, 147,
fig. 2:13 (FS 45/166–7)
1 Myc.IIIA2/IIIB1 piriform jar Area D, Tr. III, level 1 Hankey 1974: 147, similar to
fig. 2:14 (FS 45/166–7)
1 Myc.IIIA2/IIIB1 piriform jar Area D, Tr. I, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 147,
fig. 2:14 (FS ?)
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area D, Tr. III, level 1 Hankey 1974: 149, similar to
fig. 5:31 (FS 85/94–5)
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area D, Tr. II, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 150,
fig. 5:36 (FS 94)
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area D, Tr. I, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 150,
fig. 5:38 (FS 94)
74 This sherd has been assigned to Area D, Trench I, level 1 and surface in the catalogue list
(Hankey, 1974: 147 fig. 2:13), and in table 3 (Hankey, 1974: 134 table 3 level 1), but elsewhere
has been assigned to Area D, Trench I, level 3 (Hankey, 1974: 135 table 3 cat.no. 13). This
writer has placed the sherd in level 1 since it has been there in two of three citations by
Hankey.
1 Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Area D, Tr. I, level 1 Hankey 1974: 150, not
illustrated
1 Myc.IIIA2/IIIB1 stirrup jar Area D, Tr. I, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 153,
fig. 6:63
1 Myc.IIIB1 stirrup jar Area D, Tr. III, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 154,
fig. 7:74 (FS 178)
1 Mycenaean stirrup jar Area D, Tr. II, level 1 Hankey 1974: 154–55, not
illustrated
1 Mycenaean flask sherd Area D, Tr. I, level 1 Hankey 1974: 156, not
illustrated
1 Myc.IIIA1/2 cup/bowl Area D, Tr. I, level 1 Hankey 1974: 156, fig. 9:100
(FS 219)
1 Myc.III cup/bowl Area D, Tr. III, level 1 Hankey 1974: 134 table 2, 157,
fig. 9:104 (FS 283)
TOTAL 19 artefacts: 19 (100%) Mycenaean items.

Table 10 Phases 5–4 (levels 4–1) within the structure (1955 excavation)
152
900+? 900? potsherds: 2/3 reg Regional; dozens of forms Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated; Harding 1956: 80
3+? Some store jars/pithoi Regional; 1.5 m high Harding 1958: 11: regional pottery = 2/3 of all pottery
3+? Lamps Regional; no details Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated; Hankey 1995: 181
10+? Small bowl potsherds Regional; no details Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated; Hankey 1995: 182
1 Ring-based bowl Reg.; coarse grey/buff ware Hankey 1995: 182, fig. 10 AM6242 24 cm diam. LB2
1 Bowl fragment Reg.; coarse ware; bands Hankey 1995: 182 no. 6 AM6262 (no image)
3+? Pilgrim flasks Regional; no details Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated
10+? Many pilgrim flasks Regional; decorated Hennessy 1958: 11: mono- and polychrome designs
1 Pilgrim flask Reg.; concentric circle dec. Hankey 1995: 183 no. 8, fig. 12 AM6250
1 Pilgrim flask Reg.; wheel-decorated Hankey 1995: 183 no. 9 AM6251
1 Pilgrim flask Reg.; poor condition Hankey 1995: 183 no. 10 AM6252
1 Pilgrim flask Reg.; wheel-decorated Hankey 1995: 183 no. 11, fig. 12, pl.14:2 AM6253
1 Pilgrim flask Reg.; defaced decoration Hankey 1995: 183 no. 12 AM6254
1 Pilgrim flask Reg.; rough incised circles Hankey 1995: 183 no. 13 AM6260
1 Pilgrim flask Reg.; fire-damaged Hankey 1995: 183 no. 14 AM6287
1 Pilgrim flask Reg.; not decorated Hankey 1995: 183 no. 15 AM6288
1 Globular jug Reg.; horizontal bands Hankey 1995: 183 no. 16 fig. 12 AM6259
Mumford
1 Ovoid jug Reg.; horizontal bands Hankey 1995: 183 no. 17 fig. 13 AM6283
1 Ovoid jug fragment Reg.; horizontal bands Hankey 1995: 184 no. 21 fig. 13 AM6264
1 Biconical jar Reg.; bands; burn marks Hankey 1995: 183 no. 18 fig. 13 AM6280
1 Biconical jar Reg.; badly burnt Hankey 1995: 184 no. 19 not illustrated
1 Biconical jar Reg.; bands; badly burnt Hankey 1995: 184 no. 20 fig. 13 AM6282 (LB 2)
1 Small, squat jar Origin?; red clay; plain Hankey 1995: 185 no. 22 fig. 14 AM6279
Imp.75 1/3 pottery imports Imported potsherds Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated
366 366 Myc. potsherds Myc.; partly restored Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated; Harding 1956: 80
(1) Myc.IIB/IIIA pithoid jar Myc.; 6 sherds from 1 jar Hankey 1974: 145, fig. 1:2 (FS 16?)
(1) Myc.III piriform jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 145, fig. 2:4 (FS?)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 piriform jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 145, fig. 2:5 (FS 45)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 piriform jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 145, similar to fig. 2:5 (FS 45)
(1) MycIIIA1/2 piriform jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 146, fig. 2:6 (FS ?)
(1) MycIIIA1/2 piriform jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 146, fig. 2:7 (FS ?)
(1) Myc.IIIB1 piriform jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 146, fig. 2:8 (FS 48)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 piriform jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 146, fig. 2:9 (FS 45)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 piriform jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 146, fig. 2:11 (FS ?)
(1) MycIIIA2/B1pirifrm jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 147, fig. 2:12 (FS ?)
(1) MycIIIA2/B1pirifrm jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 147, similar to fig. 2:14 (FS 45/166–7)
(1) MycIIIA2/B1pirifrm jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 147, similar to fig. 2:14 (FS 45/166–7)
75 Harding specified that one-third of the pottery vessels and potsherds consisted of imported wares (Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated). The surviving
imported potsherds and restored pots found in 1955 originated from only 270 potential and restored vessels and vessel fragments (Hankey, 1974: 134 table
1). Hankey (1974: 133–4, table 1) has published a table of Aegean pottery found during the 1955 and 1966 excavations at Amman, with an overall count of
462 potsherds, and 10 restored pots in the Amman Museum, while at least 49 (“less than fifty”) Cypriot sherds have been found at the site (Hankey, 1974:
153
142). These imported Aegean, Minoan, and Cypriot potsherds and vessels number 521, from which 47 catalogued pots and potsherds have been placed
within levels 3–1 (see Hankey, 1974: 134 tables 2–3), and are excluded from the count of unstratified imported sherds (n = 474).
Table 10 Phases 5–4 (levels 4–1) within the structure (1955 excavation) (cont.)
154
(7) MycIIIA2/B1 prfrm jars Mycenaean; 7 sherds Hankey 1974: 147, similar to fig. 2:14 (FS 45/166–7)
(5) MycIIIA2/B1 prfrm jars Mycenaean; 5 sherds Hankey 1974: 147, similar to fig. 2:14 (FS 45/166–7)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 pict. krater Mycenaean pictorial krater Hankey 1974: 148, fig. 4:17 (pictorial krater)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 pict. krater Mycenaean pictorial krater Hankey 1974: 148, fig. 4:20 (FM 48; pictorial krater)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 pict. krater Mycenaean pictorial krater Hankey 1974: 149, fig. 4:26 (base frag.)
(14) Myc.IIIA2 pict. kraters Mycenaean pictorial krater Hankey 1974: 149, similar to fig. 4:27 (pictorial krater)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Mycenaean; surface sherd Hankey 1974: 149, fig. 5:29
(7) Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Mycenaean; alabastra Hankey 1974: 149, similar to fig. 5:31 (FS 85/94–5)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Mycenaean; surface sherd Hankey 1974: 149, similar to fig. 5:31 (FS 85/94–5)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Mycenaean; alabastra Hankey 1974: 150, fig. 5:34 (FS 85)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Mycenaean; alabastra Hankey 1974: 150, fig. 5:37 (FS 94)
(11) Myc.IIIA2 squat jars Mycenaean; 11 sherds Hankey 1974: 150, not illustrated (11 alabastra sherds)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 squat jar Mycenaean; surface sherd Hankey 1974: 150, not illustrated
(1) MycIIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 150, fig. 6:41
(1) Myc.IIIB stirrup jar Mycenaean; surface sherd Hankey 1974: 150, fig. 6:44
Mumford
(1) Myc.IIIB stirrup jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 150, fig. 6:45
(2) Myc.IIIB stirrup jars Mycenaean; 2sherds Hankey 1974: 150, similar to fig. 6:46
(1) MycIIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Mycenaean; surface sherd Hankey 1974: 150, fig. 6:52
(1) MycIIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 151, similar to fig. 6:53
(2) Myc.IIIA2/B1 strrp jars Myc.; 2 surface sherds Hankey 1974: 151, similar to fig. 6:53
(1) Myc.IIIA2 stirrup jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 151, fig. 6:55 (FS 171)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 stirrup jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 152, fig. 6:56
(1) MycIIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 153, fig. 6:59 (FS 167)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 stirrup jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 153, fig. 6:60 (FS 171)
(1) Myc.IIIB1 stirrup jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 153, fig. 6:62 (FS 171)
(1) Myc.IIIB1 stirrup jar Mycenaean; surface sherd Hankey 1974: 153, fig. 7:72
155
156
(1) MycIIIA2/B1 stirrup jar Mycenaean; surface sherd Hankey 1974: 154, fig. 7:77
(1) Myc.IIIB stirrup jar Mycenaean; surface sherd Hankey 1974: 154, fig. 7:82 (FS 179)
(7) Mycenaean stirrup jars Mycenaean; 7sherds Hankey 1974: 154–55, not illustrated (7 sherds)
(54) Mycenaean stirrup jars Myc.; 54 body sherds Hankey 1974: 154–55, not illustrated (body sherds)
(50) Mycenaean stirrup jars Myc.; exterior & surface Hankey 1974: 154–55, not illustrated (50 sherds)
(15) Mycenaean stirrup jars Mycenaean; 15 sherds Hankey 1974: 154–55, not illustrated (15 sherds)
(18) Mycenaean stirrup jars Mycenaean; 18 sherds Hankey 1974: 154–55, not illustrated (18 sherds)
(1) Myc.IIIB lentoid flask Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 155, fig. 8:95 (1 sherd)
(1) Myc.III flask handle Mycenaean; surface sherd Hankey 1974: 156, fig. 8:98 (globular flask)
(1) Mycenaean flask sherd Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 156, not illustrated
(58) Myc. closed vessels Myc.; 58 plain sherds Hankey 1974: 156, not illustrated (plain sherds)
(43) Myc. closed vessels Myc.; 43 plain sherds Hankey 1974: 156, not illustrated (plain sherds)
(1) Myc.IIIA2/B1 cup/bowl Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 157, fig. 9:102 (FS 220)
(1) Myc.A2/IIIB1 cup/bowl Myc.; 3 sherds from 1 cup Hankey 1974: 157, fig. 9:103 (3 sherds from a cup)
Mumford
(1) Mycenaean cup/bowl Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 157, not illustrated (a cup/bowl sherd)
(6) Mycenaean cup/bowls Mycenaean; 6 sherds Hankey 1974: 157, not illustrated (6 sherds from cups)
(1) Myc.IIB/IIIA1 open jar Mycenaean; 1sherd Hankey 1974: 157, fig. 9:105 (FM 77:1)
(1) Myc.IIIA2 piriform jar Myc; A,Rm.VII–VIII, lev.? Hankey 1974: 145, similar to fig. 2:5 (FS 45)
49(?) Cypriot potsherds Cypriot; “less than fifty” Harding 1958: 11
– Milk bowl sherds Cypriot; Harding 1958: 11; idem 1956: 80; Hankey 1974: 142
– Base Ring I–II vessels Cypriot; no details Hennessy 1985: 95; Harding 1958: 11; idem 1956: 80;
– Hankey 1974: 142
– White Slip I–II forms Cypriot; no details Hennessy 1985: 95; Hankey 1974: 142
3+? “Midianite” bowl sherds Qurraya painted ware Hennessy 1985: 95; Parr 1992: 594, 595; Holladay in
(from NW Arabia) Holladay 1995: 384
1 “Midianite” bowl Qurraya painted ware Hankey 1995: 182 no. 7, fig. 11 AM6245 (13 cm diam)
5 “Midianite” bowl sherds Qurraya painted ware Hankey 1995: 182, pl.14:4 (5 sherds from bowls)
1 LM III krater: 2 sherds Minoan; octopus design Hankey 1974: 133, 158, fig. 9:108, 134 table 1
1 LM III sherd Minoan; open vessel Hankey 1974: 133, 158, fig. 9:109, 134 table 1
2 LM III sherds Minoan; Uncatalogued Hankey 1974: 133, 158, not illustrated, 134 table 1
1 Limestone vessel neck Minoan (Cretan) stone Hankey 1974: 175, fig. 3:44 pear-shaped rhyton (B1)
1 Limestone rhyton neck Minoan (Cretan) stone Hankey 1974: 176, fig. 3:45 (similar to type B1)
1 Limestone pommel frag Minoan (Cretan) stone Hankey 1974: 176, fig. 3:46
1 Limestone knob Minoan (Cretan) stone Hankey 1974: 176, fig. 3:47 (from a knife, stick, or lid)
1 Limestone stand Minoan (Cretan) stone Hankey 1974: 176, fig. 3:49
157
1 Cylinder seal Syrian; chalkstone (5869) Ward 1964: 49–50 pl.21:II; Hennessey 1966b: 357–58;
1955 excavation Hankey 1995: 174
158
1 Cylinder seal Syrian; stone (5870) 1955 excavation Ward 1964: 50 pl.21:III; Hennessey 1966b: 357–58;
Hankey 1995: 174
1 Cylinder seal Syr.; stone, AU-cap (5867) Ward 1964: 50 pl.21:IV; Hennessey 1966b: 357–58;
1955 excavation Hankey 1995: 174 (includes gold cap fig. 3:5881b)
1 Cylinder seal Syrian; (164) 1966 excavation Hennessy 1985: 101, fig. 10:164; Harding 1956: 80;
Hankey 1995: 174
Hankey 1995: 174
Hankey 1995: 174
Hankey 1995: 174
Hankey 1995: 174
Hankey 1995: 174
1 Cylinder seal Syrian; (18) from lev.4–2 Hennessy 1985: 101, fig. 10:18; Harding 1956: 80;
1+?76 Gold jewelry Regional; no details Hennessy 1985: 95, not illustrated
Mumford
76 Of 50 gold items, the remaining 40 pieces appear in the “dedicatory fill” (level 3).
2 Gold mouthpieces(?) Regional; “headbands” Hankey 1995: 175 no. 1 (AM5872; 5878) fig. 3, pl.12:2
3+? Gold-leaf plaques Regional; small in size Harding 1956: 80, not illustrated
1 Gold togglepin Regional; no details Harding 1958: 11; Hankey 1995: 175 no. 6 AM5873 fig.
3, pl.12:2 (Henschel-Simon type 6a; Late MB-LB I)
1 Gold togglepin frag. Regional; head fragment Hankey 1995: 175 no. 7 AM5881a fig. 3 Henschel-
Simon Type 10? (date range MB 2 – Early LB I)
2 Gold crescent-earrings Regional; tapered hoops Harding 1958: 11; Hankey 1995: 175 no. 8 AM5880 fig.
3, pl.12:2–3 (solid gold)
4 Gold roundels/rosettes Regional; star designs Harding 1958: 11; Hankey 1995: 175 no. 5
AM5874–5877, fig. 3, pl.12:2
30 AE spear/arrowheads Regional; unstratified Harding 1958: 11; idem 1956: 80; Hennessy 1985: 95,
fig. 9 (26 arrows illustrated of 30+?); see also Hankey
4+? AE stabbing blades Regional; swords/daggers 1995: 179–81, figs. 8–9, AM5886—5911 types I–II
(identical two published by Hankey Harding 1958: 11; idem 1956: 80; Hennessy 1985: 95,
and Hennessy) fig. 7:56, fig. 9; Hankey 1995: 179 fig. 7, pls.13:3 and
14:1, AM5913 and AM5914 (LB 2B types)
2+? Bone knife handles Reg.; lattice-chevron dec. Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated
1 AE lugged axehead Regional; no details Hennessy 1985: 95
2+? AE axes (1 Egyptian) Regional; AM5911 (1 axe) Harding 1956: 80; Hankey 1995: 178 fig. 5, pl.13:2
5+? Small AE pins Regional; no details Hennessy 1985: 95, not illustrated
159
3+? Crushed AE bowls Regional; no details Harding 1958: 11; Hankey 1995: 175 no. 3 AM5881
5+? Bronze (AE) fragments Regional; unidentifiable Hankey 1995: 175 no. 4 AM5881d
160
11 Pieces of gold leaf/sheet Regional; pierced at 2 ends Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated
18 Strips of gold foil Regional; 2–9 cm long Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated
2+? Ivory cosmetic dishes Reg.; lids = rosette patterns Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated (circular in form)
2+? Ivory wands Regional; no details Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated
2+? Ivory pins Regional; no details Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated
1+? Necklace of onyx beads Regional; no details Harding 1958: 11
1+? Necklace: quartz beads Regional; no details Harding 1958: 11
1 Basalt dish/mortar frag. Regional; surface find Hankey 1974: 177, cited in description for fig. 3:51
9+? Stone vessels Reg.; diorite, breccia, basalt Harding 1956: 80, not illustrated
1 Gray limestone hone Reg.; perforated pendant? Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:57 (fragmentary)
1 Gray limestone hone Reg.; perforated pendant? Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:58 (ovoid-shaped fragment)
1 Gray limestone hone Reg.; lozenge-shaped frag. Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:59
1 Gray limestone hone? Regional; no details Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:60 (fragmentary)
1 Sandstone hone/handle Regional; no details Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:61 (fragmentary)
1 Gray limestone disk Reg.; partly bored in centre Hankey 1974: 177, fig. 3:62 (fragmentary)
10+? Ivory spindle whorls Reg.; various sizes Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated (many examples)
10+? Stone spindle whorls Reg.; various sizes Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated (many examples)
10+? Bone spindle whorls Reg.; various sizes Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated (many examples)
5+ nk NECKLACE (below):
(22) Round/irregular beads Reg.; carnelian, limestone,? Hankey 1995: 176–7 AM5882 (unnumbered)
(3) Cylinder beads Reg.; 2 limestone; 1 jasper Hankey 1995: 176–7 AM5882 (unnumbered)
Mumford
(1) Rect. Limestone bead Regional; block-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7, fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882a
(2) Lm. cylinder beads Reg.; no details Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882b
(1) Carnelian cylinder bead Reg.; grooved a 2 ends Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882c
(1) Lapis cylindrical bead Afghanistan; cylindrical Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882d (lapis)
(1) Steatite cylinder bead Reg.; cylinder disk-bead Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882e
(1) Carn. flat barrel bead Reg.; flattened barrel Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882f
(1) Quartz long barrel bead Reg.; long barrel Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882g
(1) Agate short barrel bead Reg.; short barrel Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882h
(1) Quartz amygdaloid bead Reg.; flattened sides Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882j
(1) Quartz bicone bead Reg.; straight perforation Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882k
(1) Carnelian ovoid bead Reg.; truncated end Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882l
(1) Carnelian ovoid bead Reg.; truncated end Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882m
(1) Steatite round bead Reg.; straight perforation Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882n
(1) Quartz domed disk bead Reg.; no details Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2 AM5882q
(26) Bone/shell beads Reg.; also ostrich eggshell Harding 1958: 11; Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5883
(5) Irregular bicone bead Reg.; material(?) Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5883 (unnumbered)
(1) Rectangular lm. bead Reg.; irregular shape Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5883a
(1) Lm? plano-convex bead Reg.; limestone Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5883b
(1) Shell irregular disk Reg.; shell Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5883c
(1) Shell irregular disk Reg.; shell Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5883d
(1) Irregular cylinder disk Reg.; material(?) Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5883e
(24) Irregular round beads Reg.; lm., jasper, carnelian Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5884 (unnumbered)
161
(5) Barrel beads Reg.; lm., jasper, carnelian Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5884 (unnumbered)
Table 10 Phases 5–4 (levels 4–1) within the structure (1955 excavation). (cont.)
162
(1) Steatite cylinder bead Reg.; straight perforation Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5884a
(1) Cylinder bead Reg.; unidentified material Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5884b
(1) Gadrooned bicone bead Reg.; grey glass Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5884d
(1) Agate ovoid bead Reg.; truncated ends Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5884e
(24) Glass bicone beads Reg.; bicone-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2–3 AM5885 no num.
(4) Glass disk beads Reg.; disk-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2–3 AM5885 no num.
(2) Glass round beads Reg.; round-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2–3 AM5885 no num.
(16) Limestone round beads Reg.; round-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2–3 AM5885 no num.
(2) Shell disk beads Reg.; disk-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2–3 AM5885 no num.
(5) Limestone barrel beads Reg.; barrel-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5885a
(1) Blue glass barrel bead Reg.; barrel-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5885b
(1) Grey glass lozenge bead Reg.; flattened gadrooned Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5885c
(1) Grey glass bicone bead Reg.; gadrooned bicone Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5885d
(1) Grey glass bicone bead Reg.; bicone-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5885e
(1) Grey glass disk bead Reg.; disk-shaped Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5885f
(1) Grey glass flower bead Reg.; gadrooned half-disk Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5885g
(1) Blue glass collared bead Reg.; tube, gadroons-collar Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5885h
(1) Blue glass fluted bead Reg.; barrel, everted collar Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5885j
1 Diorite, spheroid bowl Egy.; Predyn./Dyn.1 Hankey 1974: 168–69, fig. 1:1 (Egyptian antique)
1 Calcite jar (2 pieces) Egy.; Predyn./Dyn.1 Hankey 1974: 170, fig. 1:2 (Egyptian antique)
Mumford
1 Calcite oval vase Egy.; Dyn.18 pedestal base Hankey 1974: 170, fig. 1:6 (Base Ring I features)
1 Serpentine ovoid vase Egy.; Dyn.18 pedestal base Hankey 1974: 171, fig. 1:7 (black serpentine; 5 pieces)
1 Serpentine ovoid vase Egy.; Dyn.18 pedestal base Hankey 1974: 171, fig. 1:8 (gray-green; 9 pieces)
1 Serpentine ovoid vase Egy.; Dyn.18 base frag. Hankey 1974: 171, fig. 1:9 (gray-green serpentine)
1 Calcite ovoid vase Egy.; Dyn.18; handles Hankey 1974: 171, fig. 1:10 (duck-headed handles)
1 Serpentine closed vessel Egy.; Dyn.18 rim frag. Hankey 1974: 171, fig. 1:11 (black serpentine)
1 Calcite vessel rim Egy.; Dyn.18 rim frag. Hankey 1974: 171, fig. 1:12
1 Calcite body sherd Egy.; Dyn.18 petal frieze Hankey 1974: 171, fig. 1:13 (incised petal frieze)
1 Calcite disk-based jug Egy.; Dyn.18: 7 sherds Hankey 1974: 171, fig. 1:14 (6 sherds; 1 surface sherd)
1 Calcite, 2-handled jar Egy.; Dyn.18: 24 sherds Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:16 (Base Ring-style)
1 Serpentine jug Egy.; Dyn.18: 3 sherds Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:17 (gray-gn; Base Ring-style)
1 Serpentine jug Egy.; Dyn.18: rim-handle Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:18
1 Calcite jug handle Egy.; Dyn.18: handle Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:19 (Base Ring style)
1 Calcite handle stump Egy.; Dyn.18: handle Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:20
1 Calcite jug lid Egy.; Dyn.18: jug lid Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:21 (Base Ring style)
1 Serpentine jug base Egy.; Dyn.18: gray-gn. Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:22 (Base Ring style; S.19?)
1 Calcite jug base-body Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:23 (Base Ring features)
1 Calcite jug/jar base Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:24 (Base Ring features)
1 Calcite jug/jar base Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:25 (Base Ring features)
1 Serpentine jug/jar base Egy.; Dyn.18: gray-gn. Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 2:26 (Base Ring features)
4 Calcite vase rim sherds Egy.; Dyn.18: rim-handle Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
4 Serpentine vase rims Egy.; Dyn.18: rim-handle Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
3 Calcite vase rim sherds Egy.; Dyn.18: rim sherds Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
4 Serpentine vase rims Egy.; Dyn.18: rim sherds Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
163
4 Calcite vase neck sherds Egy.; Dyn.18: neck sherds Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
1 Serpentine vase neck Egy.; Dyn.18: neck sherd Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
Table 10 Phases 5–4 (levels 4–1) within the structure (1955 excavation). (cont.)
164
40 Calcite vase body sherd Egy.; Dyn.18: 40 sherds Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
10 Serpentine vase body Egy.; Dyn.18: 10 sherds Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
40–50 Calcite vase body sherd Egy.; Dyn.18: burned Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
3 Calcite vase base sherds Egy.; Dyn.18: 3 sherds Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
1 Serpentine vase body Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 172, not illustrated (Base Ring features)
1 Calcite jar (7 sherds) Egy.; Dyn.18: 7 sherds Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 2:30 (7 sherds from 1 jar)
1 Calcite jar body-neck Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 2:31 (lid is missing)
1 Calcite jar lid Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 2:31 (replacement lid)
1 Calcite jar body-neck Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 2:32
1 Serpentine jar body Egy.; Dyn.18: green-gray Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 2:35
1 Serpentine jar rim sherd Egy.; Dyn.18: green-gray Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 2:36
1 Serpentine jar base Egy.; Dyn.18: green Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 2:37
1 Calcite jar rim-neck Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 2:38
1 Calcite bowl rim-shlder Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 172, fig. 3:40 (rim-shoulder sherd)
1 Calcite tazza Egy.; Dyn.18: 1 sherd Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 3:41 (lid missing)
1 Calcite tazza (2 sherds) Egy.; Dyn.18: 2 sherds Hankey 1974: 174, fig. 3:42 (2 sherds from 1 tazza)
1 Calcite vessel base Egy.; Dyn.18: 2 sherds Hankey 1974: 175, fig. 3:43 (2 sherds; burn stain)
1 Khepesh smiting-sword Egyptian; bronze sword Harding 1956: 80; Hennessy 1958: 10, not illustrated;
idem 1985: 95, 93 fig. 6 no. 5912 environs of structure;
Mumford
Hankey 1995: 178, fig. 6, pl.13:3 AM5912.

3+? Some gold roundels Egyptian; lotus designs Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated (bear lotus designs)
2+? Ivory cosmetic dishes Egyptain; ovoid shape Harding 1958: 11, not illustrated (possibly associated
with two ivory duck heads from level 1)
1? Ivory duck-head Egy.; burnt; from cos.-dish Hankey 1995: 178 pl.13:1 AM6278 (see above)
1 Brown stone scarab seal Egy.; uninscribed (stone) Ward 1964: 51, Pl.21; Hennessy 1966b: 358 no. 5852;
1955 excavation Hankey 1995: 174 AM5852 (1 of 13 scarabs)
1 Blue-glazed scarab seal Egy.; uninscribed (paste) Ward 1964: 51, Pl.21; Hennessy 1966b: 358 no. 5853;
1 Crystal scarab seal Egy.; uninscribed (crystal) Ward 1964: 51, Pl.21; Hennessy 1966b: 358 no. 5854;
1 Brown-glazed scarab Egy.; uninscribed (paste) Ward 1964: 51, Pl.21; Hennessy 1966b: 358 no. 5855;
1 White stone scarab seal Egy.; New Kingdom; 5856 Ward 1964: 51, Pls.21–22:5856; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
1 White-glazed scarab Egy New Kingdom (paste) Ward 1964: 51, Pls.21–22:5857; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
1 Green-glazed scarab Egy.; Hyksos; (wt. stone) Ward 1964: 51, Pls.21–22:5858; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
1 Clear-glazed scarab Egy.; Hyksos (wt. stone) Ward 1964: 51, Pls.21–22:5859; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
1 Clear-glazed scarab Egy.; Hyksos (wt. stone) Ward 1964: 51, Pls.21–22:5860; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
165
1 White-glazed scarab Egy.; Hyksos (gray stone) Ward 1964: 52, Pls.21–22:5861; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
Table 10 Phases 5–4 (levels 4–1) within the structure (1955 excavation) (cont.) 166
1 White-glazed scarab Egy.; Dyn.18 (red stone) Ward 1964: 52, Pls.21–22:5862; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
1 Chalkstone scarab seal Egy.; Dyn.18 (chalkstone) Ward 1964: 52, Pls.21–22:5863; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
1 Green stone scarab seal Egy.; Hyksos (green stone) Ward 1964: 52, Pls.21–22:5865; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
1277 Scarab seals 1966 excavation Hankey 1995: 174 (12 remaining scarabs of 15 found)
1 Blackstone cylinder seal Egyz. Designs and signs Ward 1964: 48–49 Pl.21:I 5868; Hennessy 1966b: 358;
1+? Necklace of carnelian Egy.; Carnelian beads Harding 1958: 11
1+? Necklace of paste/glass Egy.; glazed paste beads Harding 1958: 11
1 AU lotus/palm pendant Egy.; rolled loop; no inlay Hankey 1995: 175 no. 9 AM5879 fig. 3 pl.12:2
1+ nk NECKLACE (below):
(4) Round amethyst beads Egy.; 4 MK? round beads Hankey 1995: 176–77 fig. 4 AM5882p (antiques?)
(1) Jasper lotus-seed bead Egy.; lotus seed pendant Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4 AM5884c
(1) Bl. glass lotus seed bead Egy.; blue glass, silver loop Hankey 1995: 176–7 fig. 4, pl.12:2–3 AM5885k
TOTAL 1,744 artefacts: 1102 (63%) regional items; 366 (21%) Mycenaean items; 198 (11%) Egyptian items; 49 (3%) Cypriot; 10 (0.6%) Syrian; 9
(0.5%) Minoan; 9 (0.5%) Qurrayan/Midianite; 1 (0.06%) Afghanistan/Mesopotamian.
Mumford
77 It is not entirely clear whether two or twelve additional scarabs remain unpublished from the 1955 excavations. I suspect only two scarabs should be
tallied here.
Table 11 Phase 4 (levels 3–1) unstratified material culture assemblage (1976 excavations)
4 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.A.1:2 Herr 1983a: 69–73, 69, pottery pail 2

1 Jug rim sherd Regional; Area A.1:2 Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:74 no. 11
1 Stone disk fragment Reg.; A.1:2; unregistered Herr 1983a: 69 A.1:2 artefacts
14 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.A.2:3 Herr 1983b: 69–73, 71, pottery pails 12 and 14
1 Bowl rim sherd Regional; A.2:3 (331) Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:5 no. 331
1 Jug rim sherd Regional; A.2:3 (400) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:70 no. 400
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Regional; A.2:3 (15) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 21:92 no. 15
1 Lamp sherd Regional; A.2:3 (404) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:142 no. 404
1 Diorite bowl frag. Regional; A.2:3 (58) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–61 figs. 23–4:310, 71 no. 58
1 Marble vessel frag. Regional; A.2:3 (28) Herr 1983a: 59 no.S.331, not illustrated, 71 no. 28
167
1 Predyn. limestone vessel Egyptian; A.2:3 (46) Herr 1983a: 57, 59, 60–1 figs. 23–4:329, 71 no. 46
Table 11 Phase 4 (levels 3–1) unstratified material culture assemblage (1976 excavations) (cont.) 168
18 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.A.4:4 Herr 1983b: 69–73, 72, pottery pails 13–14
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Regional; A.4:4 (378) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 22:110no. 378
1 Krater? Sherd Regional; A.4:4 (387) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:137 no. 387
1 Cooking pot sherd Regional; A.4:4 (384) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:140 no. 384
Mumford
1 Gabbro platter/mortar Regional; A.4:4 (52) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:313, 72 no. 52
1 Gabbro bowl Regional; A.4:4 (53) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:314, 72 no. 53
1 Gabbro platter/mortar Regional; A.4:4 (59) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:315, 72 no. 59 2 frg
1 Gabbro item Regional; A.4:4 (60) Herr 1983a: 58 no.S.316, not illustrated, 72 no. 60
1 Gabbro platter/mortar Regional; A.4:4 (61) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:317, 72 no. 61
1 Black limestone jar/jug Regional; A.4:4 (63) Herr 1983a: 59 no.S.326, not illustrated, 72 no. 63
1 Dark limestone platter Regional; A.4:4 (62) Herr 1983a: 59, 60–1 figs. 23–4:327, 72 no. 62
1 Gray limestone tripod-bowl Regional; A.4:4 (64) Herr 1983a: 59, 60–1 figs. 23–4:328, 72 no. 64
1 Limestone spindlewhorl Regional; A.4:4 (57) Herr 1983a: 59, 60–1 figs. 23–4:336, 72 no. 57
1 Metal pin fragment Regional; A.4:4 (41) Herr 1983a: 72 A.4:4 artefacts
3+? Bronze fragments Regional; A.4:4 (42) Herr 1983a: 57, 72 A.4:4 artefacts
1 Travertine/calcite jug/bowl Egyptianizing; A4:4 (29) Herr 1983a: 58 no.S.321, not illustrated, 72 no. 29
1 Travertine/calcite vessel Egyptianizing; A4:4 (51) Herr 1983a: 58 no.S.322, not illustrated, 72 no. 51
1 Milk bowl sherd Cypriot; No provenance Herr 1983a: 33

3? Base Ring sherds Cypriot; No provenance Herr 1983a: 33
14 Vessel body sherds Mycenaean; No prov. Herr 1983a: 33
TOTAL 106 artefacts: 86 (81%) Regional items; 14 (13%) Myc. items; 4 (4%) Cypriot items; 2 (2%) Egyptian items
169
Table 12 Phase 3: Post-occupation debris in exterior trenches in Areas A and C (1976 excavations)
170
3 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.A.1:4 Herr 1983a: 69–73, 69–70, pails 3 and 8

1 Jug rim sherd Local; loc.A.1:4 (165) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:88 no. 165
1 Jug rim sherd Local; loc.A.1:4 (169) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 21:90 no. 169
* Potsherds (all below) 6 surplus of 12 registered Herr 1983b: 70 A.2:2, pottery pails 4 and 5
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; loc.A.2:2 (69) Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:18 no. 69
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; loc.A.2:2 (78) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 21:93 no. 78
1 Krater? sherd Local; loc.A.2:2 (90) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:131 no. 90
Mumford
1 Krater? sherd Local; loc.A.2:2 (68) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:138 no. 68
1 Lamp sherd Local; loc.A.2:2 (70) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:145 no. 70
1 Lamp sherd Local; loc.A.2:2 (96) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:150 no. 96
1 Diorite mortar frag. Regional; loc.A.2:2 (7) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:301, 70 no. 7
2 Limestone fossils Regional; loc.A.2:2 (5–6) Herr 1983a: 70 A.2:2 artefact nos.5–6
6 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.A.3:2 Herr 1983a: 71, pottery pails 2–4

1 Basalt vessel rim frag. Regional; loc.A.3:2 (12) Herr 1983a: 71 A.3:2 artefact no. 12
18 Potsherds Unpublished; loc.A.4:2 Herr 1983a: 71, pottery pails 11–12

1 Bowl rim sherd Local; loc.A.4:2 (278) Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:3
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; loc.A.4:2 (–) Kafafi 1983: 38, 41 fig. 21:45
1 Jug rim sherd Local; loc.A.4:2 (359) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:81
1 Jug rim sherd Local; loc.A.4:2 (347) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 21:91
171
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; loc.A.4:2 (353) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 21:106
Table 12 Phase 3: Post-occupation debris in exterior trenches in Areas A and C (1976 excavations) (cont.)
172
1 Lamp sherd Local; loc.A.4:2 (34) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:151
1 Lamp sherd Local; loc.A.4:2 (285) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:153
1 Diorite platter/mortar Regional; A.4:2 (40) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:309, 71 no. 40
1 Limestone vessel frag. Regional; A.4:2 (47) Herr 1983a: 59 no.S.330, not illustrated, 71 no. 47
1 Tanged AE arrowhead Regional; A.4:2 (54) Herr 1983a: 59, 60–1 figs. 23–4:333, 71 no. 54 “dagger”
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; loc. C.1:2 (16) Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:7 no. 16; Herr 1983a: 73 pail 2
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; loc. C.1:2 (32) Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:25 no. 32
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; loc. C.1:2 (27) Kafafi 1983: 38, 41 fig. 21:48 no. 27
1 Jug rim sherd Local; loc. C.1:2 (29) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:84 no. 29
1 Krater? sherd Local; loc. C.1:2 (31) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:132 no. 31
1 Krater? sherd Local; loc. C.1:2 (17) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:133 no. 17
TOTAL 82 artefacts: 92 (100%) local-regional items.

Mumford
Table 13 Phase 2: 1955/1966 excavation dump in Areas A.4:5 and A.4:6 (1976 excavations)
3 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.A.4:5 Herr 1983b: 72, pails 4 and 5

1 Bowl rim sherd Local; Loc.A.4:5 (139) Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:15 no. 139
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; Loc.A.4:5 (–) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 21:107
1 Calcite/travertine tazze Egyptian; Loc.A.4:5 (65) Herr 1983a: 57, 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:323 no. 65
3 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.A.4:6 Herr 1983a: 69–73, 72, pottery pail 3

1 Bowl rim sherd Local; loc. A.4:6 (157) Kafafi 1983: 38, 39 fig. 20:35 no. 157
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; loc. A.4:6 (157) Kafafi 1983: 38, 41 fig. 21:54 no. 157
1 Lamp sherd Local; loc. A.[4]:6 (158) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:152; Herr 1983b: 72 pail 3
TOTAL 12 artefacts: 11 (92%) local-regional items; 1 (8%) Egyptian items.

173
Table 14 Phase 1 modern disturbance layer in Areas A, C, D and elsewhere (1976 excavations)
174
7 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc. A.1:1 Herr 1983a: 69–73, 69 pails 1, 9 and 16

1 Bowl rim sherd Local; Loc A.1:1 (85) Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:16 no. 85
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; Loc. A.1:1 (226) Kafafi 1983: 38, 39 fig. 20:39, no. 226
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; Loc. A.1:1 (202) Kafafi 1983: 38, 41 fig. 21:46 no. 202
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Loc. A.1:1 (225) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:66 no. 225
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Loc. A.1:1 (83) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:83 no. 83
1 Body sherd Local; Loc. A.1:1 (88) Kafafi 1983: 45, 41 fig. 22:160 no. 88
1 Body sherd Local; Loc. A.1:1 (106) Kafafi 1983: 45, 41 fig. 22:162 no. 106
1 Yellow ochre lump Regional; Loc.A.1:1 (37) Herr 1983: 69 A.1:1 artefact no. 37
1 Worked calcite Egyptian?; Loc.A.1:1 (4) Herr 1983a: 69 A.1:1 artefact no. 4
76 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc. A.2:1 Herr 1983a: 70, pails 1–3, 6–11 and 13, 69–73.
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; Loc.A.2:1 (115a) Kafafi 1983: 38, 39 fig. 20:30 no. 115a
1 Krater(?) sherd Local; Loc.A.2:1 (205) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:60 no. 205
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Loc.A.2:1 (109) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:65 no. 109
Mumford
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Loc.A.2:1 (–) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:82
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Loc.A.2:[1] (321) Kafafi 1983: 40–1 fig. 21:71; Hankey 1983a: 70 pail 13
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; Loc.A.2:1 (301) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 21:99 no. 301
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; Loc.A.2:1 (–) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 22:113
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; Loc.A.2:[1] (317) Kafafi 1983: 41–2 fig. 22:123; Herr 1983a: 70 pail 13
1 Lamp sherd Local; Loc.A.2:1 (116) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:146 no. 116
1 Body sherd Local; Loc.A.2:1 (127) Kafafi 1983: 45, 41 fig. 22:163 no. 127
1 Diorite platter/bowl Regional; Loc.A.2:1 (8) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1, 70, figs. 23–4:302 no. 8
1 Diorite platter/mortar Regional; Loc.A.2:1 (11) Herr 1983a: 58 no.S.303, 70, not illustrated
1 Diorite platter/mortar Regional; Loc.A.2:1 (18) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1, 70 figs. 23–4:304 no. 18
1 Diorite palette/bowl Regional; Loc.A.2:1 (21) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1, 70 figs. 23–4:305 no. 21
1 Gabbro platter/mortar Regional; Loc.A.2:1 (19) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1, 70 figs. 23–4:311 no. 19
1 Blue lapis fluted bead Afghanistan; A.2:1 (34) Herr 1983a: 59, 60–1, 70 figs. 23–4:334 no. 34
175
Table 14 Phase 1 modern disturbance layer in Areas A, C, D and elsewhere (1976 excavations) (cont.)
176
3 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.A.3:1 Herr 1983a: 69–73

1 Krater sherd Local; Loc.A.3:1 (62) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:139 no. 62
1 Body sherd Local; Loc.A.3:1 (65) Kafafi 1983: 45, 41 fig. 22:159 no. 65
1 Basalt bowl frag. Regional; Loc.A.3:1 (12) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:324 no. 12
19 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.A.4:1 Herr 1983a: 71, pails 1, 2, 6, 8 and 10

1 Bowl rim sherd Local; Loc.A.4:1 (–) Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:22
Mumford
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; Loc.A.4:[1] (180) Kafafi 1983: 41–2 fig. 21:104; Herr 1983a: 72 pail 1
1 Diorite bowl frag. Regional; Loc.A.4:1 (35) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:307, 71 no. 35
1 Diorite bowl frag. Regional; Loc.A.4:1 (38) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:308, 71 no. 38
1 Gabbro grinder frag. Regional; Loc.A.4:1 (36) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1 figs. 23–4:312, 71 no. 36
1 Black limestone jar frg. Regional; Loc.A.4:1 (13) Herr 1983a: 58 no.S.325, not illustrated, 71 no. 13
1 Calcite/travertine jar Egyptian?; Loc.A.4:1(14) Herr 1983a: 58 no.S.319, not illustrated, 71 no. 14
15 Potsherds Unpublished; Loc.C.1:1 Herr 1983a: 69–73, pottery pails 1, 3 and 4

1 Bowl rim sherd Local; Loc.C.1:1 (174) Kafafi 1983: 37, 39 fig. 20:8 no. 174
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Loc.C.1:1 (47) Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:62 no. 47
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; Loc.C.1:1 (23) Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 21:98 no. 23
177
178
Table 14 Phase 1 modern disturbance layer in Areas A, C, D and elsewhere (1976 excavations) (cont.)
1 Krater? sherd Local; Loc.C.1:1 (54) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:136 no. 54
1 Cooking pot sherd Local; Loc.C.1:1 (48) Kafafi 1983: 44, 41 fig. 22:141 no. 48
1 Lamp sherd Local; Loc.C.1:1 (40) Kafafi 1983: 45, 41 fig. 22:158 no. 40
1 Body sherd Local; Loc.C.1:1 (49) Kafafi 1983: 45, 41 fig. 22:161 no. 49
1 Calcite/travertine jar Egyptian?; Loc.C.1:1(2) Herr 1983a: 58, 60–1, 72 figs. 23–4:318
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; Loc.D.1:1 (240) Herr 1983b: 73; Kafafi 1983: 38, 39 fig. 20:36 no. 240
1 Bowl rim sherd Local; Loc.D.1:1 (239) Herr 1983b: 73; Kafafi 1983: 38, 41 fig. 21:55 no. 239
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Loc.D.1:1 (392) Herr 1983b: 73; Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:64 no. 392
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Loc.D.1:1 (338) Herr 1983b: 73; Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:80 no. 338
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; Loc.D.1:1 (342) Herr 1983b: 73; Kafafi 1983: 42, 41 fig. 21:97 no. 342
Mumford
1 Pedestal bowl/chalice Local; Unstratified 1976 Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:58
1 Pedestal bowl/chalice Local; Unstratified 1976 Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:59
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Unstratified 1976 Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:78
1 Jug rim sherd Local; Unstratified 1976 Kafafi 1983: 40, 41 fig. 21:79
1 Bowl/jug rim sherd Local; Unstratified 1976 Kafafi 1983: 42, not illustrated [similar to no. 102]
1 Serpentine jug stand/jar Egyptian; Trench A surf. Herr 1983a: 57, 59, 60–1 figs. 23–4:332 no. 43 base frag.
200 Vessels/potsherds 120 probable local-reg. 78 local-regional vessels/potsherds

16 Non-pottery items 4 (25%) Egyptian 1 (6%) Mesopotamian; 11 (69%) local-regional
TOTAL 216 artefacts: 209 (98%) local-regional items; 4 (2%) Egyptian items; 1 (0.5%) Mesopotamian items.
179
180
Table 15 Overall artefact assemblage from the structure’s interior (int) and exterior (ext)
Phases: 6? 5a 5b 5c 5c 5a–c 4a 4a 4b 4b 5–4 5–4 3–1 TOTAL

Levels: Ext Int L.4 L.3 L.3 L.4–3 L.2 L.2 L.1 L.1 L.4–1 L.4–1 – and %
Context: Int Int Ext Ext Int Ext Int Ext Int Ext Ext
Reg.Weapons: 3+? 3+?

Arrowheads – – – – – – 21 – – – 30 – 1 52
Axes – – – – – – – – – – 2 – – 2
Swords/daggers – – – – – – – – – – 4 – – 4
Bone handles – – – – – – – – – – (2+) – – (2+)
Egy.Weapons:
Khepesh sword – – – – – – – – – – 1 – – 1
Bronze axe – – – – – – – – – – 1 – – 1
Reg.Implements:
Bronze pins – – – – – – – – – – 5+ 1 – 6+
Spindle whorls – – – – – – – – – – 30+ 1 – 31+
Stone hones – – – – – – – 1 – – 5 – – 6
Yellow ochre – – – – – – – – – – – – 1 1
Mumford
Reg.Vessels: 9+? (1) 10

Basalt frags. – – – – – – 2 3 – – 1+ – 2 8+
Breccia frags. – – – – – – – – – – 3+ – – 3+
Gabbro frags. – – – – – – – – – – – 5 2 7
Diorite frags. – 1 – – – 1 – – – – – 1 8 11
Limestone frags. – – – – – – – – – – 1 3 2 6
Marble frag. – – – – – – – – – – – 1 – 1
Mesopotamian?:
Quart-schist frag. – – – – – – – – 1 – – – – 1
Cretan vessels:
Limestone frags. – – – – 1 – – – – – 5 – – 6
Egyptian vessels:
Limestone frags. – – – – – – – – 1 – – 1 – 2
Calcite frags. 1 – – – 1 – – – 4 – 128 2 5 141 =41 vases
Serpentine frags. – – – – – – – – 2 – 31 – 1 34 =19 vases
Diorite frags. – – – – – – – – – – 1 – – 1
181
Table 15 Overall artefact assemblage from the structure’s interior (int) and exterior (ext) (cont.)
182

Syr.-Mesop.seals
Cylinder seals – – – 2+ – – – – – – 10 – – 12+?
Egyptian seals:
Scarabs – – – 3+ – – – – – – 25 – – 28+?
Egyz. cyl. seal – – – – – – – – – – 1 – – 1
Reg.Jewellery: 5+ 5+
Clay beads 1 – – – – – – – – – – – – 1+ necklace
Bone beads – – – – – – – – – – 1+? – – 1+? necklace
Imp. jewelry 3+ 3+
Bronze beads – – – 1+? – – – – – – – – – 1×? =1
Glass beads – – – 1+? – – – – – – – – – 1×? =1
Onyx beads – – – – – – – – – – 1+? – – 1×? =1
Quartz beads – – – – – – – – – – 1+? – – 1×? =1
Crystal beads – – – 1+? – – – – – – – – – 1×? =1
Gold beads – – – 7+? – – – – – – – – – 7+?
Gold roundels – – – – – – – – – – 3+? – – 4+?
Mumford
Gold headband – – – 8 – – – – – – 2+? – – 10+?

Gold togglepins – – – 3 – – – – – – 2 – – 5+?
Gold items – – – 13 – – – – – – 30+? – – 43+?

Gold earrings – – – 8 – – – – – – 2 – – 10
Gold crescent – – – 1 – – – – – – – – – 1
Gold leaf frags. – – – – – – – – – – 3+ – – 3+?
Silver items – – – 3+? – – – – – – – – – 3+?
Mesopot. bead:
Lapis bead – – – – – – – – – – – – 1 1
Onyx beadAu – – – 1 – – – – – – – – – 1
star-roundels – – – – – – – – – – 3+ – – 3+
Egy. jewelry:
Amethyst – – – 1+? – – – – – – – – – 1+ necklace
Carnelian – – – 1+? – – – – – – 1+? – – 2+ necklaces
Serpentine – – – 1+? – – – – – – – – – 1+ necklace
Paste (faience) – – – 1+? – – – – – – 1+? – – 2+ necklaces
Au lotus pendant – – – – – – – – – – 1 – – 1
Au Lotus-roundel – – – – – – – – – – 3+ – – 3+
183
Table 15 Overall artefact assemblage from the structure’s interior (int) and exterior (ext) (cont.)
184

Reg. luxury obj.:

Bronze bowls – – – – – – – – – – 3+ – – 3+
Bone inlay (box) – – – 1+ – – – – – – – – – 1+
Imp.luxury obj.:
Ivory inlay (box) – – – 1+ – – – – – – – – – 1+
Ivory cosmetic jar – – – – – – – – – – 2+ – – 2+
Ivory wands – – – – – – – – – – 2+ – – 2+
Ivory pins – – – – – – – – – - 2+ – – 2+
Egy.luxury obj.:
Ivory cosmetic jar – – – – – – – – – – 2+ – – 2+
Ivory duck-(dish) – – – 2 – – – – – – 1? – – 3
Ivory duck-pin – – – 1 – – – – – – – – – 1
Miscellaneous:
Bronze frags. – – – – – – – – – – 5+ 3+ – 8+
Limestone fossils – – – – – – – – – – – – 2 2
Mumford
Imported pots:
Qurayya ware – – – – – – – – – – 9+ – – 9+?
Cypriot – – – 5+? – – – – – – 49+ 4 – 58+?
Mycenaean – – – 19 4 – 4 8 18 19 366 14 – 452+
Late Minoan – – – – – – 1(6) – – – 4 – – 5
Local pots:
Regional forms 12+ 18+ 3+ 5+? 3+ 18 1+? – – – 950+ 69 281 1,360
185
186
Table 16 Overall assemblage associated with the Amman structure
PHASES: 6 5a 5b 5c 5c 5a–c 4a 4a 4b 4b 5–4 5–4 3–1 TOTAL

LEVELS: (?) Pre-4 L.4 L.3 L.3 L.4–3 L.2 L.2 L.1 L.1 L.4–1 L.4–1 – #%
CONTEXTS: Ext Int Int Int Ext Ext Int Ext Int Ext Int Ext Ext
POTTERY:
Mycenaean – – – 19+ 4 – 4 8 18 19 366 14 – 452 potsherds78
(19%)
Late Minoan – – – – – – 1 – – – 4 – – 5 potsherds
(0.2%)
Cypriot – – – 5+ – – – – – – 49+ 4 – 58 potsherds79
(2%)
Regional 12+ 18+ 3+ 5+ 3+ 18 1+ – – – 950 69 281 1,360+ potsherds80
(57%)
78 The Mycenaean potsherd total reflects an exaggeration when one considers Hankey’s estimate that these sherds originated from 50–60 Mycenaean
vessels.
79 The Cypriot sherds represent at least six vessels.
80 It should be re-emphasized that 900 of these potsherds are reconstructed quantities based upon Harding having noted that imported pottery formed
one-third of the total (above). In addition, aside from the 1976 excavation, most of the non-imported (i.e., regional) pottery from 1955 and 1966 remains
unrecorded, discarded, and unpublished, thereby suggesting that the total presented here should be higher, despite the inclusion of at least 900 pot-
Mumford
sherds for levels 4–1.

Qurayya – – – – – – – – – – 9+ – – 9 potsherds81
(Midianite pots) (0.4%)
OTHER:
Crete – – – – 1 – – – – – 5 – – 6 items
(0.2%)
Mesopotamia – – – 3+ – – – – 1 – 13 – 1 18 items
(1%)
Egypt 1 – – 10 1 – – – 7 – 197 3 6 225 items82
(9%)
Imports – – 3+? 47 – – – – – – 50 – – 100 items83
(4%)
Regional 1 1 – 4 – 1 23 4 – – 106 16 18 174 items84
(7%)
81 The Qurraya Ware (“Midianite) pottery reflects at least three vessels.
82 The Egyptian artefact total can be reduced from the 177 fragments of stone vessels (especially calcite) that in actuality appear to reflect a total closer to
63 containers.
83 This category includes beads of various materials, each of which has been placed into minimum “necklace” and cultural totals to avoid excess bias in
quantification.
187
84 The regional items include 46 stone vessel pieces that may reflect a slightly lower total.
Table 16 Overall assemblage associated with the Amman structure (cont.)
188

POTTERY: 12 18+ 3+ 29 7 18 6 8 18 19 1,378 87 281 1,884 potsherds

OTHER: 2 1 3 64 2 1 23 4 8 – 371 19 25 523 items
TOTAL: 14 19+ 6+ 93 9 19 29+ 12 26 19 1,749 106 306 2,407 artefacts85
Note: Table 16’s summary totals exclude the estimated totals of individual Mycenaean, Cypriot, and Egyptian pottery and stone containers to maintain a
consistency for comparison between the remaining artefacts, which also includes fragmentary items. However, the numerous bead totals have been
reconstructed into minimum “necklace” totals sorted by different materials and (probable) cultural origins (tables 1–15). See notes on Mycenaean,78
Cypriot,79 regional,80 and Qurayya81 sherds, the Egypt items82 and imports83 and regional items,84 and their overall totals and proportions.85
85 This “raw” artefact total does not incorporate the reconstructed pottery vessel minimums, which are considered in the following table and in-text
discussion.
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Table 17 Overall artefact totals and proportions per cultural derivation from Phases 6–1

LEVELS: (?) Pre-4 L.4 L.3 L.3 L.4–3 L.2 L.2 L.1 L.1 L.4–1 L.4–1 –
Aegean imports:
Mycenaean pots - - - 19+ 4 - 4 8 18 19 366 14 - 452
Late Minoan pots - - - - - - 1 - - - 4 - - 5
Cretan stone jars - - - - 1 - - - - - 5 - - 6
TOTAL: - - - 19 5 - 5 8 18 19 375 14 - 463
ARTEFACT %: - - - 20 5% - 17 67 69 100 21 13 - 19%
Cypriot imports:
Cypriot pottery - - - 5+ - - - - - - 49+ 4 - 58+
TOTAL: - - - 5 - - - - - - 49+ 4 - 58+
ARTEFACT %: - - - 5% - - - - - - 3% 4% - 2%
Syr/Mes.imports
Kassite onyx bead - - - 1 - - - - - - - - - 1
Lapis & jewellery - - - - - - - - - - 3 - 1 4
Cylinder seals - - - 2+ - - - - - - 10 - - 12
Mesopotamian jar - - - - - - - - 1 - - - - 1
Ivory box - - - 1+ - - - - - - - - - 1+
TOTAL: - - - 4+ - - - - 1 - 13 - 1 19
189
ARTEFACT %: - - - 4% - - - - 4% - 1% - 0.3 1%
Table 17 Overall artefact totals and proportions per cultural derivation from Phases 6–1 (cont.)
190

Egypt. imports
Khepesh sword – – – – – – – – – – 1 – – 1
Axe – – – – – – – – – – 1 – – 1
Stone vessels 1 – – – 1 – – – 7 – 160 3 6 178 =64
Jewellery – – – 5 – – – – – – 6 – – 11
Scarabs +Cyl.seal – – – 3+ – – – – – – 26 – – 29
Ivory duck-dish – – – 2 – – – – – – 3+ – – 5
TOTAL: 1 – – 10 1 – – – 7 – 196 3 6 225
ARTEFACT %: 7% – – 11 11 – – – 27 – 11 3% 2% 9%
NW Arabia:
Qurayya pots – – – – – – – – – – 9 – – 9+
TOTAL: – – – – – – – – – – 9 – – 9+
ARTEFACT %: – – – – – – – – – – 0.5% – – 0.4%
General imports:
Bronze jewellery – – – 1+ – – – – – – – – – 1+
Glass jewelley – – – 1+ – – – – – – – – – 1
Silver jewellery – – – 3+ – – – – – – – – – 3+
Mumford
Gold jewellery – – – 40 – – – – – – 42 – – 82
Onyx jewellery – – – – – – – – – – 1+ – – 1
Quartz jewellery – – – – – – – – – – 1+ – – 1
Crystal jewellery – – – 1+ – – – – – – – – – 1
Ivory items – – – – – – – – – – 6+ – – 6
Other jewellery – – 3+? – – – – – – – 5+ – – 8+?

TOTAL: – – 3+? 46+ – – – – – – 55+ – – 104
ARTEFACT %: – – 50 50 – – – – – – 3% – – 6%
Regional items:
Local pottery 12 18 3+ 5+ 3+ 18 1+ – – – 950+ 69 281 1,360+
Spindlewhorls – – – – – – – – – – 30 1 – 31+
Stone items – 1 – – – 1 2 4 – – 19 11 16 54
Bone items – – – 1 – – – – – – 3+ – – 4+
Clay items/*ochre 1 – – – – – – – – – – – *1 2
Bronze items – – – 3+ – – 21 – – – 49 4 1 78
TOTAL: 13 19 3+ 9+ 3+ 19 24 4 – – 1,052 85 299 1,529
ARTEFACT %: 93 100 50 10 33 100 83 33 – – 60% 80% 98 64%
191
TOTAL: 14 19 6+ 93 9 19 29+ 12 26 19 1,749 106 306 2,407

192 Mumford
Table 18 The multicultural impact on the Amman Structure from Phases 6–1 (see Figs. 3 and 4)
CULTURES: Local- Regional- Mycenae Egypt Cyprus Crete Syria- Northwest

PERIODS: regional imports Mesopotamia Arabia
LEVEL 4 35 of 3 of 0 of 1 of 0 of 0 of 0 of 39 0 of 39
Phase 6–5b 39 39 39 39 39 39
LB 1A/B–2A = 90% = 8% = 0% = 3% = 0% = 0% = 0% = 0%
LEVEL 3 31 of 46 of 23 of 11 of 5 of 1 of 4 of 0 of
Phase 5c 121 121 121 121 121 121 121 121
LB 2A = 26% = 38% = 19% = 9% = 4% = 1% = 3% = 0%
LEVEL 2 28 of 41 0 of 41 12 of 41 0 of 41 0 of 41 1 of 41 0 of 41 0 of 41
Phase 4a
LB 2B = 68% = 0% = 29% = 0% = 0% = 2% = 0% = 0%
LEVEL 1 0 of 45 0 of 45 37 of 45 7 of 45 0 of 45 0 of 45 1 of 45 0 of 45
Phase 4b(a–b)
LB 2B = 0% = 0% = 82% = 16% = 0% = 0% = 2% = 0%
Unstratified 1435 of 55 of 380 of 206 of 53 of 4 of 14 of 9 of

LEVELS 4–1 2161 2161 2161 2161 2161 2161 2161 2161
Phases 6–1
LB 1A/B-2B = 67% = 3% = 18% = 10% = 3% = 0.4% = 1% = 0.4%
Total artefact 1,529 of 104 of 452 of 225 of 58 of 11 of 19 of 9 of

assemblage: 2,407 2,407 2,407 2,407 2,407 2,407 2,407 2,407
LEVELS 4–1
Phases 6–1 = 64% = 6% = 19% = 9% = 2% = 0.5% = 1% = 0.4%
Table 19 Adjusted overall artefact totals and proportions in Amman structure (see fig. 5)
Phases: 6–5b 5c 4a 4b 5–1 initial Realistic Adjusted

Levels: L4 L3 L2 L1 L4–1+ totals Numbers Total %
Context:
Regional weapons – 3+? 21 – 39 63+ same 63+ 10%

Regional implements – – 1 – 43 44 same 44 7%
Regional vessels 1 1 5 – 38 45 same 45 7%
Regional jewellery 1 – – – 6+ 7+ same 7+ 1%
Regional luxury items – 1+ – – 3 4+ same 4+ 1%
Regional pottery 33+ 26+ 1+? – 1,300 1,360 200? pots 200? 30%
Mycenaean pottery – 23 12 37 380 452+ *60 pots 60+ 9%
Egyptian weapons – – – – 2 2 same 2 0.3%

Egyptian vessels 1 1 – 7 169 178 63 vases 63 9%
Egyptian seals – 3+ – – 26 29+ 19 seals 19 3%
Egyptian jewellery – 4 – – 6+ 10+ same 10+ 1.5%
Egyptian luxury items – 3 – – 3+ 6+ same 6+ 1%
Imported-regional jewelry 3+ 46+ – – 44 94+ same 94+ 14%

Imported-regional items – 1+ – – 6+ 7+ same 7+ 1%
Mesopotamian(?) vessel – – – 1 – 1 same 1 0.2%

Mesopotamian jewellery – 1 – – 4+ 5+ same 5+ 0.8%
Syro–Mesopotamian seals – 2+ – – 10 12+ same 12+ 2%
Cretan stone vessels – 1 – – 5 6 same 6 1%

Late Minoan pottery – – 1 – 4 5 3? pots 3 0.5%
Cypriot pottery – 5+ – – 53 58+ 10+ pots 10 1.5%

194 Mumford
Table 19 Adjusted overall artefact totals and proportions in Amman structure (cont.) (see fig. 5)
Phases: 6–5b 5c 4a 4b 5–1 initial Realistic Adjusted

Levels: L4 L3 L2 L1 L4–1+ totals Numbers Total %
Context:
Qurayya/Midianite pottery – – – – 9+ 9+ 3? pots 3+ 0.5%
Miscellaneous artefacts – – – – 10+ 10+ same 10+ 1.5%
OVERALL TOTALS: 39+ 121 41 45 2,161 2,407 ALTER→ 664 100%
Note: Despite reducing various fragments into “more realistic” intact items and extracting 10 unconfirmed
Egyptian seals, Mycenaean pottery remains unusually high: 9%. However, Egyptian and regional-imported
jewellery take the lead amongst the non-indigenous imports at this site.
Key to fig. 5: data compiled from table 19.

Local-regional: 364 regional artefacts and 101 regional-imported items = 70%
Note: including 200 “pots” estimated from 1,360 potsherds
Mycenaean: 60+ pots = 9% (60+ pots estimated from 452 potsherds)
Egyptian: 99 items = 15% (63 stone vases estimated from 178 pieces)
Note: 10 unconfirmed scarabs excluded from total.
Syro-Mesopotamian: 18 items = 3%
Cypriot: 10 items = 1.4% (10+ pots estimated from 58 potsherds)
Cretan (Minoan): 9 items = 1.4%
Qurayya/Midianite: 3 pots = 0.5% (3+ pots estimated from 9+ potsherds)
Table 20 Strata, architectural levels, pottery date ranges, and revised date estimates
Phases: Levels: Details: Pottery dates Date estimates

Strata Structure Most layers have antique non-pottery (broad range) (narrow range)
items
Phase 6 – Pre-structure layer Pre-dates Lv.4 1400+(?) BC

Phase 5a Level 4 First foundation trenches LB 1+ sherds LB 2A(?)
(Cypriot sherds)
Phase 5b Level 4/3 Initial levelling(?) fill layer LB Age sherds LB 2A(?)
Phase 5c Level 3 Last foundation trenches & 1550–1190 BC 1350–1300? BC
“dedicatory fill”
Phase 4a Level 2 Column base and ash layer 1375–1190 BC 1300–1274/71?
Phase 4b(a) Level 1a Paving, hearth, ash layer, new 1375–1190 BC Late 13th cent.(?)
column base
Phase 4b(b) Level 1b Modified doorways & room Poss. Iron Age 1200?–1176 BC
subdivisions
Phase 3 – Debris from destruction and – –
abandonment
Phase 2 – Debris from construction and – –
excavation
Phase 1 – Wind blown loess over 1966 – –
excavation
196
Table 21 Comparative architecture, material culture assemblage, and circumstances
SITES: Amman structure Carchemish T. Atchana/Alalakh

DETAILS: Phases 6–1/L4–1 (LBA) House D (late 7th cent BC) (SW) Palace IV (LBA)
Architecture: 15 × 15 m 25 × 28 m SW part of palace:

Dimensions 1.8 – 2 m 1.8 m 30 × 33 m
(Exterior) wall width Central pillared room Central room 2m
Plan layout Circuitous access Circuitous access Central (open) room
Access to centre room Continuous access Continuous access Circuitous access
Outer room sequence Stone paving Stone & clay paving *Discontinuous access
Flooring Upper floor Upper floor Beaten clay floor
Multiple floors Plaster pathway 2 sides Cobble pathway 2 sides Upper floor
Path outside building Other details Other details: Ceramic tile pathways
*Differences E.g., Plain and sturdy E.g., Well-built (villa) Other details
E.g., Ladder access E.g., stairway to upper floor E.g., Well-built (palace)
E.g., stairway to upper floor
Artefact assemblage:
Regional pottery Regional pottery all types Regional pottery (details?) Regional pottery all types
Imported pottery Mycenaean pottery – Fine Nuzi ware pottery
Imported pottery Cypriot pottery – Cypriot pottery
Imported pottery Minoan pottery – –
Mumford
Weapons Numerous weapons: Numerous weapons: Numerous weapons:

– Swords & daggers – Swords & daggers – Swords & daggers
– Spear/lance heads – Spear/lance heads – Spear/lance heads
– Arrowheads – Arrowheads – Arrowheads
Bronze tools Bronze tools Bronze tools Bronze tools
Metal vessels – Metals vessels Metal vessels
Glass-faience vessels – Faience vessels Glass vessels

Stone vessels Stone vessels Stone vessels Stone vessels
Boxes with inlay Bone/ivory inlay boxes – Bone/ivory inlay
Hones/whetstones Hones/whetstones – Hones/whetstones
Spindle whorls Spindle whorls – Spindle whorls
Mortars & pounders Mortars & pounders – Mortars & pounders
Jewellery Jewellery Jewellery Jewellery
Seals Scarabs & cylinder seals (seal impressions) Scarabs & cylinder seals
*Differences Other items: Other items: Other items:
– E.g., Shield, figurine, stela, – E.g., Tablets, figurines,
etc. Elephant jawbone, etc.
197
Table 21 Comparative architecture, material culture assemblage, and circumstances. (cont.)
198

Circumstances:
Ash destruction layer Ash destruction layer Ash destruction layer Ash destruction layer
Weapons heavily worn Weapons heavily worn Weapons heavily worn –
Burnt human bones Burnt human bones Burnt human bones –
Burnt pottery Burnt pottery Burnt pottery Burnt pottery
Charred patch = column Charred patch = column Charred patches = columns Charred patches = columns
Looting Looting Looting Looting
Note: This table does not intend to imply that these structures have related functions, but rather aims to reveal the similarities of
architecture, material culture assemblages, and certain circumstances (e.g., violent destruction by military means) between non-cultic
elite/state-built structures. Naturally this represents a narrow selection for illustrative purposes only. Despite the looting of each
structure before the ensuing fire, various precious items were missed in each case.
Mumford
Israel and Egypt in the “Age of Solomon”
John Van Seters
Introduction
In the current study of the history of ancient Israel, perhaps the most hotly
debated issue centers on how to evaluate critically the nature of the United
Monarchy of David and Solomon. The Bible presents this period as the time
in which the united tribes of Israel and Judah reached the zenith of their ter-
ritorial expansion under the single rule of David and the height of their wealth
and political influence under his successor Solomon. During the latter king’s
reign he built a sumptuous temple and palace, whose splendors are portrayed
in holy writ. The problem, and hence the debate, arises from the fact that in
recent times scholars have had some difficulty and strong disagreement as to
how to relate the archaeological evidence to this period. For while the impres-
sive ruins of several sites, such as Gezer, Megiddo, and Hazor, are linked to
Solomon and correlated with the text in 1 Kings 9:15 that speaks about his
building activity there, the remains in Jerusalem itself are extremely sparse
and make it hard to justify the glowing description of his reign in the Bible.
There are few other historical connections that can assist us, but the one that
on the surface would appear to be most promising is the Egyptian connection,
because of our extensive knowledge of Egyptian history. In this paper, there-
fore, I want to examine the biblical record of Egypt’s relations with Israel in the
“age of Solomon”.
Solomon’s Marriage to an Egyptian Princess and the

Conquest of Gezer
The first task of the historian who wishes to investigate the possible relations
between Israel and Egypt in the “Solomonic age” is to look carefully at the texts
relating to Solomon’s marriage to Pharaoh’s daughter and the Egyptian con-
quest of Gezer. These events are usually assumed by biblical historians, such
as M. Noth, to be unassailable historical facts. Yet Noth goes on to list all the
* It is a pleasure for me to dedicate this paper to Professor John S. Holladay Jr., former col-
league and longtime friend.

200 Van Seters
things that make the statement in 1 Kings 3:1 doubtful and reasons why it could
not be derived from an inscription or archival source (Noth 1968: 48–49).1 The
text states:
Solomon made a marriage alliance with Pharaoh king of Egypt; he took

Pharaoh’s daughter, and brought her into the city of David, until he had
finished building his own house and the house of Yahweh and the wall
around Jerusalem.
In this text, and the others related to it, no names are given for the woman or
her father, although in later events involving Egypt we are given the name of
pharaohs. In the phrase, “Pharaoh, king of Egypt”, the title pharaoh is treated
as a proper name, as it is in many late texts. Furthermore, in the accounts
of Saul and David, the names of royal wives are common, so the lack here is
quite remarkable. There is no clear indication of chronology for the marriage,
before or after Solomon’s succession. David, at any rate, is never cited as hav-
ing any contact with Egypt. The remark in 1 Kings 3:1 couples the marriage
with Solomon’s building activity in a curious way to leave the impression that
there is a long period of time between the marriage and her final residence in
Jerusalem. Nothing about the remark suggests a historical source. The marriage
announcement also seems to be curiously out of place and relates to nothing
before and after. Indeed, it is anticlimactic in its reference to Solomon’s build-
ing activity and the Greek text locates it, along with 9:16–17a, after 5:14 and
preceding the start of Solomon’s preparations for temple construction, which
is not much better.
In 1 Kings 7:8 we again encounter the Egyptian princess in connection with
the building of her palace, but the statement is most difficult to interpret.
We read:
[Solomon’s] own house where he was to reside, the other court within
the portico (’ulam), was of like construction. A house he would [also]
make with similar portico for the daughter of Pharaoh whom Solomon
had married.
Since the whole construction of the palace with its several pillared halls or
porticos is called Solomon’s house, it is difficult to know what to make of “his
1 Cf. Montgomery and Gehman (1951: 102–3), who view all the remarks about Pharaoh’s daugh-
ter as archival. For a critique of Montgomery’s understanding of archival sources, see Van
Seters (1983: 299–301).
Israel and Egypt in the “ Age of Solomon ” 201
own house.” Is it his residential quarters? And where is it to be placed? There

seems to be a second court that is in some way related to a portico, but sev-
eral of these are mentioned previously and the court could hardly be within
one of them.2 It is said to be of similar construction, but similar to what? It is
even more confusing to unravel the meaning of the second half of the verse. Is
the imperfect verb, “he would make” ( ya‘aśeh) corrupt? Or does it mean that
the palace for the Egyptian princess was built only after his own house was
completed—more than 20 years after the union? The comparison of a similar
portico (“like this portico”) is a very lame link to the preceding and explains
nothing, because there are many pillared halls. The whole text looks like a late
interpolation, and yet it seems to be a necessary complement to the previous
statement in 3:1. Furthermore, Israel Finkelstein points out that the descrip-
tion of the palace in 1 Kings 7:1–7 is that of a building in the bit hilani style, and
points to the fact that this style only came into the region under Syrian influ-
ence in the Omride period. He states: “If indeed the palace was of the bit hilani
type, the late-monarchy author of 1 Kings 7 describes a building which could
not have been built before the ninth century BCE” (2001: 110). Needless to say
this also eliminates the palace of the Egyptian princess, which was constructed
in the same style!3
A further reference to the construction of the palace for the princess from
Egypt is made in 9:24 and is again connected with remarks about Solomon’s
other building activities. It states:
Only then did [Solomon] bring up [LXX] Pharaoh’s daughter from the
city of David to her palace, which he had built for her. Then he built
the Millo.
There are serious problems with this verse. First, the correction, hā‘elyôn, “he
brought up,” based on the Old Greek text, is required because Solomon must
be the subject of the final two verbs of the sentence, and the parallel text in 2
Chron 8:11 agrees with LXX on this point. However, Chronicles makes a rather
ludicrous addition: “For he said, ‘My wife shall not live in the house of David
king of Israel, for the places to which the ark of Yahweh has come are holy.’ ”
This makes no sense if the princess has already been living in the city of David
2 Noth (1968: 138–39) notes the rather problematic character of the whole verse.
3 Elsewhere I have argued that the whole description of the building of the Temple is the work
of the Dtr historian, with some later additions (Van Seters 1997). This means that the remarks
about the Egyptian princess, which are dependent upon the description of this building
activity, are later than DtrH.
202 Van Seters
alongside of the ark for over 20 years, and Kings clearly indicates that the pal-
ace built for the princess is in the immediate vicinity of both his own palace
and the Temple. Consequently, the view of Simon DeVries (1985: 133), who
retains the Hebrew text and argues that the princess actually “went up” to her
house on the Mount of Olives outside the city, is to be rejected. The sugges-
tion that part of the royal family would live outside of the city citadel is most
unlikely, and 1 Kings 7:8 certainly implies that the house of the princess was
part of the city’s royal complex.
Secondly, the artificiality of the connection between the settling of the prin-
cess in her own house and the building of the Millo can be seen in the fact
that the Millo was already mentioned in 9:15 along with the wall of Jerusalem.4
Again, as Finkelstein has pointed out, the series of elements in 9:15, which
include the official buildings of temple and palaces built upon a podium of fill
and surrounded by a wall, correspond very closely to the Omride administra-
tive structures of Megiddo, Jezreel and Samaria (2001: 110). It is most likely that
the Millo (“construction fill”) refers to the podium or platform under the tem-
ple and palace construction and perhaps prior to the wall as well. Thus plac-
ing the Millo, in 9:24, after the buildings that went on top of the fill does not
make any sense. 1 Kings 3:1 tells us that the daughter of Pharaoh was brought
up from the city of David only after the wall was built, and 9:24 places this
before the Millo, which alters the more logical sequence of 9:15. From all this it
seems clear that all the statements about Pharaoh’s daughter and the construc-
tion of her house have been compiled by the same hand and inserted into the
prior account of the building of the temple, the palace and the other building
projects. Yet the interpolator clearly has no conception of what is appropriate
architecturally. The attempted imitation of details in the earlier Dtr account
extends even to the point of treating the Egyptian princess in a manner similar
to the treatment given to the ark, which was kept in the city of David and then
brought up “from the city of David” (8:1) only after the temple constructed to
house it was completed. All of these interpolations having to do with Pharaoh’s
daughter, therefore, depend upon the Deuteronomist’s account of Solomon’s
Temple and palace construction, as well as the Deuteronomistic recitation of
his building activity in 9:15–23. (The Dtr language of vv. 20–21 is obvious). The
references to Pharaoh’s daughter are not original to the DtrH. This secondary
character of the interpolations is borne out as well in the notation that refers
to the Egyptian princess in 11:1 where she is put at the head of the list of the for-
eign wives of Solomon. The form of the reference does not fit with the subse-
4 The Greek text, which displaces the text to follow 1 Kings 9:9, drops the reference to the
Millo.
quent naming of the nationalities of the women and their gods, and is widely
viewed as secondary to this purely Deuteronomistic text. It is not merely an
isolated gloss as commentators suggest, but one more interpolated text about
the daughter of Pharaoh.
This brings us to the text in 9:16–17a, so important to archaeologists and
historians. It is attached to the reference to Gezer in the previous verse:
Pharaoh, king of Egypt, had gone up and captured Gezer; he set fire to it
and killed the Canaanites who dwelt in the city, and then he gave it as a
dowry to his daughter, the wife of Solomon. So Solomon built Gezer.
The fact that this statement is secondary to its context and interrupts the
sequence of sites constructed by Solomon in v. 15 and v. 17b is obvious and needs
no further discussion. In this regard it is no different from all of the other refer-
ences to the daughter of Pharaoh. It, of course, also depends upon our prior
knowledge of the marriage of this princess to Solomon so that it is part of this
same set of interpolations. The reason for these interpolations seems equally
obvious. It has long been observed that within the account of Solomon’s reign
here are a number of late post-Dtr additions that seek to embellish the great-
ness, wealth and wisdom of Solomon and this tradition continues unabated for
centuries (Scott 1955). It would seem that someone considered it more appro-
priate for Solomon to have married a princess of a great nation like Egypt than
just some local women from the small surrounding states. The interpolator was
also concerned to add the construction of her palace, equal to the king’s own
abode, to these accomplishments. And for her dowry nothing less than a whole
city would do, so he attached the note of Gezer’s capture and gift to the list of
those that Solomon built. The choice of Gezer was quite arbitrary.5
A careful reading of the biblical texts, therefore, should have made anyone
seeking to use these texts as historical evidence very wary, but that has hardly
been the case. In spite of the numerous historical and literary problems within
them, they have given rise to many imaginative proposals. Take A. Malamat
(1982), for instance. It is amazing how much he can spin out of these obvious
interpolations. He admits that giving to Solomon an Egyptian princess greatly
enhances Solomon’s prestige. Nevertheless, he takes the Egyptian conquest of
5 Noth (1968: 215) finds the remark “so ungewöhnlich und unerfindlich” that he takes it as
historical. This is hardly a cogent historical argument. The whole Egyptian campaign is ludi-
crous and the idea that a completely destroyed city with the slaughter of all its inhabitants
was an appropriate “dowry” is totally unbelievable. Scholars exercise their ingenuity in trying
to create quite different scenarios from nothing but their own imaginations.
204 Van Seters
Gezer as historical, although he is forced to give it a quite different interpreta-

tion. Thus, he states:
The conquest of Gezer . . . on the northern border of Philistia was part of

an Egyptian attempt to recover the southern coast of Palestine and part
of the Shephelah, lost to Egypt some two centuries before. Pharaoh surely
did not undertake an entire campaign against Gezer solely in order to
hand this fortress over to Solomon . . . as a token of friendship. Historically,
such an act would hardly be comprehensible. (1982: 198–99)
Indeed! I agree with his judgment about the historical value of this text, but not
with his solution, which is arbitrarily to rewrite it to suit his own perceptions
of what might be a more historical scenario. There is no evidence of such an
Egyptian invasion prior to Sheshonq I, and all attempts to find one have failed.
Baruch Halpern also wants to retain this text as important for his histori-
cal reconstruction of the Davidic-Solomonic period (2001). He relates it to the
remark in 2 Sam 5:25 which sums up David’s warfare with the Philistines:
So David did as Yahweh commanded him, and defeated the Philistines

from Geba (or Gibeon) to the region of Gezer.
There is no reason to doubt that the text intends the geographic markers to be
inclusive of the whole region, but Halpern prefers to give it a “minimalist” inter-
pretation and suggests that three Philistines were overwhelmed somewhere
between these two points, and that David’s territory extended only as far as
Ayyalon, several miles to the east of Gezer (2001: 150, 154). That is an extremely
forced reading of the Hebrew text. It suggests that while David campaigned
widely in the north and east beyond his borders, securing the whole Esdraelon
plain from Megiddo to the Jordan, he could not even establish his flank in the
direction of the Philistines more securely than Ayyalon. Gezer, a Philistine city,
and not Canaanite according to this text, was unfortified in Iron I and surely
would have been a priority.6
6 When commenting on 1 Kings 9:16, Halpern states: “Gezer presumably belonged to the city-
state that had projected its control into the Ayyalon Pass. . . . Thus, what the text does not
allege about David dovetails with what it does claim for Solomon” (2001: 154). In Finkelstein’s
survey of the archaeology and history of Gezer (2002a: 282–83), he asserts that in Iron I Gezer
was not the center of a city-state and that it was unfortified, and therefore presumably quite
vulnerable to attach.
This conquest of the “Canaanites” in Gezer, of course, leads to the obvious

problem of how to account for the presence of more distant and more sub-
stantial “Canaanite” cities in Solomon’s realm, such as Megiddo and Hazor
in v. 15, to say nothing of all the cities mentioned in the administrative texts
of 1 Kings 4:1–19. Nothing is said about their conquest by either David or
Solomon. David fights the Philistines for many years, then the Aramaeans,
the Ammonites, the Moabites, the Edomites, but not the Canaanites! And
Solomon, a man of peace, fights no one. The “Canaanites” are not even rec-
ognized as an entity in the region among the non-Israelites in the land (9:20).
The most reasonable and economic explanation for this discrepancy would
be to recognize that 9:16–17a is an invention stemming from the time when
the “Canaanites” replaced the “Amorites” as the common designation for the
original population of the land. The account of Gezer’s conquest fits neither
with our knowledge of the Egyptian history of the period, nor with the rest of
the account of Solomon’s reign and should be stigmatized as an interpolation.
The Fortress of Jezreel and Sheshonq I’s list of Conquered Cities
The problem of identifying the archaeology of the Age of Solomon as defined

by the early conquest of Gezer by Pharaoh early in Solomon’s reign and the
subsequent invasion by Sheshonq I shortly after Solomon’s reign ended has
given rise to a great volume of literature.7 The archaeological problem may be
stated simply. The strata of Hazor X, Megiddo VA–IVB, and Gezer VIII have in
the past been dated to the Solomonic era by their correlation with 1 Kings 9:15,
and this has become the principal argument for biblical archaeology’s under-
standing of the Solomonic kingdom as a major power in the region.8 Israel
Finkelstein, however, takes these strata of Hazor, Megiddo and Gezer together
with Samaria I–II and the Jezreel enclosure and dates them all to the Omride
period.9 Among the many arguments used in this debate, the discussion regard-
ing Jezreel is rather crucial,10 and what makes Jezreel a key site is that it is basi-
cally a one period site for the main architectural features that identify it as a
military fortress and royal city, with only a limited village settlement preceding
7 See the surveys by Finkelstein (1999a, 2000a, 2001) and Ash (1999).
8 One of the leading proponents of the view is William Dever (1997, 2001).
9 In addition to the works in n. 8 above, see also Finkelstein (1996, 1998, 1999b), and his
direct response to Dever in Finkelstein (2002a); cf., Mazar (1997).
10 For the preliminary reports of these excavations, see Ussishkin and Woodhead (1992,
1994, 1997); also Williamson (1996); Na’aman (1997).
206 Van Seters
this phase, and only sparse resettlement in the period after the destruction and
disuse of the fortress. The massive leveling operation, the construction of the
moat, the walls and towers clearly separates this single period use phase from
everything that preceded it, and similarly the lack of rebuild separates it from
any significant military or administrative function that follows.
The close correlation of the ceramic repertoire of the Jezreel enclosure
with that of Hazor X, which would necessitate the lowering of the date of this
stratum to the Omride period, has led to a vigorous debate between Amnon
Ben-Tor, the current excavator of Hazor, and David Ussishkin, the excavator of
Jezreel. Ben-Tor, who wishes to maintain Yadin’s older dating of the Solomonic
age for Hazor X, attempts to argue that the ceramic repertoire of Jezreel cannot
be so tightly controlled as the excavators suggest, and that the enclosure was
of longer duration than a few decades in the mid-ninth century (Ben-Tor 2000;
cf. Finkelstein 1999b). Ussishkin (2000) counters that the several key loci used
to define the ceramic limits and correlation with other sites were sufficiently
controlled to allow for a clear separation from the debris of the preceding
village occupation. He concludes:
Regarding the pottery assemblage from the enclosure—found in eight

“key loci”—it apparently dates to the period of use of the enclosure.
Assuming that the Jezreel enclosure can be reliably dated to the period of
the Omride dynasty it follows that the Jezreel enclosure and its pottery
assemblage can be used as a “key site” in the current debate on the Iron
Age chronology in the Land of Israel” (2000: 255).
This view is strongly supported by Finkelstein, who argues against using Hazor
to define the stratigraphy of the Iron Age, as Ben-Tor does, and in favor of
Jezreel as the key site. He states:
The assemblage under discussion [i.e. Jezreel] is indeed related to the

destruction of the enclosure, and it is comparable to Megiddo VA–IVB
(and Hazor X). It is true that Hazor is an important, well-preserved and
well-excavated site. But the misdating of the Iron II strata there dimin-
ishes its significance for historical reconstruction. It is also true that
Jezreel is a much damaged site. But it has gained its importance from
the free-of-bias excavation, research and interpretation of the finds.
(2000: 243)
Also in support of this position, Nadav Na’aman has taken up the issue of dat-
ing the destruction of Jezreel. The Book of Kings clearly makes the florid of
Jezreel’s prominence from the time of Ahab to the reign of Jehu. Some have
attributed the destruction of the city to the Jehu revolt, but although the old
regime was overthrown, there was no need for the destruction of the city itself
and Na’aman regards it as more likely that the Aramean king, Hazael, was the
one responsible. Assuming that Hazael was the author of the Tel Dan inscrip-
tion, Na’aman suggests that
it was Hazael who killed Joram of Israel and Ahaziahu of Judah (Beth-
David); and, moreover, he wreaked havoc in the conquered territories. . . .
In the light of the archaeological evidence from Jezreel, I would suggest
that the city was utterly destroyed by Hazael and remained in ruins dur-
ing the Aramaic rule in Israel. (1997: 126)
Based on the synchronism between the pottery of Jezreel and Stratum VA–IVB
at Megiddo, Na’aman further concludes, “We may assume that Stratum VA–
IVB at Megiddo was conquered and destroyed by Hazael at the same time that
he obliterated Jezreel” (1997: 126–27). One could also add other sites, such as
Hazor X, Taanach, Yokneam and Beth Shean.
All of this supports the dating of Jezreel to the time of the Omrides and
it is special pleading to extend the dating of the site as a town of any signifi-
cance back into the Solomonic period, or earlier. There is one other signifi-
cant non-biblical piece of evidence, and that is the list of cities conquered by
Sheshonq I. Included in this list are Megiddo, Taanach, Shunem, Beth Shean,
and Rehob, but not Jezreel. This fact was noted with some astonishment by
Aharoni, because it is hardly conceivable that Sheshonq would have ignored
so important a military installation if it had existed at that time. He states, “The
absence of Jezreel from the list [of Sheshonq’s campaign] is notable; it would
appear that its rise to prominence occurred later under the House of Omri”
(1967: 288). This statement was remarkably predictive of later archaeological
results, and suggests that we ought to take another close look at the biblical
texts on Jezreel.
In his book on the reigns of David and Solomon, Halpern is completely dis-
missive of the archaeological evidence that links Megiddo VA–IVB, Hazor X and
Gezer VIII with Tel Jezreel and the ninth century (2001: 451–53). He disputes
that the ceramic seriation can differentiate 75 years across these sites. That cer-
tainly seems like special pleading since he wants to correlate Megiddo, Hazor
and Gezer with the biblical text in 1 Kings 9:15. Furthermore, Halpern’s claim
that, “the Jezreel contexts producing pottery comparable to that of Megiddo
VA–IVB include not just the enclosure, but also the pre-enclosure fills, some of
which may well have arisen into the overlying levels” (2001: 452–53), has been
208 Van Seters
staunchly rejected by Ussishkin (2000), and is just one more red herring. But
the most important argument in Halpern’s view is the old biblical archaeology
argument that the site is mentioned in the story of Saul, and on this basis “the
village thus existed from the 11th century or earlier. The enclosure itself might
be a rebuild of some Solomonic structure” (2001: 453). There is, of course, no
archaeological evidence for such a rebuild and no ceramic evidence for such
a long span of time for the enclosure’s existence, and it is completely contra-
dicted by the Sheshonq stele.
Furthermore, as Finkelstein points out, if all of the disputed strata in the
northern sites of Gezer, Samaria, Megiddo, Hazor and Jezreel belonged to
the tenth century and the time of Solomon, and not the ninth century and
Omride period, then it is surely remarkable that there is nothing comparable
to such monumental architecture that has been found in the southern sites,
such as Jerusalem and Lachish. Indeed, Jerusalem has yielded almost nothing
between the twelfth century and the eighth century (Finkelstein 2000a: 129).
On this complete lack of any evidence for a developed state in Judah corre-
sponding to the abundant attestation in the north, Halpern and others have
little to say. This archaeological picture seems to confirm the judgment that the
administrative list in 1 Kings 4:7–19 reflects, in origin, the administration of the
northern kingdom of Israel and has been rather transparently modified and
adapted to make it fit, anachronistically, the time of Solomon. There are many
embellishments in the list, including some that clearly reveal the hand of Dtr
(vv. 13, 19; cf. Deut 3:1–17), so that its placement in the Solomonic age should be
attributed to him. The fact that it simply places the whole of Judah under one
unnamed officer is an obvious clue to the list’s secondary use.
However, let us consider this appeal by biblical archaeologists to the refer-
ence to Jezreel in the final defeat of Saul by the Philistines (1 Sam 28:4–25;
29:1, 11; 31:1–13; 2 Sam 1; 4:4). Based on these biblical references, Halpern asserts:
“Sometime between Saul’s death and the early part of Solomon’s reign, the
Jezreel Valley fell under Israelite control” (2001: 154; cf. Van Seters 2009: 65–73).
He further invokes the basic principle of biblical archaeology, that archaeo-
logical sites are to be dated primarily by their placement in the chronology
of the biblical text. Since Jezreel is mentioned so frequently in the period of
Saul, the archaeological finds must be dated accordingly. Halpern simply takes
the biblical texts at face value and fails to make any critical assessment of this
battle account. However, what is most curious is the location of this final bat-
tle. It is placed in the region of Jezreel, far from the heartland of Saul’s mod-
est domain in Benjamin territory, the center of Saul’s earlier encounters with
the Philistines in 1 Sam 13–14, where we would expect this final encounter to
take place as well. Why would the Philistines march so far out of the way and,
presumably, travel through foreign territory to this northern location, when
the simplest strategy would be to go straight from the coast to the heartland
of Saul’s territory? The text indicates that it was the Philistines who initiated
the action and they had gathered their forces at Shunem in the Esdraelon
plain when Saul mustered his forces on Mt. Gilboa in the vicinity of Jezreel
(1 Sam 28:1–4). Yet, subsequent to this the Philistines are at Aphek, which most
scholars identify with Ras el ‘Ain in the Sharon Plain (1 Sam 29:1). It is from this
site that they march on Jezreel (29:11). None of this makes much historical and
geographical sense.
However, if we recall the period of the Omrides and the dynasty of Jehu that
followed, it was a time of hostilities between Aram and Israel from the rise of
Hazael onwards. During these wars, Aphek (in Transjordan?) was the staging
area for attacks from Aram (1 Kings 20:26–30; 2 Kings 13:17), and Jezreel was
the principal line of defense (2 Kings 8:28–10:11; cf Hos 1:4). This would suggest
that the story of Saul’s last days has been modeled on this period of conflict,
and since the tradition gave the Philistines as the principal enemy of Saul’s
reign, they are placed in this most improbable location of attacking Saul at
Jezreel from Aphek. The setting for Saul’s last battle is simply an anachronism.
Furthermore, there is no reason to doubt that the other references to Jezreel
as the hometown for one of David’s wives, or as one of the districts ruled by
Ishbosheth (2 Sam 2:9), are also late. Nor can we put much confidence in the
reference to Jezreel in the list of administrative districts of Israel in 1 Kings
4:7–19, which is anachronistic for the time of Solomon. Consequently, a critical
assessment of the biblical texts strongly suggests that the zenith of Jezreel’s use
as a royal city was the period of the Omride dynasty, and that references to it in
earlier periods are anachronisms.
Conclusion
From the above examination of the biblical texts it becomes clear that there is
no evidence of any relations between Israel and Egypt during the Solomonic
period. The marriage of Solomon to Pharaoh’s daughter and the conquest
of Gezer by Pharaoh are late inventions that should not be correlated with
archaeological evidence. Nor can the list of Sheshonq’s campaign be used in an
arbitrary fashion to identify some destruction levels, while exempting others,
such as Megiddo (VA–IVB), from a similar destruction (Halpern 2001: 460–78).
Why is it silent about Jezreel? And why is not Jerusalem on the list if Sheshonq
210 Van Seters
stripped it of much of its treasures (1 Kings 14:25–28), just as Nebuchadnezzar

did in 597? That would have been reason enough to include it.11 The complete
circularity of biblical archaeology corrupts both a proper assessment of the
archaeological evidence, and a careful evaluation of the biblical tradition. A
history of Israel cannot be written without giving due respect to the critical
study of both the biblical tradition and the archaeological evidence, without
prejudice from harmonization with the biblical record.
Once one eliminates the major sites of Gezer, Megiddo, Hazor, Jezreel and
the cities of the Esdraelon plain, then the Kingdom of David and Solomon
shrinks to much more modest proportions. And this agrees well with the
archaeological evidence from Jerusalem itself, which is extremely sparse for
the so-called United Monarchy, and the reason why some scholars prefer to
speak of the rule of David and Solomon as a chiefdom.
Bibliography
Aharoni, Y. 1967. The Land of the Bible: A Historical Geography. Philadelphia:

Westminster.
Ash, P. 1999. David, Solomon and Egypt: A Reassessment. Journal for the Study of the Old
Testament Supplement Series 297. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press.
Ben-Tor, A. 2000. Hazor and the Chronology of Northern Israel: A Reply to Israel
Finkelstein. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 317: 9–15.
Dever, W. G. 1997. Archaeology and the ‘Age of Solomon’: A Case Study in Archaeology
and Historiography. Pp. 217–51 in The Age of Solomon, Scholarship at the Turn of the
Millennium, ed. L. K. Handy. Leiden: Brill.
———. 2001. What Did the Biblical Writers Know and When Did They Know It? Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans.
DeVries, S. J. 1985. 1 Kings. Word Biblical Commentary 12. Waco: Word Books.
Finkelstein, I. 1996. The Archaeology of the United Monarchy: An Alternative View.
Levant 28: 177–87.
———. 1998. Bible Archaeology or Archaeology of Palestine in the Iron Age? A
Rejoinder. Levant 30: 167–74.
———. 1999a. State Formation in Israel and Judah, A Contrast in Context, A Contrast
in Trajectory. Near Eastern Archaeology 62: 35–52.
11 It seems to me that Finkelstein is quite justified in interpreting the lack of any reference
in the Sheshonq list to Jerusalem or the Judean cities under its aegis in the 10th century as
evidence for its limited size and significance. On this basis he dismisses the account in 1
Kings 14:25–27 as a fabrication of Dtr (Finkelstein 2001: 112; 2002b: 111–13).
———. 1999b. Hazor and the North in the Iron Age: A Low Chronology Perspective.
———. 2000a. Omride Architecture. Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins 116:
114–38.
———. 2000b. Hazor XII–XI with an Addendum on Ben-Tor’s Dating of Hazor X–VII.
Tel Aviv 27: 231–47.
———. 2001. The Rise of Jerusalem and Judah: the Missing Link. Levant 33: 105–15.
———. 2002a. Gezer Revisited and Revised. Tel Aviv 29: 262–96.
———. 2002b. The Campaign of Shoshenq I of Palestine: A Guide to the 10th Century
BCE Polity. Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins 118: 109–35.
Halpern, B. 2001. David’s Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King. Grand Rapids:
W. B. Eerdmans.
Malamat, A. 1982. A Political Look at the Kingdom of David and Solomon and Its
Relations with Egypt. Pp. 189–204 in Studies in the Period of David and Solomon and
Other Essays, ed. T. Ishida. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.
Mazar, A. 1997. Iron Age Chronology: A Reply to I. Finkelstein. Levant 29: 201–29.
Montgomery, J. A. and Gehman, H. S. 1951. The Books of Kings. International Critical
Commentary. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark.
Na’aman, N. 1997. Historical and Literary Notes on the Excavations of Tel Jezreel. Tel
Aviv 24: 122–28.
Noth, M. 1968. Könige 1. Biblischer Kommentar: Altes Testament ix/i. Neukirchen-
Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag.
Scott, R. B. Y. 1955. Solomon and the Beginnings of Wisdom in Israel. Pp. 262–79 in
Wisdom in Israel and in the Ancient Near East. Supplements to Vetus Testament 3.
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Ussishkin, D. 2000. The Credibility of the Tel Jezreel Excavations: A Rejoinder to Amnon
Ben-Tor. Tel Aviv 27: 248–56.
Ussishkin, D. and Woodhead, J. 1992. Excavations at Tel Jezreel 1990–1991: Preliminary
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———. 1994. Excavations at Tel Jezreel 1992–1993: Second Preliminary Report. Levant
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———. 1997. Excavations at Tel Jezreel 1994–1996: Third Preliminary Report. Tel Aviv
24: 6–72.
Van Seters, J. 1983. In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the
Origins of Biblical History. New Haven: Yale University.
———. 1997. Solomon’s Temple: Fact and Ideology in Biblical and Near Eastern
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———. 2009. The Biblical Saga of King David. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns.
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Quarterly 128: 41–50.
A Fishy Business: The Inland Trade in Nile Perch
(Lates niloticus) in the Early Iron Age Levant
Bruce Routledge
University of Liverpool
Like making pottery or smelting copper, long-distance trade involves skills and
knowledge that must be learned, enacted, passed on and preserved. Knowing
what products to move, by what means and by which routes, in what form and
to what end, is essential for successful long-distance trade. Such knowledge
can, of course, be acquired, modified and expanded by personal experience.
However, long-distance trade would not get very far (pun intended) if every-
thing essential to its success had to be reinvented by each and every genera-
tion. This raises a question. What happened to the craft of long-distance trade
during those periods when the products of such trade are not abundantly
attested in the archaeological record? How is trade knowledge being kept alive
when the volume of trade seems to have been very much reduced?
A case in point is the Early Iron Age in the southern Levant, often charac-
terized as a period in which Mediterranean sea trade precipitously declined
as a result of the social, economic and climatic crises that mark the end of
the Late Bronze Age (Ward and Joukowsky 1992). The break in sea trade with
the Levant between the Late Bronze and Iron Ages is neither as complete
nor as long-lasting as it was once presumed to be (e.g., Bell 2009; Gilboa
et al. 2008). However, it remains the case that imported objects are rare finds
in a rchaeological deposits dating between the second half of the 12th and the
end of the 11th centuries BC, especially in comparison to the immediately pre-
ceding century.
A partial exception to this trend is imports from Egypt. Much like imports
from other regions, such as Cyprus or the Aegean, the presence of Egyptian
objects in the Levant declines sharply after 1150 BC, before rising again slightly
at the end of Iron IB and again, more markedly, during Iron IIA (Ben Dor Evian
2011; Mumford 2007). However, in comparison to other ubiquitous imports,
such as Cypriot pottery (see Gilboa 2012), Egyptian pottery and small portable
* The abiding influence of my teacher and mentor Jack Holladay is evident in every aspect of
this paper, from the focus on trade and the primacy of archaeological evidence, through to
the punning title and the DIY quantification. I offer this small memento to Jack as a token of
my gratitude and respect.

A Fishy Business 213
objects are notable for their continuous presence in the archaeological record
of the Levant across this 100–150 year “dip”. Perhaps most interesting of these
Egyptian imports is the trade in Nile fish.
Freshwater fish of nilotic origin are regularly found at archaeological sites
in the Levant beginning already in the Chalcolithic period, but increasing
markedly from the Middle Bronze Age onwards (Van Neer et al. 2004; Van Neer
et al. 2005). Such imports are particularly prominent in the 12th and 11th cen-
turies BC, precisely the time when most other categories of imports are absent
or at a low ebb. Interestingly, in this same time period (late 20th Dynasty) the
report of Wenamun mentions 30 baskets of fish amongst the Egyptian products
sent to Byblos in order to pay for the timber Wenamun has ordered (Goedicke
1975: 94, Line 2, 41). So, could Nile fish have been one of the products that kept
alive the knowledge and the networks of long-distance trade during the Late
Bronze to Iron Age transition? If so, how and why was this the case?
Nile Perch (Lates niloticus)
Several species of nilotic fish have been found on Early Iron Age sites in the
Levant, including Nile Catfish (Bagrus sp.) and Elephant fish (Mormyridae
sp.). In this paper I want to focus on the most commonly attested species, Nile
perch (Lates niloticus), which presents us with a number of both puzzling and
revealing patterns. Nile perch is the largest freshwater fish species native to the
Nile River. Typically, mature specimens range from 0.40 m-1.00 m in length,
however, specimens of up to 2.00 m in length and well over 100 kg in weight
have been recorded in Lake Victoria (Acere 1985). Besides their overall size,
Nile perch are characterized by large and robust skeletal components, many
with distinct morphological features, a fact that may explain their prominence
relative to other fish species in what are primarily unsieved, or coarsely sieved
archaeological assemblages (mesh size > 3mm; see Zohar and Belmaker 2005).
The likelihood of a systematic size bias in favour of Lates bones and against
those of smaller fish species must be kept in mind whenever the frequency of
Nile perch finds are discussed. This is not only because of the lack of appropri-
ate sieving, but also because none of the excavation projects to be discussed
have published the volume of sediment excavated in order to produce their
faunal assemblage. Hence, even when comparing faunal assemblages that
were recovered using the same field methods (e.g., hand-picking of bones) we
cannot compare Lates NISP counts as raw numbers (since we do not know how
much sediment was excavated to produce those counts). We also cannot com-
pare Lates finds as a percentage of the overall faunal assemblage, or even just
214 Routledge
the fish assemblage, because we cannot presume that the small species not
recovered by hand-picking would have been present in the same proportion at
every site. One possible means of mitigating these biases would be to standard-
ize the NISP counts of Lates bones as a ratio of other ubiquitous, large animals,
such as sheep/goats and cattle, recovered in the same excavations and not
likely to be systematically missed by the hand-picking of bones. Unfortunately,
for this paper such standardization could only be carried out in a few cases due
to a lack of comprehensively published data and hence cannot be effectively
utilized. As a result, the statements of frequency regarding Nile perch bones in
what follows should be read in light of this systematic bias.
Imported or Local Product?
In an early study of Lates finds from Holocene sites in Israel, Hanan Lernau
(1986/87) highlighted several unusual features of the Nile perch assemblages
found in Israel that remain puzzling to this day. Lernau examined 356 Lates
bones excavated at five different archaeological sites and from contexts dat-
ing primarily to the Iron Age, but including some later finds as well. From
this examination, Lernau (1986/87: 234–35) noted several problems if we
presume that these assemblages result from fish being imported from Egypt:
1) they include juveniles; 2) they seem to originate from whole fish, yet the
size and fat content of Nile perch would make them almost impossible to sun-
dry without being butchered in advance; 3) the fish seem to vary consider-
ably in size, against his expectations for fish being processed for export; and
4) the sites attesting Nile perch at the time of Lernau’s study were adjacent
to both the Mediterranean and coastal rivers, with no need to import fish.
Indeed, as Lernau noted, the habitat ranges of other nilotic species such as the
Hippopotomus included the Coastal Plain of Israel up through the Iron Age
(see also Horowitz and Tchernov 1990; Tsahar et al. 2009). Hence, H. Lernau
suggested that, although modern populations of Nile perch have a distribu-
tion that is limited to Africa, the Lates bones from archaeological sites in Israel
could have originated from a now extinct local population of Nile perch, rather
than as an import from Egypt.
Subsequent finds of Lates bones confirmed some of the unusual features
noted by Lernau, but also undermined his explanation for these patterns. Lates
bones were found at sites (see Fig. 1) considerably inland from the Coastal Plain
such as Tell al-‛Oreme/Tel Kinneret (Thomsen 2011; n.d.; Manhart and von den
Driesch 2004), Jerusalem (Lernau and Lernau 1992), and Tall al-’Umayri (Peters
et al. 2002: 314), as well as sites well outside of the nilotic environments of
southern Palestine, such as the LCIII contexts at Hala Sultan Tekke in Cyprus
(Rose 1994: 223–224) and MB-Iron Age contexts at Tell Tweini in Northern Syria
(Linseele et al. 2013). This indicates that Nile perch were indeed traded beyond
ecological zones that might have supported nilotic fauna.
In reviewing the Lates finds from Hala Sultan Tekke, Mark Rose (1994: 223–
24, 466–70) notes that the size distribution of Nile perch reconstructed from
the Hala Sultan Tekke assemblage, as well as a smaller assemblage from LB II
and Iron I contexts at Sarepta in Lebanon, is very comparable to the size distri-
bution reconstructed by H. Lernau for sites in Israel. This is also true for most
other sites with medium to large assemblages of Lates bones published since
H. Lernau’s article (see Table 1). Hence, a wide size range that includes small
numbers of juveniles would seem to be the normal profile for archaeological
assemblages of Nile perch bones. This profile could represent undifferentiated
fishing practices, such as the use of large nets (Brewer and Friedman 1989:
38–46; see Newberry 1893: pl. 29, for a Nile perch caught with many other fish
in a large net, from Beni Hasan Tomb 29). Alternatively, Rose (1994: 468, tbl. 84)
argues that, despite the presence of juveniles, size distributions in archaeologi-
cal assemblages still suggest a preference for large specimens when compared
to published samples of Nile perch from Lake Chad. Hence, it is possible that
some form of selective fishing was carried out that favored large specimens
without completely avoiding smaller adults and juveniles.
Also interesting is the fact that cranial fragments are present in the major-
ity of faunal assemblages containing Lates bones, including sites that are
quite distant from the Mediterranean such as Tall al-’Umayri (see Fig. 1). In
fact bones from all three of the major skeletal zones of the Nile perch (cra-
nium, pectoral girdle, and the meat-bearing trunk and tail) have been found on
inland sites, even if all of these zones are not present at every site (Tbl. 1). This
shows that H. Lernau was correct in concluding that Nile perch were arriving
on sites as whole fish. However, the fact that these indicators of whole fish are
found inland, as well as on the coast, indicates that whole Nile perch need not
originate in rivers close to the site at which their bones were deposited.
Finally, some scholars have protested that the rivers of the coastal Levant,
even those located in what might be classified as a nilotic environment, are too
shallow, poorly oxygenated and slow moving to support a large, predatory fish
like the Nile perch (e.g., Linseele et al. 2013: 215; Peters et al. 2002: 314). Linseele
et al. (2013: 218) cite an unpublished stable isotope study suggesting that the
Tell Tweini Nile perch originated in brackish waters with differing levels of
salinity, a signature that they interpret as compatible with an origin in the Nile
Delta. Unfortunately, the details of this study are not yet published and hence
impossible to evaluate. Minimally, we must conclude that Nile perch were
216 Routledge
being transported inland and shipped to Cyprus, making it likely that all such
fish originated in Egypt and are indicators of long-distance trade.
Distribution
Accepting that finds of Lates bones can be interpreted as evidence for long-
distance trade in Nile perch, we now must turn our attention to the nature,
organisation and motivations for this trade. Keeping in mind the issues of sys-
tematic bias noted above, we can get some idea as to nature of the Early Iron
Age trade in Nile perch by considering the distribution of Lates bones in Early
Iron Age contexts in the Levant. An extensive listing of Lates niloticus finds
from the Levant, along with other imported fish, was published by Van Neer
et al. (2004). This list can be supplemented by a number of subsequent finds, as
well as further details on older finds, since Van Neer et al. (2004) only note the
presence of Lates bones and not bone frequencies or body part distributions.
(see Tbl. 1)
Current evidence suggests that key coastal centres may have served as
points of entry for Nile perch arriving by ship from Egypt. At Tel Dor, on the
coast of Israel, 188 Lates bones were recovered from Early Iron Age levels rep-
resenting 51 percent of all of the fish bones recovered. The Lates NISP count of
188 can be standardized as a ratio of the total sheep/goat and cattle NISP count
from the same context as 0.105 (i.e., 188/ 1,793; data from Raban-Gerstel et al.
2008: 36 tbl. 2).
At Tell Tweini, on the Rumeilah River 1.5 km inland from the Mediterranean
coast of Syria, Lates bones have been recovered from Middle Bronze, Late Bronze
and Iron Age levels (Linseele et al. 2013). There 65 Lates bones were recovered
from Late Bronze Age contexts, and 164 from Iron Age contexts, by hand pick-
ing. A further two bones were recovered from Late Bronze Age contexts, and 16
from Iron Age contexts, in the heavy fraction of soil flotation samples.
The hand-picked Late Bronze Age Lates bones represent 63 percent of the
identified hand-picked fish assemblage, while the hand-picked Iron Age Lates
bones represent fully 80 percent of the hand-picked assemblage. These figures
reduce to 30 percent for the Late Bronze Age and 52 percent for the Iron Age if
we include the fish bones recovered through flotation, clearly illustrating the
issue of size bias noted above (see Linseele et al. 2013: tbl. 2).
The hand-picked Late Bronze Age Lates assemblage from Tweini can be
standardized as a ratio of 0.0145 in comparison with the sheep/goat and cattle
bones recovered from the same contexts (65/4487), while the Iron Age assem-
blage can be standardized as a ratio of 0.033 (164/ 4990, data from Linseele
et al. 2013: tbl. 1). Once NISPs have been standardized, it can be argued that
Nile perch are more prominent at Early Iron Age Dor then at Iron Age Tweini,
even though Nile perch constitute a higher proportion of the fish assemblage
at Tweini. However, the two assemblages are not directly comparable as the
Tweini figures include both Iron I and Iron II contexts, whereas the Dor assem-
blage is only from Iron IB–IIA contexts (in conventional terminology; Ir1a/b;
Ir1b; Ir1/2 and Ir2a in the current excavation’s terminology). More generally,
and relevantly to our present purposes, Lates bones form a more prominent
component of the faunal assemblage at both sites than is the case at sites
located further inland.
Other coastal sites with finds of Lates niloticus bones that may have been
important centres of Nile perch importation in the Late Bronze and Early
Iron Ages include Tel Akko (n=103) and Tel Qasile (n=37) (H. Lernau 1986/87:
228, tbl. 1) in Israel, as well as Sarepta in Lebanon, (n=33; Rose 1994: 463–64).
H. Lernau (1986/87: 228, tbl. 1) also reports 115 Lates bones from Ashkelon,
however, these span Iron I through “Islamic” periods in date. Unfortunately,
insufficient information is available on the mammalian faunal assemblages to
standardize the NISP counts for any of these sites. A very small (n=2) assem-
blage of Lates bones is reported from Iron IB Ashdod (Maher 2005: 286), while
the presence of Lates bones is mentioned without further details from Late
Bronze Age Tall Abu Hawam (O. Lernau 1996: 18; Van Neer et al. 2004: 114,
tbl. 3).
The presence of Lates bones at inland sites varies considerably. In most
cases, where NISP data is published, the number of finds is quite limited.
However, the presence of larger concentrations at certain key sites raises the
possibility of specific distribution networks. Unfortunately, this cannot be
conclusively demonstrated at present given the sampling biases noted above.
H. Lernau (1986/87: 228, tbl. 1) reports 68 Lates from Iron I contexts at Tel Gerisa
(Tell Jerishe), which is only 2 km upstream from Tel Qasile on the Yarkon River
and potentially accessible by boat from the Mediterranean Sea. In contrast, the
184 Lates bones identified from LBII/Iron I contexts at Lachish could only have
arrived at the site via overland transport. These finds date to late 13th-early
12th century contexts (see Lernau and Golani 2004), what the excavator terms
LBII/III, but what many other scholars would term LBIIB–C/IR1A. Also dating
primarily to the first half of the 12th century are the 37 Lates bones recovered
from Beth Shean (O. Lernau 2009). 125 Lates bones have been reported from
Megiddo (O. Lernau 2006: 483–84), although only 37 of these are from secure
Iron I contexts (O. Lernau 2006: 490, tbl. 24). Close to Megiddo, overlooking
the ‛Aruna pass through the Carmel range into the Jezreel Valley, the short-
lived site of al-Ahwat produced an assemblage of 36 Lates bones (O. Lernau
2012: 364). The excavator dates the primary occupation of this site from the
end of the 13th century through the first half of the twelfth century primarily
218 Routledge
on the basis of Egyptian glyptics (Zertal 2012: 51). However, the presence of
Iron IB (Megiddo VIA) forms in the assemblage and the consistent mid-11th–
mid-10th century radiocarbon dates derived from multiple assays on four olive
pits from a single press (Sharon et al. 2007: 41) suggest a later occupation than
that proposed by the excavator (see Finkelstein 2002; Finkelstein and Piasetzky
2007: 79–80). In contrast, Tomb 1 at the site of Tell Dothan, overlooking the
southernmost pass through the Carmel range, does clearly span LB II-Iron IA
in date (Cooley and Pratico 1995). Here a lone Lates bone has been reported
(Lev-Tov and Maher 2001: 97–98). Lates bones are also reported northwest of
al-Ahwat from Iron IB contexts at the site of Ein-Hagit adjacent to the northern
(Wadi Milik) pass through the Carmel range (Van Neer et al. 2004: 111, tbl. 3).
Unfortunately, details of these finds have yet to be published.
One of the more interesting inland sites in terms of Nile perch finds is Tel
Kinneret (Tell al-’Oreme), where a total of 35 Lates bones have been documented
from Iron IB contexts (Thomsen 2011; n.d.; Manhart and von den Driesch 2004).
Located on the northwest shore of the Sea of Galilee, Tel Kinneret is physically
isolated from the Mediterranean coast by both distance (c. 45 kms) and topog-
raphy. However, the site’s location along natural travel routes from the Jordan
Valley to Damascus, its size and its artifactual evidence for contacts with the
Northern Levant, all suggest that during the Iron IB period Tel Kinneret was
closely linked to inter-regional trade routes (Münger 2013; Münger et al. 2011).
Overall, there are some rather interesting trends in the distribution of Nile
perch finds. First, in contrast to most other trade goods, there is no notable
decline in Lates finds from Late LBII, through Iron IA and Iron IB contexts. The
sites attesting Lates bones in each of these archaeological periods may change,
but the overall prominence and general geographical distribution does not.
Indeed, if anything, Nile perch is more common in Iron IB than in LBIIB–C
or Iron IA. This is of some significance since it disconnects the importation
of Nile perch from the Egyptian imperial presence in the southern Levant,
something which ends essentially at the transition from Iron IA to Iron IB
(between the reigns of Ramsses III and Ramsses VI). If the importation of Nile
perch continues unabated after the end of the Egyptian Empire, then perhaps
Egyptians in Canaan were never the principle consumers of this fish in the first
place. A second interesting trend is that inland sites with more than a few Lates
bones tend to be located along travel and trade routes from the Mediterranean
coast to the interior, most notably in the Jezreel valley and the adjacent passes
through the Carmel Range and perhaps extending from there along the route
inland to Damascus. While this is not terribly surprising, it does emphasize
that Nile perch continued to move along established trade routes at a time
when many other products ceased to do so.
Besides Nile perch, other Nile fish are relatively rare at Late Bronze and Early
Iron Age sites. Nile Catfish (Bagrus sp.) are reported from Lachish (Lernau and
Golani 2004: 2472) and Tel Dor (Raban-Gerstel et al. 2008: 349, tbl. 2, with an
incorrect Linnaean designation), but cannot be said to be common. African
Catfish (Clarias gariepinus), African Carp/ Barbels (Cyprinidae sp.), and Tilapia
(e.g., Nile Tilapia; Oreochromis niloticus) are commonly found in contexts con-
taining Nile perch and could originate from Egypt. However, all three of these
fish have a geographical range that includes the Southern Levant. At sites like
Tel Kinneret, located on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, the presence of carp
and African Catfish is taken as an indicator of local fishing practices rather
than long distance trade (Thomsen 2011; n.d.). Hence, there seems to have been
a specific market for Nile perch, as opposed to Nile fish in general.
Interestingly, inland sites that have more than a few Lates bones, such as
Lachish, Megiddo, al-Ahwat, Beth Shean, Jerusalem and Tel Kinneret, have also
yielded remains of Mediterranean fish, such as gilthead seabreams (Sparus
auratus), mullets (Mugilidae sp.) and groupers (Epinephelus sp.). Van Neer et al.
(2005: 148) note the same trend with regard to the Middle and Late Bronze Age
and suggest that both Egyptian and Mediterranean fish are moving inland as
part of the same fish trading network. In other words, from an inland perspec-
tive Nile perch and Mediterranean fish are coming from the same place. But
do they, therefore, signify the same things? The unusual fact that Nile perch,
despite their large size, were shipped whole with their heads on suggests that
this may not have been the case.
Why?
While we have gained some understanding of the movement of Nile perch

from Egypt to the interior of the Levant, the way in which this fish was being
shipped presents us with a difficult interpretive problem. As we have seen,
osteological evidence favors the suggestion that Nile perch were shipped from
Egypt to the Mediterranean coast, and from the Mediterranean coast to the
interior of the Levant, as whole fish inclusive of their heads. Nile perch heads
are very heavy, accounting for as much as 23 percent of the weight of modern
Nile perch from Lake Victoria in Kenya (Ogunja et al. 1992: tbl. 1), while the
frame, which consists of what is left after the fish has been gutted and filleted
(i.e., head, skeleton, fins, tail), accounts for 40–43 percent of the weight of the
fish (Kabahenda and Hüsken 2009: 7; Ogunja et al. 1992: tbl. 1).
Fish heads do include edible parts, such as eyes, cheeks and tongues. Indeed,
fish heads are a prized by-product of Nile perch processing in the Lake Victoria
220 Routledge
region today, although this appears to relate to a local belief that consum-
ing fish heads improves cognitive ability and academic achievement, rather
to their intrinsic taste or nutritional value (Kabahenda and Hüsken 2009: 9).
However, in the case of the Early Iron Age, shipping the dense and heavy skel-
etal components of Nile perch would have added not just considerable weight
and but also logistical difficulties to the process with no significant benefit in
terms of food value.
The logistical difficulty of shipping a whole fish of the size and nature of
a Nile perch originates not only in its weight, but also in the problem of its
preservation. Fresh Nile perch stored at ambient temperatures retain good
quality in terms of smell, taste and microbial activity for 8–9 hours, declin-
ing rapidly thereafter for a maximum shelf life of 14 hours without significant
spoilage (Gram 1988a). As Van Neer et al. (2005: 148) point out, rapid spoil-
age means that fish would need to be preserved if being transported without
refrigeration for more than one day. Hence, there is no question that Nile perch
had to be preserved if they were shipped from Egypt to the interior of the
Levant.
Preserving whole fish was certainly done in Ancient Egypt, as attested
by tomb reliefs such those on the south wall of the Sixth Dynasty tomb of
Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum (Moussa and Altenmüller 1977: taf. 31, abb. 12).
Here fish are slit along the spine, gutted and then spread open to dry with their
heads still on (Brewer and Friedman 1989: 12). The problem with treating Nile
perch in this manner is that the fish’s fillets are too thick and its fat content
too high to allow air drying to be completed before the fish begins to decom-
pose. Recent, non-industrialized, Nile perch processing practices around Lake
Victoria only includes air-drying for small Nile perch cut into strips and is gen-
erally not a popular means of preservation (Ogunja et al. 1992: §3.2.3). Hence, if
Nile perch were processed and shipped whole with the head on, some alterna-
tive form of preservation would need to have been employed.
Traditional Nile perch processors around Lake Victoria prefer smoking,
or frying, as a method of preserving the fish for transport (Ogunja et al. 1992:
Peyton 1988). While Ogunja et al. (1992: §3.2.1) state that Nile perch are cut
into strips before being smoked, Peyton (1988: 32) reports processors splitting
whole Nile perch and maintaining their skeletal structure as a support while
the fish is laid on weld-mesh trays for smoking. Peyton does not discuss the size
of the fish involved, but one imagines that smoking a large Nile perch whole
in this manner would be challenging. Although an Upper Palaeolithic fish-
smoking site has been identified at Makhadma in Egypt (Van Neer et al. 2000),
the smoking of fish is not clearly attested by evidence from Pharaonic Egypt
(Ikram 1995: 154–55). Instead, both dry and brine-salting methods are widely
attested (Ikram 1995: 156–66) and seem to have been good options for preserv-
ing and transporting whole Nile perch.
Experiments by Gram (1988b) in the dry-salting of Nile perch yielded good
results when combined with air-drying, although large fish were more prob-
lematic and had to be filleted and cut into strips in order to achieve good pres-
ervation (Gram 1988b: 22–23). The combination of dry-salting and air-drying
may be attested in Ancient Egyptian fish-processing scenes (Ikram 1995: 161).
Equally possible is the use of wet salting via submersion in a brine, a process
attested for a variety of meats in Ancient Egypt (Ikram 1995: 161–65).
Whatever method was used, it is clear that the preservation of a large fish
like the Nile perch was challenging, raising again the question of why they
were shipped whole. Omri Lernau (2006: 493) approvingly cites an oral sug-
gestion by Renee Friedman that perhaps the retention of the heads was a form
of branding, used to attest to the authenticity of an expensive food product. A
radical alternative has recently been offered by Linseele et al. (2013: 223), who
suggest that Nile perch may not have been a luxury item at all, but rather may
have been shipped as “fish frames”, filling out ships’ holds as a low-value bulk
item. Fish frames are a common low-value by-product of Nile perch process-
ing today, left-over after filleting and used for stews and fish stock (Kabahenda
and Hüsken 2009: 7–8). In theory this could explain the presence of skeletally
“whole” fish on Late Bronze and Early Iron Age sites.
To the best of my knowledge, there is no osteological means of distinguish-
ing the remains of well-filleted fish frames from whole fish in the archaeologi-
cal record. One must, therefore, consider secondary and even tertiary evidence
in deciding between these two options. First, it might be noted that under-
standing the presence of Lates bones in the Levant as the by-product of a trade
in fish frames rather than whole fish does not solve all of our difficulties. Like
whole fish, fish frames also need to be preserved, and interestingly the frames
of Nile perch present some of the same challenges as whole fish, due to the
high fat and moisture content of the inner lining of the skin and other soft
tissue remains adhering to the skeleton (Kabahenda et al. 2009: 6–7). Also,
Kabahenda et al. (2009: 5) note that the smoking of fish frames (rather than
just fish heads) is dying out in Kenya, because the resultant product is frag-
ile and subject to fragmentation. Hence, one wonders whether preserved fish
frames would be sturdy enough to have been transported significant distances
by both sea and land.
One can also look to the archaeological context of Nile perch finds in order
to evaluate the relative value that these fish seem to have had on Late Bronze
and Early Iron Age sites in the Levant. This question applies whether we are
discussing whole fish or fish frames, since the presumption that frames or
222 Routledge
whole fish are intrinsically of a low or high value is at least partially a reflec-
tion of our own preferences. As Linseele et al. (2013: 222) note, Lernau and
Golani (2004: 2480) have suggested on the basis of reconstructed fish lengths
that the Nile perch from both MB and LBII–III temples at Lachish were larger
on average than Nile perch from elsewhere on the site. This seems to paral-
lel the results from the Old Kingdom Temple of Satet at Elephantine, where
the average size of Nile perch identified as offerings were considerably larger
on average than either modern wild populations or most other archaeological
assemblages (Rose 1994: 466–69; von den Driesch 1983: 97, fig. 9). The purpose-
ful selection of larger Nile perch (or even just larger Nile perch frames) for
offering in a temple would seem to indicate that this was a product that could
be differentially valued (and that more was better).
Perhaps also indicative of the relative value of Nile perch in the Late Bronze
and Early Iron Ages might be seen in its inclusion in special purpose deposits.
In particular, the deposits in which Lates bones occur at two sites where Nile
perch remains have been identified in quite small numbers are very interest-
ing. Tall al-‘Umayri, on the northern edge of the Madaba Plains, just south of
Amman, is the furthest point East at which Nile perch remains have yet been
found in Late Bronze and Iron Age I contexts (Peters et al. 2002: 314). While
additional, as yet unpublished, Lates bones have apparently been found in
other contexts at ‘Umayri (Peters et al. 2002: 314), the two published exam-
ples both come from an unusual stone-framed pit in Stratum 12, adjacent to
the large pillared house (Building B) in Area B. This context is dated from
1250–1150 BC by the excavators (cf. Herr 2000). Although this dating has been
criticized as up to 200 years too early by some scholars (Finkelstein 2011), the
ceramic assemblage is definitely early in the Iron Age sequence of Transjordan
(e.g., Ir IA), if not as early as the 13th century BC (in my evaluation).
The pit is approximately 5 m in diameter and 2 m in depth. Besides pottery,
seals, bronze, bone and ground stone objects, over 25,000 animal bone frag-
ments were recovered (London 2011: 22). Of these animal bones, 5,989 were
examined in detail, 72 percent of which were identified to at least the level of
genus (Peters et al. 2002: 306). Besides the two Lates niloticus bones that were
identified, there is a very striking range of other domestic and wild species
represented in this pit. These species include the expected sheep, goats, cattle
and pigs, but also a wild cat, lion, wild boar, auroch, Mesopotamian fallow deer,
gazelle, ostrich, buzzard, chukar partridge, pigeon, and carp (Peters et al. 2002:
312, fig. 16.6).
Gloria London (2011) has argued that this pit represents the accumulated
waste products of communal feasts that were intentionally, and rapidly, bur-
ied. Feasting is central to the formation and maintenance of both dyadic and
communal relationships, reinforcing solidarity while simultaneously creating

and repaying social debt. Hence, London is certainly correct to highlight feasts
as social events that were probably of great significance at Tall al-‛Umayri.
Whether or not this particular pit is best interpreted as the outcome of com-
munal feasts is somewhat more ambiguous.
Bones from the pit are fragmentary and show signs of intentional split-
ting (to access marrow) in addition to butchery marks; hence they do seem
to be the direct by-product of butchering and cooking meat. Age profiles sug-
gest a focus on juveniles in the case of cattle, which would be in keeping with
animals specifically selected for meat quality. However, the sheep and goat
assemblage is dominated by mature specimens, perhaps reflecting a focus on
wool and not indicative of an assemblage specially selected for meat quality
(Peters et al. 2002: 317–19). One key fact that supports the special nature of this
deposit is that the bones show little evidence for taphonomic alteration by
scavengers or weathering, perhaps indicating that they were not exposed for
long before their burial (London 2011: 25). London (2011: 25) also points to the
presence of blackened organic deposits and the higher percentage of cooking
pot sherds in the pit as evidence that this deposit was related to large-scale
cooking activities. Furthermore, she takes the presence of seals and bronze
artifacts as indicators of the elite, or community-wide, sponsorship of these
commensal events.
In general, London downplays the presence of wild animals, given the small
proportion of the overall faunal assemblage that these wild specimens rep-
resent and the ambiguous food value of many of these species. Certainly, the
range of wild animals is similar in its diversity and a number of its constitu-
ent species to the analyzed Early Bronze Age assemblages from the same site
(Peters et al. 2002: 307–10; figs. 14.1–14.4). Hence, the simple presence of wild
animals at ‛Umayri in the Early Iron Age is not in itself unusual. What does
stand out is the concentration of such a broad spectrum of wild species in
a single context. Minimally, we can say that the published Lates bones from
‛Umayri originate in an unusual context marked by the presence of prestige
items, a dense concentration of processed domestic animal bones, and a broad
spectrum of wild animals, all of which were quickly and intentionally buried.
Gloria London’s suggestion that this structured deposit was the outcome of
communal feasting is attractive, but even if this were not accepted it is clear
that the Lates bones originate in some sort of socially or ritually marked event.
Similarly marked is the context in which the lone Lates bone from Tell
Dothan was recovered. Tomb 1 at Tell Dothan stands out for the very large
number of interments (n≈250–300; Cooley and Pratico 1995: 166) and objects
(e.g., 2808 ceramic vessel and 234 bronze objects; Cooley and Pratico 1995: 150)
224 Routledge
it contained. The tomb had five clear stratigraphic deposits of burials and arte-
facts, each separated by a layer of limestone and/or earthen fill (Cooley and
Pratico 1995: 152). These five layers progressed in date from LB IIA (Str. 5) to
Ir IA/Early Ir IB (Str. 1), essentially covering the 14th–12th centuries BC. Cooley
and Pratico (1995: 163, tbl. 6) mention only one unidentified fish vertebra,
which they assign to Str. 3 (LB IIB). This would seem, by necessity, to be the
one Lates niloticus vertebra identified by Lev-Tov and Maher (2001: 97–98) in
the Dothan Tomb 1 assemblage. However, the assemblage studied by Lev-Tov
and Maher (2001: 94, tbl. 1) includes many more bones than those mentioned
by Cooley and Pratico, including one additional unidentified fish vertebra.
Unfortunately, Lev-Tov and Maher (2001: 93) note that the faunal assemblage
from Tomb 1 was not collected and stored in a manner that preserved the
stratigraphic context of each bone. Therefore, it is not possible to know which
of the two fish vertebra appears in Cooley and Pratico’s (1995: 163, tbl. 6) table
of flora and fauna finds by stratum.
In their analysis of the curated faunal assemblage from Tomb 1, Lev-Tov
and Maher (2001: 95) argue that the high proportion of cranial bones in the
assemblage favors the offering of whole animals (principally sheep and goats)
followed by the differential preservation of body parts. Given the number
of curated bones (n=254) relative to the estimated number of interments
(n≈250–300), Lev-Tov and Maher (2001: 93, 105–6) argue that the Tomb 1 fau-
nal assemblage represents food offerings rather than the remains of funerary
feasts. Offerings in this context would be made to either provision the dead or
appease gods and ancestors. This assumes that the curated faunal assemblage
represents the totality of the bones deposited in Tomb 1, a fact that is unclear
given both the methods of excavation and the conditions of its subsequent
documentation and storage. It also begs the question of how one distinguishes
between animals sacrificed and deposited in the tomb as part of a mortuary
ritual, and animals sacrificed and deposited in the tomb as the deceased per-
son’s portion of a funerary feast carried out elsewhere. What is clear is that
at least one Nile perch was deemed an appropriate offering to be included in
Tomb 1 at Tell Dothan.
Brian Hayden (2009) has suggested that, cross-culturally, funerary feasts rep-
resent an opportunity for ostentatious display that is otherwise constrained by
social convention in communities transitioning from egalitarian to hierarchi-
cal modes of organization. Hence, funerary feast are where aspirant elites can
both display and circulate wealth freely in order to attract clients and create
social debt. LeCount and Blitz (2010), in contrast, argue that funerary feasts are
moments when the wealthy are obliged to publically assert key moral values
(e.g., generosity, piety, or veneration of ancestors) that serve as the ideological

basis for their leadership and status within otherwise egalitarian communities.
Dietler (2001) has argued that “diacritical feasts”, marked by exotic foods and
rare accoutrements, can serve as arenas for intra-class competition or as mark-
ers of class divisions within hierarchical societies. In each case, food is socially
marked by being different in terms of its rarity, quantity, or the context of its
consumption. The social implications of marking food consumption in this
manner has also been well recognized in a variety of different sorts of commu-
nities and settings in the Ancient Near East (e.g., Lev-Tov and McGeough 2007;
Pollock 2012; Porter 2011; Wright 2010a; 2010b).
At both ‘Umayri and Dothan, Nile perch appear in contexts that sug-
gest such social marking was occurring there as well. One imagines that the
unusual appearance of a whole Nile perch (whether as a fish or just a frame),
its taste and its rarity would have all combined to make it something of a mod-
est luxury (to steal a phrase from Milwright 2003). Modest luxuries are desir-
able and unusual, but also not impossible to attain. As a result, they are readily
incorporated into cyclical social activities setting those activities apart from
the everyday, whether this be feasting or funerary offerings. I would argue that
during the Late Bronze to Iron Age transition, Nile perch continued to play this
role. Indeed, at a time when many communities were undergoing significant
transitions, such socially marked, participatory events, are likely to have taken
on even greater significance.
To my mind, the inland shipment of Nile perch was a result of its status as
a modest luxury, rather than as inexpensive ballast. This does not, however,
preclude the possibility that Lates bones on archaeological sites in the Levant
result from fish frames rather than whole fish. What it does imply is that even
if imported as frames, Nile perch were socially valued items, providing the
visual impact, novelty and flavor that turned meals into feasts. For this reason,
they continued to move along inland trade routes when other imports became
quite rare. In doing so, the trade in Nile perch kept the knowledge and net-
works essential for inland trade alive and available for the shipment of other
products once long-distance trade revived in the course of the Iron Age.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Veerle Linseele, Iris Thomsen and Stefan Münger for
assistance in acquiring copies of manuscripts that are currently in preparation
or in press.
226 Routledge
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Figure 1 Levantine sites that have produced the remains of Nile perch (Lates niloticus).
232 Routledge
Table 1 Body part distributions and estimated length ranges for Lates niloticus bones at the Late Bronze/
Early Iron Age sites mentioned in the text
Site Time Period Body Parts (n = bones) Est. Reference

Size Range
Cranial Pectoral Trunk Total (cm)
Girdle & Tail
Abu Hawam Late Bronze ? ? ? Van Neer et al.

Age 2004: 114
al-Ahwat Iron IB 1 0 35 36 43–150 O. Lernau 2012:
364
Akko LB-Iron I 14 6 83 103 ? H. Lernau
1986/87: 228
Ashdod Iron IB 0 0 2 2 ? Maher 2005: 286
Ashkelon Iron I— 73 19 23 115 ? H. Lernau
“Islamic” 1986/87: 228
Beth Shean Iron IA & At least 6 ? ? 37 ? O. Lernau 2009:
Iron IIB 776, 781
Dor Iron IB–IIA At least 5 ? At least 188 42–202 Raban-Gerstel
12 et al. 2008: 36
Dothan LBIIB? 0 0 1 1 ? Lev-Tov and

Maher 2001: 95
Ein-Hagit Iron I ? ? ? ? ? Van Neer et al.
2004: 111
Gerisa Iron IB 0 0 68 68 ? H. Lernau
1986/87: 228
Hala Sultan LC III 0 5 35 40 30–110 Rose 1994:
Tekke 223–224,
463–464
Jerusalem Iron I 1 0 4 5 ? Lernau & Lernau
1992: 132, 142
Kinneret Iron IB 0 3 32 35 58–150+ Thomsen n.d.;
Supra- Manhardt and
cleithrale von den Driesch
suggests 2004: Tbl 15
presence
of cranium
Site Time Period Body Parts (n = bones) Est. Reference

Size Range
Cranial Pectoral Trunk Total (cm)
Girdle & Tail
Lachish LB II–Iron IA 13 all 23 (all 173 all 184 22–138 Lernau and
periods periods) periods 209 all Golani 2004
periods
Megiddo Iron I–II 18 16 91 125 38–160 O. Lernau 2006:
483–484,
Qasile Iron IB 1 0 36 37 ? H. Lernau
1986/87: 228
Sarepta LB II–Iron I 4 1 14 19 35–100+ Rose 1994:
463–464, 467
Tweini LB I–II 11 17 29 67 20–100+ Linseele et al.
(10 UID) 2013
Iron I–II 80 17 80 180 40–100+
(3 UID)
al-‛Umayri Iron IA 1 1 0 2 140 Peters et al.
2002: 314.
In the Shadow of a Giant: Egyptian Influence in
Transjordan during the Iron Age
P. M. Michèle Daviau
Wilfrid Laurier University
Introduction
Two monumental sculptures from sites south of the Wadi Mujib in central
Jordan depict figures dressed in Egyptian style. Carved in relief on the Balu‘
stele are three figures. The first is a female figure wearing a long dress with a
high waist, a broad necklace, and an atef crown; in her hand, she carries an
ankh sign (Ward and Martin 1964: pl. I). The central figure is a male with his
hands raised toward a second male, standing on the left and holding the sym-
bols of authority. The garment of the central figure is an ankle-length pleated
skirt, wrapped at the waist, in the style of a rich Egyptian noble. The male fig-
ure on the left wears a knee-length kilt, a necklace, and a conical crown. The
second monument, the Rujm al-Abd Stele from Jabal Shīhân, is only partially
preserved. A single male figure is shown in relief wearing a short kilt and hold-
ing a spear pointing downwards (Bienkowski 1991: fig. 34). Along with these two
stelae there is a commemorative lion-hunt scarab of Amenhotep III found at
Qla‘at-Twal in Wadi Musa near Petra (Ward 1973: 45; pl. XXVII) to the south. In
light of the topographical lists and itinerary of Tuthmosis III, which mention
sites in Transjordan (Redford 1982),1 scholars usually assign these monuments
to the Late Bronze Age, a time when direct Egyptian influence was prevalent
(Ward and Martin 1964; cf. Strange 2001: 303).
Other stelae indicate the continuation or re-establishment of Egyptian con-
trol in southern Syria and the north of Jordan during the 19th Dynasty. The ste-
lae of Ramesses II from Sheikh Sa‘ad and of Seti I from Tell esh-Shihab in Syria
are now joined by a stela of Ramesses II, discovered more recently at aṭ-Ṭurra
* John S. Holladay Jr.’s careful studies of Iron Age pottery and houses and his intensive semi-
nars in the archaeology of Iron Age Israel at the University of Toronto laid the foundation
for my own work in Transjordan. It is with great affection and respect that I offer this mod-
est contribution based on my current research and excavations of Iron Age sites in ancient
Ammon and Moab.
1 Redford (1982: 118) notes that the lists on Pylons 6 and 7 at Karnak identify the regions under
the control of the pharaoh and “routes through those regions”.

In The Shadow Of A Giant 235
in northern Jordan (Wimmer 2002). These monuments, along with those from
Lebanon and Palestine (Wimmer 2002), indicate a certain amount of Egyptian
administration in the region during the 19th Dynasty.2 While there is practi-
cally no evidence for Egyptian control in central Jordan during Iron I, exca-
vations during the past 30 years have produced a steady stream of Egyptian
style artefacts, many that date to an even later period, namely to Iron Age II
(900–600 BC). In an attempt to determine the degree and origin of Egyptian or
Egyptianizing influence in Transjordan, this paper presents a study of Iron Age
amulets, scarabs, figurines and other works of art and glyptic with Egyptian
features. The results of this study may shed more light on the two monumental
sculptures from Moab mentioned previously, and provide a more reasonable
chronological setting for these works of art, given the paucity of known Late
Bronze Age sites south of the Wadi Mujib.
Egyptian-Style Artefacts
Amulets
The number of published Egyptian-style amulets from Transjordan is small,
but is steadily increasing. Two amulets from Thamad Site WT-13, one from
Hesban and an amulet mould from Amman are good examples of this trend;
these objects represent Harpocrates, Ptah and Bes.
Harpocrates (Fig. 1:1). The Harpocrates amulet is of blue frit; it depicts a strid-
ing male with his left foot forward, hands at side and a hair lock of youth on the
right side of his head (WT 162–2/662).3 Although the proportions of the slen-
der body are very natural in appearance, the details of the face and body are
somewhat obscured, due to the small size and worn condition of this amulet.4
Only the hairline across the forehead and the thickening of the forelock can be
seen clearly. The hole for suspension is located behind the head and neck area,
2 Worschech (1997: 231) points out that because of its position Moab may have been of interest
to Egypt during the 19th Dynasty, at the time when Hittites and Mitanni were expanding to
the west and south, even though Moab was not yet an organized kingdom. However, evi-
dence from controlled excavations is wanting.
3 Identification codes include the site code+object#-season#/artefact number (for example,
WT 392–4/013). In those cases where the item did not have an object number, the complete
registration number is given, consisting of site code+field letter+Square#:locus #/pottery
pail#.item number (MT A18:3/7.3).
4 Incrustation of soil with a high lime content made it difficult to clean this fragile amulet.
236 Daviau
and a plinth against the back begins at the waist and reaches to the feet. The
figure is standing on a flat base that extends slightly beyond the feet on all sides
and supports the base of the plinth. This figure probably represents Horus-the-
Child (R. Leprohon, pers. com., September 1997), but it is not the chubby figure
of an infant. The stance is upright and elegant, similar to the style of adult
figures and the frontal position of the body is in traditional Egyptian style. This
amulet is not unique in the Levant; it is one of a well-known class of Horus-
the-Child amulets found at various sites, including Sarepta (Pritchard 1978: 140,
fig. 134) and Ashkelon (Iliffe 1936: pl. XXIX:3, 5, 6).
Ptah (Fig. 1:2). The second amulet (WT 303–5/502) from Thamad Site WT-13
is made of green glazed faience and is double sided. The image on the front is
that of a plump child with his arms bent and his hands on either side of his
stomach. His legs are bowed and his sex is indicated, showing that the child is
naked. Between his legs there is a support that shows through from the back,
where a second figure functions as a plinth supporting the figurine of the
child. The figure stands in profile and faces the right side of the amulet. On
either side of the figure are large wings, which reach from the shoulders to the
feet. The wings are decorated with diagonal lines that angle down toward the
body. This amulet is a double sided image, probably a Cippus amulet, which
typically depicts Horus-the-Child or Ptah-Sokar (pataikos) on the front, and
a winged goddess on the back. Because the head is missing, it is difficult to
determine the exact identity of either of the two figures on this small amulet,
although they clearly represent powerful protective deities. In this case, the
principal figure is probably not the dwarf Bes, since the shoulders are in a natu-
ral position, whereas the head of Bes usually appears enlarged and the shoul-
ders spring from either side of the lower part of the face, a feature seen clearly
in the Bes amulets from Lachish (Murray 1953: pls. 34:12–14, 36:48). Although
there is no sign that the child on amulet WT 303 holds knives in his hands, as
do the examples of Ptah-Sokar found at Megiddo (Lamon and Shipton 1939:
pl. 74:11–14, 16–18), and Lachish (Murray 1953: pl. 34:11), this does not weaken
the identification of this small artefact. Another headless amulet, possibly
Ptah-Sokar, is among the unidentified objects from Pella assigned to the Iron
Age I–IIA period (Bourke et al. 1998: fig. 25:13).
A larger example of Ptah as a child is a Pataikos amulet from Tall al-‘Umayri
(Dabrovski 1993). Much more refined in its execution is a Pataikos figurine from
Bethsaida, one among 185 Pataikos amulets from Israel, making it one of the
most common types to be found in Palestine (Arav and Freund 1999: 93, fig. 37).
Bes. Bes is also represented in Transjordan. A blue frit amulet (H 152) from
Hesban and a mould for a Bes amulet from the Amman citadel (Dornemann
1983: fig. 88:5) indicate the presence of this figure in Ammonite culture.
Wadjet Eyes (Fig. 1:3). A number of sacred eye amulets appear in tombs as
well as in settlement sites.5 Tomb 20 at Mount Nebo produced a light blue
faience wadjet eye and a scarab (Saller 1966: 193–98). A second wadjet eye
is from an Early Iron Age tomb at Madaba (Harding 1953a: pl. V:218), where
ceramic finds and artefacts can be compared to Tell Beit Mirsim, Stratum B.6
Another very fine example of this amulet (MT 399–4/20) comes from the late
Iron Age II Moabite temple at Khirbat al-Mudayna on the Wadi ath-Thamad
(Daviau and Steiner 2000: fig. 11:9). A good parallel, also showing the right eye,
is from Stratum XII at Tall as-Sa‘idiyya (Tubb 1988: fig. 17) in the Jordan Valley.7
Pendant. A third artefact with amuletic power is a faience pendant of a
feline head, probably Sekhmet, depicted with a beaded necklace covering her
shoulders and upper chest (Koutsoukou 1997:149–150, fig. 198). Najjar com-
pares this pendant, found at Amman, with parallels from Megiddo and Sarepta
(Pritchard 1988: 76, fig. 17:19, 20). There is also a good parallel from Tomb 553 at
el-Ahaiwah in Egypt that dates to the late New Kingdom (Brovarski et al. 1982:
pl. 354).
Scarabs
The most ubiquitous artefact adopted from Egyptian culture is the scarab.
While thousands of these small seals have been recovered from Middle and
Late Bronze Age sites, a small but growing number (72)8 are being assigned to
Iron Age levels,9 and these reflect traits of Iron Age manufacture. The group
to be considered here consists only of those scarabs with beetle elements,
5 The wadjet eye amulet (reg. No 115) from Iraq al-Amir (Lapp 1983: 31–32, fig. 16) is not included
in the Iron Age corpus under study here even though Lapp was confident that it dated to an
earlier period than its Hellenistic find spot.
6 The date of this tomb is difficult to establish because of the presence of two Mycenaean
sherds and one small stirrup jar and the complete lack of Cypriot imports (Harding 1953a:
27; pl. IV:165). Iron I or Early Iron II seems to fit the ceramic assemblage, even though it is
clear from excavations in northern Moab that the poor quality of the pottery cannot be used
to determine date. Coarse wares from central Jordan appear at sites firmly dated to Iron Age
II, such as, for example, much of the pottery from Khirbat al-Mudayna (Thamad) and WT-13,
which is currently being studied by M. Steiner in Leiden.
7 Wadjet eye amulets also appear in later contexts, such as the Persian period levels at Tell el-
Hesi (Bennett and Blakely 1989: fig. 208:1, 2).
8 Artefacts tend to be under-published or not published at all in preliminary reports.
9 In his study of the two scarabs from Hesban, Horn (2009: 101) noted at the time that few
Egyptian objects are found in excavations in Transjordan.
238 Daviau
Egyptian iconography and/or script.10 As well, certain Iron Age scarabs with
a geometric or Near Eastern design reflect Egyptian influence merged with
local or Phoenician production, for example, Scarab U15 from Tall al-‘Umayri
(Eggler et al. 2002: fig. 1).
An Egyptian style scarab (TJ 437; Fig. 1:4) from Tall Jawa, south of ‘Amman,
was located among the boulders of the casemate wall system (in Tower 2013;
Daviau 2003: 87–89; 1993: fig. 2; 2002: fig. 2.44:1). The anatomy of the beetle is
carved in soft limestone. Details on the back and right side of the beetle are
well preserved with the head, thorax, wings and right leg clearly delineated.
Although the scarab is slightly damaged, the hieroglyphic signs on the base
are sufficiently clear to be read. The inscription consists of two parts, the
name, Men-kheper-re‘ (Tuthmosis III), and his epithet, ‘Chosen of Amun’. The
name, incised within a cartouche or oval,11 is positioned on the left behind
the head and the signs read from top to bottom (Type 1, Jaeger 1982: 29).12
On the basis of style and the inscription itself, Weinstein confirms a date
during Dynasty 22 (945–773 BC), more precisely the 9th century (personal
communication).
Several scarabs share similar characteristics, although none are from
Transjordan. Two examples are from Beth Shean (Rowe 1936: 112–13, pl. XI:476,
115), a third is from Samaria (Crowfoot et al. 1957: pl. XV:4), and a fourth from
Phoenician Akhziv (Mazar 2010: 42–43).13 Although the scarabs from Beth
Shean reflect the importance of Egyptian culture at that site during the Late
Bronze Age, Tufnell (1953: 205) notes that scarabs of Mn-hpr-R‘ in Tomb 218 at
Lachish appear to reflect increased Egyptian trade following Shishak’s cam-
paign in Palestine and his stationing of troops there in the 10th century BC.
Whether his action was a destructive invasion or reclamation of control to
assure access to valuable resources is still a matter of debate.
Other scarabs from Transjordan which have the name of Mn-hpr-R‘ lack the
titulary, such as a scarab from Tall al-Mazar (JUM 289) in the Jordan Valley
10 A large number of scaraboid seals with Ammonite, Moabite, and Aramaic script are not
included; these reflect the adoption of a medium without the Egyptian message and have
been studied by Aufrecht (1989), Herr (1978; 1997), Lemaire (1995), Timm (1989), Avigad
and Sass (1997) and, most recently, by Eggler and Keel (2006).
11 See Jaeger (1982: 40), for a discussion of the use of the cartouche on the scarabs of
Men-kheper-re‘ (cited in Daviau 2002: 85–87.
12 My thanks to Carolyn Routledge (Liverpool, UK), Nicholas B. Millet (former Curator
emeritus of Egyptian Antiquities, Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto, ON), Ronald Leprohon
(Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations, University of Toronto), and James
Weinstein (Ithaca, NY).
13 Mazar (2010: 43) also makes a point about the late production and use of such scarabs.
(Yassine 1984: 109; fig. 58: 188). Also at Tall al-Mazar are scarabs which bear the
name of Horus (JUM 157, 158, 291) and date to Dynasty 19–26 (Yassine 1984: 108,
111).14 Four scarabs from a tomb in Madaba can also be assigned to Iron Age
deposits. One faience scarab (J* 1051)15 is so badly preserved that the inscrip-
tion is illegible. However, three steatite scarabs can be identified: one depicts
a seated lion in Hyksos style and appears to be an heirloom, a second (J* 1053)
bears the image of Horus and appears to be Ramesside in date, and the third
scarab (J* 1056) can be read easily and was dated by Murray to the 19th Dynasty
(Harding 1953a: 33). Only one faience example of a Naukratis scarab, dated late
in the Iron Age, is reported from Tall Abu al-Kharaz in the northern Jordan
Valley (Fischer 1991: 81, fig. 7:15).
Egyptian style scarabs are also known from excavations at Hesban and
from several Moabite sites. A gray sandstone scarab (H 1625) from Hesban
that Hendrix (1994:180) considers to be later than the 18th Dynasty has been
assigned a date in the 19th–20th Dynasties, although Horn (2009: 102) notes
it was found in association with a late Iron Age ostracon. A second scarab
(H 2525), inscribed with the name of Amun-Re‘, was found in a Roman period
tomb and also assigned a 19th or 20th Dynasty date (Horn 1978: 224); the third
is uninscribed. From Lehun, on the northern edge of the Wadi Mujib, comes a
scarab incised with an image of a ram-headed sphinx facing a cobra, and the
signs for the name Amun-Re‘. The excavator (Homès-Fredericq 1992: 188, 190)
assigned this scarab to the 19th–20th Dynasties on the basis of the pottery.16
Of the two scarabs recovered at Thamad WT-13, one scarab (WT 256–4/504;
Fig. 1:5) is incised with hieroglyphic signs and appears to be a late commemo-
rative scarab of Ahmose-Nefertari, wife of the god (hmt-ntr) Ahmose (Eggler
and Keel 2006: 486–7, fig. 2).17 This practice can also be seen in the reuse of
Hyksos scarabs, such as an Anra scarab (MT 979–6/60) recovered in an Iron
Age II domestic complex at Khirbat al-Mudayna (Daviau et al 2006: 265–67).
14 Based on the pottery and the artefacts, the dating for the tombs in Cemetery A is in the
range of 7th–5th centuries BC (Yassine 1984: 13), with some glass vessels dated to the
6th–4th centuries.
15 Department of Antiquities Registration numbers were assigned the siglum ‘TJ’ for finds in
Transjordan, although this has been reduced to ‘J’ in recent years. In order to avoid confu-
sion with Tall Jawa registration numbers, artefact numbers assigned by the Department
of Antiquities are shown in this paper as ‘J*’+ n.
16 The pottery is currently being analyzed, but none of the associated ceramics have yet
been published.
17 R. Leprohon (personal communication, April 30, 2003) identified a cartouche open at the
top, as well as a nefer sign, a t and an i sign. J. Weinstein suggested an Iron Age date for this
scarab (personal communication, April 24, 2003).
240 Daviau
As well, certain scarabs with a Hyksos style design reflect Egyptian influence
merged with later (19th Dyn.) features, for example, scarab WT 22–2/522 from
Thamad WT-13 (Fig. 1:6; Daviau 2000: 283; Eggler and Keel 2006: 486–87; fig. 1).
A number of scarabs from Pella and Saḥab are assigned to the Iron I (or
LB–IR 1) and are only minimally considered here on the basis of the exten-
sive reuse of Bronze Age scarabs in the early Iron Age.18 For example, a tomb
(Cave A4) in the Ba‘qah Valley north of ‘Amman yielded Iron Age pottery and a
scarab that bears a priestly title and the sign for strength on its base (Weinstein
1986: 288, fig. 93:7). Other instances of scarabs from tombs used in two dis-
tinct periods also affects quantification of our corpus, such as a group from the
Amman Citadel, nevertheless these appear to represent the same pattern of
Iron Age reuse. This group does not include those scarabs identified as random
finds (Table 1).
Seals
Among the numerous seals from Jordan are a small number of scaraboids that
make use of Egyptian motifs such as the sphinx or griffin with an Ammonite or
Edomite inscription (Eggler and Keel 2006: 421, fig. 2; 461, fig. 1). These seals and
impressions date, for the most part, to the Late Iron II period.
Seal Impressions
Among jar handles with seal impressions is an example from Tall al-‘Umayri
(U 843), which dates to the Iron I period.19 This impression includes a car-
touche bearing the praenomen Men-kheper-re‘ (Thutmosis III)20 in the cen-
tre of the seal, with an epithet on the left and a winged uraeus on the right
(Redford 1991: 379, fig. 19.2). Redford (1991: 380) cites parallels from Megiddo
and Akko that date to the reign of Ramesses IV (1151–1145 BC), Dynasty 20.
Clearly, Tuthmosis III was an 18th Dynasty pharaoh whose popularity and
importance lasted for centuries.
18 A strong tradition of Egyptianized iconography combined with cuneiform inscriptions is

represented in the Middle Bronze Age cylinder seals of the Green Jasper Workshop. This
tradition had such resonance in the Levant and across the Phoenician world that these
seals were curated and appear in later contexts (Late Bronze and Iron Ages; Collon 1986).
19 A seal impression from Dhībân, dating to late Iron I or Early Iron II, is more difficult to
identify. This impression depicts several animals and one human figure that appears to
wear an Egyptian-style crown and kilt (Mussell 1989: 247, figs. 9, 17, 18).
20 My thanks to L. G. Herr, who provided the registration number (B-7K80:3/29:843; email
message, March 5, 2002).
A second impression, this one on a bulla, belonged to Milkomʾur servant of

Ba‘alyaša‘. The design on the bulla reflects the tradition common in Iron Age
Judah of using the four-winged scarab beetle pushing a sun-ball with its legs as
a royal symbol. This image appears in the art of the 18th Dynasty, especially on
scarabs of Tuthmosis III (Tushingham 1970: 75, n. 10), and continues into the
Iron Age, although in Egypt it was the two-winged beetle that was most com-
mon (Younker 1985: 174). The two-winged beetle makes its appearance in Judah
during the Late Iron II, (Deutsch 2002: 44–45), and this same symbol appears
on several Ammonite seals (Avigad and Sass 1997: no. 865; Younker 1985: 174).21
Other Egyptian motifs on seals include a monkey hybrid of Harpocrates,
who is sitting on a flower eating fruit (Avigad and Sass 1997: no. 857), and
two monkeys flanking a stylized lotus with two buds (Avigad and Sass 19997:
no. 871). The lotus blossom with two flanking buds also appears alone (Avigad
and Sass 1997: no. 909).22
Sarcophagi
The use of Egyptian style clay coffins with human features on the lid appeared
in Cisjordan during the Late Bronze–Early Iron Age transition period. This
tradition, which also appears at Jordan Valley sites during the Late Bronze
Age,23 continued during the Iron Age, when a vestigial form was in use. To
date, more than eight coffins have been located in tombs in the Amman area,
at Saḥab, Mount Nebo24 and Dhībân. These sarcophagi reflect a continua-
tion or re-introduction and transformation of the earlier tradition. The most
obvious change is the addition of four pairs of handles along either side of
the sarcophagus that made it easier to carry25 (Yassine 1988: 33). In one case
(Amman coffin 173), there were handles along the length of the underside
21 Both seals and the Tall al-‘Umayri bulla also bear symbols derived from Syrian art
(Younker 1985: 178), a combination that shows the increasing internationalism of the
7th century.
22 See below for other artefacts decorated with the lotus blossom motif.
23 Yassine (1975: 62) mentions that he himself saw the discovery at Pella of Late Bronze Age
sarcophagi and their associated grave goods which included Egyptian scarabs, alabaster
vessels, and Mycenaean pottery. Unfortunately, Yassine does not provide the date for this
discovery, nor a reference to its publication. Smith (1973: 178) does mention salvage work
undertaken by the Department of Antiquities in 1964, but the tomb in question contained
Middle Bronze Age pottery.
24 The fragmentary condition of the sarcophagus sherd recovered from Tomb 84 made it
difficult for the excavator to distinguish the exact type of coffin represented; anthropoid
or bathtub style (Saller 1966: 289–90).
25 Figures 4 and 5 were drawn by Julie Witmer.
242 Daviau
of the s arcophagus that served as loop feet, to raise the coffin off the floor
(Fig. 2:1). The second modification is seen in the lid, where the facial features
are stylized or are absent altogether. The face on a coffin from Saḥab has fea-
tures modelled in the clay of the lid itself, as well as attached handles that
represent the ears and the beard. Along with a fourth handle at the centre of
the forehead, these handles constitute four pairs that were used to attach the
lid to the coffin.26 Only two coffins in the Amman group (coffins 173, 174) depict
arms and hands which extend along each side; none of these coffins show arms
crossed on the chest as is common on the Late Bronze Age lids from Deir Balah
and Beth Shean in Cisjordan and on sarcophagi from the Nile Delta (Dothan
1982: chapter 5, pls. 2–5, 16–21, fig. 17).
Only one complete ceramic coffin was recovered from Tomb J 3 at Dhībân,
although Tushingham (1954: 24) reported the presence of fragments of ceramic
coffins in several of the Iron Age tombs.27 The unique aspect of this sarcopha-
gus (DO 194) is that it has a lid which extends the full length of the coffin, rather
than covering only the head and upper torso. Although this tomb had already
been robbed in antiquity, the excavators recovered a large assemblage of Iron
Age pottery, and one soapstone scarab. The assignment of this coffin to the
same date as the associated pottery (Reed 1964: pl. 77) is supported by the con-
tinued use of this style of lid in the Persian and Hellenistic periods.28
Statues
The most distinctive artefacts reflecting Egyptian iconography are the lime-
stone statues and heads of a male wearing the atef crown (Fig. 2:2). To date,
26 Albright (1932: 295–97; fig. 2) dates the pottery associated with the Saḥab coffin to the
Iron Age I–Iron II transition, meaning, 10th–9th centuries. However, the description of
certain pottery forms fits well with the 8th–7th century material (Stratum VIII and VII)
from the nearby site of Tall Jawa, especially the red-slipped bowl with a knob on the
rim (Daviau 2003: fig. 12.2:1) and two double disc bases (fig. 12.2:6, 7), while a krater rim
(fig. 12.2:2) falls into the Stratum IX corpus (9th century), which is precisely Albright’s
transition period.
27 Tushingham (1954: 24) was of the opinion that four pithoi located in Tomb J 5 were also
used as coffins. In the case of the pithoi, the rim and neck had been removed, providing
an opening of ca. 0.30 m.
28 Best known are the early Persian period Egyptian-style coffins from Lebanon, such as the
stone sarcophagus of Eshmunazar. Among ceramic sarcophagi with full-length lids, three
coffins from Susa in the Louvre (for example, Sb 14393) depict the shape of the face and
nose in a continuous curving line, similar to the style on the lid of the sarcophagus from
Dhībân (Reed 1964: pl. 97); in the case of the Tomb J 3 coffin, the lid is rounded at both
ends, similar to those from Susa.
twelve such sculptures have been reported from the Amman area. Studied
extensively by Abu Assaf (1980), these statues reveal a certain amount of stylis-
tic development, especially changes in the shape of the crown. In a recent study
(Daviau in press: fig. 1), this author classified the crowns in three sub-types,
ranging from tall crowns (Type A/1) with the 18th Dynasty conical shape of the
white crown of upper Egypt, to a shorter crown topped by a disc (Type A/2),29
and an even shorter, trapezoidal crown (Type A/3).30 In only one instance
(Daviau in press: #6), the head may represent a female (‘Amr 1990: 116). This
would correspond with the female figure on the Balu‘ stele who also wears the
atef crown. The significance of the crown of Osiris has not escaped scholars
interested in Ammonite iconography. Since this crown in Egypt was reserved
for a divine figure, it has been suggested that the male atef-crowned figures
from Ammon represent Milqom (Kitchen 1992: 30) or El himself (Daviau and
Dion 1994: 167), as was the case in Late Bronze Age Ugarit (Seeden 1982).
Figurines Wearing the Atef Crown

Contemporary with the corpus of stone statues are three ceramic figurine
heads depicting a male wearing the atef crown, one each from the Ammonite
sites of Rabbath-Ammon, Tall Jawa, and Jalul (Fig. 2:4–6). A complete bronze
figurine from Tall Dayr ‘Alla has all the major features of Osiris, including his
crown, mummiform shape and sceptres (van der Kooij and Ibrahim 1989:
pl. 158).
Uncrowned Statues
There is also a small number of statues which represent uncrowned males
with Egyptian characteristics. Dornemann’s ‘Egyptianizing group’ includes one
intact statuette and two stone heads (1983: pl. 90:1–3). The noteworthy features
of the complete figure include his stance, with the left foot forward, the posi-
tion of his arms with his hands clenched at his sides, and a back support. The
kilt covering the right leg is not the typical Egyptian garment and may reflect
Syrian influence (Dornemann 1983: 155), while the tight curls may indicate a
Nubian (Zayadine 1991: 44, fig. 44). However, this combination of elements is
not unexpected in the southern Levant.
The well-known statue of Yarah ‘Azar (Fig. 2:3; Bienkowski 1991: pl. 38)
combines several Egyptian characteristics along with a shawl which reflects
29 Figures 6 and 7 are republished here with permission, from Daviau (2003: figs. 3, 4).
30 Kitchen (1992: 30) considers the style of the atef crown on these statue heads to be an
adaptation of Phoenician or Syrian iconography. A good example of this iconography is a
ceramic figurine from Sarepta (Pritchard 1988: fig. 13:60).
244 Daviau
north Syrian traditions. The stance with the left foot forward, the right hand
clenched at the side, the left hand carrying the lotus blossom and the pleated
linen undergarment are all Egyptian elements (Dornemann 1983: 157). A sec-
ond statue, of which only the torso is preserved, also has an Egyptian stance,
including one hand clenched at the side and the other holding a lotus blossom
(Abou Assaf 1980: pl. 7:XI).
Female Figurines
Another anthropomorphic representation showing Egyptian influence is the
class of female figurines with an Egyptian style hairdo. Found at several sites
in Palestine31 and Transjordan, these small figures typically have locks of hair
ending in a blunt cut and falling to the shoulders, similar to Egyptian style wigs.
Four such figurines from Shrine Site WT-13 illustrate this type (WT 35, WT 86,
WT 99, WT 191; Fig. 3:4–7; Daviau 2001: tbl. 4). Stern (1976: 114; fig. 10) has identi-
fied Late Iron Age II protomai with this style of hairdo as Phoenicio-Egyptian
(his Type A; see Moscati 1988: fig. 603, from Tharros).32 Another class of female
figurine depicts a female face from the front, often with a Hathor hairdo (either
blunt or curled Fig. 3:1. 2), and a lioness face from the side representing Sekhmet
(Fig. 3:3). A well preserved example of this type comes from Tall Zir‘a near
Gadara (Häser and Vieweger 2007: fig. 7).33 A very worn figurine head with this
compound iconography is seen in figurine WT 92–4/505 from WT-13. The latter
has details of the hair incised on the back of her head in a style comparable to
a life-size dolomite head in the Amman Museum. This head has Hathor curls,
a wadjet eye pectoral and hair locks incised in the style of an Egyptian wig
(‘Amr 1987: figs. 1–3).34
Zoomorphic Figurines
Only a small number of animal figurines can be related to Egyptian iconogra-
phy. One of these is a ceramic figurine of a monkey, seated upright and holding
31 A good example of this type from Tel Miqne-Ekron is described as a “Phoenician
type . . . with Egyptianizing features” (Gitin 1995: 72; fig. 4.17).
32 Stern (1976: 114) compares these protomai with figurines of the “well known ‘Astarte’ ”
type, but offers no specific examples.
33 Häser and Vieweger (2007: 28) identify the Iron Age Tall Zira‘a figurine as Ashtarte
depicted as Hathor and Sekhmet. Hathor imagery was especially frequent in Late Bronze
Age seals and plaques (Keel and Uehlinger 1998: 65–70) as an example of Egyptian-
Canaanite syncretism. However, several Iron Age examples are also known (Veiweger
and Häser 2008: 389).
34 At the time that ‘Amr (1987: 38) studied the dolomite head, it was unique both in its use
of the eye of Horus, its Egyptian iconography, and its Ammonite style of sculpting.
a sacrificial animal across his shoulders (Bienkowski 1991: 38, pl. 36). The mon-
key is known as the animal of the god Thoth, the god of wisdom.
Cosmetic Vessels
Small glass vessels, such as kohl pots, drop-shaped amphoriskoi, and arybal-
loi, were placed in tombs and treasured as high status items in the home.
Examples of such vessels were recovered at Amman, Maqabalayn, Tall al
Mazar and Busyara (see Table 1).35 Fragments of three vessels from Busayra
in Edom, of either faience or alabaster (Sedman 2002: pls. 10.24, 10.25, 10.26),
along with alabaster vessels from the Amman area and from Tall al-Mazar in
the Jordan Valley, suggest that these vessels, so common in Egypt during the
New Kingdom, were still prized in Transjordan during the Iron Age. An exam-
ple of a group of such vessels in a high status domestic context was recovered
at Khirbat al-Mudayna (Thamad) in 2010 (see below).
New Year’s Flasks

A special vessel type is represented by two examples of New Year’s flasks deco-
rated with lotus petals, one from Ammon and the other from Moab. The most
complete, is the body of a faience flask recovered at a cave site (RS 23) in the
Madaba Plains Project Survey area (Herr and Najjar 2001: 337).36 The second,
from Lehun, consists only of the neck and rim and is dated by the excavator
(Homès-Fredericq 1992: 198, fig. 16.10) to the Saite period, 7th–6th century BC.
Lotus Blossom Motif

The motif of a lotus blossom with flanking buds appears not only on seals (see
above) but also on one artefact from Moab and another from Edom. An intact
limestone altar (MT 684–5/30; Fig. 4:1) uncovered in Pillared Building B200 at
Khirbat al-Mudayna (Thamad) preserves on one side a deeply incised design
of a large lotus blossom with two buds on long stems (Daviau and Dion 2002b:
43=Daviau 2007: fig. 3). A similar depiction, somewhat more compressed due
to the shape of the artefact, appears on a piece of bone inlay from Busayra
(B676, Bienkowski 2002: pl. 10.18). The lotus blossom alone, or lotus blossom
petals, were also used to decorate the exterior surface of a chalice and a cos-
metic vessel from Shrine Site WT-13 (Fig. 4:2, 3), and a stone bowl from Busayra
(Bienkowski 2002: pl. 10:135). In the Lehun fortress, the excavators recovered
35 Sedman (2002: 342) lists an additional 13 fragments of glass vessels recorded in the
Busayra registry.
36 The initial identification of this flask was as a glazed vessel dating to the Fatimid period
(Herr 1991: 242).
246 Daviau
a cosmetic palette, rectangular in shape with two depressions preserved. The

palette is made of fine, dense limestone and its upper surface is decorated with
a lotus blossom design (Homès-Fredericq 1997: 77, fig. 56).37
The lotus blossom motif also appears on Ammonite sculpture, in those
cases where a figure holds a lotus flower in the left hand. Pride of place goes to
the statue of Yarah-‘Azar (Zayadine 1986: pl. 129), which shows a male wearing
a long garment, a shawl over his left shoulder and a long sash, similar to the
clothing depicted on a male with an atef crown. Another example is that of a
headless statue with an Egyptian stance (Dornemann 1983: fig. 92:4), also from
Amman.
Miscellaneous Artefacts
Certain artefacts appear to be directly related to Egyptian culture, while others
reflect local traditions but are decorated with Egyptian motifs. For example,
the Nimrin krater is decorated with impressed reliefs that encircle the exte-
rior of the vessel below the rim. The designs include grazing stags, naked
men,38 a palm tree and three images of Bes. These images are formed by press-
ing a mould against a piece of clay attached to the exterior surface, and these
impressions of Bes share similar feature to a Bes mould fragment from Amman
(see Dornemann 1983: fig. 88:5). The Nimrin krater is currently dated to the
8th–6th centuries BC (Dornemann 1995:621; figs. 9–10).
Other objects with Egyptian-style designs include a faience cosmetic con-
tainer with a lotus band around the base (MT 3113; Fig. 4:4), a faience chalice
(?) with lotus band (MT 3039; Fig. 4:5), a cosmetic mortar with a lotus flower
37 The pottery from the Lehun fortress was being studied by Franken and van Deuren
(Homès-Fredericq 1997: 78) but has now been assigned to Margreet Steiner, with the
result that few examples have been published in preliminary reports. This may account
for the confusion in assigning a date to the palette. Although this artefact came from
the same structure as the New Year’s bottle, it had been assigned a date in the transition
period between LB II and Iron I (Homès-Fredericq 1997: 77). In an earlier study, Homès-
Fredericq compares the palette to one from Lachish that she dates to the “Late Bronze
Age ‘Solar Temple’ ” (1992: 191), although she notes the parallels to Persian period fines
from Deve Hüyük. Tufnell herself (1953: 397) made a reference to Deve Hüyük and, in a
subsequent study, Aharoni (1975: 1) cited Starkey who assigned a Persian period date to
the temple. Aharoni’s subsequent investigations suggest that the building was even later
and he dated the pottery and coins to the 2nd century BC (Aharoni 1975: 3). The palette
may be somewhat earlier, but not necessarily from the Late Bronze Age.
38 Dornemann’s discussion of the Egyptian background of the Bes image is incontrovertible.
However, his suggestion (1995: 626) that the naked men “striding to the right, quite clearly
sexually aroused and carrying boars on their shoulders” could be related to Min is less
convincing. Although Min is ithyphallic, he is typically depicted as mummiform.
incised on a base (MT 3170; Fig. 5:1), 3 alabastra (MT 2962; Fig. 5:2; Amman,
J* 1288; and Maqabalayn), and 3 alabaster juglets (MT 3099, 3103; Fig. 5:3, 4),
two pyxidies (MT 3102, 3126; Fig. 5:5, 6) and a miniature vessel incused with a
lotus petal design (MT 3473; Fig. 5:7). Another example, possibly an Egyptian
import, is an alabaster dish (669) with a shell lid (a unio? given its size) from a
cosmetic assemblage at Hesban (Platt 2009: 215–16).39
The recovery of pieces of imported Egyptian alabaster at Khirbat Mudaybi‘
suggests that certain vessels were made locally during the Iron Age (Mattingly,
personal communications). At Hesban, four alabaster vessels were identified
(Kotter and Ray 2009), along with the cosmetic mortars; other items which
suggest Egyptian cosmetic equipment include numerous kohl sticks (6 from
Tall al-Mazar, and 4 from Maqabalayn) and a kohl pot. Alabaster and calcite
(imitation alabaster) vessels are also included along with a bronze razor, a sit-
ula (Yassine 1984: fig. 51:58), and an incense spoon from Tall Dayr ‘Alla (van der
Kooij and Ibrahim 1989: fig. 98).
Hieratic Numerals
A long history of use of Egyptian numerals in southern Palestine continued
into the late Iron II period, when these signs are found in association either
with the sign for sheqel or are used alone to denote gerah. One two-sheqel
weight from Tall Dayr ‘Alla uses the hieratic 2 and a sheqel sign (van der Kooij
and Ibrahim 1989: pl. 142). On the Jordanian plateau, inscribed weights are
rare, although one weight with the hieratic numeral for 10 (gerot) was recov-
ered at Khirbat al-Mudayna (MT 679–5/29; Fig. 5:8; Daviau and Dion 2002a:
38–40).40 A second item from the same site (MT 3016; Fig. 5:9) also bears the
hieratic T sign, although its fragmentary nature makes it unclear whether this
was the base of a faience chalice (Staubli 2007:pl. 1), or part of a more complex
object.
Jordan Valley Sites

Sites in the Jordan Valley appear to have a different material culture tradition
from the sites on the central Jordanian plateau. Occupation during the Late
Bronze Age continued into the Early Iron Age with Egyptian cultural influence
as an integral component of its art. A small ivory lotus blossom, found on the
39 While certain objects from Hesban are described in association with the stratum in which
they were found, this is not the case for all, with the result that certain items may have
been mis-assigned by this author. For example, all the kohl sticks are assigned to the
“Early Roman to Middle Islamic period” (Platt 2009: 207); in this case, the 51 items identi-
fied as ‘kohl sticks’ and ‘double-ended kohl sticks’ are not included in this study.
40 For a complete study of Judean weights, see Kletter (1998).
248 Daviau
surface at Tall Dayr ‘Alla (van der Kooij and Ibrahim 1989: fig. 85), is classed with
the Iron Age IIB pottery and artefacts. At the nearby site of Tall as-Sa‘idiyya,
there are two faience cups/chalices that date to the Iron Age (Pritchard 1985:
figs. 8:22, 14:21). Fragments of three other faience vessels from Busayra (Sedman
2002: pls. 10:24, 25, 26) make it clear that these vessels, so common in Egypt
during the 18th Dynasty, were still prized in Transjordan during the Iron Age.
Analysis
Distribution
The distribution of these artefacts is restricted by the pattern of excavation and
the limited publication of objects from Iron Age sites in Transjordan during the
past half century (Fig. 6). The result is that accidental discovery has contrib-
uted numerous items from Iron Age tombs in the area of Amman, Madaba and
Maqabalayn, while town sites are under-represented. Nevertheless, examples
of artefacts and applied or impressed images that reflect Egyptian motifs are
found at town sites in the Jordan Valley, such as Pella, Tall as-Sa‘idiyya, Tall
al Mazar, and Tall Nimrin. In the Amman area, the finds come from the Baq‘ah
Valley to the north of Amman, from Amman and its suburbs, and from Tall
al-‘Umayri, Tall Jawa, Saḥab, and Jalul to the south, all sites where Ammonite
potting traditions are evident. Secondly, sites in Moab are now producing an
increasing number of items that reflect Egyptian iconography and customs,
especially those in northern and central Moab, such as Khirbat al-Mudayna on
Wadi ath-Thamad, WT-13, Dhībân, Lehun and Balu‘. There appear to be fewer
examples from sites in south central Moab, although we again find examples at
Edomite sites, such as Busayra and Tawilan.
Egyptian Influence
Egyptian influence on Transjordan appears to be direct in only a small number
of cases, for example, in the importation of New Year’s bottles and alabaster
vessels. The provenience of comparable vessels found at Syrian sites is cer-
tainly Egypt (Dion 1997: 363, n. 185), although in the case of one site in central
Jordan, it appears that alabaster may have been imported for the local produc-
tion of stone artefacts (Mattingly 1997: 217).41 Indirect influence that combines
Egyptian and Syro-Phoenician features is reflected in the iconography of male
41 There is no certain provenience for a small (7.5 × 10.0 cm) block of alabaster found during
surface survey at al-Mraygha (Central Moab Survey Site #316; Mattingly 1997: 217).
figures, especially that of Yaraḥ-‘Azar (McGovern 1995: 34).42 This combination

of iconographic elements, what Kitchen (1992: 29) calls “background Egyptian
influences”, was a major component of the large ivory industry that flourished
during the 8th–7th centuries in Phoenicia and north Syria. According to Van
Loon (1986: 245), this industry may have been enriched by Sheshonq’s renewed
contacts with Byblos during the late 10th century BC.43 Artefacts such as faience
amulets and beads, engraved ivory inlays, and carved bone handles may be
derived from the workshops of Phoenicia and north Syria. Similar motifs
derived from Egyptian iconography occur on the thousands of Phoenician and
Syrian ivory inlays that decorated furniture received in the Assyrian royal cit-
ies as loot, tribute or ‘gifts’ (Dion 1997: 346, n. 190). Therefore, it may not be
surprising that only a handful of ivory inlays have been reported from the Iron
Age kingdoms of Transjordan, each of which paid tribute on a regular basis.44
The iconography of the locally-made Ammonite stone statues and figurines
wearing the atef crown has a longer history. Bronze figurines of El depicted
as a seated male figure, bearded and crowned, in use in the Late Bronze Age
at Ugarit (Schaeffer 1936: pl. XV:3; Seeden 1982: fig. 23), while Bronze figurines
of Osiris were produced in the Levant from the Late Bronze Age through the
Persian period (Stern 1982: tbl. 1).45 An example of north Syrian style and
Egyptian influence on Levantine sculpture is a stele in the Museum of Tartus
(see Abu Assaf 1992), which can be compared to the Jabal Shīhân stele.
42 McGovern (1995: 34) finds it difficult to pinpoint the source of such “artistic synchretism
(sic)”. At present it is not possible to identify the degree of ethnic continuity between the
inhabitants of the Late Bronze Age sites, which are few in number on the plateau, and the
inhabitants of the Late Iron Age kingdoms of the Benē Ammon, Moab and Edom.
43 For a discussion of the difficult relations between Egypt and Byblos during the 21st
Dynasty, see Redford (1992: 296).
44 Two ivory inlays from Hesban (1827, 2275) may indicate the presence of inlaid furniture
or small objects such as boxes (Ray 2001: 145, pl. 6.22). Ivory fragments from the Amman
citadel are described as “ivoire phènicien” (Humbert, Zayadine and al-Najjar 1989: 252),
without further details.
45 Dating to an even earlier period are the ivory inlays recovered in Palace P at Ebla. These
fragments depict the heads of Osiris, Hathor and Horus (Scandone Matthiae 1990: 146–
47). In regard to the 4th century ceramic figurines from Achziv (e.g., AO 1845) and other
coastal sites that depict Osiris, Annie Caubet suggests that in the Semitic world they
should be interpreted as a representation of El (personal communication, 20 February
1996); this coincides with the interpretation of Daviau and Dion (1994: 164). A “peace”
figurine from Tall Safut (Wimmer 1987: fig. 2) may also represent El, although this seated
male wears a unique style of headdress instead of the atef crown. However, it should be
noted that this crown was used as a symbol of divinity for other deities as well, such as the
figure of Ba‘al on the stele from Amrit (Baramki 1961: fig. 27).
250 Daviau
Trade Routes
The trade routes from Phoenicia through the kingdom of Israel and into the
Jordan Valley via Beth Shean were certainly operative during the 9th–8th centu-
ries, prior to Assyrian control of the kingdom of Israel. Trade directly from Syria,
prior to the Pax Assyriaca, is more difficult to calculate, since there has been
so little excavation of Iron Age sites in southern Syria. Egypto-Phoenician and
Syrian goods and styles could have been channelled through the new Assyrian
provinces during the 7th century when Ammon, Moab and Edom reached their
cultural and economic peak and were benefiting from Assyrian influence in
many aspects of their cultural life (Daviau 2001; McGovern 1995: 36).
Reassessment
The number of artefacts reflecting Egyptian influence on the culture of the
Levant in Iron Age II continues to be small. This study includes only 232 pub-
lished items (Fig. 7).46 However, these artefacts represent several different
types, those that could be acquired by trade and exchange, as well as a num-
ber of types that were obviously locally made. It is the combination of both of
these classes of artefacts, especially those associated with burial customs and
with the depiction of local divinities in stone sculpture and in ceramic that is
most significant. Elements of Egyptian style are embedded in the iconographic
traditions of the peoples of the Iron Age kingdoms of Transjordan. This is not
merely the result of Phoenician influence, itself steeped in Egyptian icono-
graphic imagery, but is a local expression of a long tradition, seen most clearly
in the Jordan Valley sites, such as Tall as-Sa‘idiyya and Pella.47 For those sites
on the central plateau, where the influence was more sporadic, the high status
items and exotic vessels were emblems of wealth, power and prestige.
The strength of this tradition, expressed in the assemblage presented here,
may support the opinion of those scholars who suggest an Iron Age date for the
Balu‘ Stele, in agreement with the views of Timm (1989: 92–93) and Worschech
46 This number is small in comparison to the 43 registered vessels and more than 120 stone
vessel fragments from the Late Bronze Age Amman Airport Temple studied by Hankey
(1974: 168–75). However, it is considerable given the small number of incontrovertible ele-
ments of Assyrian presence identified to date, even though tribute was paid by Ammon,
Moab and Edom (Bienkowski 2000: 52–53).
47 This continuing tradition was already apparent to Kantor (1945: 118) who, in her discus-
sion of “Canaanite” Plant Ornament during the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties,
emphasizes the heavy Egyptian influence on Canaan that continued from the Late
Bronze Age into the Iron Period and to Dornemann (1982: 136), when he affirmed that the
“adoption of Egyptian artistic features took place at this time (LB) and that these features
were maintained as an integral part of the local art style”.
(1997: 270). This view is also supported by the iconography on the stele itself,
particularly the style of the atef crown worn by the female figure. The rela-
tive size of her crown can be described as squat, when compared to the tall
Osiris crowns similar in proportion to the 18th–20th Dynasty style of the white
crown of Upper Egypt.48 Various sizes of the atef crown are represented on the
Iron Age limestone heads and statues form the Amman region, and it appears
that the crown becomes shorter over time (Daviau and Dion 1994: 163). This
same phenomenon is also seen in numerous Phoenician ivory inlays, although
the small size of this medium is also a factor that affected the depiction of the
crown. On certain ivories, the crown is almost horizontal and is described as
“a distant version of the atef crown” (Herrmann 1986: 219, pl. 294). This icono-
graphic feature and the female stone heads found at Amman, which have the
Nimrud and Samaria ivories as their closest parallels, indicate the mediating
role of Syro-Phoenician artistic traditions as the proximate source of many of
the motifs represented in Iron Age Transjordanian art. Nevertheless, this influ-
ence (Homès-Fredericq 1987: 94–95) does not lessen the impact of the rich
tradition of Egyptian art and iconography which exerted a powerful influence
on the art of the Iron Age kingdoms of Transjordan and represented their best
aspirations for beauty and elegance.
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Figure 1 Amulets and scarabs. 1) Horus amulet, WT 162–2/662; 2) Ptah amulet, WT 303–5/502;
3) Wadjet eye, MT 399–4/20; Scarabs, 4) TJ 437; 5) WT 256–4/504; 6) WT 22–2/522.
Figure 2 Sarcophagi and Atef-crowned figures; 1) Amman sarcophagus;

2) statue, J 1657; 3) Yaraḥ-ʿAzar, J 1656; 4) stone head,
Amman area(?); 5) ceramic figurine, TJ 100; 6) ceramic figurine,
Jalul (images 2.4 and 2.6 are published with permission).
Figure 3. Female figurines with Egyptian features.

Hathor style, 1) MT 1884–8/11;
2) MT 2402–9/50); Sekhmet style,
3) WT 92–2/592; 4) WT 230;
Blunt style locks, 5) WT 99–2/599;
6) WT 35–2/525; 7) WT 86–2/586.
262 Daviau
Figure 4 Lotus blossom motif; 1) Altar, MT 684–5/30; alabaster vessels,

2) WT 229; 3) WT 118; faience vessels with lotus band, 4) MT 3113;
5) MT 3039.
Figure 5 Assemblage of faience, alabaster, calcite and steatite

vessels from Khirbat al-Mudayna (Thamad).
Figure 6 Map of central Jordan, showing regions of Palestine, Ammon,

Moab and northern Edom.
264 Daviau
9,4% Amulets
32,14%
Scarabs
Seals/Impressions
30,13% 72,30% Wadjet eyes
Pendants
Anthropoid Sarcophagi
6,3%
Statues
15,6% Figurines
Lotus Blossum motif

18,8% Cosmetic items
8,3% 40,17%
5,2% Miscellaneous
1,0%
Figure 7 The percentage of Egyptian and Egyptianizing artefacts by type.
Table 1 Artefacts that reflect Egyptian influence
Class Item Site1 Reference
Amulets and pendants

amulet (Horus) WT 162–2/662 WT-13 WT Object Register
amulet (Ptah-Sokar) WT 303–5/502 WT-13 WT Object Register
figurine (Ptah-Sokar) 150007 Pella Bourke et al. 1994:115;
pl. 18:5
amulet (Ptah-Sokar)? 170009 Pella Bourke et al. 1998: fig. 25:13
amulet Tall al-‘Umayri Dabrowski 1993: figs. 1–2
mould (Pataikos?) Tall al-‘Umayri Dabrowski 1997: figs. 18.19,
20
amulet mould (Bes) Amman citadel Dornemann 1983: fig. 88:5
amulet (Bes) H 152 Hesban Ray 2001: pl. 6.10
amulet (couchant lion)? J* 1054 Madaba Harding 1953a: pl. V:217
wadjet eye Tomb 20 Nebo Saller 1966:194; fig. 8
wadjet eye J* 1055 Madaba Harding 1953a: pl. V:218
wadjet eye MT 399–4/20 Mudayna (Thamad) Daviau/Steiner 2000: fig. 11:9
wadjet eye Balu‘ Worschech 1990: pl. 6B
wadjet eye Tall as-Sa‘idiyya Tubb 1988: fig. 17
pendant 0–21 Amman Koutsoukou 1997: fig. 198
Scarabs and seals

scarab J9372 Amman Eggler/Keel 2006:27; fig. 26
1 Indicates find spot or place of sale.

266 Daviau
Table 1 Artefacts that reflect Egyptian influence (cont.)
Class Item Site Reference

scarab Amman Eggler/Keel 2006:45; fig. 61
scarab Amman Amman Eggler/Keel 2006:45; fig. 621
scarab J 14592 Umm Udayma Eggler/Keel 2006:477: fig. 4
scarab A4.156 Baq‘ah Valley Weinstein 1986: fig. 93:7
scarab A4.156 Ğabal al-Hawayah Eggler/Keel 2006:153: fig. 7
scarab TJ 437=J19354 Tall Jawa Daviau 2002:85–87; Eggler/
Keel 2006:424–425:1
scarab A36 Saḥab Eggler/Keel 2006:265:10
scarab Tomb 20 Nebo Saller 1966:194; fig. 8
scarab J* 1051 Madaba Harding 1953a: pl. V:214
scarab J* 1053 Madada Harding 1953a: pl. V:216
scarab BM Bienkowski 1991:
pl. 156
scarab H 1625 Hesban Hendrix 1994:180; Ray 2001:
pl. 6.24
scarab H 2525 Hesban Hendrix 1994:180
scarab H 720 Hesban Horn 2009: fig. 7.2
scarab U 15 Tall al-‘Umayri Eggler et al. 2002: fig. 1
scarab U 3041 Tall al-‘Umayri Eggler et al. 2002:296
scarab MT979–6/60 Kh. Mudayna Thamad McQuinn 2006:265–267;
Eggler/Keel 2006:124–125
scarab WT 22–2/522 WT-13 Eggler/Keel 2006: 487; fig. 1
scarab WT 256–4/504 WT-13 Eggler/Keel 2006: 487; fig. 2
scarab L87–10 Lehun Homès-Fredericq 1992:

fig. 16.5
scarab DT 23 Dhībân Reed 1964: pl. 80:9
scarab Umm ar-Rasas Eggler/Keel 2006:469; fig. 1
scarab Friedensau Balua‘ Eggler 2003:131=Eggler/Keel
2006:97: fig. 2
scarab JUM 157 Tall al-Mazar Yassine 1984: fig. 58:185
scarab JUM 158 Tall al-Mazar Yassine 1984: fig. 58:186
scarab JUM.288 Tall al-Mazar Yassine 1984: fig. 58:187
scarab J 12679 Tall Dayr ‘Alla Keel/Eggler 2006:393; fig. 2
scarab J 12680 Tall Dayr ‘Alla Keel/Eggler 2006:395; fig. 6
scarab 2810 Tall Dayr ‘Alla Keel/Eggler 2006:403; fig. 22
scarab Sydney Pella Eggler/Keel 2006:233; fig. 70
scarab 923 Busayra Millard 2002: pl. 11.22 =
Eggler/Keel 2006:109; fig. 12
scarab Wadi al-Faydan Eggler/Keel 2006:485; fig. 1
Friedhoh 40
scarab impression U 843 Tall al-‘Umayri Redford 1991 = Eggler/Keel
2006:321:14
seal Sa’d Collection Umm Qays Eggler/Keel 2006:473: fig. 3
seal Coll. de Luynes #223 unknown Homès-Fredericq 1986:
fig. 171
seal YMN01–2A21–113 Khirbat Ya ‘mun Eggler/Keel 2002:141; fig. 8
seal S-29 Amman Koutsoukou 1997: fig. 208
seal J7340 Amman Eggler/Keel 2006:43; fig. 54
seal Khirbat Khilda Eggler/Keel 2006:133; fig. 3
268 Daviau
seal J11937 Saḥab Eggler/Keel 2006:259; fig.1

seal Jalul Eggler/Keel 2006:421; fig. 2
seal 3N22J.9.42 Tall Madaba Eggler/Keel 2006:189;
fig. 10
seal J 13132 Tall Dayr ‘Alla Keel/Eggler 2006:399;
fig. 17
seal T354A.1 Tall as-Sa‘idiyya Eggler/Keel 2006:381;
fig. 29
seal T459.8 Tall as-Sa‘idiyya Eggler/Keel 2006:383;
fig. 34
seal 17 Busayra Millard 2002: pl. 11.17 =
seal 667 Busayra Millard 2002: pl. 11.16 =
seal impression U 5133 Tall al-‘Umayri Eggler et al. 2002: 296; Platt/
Herr 2002:166
seal impression Balu‘ Worschech 1990: fig. 7;
pl. 3B
seal impression Dhībân Mussell 1989: figs. 9, 17, 18
bulla Umm al-Biyara Eggler/Keel 2006:461; fig. 1
monkeys flank plant seal BM 48504 London Bienkowski 1991: pl. 156;
Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 870
monkey on plant seal De Clercq 2512 as-Salt Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 857
monkey on plant seal S. Moussaieff unknown Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 894
monkey on plant seal IM 68.35.185 Jerusalem Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 914
monkey on plant seal IM 73.19.28 Jerusalem Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 951
ram’=s head + monkeys NCBS 885 unknown Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 933
bird on flower U 1749/J*16685 Tall al-‘Umayri Younker et al. 1990: pl. 25
2-winged sun disc seal M 7338 Cairo Bienkowski 1991: pl. 161;
2-winged sun disc seal unknown Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 899
2-winged sun disc seal IM 73.19.40 Jerusalem Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 989
4-winged beetle seal IM 68.35.187 Jerusalem Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 865
4-winged beetle seal unknown Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 891
4-winged beetle seal unknown Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 981

4-winged beetle seal H-637 unknown Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 987
4-winged beetle seal J*1200 Amman Harding 1953b: pl.VI:2;
4-winged beetle bulla U 75 Tall al-‘Umayri Herr 1989:369–374
lotus blossom seal K-54512 unknown Avigad/Sass 1997: no. 909
cylinder seal U 3021 Tall al-‘Umayri Eggler et al. 2002: fig. 44
hieratic scale weight MT 679–5/29 Khirbat al-Mudayna Daviau/Dion 2002a: fig. 3:1
Anthropoid Sarcophagi
sarcophagus J* 2802 Saḥab Albright 1932: pl. 12
sarcophagus Tomb J 3–DO 194 Dhībân Reed 1964: pl. 53:1, 2
sarcophagus Raghdan Palace 174 Amman Yassine 1988: fig. 2, pl. I
sarcophagus Raghdan Palace 173 Amman Yassine 1988: fig. 3, pl. II
sarcophagus Raghdan Palace 175 Amman Yassine 1988: fig. 5, pl. III
sarcophagus Raghdan Palace 176 Amman Yassine 1988: fig. 6, pl. IV
sarcophagus Raghdan Palace frags. Amman Yassine 1988:33
sarcophagus M. 1000 Nebo Saller 1966:289
Atef crowned stone figures/crown style

statue head/knob J* 6806 Amman(?) Abou Assaf 1980: pl. IV;
Head V
statue head/knob Amman ‘Amr 1990: pl. 7A
statue head/knob Amman(?) Aarons 1982: cover
statue head/disc/tall J* 8882 Amman(?) Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. IV;
Head IV
statue head/disc/tall Amman ‘Amr 1990: Pl. 8B
statue head/disc/med. J* 12475 Abu ‘Alanda ‘Amr 1990: Pl. 7B
statue head/broken Beirut 60.30 Amman(?) Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. XI;
Head XX
statue head/squat J* 16739 Amman(?) Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. IV;
Head VI
statue head/squat J* 4767 Amman(?) Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. XI;
Head XIX
statue local clothing J* 12953 H̱ . al-Hajjar Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. I;
Statuette I
statue local clothing J* 1657 Amman Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. III;
Statuette III
270 Daviau
Headless statues
statue shoulder to base J* 8124 Amman Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. VII;
Torso XI
statue fragment Amman Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. VII;
Statuette X
Uncrowned statues
standing male/support J* 11260 ‘Arğān Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. VIII;
Statuette XII; Zayadine 1986:
pl. 136
YaraH-‘Azar J* 1656 Amman Abou Assaf 1980: pl. VI,
Statuette IX; Dornemann
1983: pl. 92:3; Zayadine 1986:
pl. 129
stone head Amman ‘Amr 1990: Pl. 8A
female stone head Amman ‘Amr 1987:pl. I
stone head (?) Abou Assaf 1980: Pl. V;
Head VIII
Atef crowned figurines/crown style

ceramic figurine head/tall Tall Jawa Daviau/Dion 1994:
crown Fig. 2
ceramic figurine head Amman École Biblique 1989:
Fig. 15
ceramic figurine head, Jalul Younker et al. 1996:
flute player Pl. 12
bronze figurine/tall crown Dayr ‘Alla van der Kooij and Ibrahim
1989: pl. 158
bronze peace figurine/ Tall Zar‘a Vieweger/Häser 2008:389
squat crown
Female figurines
figurine WT 35–2/535 WT-13 WT Object Register
figurine WT 86–2/586 WT-13 Daviau 2001: fig. 3
figurine Sekhmet WT 92–2/592 WT-13 WT Object Register

figurine Sekhmet Tall Zar‘a Vieweger/Häser 2008:389
Hathor head on jug MT 2402–9/50 Kh. Mudayna Thamad MT Object Register 2007
Hathor head MT 1884–8/11 Kh. Mudayna Thamad MT Object Register 2006
Other figurines
limestone head WT 230–4/730 WT-13 WT Object Register
monkey figurine J* 1832 Tall Safut Homès-Fredericq 1986:
fig.125
lotus blossom motif

limestone altar MT 394–4/15 Kh. al-Mudayna (WT) Dion/Daviau 2000:42
limestone altar MT 684–5/30 Kh. al-Mudayna (WT) Daviau/Dion 2002b:43;
Daviau 2007: fig. 3; pl. XXI.1
bone inlay 676 Busayra Sedman 2002: pl. 10:18
stone chalice frag WT 229 WT-13 WT Object Register
stone bowl frag WT 118 WT-13 WT Object Register
stone bowl 1053 Busayra Sedman 2002: pl. 10:135
See also headless statue+flower and Yarah-‘Azar, above
Sphinx motif
painting on plaster Tall Dayr ‘Alla van der Kooij/Ibrahim 1989:
fig. 82
Miscellaneous
New Year’s flask US23.12.1 RS 23 (MPP) Younker 1991: fig. 12.122:15
New Year’s flask Lehun Homès-Fredericq 1997:77;
fig. 57
faience chalice 851 Busayra Sedman 2002: pl. 10:24
faience cup/chalice S513/M149A Tall as-Sa‘idiyya Pritchard 1985: fig. 14:21
faience cup with lid S1084/M282 Tall as-Sa‘idiyya Pritchard 1985: fig. 8:22
faience container+lotus MT 3113 Khirbat al-Mudayna MT Object Register 2010
faience juglet MT 3045 Khirbat al-Mudayna MT Object Register 2010
faience vessel fragment 668 Busayra Sedman 2002; pl. 10.25
faience vessel fragment 998 Busayra Sedman 2002; pl. 10.26a+b
cosmetic palette Lehun Homès-Fredericq 1997:77;
fig. 56
272 Daviau
cosmetic palette TJ 122 Tall Jawa Daviau 2002: fig. 2.27:1

alabaster palette 41 Maqabalayn Harding 1950: pl. XV:15
limestone palette 42 Maqabalayn Harding 1950:47
limestone palette 46.304 Saḥab Harding 1948: pl. XXXIV:162
limestone palette 41.917 Amman Harding 1945: pl. XVIII:69
limestone palette 369 Busayra Sedman 2002; pl. 10.137b
steatite palette MT 3170 Khirbat al-Mudayna MT Object Register 2010
cosmetic dish 40 Maqabalayn Harding 1950:pl. XV:14
cosmetic dish B-9 Amman Koutsoukou 1997: fig. 183
bronze kohl stick M-9 Amman Koutsoukou 1997: fig. 209
bronze kohl stick 546 Busayra Sedman 2002: pl. 10.202
2 bronze kohl sticks Maqabalayn Harding 1950: pl. XIV:11, 12
2 bronze kohl sticks Maqabalayn Harding 1950:45
bronze kohl stick JUM57 Tall al-Mazar Yassine1984: fig. 56:167
bronze kohl stick JUM57 Tall al-Mazar Yassine1984:101; fig. 56:171?2
bronze kohl stick JUM57 Tall al-Mazar Yassine1984: 101; fig. 56:172?
glass kohl pot 35 Maqabalayn Harding 1950: pl. XV:11
glass aryballos JUM 38 Tall al-Mazar Yassine 1984: fig. 52:60
glass amphoriskos J* 1306A Amman Harding 1953b:70, pl. VII:42
glass amphoriskos 688 Busayra Sedman 2002: pl. 10.23
glass vessel 36 Maqabalayn Harding 1950: pl. XIII:3
alabaster vessel JUM 181 Tall al Mazar Yassine 1984: fig. 52:61
alabaster vessel frags. J* 1289 Amman Harding 1953b:56
alabaster bowl H 891 Hesban Kotter/Ray 2009: fig.9.10:10
alabaster bowl fragment H 870 Hesban Kotter/Ray 2009: fig.9.10:12
alabaster dish+shell lid H669 Hesban Platt 2009: fig.12.15, 16
alabastron Maqabalayn Harding 1950: pl. XV:13
2 One image appears to be missing; the reference for fig. 56:171 is not in the catalogue, although
the image appears on the plate. Conversely, the image itself is missing for fig. 56:172.
alabastron J* 1288 Amman Harding 1953b:56

alabastron MT 2962 Khirbat al-Mudayna MT Object Register 2010
alabaster juglet frag MT 3103 Khirbat al-Mudayna MT Object Register 2010
alabaster vessel frag. S.36 Busayra Sedman 2002:376
alabaster vessel frag. S.37 Busayra Sedman 2002:376
calcite pyxis MT 3102 Khirbat al-Mudayna MT Object Register 2010
marble vessel 1036 Busayra Sedman 2002: pl. 10.134
bronze situla JUM 52 Tall al Mazar Yassine 1984: fig. 51:58
incense spoon J* 13977 Tall Dayr ‘Alla van der Kooij/Ibrahim 1989:
fig. 98
bronze razor J* 1024 Madaba Harding 1953a:32; pl. V:188
Lambis truncata sebae 620 Tawilan Reese 1995: fig. 10.2
fitting mark on eye of Ammam Bordreuil 1973: fig. 1:9
female head
stone tube + cartouche 675 Busayra Sedman 2002: pl. 10.123a, b
relief impressions of Bes Tall Nimrin Dornemann 1995: figs. 9–10
Jewellery
faience disc bead WT 61–2/561 WT-13 WT Object Register
Raw Materials
Egyptian alabaster Khirbat Mudaybi< G. Mattingly, personal
communication
Snake Cults and Egyptian Military Bases
Kasia Szpakowska
Swansea University
Introduction
The clay uraei found in settlements, military and administrative centers along
the Mediterranean from Libya into the Levant provide a rare opportunity to
further our understanding of ancient Egyptian religious practice at military
sites. Over 700 fragments are known so far, with more being discovered in cur-
rent excavations. The rituals associated with the divine powers represented by
the image of a rearing cobra were an important part of the self-identity and
ethnicity of the Egyptians—important enough for them to take their cult with
them on the road even as far north as Lebanon. But those Egyptians stationed
in the Levant and the deserts were not isolated from the local population. The
variations in style, decoration, or manufacture that can be seen in figurines
from those contexts over time may reflect a fusion of differing sets of ritual
practice, indicating a peaceful co-existence and intermingling between cul-
tures, as well as adaptation to changing needs. The purpose of this paper is to
present an overview of these unique figurines.1
When one thinks of daily religious practice in the New Kingdom, one thinks
of the prevalence of stele, statues, prayers and incantations devoted to the great
gods Amun-Re, Ptah and Osiris, and to a lesser extent the goddesses Hathor,
Sekhmet and Isis. Household cults are represented in settlements by the pres-
ence of ancestor busts, amulets, and votive offerings, but the objects associated
with the religious cults of Egyptians living in fortified complexes—the mnnw,
dmiw, migdols and administrative complexes along the Mediterranean in the
Egyptian Late Bronze Age—particularly those cults that may have taken place
1 This is the type of archaeological evidence that I hope will appeal to John S. Holladay, Jr.:
artifacts humble and handmade, which nevertheless shed that light on Egyptian-Asian inter-
connections at a personal level. Portions of this paper were first presented at the confer-
ence Walls of the Ruler: Fortifications, Police Beats, and Military Checkpoints in Ancient Egypt,
Swansea University, May 22–25 2006. I am grateful to Ellen Morris for helpful comments on
the paper.

Snake Cults And Egyptian Military Bases 275
outside of a temple complex, have been even less comprehensively studied.2

Indeed, scholarship on non-funerary religious rituals and cults of the military
while abroad, whether in ancient times or modern, is limited. The clay cobra
figurines that are now part of a comprehensive study and multi-disciplinary
analysis provide important insights into the spread of religious practice of
Egyptians in military sites in the Levant and within Egypt’s borders.3
Figurines made of clay and shaped like rearing cobras (see Fig. 1) are being
found in archaeological sites in Egypt mainly from Amarna north, within set-
tlements and military and administrative centers along the Mediterranean
from the Libyan border into the Levant. Originally, these were thought to be
a rare phenomenon. So far, 701 of these artifacts have been positively identi-
fied at fourteen sites including: Abydos, Akoris, Amarna, Beth Shean, Haruba,
Kamid el-Loz, Kom Firin, Memphis, Qantir, Sais, Sakkara, Tell Abqa’in, Tell
el-Borg, and Zawayet Umm el-Rakham.
These clay cobras are a phenomenon that began in Egypt, but some were
then carried and created in the Levant as well. Although they all represent
rearing cobras, they vary in specific form and decoration. They have been vari-
ously interpreted as votive offerings, apotropaic devices to ward away night-
mares, divine figures, or as components of spells (Quirke 1992: 116; Ritner 1990,
Spencer 2008: 66; Szpakowska 2003; 2012). Their changing form and style may
suggest the incorporation of local beliefs and practices into Egyptian rituals—
a phenomenon that is rarely visible in the archaeological record.
This analysis of clay cobra figurines forms part of a broader understand-
ing of religious interactions between Egypt and the Mediterranean (specifi-
cally the coastal areas from Libya to the Levant) in the Late Bronze Age. It
helps to shed light on the private religious practices of those Egyptians living
on Egypt’s fringe in military installations, administrative centers, and way sta-
tions, and the influence or participation of local inhabitants in these practices.
Archaeological remains such as these also provide clues about the extent to
which social groups, such as soldiers, craftspeople, women and children who
2 The personal or domestic religious practices of ancient Egyptians are still areas that require
more study. For example there is no entry for Egypt in the section “Religious Practices of
the Individual and Family”, in Johnston’s Religions of the Ancient World (2004). The recent
contributions by Lesko (2008), Ritner (2008), and especially Hoffmeier (2011), are particularly
welcome and demonstrate the importance of exploring these less visible religious practices.
3 Initial research was partially funded by the British Academy. The project now forms a sub-
strand of the Leverhulme Trust funded Ancient Egyptian Demonology Project: Second
Millennium BC at Swansea University.
276 Szpakowska
tend to be marginalized and less visible in scholarly discussions, might have

played a role in the transmission and development of these religious practices.
Indeed, these clay cobra figurines and their associated artifacts may be the
only material manifestation of those ritual practices that have left behind no
textual record. My focus in this paper will be on these ritual practices, because
the religious beliefs that both underlie and are projected through these ritu-
als are necessarily more difficult to discern solely through a study of material
remains.
Physical Details
While over 700 fragments are known so far, that number is sure to rise through
further examination of old site reports and dusty museum storerooms, and as
archaeologists continue their excavations at these sites, especially in the Delta.
Their full publication, including a typology of the artifacts themselves is forth-
coming. A breakage analysis is underway as well, which will include the results
of experiments in fracture patterns of replica figurines recently undertaken at
Swansea University.4
These small figures are shaped in the form of a rearing cobra.5 Most are
made of Nile silt clay of the sub-type local to the area in which they are found;
those from Amarna seem to be Nile silt B, while those from Qantir are made
from Nile silt I.E.01—clay local to the Delta.6 Unlike the more commonly found
fragments of uraeus figures used as decorative elements on a frieze, the clay
snakes generally lack a solar disk on their head, as well as the circular decora-
tions one might expect to find on the front of the cobra hood. Many are deco-
rated on the front, sides, or back with yellow, blue, white, red, or black paint
or slip, suggesting that these would have been visible from all angles. Broken
pieces reveal the black core of incompletely fired clay. This is typical of most of
the figurines, as is the course organic temper, and the remnants of some sort of
gypsum or plaster accretions.
4 The experiments were possible thanks to a Swansea University Bridging the Gaps Grant
(funded by the Engineering and Physical Sciences Research Council) in collaboration with
Rich Johnston (Materials Engineering Centre, Swansea University), and his students Josh
MacMahon, and Alicja Sobczak (Artist, Swansea Metropolitan University).
5 The ten that are complete and whose height is known range from 12 to 18 cm in height. The
Abydos figurines are of unfired mud or clay, and are smaller, ranging from 7 to 10 cm in
height.
6 Personal communication with Edgar Pusch August 16, 2010.
The most striking feature of many of these figurines is the presence of an

elongated bowl, rather resembling a miniature pottery stand. But the specific
features of these cobras vary considerably. Some have a bowl, some do not.
Some have extra protuberances that may indicate additional snakes or what
have in the past been termed “breasts,” some do not. The eyes, heads, and
tails vary in shape, as does the decoration in terms of its presence or absence,
style and colors. While it is too early to make any firm interpretations, at this
stage it appears that they fall into three broad categories: (1) fired clay models
designed to be free-standing figurines, (2) fired clay models that were attached
to the bottom of bowls (“cobra bowls”), and (3) the unfired clay cobras found
at Abydos. At this point, my discussion will focus on those that were either
free-standing or attached to bowls.7 Unfortunately, unless the surviving frag-
ment includes a base, it is difficult if not impossible to confirm whether it was
originally free-standing or whether it was part of a bowl.
Cobra figurines found in settlements such as Amarna have been found
alongside objects traditionally associated with domestic use, such as spindle
whorls, jar sealings, pottery, basket rings, needles, headrests, and clay balls,
while others have been found with amulets, figurines resembling phalluses,
nude women,8 ducks, and quadrupeds. For example, one room of a house in
the workmen’s village of Amarna that had a niche or shelf as a feature, also
contained a plaque of Amun in ram form, a weaving stick, broom, two fiber
ring stands, jar stopper, broom, leather fragments, 5 clay balls (3 with seal
impressions), and a clay cobra (Peet and Woolley 1923: 79–90). In the garri-
son of Beth Shean, excavations in the largely residential southeastern sector
focused on a large room that featured a circular oven as well as a posthole
yielded a number of artifacts suggesting domestic use, including a cooking pot,
pestle, storage jars, arrowhead, horn cores, a faience cylinder seal, pottery zoo-
morphic figurines including a duck or goose head, and the tail of a cobra figu-
rine (Locus 1260 in James et al. 1993: 33–34). From the same Ramesside level,
an area of a room close to the temple area yielded similar artifacts, as well as
parts of female figurines, scarabs, and a cobra torso (Locus 1085 in James et al.
1993: 15).
7 The corpus from Abydos is in many ways distinct from the others, and will be discussed
elsewhere.
8 These are often referred to as “fertility figurines” (Pinch 1993). Recent work by Waraksa
(2009) suggests that similar female figurines may also have been used in spells.
278 Szpakowska
Time and Place
While the research is preliminary, even at this stage patterns and correlations
are evident based on find spots and dating. Included here are the 14 sites that
have yielded fragments of clay cobras that have already been published, in
roughly temporal order.9 In some cases their identification as cobra figurines
has been confirmed through personal observation or photographs, in others
it rests on the judgment of the information logged at the time of excavation.
Amarna. The earliest known examples date to the Amarna period. The older
excavations by Peet, Wooley, Frankfort, Pendlebury and Č erný, together with
the more recent by Kemp10 have revealed 153 fragments throughout Amarna.11
103 can be placed firmly in the category of free-standing figurine, with another
27 likely. A further 21 can be categorized as cobra bowls. These seem to lack
the additional appliqués, and this may end up being an important diagnostic
tool for differentiating the ones that were free-standing from those that were
used as part of bowls. The bowls could have held oil and been lit, used as com-
ponents of apotropaic spells to protect the room or its inhabitants from hos-
tile demonic forces, or possibly used for oil or water divination.12 Because the
earliest and greatest quantity of New Kingdom cobra figurines of the various
sub-types with reliable find spots have come from Amarna, understanding the
function of these will be critical to exploring their meaning in other and in
later contexts. A separate case-study of these is underway.
Sakkara. The context of the three figurines found here is anomalous, as two
were found in the late 18th Dynasty burial of a woman and child, and one in an
unstratified layer (Sowada, Callaghan and Bentley 1999: 13).
Memphis. A total of 45 fragments have been found in the settlement (Kom
Rabi’a), and date from Amarna through Third Intermediate Period contexts
(Giddy 1999).
Kamid el-Loz. 13 were found in the Levantine settlement of Kamid el-Loz,
possibly dating to the late 18th Dynasty. These are part of the evidence for
an Egyptian presence at the likely semi-permanent base known as Kumidi
9 Gurob may now be added to this list (personal communication with Ian Shaw on 8 June
2009).
10 Peet and Woolley (1923); Frankfort and Pendlebury (1933); Pendlebury and Č erný 1951.
For a full bibliography of these Kemp-led excavations, see Stevens (2006). A preliminary
discussion of the figurines can be found in Szpakowska (2003).
11 These include the Central City, Kom el-Nana, Main City, North City, North Suburb, Stone
Village and the Workmen’s Village.
12 Leconamancy is now attested in papyrus fragments from Turin (Demichelis 2003).
during the Amarna Period (Echt 1982: 37–52, pl. 9–12; Morris 2005: 238, n. 81,
citing Ward).
Beth Shean. 29 fragments have been found dating to the 19th and 20th
Dynasties (David 2009; James et al. 1993; Mazar 2011: 176 and 179). Most of these
figures came from the residential sections of the fortified complex.
Haruba. 5 were found in the rooms of the fortified complex at Haruba A-289,
located in the Sinai, dating to the 19th Dynasty (Oren 1980; 1993).
Tell el-Borg. A fragment of a base was found in the fill of this North Sinai for-
tress (Hoffmeier 2011).13 The temper, black core, and gypsum residue is remi-
niscent of those at Amarna, and it bears a striking similarity to the bases of clay
cobras found at Sais.
Qantir. Ramesside levels near the palace have yielded 13 fragments, seven of
which may be parts of cobra bowls.14
Tell Abqa’in. Three fragments, two heads and one base, have been found near
the well area at this fortress, dating to the reign of Ramesses II (Thomas 2011).
Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham. A cobra with an unusual, though still recogniz-
able, shape was found in this fortified complex of Ramesses II on the Libyan
border.15
Kom Firin. 65 cobra fragments were found in a variety of contexts dating to
late New Kingdom to Third Intermediate Period levels in the temple at Kom
Firin (Spencer 2008).
Sais. A total of 90 are now known from Sais, ranging in date from the
Ramesside to Third Intermediate Periods. The cobras at this site include a few
idiosyncratic forms, such as a double-headed snake, which will be discussed in
more detail elsewhere (Wilson 2011).16
Akoris. 274 have been found in the settlement at Akoris, dating from the
Third Intermediate Period to the Late Period (Kawanishi and Tsujimura 2003;
2004; 2005; 2006a; 2006b; Kawanishi, Tsujimura and Hanasaka 2007; Hanasaka
2011).17 The shape of these is more homogenous than at other sites, and differs
from the others as well in terms of the structure of the base, tail, head, and
manufacture.
13 The dating cannot be narrowed down to more than 18th Dynasty or Ramesside Periods,
because the cobra was found in fill, although the Ramesside period seems more likely,
due to its close similarity in fabric and style to the ones at Sais.
14 Aston (1998: 402–3), and personal communication with Edgar Pusch August 2010.
15 Personal communication Steven Snape.
16 See also the preliminary reports at http://www.dur.ac.uk/penelope.wilson/3d2000.html
and http:www.dur.ac.uk/penelope.wilson/4e2012.html.
17 I am grateful to Izumi Takamiya for help with translation.
280 Szpakowska
Abydos. An unusual type of uraei on platforms are known from Abydos.

They are made of unfired clay, and are smaller than those from other sites
(6.4–10 cm in height). The 10 excavated by O’Connor (1967) were found in Third
Intermediate Period temple fill, and are so similar to the 6 unprovenanced,
that it is virtually certain they are all from the same context.18 The torsos of
four of them are inscribed in barely legible cursive hieroglyphs.19 While typo-
logically very different from the fired clay cobra figurines, these may neverthe-
less represent a local manifestation tailored as a response to a specific need,
but based on the same fundamental belief and premise as those first created
centuries before at Amarna.20
The cobra figurines seem to be strikingly absent from Nubian fortresses and
in southern sites in general. While sites such as Askut feature female figurines
similar to those of the New Kingdom that are found in the same archaeological
context as the cobras, as well as other mud and clay animals such as crocodiles
(Smith 2003: 131–33), clay cobra figurines are lacking. Initial investigations sug-
gest that they are also lacking in Middle Kingdom fortresses and settlements.
While no conclusions can yet be drawn on the basis of their currently known
geographical distribution, their temporal span seems to be firmly anchored
within the Late Bronze through Early Iron Ages.
From the numbers that have been found in Egypt, there is no reason to posit
that these artifacts had their origin anywhere other than Egypt. Stylistic dif-
ference may, however, reflect incorporation of local practices and needs with
Egyptian. In some cases where technical analyses have been done (such as on
the examples from Beth Shean), it is clear that although these artefacts were
made from local fabric, the clay was made more useable by the addition of
Egyptian-style coarse organic temper, and were then formed with the use of
Egyptian technology (Glanzman and Fleming 1993). The presence at many
of these sites of potters, workshops and kilns testifies to the Egyptian practice
of bringing their own potters with them, even in the Levant. This production
activity at Beth Shean perhaps reflects another adaptation of the New Kingdom
emphasis on Egyptian self-reliance so eloquently discussed by Ellen Morris
18 Two are currently in the British Museum, while another four are in the National Museum
of Antiquities in Leiden (Raven 2012: 117). These six were acquired as purchases from
Giovanni Anastasi in the mid-1800s.
19 The author has been kindly granted permission to publish these by David O’Connor
and the British Museum.
20 The author has just been made aware of at least four more that have been excavated
at Abydos (depicted in The Cult of Osiris in Abydos Annual Report 12 of the Deutsches
Archäologishes Instiutut, fig. 6, p. 6.), bringing the total to 20.
(2005). However, the analyses of the figurines at other sites, such as at Haruba,
show that some were made of clay found in the Nile Delta. Thus in some cases
at least, Egyptians brought their familiar cult items with them to the bases
where they were stationed.
Preliminary Observations Regarding Use
That a clay cobra figurine could be used as a piece of ritual equipment is cer-
tain. Surviving spells designed to protect household space and their sleeping
occupants from the hostile advances of demonic entities specifically prescribe
the use of uraei made of clay (Szpakowska 2012). While this offers one explana-
tion for their use in homes, whether that home was in an Egyptian city such
as Amarna, or afield in a semi-permanent garrison such as Kamid el-Loz, it is
unlikely to be the sole use. Nor does it fully explain why they would be found
around temples or granaries. A more complete interpretation of their function
and even who used them must be based on a strict contextual analysis. The
specific contexts in which they have been found include domestic quarters in
residential units, work-places, archives, quarries, industrial areas, around tem-
ples (including storerooms), food-oriented areas, granaries, and the single case
of a burial at Sakkara.21 While their presence at pottery workshops and even
in bakeries22 is obviously explained as places associated with their manufac-
ture, the others were used as sacred and ritual equipment in cults performed
on behalf of the living.23 Only two are known to have had use as grave goods,
and even this use was likely secondary. These were likely included in the burial
with the hopes that they would continue their protective function on behalf of
their now deceased owner in the duat.
So far, the majority of the freestanding cobras and bowls have been found
in contexts associated with living quarters, whether these were in towns in
the Nile Valley, military installations in the Delta, or at the fringes of areas
within the Egyptian sphere of influence. This raises questions regarding their
primary users, as men were not the only inhabitants of these sites. Women
and children may have been active participants or even the main agents of the
21 Two of the Sakkara examples were found in a single burial (Sowada, Callaghan and
Bentley 1999: 13).
22 The clay shows signs of having been fired at a low temperature, one that could even be
reached by baking kilns.
23 I am using here the terminology suggested by Whitehouse (1996) in her typology of ritual
assemblages.
282 Szpakowska
a ssociated rituals. It seems clear that the figurines cannot solely be associated
with domestic religion, if we understand “domestic” to refer to practices that
take place within the physical locus of the home, nor to “household” or “fam-
ily” religion (associated specifically with members of the nuclear family as well
as dependents, including servants), nor with a single social unit, such as the
military. It might be safest for the moment to suggest that most of the cobra
figurines should be associated with Jonathan Smith’s (2003) concept of the reli-
gion of “here”, that is the primary places of human occupation (Stowers 2008),
whether they be villages, forts or administrative outposts, versus the religion
of “there,” temples and locales that are specifically designated as the more per-
manent residences of supernatural entities. A religion of the “here” is usually
manifested through material remains only, and thus is an aspect of religious
practice in Egypt that has been unexplored until recently (Sweeney 2009).
The clay cobras have been termed votive offerings,24 and have been thought
to represent devotions to a particular goddess, but so far this has not been
based on any systematic approach. The primary need is to first create an icon-
ographical typology of the clay cobras based on individual features, symbols,
attributes, posture, material, decoration, colors, as well as their specific archae-
ological contexts and position relative to associated finds. In his seminal work
on the iconography of Syro-Palestinian goddesses, Cornelius (1994; but see in
particular 2008: 17) has emphasized the importance of examining the “total
iconography” when attempting to identify an image with a specific deity, rather
than a single attribute. It is only in this way that an attempt may be made to
determine what the figurines represented to the ancient Egyptians. But while
Cornelius had at his disposal a number of visual representations that were
named, the study of cobra figurines has been hampered by the fact that most of
the figures currently known to the author do not include a name, title, epithet,
or indeed any inscription at all. The inscriptions on the idiosyncratic Abydos
examples may shed light on their purpose at that site. It is hoped that once a
total iconographical typology is complete, these three-dimensional figures can
be identified with two-dimensional representations on stele and reliefs, such
as those discussed below that do provide more textual information.
Perhaps the most striking diagnostic features of the cobra figurines are the
protuberances or appliqués that are found on the front of many of them. Clues
as to what these were meant to represent can be found in other contemporary
sources. A Ramesside ostracon from Deir el-Medina now in the Louvre shows
24 A number of the figurines clearly show a cobra on a platform, suggesting that like many
other votive offerings, rather than directly representing a deity and therefore consisting
of the actual object of worship, they could represent the cult statues which themselves
provide a space for the essence of a deity to inhabit (Waraksa 2009: 5).
the snake goddess, named Meretseger (Andreu 2002: 280, inventory number
E 25301), in front of an offering table wearing a headdress remarkably similar
to the ones reconstructed by Echt based on two of the Kamid el-Loz snakes
(Echt 1982: 12.1), though other figurines bear different styles of headdresses
that have yet to be identified. Other stelae depict larger cobras co-joined with
either two snakes, or a cobra and vulture,25 which could also be what some
of the paired protuberances are meant to represent. The Petrie Museum now
houses a Theban stela that forms a very close parallel to the figurines depicting
a large cobra with two slimmer ones arising from its “chest” in front of an offer-
ing table (see Fig. 2) (Petrie Museum UC 14439, as noted by Stevens 2003: 162).
I am not the first to suggest that the figurines are three-dimensional compact
representations of these two-dimensional scenes. This was noted also by Echt
in his work on the Kamid el-Loz cobras, though he focused on the iconography
of elite representations comprising individuals standing or kneeling before a
rearing cobra. He noted that this phenomenon is a feature that begins in early
18th Dynasty Egypt, and is not seen before (Echt 1982: 47). Likewise, the stele
mentioned here and the cobra figurines are a New Kingdom development; the
evidence for the clay uraei further narrows this down specifically to Amarna as
an initial point of development.
The stele that I have shown are mostly identified as Meretseger, a goddess
associated with the inhospitable desert regions, whose power and mercy were
celebrated in prayers, particularly those found in the Theban area. Ironically, it
is precisely the southern region of Egypt where we have not yet found the clay
cobra figurines. However, Meretseger is often combined with the harvest god-
dess Renenutet, and again, a stela from the Louvre makes this point admirably
and will be discussed further below. Other goddesses represented as cobras
include Wadjet, the goddess of the Delta, though so far her association with
the figures is based solely on her visual representation as a cobra and because
of the prevalence of the figurines in the Delta region. Neith is another possibil-
ity, as her emblem appears on the inside of the hood of many uraei representa-
tions as well as the hoods of those used in friezes. She is associated with cults
in the Delta, the region where many of the Egyptian clay cobras have been
found. Indeed one of her main centers was Sais. In addition, her warrior nature
makes her a reasonable candidate. In the 20th Dynasty level of Beth Shean an
ostracon was found with a cobra and the text pḏt, which means “bow” (Morris
2005: 760), linking the concept of the snake with war. One of the foreign d eities
who was welcomed and worshipped in Ramesside Egypt was that of Anat,
another goddess who could be visually represented as both menacing and
25 For example, the stela of Neferabu (Andreu 2002: 279, Turin Museum inventory catalogue
number 1593 = CGT 50058).
284 Szpakowska
armed (though note that Astarte can also appear in this way) (Cornelius 2008:
89–90). In Beth Shean, we also have evidence of the Egyptian worship of Anat
in the form of a named stele. Scholars have suggested that here the clay cobras
represented an amalgamation of the concept of menacing/armed goddess,
epitomized by Neith or a Syro-Palestinian goddess. It has been suggested that
the influence of Syro-Palestinian beliefs is manifested in three snakes from
Beth Shean whose protuberances originate from above, rather than below, and
it has been suggested that they represent breasts rather than miniature snakes
(David 2009). It was thought that this could relate to the function of a god-
dess as also a divine or royal nursemaid, or could be the result of a Levantine
reworking of the cobra figurine to emphasize that it was indeed the avatar of a
goddess. However, enough exemplars of cobras with chest protuberances from
sites within Egypt (including Memphis and Amarna) have now been examined
that this theory seems less likely.26 Protuberances that likely represent smaller
cobras can be found on many parts of the main cobra figure, including the top,
middle, or bottom of the torso, and range in number from one to three. The
choice seems to be idiosyncratic.
Other strong candidates for association with these figures are the agricul-
tural goddess Renenutet and the more generic Weret Hekau “Great of Magic.”
This combination of discreet goddesses sharing iconography is well illustrated
in the relief of the royal cup-bearer Tja-wy published by Simpson (1973). The
scene in the second register shows Tja-wy in the role of priest offering incense
and offerings to a statue of a cobra goddess in a shrine. The accompanying
texts read: “Measuring in full. How well filled is the divine offering of the god-
dess! May she make the good ruler healthy and give him to us forever, says
the royal cup-bearer, the chief of the priests of Weret-Hekau, Tja-wy, the vin-
dicated” (Simpson 1973: 72). Vertically over the field-hands we read: “Coming
with garlands27 for Weret-Hekau by the royal cup-bearer, the chief of priests
Tja-wy. May Meres[ger?] praise you [. . . . . . . . . . . .] standing inside it and view-
ing [. . . . . .].” However, scenes like this also have the deity labeled as Renenutet.28
The full name of the donor is Si-Renenutet, called Tja-wy, and thus again we
have an amalgamation of Meretseger with The Goddess of the Harvest, who is
also the Great of Magic.
26 For example, from Memphis see EES 2305 (Giddy 1999), or from Amarna ÄM 28754 now
in the Ägyptisches Museum und Papyrussammlung in Berlin.
27 Many of the figures in relief and figurine are depicted wearing garlands.
28 See, for example, the scene in the tomb of Nebamun TT90, and the Deir el-Medina lintel
showing the named cult statue of Renenutet worshipped by two men (Andreu 2002: 64,
inventory number E 14388).
Many of the sites where the clay cobras were found, including military
ones, contained granaries of some kind or another. The need for food and
the importance of grain was accentuated when abroad. It is also reasonable
to expect that the Egyptians brought their religious practices with them and
continued to engage in their associated rituals. They would have held many of
the same festivals, including the all-important Harvest Festival of Renenutet,
where icons of the goddess were covered in garlands. While statues of the god-
dess in Egypt would be garlanded by priests, clay renderings might have been
brought to the main shrine, or decorated in household cultic installations (the
tomb scenes seem to show outdoor private versions of this). A few of the clay
cobra figurines are decorated with the representation of garlands (see Fig. 3).29
The white gypsum or plaster found on so many of the figurines may indicate
their placement in a plastered household shrine. Although it did not feature
a cobra, an earlier example of this type of cult installation has been found at
Middle Kingdom Askut (Smith 2003: 127–29). While Tja-wy is shown on his
stela censing and libating a statue with a heap of offerings in front, on a smaller
scale an individual could provide an offering to the goddess on her attached
tray or cup (in the case of those that had them), or even use it for censing, in
which case we should find evidence for this upon closer examination.
Identification with a specific deity, whether Meretseger, Renenutet, or
Wadjet, will not be possible until the iconographic analysis is complete. In
terms of the function of the artifacts, however, there is textual evidence that
can provide clues, and these point to protection of the home and its inhabit-
ants, or to the continued abundance of provisions. Spells abound to keep away
snakes and scorpions, and to cure their bites, but contrary to what we might
intuitively expect, they do not usually feature the use of objects shaped like
snakes. Elsewhere I have discussed spells that were used to protect the home
and to keep demons of the dark, such as nightmares, away from individuals
(Szpakowska 2003; 2010). Two of these spells specifically proscribe the use of
four clay uraei and combine the energy of snakes with the deadly weapon of
fire, a combination that was powerful enough to protect the pharaoh as his
uraeus. The cobra represents the fiery power of the sun, illuminating the night,
and effectively destroying the enemies of royal and non-royal alike. The fact
that the non-elite cobras are made of clay, as opposed to more costly materials
such as gold or precious jewels, should not lead us to think that their power
was any less potent, nor that they were cheap substitutes for statuettes of more
exotic material. Perhaps, as in the religious cults of the Edo of Nigeria, artifacts
were created specifically from this substance, because their source came from
the nexus of earth and water (Ben-Amos 1994: 129).
29 For example from Sais S014 and from Amarna ÄM 28756.
286 Szpakowska
By the New Kingdom, the rearing cobra was the usual determinative for the
name of most goddesses in general (Shalomi-Hen 2000; 2006). It is probable
that the figurines were used as three-dimensional versions of a determinative
that represents the goddess. Depending on the circumstances, the clay cobra
could be used as a conduit to channel the power of a specific goddess, and in
another circumstance, the same object could be used as a powerful protec-
tive icon on its own. We do not need to look for a one size fits all answer. The
Egyptians were masters at keeping concepts fluid. Just as it is futile to attempt
to encapsulate the nature of an Egyptian deity within a single icon, it may be
inappropriate to restrict the function of this artifact to a single purpose, or to
identify it with a single deity.
Finally, it should come as no surprise that figurines occur at military sites.
Religion was always an integral part of the lives of the inhabitants of the for-
tresses that protected Egypt’s borders. Along with their bows and spears, stelae
and statues, the Egyptians, wherever they lived, made sure that they had ready
access to religious icons that would help in the fight against enemies, both tan-
gible and intangible, and to allow them to effectively petition their deities. The
presence of state-gods, such as Amun-Re and Hathor, is better known, as they
were prominently displayed via texts, stelae, statues, and temples, and served
at least in part as constant reminders of the unabated power of the Egyptian
pharaoh. But the smooth functioning of everyday life for Egyptians living both
within Egypt and abroad also depended on ritual practices associated with
other less grandiose deities. In the New Kingdom, those deities included ones
whose essence could be embodied in a simple little clay figure of a rearing
snake. It is becoming increasingly clear that the clay cobras were an important
part of the ritual expression of New Kingdom Egyptians living farther north,
and their associated cults were an important part of the self-identity and “eth-
nic expression” (Smith 2003: 124) of the Egyptians. Easily transportable and
simple enough to have been manufactured locally when necessary, the power
of the goddess was essential enough for Egyptians to take her cult with them
on the road across the deserts even as far as Libya and Kamid el-Loz.
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290 Szpakowska
Figure 1 Complete clay cobra figurine from Amarna ÄM 28759

(© Ägyptisches Museum und Papyrussammlung).
Figure 2
Theban stela of Meretseger UC14439
(© Petrie Museum of Egyptian
Archaeology, UCL).
Figure 3 Clay cobra fragment from Amarna ÄM 28756 (© Ägyptisches

Museum und Papyrussammlung).
Anthropoid Clay Coffins of the Late Bronze Age
to Early Iron Age in Egypt and the Near East:
A Re-Evaluation of the Evidence from Tell
El-Yahudiya
Mary-Ann Pouls Wegner

It is a great pleasure to dedicate this study to my colleague Jack Holladay. Since

I first encountered him while a graduate student in Eliezar Oren’s seminar on
the Hyksos at the University of Pennsylvania, Jack’s passion, analytical skill,
and grasp of the archaeological evidence have distinguished him in my esti-
mation. Arriving as a new assistant professor at the University of Toronto a
short time later, I had the good fortune to land in a neighboring office on the
fourth floor of Bancroft Hall. Jack has always been a most generous mentor and
colleague, sharing insights about the Egyptian-Near Eastern connections that
fuel his academic research, serving as sounding-board for my own research
projects, and offering strategies for carrying out fieldwork and navigating the
Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations. We have served on many
doctoral dissertation and examination committees together, settings in which
his intelligence and methodological rigor shine alongside his fundamental
kindness and concern for students. Beyond being a formidable academic, Jack
is also an exemplary human being. I hope that this study, which grapples with
one intriguing aspect of material culture that has direct bearing on cultural
interconnections and continues a conversation first begun many years ago,
will serve to honor his multifaceted contributions to the field.
Interpreting Anthropoid Clay Coffins: A Contextual Approach
Anthropoid coffins made of fired clay have been recovered from mortuary
contexts dating to the period between the 15th–12th centuries BC in Syro-
Palestine, Egypt, and Nubia.1 A number of conflicting interpretations of the
1 The most comprehensive Egyptological studies of anthropoid clay coffins to date are those of
Sabbahy Kuchman (Kuchman 1977–78; Sabbahy Kuchman 2009) and Cotelle-Michel (2004),
which provide useful compendia of known examples.

Anthropoid Clay Coffins of the Late Bronze Age 293
ethnic and social identities of the individuals with whom the coffins were asso-
ciated have been proposed. Yassine suggests that some of the clay coffin buri-
als in Syro-Palestinian sites were those of local elites in regular contact with
Egyptians (Yassine 1988: 38–40; Cotelle-Michel 2004: 77). Oren has argued that
the ‘grotesque’ coffins, a subset of the corpus which features highly stylized
facial characteristics,2 represent a component of the Sea Peoples who figured
so prominently in the history of the Near East in this period (Oren 1973: 135–38;
T. Dothan and M. Dothan 1992: 59; Morris 2005: 761). A significant number of
scholars have suggested that the more ‘naturalistic’ anthropoid clay coffins
reflect traditional Egyptian burial customs and were associated with the inter-
ment of Egyptians (Oren 1973: 142–46; Kuchman 1977–78: 12, 20; Mazar 1990:
285; Gonen 1992: 28–29; James, McGovern and Bonn 1993: 239; Bloch-Smith
2002: 125; Galal and Aston 2003; Killebrew 2005: 65, 67; von Lieven 2006: 103;
Sabbahy Kuchman 2009: 9). Based upon the latter perspective, the individu-
als buried in anthropoid clay coffins in Syro-Palestinian and Nubian sites are
understood to have been Egyptian administrative and military personnel and
their family members. The presence of such Egyptians, drawn from the ranks
of the elite as well as from non-elite sectors of the expeditionary forces, was
uncontestably integral to New Kingdom Egyptian imperial activity in Nubia
and in Syro-Palestine during the Late Bronze II to Early Iron Age. Whether the
anthropoid clay coffins were associated with burials of such individuals, how-
ever, is a complex question.
Examination of the full range of archaeological data and material culture
associated with the contexts in which anthropoid coffins occur raises a num-
ber of problems with the view of these interments as being consistent with
standard New Kingdom Egyptian burial practices. The present study under-
takes a contextual analysis of the adult burials featuring anthropoid clay
coffins at Tell el-Yahudiya datable to the period between the 15th–12th cen-
turies BC. Burials of infants and children that utilized ceramic containers,
which occur in many periods and have a wide distribution in Egypt and the
Near East, are not considered explicitly herein. This analysis reveals consis-
tent differences between adult burials in anthropoid coffins made of fired clay
and contemporary adult burials found in Egypt that featured anthropoid cof-
fins made of other materials. Comparison of the archaeological evidence from
Tell el-Yahudiya with contemporary evidence from the Syro-Palestinian sites
2 Oren (1973: 133–35) and Dothan (2008: 95) discuss the division of anthropoid clay coffins
into ‘naturalistic’ and ‘grotesque’ types. The typology is problematic because it is based on
subjective criteria, and also because a simple dichotomy does not adequately represent the
spectrum of morphological variation present in the corpus.
294 Pouls Wegner
of Beth Shean and Deir el-Balah reveals a number of shared traits in material
culture assemblages from these sites, and supports the interpretation of the
population that utilized the coffins as non-Egyptian in character. The results
of a systematic examination of the associated contextual data are consistent
with the interpretation of anthropoid clay coffins of the 15th–12th centuries BC
as a category of artifacts that reflects the emulation of Egyptian elite culture as
outlined in Higginbotham’s innovative study (2000: 15).
Anthropoid Coffins in Egypt
There is little doubt that the anthropoid coffin form was a development indig-
enous to Egypt. The developmental sequence seems to begin with the applica-
tion of plaster-soaked linen directly to the surface of the face of the deceased
during the Old Kingdom (Ikram and Dodson 1998: 111). Prior to the utilization
of desiccation techniques associated with mummification processes, plaster
was applied and molded to preserve an idealized visage while the untreated
flesh decayed. As Ikram and Dodson note, the effect of the plaster shell, which
could extend over the entire body or be limited to the head, was to transform
the physical remains into a statue, enabling it to function as an enduring rest-
ing place for the ka or spirit (Ikram and Dodson 1998: 110, 155–56). At the end
of the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period in Egypt, corresponding to
EB IV/MB I in the Near East, clay funerary masks with facial features outlined
with black and white paint occur (Dunand and Lichtenberg 2006: 15). In the
subsequent phases of the Middle Bronze Age, the Egyptians adopted carton-
nage, a composite made from layers of gypsum plaster (Lucas 1926: 9; Leach
and Tait 2000: 243)3 and linen, as the main material employed for funerary
mask construction. Masks that covered the whole head or just the face were
eventually superseded by full-body anthropomorphic coffins, made of wood
or cartonnage, which contained the mummified remains of a single individual
(Ikram and Dodson 1998: 166–75; Miniaci 2011: 16–35, 152.). Bourriau has linked
the development and spread of the anthropoid coffin form to the diffusion of
embalming practice and the associated mummification rituals from the elites
of the capital city Itj-tawy (located near Lisht in the Fayum region) to other
parts of Egypt (Bourriau 2001; Miniaci 2011: 8).
3 The identification of what Lucas refers to as “whiting” or “chalk,” which was combined with
animal-based glue to make the cartonnage plaster, as gypsum seems certain from the chemi-
cal analysis of 53 Middle Kingdom mummy masks from Mirgissa, which confirmed that all
were composed of calcium sulphate (Rigault-Déon 2012).
Other elements of Egyptian material culture with mortuary functions may

also have been related to the development of the anthropoid clay coffin. Shabti
figurines represent one artifact category with clear parallels to the pottery cof-
fins (Schneider 1977: 246). From the Middle Bronze Age into the early phases of
the Late Bronze Age, shabtis represented the deceased as a mummy and com-
monly featured long tripartite wigs with two lappets hanging frontally on the
chest while the main mass of hair extended down the back. Artificial beards
could adorn the chins of the figures, and arms, folded across the chest and over-
lapping at the wrist, were modelled on the torsos. The hands were sometimes
shown outside the wrappings, with clenched fists that could hold implements
of various kinds depicted in paint or relief. In the early 18th Dynasty, shabtis
often occurred singly in mortuary contexts. They display significant variability
in form and material, and were sometimes made of fired clay.4 These character-
istics are also shared by the ‘naturalistic’ anthropoid clay coffins, although the
coffins are clearly larger in scale. Pottery shabtis were produced as early as the
17th Dynasty in Egypt.5 An anthropoid shabti case made of ‘mud’ is also known
from the 17th/18th Dynasty horizon.6 It is possible that relatively small, portable
shabti figurines were carried to Nubia and Syro-Palestine as trade commodities
or personal effects belonging to Egyptians working abroad as administrators,
military personnel, or labourers during the Late Bronze Age. Such shabtis could
have served as models for the manufacture of anthropoid clay coffins by local
artisans,7 who had no direct contact with standard Egyptian coffins and who
resided in locations far removed from the Egyptian workshops that produced
those commodities. Schneider’s extensive study indicates that the shift from
single, carefully crafted shabti figures that represented the deceased and/or
comprised a substitute for the deceased in the Middle Kingdom, to the concep-
tualization of the figurines as depersonalized members of a large gang or group,
signaled a change in the function of the figurines around the beginning of the
4 Schneider (1977: 233–34) mentions that clay replaced wood and stone as the main mate-
rial used for shabti manufacture by the end of the New Kingdom. Published 18th Dynasty
examples of clay shabti figurines include UC 39699–39700 (Petrie 1935: nos. 58–9, pls. 8, 16,
28), and UC 39701 (Petrie 1935: no. 60, pls. 8,16, 28); UC 39713 (Petrie 1935: no. 78, pls. 9, 19, 29);
UC 39714 (Petrie 1935: no. 79, pls. 9, 20, 29).
5 Recent fieldwork at Drah abu el-Nag’a has produced examples of pottery ushabtis (Galán
2012).
6 M MA 14.10.10a–c, from Tomb CC43 at el-Asasif in Western Thebes. The case contained
wooden ‘tent-peg’ style shabtis characteristic of the Second Intermediate Period.
7 The pottery coffins from Beth Shean and Deir el-Balah were made from locally obtained clay
sources, and Dothan has argued that they were produced by Syro-Palestinian artisans (2008:
94–95). On the manufacturing process, see also Oren (1973: 133).
296 Pouls Wegner
19th Dynasty (Schneider 1977: 261). The inclusion of the pendant lotus blossom
motif on the forehead of Ramesside anthropoid coffins, a feature observed on
clay examples (Oren 1973: 134; Dothan 2008: 32; Dothan and Brandl 2010: 10),
as well as those made of cartonnage and wood, but which does not occur on
shabtis of that period, suggests that the producers of anthropoid clay coffins
kept pace with developments in Egyptian coffin iconography.
Possible prototypes for the ‘grotesque’ form of anthropoid clay coffins are
more difficult to identify in the Egyptian context. One intriguing line of inquiry
is the potential connection between ceramic jars with applied figural elements
and the much larger pottery coffins with similar applied components. There
are several known examples of shouldered pottery jars with applied human
arms known from later Middle Kingdom contexts in Egypt (Zitman 2010: 343
and fig. 20.5; Seidlmayer 1990: 351). Bourriau (1987: 86) notes that mold-made
frontal images depicting the face of the goddess Hathor were applied to large
storage jars in Egypt as early as the 18th Dynasty. Partly contemporary in her
view, but with a much longer span of use that extends well into the Ptolemaic
Period, are ‘Bes-jars:’ restricted ceramic vessels with individual facial features
(including eyes, a broad nose, and lips defining an open mouth) applied as
separate clay elements to their surfaces to create representations that resem-
ble depictions of the god Bes (Bourriau 1987: 86).8 This jar type can also feature
a mane or feathered headdress, beard, and protruding tongue, as well as arms
bent at the elbow and hands with clenched fists. The inclusion of Bes images
on artifacts associated with vulnerable individuals at liminal points of transi-
tion, such as infants and new mothers, sleepers, and the dead, extended to
mortuary equipment of the Late Bronze and Iron Age. The high degree of vari-
ability that resulted from the technique of applying individual elements of the
face separately prior to firing, as well as the exaggeration of facial features that
is a hallmark of the Bes-jars, parallel these characteristics of the ‘grotesque’
style anthropoid clay coffins.
While the development and significance of the ‘grotesque’ type coffins
requires further investigation, it is clear that there is a marked iconographic dif-
ference between the caricatured features exhibited by many examples of this
type and the idealized, serene countenances of the fully ‘naturalistic’ type of
pottery coffins. As Oren has noted, different production processes led to the
morphological differences between the types: the ‘naturalistic’ coffins had faces
that were mold-made and then applied in one piece to the coffin surface, while
the features of the ‘grotesque’ coffins were applied as individual, separate com-
ponents (Oren 1973: 133–35; Kuchman 1977–78: 15; Sabbahy Kuchman 2009: 12).
8 Bes-pots had a much longer span of use than did the jars decorated with Hathoric elements,
and were produced well into the Iron Age (Aston and Aston 2003).
However, while these manufacturing techniques account for some of the

observed differences between the coffin types, they do not explain the r easons
for those differences; if replicating the facial features of Late Bronze Age Egyptian
anthropoid coffins made of wood and cartonnage were important to the indi-
viduals who utilized pottery coffins, then techniques that ensured conformity
to the standard features of elite Egyptian coffins of this period would have been
adopted. The ‘grotesque’ type pottery coffins diverge from those standards, a
fact that suggests either ignorance of them (unlikely, given the contemporary
production and utilization of ‘naturalistic’ coffins that replicate those features),
or a deliberate departure. If the latter interpretation is correct, the choice of this
coffin type may relate directly to the identity of their owners and to the aspects
of their social, political, or economic status that they sought to display through
the use of this artifact type. Divergence from individual self-presentation as
fully ‘Egyptian’, to which the ‘grotesque’ style coffins attest, may also relate to
the development of regional traditions in locations peripheral to the core of the
empire. Additional research into this phenomenon therefore has the potential
to shed light on the relationship between the inhabitants of the Late Bronze
Age Egyptian garrisons in Syro-Palestine and the Egyptian state.
Anthropoid Clay Coffins from Tell el-Yahudiya
Excavations at the site of Tell el-Yahudiya in the eastern Nile Delta produced a
significant number of anthropoid clay coffins of adults datable to the period
under consideration. The site was excavated in the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries, and it is possible that not all of the extant data relating to
fragmentary or incomplete examples was documented. Tell el-Yahudiya occu-
pied a strategic position on the Pelusiac distributary of the Nile, controlling
access to the routes through the Wadi Tumilat that linked Memphis and the
Nile valley to Sinai and southern Syro-Palestine. Petrie, who carried out sys-
tematic excavations on the tell, interpreted its main architectural feature as a
fortification of Second Intermediate Period date (1906: 8–10). Disturbed graves
inside and around this feature, which he characterized as ‘Hyksos,’ parallel set-
tlement and mortuary material from Tell el-Dab’a and Tell el-Maskhuta (Bietak
1987; Forstner-Müller 2010; Schiestl 2002; Holladay 1982; Holladay 1999: 787),
and exhibit clear connections with the MB II cultures of Syro-Palestine, includ-
ing the presence of Tell-el-Yahudiya Ware juglets (Petrie 1906: pls. VII, VIII,
VIIIA) and toggle pins (Petrie 1906: 12–13, pl. VI).9 Five of the graves contained
9 The orientation and positioning of the deceased in some of the graves also differs from
Egyptian practice, as Petrie noted (1906: 12, pl. XII).
298 Pouls Wegner
scarabs inscribed with the names of known Hyksos rulers (Petrie 1906: 10,
pls. VII and VIII),10 providing a basis for dating the associated ceramic material.
Along with the Second Intermediate Period burials, the cemetery adja-
cent to the tell also contained burials that Petrie assigned to the 18th Dynasty,
which did not feature the mud-brick vaults of the earlier tombs (Petrie 1906:
16). Analysis of the ceramic material has confirmed the continuity of occu-
pation at the site into the Late Bronze Age (Aston 2003: 137–38, 140–42). As
no map of the excavated area showing the precise location of the individual
tombs was included in the report, it is not possible to evaluate the spatial
organization of the cemetery, but Petrie did not note any distinct patterning
in the location of these later tombs. Among the interments of 18th Dynasty
date that Petrie excavated in the cemetery immediately east of the tell was
the beautifully decorated anthropoid clay coffin of Men (Petrie 1906: 16,
pls. XIV, XV; Cotelle-Michel 2004: II-B1–1; Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire
de Bruxelles E4348). The coffin lid had been “smashed by plunderers” but was
reconstructed in the field (Petrie 1906: 17). The excavation report provides no
information about any human remains that may have been associated with
the coffin. Petrie did note that the coffin was oriented with head to the north-
west and that associated with it he found two pottery vessels, one of which
he described as being similar to the jar with painted black horizontal bands
found in Tomb 404 (1906: 16, pl. XIID).11 Three pieces of ivory inlay decorated
with incised lines and circle-dot patterns were found in the interior of the cof-
fin and likely derive from an inlaid wooden box or chest that had been placed
inside the coffin at the time of the original interment (Petrie 1906: 16, pl. XIID).
Despite the unsatisfactory recording of information regarding the archae-
ological context of the anthropoid clay coffin of Men from Tell el-Yahudiya,
some relevant points can be made regarding the artifactual assemblage associ-
ated with the interment. The pottery vessel referenced in the excavation report
dates the burial to the 18th Dynasty. The deposition of an inlaid box inside the
coffin, if that was in fact the artifact’s primary context, is unusual. The coffin
itself also presents anomalous features. While its banded decoration is par-
alleled in the ‘white type’ anthropoid coffins usually made of wood, carton-
nage or stone that were utilized from the early 18th Dynasty through the end
of the reign of Thutmose III (Ikram and Dodson 1998: 210), as well as the wood
or cartonnage coffins with black or yellow background that became com-
mon in the mid-18th Dynasty, the inscriptions themselves diverge from the
10 Tufnell (1978) provides an analysis of this corpus of scarabs.

11 The jar indicated is of a well-attested type corresponding to Holthoer’s JO1 category (1977,
pl. 35), often with black bands of painted decoration at the neck and midpoint of the ves-
sel, of 18th Dynasty date. See also Aston (2003).
known examples of such coffins in several respects. Unlike the formulae that
regularly occur on the transverse bands of the ‘white’ and ‘black’ type coffins,
which refer to the deceased as “a revered one” before the gods (Barwik 1999),
the transverse bands on the coffin of Men do not use this epithet. Instead, the
inscriptions employ the phrase “true of voice/justified before” specific gods, an
unusual construction in this context. The text also features uncommon and
inconsistent writings of the epithet itself, in addition to other irregularities
of orthography and paleography.12 In these respects the texts on Men’s coffin
diverge from those that occur on the ‘yellow’ type anthropoid coffins of the
mid-18th Dynasty and later,13 which provide the closest iconographic parallels
to the Tell el-Yahudiya coffin.14 Specific iconographic elements also distinguish
the coffin of Men from other 18th Dynasty anthropoid coffins. The lappets of
the wig terminate in the uppermost transverse band of decoration. Most strik-
ing of all is the absence of a broad wesekh-collar from the coffin’s decorative
program. The presence of a handle attached just below the beard on the coffin
lid, which presumably allowed the lid to be fitted into place after the body was
placed inside, is not sufficient to explain this omission, since ample space for
the depiction of a collar remains on either side of the handle. The broad col-
lar was symbolically associated with kingship, mummification, and rebirth; it
formed an ubiquitous element of the decorative program of anthropoid cof-
fins and of the masks that preceded them in the developmental history of the
form in Egypt (Handoussa 1981: 143–50; Miniaci 2011: 31–32). Thus, beyond the
superficial similarities of the clay coffin of Men to other anthropoid coffins
of the mid-18th Dynasty, it presents significant differences from other known
anthropoid coffins of that date.
Clay coffins from the site that diverge even more radically from the stan-
dard morphological characteristics seen in contemporary anthropoid cof-
fins constructed from wood and cartonnage can be dated to the 18th Dynasty
based upon associated ceramic material. Petrie recorded a ‘grotesque-style’
12 Petrie also noted that the texts were “blundered” (1906: 17). While anomalies in the coffin
inscriptions could be a result of regional variation or modes of production distinct from
those at the contemporary centers of mortuary culture in Thebes, the Fayum, and the
Memphite area, the conjunction of these inscriptional anomalies with the other distinc-
tive features of the coffin of Men would seem to mark divergence from the corpus of elite
18th Dynasty anthropoid coffins.
13 The ‘yellow’ type anthropoid coffins developed during the later part of the reign of
Amenhotep III (Ikram and Dodson 1998: 214).
14 For example, the coffin of Teti from Deir el-Medina, dated to the mid-late 18th Dynasty
(Brooklyn Museum 37.14Ea–b), displays significant iconographic similarities with the cof-
fin of Men, including the placement of the wdjat-eye motif at the shoulders, the depic-
tions of recumbent jackals on shrines, and the Sons of Horus motifs.
300 Pouls Wegner
anthropoid clay coffin lid in Tomb 23 (Petrie 1906: 16, pl. XIIC; Cotelle-Michel
2004: II-M-7), in addition to a chronologically diagnostic flask of Cypriot Base
Ring I Ware, dating from the Late Cypriot I period. The vessel type (IBa[ii])
occurs most commonly in Egypt during the reign of Thutmose III.15 The
assemblage can be dated on the basis of the Base Ring Ware flask to the mid-
18th Dynasty, around the middle of the 15th century BC.16 Petrie also noted the
presence of human remans comprising a male skeleton in extended supine
position in association with the clay coffin faceplate (1906: 16). His report does
not mention any evidence for the mummification of the body; the skeleton-
ized condition of the remains and absence of linen and traces of resin suggests
that the body was not mummified. The Base Ring Ware flask was placed beside
the head of the individual, presumably inside the coffin itself.
Tomb 24, which is reported to have produced a clay coffin of unspecified
type,17 also contained examples of Base-Ring I Ware flasks, including two exam-
ples nearly identical to the flask from Tomb 23 (Eriksson 2001: 55). One of these
flasks was found inside the coffin near the head of the deceased (Petrie 1906:
16, pl. XII). Six additional faces from ‘naturalistic’ adult anthropoid clay coffins
recovered in the course of Petrie’s excavations at Tell el-Yahudiya and now in
the collection of University College London are published in Cotelle-Michel’s
catalogue, where they are dated to the New Kingdom (Cotelle-Michel 2004:
II-M-9 = UCL 19030, II-M-10 = UCL 19027, II-M-11 = UCL 19031, II-M-12 = UCL
19028, II-M-13 = UCL 19032, and II-M-14 = UCL 19029). These fragments must
derive from Petrie’s excavations in the jezira cemetery immediately east of the
tell, but no information regarding their archaeological context or associated
15 Eriksson (2001: 65–66) has defined the period of Base Ring I Ware occurrence in
Egypt from the beginning of the 18th Dynasty to just after the end of the reign of
Thutmose IV.
16 Although Petrie assigned a late date to the coffin faceplate based upon his assessment of
a shallow, carinated bowl with flanged rim and flat base found in the same context, the
vessel in question appears to be a reconstruction based upon a rim fragment that does
not preserve the full profile. Except for its depth, the bowl appears similar to the krater
from Tomb 102 (Petrie 1906: pl. XIID), which he assigned to the reign of Thutmose III, and
which is in fact typical of Late Bronze Age ceramic assemblages in Syro-Palestine. The
form is consistent with KR1d, a krater with gutter rim (Mullins 2007: 420, pl. 44.5). Both
vessels from Tell el-Yahudiya have rim diameters of approximately 36 cm, consistent with
the normal dimensions of LB kraters, and they feature very similar bands of decoration
just below the rim. A date in the mid- to late-18th Dynasty for the assemblage in Tomb 23
therefore seems likely.
17 Petrie (1906: 16) makes reference to the presence of pottery coffins in Tombs 24 and 30,
although these are not illustrated in his report.
material culture is given in the published report. Although the faces appear to
have been formed in molds and are related stylistically, they exhibit significant
morphological variation. One additional fragment from the face of an anthro-
poid clay coffin of possible New Kingdom date was excavated in the western
part of the cemetery adjacent to the tell (Mesnil du Buisson 1929: 157, fig. 2;
Cotelle-Michel 2004: II-M-8). In sum, there are a total of nine anthropoid clay
coffins attested in the cemeteries on and adjacent to the main tell at the site,
with one example of uncertain date and eight dated to the New Kingdom.
Traces of a palace constructed at Tell el-Yahudiya in the reign of
Ramesses III early in the 20th Dynasty mark a phase of occupation at the
transition from Late Bronze IIB to the Iron Age. Naville and Griffith excavated
at least 64 anthropoid clay coffins datable to this period in a series of tumuli
located in the desert approximately 240 meters east of the main tell (Naville
and Griffith 1890: 15, 38, 42, pl. IX). The tumuli were formed from naturally
occurring blocks of basalt, which were collected and laid to form artificial
mounds within which rows of coffins were interred. Some of the tumuli were
very large. Tumulus III, for example, measured nearly 55 m in length and rose
to a height of 3.7 m (Naville and Griffith 1890: 43). The interments of anthro-
poid clay coffins were almost invariably high up in the tumuli, well above the
level of the surrounding desert surface. This form of burial is highly unusual
in the Egyptian context, in which subterranean graves are the norm. Griffith
remarked on the variability of the coffins and characterized the rare inscrip-
tions preserved on a number of them as “bogus” and “blundered” due to their
anomalous orthography (Naville and Griffith 1890: 42, 45). All but three of the
interments in the tumuli were clay coffin burials. The corpus of coffins recov-
ered from this context includes both ‘naturalistic’ and ‘grotesque’ examples as
well as coffins that are difficult to classify within this binary typological system.
There was no evidence of mummification found in any of the tumulus burials
at the site (Naville and Griffith 1890: 42).
Within the tumuli individual coffins of adults as well as children were
interred along with associated grave goods consisting of ceramic and bronze
vessels, tools, weapons, amulets and jewelry. Many of the burials were con-
tained within simple vaulted chambers made of mudbrick. Aston has dated the
pottery from these contexts to the 12th–10th centuries BC (Aston 1996: 61–62,
figs. 191e, 193d, 193k = Phase I, Groups 15, 19–24, and 51).18 Most of the burials
had been disturbed, but Griffith notes that in addition to scarabs, a mulets, and
18 Close parallels exist for some the vessels from the tumuli with 20th Dynasty levels at
Qantir (e.g., Naville and Griffith 1890: pl. XIV, 5, and pl. XV, 5, 8, and 10; compare Aston
1996: figs. 14,1, 13,7, 13,8, and 13,9, respectively).
302 Pouls Wegner
beads, small ceramic vessels were often placed inside the clay coffins (Naville
and Griffith 1890: 45). Two ceramic scarabs bearing the name of Ramesses III
and a jasper scarab in a gold setting inscribed with the name of Ramesses VI,
which was found in an anthropoid clay coffin in Tumulus III or IV (Naville
and Griffith 1890: 45, 47, pl. XVI.1),19 provide corroborating inscriptional evi-
dence of a date range in the first part of the 20th Dynasty (12th century BC)
for the interments. Iconographic elements such as earrings and the pendant
lotus blossom depicted on the forehead that occur on some of the coffins par-
allel developments in the decorative program of anthropoid coffins from other
parts of Egypt. Aspects of the coffin assemblages are also in keeping with New
Kingdom mortuary practice, such as the placement of scarabs and jewelry
directly on the body and of tools for personal care such as tweezers and razors
in close proximity to the body. However, the placement of ceramic vessels
inside the clay coffins from Tell el-Yahudiya is an unusual feature.
The foregoing contextual analysis of the New Kingdom mortuary remains
from Tell el-Yahudiya indicates that anthropoid clay coffins occur at the site in
small numbers during the mid-18th Dynasty, in the same areas in which other
types of burials datable to the preceding Second Intermediate Period, as well
as to the 18th Dynasty, were located. The very limited sample of material of
this date further suggests that the ‘naturalistic’ and ‘grotesque’ types of coffin
were coeval. The clay coffin of Men presents some parallels with known wood
and cartonnage coffins of this date but is inconsistent with Egyptian mortuary
traditions in its iconography and inscriptional program as well as in the place-
ment of an inlaid box or chest inside the coffin with the body. In contrast to
the burials in anthropoid clay coffins of the 18th Dynasty at the site, those of
the 20th Dynasty cluster in a geographical area at some distance from the con-
temporary settlement and palace at Tell el-Yahudiya. The interment of these
coffins within tumuli, elevated above the desert surface level and placed on
courses of basalt blocks, as well as the inclusion of ceramic vessels inside many
of the coffins, are all atypical features not commonly attested in Egyptian mor-
tuary practice. Garbled inscriptions also separate the pottery coffins from
contemporary examples known from other parts of Egypt. The absence of any
evidence of mummification in this context may also be significant. Despite the
elements that clearly link the anthropoid clay coffins of New Kingdom date
from Tell el-Yahudiya with wood and cartonnage coffins of this period from
other Egyptian sites, some features of the clay coffin assemblages diverge from
Egyptian mortuary traditions. These inconsistencies occur in association with
19 The writing of the royal name of Ramesses VI is consistent with von Beckerath (1984: 248,
5.T2).
coffins of the ‘naturalistic’ as well as the ‘grotesque’ type from Tell el-Yahudiya,
and suggest that the population that utilized such anthropoid clay coffins can-
not be characterized as fully Egyptian.
Anthropoid Clay Coffin Burials from Deir el-Balah and Beth Shean
Remains of nearly 50 anthropoid clay coffins were recovered from Deir el-Balah
in the course of illicit activity that preserved very little information about their
original archaeological context.20 The corpus includes both ‘naturalistic’ and
‘grotesque’ lid types. Dothan has dated the coffins and artifactual material
unearthed through this activity to the reign of Ramesses II (2008: 93), although
there may be a broader chronological span represented. Analysis of existing
sources of data, augmented by subsequent systematic fieldwork at the site, has
greatly enriched the understanding of the contexts from which these artifacts
derived (Dothan 1979; Beit-Arieh 1985; Ventura 1987; Dothan 2008: 93f.). The
systematic excavation of Tombs 114, 116, 118, and 301, all of which contained
anthropoid clay coffins and diagnostic artifacts of Late Bronze IIA–B date, pro-
vides a basis for comparison with the Tell el-Yahudiya assemblages. Contextual
analysis reveals three features common to the coffin burials at the two sites: the
use of clay rather than wood or cartonnage for the construction of fully anthro-
poid coffins, the placement of ceramic vessels and other kinds of objects not
usually associated with personal adornment inside the anthropoid coffins, and
the lack of mummification of the human remains associated with the coffins.
A further significant point of divergence from Egyptian burial practice
seen in the systematically excavated Deir el-Balah tombs, which has not been
noted at Tell el-Yahudiya, is the interment of multiple individuals in a single
anthropoid coffin. Although the interment of more than one individual in the
same grave or burial chamber occurred with increasing frequency in Egypt
during the New Kingdom and became very common in the subsequent Third
Intermediate Period, in such contexts each individual was provided with his or
her own anthropoid coffin.21 Tomb 301 at Deir el-Balah produced the remains
20 Dothan (2008: part II) presents a catalogue of this material, which is in the collections of
the Israel Museum.
21 No case of multiple individuals interred in the same anthropoid coffin in Egypt is known
to the author. Multiple interments in the same rectangular sarcophagus are rare but
occasionally attested during the New Kingdom in Egyptian contexts, for example Abydos
Tomb E 294 (Garstang 1900: pls. XVIII, XX), which is datable to the mid-18th Dynasty
on the basis of the Red Luster Ware spindle bottle and the Base Ring Ware flask found
304 Pouls Wegner
of three adults who had been placed one above the other in a single anthro-
poid clay coffin of ‘naturalistic’ type (Lipto 2010: 9–10). Lipton has observed
that each body was placed in the coffin while still fully articulated, therefore
the three interments must have been made at the same time. The back of
the coffin had four holes to allow for efflux of bodily fluids, and no evidence
of mummification was noted. A bronze needle found at the shoulder of the
uppermost individual, who was male, may have links with the toggle pins that
are a hallmark of MB II Syro-Palestinian culture. Tomb 301 produced few grave
goods of high value in comparison with the other excavated anthropoid clay
coffin burials at Deir el-Balah (Lipton 2010: 10). Tomb 118 featured a ‘grotesque’
style coffin with a variety of artifacts placed inside it, including two ceramic
lentoid flasks, an alabaster cosmetic spoon in the shape of a swimming girl,
an alabaster lotus goblet, a bronze jug, platter and knife, and a mirror and jew-
elry (Dothan 2008: 47). Although jewelry, mirrors, razors, knives, and cosmetic
spoons (object types bearing strong symbolic associations with rebirth in the
Egyptian context) occur in close proximity to the body in Egyptian burials of
the Late Bronze to Early Iron Age, the placement of other kinds of objects such
as pottery and metal vessels inside the coffin in the Deir el-Balah context dif-
fers from Egyptian practice.
Dothan and Brandl (2010: 49) have observed evidence of nucleation in the
spatial pattern in the cemetery at Deir el-Balah, with ‘elaborate’ burials that
featured luxury goods and anthropoid clay coffins distributed throughout the
cemetery, each surrounded by simple pit burials. They suggest that this pat-
terning reflects household-based social organization, in which the tombs with
more grave goods belonged to ‘wealthy families’ and the simple pit graves to
attendant servants or household members of lower socio-economic status.
Beit-Arieh (1985: 52) proposes that the geographical distribution of the tombs
reflects the hierarchical social relationship between Egyptian officials and staff
involved in the administration of this part of Syro-Palestine. The consistent
east-west orientation of the burials, in his view, attests to shared burial prac-
tice and more specifically to Egyptian tradition, indicating that all of the indi-
viduals buried in anthropoid coffins were of same ethnic origin (Beit-Arieh
1985: 52). However, this conclusion must be reassessed, due to the significant
departures from traditional Egyptian burial practices.
The contextual information associated with the anthropoid clay coffins
found at Beth Shean also reveals a complex spectrum of burial practices. Out
of a total of 38 tombs excavated in the North Cemetery at Beth Shean, Oren
therein. Ceramic vessels were placed inside the sarcophagus along with the human
remains in that context.
records that 11 tombs contained the remains of “nearly fifty” anthropoid clay
coffins, most of which were found in fragmentary condition (1973: 101, 132). The
vast majority of the coffins were of the ‘naturalistic’ type; only five were charac-
terized as ‘grotesque’. All of the ‘grotesque’ style coffins came from Tombs 66 and
90, in which Oren also noted “affinities with Aegean Tomb architecture” (1973:
103, 135). Although the evidence linking the Beth Shean tombs with Aegean
prototypes may not be conclusive, it is interesting to note that the anthropoid
clay coffin in Tomb 202 was found lying on a layer of basalt stones (Oren 1973:
132). This feature parallels the use of basalt blocks under the anthropoid clay
coffins in many of the Late Ramesside tumuli burials of similar date at Tell
el-Yahudiya. No consistent orientation of the bodies was observed in the North
Cemetery burials, but the highly disturbed nature of the tombs may not per-
mit analysis of orientational patterning. The human remains associated with
the anthropoid coffin burials at Beth Shean were so disturbed that in most
cases they could not be associated with individual coffins, making assessment
of whether multiple individuals were interred in the same coffin impossible.
The anthropoid coffins from Beth Shean featured holes pierced in the back,
which would have allowed for the drainage of body fluids, suggesting that as
at Tell el-Yahudiya and Deir el-Balah the bodies were not mummified prior to
interment (Oren 1973: 133).22
Excavations at both the North Cemetery of Beth Shean and at Deir el-Balah
recorded significant quantities of Egyptian-style pottery of local m anufacture.23
In addition to producing imitations of Egyptian vessels, craftsmen at these
sites may have adopted Egyptian production techniques, such as the introduc-
tion of straw temper to the fabric and the use of string to cut vessels from the
wheel (Higginbotham 2000: 76). McGovern has noted increasing use of tem-
pering material and evidence of low firing temperatures in the ceramic mate-
rial from Beth Shean over the course of the Late Bronze IIB-Iron IA period,
and has further suggested that while local artisans continued to produce
significant quantities of Syro-Palestinian vessel types for use at the site, they
modified their production techniques due to Egyptian demand or influence
(McGovern 1990: 18). The anthropoid coffins from the site display these traits;
they were made from clay heavily tempered with grit and straw and fired at
22 It is probable that the holes that commonly appear in the base/foot of the clay coffins
allowed for the circulation of air during the firing process, as such a placement would not
be effective for drainage. See also Sabbahy Kuchman (2009: 9).
23 Neutron Activation Analysis carried out on vessels from Beth Shean, including Egyptian
types, indicated that all were locally-made (McGovern 1992: 18; James and McGovern
1993: 92).
306 Pouls Wegner
very low temperatures (Oren 1973: 133). The population that utilized such
coffins placed a variety of artifacts in and around them, including elements
that derive from Syro-Palestinian, Egyptian, Cypriot, and Aegean prototypes.
Egyptianizing objects from these contexts comprise primarily vessels, amulets,
and clay shabti figurines. Elements of eight shabtis, most of which appear to
have been made in the same mold, were recovered in the course of excavations
of the North Cemetery at Beth Shean.24 Scarab seals, which emulate an impor-
tant element of Egyptian material culture, but were probably locally produced,
occurred in five of the tombs at the site.25
The Beth Shean tomb assemblages also included imports from regions other
than Egypt; Tomb 241 featured both an Egyptian-style shabti and figurines of
Mycenaean origin in association with an anthropoid clay coffin burial (Oren
1973: figs. 50, 76). The imported artifacts themselves are clearly not indica-
tive of the ethnicity of the individuals buried in anthropoid coffins. Further,
although the presence of shabtis in mortuary contexts at Beth Shean may be
“suggestive of Egyptian funerary practices” (Higginbotham 2000: 91), the place-
ment of such artifacts inside the coffins, as well as the very small quantities of
shabtis (ranging from one to three) that occur in association with each burial,
reflect a departure from Egyptian burial customs of the Ramesside Period, in
which groups of several dozen to 400 shabtis were placed in model coffins,
shrine-shaped boxes, or ceramic vessels near the anthropoid coffins that
housed the deceased’s mummified remains (Schneider 1977: 266–68).26 These
points of divergence from Egyptian burial practice call into question the view
that the individuals represented in such burials were Egyptian officials and
administrators.
24 Shabtis were recovered from Tombs 90 (1), 219A–B (3), 221A–C (3), and 241 (1) (Oren 1973:
figs. 45, 47 49, 50, 76). All of these tombs also contained anthropoid clay coffins.
25 Scarabs were found in Tombs 7, 66, 219A–B, 221A–C, and 241 (Oren 1973). All of these
tombs also contained burials in anthropoid clay coffins. McGovern, Fleming, and Swann
(1993: 5–9) have demonstrated that a significant proportion of the faience and glass mate-
rial (including scarabs) from the temple complex and surrounding residential areas at
Beth Shean were locally manufactured, and the scarabs from the contemporary North
Cemetery may also have been locally made.
26 Schneider mentions that smaller quantities of shabtis do occur in mortuary contexts dur-
ing the earlier New Kingdom, and that in those cases where their position was noted, they
could be placed on top of or under anthropoid coffins. Only in New Kingdom burials at
the site of Soleb in Nubia were four shabtis often placed inside the coffin itself (Schneider
1977: 265 and n. 55).
Burial Practice and Ethnicity
The difficulties involved in identifying ethnicity through the material culture

record are significant, and have been examined in Sparks’ (2005) insightful
study of the evidence for Canaanites in Egypt during the Middle Bronze Age.
For the Late Bronze Age, Killebrew (2005: 65) has highlighted anthropoid clay
coffins as a category of Egyptian-style artifacts aligned with Egyptian burial cus-
toms and therefore potentially indicative of Egyptian ethnicity. The use of such
coffins, in her view, reflects social boundaries that existed in Syro-Palestinian
sites where there was a significant Egyptian presence during the Late Bronze
to Early Iron Age. However, contextual analysis of the evidence associated with
anthropoid clay coffins in both Egypt and Syro-Palestinian sites indicates that
these burials diverge from Egyptian burial practice in a number of significant
ways, including the material of which the coffins are made, the high degree
of variability in the modelling of the coffin faceplates and the decorative pro-
grams of the coffins, the placement of other artifacts in relation to the coffins,
the treatment of the bodies buried in them, and the number of individuals
interred in a single coffin. More specifically, anthropoid coffins made of clay
were not common nor widely distributed in Egypt during the New Kingdom
in comparison with anthropoid coffins made of wood or cartonnage.27 Those
from Tell e-Yahudiya differ from contemporary Egyptian burials in coffins of
similar form made from other materials in the lack of mummification (also
observed at Deir el-Balah and Beth Shean), anomalous decoration and textual
irregularities, the placement of artifacts other than jewelry, mirrors and items
of personal care inside the coffin with the deceased (also observed at Deir
el-Balah and Beth Shean), and the elevation of the coffins datable to the Iron IA
period on basalt blocks (also attested at Beth Shean). In addition, the multiple
interments in one of the coffins attested at Deir el-Balah are not paralleled in
the Egyptian context. These markers of divergence from Egyptian burial prac-
tice suggest that the anthropoid coffins found at all three sites under consider-
ation cannot be considered indicative of Egyptian ethnicity.
A major factor that has contributed to the difficulty defining the ethnic and
social identities of the individuals buried in anthropoid clay coffins is the mor-
phological variability of the coffins themselves. Those who utilized anthro-
poid clay coffins of the ‘naturalistic’ type may have sought to emulate the
elite Egyptian burial practices of the New Kingdom by adopting coffins that
27 Cotelle-Michel (2004) does not provide a tabulation of geographical distribution, but the
catalogue shows clearly that New Kingdom clay anthropoid coffins were most heavily
utilized in the Delta, the Fayum, and Nubia.
308 Pouls Wegner
e xternally resembled the anthropoid coffins of wood and cartonnage in their

form and decoration. However, those who adopted anthropoid clay coffins of
the ‘grotesque’ type distinguished themselves from the Egyptian coffin tradi-
tion more radically. Those individuals cannot be said to have presented them-
selves as ‘Egyptian’ in their burial practices. The archaeological contexts and
artifactual assemblages associated with that coffin type, however, do not differ
substantially from those associated with the ‘naturalistic’ type clay coffins also
in use during the Late Bronze II period, which are more closely aligned in sty-
listic terms with Egyptian coffin traditions.
The significant differences that have been identified in the present study
between practices associated with anthropoid clay coffin burials in Egyptian
and Syro-Palestinian contexts versus those associated with contemporary
burials in anthropoid coffins of wood and catronnage in Egypt proper point
to a much more complex situation, in which elements that might have been
seen as Egyptian by a culturally heterogeneous community were employed in
new ways, combined with local traditions, and/or manipulated to form hybrid
mortuary practices. This is a much more intriguing and potentially illuminat-
ing line of research to follow than the endeavor to assign clearly demarcated
‘ethnicity’ to such populations or subsets thereof, since it acknowledges the
fluid nature of ethnic identity and explores the ways in which material culture
can be utilized as a means of expressing multiple and multifaceted social iden-
tities, of which ethnicity is just one aspect.
Social Identity
Assessing the potential correlation of anthropoid clay coffin burials with

socio-economic status is a complex issue. In Syro-Palestinian sites of the Late
Bronze to Early Iron Age that housed Egyptian garrisons, the use of such cof-
fins may have been associated with specific military or administrative posi-
tions (Morris 2005: 611), or with non-Egyptian elites who sought to display their
status through the emulation of Egyptian elite burial practices (Higginbotham
2000: 242–45). Many scholars have observed that the assemblages associated
with anthropoid clay coffins from Syro-Palestinian contexts are ‘rich’, in the
sense that they include numerous imported objects indicative of greater access
to resources than the other types of burials of similar date from the same
contexts, while those found in Egypt represent ‘poorer’ individuals with fewer
grave goods and/or goods of lesser value relative both to those incorporat-
ing other coffin types from the same sites and to the anthropoid clay coffin
burials from Syro-Palestinian contexts (Oren 1973: 133; Cotelle-Michel 2004:
76–77; Dothan 2008: 95; Dothan and Brandl 2010: xxvii).28 However, some
clay coffins found in Egypt were associated with luxury goods and mummi-
fied human remains that suggest access to resources and relatively high socio-
economic status (Engelbach 1915: 18), while some burials in such coffins in
Syro-Palestinian sites lack these indicators.29 It is clear that the use of anthro-
poid clay coffins itself does not align uniformly with other indicators of social
identity and access to luxury commodities in both the Egyptian and Syro-
Palestinian contexts.
The use of clay as a material for coffin manufacture is also relevant to any
discussion of the socio-economic status of the individuals who were buried in
anthropoid clay coffins. In this regard, comparative data would include both
contemporaneous burials in anthropoid coffins made of other materials and
interments without coffins of any kind. Simple pit inhumations far outnum-
bered the clay coffin burials at Deir el Balah, while in the North Cemetery at
Beth Shean a variety of different burial types was represented. There appears
to be no systematic difference between the kind or quantity of grave goods
provided for the deceased in clay coffins as opposed to those in other kinds of
burials at Beth Shean, although a full analysis of the relevant data is beyond
the scope of this study. At Tell el-Yahudiya, the evidence from the 15th century
BC displays no distinction in the assemblages provided for clay coffin burials
and those provided for burials without clay coffins. The 20th Dynasty tombs
excavated at the site, dating to the 12th century BC, almost exclusively incor-
porated clay coffins and therefore provide little basis for statistically relevant
comparison.
Differential access to wood resources in Syro-Palestine and Egypt may also
have played a role in determining the choice of material for the production of
anthropoid coffins. It has been suggested that wood was so common in Syro-
Palestinian environments that it had little ‘prestige value’ there (Higginbotham
2000: 78). In Egypt, most wooden coffins of New Kingdom date were made from
locally available wood sources. As discussed above, the manufacture of con-
tainers for the deceased was closely linked to developments in ceramic tech-
nology during the Late Bronze IIB-Iron IA period, which featured lower firing
temperatures and the addition of larger quantities of straw temper. However,
the production of extremely large ceramic vessels of the scale required to
accommodate an extended adult burial is not attested in the Late Bronze Age
28 Cotelle-Michel concludes that in New Kingdom Egypt the coffins relate “aux plus riches
des classes pauvres” (2004: 77).
29 Lipton (2010: 10), regarding the assemblage in Tomb 301 from Deir el-Balah.
310 Pouls Wegner
ceramic repertoire of Egypt.30 The clay coffins represent a highly specialized

kind of ceramic vessel, which was heavy, unwieldy and fragile, required firing
in open pits rather than kilns, and could not be transported significant dis-
tances. The specialized manufacturing techniques to which the coffins attest
undermine the characterization of the anthropoid clay coffins as cheap imi-
tations of anthropoid coffins made of ‘more valuable’ materials. The absence
of trained craftsmen who could manufacture anthropoid coffins from wood
or cartonnage may have played a role in the inaccessibility of coffins in Syro-
Palestinian sites, but within Egypt itself, such resources would have been more
readily available. It is also possible that the more humid climate of the Delta
presented difficulties for the production of cartonnage coffins.
Another important characteristic of elite burial practices during the New
Kingdom in Egypt is the mummification of the body prior to placement in
anthropoid coffins made of wood or cartonnage. Mummification became
accessible to a broader spectrum of the population in Egypt during this period
(Cotelle-Michel 2004: 77), and had a wide geographical distribution within
Egypt. There are rare instances of mummification associated with anthropoid
coffins made of clay in Egyptian contexts of this date, but the great major-
ity of clay coffin burials in both Egyptian and Syro-Palestinian contexts did
not produce evidence of such treatment of the human remains. The absence
of specialists trained in the esoteric art of embalming at garrison sites out-
side of Egypt proper could have been a factor in the lack of mummification in
association with clay coffins in Syro-Palestine. However, embalmers accom-
panied Egyptian expeditionary forces in the Middle Kingdom (Sauneron 1952:
148; Couyat and Montet 1912: no. 87), and such specialists may also have been
assigned to the Egyptian garrisons in Syro-Palestine during the Late Bronze
Age. Mummification would have allowed for the transport of deceased per-
sonnel back to Egypt for burial. The evidence suggests that this restricted and
highly specialized form of treatment of the human remains was not adopted
by those who sought to emulate other aspects of elite Egyptian culture through
the use of anthropoid coffin forms.
Engagement with the archaeological evidence at a deep level provides
a basis for exploring the burial practices associated with the use of anthro-
poid clay coffins, as well as exploring their significance for self-presentation
and negotiation of social, political, and religious identity within the complex
networks of commercial and military activity that characterized the Eastern
30 The largest Late Bronze Egyptian jars measure less than a meter in height; for example,
the large necked amphora characteristic of Aston’s Phase I, dated to the end of the New
Kingdom (1996: fig. 199c).
Mediterranean region at the end of the Late Bronze Age. Consistent depar-
tures from Egyptian burial practice that can be traced through their contexts
in Egypt as well as in Syro-Palestine suggest that the Late Bronze IIA–B anthro-
poid clay coffins from both regions may have been utilized by individuals who
emulated Egyptian elite culture to varying degrees. The differential adop-
tion and transformation of an artefactual type with clear cultural and socio-
economic associations by non-Egyptian individuals as a means of displaying
social status suggests that the process of elite emulation in the cosmopolitan
communities of the Egyptian Delta and the garrison towns of Syro-Palestine
was complex and highly nuanced. The present analysis has demonstrated that
the interments which featured anthropoid clay coffins at such sites diverged
from contemporary Egyptian burials in consistent and significant respects,
but that they deliberately referenced and transformed Egyptian traditions in
ways that reflect socio-economic and cultural relationships between groups
in the multicultural society of the Near East during the Late Bronze II–Iron IA
period.
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A Preliminary Analysis of Some Elements of the
Saite and Persian Period Pottery at Tell El-Maskhuta
Patricia Paice†
The Wadi Tumilat1
An ancient shipping canal, the precursor to the modern Suez Canal, once
joined the Nile to the Red Sea by following the route of the Wadi Tumilat east
to the Bitter Lakes and then turning south to a point near the modern town of
Suez. Through a combined strategy of survey and excavation the Wadi Tumilat
Project has been able to date, with a high degree of probability, the original
construction of the canal to the late 7th century BC, i.e. during the reign of
Necho II of the 26th Saite Dynasty. That this dating coincides with classical
sources says something for both contemporary archaeological method and
classical histories. This canal was enhanced and completed in the early 5th
century BC by the Persian emperor Darius, who erected four commemorative
stelae along the route. A period of neglect of the canal was rectified by Ptolemy
II and the canal was renewed by the Roman emperor Trajan (Diodorus 1967:
Bk. 1.33.8–12; Herodotus 2008: Bk. II.158; Pliny 1967: Bk. VI.xxxii.165–167; Strabo
1960: Bk. 17.1.25; Holladay 1982).
Tell el-Maskhuta
The Project’s surface survey of the Wadi Tumilat, co-directed by C. A. Redmount

and J. S. Holladay, has located many ancient sites, but excavation has been
limited to the large site of Tell el-Maskhuta, at the eastern end of the wadi.
† This paper has been reprinted by permission of the Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar. The
paper first appeared in BES 8 (1986/87): 95–108.
1 The Wadi Tumilat Project is directed by Prof. John S. Holladay Jr. of the University of Toronto,
funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the Smithsonian
Institution, the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities, and private donors, and spon-
sored by the American Schools of Oriental Research, the American Research Center in Egypt,
and the Canadian Institute in Egypt. Many of the conclusions reached in this paper have
been achieved as a result of joint discussions with Dr. Holladay, during the pottery reading
sessions at Tell el-Maskhuta since 1979, as well as during ongoing post-excavation analysis
in Toronto.

A Preliminary Analysis of Some Elements 317
There are two major occupation periods at the site. The earliest was the Second
Intermediate Period or Middle Bronze IIB settlement which probably lasted
not much more than one hundred years before being abandoned during the
17th century BC. After a thousand year gap, the site was reoccupied. Periods of
occupation during the life of this second settlement have proved to coincide
with canal activity attested in classical sources, from the founding of the town-
site of Necho (ca. 610 BC) down to its termination during the 2nd century (?) AD.
It is the second settlement which is the focus of the present paper. Modern
excavation methods at Tell el-Maskhuta have provided us with a large, well
stratified corpus of Saite and Persian Period pottery. This corpus has many vir-
tues. On the one hand we have confidence that there is not pottery datable
earlier than 610 BC (other than that of the Second Intermediate Period, one
thousand years earlier), and at the other end of the scale, it has proved possible
to separate the Hellenistic and Roman Period pottery from its Persian Period
predecessors, a process not always possible at more thinly occupied or strati-
graphically disturbed sites.
Pottery Processing
All pottery excavated is sent to the pottery shed for processing. After wash-
ing and field reading, all diagnostic sherds are saved; that is, all rims, handles,
bases, shoulders, spouts, and distinctive or decorated body sherds from a pot-
tery basket are set aside in their individual compartment. All the diagnostic
sherds are then registered before they are separated from their pottery basket.
Only then can the ceramic typologists (3–4 during 1985) sort all these sherds
according to ware and functional/formal type. This information is entered by
the pottery registrars on the card that will contain the drawing. During the
initial typological sorting procedures any sherds which are so alike that one
drawing will represent each of them are grouped together, and the best exam-
ple is chosen to be drawn. Those sherds which are not to be drawn are listed
by registration number on the back of the card which will contain the drawn
example. Information recorded for each sherd includes ware category, surface
treatment, diameter, and the proportion of the profile that is preserved.
In practice, the standards of similarity applied in this initial typological sort
are so rigorous that we end up drawing well over half of all registered sherds.
Since 1979 three to four full-time artists have regularly drawn over 10,000 pieces
of pottery during a two month excavation season in order to complete process-
ing the bulk of that season’s pottery before leaving Egypt. A final one-month
study session following the 1985 excavation season served to tie up all the
loose ends.
318 Paice
During the registration procedure, every excavated potsherd is matched

against a reference sherd collection containing samples of each numbered ware
category. Thus we do not have to describe each of the thousands of pot sherds
excavated each season since nearly all can be assigned to one of the roughly
200 described ware categories established to date. This total includes a com-
pletely separate set of ware numbers for the Second Intermediate Period pot-
tery in addition to all the different imported and locally manufactured wares of
the second settlement. In association with Dr. R. G. V. Hancock, Director of the
University of Toronto’s Slowpoke Reactor, the author has carried out a series
of neutron activation analysis studies. A current project, analyzing each of
150 ware samples, is almost completed. When it is finished, we will be able to
distinguish between local and imported wares in all ware categories. In addi-
tion we hope to find discrete groups among the imported wares and likewise
to discern groups among the local wares, presumably reflecting either different
clay sources, manufacturing centers, or manufacturing procedures.
From five excavation seasons we have over 40,000 separate pottery drawings,
of which more than half represent Saite or Persian Period ceramics. From this
large data base it is possible to build a significant corpus of Saite and Persian
pottery, representative of Tell el-Maskhuta, the Wadi Tumilat, and the Eastern
Delta region. Local pottery of these periods further south may exhibit some dif-
ferent characteristics, but imported vessels, including, in this case, pottery of
the Eastern Delta, will be good chronological markers wherever they are found.
Imported Pottery
Because the site of Tell el-Maskhuta is on the route of an ancient shipping

canal, it is not surprising that large numbers of container amphorae were
found among the excavated remains. Imports from the Greek islands during
the Saite and Persian Periods include amphorae from Chios, Thasos, Lesbos,
and Samos. Trends in the development of these imported plain amphorae can
be observed with the help of examples from Tell el-Maskhuta.
But the largest proportion of store jars found at Tell el-Maskhuta did not
originate in the Greek islands. Nearly every pottery basket from every locus
of the Saite or Persian occupation layers at Tell el-Maskhuta contained a num-
ber of Phoenician store jar sherds. The total number of Phoenician diagnostic
sherds recorded to date is about 6,000. Such ubiquity suggests arrival in quan-
tity on the site, probably straight from the primary exporter. The amphorae
could be transported on water all the way from the Phoenician ports, down
the Levantine coast, along a branch of the Nile, and then along the Wadi
Tumilat canal.
These vessels have been called “crispware” store jars by Patricia Bikai, the
excavator of Tyre (Bikai 1978a; Bikai 1978b). Her publication of the pottery
of Tyre included an appendix on neutron activation analysis by Alan Bieber
(Bikai 1978a: 88–90). The group of sherds in this study included one sherd of
the “crispware” store jar. This was the only published analysis for the form that
could be compared to the Tell el-Maskhuta examples. In 1981 we carried out
neutron activation analysis on groups of these sherds to try to establish their
origin. The results showed that the chemical composition of the Maskhuta
“crispware” sherds was very close to that of the sherd from Tyre. For this rea-
son, coupled with their ubiquity and the sheer volume of this traffic during the
period of Phoenician dominance over Levantine trade, it seems best to refer to
these vessels as Phoenician store jars.2
Phoenician Store Jars (Figs. 1 and 2)3
There are enough whole, restorable, or sizeable parts of jars recovered from
the site to make a study of measurements worthwhile. For the purposes of this
study a total of twelve different measurements was taken.4
Space limitations preclude presenting the individual data plots, but the
trends can easily be seen by visual inspection of the representative drawings.
For each vessel observe the length of the shoulder, the size of the handle, and
the angle of the base. In each case, there is a sharp break at about 525 BC to
500 BC, very conveniently located at the end of the Saite Dynasty and the
beginning of Persian domination.
Vessels from the end of the 7th century and from the 6th century BC are
shown in Fig. 1. The earlier store jars have long sloping shoulders and small
handles. The body continues as a cylinder, of the same diameter as the shoul-
der, ending in a wide-angled base. By the end of the 6th century the angle of
2 Pace the arguments of Geva for an Israelite origin (1982: 69–72), effectively refuted by Bikai (1985:
71–72).
3 Some of the pieces of pottery illustrated in the following figures have appeared on plates in
Holladay (1982).
Fig. 2:2 = pl. 27:3
Fig. 3:1 = pl. 6:1
Fig. 4:4. 13, 14 = pls. 15:5; 17:3 and 6
Fig. 5:2, 5 = pls. 7:3 and 2
Fig. 7:3, 7, 8, 10 = pls. 27:7; 5:14; 12:22; and 6:2
Fig. 8:1, 2, 17, 19 = pls. 4:1; 9:9 and 11; and 6:12
4 A detailed account of this study was the subject of another paper presented to the Annual Meeting
of the American Schools of Oriental Research in Atlanta, Georgia, on November 25th, 1986.
320 Paice
Figure 1 Phoenician Store Jars from Tell el-Maskhuta from the end of the 7th century
and 6th century BC.
Figure 2 Phoenician Store Jars from Tell el-Maskhuta from occupation layers later
than 525 BC.
the shoulder has been reduced, approaching more closely the horizontal. This
allows the diameter of the jar at the shoulder to remain much the same even
though the length of the shoulder has been reduced. The body narrows below
the shoulder to a “waist,” only to swell out again below the handles to form a
“belly” and finally come to an exaggerated point, giving a very distinctive cone
when the base breaks off.
The types of Phoenician store jars from occupation layers later than 525 BC
are shown in Fig. 2. Vessel no. 2 was part of the pottery deposit used to block
a stone-lined well of the Persian Period. The deposit has been dated to ca.
486 BC by a datable black-figured Band-cup also in the deposit (Holladay 1982:
55, pl. 15:3). The shoulder has become so much shorter that the diameter of the
jar at the shoulder is greatly reduced, causing the widest part of the body to
occur at the “belly” below the handles. The handles themselves become larger
and protrude further from the sides of the jar. The hole in the handle naturally
becomes larger also. During the 5th century BC the tendency is for all jars to
have large handles, short horizontal shoulder, and pointed bases. The latest
examples of true Phoenician store jars from Tell el-Maskhuta come from about
400 BC (We presently seem to have a gap in the occupation of the site span-
ning the fourth century BC) Although there are several different jar types in
existence at any one time, these major trends are consistent for all types.
The Phoenician store jars were not the only containers to be transported to
the site from the Levantine coast. Excavations have also produced examples
of the large heavy loop-handled jar known from earlier excavations and, more
recently, from shipwrecks. This bulky vessel could be carried by two men, one
at each end of a pole placed through the vertical loops of the jar (Petrie 1888:
pl. XXXIII.6; Sagona 1982: fig. 4; Zemer 1978: pl. 8.24).
Shipping containers were the most numerous imports found at Tell el-
Maskhuta, but other types of imported vessels also traveled to the site. The
most common were the plain, undecorated bowls known as mortaria. At Tell
el-Maskhuta, mortaria with flat bases appear in both Saite and Persian con-
texts; the high bases are found in Persian contexts only.5
Local Domestic Pottery
After five seasons of excavation at Tell el-Maskhuta, the Wadi Tumilat Project
has gathered a sufficient number of whole, nearly whole, and restorable
5 Space limitations prevent our illustrating either these or the loop-handled jars. However, see
Holladay (1982 pl. 16), where both the flat-based (pl. 16:7) and the high-base (pl. 16:11) forms of
mortaria are illustrated from the ca. 486 BC Well deposit.
322 Paice
vessels to be able to recognize the typical forms of the locally produced, domes-
tic pottery of the Saite and Persian Periods in large numbers of sherds processed
every season. Final analysis awaits detailed stratigraphic analysis and input
of all these pottery data into a computer database, to facilitate manipulation
of so many individual items. Meanwhile, we can give the chronological range of
forms for certain selected functional/formal types.
Dishes and Shallow Bowls (Fig. 3)
These particular dishes and shallow bowls are characterized by flattened

flanged rims. In the earlier Saite examples (nos. 1–8, 10, and 11) this rim slopes
downwards from interior to exterior, whereas in the later Persian Period the
slope is horizontal or even slightly inward (nos. 9, 12–15).
Vessel no. 1 is made of a very finely levigated clay fired to a whitish/light
olive green color. The ware is hard and dense with no core. The exterior has
been treated with horizontal wheel burnishing to give a high polish. This ware
type seems to be confined to the first half of the 6th century BC with most
occurrences in the ca. 568 BC horizon at Tell el-Maskhuta.
Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5 and 11 are more characteristic of this shape having been made
in a red-brown ware, very well-fired, with some lime inclusions. The surface
has been covered with a heavy white slip inside and out. Examples nos. 6 and
7 are of a similar composition, but the surface treatment consists of a much
thinner pale cream or white slip. All these vessels have been prepared to give
the appearance of being white, even when the clay itself is red-brown. These
white-slipped dishes are from Saite, 6th century BC, contexts.
No. 8 is made of softer, red-orange clay tempered with chaff or dung. The
vessel is covered with a red slip and burnished on the interior and exterior.
Vessel no. 9, from the Persian Period, is made of a totally different fabric, a very
fine red ware, very hard, but also red-slipped and burnished inside and out.
No. 10, a Saite example, is composed of a hard red-brown ware with a pink core
and is not slipped at all.
Bowls nos. 12–15, from the Persian Period, are made of a coarser red-brown
clay, hard but with a grey core. The surface of no. 15 is covered with red slip.
Bowls and Carinated Bowls (Fig. 4)
Vessels nos. 1–7 are bowls with a small rim and an overall rounded appearance
even when, as in nos. 1, 6, and 7, there is a sharp carination present. Vessels nos.
Figure 3 Dishes and Shallow Bowls from Tell el-Maskhuta.
2 and 3 come from an earlier Saite context and can be distinguished from their
later Persian Period counterparts (nos. 4 and 5) by the thinner vessel wall.
Vessels 8–13 have a flattened flange rim but unlike the examples in Fig. 3,
these rims slope down to the interior of the bowl. There is also a carination
below the rim where the profile makes a sharp turn from its downward descent
to become more horizontally inclined. Nos. 8–10 came from Saite layers, while
nos. 11–13 are early Persian. No. 10 was part of the pottery in the ca. 486 BC Well
deposit.
324 Paice
Figure 4 Bowls and Carinated Bowls from Tell el-Maskhuta.
Nos. 14 and 15 are heavier, coarser bowls, with a carination giving the opposite
effect from other carinated bowl types. This time the carination changes the
exterior contour from an almost horizontal upper portion to a sudden down-
ward dip. This would be an ideal shape for a brazier with the interior carina-
tion forming a ledge around the inside below the rim. However, the evidence of
burning, while present on many, does not appear on all examples of this type
of vessel. Both nos. 14 and 15 came from the Persian Period, with no. 14 being
part of the ca. 486 BC Well deposit.
Figure 5 Globular Jars from Tell el-Maskhuta.
Globular Jars (Fig. 5)
These jars have small rolled rims with one or more grooves below the rim,
giving the appearance of a banded collar around the neck. The earliest exam-
ples shown here, nos. 1 and 4, exhibit an inward leaning rim in deposits earlier
than 601 BC Vessels 2 and 5 come from the 601 BC horizon when the rim is
seen to be more nearly vertical. Rim stance remains generally vertical through-
out the 6th century BC (nos. 6 and 10). No. 6 is from the 486 BC Well deposit,
326 Paice
indicating that a vertical rim still existed at that time. Examples nos. 3, 7–9, and
11–12 are from jars of the later Persian Period with rims exhibiting an outward
leaning stance.
The globular shape with a narrow vertical neck was suited to the contain-
ment of liquids in these vessels with the minimum risk of spilling. But the
narrow, rounded base indicates that they could not stand unsupported. Many
bases of the globular jars have been smoke-blackened in their use as cooking
pots, but not all vessels of this shape necessarily had a cooking function. An
alternative to a base support of some kind could be suspension in a net sup-
port or from a cord tied around the ribbed neck. This would suggest a function
as carrier of water or other liquids.
Jars (Fig. 6)
Except for vessel no. 3 all these jars have a body shape that slopes out from
a flat everted rim. Vessel no. 3 is made of the ca. 568 BC greenish-white ware
already seen in the dish of Fig. 3:1. The wall of the vessel is very thin, and there
is a prominent ridge around the jar below the rim, below which are situated
two tiny handles. The very small, almost vestigial handles are characteristic
of the Saite Period of Tell el-Maskhuta. They are not seen in the later periods.
The features of the ridge around the jar above two tiny handles is repeated
in jars nos. 1 and 4, also from 6th century BC occupation layers. These are made
of an entirely different ware, a fine, dense, hard, red-brown fabric with the sur-
face covered by a burnished red slip.
Vessels nos. 5–15 are also red-slipped, but are not made of such a fine clay.
They are all made of the same red-orange clay with chaff or dung temper used
in the bowl of Fig. 3:8. The red slip gives the same outward appearance of a red
polished jar.
The finer, thinner-walled jars nos. 1–6 and 8 were all found in Saite con-
text, while the thicker-walled jars with large, more prominent flanged rims,
nos. 7 and 9–14, came from the later Persian and Hellenistic Periods. The jars of
the Hellenistic Period have no ridge below the rim. Vessel no. 15 has a similar
flanged rim but is a heavier jar made of an orange-red ware with pink core.
Jars and Beakers (Fig. 7)
All vessels in Fig. 7 other than no. 3 come from Saite occupation layers. Vessel
no. 3 was part of the ca. 486 BC Well deposit. Vessel no. 1 is a classic example of
Figure 6 Jars from Tell el-Maskhuta.
the cylindrical jars with long necks which are typical of the Saite Period. Vessel
no. 2 is also a cylindrical jar of the Saite Period, showing the other manifesta-
tion of the type with a short neck and a thickened rim giving the appearance
of a collar. Both nos. 1 and 2 are red-slipped and burnished.
Nos. 3–7 and 11–12 illustrate a typical dilemma faced by the pottery typolo-
gist working with sherd materials. Preservation of a whole jar is rare, but when
328 Paice
Figure 7 Jars and Beakers from Tell el-Maskhuta.
only a portion of the rim has survived it is difficult to tell whether the vessel is
a cup, a beaker, or the neck of a jar, unless the neck is beginning to open out
to a wider body as in the case of nos. 11 and 12. These are probably the necks of
cylindrical jars. Vessels no. 3 and no. 13 have no neck and can be described as
cups or beakers. Vessels nos. 8–10 and no. 13 show the diversity of shape pro-
Figure 8 Lids from Tell el-Maskhuta.
duced in jars with necks. No. 7 is necked, but c1early is a beaker in shape; no. 8
is a small almost globular jar; no. 9 is close to the cylindrical jar but is smaller,
shorter, and thicker-walled; and no. 10 has a wide funnel-like neck. If the neck
only had been discovered the vessel may have been assumed to be a cup or
beaker; no. 4 may, in fact, be the neck of a jar of the same type as no. 10.
330 Paice
Lids (Fig. 8)
Lids are often encountered in Saite contexts. The smooth domed, “mushroom-
shaped” lids no. 1–7 are typical of the Saite Period in the late 7th century and
the first half of the 6th century BC at Tell el-Maskhuta. This type of lid can be
made of the ca. 568 BC greenish-white ware (nos. 3, 4, and 7) or it can be of
red-brown ware with the surface red-slipped and burnished (nos. 1, 5, and 6).
The lids with knobs (nos. 8–14) with the right-angled cross-section have
a “tent-like” appearance with vertical walls supporting the “roof.” They also
appear in both the greenish-white ware (nos. 10, 11, 14) or in the red-slipped
version (nos. 8, 12, and 13). Once again these lids seem to be typically Saite from
the first half of the 6th century BC.
Neither of these types appear in the Persian Period. But the type of lid shown
in nos. 15–21 continues from the Saite into the Persian Period. The illustrated
examples nos. 15–20 are from Saite occupation levels, while no. 21 came from
the ca. 486 BC Well deposit. These lids look like inverted bowls but they are
distinguished by their splayed, upturned rims which frequently exhibit smoke-
smudging around the edges. Any attempt to place them the other way up, so
to function as bowls, reveals a very insecure stance with inclination to wobble
and upset any contents. However, it is also possible that the lid function could
be carried out equally well whether the rim was down or up over the rim of the
jar which was being covered. These lids have been illustrated with their rims
down to distinguish them from bowls.
In Conclusion
We have reviewed, in general terms, the dating of some common forms

(Fig. 1–8) of Late Saite through Early and Middle Persian pottery occurring at
Tell el-Maskhuta. Since these forms regularly appear together in most basket-
and particularly locus-assemblages, it would be quite possible, using normal
modes of seriation and typological analysis, to extend this very general analysis
through most of the more common forms. We will not be doing much more of
this, however, since we will shortly be able to carry out a much more detailed
and rigorous analysis utilizing the full range of stratigraphic data together with
the nearly comprehensive pottery corpus resulting from the excavations at Tell
el-Maskhuta. These twin studies will be one of the present author’s major pre-
occupations during the next calendar year.
As the basis for a more detailed ceramic typology, we have begun, but not
yet completed, the detailed analysis of the Saite through Roman stratigraphy
at Tell el-Maskhuta.6 This comprehensive stratigraphic analysis uses as its raw

materials the stratigrapher’s field notes, the excavators’ notebooks, architect’s
plans, baulk sections, and photographs to construct an enhanced version of a
“Harris-Winchester” stratigraphic matrix (Harris 1979) that relates each locus
to those above, below, and contiguous.7 On the basis of this analysis each
excavation area can then be divided stratigraphically into a very finely-graded
series of occupation phases. Once this is complete, the proper phase designa-
tions for each locus can be entered into a computerized database which can
then be linked to the sherd-by-sherd pottery database (presently being input
into our overall database structure) to provide precise stratigraphic data for
each registered item (some 40,000+ pieces in all, already noted above).
A combination of these two modes of analysis, pottery typology and stratig-
raphy, will result in an extensive, indeed comprehensive, ceramic chronology
for the site in all its occupation periods. With the completion of these studies
and the final publication of the site report Tell el-Maskhuta should take its
place as the major type-site for Saite and Persian Period pottery in the Egyptian
Delta.
Bibliography
Bikai, P. M. 1978a. The Pottery of Tyre. Warminster, UK: Aris and Phillips.
———. 1978b. The Late Phoenician Pottery Complex and Chronology. Bulletin of the
———. 1985. Observations on Archaeological Evidence for the Trade between Israel
and Tyre. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 258: 71–72.
Diodorus. 1967. Diodorus of Sicily. trans. C. Oldfather, from Ancient Greek. Vol. 1.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Geva, S. 1982. Archaeological Evidence for the Trade between Israel and Tyre. Bulletin
of the American Schools for Oriental Research 248: 69–72.
Harris, E. C. 1979. Principles of Archaeological Stratigraphy. London: Academic Press.
Herodotus. 2008. The Histories: Herodotus. trans. R. Waterfield, from Ancient Greek.
Holladay, J. S. Jr. 1982. Cities of the Delta, Part III. Tell el-Maskhuta: Preliminary Report
on the Wadi Tumilat Project 1978–1979. With contributions by D. B. Redford, P. G.
6 The Second Intermediate Period analyses are nearly completed.

7 The enhanced version used by the Wadi Tumilat Project was described by the present author in
a paper given the Annual Meeting of the American Schools of Oriental Research in Chicago on
December 11th, 1984.
332 Paice
Holladay and J. B. Brookner. American Research Center in Egypt Reports. Vol. 6.

Malibu, CA: Undena Publications. Published under the auspices of the American
Research Center in Egypt, Inc.
Petrie, W. M. F. 1888. Tanis II, Nebesheh, and Defenneh. London: Trübner.
Pliny. 1967. Natural History. trans. H. Rackham, from Latin. Vol. 6. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press.
Sagona, A. G. 1982. Levantine Storage Jars of the 13th to 4th Centuries BC Opuscula
Atheniensia 14: 73–110.
Strabo. 1960. The Geography of Strabo. trans. H. Jones. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Zemer, A. 1978. Storage Jars in Ancient Sea Trade. Haifa: National Maritime Museum
Foundation.
Meẓad Ḥashavyahu Reconsidered: Saite Strategy
and Archaic Greek Chronology
Peter James
Independent Researcher (London)
Introduction
One of the most intriguing sites providing evidence for Egyptian military activ-
ity in the Levant is Meẓad Ḥashavyahu, a small Late Iron Age fortress on the
coast of Southern Palestine. First excavated by Joseph Naveh in 1960, it drew
special attention for its Hebrew ostraca and its rich assemblage of East Greek
pottery.1 Further work was carried out in 1986, but full publication only came in
a thesis by Alexander Fantalkin (2001). Fantalkin’s work has placed all discus-
sion of Meẓad Ḥashavyahu on a firmer footing. It has clarified its nature as a
one-period, short-lived settlement, and by quantifying the Greek pottery finds
we now have a clearer idea of their importance. Meẓad Ḥashavyahu should
now be able to play a more certain role in the discussions concerning Egyptian
strategy in the Levant during the Saite period (26th Dynasty), the Egyptian use
of Aegean mercenaries at this time, and also the relative and absolute chro-
nologies of Late Iron Age pottery in both Palestine and Greece. The dating of
the site has been controversial, though Na’aman, Fantalkin and others have
now confidently placed the site in the late 7th century BC, with a date for its
closure at 604 BC, but this needs further examination, particularly in the light
of continuing uncertainties regarding the dating of Archaic Greek pottery. In
this paper I offer evidence for a later dating of the site, to the early 6th century
BC. As it happens, Jack Holladay suggested the possibility of such a date as long
ago as 1976 (see below). It is an honour to be able to dedicate this paper to Jack
and—if the arguments offered here stand up—to his foresight.
Nature of the Settlement
Though the idea has sometimes been entertained that Meẓad Ḥashavyahu was
a trading post, it is now generally agreed that it was a military station.2 Indeed
1 See Naveh (1977 and 1993) for a brief history of the excavations and early bibliography.
2 For references and discussion see Fantalkin (2001).

334 James
the only architecture at the site is a small fortress. The provenance, quantity,
quality and repertoire of the Aegean (largely East Greek) pottery—including
cooking pots, lamps, kraters, drinking cups and amphorae, and representing
slightly less than half the total assemblage from the site3—leave little room for
doubt that this was the base of a small but élite mercenary army, most likely
“Ionians” from East Greece who had brought with them (or were supplied by
sea with) considerable home comforts. After a short period of occupation the
fortress was abandoned, rather than destroyed.
The site is strategically positioned, on a ridge near the coast about 1.7 km
south of the port of Yavneh-Yam. At Yavneh-Yam remains dated by the exca-
vators to the late 7th century have been found and designated as Stratum IX.
These include a monumental structure, with a destruction layer on its floor.
The pottery parallels that of pre-Persian Ashkelon, Ekron IB and Tel Batash
(Timnah) II as well as Meẓad Ḥashavyahu (Fantalkin 2001: 132–33). There were
also a few East Greek pieces, including a few fragments of Ionian cups and rims
from a couple of East Greek cooking-pots. Despite the absence of other types,
such as the Wild Goat style conspicuous at Meẓad Ḥashavyahu, Fantalkin
argues convincingly that Yavneh-Yam IX was contemporary and that both set-
tlements met their fate at much the same time (Fantalkin 2001: 133, 136). Given
their close connections, both geographical and chronological, there must have
been some strategic relationship between the two settlements. The fortress
at Meẓad Ḥashavyahu must have been intended to provide logistical support
for the port of Yavneh. The gateway of the fortress faces due west towards the
shore, a quick route for a forced march, if necessary, to the port. Nevertheless,
in Fantalkin’s opinion, the garrison’s main function was to supervise and col-
lect supplies at the port for Egyptian troops travelling by sea further north and
back (Fantalkin 2006: 203). It seems reasonable that whoever controlled Meẓad
Ḥashavyahu also controlled Yavneh-Yam, as envisaged by Na’aman: “The latter
site was the major port in this area, and the Egyptians built the fortress for their
Greek or Cypriot mercenaries in the vicinity . . ., in a place that enabled them
to supervise the neighbouring port city and kept the mercenaries in isolation
from the local inhabitants” (Na’aman 2001: 272).
The theory that the Egyptians were the owners of the fortress is far more
likely than any other option. Naveh thought that the garrison was in the control
of Josiah of Judah (640–609 BC) (Naveh 1977: 863), while others have suggested
3 Niemeier (2002: 330) feels that Fantalkin’s estimate of 46 percent is slightly too high, as the
mortaria and basket-handled amphorae are more likely to be of Cypriot rather than East
Greek origin, as assumed in Fantalkin (2001), an assessment accepted by Fantalkin (personal
communication, March 2006).
Meẓad Ḥashavyahu Reconsidered 335
his successor Jehoiachim (609–598 BC) (Wenning 1989: 182–92; Niemeier 2001:
23; 2002: 329; Wenning 2004: 31–32, n. 13) or Zedekiah (597–586 BC) (Wenning
1989: 192–93). Yet, although not impossible, there is no good evidence that
Judahite monarchs employed Aegean mercenaries at this period (Fantalkin
(2001: 141; 2006, 203).4 Indeed, Naveh originally felt that the garrison was cre-
ated by Pharaoh Psammetichus I, and that it had only been in the control of
Judah for a few years before 609 BC (Naveh 1962: 99). It is really only the pres-
ence of the Hebrew ostraca (with Yahwist names) that spawned the sugges-
tion of Judahite control of this area during the period of the late monarchy.
Another ostracon bears a Phoenician theophoric name (Na’aman 1991: 46).
The Babylonians have also been considered as owners of the fort,5 but
the probability is not high. While Greeks and Anatolians are known from
Babylonian records as craftsmen, there is no explicit cuneiform evidence for
their use as mercenaries.6 “Nor is there any hint in the Babylonian material
of an awareness of Ionia in particular as a source for soldiers . . .” (Kuhrt 2002:
22). Against this Niemeier claims that “even without the existence of authentic
Babylonian sources, we know from Alcaeus’ poem that Greek mercenaries did
indeed serve in the Babylonian army” (2002: 330).7 This is true, but this single
4 The only evidence offered by Niemeier (2001: 18; 2002: 329) concerns the “Kittim” (ktym) for
whom Elyashib, commander of the Judahite fortress of Arad, was ordered to supply provi-
sions, according to the ostraca of Tel Arad VII/VI. Aharoni (1981: 12–13) assumed these were
Greek or Cypriot mercenaries in the employ of Judah, but their identity is highly uncertain.
Herzog et al. (1984: 29) suggested that the Kittim of Arad were Phoenician-speaking mer-
chants or caravaneers from Kition. Even if they were soldiers it remains unclear who their
employer may have been; Fantalkin (2006: 207, n. 83) sees them as Egyptian mercenaries. The
whole question is complicated by the extremely problematic dating of the Arad strata; see
briefly Kokkinos (1998: 40–41, and n. 27).
5 Including by the present writer and colleagues; see James et al. (1991: 372, n. 65).
6 For the sources Kuhrt (2002); Zadok (2005).
7 As evidence that the Assyrians employed Carians, Niemeier cites a story from Polyaenus
(Strategica 7.3.4) in which a group of Carians, led by one Pigres, were instrumental in helping
Psammetichus (I) defeat Tementhes in a battle at Memphis. Though the source is late (2nd
century AD) the tradition may well be reliable—Tementhes must be Tanwetamani, last king
of the (Ethiopian) 25th Dynasty, while Pekrj (Pigres) is a Carian name; a Memphite grave-
stone with this name (Ray 1982: 190; Younis 2003: 584), dating to the late 7th century, may
belong to the very individual mentioned by Polyaenus. Niemeier (2001: 17; 2002: 328) assumes
the defeat of Tanwetamani referred to took place under the Assyrians; if Greek historiog-
raphers had replaced Assurbanipal with Psammetichus as Tanwetamani’s main opponent,
then “these Carians served in the Assyrian army”. Yet, as Morkot (2000: 297–98) points out,
Assurbanipal’s record of his 663 BC campaign does not refer to a battle with Tanwetamani,
only his flight. In Morkot’s opinion is it more likely that the tradition in Polyaenus relates to
336 James
attested instance—concerning a brother of Alcaeus in a poorly preserved

poetry fragment—needs to be weighed against the vast body of evidence that
the Egyptians were the employers par excellence of East Greek mercenaries at
this period. Indeed, Niemeier accepts that the amount of Greek pottery from
Meẓad Ḥashavyahu “may, therefore, be interpreted as evidence that Greek
mercenaries were in the service of Egypt at the site, since the Egyptian army
was the only army in which large units of Greeks served” (2002: 330). While the
casemate construction of the fortress at Meẓad Ḥashavyahu is of Levantine
tradition—showing that local builders were employed—the L-shaped plan of
the fortress is alien to Palestine (Na’aman 1991: 46), but is similar to that of the
Egyptian fortress at Semna in Nubia (Fantalkin 2001: 49–50). The Semna for-
tress is much earlier (Middle Kingdom, refurbished in the New Kingdom), but
was reoccupied for a period in the late eighth-seventh centuries BC (Morkot
2000: 152). Rather than the L-shape per se, it is the fact that it was dictated
by the topography that suggests that Meẓad Ḥazhavyahu was built within the
same, flexible, tradition of Egyptian military building.8
Egyptian control of the fortress is not incompatible with the Hebrew ostraca.
The famous letter containing the complaint of the reaper concerns two appar-
ently Hebrew individuals—one the anonymous author of the letter, a peasant,
the other one Hoshhavyahu (Hoshaiah) son of Shobai, thought to be an official
in charge of corvée workers. As frequently noted, the Egyptians used Judaean
mercenaries, apparently at Migdol, Tahpenes, Memphis and Elephantine
(Oren 1984: 36; Miller and Hayes 1986: 435; Na’aman 1991: 46–47; Fantalkin
2001: 145). Most such references belong, of course, to the Exilic period (post-
587 BC),9 though we know from Jeremiah 24:8 that by the reign of Zedekiah
an attempt by Tanwetamani to reconquer Lower Egypt after the withdrawal of the Assyrians.
The reference to Carians would then reflect the known policy of Psammetichus I as an inde-
pendent monarch to employ such mercenaries, and not Assyrian practice.
8 Personal communication, Robert Morkot; Fantalkin (2001: 50).
9 Francis and Vickers (1985: 137, n. 71) suggested an Exilic date for the ostraca, noting that the
poor status of the reaper who wrote the famous judicial plea (Albright 1969: 568) recalls the
fact that the Babylonians left “some of the poorest of the land to be vinedressers and plough-
men.” However, it seems unlikely that one of the “poorest of the land” would have been so
literate. Alternatively, it is tempting to see the plight of an apparently literate man working as
a reaper, reduced to making the pathetic complaint that his coat had been stolen, as evidence
that he was in greatly reduced circumstances—again suiting the Babylonian period. Still, the
difficulties of determining the character of the Hebrew used in the letter, whether its author
used a scribe and whether he was even certainly Hebrew (Young 1990), caution against read-
ing too much into the case.
the Jewish community in Egypt was already large enough to require mention
as part of the audience for his prophecies.
The only serious objection raised to pharaonic control of the fort has been
the alleged absence of Egyptian finds (Waldbaum and Magness 1997: 39; Stern
2001: 142). However, Fantalkin’s re-examination of the pottery finds, aided by
petrographic analysis, has identified a small quantity made from Nilotic clay.
With reasonable safety this can be taken as Egyptian (or in some cases Nubian)
pottery, a new category at the site which amounts to one percent of the overall
assemblage (Fantalkin 2001: 97–98, 103). Further, as Meẓad Ḥashavyahu and
Yavneh-Yam seem to have been controlled by the same military authority, the
two scarabs found in Yavneh-Yam Stratum IX (see below) then must also be
taken into account.
On balance, Fantalkin’s conclusion that the establishment of Meẓad
Ḥashavyahu “may only be attributed to the Egyptian administration” (Fantalkin
2001: 141; 2006: 203) is the most realistic in light of the available evidence. The
garrison seems to have been comprised, to a large degree, of “Ionian” soldiers,
accompanied by Hebrew and Phoenician speakers working in farming, admin-
istrative and possibly also military capacities.
Archaeological Dating of the Garrison
As Fantalkin notes, Meẓad Ḥashavyahu was previously embroiled in an unfor-

tunately circular discussion between Levantine and Aegean archaeologists
regarding chronology. Naveh, the excavator of the site, used the accepted dat-
ing of the Greek pottery found there when estimating that the site belonged to
the late 7th century (Naveh 1962: 97–99). The result, at the time, was somewhat
surprising: “The pottery found on the floors included the local ware common
in the seventh century BC together with coarse bowls and jars, which until
the excavations were considered to be of Persian date” (Naveh 1977: 862). Lapp
firmly objected to such a high date, basing his conclusion on the mortaria and
“other post-Iron II material”; his view was that such mortaria were only intro-
duced into Palestine in the 5th century BC (Lapp 1970: 184–85, n. 28). Holladay
shared Lapp’s unease, suggesting by way of compromise that a date for the site
in the first quarter of the 6th century should not be “completely disregarded”
(1976: 281, n. 33).
Nevertheless, the conventional dating of the Greek finds encouraged Naveh
to support a 7th-century date. From the Hebrew ostraca, Naveh deduced that
the fortress was built by the expansionist Judahite monarch Josiah (640–609 BC)
and abandoned in 609 BC, when Josiah was killed by the Egyptians at Megiddo.
338 James
This date, unfortunately, was then used by Cook to confirm his dating of the
Wild Goat style of East Greece and chronologically related Corinthian styles:
There is also Meṣad Ḥashavyahu near Ashkalon, where a small fort which
was in use only a short time contained pottery of the Middle II Wild Goat
style—and also several Hebrew inscriptions. Since the inscriptions are in
Hebrew and this area was occupied by the Egyptians in 609 BC, it is rea-
sonable to suppose that the pottery is earlier and consequently that the
Middle II Wild Goat style and, since it seems contemporary, Early Ripe
Protocorinthian did not begin later than 620 BC (Cook 1972: 264; cf. Cook
and Dupont 1998: 9).
Noting the circularity in argument, Francis and Vickers offered a much later
date for the site, in step with their radical revision of Archaic Greek pottery
dating (Francis and Vickers 1985: 137; Vickers 1985: 17–20). Though they seem to
have been unaware of Lapp’s comments, they noted Stern’s remark that “several
of the pottery types found at the site are of great interest . . . for they are gen-
erally considered to belong to the Persian period”—namely “jars with basket
handles, ‘Persian bowls’ [mortaria], and amphorae” (Stern 1982: 19). Accepting
the Persian tag at face value, they proposed that Meẓad Ḥashavyahu was built
during the Early Persian period (539 BC onwards), “and perhaps marked the
furthest extent of Cyrus’ empire at the time” (Vickers 1985: 20).
However, Francis and Vickers’ bold redating of Meẓad Ḥashavyahu met with
little welcome—for two reasons. First Aegean archaeologists generally felt that
a revision of Archaic pottery dating by as much as 70 years at this point was
too extreme (Cook 1989; Whitley 2001: 72–74). Second, there had already been
a sea-change in opinion among Israeli archaeologists regarding the allegedly
Persian-period forms from the site. Elsewhere in the volume that Francis and
Vickers had quoted, Stern showed that the “Persian” tag was no longer really
applicable—the same mortaria (“Persian bowls”) and basket-handled vessels
had been found in a number of contexts dated though to date to the 7th cen-
tury BC (Stern 1982: 97). Waldbaum and Magness list further sites where the
mortaria have been found in pre-Persian contexts: “The conclusion to be drawn
is that the flat-based mortarium and early types of basket-handled amphoras
are completely at home in a seventh-century context and cannot be used for
establishing the later date proposed by Francis and Vickers” (1997: 39–40).
Yet while removing an argument in favour of Francis and Vickers’ case, this
evidence certainly does not rule out a later dating for the site. For example, in
their list of “clear Iron Age contexts” which have produced flat-based mortaria
like those from Meẓad Ḥashavyahu, Waldbaum and Magness include the for-
tress of T.21 (“Migdol”) near Pelusium on the Egyptian border (1997: 39). Migdol
is a Late Saite fortress, most remains from which seem to belong to the 6th
century BC.10 It remains true that the mortaria and other erstwhile “Persian”
forms now thought to have started in the seventh century BC continued to
be made through the sixth century and Persian period. Fantalkin’s conclusion
here is balanced: “. . . it is clear that in this case, these common shapes (follow-
ing traditional manufacturing methods) cannot be used for dating purposes”
(Fantalkin 2001: 129).
With regard to the local ceramic finds, Fantalkin remarked that “the present
state of research does not permit the unequivocal identification of the typo-
logical differences between the end of the 7th century and the beginning of
the 6th century BCE” (Fantalkin 2001: 128). Thus, in terms of the parameters
presently allowed by the non-Aegean pottery there are no grounds for ruling
out an early 6th-century date for the site, as allowed, for example, by Holladay
in 1976 (see above).
From the Aegean perspective, while Francis and Vickers’ proposed redat-
ing of the site to the late 6th century BC, has generally been judged to be too
extreme, this does not mean that the wider questions they raised about Archaic
dating are redundant. Far from it. Their forays into chronology have spawned
a fresh (much-needed) critical approach to Archaic and Early Classical dat-
ing, and with respect to sculpture, epigraphy and coinage, their initiative has
contributed to a number of small, but significant, downward revisions. For
example, Gill’s redating of the sculptures from the Aphaia temple on Aegina is
exemplary—in that even using the conventional dates for the pottery under-
lying the temple he could demonstrate that the traditional dating for its con-
struction was too high (Gill 1988; 1993). Yet sculpture, coinage and pottery are
different matters, and it may be where Francis and Vickers over-extended the
lines between these that their suggestions overshot the mark.
A matter overlooked by Francis and Vickers is that there has always been a
strong undercurrent in the literature pulling for lower dates for the Corinthian
and contemporary styles. In 1931 Payne established his (now standard)
Corinthian chronology on the basis of western colonies such as Selinus but
was taking a stand against other scholars whose dates were some 45 years
lower. Gjerstad, the doyen of Cypriot archaeology, suggested lowering Middle
10 According to Oren, the local shapes “are most characteristic of the 6th century BC” He
notes, for example, that some types are identical to those buried in a foundation deposit
at Nebesheh with seals of Pharaoh Amasis (1984: 13, 14). This supports the excavator’s
assumption, extremely probable in historical terms, that this strategic fortress defending
the eastern margins of the Egyptian delta was destroyed during Cambyses’ invasion of 525
BC (1984: 38).
340 James
Corinthian by 25 years, Langlotz by some 20 to 30 years.11 The excavators of

Samos used a low Corinthian chronology, placing the end of Early Corinthian
(hereafter EC) 25 years later than the generally accepted dating (Walter 1968;
Walter-Karydi 1973). More recently Morris, in a review of the evidence from
the Greek colonies in Sicily, and in particular Selinus, suggested reducing the
beginning of Late Protocorinthian by 10 or 20 years, with a consequent lower-
ing in the start for Early Corinthian (Morris 1996: 57).12 The one ‘low’ sugges-
tion that has so far found wide currency is that of Amyx, who argued that the
Early to Middle Corinthian transition should be lowered by five to ten years to
595/590 BC (Amyx 1988: 428).
The present writer’s view is that a revision approximately halfway between
the Francis and Vickers and standard models is in order—in other words,
at c. 600 BC (conventional) the dates for Corinthian and East Greek should
be lowered by three to four decades, rather than six to eight (James et al.
1991: 359, n. 11; 372, n. 65; James 2003; James 2004: 53–55; James 2005b; James
2006). Independently, Bowden offered a similar solution, after showing that
the ceramic dating at three key sites (Naukratis, Old Smyrna and Tocra in
Cyrenaica) was out of step with the Herodotean dating by some four decades
(Bowden 1991; 1996).
At Naukratis, Middle Corinthian (conventional 600–575 BC) and contem-
porary East Greek styles are well attested and associated with the earliest
structures (temples). There are also a few unstratified Early Corinthian pieces,
while an example of Wild Goat II Middle was found near the bottom of the
temenos pit of the temple of Apollo (James 2003: 240, 250). Accordingly, the
beginnings of the Greek settlement are dated conventionally to 615/610 BC,
within EC (Cook 1937). This has led to a rejection of Herodotus’ testimony that
Naukratis was given to the Greeks, as a trading settlement where they could
build temples, by Pharaoh Amasis (570–526 BC). Rather, slightly modifying
Bowden’s case, I have argued that the evidence from Naukratis (historical,
Egyptian, Cypriot and Phoenician) favours a c. 35-year lowering in Archaic pot-
tery chronology at 600 BC (James 2003).
11 For references to these and other low daters, see James (2003: 260–62).
12 It has been argued that the entire Protocorinthian and Geometric phases need consider-
able lowering. For the alleged anchor points in the Levant for dating these styles see James
et al. (1991: 99–110; 1998: 39). Late Geometric dates are too high, by at least 25 (James et al.
1991: 111; James 2003: 241–43; 2005b). Such a reduction has been accepted as plausible by I.
Morris (1993: 30–31), while S. P. Morris (1998: 362) has argued that the “Geometric period
lasted well into the seventh century.” For the case of Tyre, see James (2008: 144–47).
Bowden identified a similar problem at Tocra. The earliest pottery (Early

Corinthian) has given rise to a conventional date of 620–600 BC for its foun-
dation, whereas the Herodotean account indicates that Tocra and other sites
outside Cyrene were not founded until the expansion of settlement c. 580 BC.
Tocra forms part of a complex of interrelated problems. Two, possibly three,
other colonies (Euesperides, Ptolemais and perhaps Apollonia), which one
would have expected to be daughter-colonies of Cyrene, begun during the
same expansion of settlement, also have remains from the Early Corinthian
horizon (Schaus 1985: 100; Gill 2005). The historical and archaeological chro-
nologies on this point are thus offset from each other by some three to four
decades and the same applies to the very earliest settlements in Cyrenaica.
Traditionally, Cyrene was founded in c. 631 BC, and its short-lived predecessor
Aziris c. 637 BC. Yet at Aziris there is a horizon of pottery conventionally dated
c. 675/670 BC, and at Cyrene a series of terracotta sculptures of the same date
(James 2005b).
At Old Smyrna, Early Corinthian (not the latest) was found in a destruction
layer associated with the conquest of the city by Alyattes the Lydian. Yet as
Langlotz and Bowden have noted, the text of Herodotus suggests that the sack
of Old Smyrna took place after the Median war of 585 BC (James 2003; James
2005b). Langlotz argued that the destruction of Old Smyrna (believed to be the
work of Alyattes of Lydia) took place in 580 BC rather than 600 BC, a date to
which Cook objected as it “would be difficult to maintain, if the interpretation
of Mesad Hashavyahu is correct” (Cook 1989: 165, n. 18).
As I noted in a general review:
Either Herodotus is wrong or the conventional Archaic pottery chronol-

ogy is wrong. The stakes are high. Herodotus’ narrative involves a fairly
tight pattern of synchronisms between Greece and neighbouring coun-
tries such as Lydia, Egypt and Babylonia. If he is wrong about major fac-
tors such as the origin of the Greek settlements at Naukratis and Cyrene
we are in danger of jettisoning a large part of Archaic Greek history
(James 2004: 54).
Outside of the Levant, all the “fixed points” listed by Cook for 7th-century
Greek pottery chronology are either seriously flawed or fit better with a lower-
ing of Early Corinthian and contemporary East Greek styles by a notional 35
years (James 2005b: 12–14). As already noted, Meẓad Ḥashavyahu produced a
number of sherds of the Milesian Middle II Wild Goat style, contemporary
with Early Corinthian, together with other styles conventionally dated to the
late 7th century BC (Fantalkin 2001: 74–97). As Meẓad Ḥashavyahu is presently
342 James
one of the main lynchpins for the standard pottery chronology of the Archaic
(and particularly the Middle II Wild Goat style), it provides an ideal test for the
proposed revision. Is the evidence conclusive for dating its abandonment to
the late 7th century BC, or can a better case be made for redating this event to
a point near c. 565 BC?
Historical Dating of the Garrison and the Ashkelon Problem
Regarding the problems of Archaic pottery chronology, Boardman has stressed

the need for “written sources, but preferably not a hundred years and more after
the event, and preferably not Greek at all” (Boardman 1994: 147). In an ideal
world the Near Eastern contexts of Early Corinthian and related East Greek
wares such as Meẓad Ḥashavyahu would contain well-dated epigraphic mate-
rial excavated from sound contexts. Unfortunately such contexts are presently
absent. The nearest case concerns Ekron, where the famous inscription was
discovered commemorating the building of the temple of Stratum IC, beneath
that (Str. IB) containing the Greek imports. The inscription names individuals
known from Assyrian records, yet it would seem that the most obvious dates
thus suggested have been sacrificed to the expectations from “pottery dating”
(see below).
Without such ideal contexts, we have recourse to the historical records
of Egypt and Babylonia, which can offer links between military events and
the destruction levels/settlement breaks at sites revealed by excavation.
Unfortunately records of the Asiatic campaigns of the Saite pharaohs are vir-
tually non-existent (Spalinger 1977: 228–29). Likewise, royal records of the
military activities of the Neo-Babylonian kings are singularly rare (Eph‘al 2003:
178). The best evidence we have for Neo-Babylonian campaigns comes from the
patchy record provided by the laconic entries in the Babylonian Chronicles.
The surviving entries for the Neo-Babylonian Empire amount to some twenty
years, less than thirty percent of the Empire’s duration (James 2004: 51).
Further, an important point often overlooked by archaeologists, is that our
copies of the Chronicle series are not understood to be contemporary with
the events they record. Wiseman noted that the script of the Neo-Babylonian
Chronicle tablets “does not of itself allow any precise dating but which can
mean that they were written from any time almost contemporary with the
events themselves to the end of the Achaemenid rule” (Wiseman 1956: 4).
Only two of the Neo-Babylonian Chronicle tablets have colophons. BM 92502
(Grayson’s ABC 1A) covers the period 747–648 BC and is dated to the 22nd
year of a king whose name is usually restored as Darius (I), i.e., 500/499 BC
(Wiseman 1956: 1; Grayson 1975: 69, 87; Waerzeggers 2012: 283). It was “copied
from an older and damaged text and claims to be the first of a number of tab-
lets, or chapter-extracts, of the same kind” (Wiseman 1956: 4). The name of the
king is badly damaged and Brinkman has not ruled out Artaxerxes I, giving a
date for the colophon of 443/2 BC (Brinkman 1990: 85, n. 68). The second is
BM 96273 (ABC 15), the so-called “Shamash-shuma-ukin Chronicle”, where the
latest event mentioned is his rebellion in 652 BC. Here the colophon names
the copyist as one Nabû-kāṣir descendant of Ea-ilūta-bani; prosopographic evi-
dence enables him to be to reasonably identified as an inhabitant of Babylon’s
sister city, Borsippa, who lived during the reign of Nabonidus (556–539 BC)
(Waerzeggers 2012: 290, 295), but who could well have survived into Early
Achaemenid times. In both cases we are dealing with texts a hundred to a hun-
dred and fifty years later than the events they record. In lieu of more precise
means of dating, one has to assume that the Chronicles that record the sub-
sequent Neo-Babylonian Empire may have also been committed to clay in the
Achaemenid period.13 Though they are generally considered reliable for the
periods they cover (Grayson 1975: 14), copyists’ errors could well have crept in.
And, strictly speaking they fall short of Boardman’s desideratum for non-Greek
sources “preferably not a hundred years and more after the event.” When he
wrote these words, Boardman was surely implying a contrast with the classi-
cists’ traditional reliance on Herodotus (c. 440 BC)—who, ironically, wrote in
the time of Artaxerxes I.
It is from such sparse ‘primary’ sources—necessarily fleshed out with the
evidence from the odd inscription, the Old Testament, Herodotus and other
classical writers—that we can draw a picture of the imperial struggles in the
Levant during the late seventh-early sixth centuries. Though inadequate, they
are all we have to tackle the question: what is the best historical ‘window’ in
which we might envisage the Egyptians establishing a garrison of Greek mer-
cenaries in order to provide logistical support for the port of Yavneh-Yam?
Fantalkin (2001: 136) sets parameters of no earlier than the 620s and no
later than 604 BC. The key date of 604 BC, as used by Fantalkin, is based on
an understanding of the Babylonian Chronicle: “Of vital importance in dating
13 The analysis of Waerzeggers (2012) suggests an ingenious way of distinguishing between
Chronicle tablets of the Babylon and Borsippa schools—using their accession dates by
the British Museum. She assigns the crucial BM 21946 (ABC 5), recording the early years of
Nebuchadrezzar II, to Borsippa and tentatively suggests a mid-sixth century BC date for
the end of the Borsippa school of Chronicle writing. This remains speculative, however,
as the greater corpus from Borsippa continues into the reign of Xerxes (485–465 BC) (cf.
Waerzeggers 2012: 294).
344 James
Meẓad Ḥashavyahu is the destruction date of Ashkelon by Nebuchadrezzar

in the month of Kislev 604 BCE, as reported in the Babylonian Chronicle . . .”
(Fantalkin 2001: 131; cf. Na’aman 1991: 47). Fantalkin has recourse to this date
twice, in both archaeological and historical arguments. Noting parallels
between the local and imported pottery assemblages of Ashkelon (Stager’s
pre-Persian stratum, including a dozen Early Corinthian sherds) and Meẓad
Ḥashavyahu, Fantalkin concludes that the latter “should be dated toward the
end of the 7th century BCE.” The historical argument, a strategic considera-
tion, is used by Fantalkin to rule out Wenning’s (1989) suggestion that Meẓad
Ḥashavyahu may have fallen later, c. 598 BC: “Assuming that the fortress was
ruled by the Egyptians, it seems unreasonable that an Egyptian fortress would
remain standing while the Babylonian army advanced towards Ashkelon”
(Fantalkin 2001: 144).
Two key assumptions are involved here: that Ashkelon fell to the Babylonians
in 604 BC; and that the Babylonians had finished their conquest of Palestine by
the end of the 7th century, terminating the Saite empire in the Levant.
Fantalkin follows the widely held understanding that the fall of Ashkelon
is reported in the Babylonian Chronicle entry for 604 BC. But it cannot be
stressed enough that the whole matter hinges on the partial restoration of the
name “Ashkelon” for the city captured and levelled in that year (James 2004:
54; 2005b: 20; 2006). Both editors who have published the tablet in question
(B.M. 21946) have repeatedly stressed caution about the reading of this name
(Wiseman 1956: 85; Grayson 1975: 100; Grayson 1980: 161; Wiseman 1991a: 23, n.
158). Wiseman has gone as far as to say that “There is no sure extra-biblical evi-
dence of any Babylonian military activity in ‘Philistia’, the coastal plain, or in
Judah before Nebuchadrezzar’s seventh year [598/597 BC]” (1991a: 28). Finkel14
and Zadok15 have re-examined the tablet more recently and are confident
that “Ashkelon” is the most plausible reading of the name. Nevertheless, this is
hardly the kind of indisputable (or even contemporary) textual evidence that
Boardman called for. Nor should the dangers of building a historical case on a
textual restoration, however reasonable it may seem, need pointing out.16
14 Personal communication; cited in Stager (1996: 72*, n. 1).

15 Personal communication to P. James (Feb. 2006); see also R. Zadok, personal communica-
tion, in Fantalkin (2011: 87, n. 1).
16 For one germane example, the reading of the name of the land conquered by Cyrus of
Persia, in the year 9 entry of the Nabonidus Chronicle (547/6 BC), was for decades erro-
neously read as “Ludu” (Lydia)—see Cargill (1976) and Rollinger (2008). For a detailed
discussion of the date of the fall of Sardis, with a proposed lower dating, see Kokkinos
The reason that there is difficulty in reading the name is that the first two
signs (ish, qi/ki) were written over erasures, while the third (restored as il or i)
was itself erased.17 This suggests either that the scribe copying this document
(very possibly in the Achaemenid period) was working from a damaged tablet
or that he hesitated in transcribing a city-name that was unrecognisable to
him, conceivably adjusting it to something more familiar. As we know from
the Greek imports, Ashkelon was flourishing again by c. 500 BC, having been
rebuilt “on a quite impressive scale” under the Persians (Stern 2001: 408–11).
Most importantly, even if the reading “Ashkelon” is correct (to the origi-
nal version), this needs to be related to the archaeology of the site—a point
stressed by the present writer (James 2004: 54) that has been widely ignored.
The current excavators have associated the event with a destruction horizon,
most conspicuous in South Tell Phase 7 (Grid 50: marketplace) = Phase 14
(Grid 38) winery)—remains of the last settlement before the Persian city
(Stager 1996). But the modern work (as so far published) has not been exten-
sive enough to rule out that Nebuchadrezzar’s putative conquest might actu-
ally relate to a lower stratum. The new excavations have only recovered very
limited deposits from the late Phase 8 town underlying Phase 7.18
On the North slope of the tell the excavated squares uncovered pottery of
the 8th century-7th centuries (Phase 8) associated with fortifications which
“most likely fell during the Babylonian attack in 604 BC.”19 Would the uncer-
tainty here allow that this part of the fortifications was actually destroyed at
the end of Phase 8? Stager et al. state that the pottery and small finds “indi-
cate the latest occupation behind the defenses was probably in the eighth or
seventh century BC.” (Stager et al. 2008: 236). The pottery from the find spots
inside the curtain wall at this point has not been published, with the exception
(2009); Nikos Kokkinos and I hope to discuss elsewhere the ramifications for ceramic and
Athenian historical chronology.
17 Of the tentative reading iš?-qi?-il-lu-nu, Wiseman (1956: 85) wrote: “The first two signs are
doubtful, being written over an erasure.” Finkel (personal communition, in Stager 1996:
72*, n. 1) stated that the third syllable is “possibly” an “erased aleph”. According to Zadok’s
recent re-examination of the tablet the second syllable (over erasure) should be read as ki
rather than qi (personal communication, February, 2006).
18 This has raised a problem for making any reasonable population estimates for this period,
as noted by Fantalkin (2011: 92): “The archaeological evidence for 8th–7th centuries BCE.
Ashkelon is limited and inconclusive and we lack a number of crucial variables required
for any attempt to estimate the population of the city during this period (such as the size
of residential areas versus nonresidential areas within the city walls, the expected popula-
tion density based on median number of households per hectare, etc.).”
19 Stager et al. (2008: 236), emphasis added.
346 James
of this remark: “Some of the finds, including Phoenician Fine Ware, parallel
those from the silos and pits of Grid 38 Phase 15.” Phase 15 of the South Tell is
equivalent to Phase 8 of the North slope; the end of both is dated by the exca-
vators to c. 700 BC (Stager et al. 2008: 236 and 217, table).
The possibility that there is another Late Iron Age destruction level in the
tell below that of Phase 7 is raised by the findings of the early British excava-
tions on the South Tell. In a deep section cut into the sea cliff in 1921, Phythian-
Adams identified three burnt levels of Iron Age date: the lowest (“black earth
full of ashes”) separates the Bronze Age stratum from the first Philistine pot-
tery; the uppermost (“ashes”) must be that identified by Stager as the work of
the Babylonians in 604 BC. In between these was another destruction level
(“black earth with ashes”) (Stager et al. 2008: 156–57 and fig. 9.9). The mod-
ern expedition did not re-excavate the sea-cliff section so the relative date of
this second ash layer remains unknown. Trenches were dug in Grids 50 and
57, either side of Phythian-Adams’ section (Stager et al. 2008: 156 and 187,
fig. 11.1), but have thrown no light on the question. Excavation of Grid 57 ceased
at the level of the Persian period (Phase 6) (Stager et al. 2008: 319), while in
Grid 50 the Phase 8 (“late 8th to early 7th” century) deposits were “difficult
to understand”, having been destroyed or massively disturbed by the quarry-
ing work of Phase 7. Where the quarrying had left some coherent architecture
an alleyway was discovered containing household waste and ash, but whether
the latter was from a burning of this part of the city or from domestic waste is
unclear from the very brief report (Stager et al. 2008: 308).20 Thus, like the work
on the North slope, the recent excavations on the South Tell have shed almost
no light on the character and fate of the settlement that existed at Ashkelon
during this Phase. Until more is known about Phase 8, the assumption that
the destruction of Phase 7 can automatically be identified with a campaign of
Nebuchadrezzar lacks vital context and remains, strictly speaking, speculative.
20 The extent of the damage done to earlier levels by quarrying is confirmed in the latest site
report on the “7th century BC” at Ashkelon, see Stager et al. (2011: 31), which provides a
clear photo-map of the large quarried area and the confirmation that, “The south edge of
the quarry cut through the center of the excavation area in Grid 50 (Phase 8), removing
earlier Iron or Bronze Age occupational strata from the northern half of the excavation
area.” For other remarks regarding the uncertainty about the dating of earlier Iron Age
levels, for example, see Stager et al. (2011: 35).The problem also remains that all remarks
about the dating of allegedly “8th” or “7th” century levels still depend on two highly ques-
tionable assumptions: (1) that Nebuchadrezzar did actuallly destroy Ashkelon in 604 BC;
and (2) that the evidence of burning, etc., for the South Tell Phase 7 (Grid 50: market-
place) = Phase 14 (Grid 38) winery) relate to this putative destruction.
Dating the end of the last pre-Persian settlement as early as 604 BC has also
raised some curious archaeological anomalies. Earlier excavations uncovered
a favissa containing a large number of Egyptian bronzes, including highly dis-
tinctive situlae, which were dated to the Persian period (fourth century BC).
The renewed excavations of Stager found seven such situlae in the pre-Persian
destruction horizon (Room 402 of the winery), together with a figure of Osiris:
A twin of our bronze Osiris statuette was uncovered more than sixty year
ago in a small salvage excavation at Ashkelon. The excavator, J. H. Iliffe,
dated it to the fourth century BC . . .; but it is now clear that this statu-
ette and 25 other bronze statuettes of Egyptian deities, as well as 14 other
Egyptian bronze artifacts . . ., which were found in Iliffe’s excavation, are
contemporaneous with our bronzes—that is, they belong to the late sev-
enth century BC, not the fourth century (Stager et al. 2008: 281–282).
But simply backdating the Egyptian finds does not resolve the problem.
Regarding the situlae from the new excavations, Stern noted that: “Two almost
identical bronze situlae bear Phoenician inscriptions and are dated to the
Persian period.”21 Further he still maintains that the statuettes from the favissa
are from Persian times (Stern 2001: 498).
Similar problems have been raised for palaeographic dating. Cross accepted
without question that a date of 604 BC for the last pre-Persian settlement pro-
vides a fixed marker for the Phoenician cursive script of this period. For exam-
ple, regarding an ostracon from the new excavations, Cross wrote:
It is inscribed in a Phoenician cursive, almost exactly the same as the

Phoenician cursive of the Saqqārah Papyrus. Since it comes from the
debris of the 604 destruction, it must be dated to the late seventh cen-
tury BC. The Saqqārah (Phoenician) Papyrus, as well as a number of other
cursives, must therefore be raised in date—in the case of the Saqqārah
Papyrus, to ca. 600 BC. The highly evolved state of the Phoenician cur-
sive, beyond that of the formal or lapidary scripts, has misled scholars,
as we have seen, in their attempts to date scripts on the basis of a purely
palaeographic typology without fixed absolute dates. For example, the
date of the Kition Tariffs must be raised from Peckham’s date of 450–400
to c. 650 BC.22
21 Stern (2001: 498–500), and illustrations III.30 (Ashkelon statuettes), III:31 (situla with
Phoenician inscription). For brief discussion see James (2004: 49–50).
22 F. M. Cross in Stager et al. (2008: 339), emphasis added.
348 James
Cross’ words are well taken, but only if 604 BC does provide a reliable “fixed
absolute date”. As argued above, the available evidence allows that the puta-
tive conquest of Ashkelon by Nebuchadrezzar II may have concerned Phase 8
rather than the last pre-Persian Phase 7. At present it is assumed that Ashkelon
lay waste between 604 BC and the resettlement under the Persians c. 500 BC,
which is rather puzzling in itself—for such an important port-city and eco-
nomic hub. Elsewhere I have argued against the bizarre idea that the rulers of
the Neo-Babylonian Empire (unlike the Assyrians) simply laid waste to cities
in the Levant and deliberately left (or kept) them deserted for decades, leav-
ing us with a “Babylonian Gap” in the archaeological record. This makes no
sense in economic terms. Extreme ideas, such as that expressed by Stern that
the Babylonians’ “entire focus was on the welfare of the city of Babylon and
its immediate surroundings, while the periphery was largely neglected” (Stern
2001: 303), are flatly contradicted by literary and archaeological evidence
(James 2004: 50–52). A date for the destruction of pre-Persian Ashkelon much
closer to mid-6th century (and the Persian period) would shorten its alleged
century-long abandonment and go some way to relieving the chronological
tensions raised by the palaeography and Egyptian bronzes—as well as being
in step with the lowering of Early Corinthian and contemporary Greek pottery
styles outlined above.
Finally there is evidence suggesting that Ashkelon still existed as a city in the
early 6th century BC. A series of cuneiform documents from Babylon, dating
between 595 and 570 BC, lists the rations administered to dependents of the
royal court. These include the captive king Jehoiachin of Judah and “the sons of
Aga’, the king of Ashkelon”. As Bright noted, “It is possible that Aga’ still reigned
in Ashkelon at this time, the two princes being hostages” (Bright 1949: 49).
Actually, there can be little doubt that they were hostages, kept to guarantee
the good behaviour of their father or erstwhile subjects. This is Katzenstein’s
understanding: “We believe that the sons of Aga’ were hostages, and that Aga’
himself continued to reign for an indefinite period” (Katzenstein 1994: 41). If
this reading is correct, then the abandonment of pre-Persian Ashkelon could
hardly date to 604 BC, but must postdate c. 595 BC.
For all these reasons, the widely accepted date of 604 BC for the destruc-
tion of pre-Persian Ashkelon remains highly problematic, and far from proven.
Ceramic parallels between pre-Persian Ashkelon and Meẓad Ḥashavyahu can-
not be used to date the latter to the late 7th century (see further in n. 20 above).
We should not assume that Ashkelon or the other Philistine cities needed to
be cowed only once by Babylonian troops. The Neo-Babylonian dominion over
the Levant was not formed in one fell swoop, nor in a single steady progression
of campaigns. We know that Jerusalem was attacked twice by the Babylonians,
in both 597 and 587 BC, with a further campaign in Judah in 582 BC. Tyre, which
would have nominally submitted in 605/604 BC, had to be put to siege between
584/3 and 572/1 BC (see below) and again, it has been argued, in the late 560s BC
(Zawadzki 2003: 279*; Eph‘al 2003: 187). Hamath, Amanus and Amurru, which
the Babylonians subdued in the aftermath of Carchemish (605 BC), were the
subject of campaigns by Nabonidus in 554 and 553 BC (Oppenheim 1969: 305).
And it is usually assumed that Gaza changed hands three times (from Necho
II to Nebuchadrezzar, to Necho II again and back to Nebuchadrezzar) in the
eventful years at the turn of the seventh to sixth centuries BC.23 Katzenstein
reasonably sees a fourth change as “certain”, when Pharaoh Apries (“Hophra”)
moved to relieve the siege of Jerusalem in 588/7 BC;24 by inference, control
over Gaza must have changed a fifth time either when Apries was routed or, as
Katzenstein suggests, in 582/1 BC. The Babylonian domination of Palestine was
far from being monolithic.
The Late Saite Empire
The corollary, of course, is that Saite imperial adventures in the Levant did not
end c. 600 BC. So Kuhrt: “The situation of armed conflict fought out between
the two powers on the soil of the Levant was not resolved until after 570 BC
when Babylonia and Egypt reached a concordat, with the Levant passing effec-
tively into Babylonian hands” (2002: 23–24).
The history of the Saite Empire in the Levant can be roughly divided into
three phases. The first phase, under Psammetichus I (664–610 BC) and the ear-
lier reign of Necho II (610–595 BC), is the best documented (as the Babylonian
Chronicle is preserved for those years). Starting in the 630s or 620s, the Egyptians
took over the old Assyrian empire in the Southern Levant, most probably by
arrangement (Spalinger 1978: 50; Na’aman 1991: 39). By the 610s the Egyptians
were fielding armies in Northern Syria and deep into Mesopotamia, in support
of the Assyrians, until catastrophe struck with their defeat at Carchemish in
605 BC. In that year the Babylonians, according to the Chronicle, claimed sov-
ereignty over the entire land of Hatti (Syro-Palestine). In 601 BC the Chronicle
records how the two sides fought each other to a standstill in battle (Wiseman
1956: 71), evidently at Migdol (the Magdolos of Herodotus 2.159) on the Egyptian
border (Lloyd 1988: 161–63; Redford 1992: 458–59). As the Chronicle notes that
Nebuchadrezzar stayed in Babylon the following year, the Egyptians seem to
23 Katzenstein (1994); Rainey (2001: 61); Fantalkin (2001: 143); and see below.
24 Katzenstein (1994: 46), and see below.
350 James
have had the edge (Redford 1992: 458–59). Necho followed up by retaking Gaza
(the Kadytis of Herodotus 2.159; cf. Jeremiah 47:1) though, as already noted,
this was to prove a short-lived gain.
The second phase is represented by the final years of Necho II (c. 600–
595 BC) and the reign of Psammetichus II (595–589 BC), when there is almost
no evidence for Egyptian military intervention in Levantine affairs. To the con-
trary, 2 Kings 24:7 states that by the reign of Jehoiachin (598–597 BC), “the king
of Egypt came not again any more out of his land; for the king of Babylon had
taken from the river of Egypt unto the river Euphrates all that pertained to the
king of Egypt.” Conversely, the Babylonian presence was particularly strong in
Southern Palestine at this time; the account in 2 Kings of Nebuchdrezzar’s first
subjugation of Judah is confirmed by the Chronicle entry for the year 598/597.
Gaza must have been retaken by the Babylonians, as shown by the appearance
of its king in the court list on the Istanbul prism, now usually dated to 598/7 BC
(Na’aman 2000: 40; Vanderhooft 2003: 238; cf. Wiseman 1991a: 73; Katzenstein
1994: 46). The reason for the lack of Egyptian military intervention in Asia may
partly be that the Saites were preoccupied with troubles on their border with
Nubia (Redford 1992: 462–63).
Nevertheless in 591 BC Psammetichus II undertook a trip to “Kharu”, an
Egyptian geographical term that included both Palestine and Phoenicia. In
this instance the term has usually been taken to mean Phoenicia, with the
Pharaoh’s trip by sea, and because of the lack of military reference in the brief
account that we have, it is often interpreted as peaceful, religious (though
obviously propagandistic) expedition (Freedy and Redford 1970: 479–80;
Spalinger 1977: 233–34; Redford 1992: 464; Katzenstein 1997: 316–17). However,
Kahn rightly argues that the case for this being a religious embassy (e.g., to
Byblos) is weak, as the only evidence comes from a Persian-period document
where the author’s concern is to stress the role of his priestly ancestor in the
expedition (Kahn 2008: 148–51). On balance, we might see the expedition of
Psammetichus II to Kharu as a small show of force, most likely in Philistia, but
one which had little effect; there is no reference to such a ‘campaign’ in the
biblical or Greek sources. Kahn argues that Psammetichus II took advantage of
a temporary period of Babylonian military weakness in the region. This may be
so, and it is possible that Psammetichus II may have initiated the more aggres-
sive policy evident under his successor Apries.
The third phase of the Saite Empire is no less important in terms of the
historical developments which may have led to the founding of an Egyptian
fortress at Meẓad Ḥashavyahu. As it is less well documented and somewhat
neglected in the literature, a brief summary is attempted here. It begins with
the accession of Apries (589–570 BC) when, “a sharp change in Egyptian
f oreign politics can be detected”, with a renewal of “the old claim of Egyptian
suzerainty over the Eastern Mediterranean coast” (Katzenstein 1997: 317).
Apries had a hand in encouraging the rebellion of Zedekiah of Judah against
Nebuchadrezzar (Ezekiel 17:15). From Jeremiah (37:5) we know that Apries
brought his army to Judah in an attempt to lift the Babylonian siege of
Jerusalem (588/7 BC). Outnumbered or outmanoeuvred, the Egyptian army
returned home (Jeremiah 37:7). The dating of Apries’ other campaigns is more
difficult to determine. The only direct references come from classical sources.
Herodotus (2.161.2) states that Apries “sent an army against Sidon and fought at
sea with Tyre”. Perhaps less reliably, Diodorus adds Cyprus to these conquests.25
While there is general agreement as to the reality of the expeditions to Sidon
and Tyre, their nature and dating have given rise, in the words of Lloyd, to
“disturbing divergences of opinion” (1988: 171).
The most conspicuous problem here is the relationship of these expedi-
tions to the thirteen-year siege of Tyre by Nebuchadrezzar, known from the
‘Tyrian Annals’ (apud Josephus via Hellenistic sources) and Ezekiel. This is
generally dated to 586/5–573/2 BC,26 now refined by Kokkinos to 584/3–572/
1 BC (Kokkinos 2013: 49)—in any case contemporary with the best part of
the reign of Apries. As Miller and Hayes note: “That Egypt fought against the
Phoenician states while Tyre was under siege by Nebuchadrezzar, and this
in support of the Babylonians, seems highly unlikely” (1986: 427). Indeed,
all commentators have ruled out the possibility that Apries was working in
alliance with Nebuchadrezzar. This leaves three possible interpretations:
(1) Apries attacked Phoenicia before the Babylonian siege began (>584/3 BC);
(2) Apries attacked Phoenicia after the Babylonian siege ended (<572/1 BC); and
(3) Apries’ manoeuvres were in defence of Phoenicia against Nebuchadrezzar
during his siege of Tyre.
25 Diodorus (1.68.1): “Apries was king for twenty-two years. He made a campaign with strong
land and sea forces against Cyprus and Phoenicia, took Sidon by storm, and so terri-
fied the other cities of Phoenicia that he secured their submission; he also defeated the
Phoenicians and Cyprians in a great sea-battle and returned to Egypt with much booty”.
While Katzenstein (1997: 318) feels there “can be no doubt that Diodorus Siculus depends
on Herodotus” here, Lloyd (1988: 171) thinks that “the differences between his account of
Apries’ reign and that in H[erodotus] prove that the former had access to independent
sources”. Differences in the account of the civil war between Apries and Amasis may also
suggest that Diodorus had sources independent of Herodotus (Leahy 1988: 189). However,
it would be unwise to set much store on Diodorus’ account here until the nature and qual-
ity of such possible sources has been further investigated.
26 Freedy and Redford (1970: 469, 484); Wiseman (1991b: 235); Katzenstein (1997: 326);
Zawadzki (2003: 277*); Eph‘al (2003: 186).
352 James
With regard to the first possibility, such action would have taken place in
the first years of the reign of Apries (i.e., 589–586 BC). Freedy and Redford
(1970: 482–83) and Katzenstein (1997: 318–19) dated Apries’ Phoenician cam-
paign to 588 BC, arguing that its purpose was to force the Phoenicians into
an anti-Babylonian alliance. Freedy and Redford feel that Apries’ action was a
success, and that it occasioned Nebuchadrezzar’s attack on Tyre.27 While plau-
sible, arguably there may have been little time for Apries to have mounted an
expedition against Phoenicia at such an early date. His accession year was in
589 BC, and in 588/587 BC his army was attempting to raise the Babylonian
siege of Jerusalem.28
Lloyd prefers the second interpretation, dating Apries’ Phoenician adven-
tures to the period after the end of the Babylonian siege and before the usurpa-
tion of the Egyptian throne by Amasis in 570 BC (Lloyd 1983: 339; 1988: 171–72).29
We are close here to the old suggestion of Maspero that Apries’ Phoenician
campaign fell in 571 BC (Maspero 1903–1904: 437–38). The motive of Apries’
Phoenician campaign would then have been to recapture Tyre and Sidon from
Babylonian control.
The third possibility, that Apries’ manoeuvres were actually in support of
the Phoenicians during Nebuchadrezzar’s long siege of Tyre, has also found
support (Miller and Hayes 1986: 427; James 1991: 725; Grimal 1992: 362–63). On
their rebellion against Nebuchadrezzar, the Tyrians would almost certainly
27 Lloyd (1988: 171) has argued that there is a serious flaw in such a scenario. Jeremiah 27:1–3
refers to the messengers of the kings of Edom, Moab, Ammon, Tyre and Sidon meeting at
the court of king Zedekiah, in a usually understood to refer to a six-nation conclave plan-
ning rebellion against Nebuchadrezzar. Lloyd (1988: 171) concludes that “If, as Jeremiah
suggests, Tyre was involved in the revolt of Zedekiah, we would expect her relations
with Egypt to have been good from 589 to mid-587”, i.e., the first three years of Apries’
reign; ergo, an aggressive Egyptian war against Phoenicia at this date can be ruled out.
Yet the point is not as strong as Lloyd feels. The anti-Babylonian conclave is normally
dated to within the first four years of the reign of Zedekiah (Miller and Hayes 1986: 410;
Katzenstein 1997: 315–16), i.e., 597–594 BC, before the reign of Apries. NB the absence of
Philistine envoys at the conclave should not be read as indicating that their cities had
already been destroyed by Nebuchadrezzar; for discussion, see James (2006: 92).
28 It is, of course, not entirely impossible that Apries simultaneously sent a flying column
to Sidon and the fleet up to Tyre, in an attempt to widen the conflict by forcing the
Phoenicians into revolt. However, such a strategy would have been incredibly foolhardy
when his main force was facing the Babylonians in Judah, and there is no evidence to
recommend such a complicated scenario.
29 Lloyd himself offers 574–570 BC, but the first date in this range is slightly too high.
Much depends here also on the exact date of the accession of Amasis, which needs
reinvestigation.
have made a defensive alliance with the Egyptians. At a general level this inter-
pretation seems the most attractive. It obviates the awkward idea that Egypt,
the natural ally of Levantine kingdoms threatened by Mesopotamian conquer-
ors, would have resorted to aggressive action against such states; or that the
adventurous Apries would have ‘sat on his hands’ for thirteen years while the
Babylonians took over an area of such longstanding economic and cultural
importance to the Egyptians. An apparent problem with this interpretation
is, of course, that it suggests the account given by Herodotus, or his source, to
have been mistaken in talking about land and sea forces being sent, respec-
tively, against Sidon and Tyre.30
With the sparse information at our disposal, it is hard to decide between
these different scenarios.31 There is not a great difference between them
chronologically, the range being 589–571 BC. Nevertheless, one further fac-
tor strongly tends towards a date late within this range, hence preferring the
second and third interpretations. This is the wording and arrangement of the
prophecies of Ezekiel, which suggests that there was an intimate connec-
tion between Nebuchadrezzar’s siege of Tyre and his impending invasion of
Egypt, prophesied by Ezekiel (29:17–19) in the “twenty-seventh year” (of king
Jehoiachin’s exile), i.e., 572/1 BC:
In the twenty-seventh year, in the first month, on the first day of the
month, the word of the Lord came to me: Mortal, King Nebuchadrezzar
of Babylon made his army labour hard against Tyre; every head was made
30 Though, as Nikos Kokkinos reminds me (pers. comm.), it may be that the Sidonians and
Tyrians that Apries fought were factions or forces which were (reluctantly) under the
control of the Babylonians. Both ancient and modern parallels could be sought here.
31 The only cuneiform document with possible bearing on this question is the inscription
of Nebuchadrezzar from Wadi Brisa north of Tyre (trans. Oppenheim 1969: 307). This
claims that he restored peace and prosperity to the Lebanon after “a foreign enemy was
ruling and robbing (it of) its riches”. Unfortunately there is little agreement either on its
date or significance. Langdon (1912: 33–37) thought it reflected a Phoenician campaign
of Nebuchadrezzar in 586 BC. Wiseman (1991a: 26) states that the enemy is “usually
understood” as a Phoenician king, though not excluding the Egyptians. Indeed, the latter
would make best sense of the “foreign” character of the enemy and this, contra Wiseman,
seems to be the preferred interpretation (see e.g., Redford 1992: 465). Spalinger (1977:
228) sees the text as a mainly literary one, written retrospectively to justify the overall
takeover of the Lebanon from Egyptian control by the Babylonians in 605 BC. But if it
was written retrospectively, it could also refer to a later event. In any case, as Spalinger
puts it, “Nebuchadrezzar’s high-sounding words do not provide much meat for the his-
torian’s grill.”
354 James
bald and every shoulder was rubbed bare; yet neither he nor his army got
anything from Tyre to pay for the labour that he had expended against
it. Therefore, thus says the Lord God: I will give the land of Egypt to King
Nebuchadrezzar of Babylon; and he shall carry off its wealth and despoil
it and plunder it; and it shall be the wages for his army.
These words have often been taken to mean that the long siege of Tyre was a
failure (Bright 1981: 352; Katzenstein 1997: 331). Against this reading, Ezekiel
elsewhere (26:4) prophesied the complete destruction of the city; hence the
verses quoted might simply mean that the capture of Tyre was not deemed
worth the massive expenditure of a thirteen-year siege (Freedy and Redford
1970: 472; Miller and Hayes 1986: 427). And whether physically captured or not,
it is normally understood that Tyre must have accepted Babylonian suzerainty
in order to break the siege. Katzenstein allows, at least, that the Tyrians and
Babylonians had arrived at an ‘understanding’, with the Tyrian king Ethbaal
being deported to Babylon. In a subsequent invasion of Egypt (567 BC),
Nebuchadrezzar brought ships (see below), difficult to imagine unless Tyre
was, by then, “definitely in the Chaldean camp” (Freedy and Redford 1970: 484).
The exact fate of Tyre in 572/1 BC is not of immediate concern here—only the
relationship between the end of the siege and the projected invasion of Egypt.
The wording of Ezekiel, that Nebuchadrezzar would seek recompense for the
Tyrian siege by invading Egypt, strongly suggests that the two were causally
related.32 This most probably indicates that the casus belli for the invasion of
Egypt was its interference at Tyre, further suggesting that Apries’ Phoenician
expeditions fell close to 571 BC.33
The passage from Ezekiel indicates that in 571 BC, after the fall of Tyre,
the Babylonian army moved against Egypt. On this point we are confronted
with a dire lack of contemporary evidence, but there is a wealth of traditions
from Christian and Arabic writers, conveniently presented and analysed by
Spalinger (Spalinger 1977: 236–241). These either link the invasion of Egypt
to the siege of Tyre or to Nebuchadrezzar’s desire to capture fugitive Jews.
Though they can contain anachronistic elements (from the Persian invasion
32 The situation is closely paralleled by similar events in the early 7th century BC. Even after
Hezekiah’s submission to Sennacherib in 701 BC, Phoenicia and Philistia remained a prob-
lem for the Assyrians, due to the constant interference of Taharqo. It was the aim of neu-
tralising this that led Esarhaddon to attack Egypt itself in 674 BC (Morkot 2000: 262–64).
33 It is also entirely possible, of course, that Apries’ Sidonian and Tyrian expeditions took
place at different parts of his reign. However, the evidence overall suggests that at least
the Tyrian campaign was late in his reign.
of Egypt), many of these sources (including a Coptic papyrus which accord-

ing to Spalinger includes genuine 26th Dynasty allusions), specifically name
Apries as the king of Egypt at the time. Another, Ethiopic, account, relates that
Apries was defeated and killed by Nebuchadrezzar. It is hard to know what
to make of such a “motley collection of texts” (Leahy 1988: 194). Nevertheless
it remains that there was a persistent tradition that Apries’ reign ended with
an invasion of Egypt by Nebuchadrezzar. Here the best account, based on
Hellenistic sources, comes from Josephus, who states (Antiquities 10.182) that
Nebuchadrezzar “invaded Egypt in order to subdue it, and, having killed the
king who was then reigning . . . appointed another.” How far the later traditions
were reliant on Josephus is a moot point, but his account can only relate to the
replacement of Apries by Amasis. Spalinger believes that there is no a priori
reason to reject the tradition of Josephus and that there was a Babylonian inva-
sion of Egypt in the reign of Apries (1977: 240).
The evidence for a slightly later invasion of Egypt by Nebuchadrezzar is
far more secure. It is described in a cuneiform fragment (B.M. 33041) dating
to his year 37, i.e., 568/7 BC (Wiseman 1956: 30, 94–95; Oppenheim 1969: 308;
Wiseman 1991a: 39–41; Wiseman 1991b: 236; Donbaz 2001: 167, n. 9; Eph‘al 2003:
187–88). The laconic account states that Nebuchadrezzar marched against
Egypt to do battle. In response “[. . .]- a(?)-su, king of Egypt” called up his army
and allies, but the account of the ensuing battle is missing. The ending of the
apparent royal name, “[. . .]- a(?)-su”, is only matched by that of Amasis from
this period (Leahy 1988: 191, n. 30). The episode is mirrored in the Elephantine
Stela of Amasis, where the events of his fourth year of reign (567 BC) include
the invasion of a large army of “Asiatics”, by land and sea (Edel 1978; Leahy
1988: 190–191). The fragment from Nebuchadrezzar’s year 37 is also supple-
mented by a badly damaged (undated) prism fragment, identified by Donbaz
(2001: 167), which seems to mention a king of Egypt, his palace and city walls.
The reference to a palace may have some meaning. It is tempting to suggest a
connection with the immense fortified mud-brick and limestone palace built
by Apries at Memphis.34 Leahy (1988: 196) has suggested that this palace, or
rather citadel, played a significant role as a base of support for Apries in the
account of the civil war with Amasis on the Elephantine stela. Though specu-
lative, a reference to Apries’ palace in a text of Nebuchadrezzar would reflect
34 Petrie (1909); Lloyd (1983: 321–23). Herodotus (2.163) relates that Apries had “a great and
marvellous palace” at Sais, in which he was imprisoned by Amasis (2.169). As no trace of
this palace has been been found at Sais (Lloyd 1983: 321), it is fair to ask whether Herodotus
simply mislocated it from Memphis to Sais.
356 James
the Babylonian interest in Egyptian affairs that is bound to have preceded his
invasion in 567 BC.
The relationship between the historically attested Babylonian campaign
of 567 BC in the time of Amasis and the tradition of that against Apries is
hard to determine. Here a veritable rubik’s cube of possibilities comes into
play regarding the role of Nebuchadrezzar in the civil war between Apries
and Amasis, 570–567 BC. It may be that the Babylonians intervened in Egypt
on the part of the deposed Apries (Lloyd 1988: 178–79; Leahy 1988: 190–91),
though this may seem odd considering that the latter had been a thorn in
Nebuchadrezzar’s flesh for some two decades. Ladynin has offered another,
more elegant, solution. He questions the usual assumption that the “[. . .]- a(?)-
su” of the Babylonian fragment should be amended to “[Am]asis”, suggesting
that “it could easily correspond to the end of some word other than the name
Amasis” (Ladynin 2006: 34). Noting the strength of the biblical and extra-
biblical traditions that Nebuchadrezzar deposed his arch-enemy Apries,
Ladynin suggests that the invading “Asiatics” of the Elephantine Stela were
actually allies of Amasis in the civil war. This would certainly make sense of
Josephus’ implication that Nebuchadrezzar deposed Apries and appointed
Amasis in his stead. Still, as Ladynin notes, harmonisation of all the sources
remains elusive. Matters are not helped by our dependence on the old copy of
the Elephantine Stela made in 1900 by Daressy, a scholar whose transcriptions
are not noted for their reliability. Much may be clarified when the new edition
being prepared at Münster University is published (Ladynin 2006: 53).
In the meantime, it seems safe to say that Nebuchadrezzar’s attack on Egypt
in 567 BC, near the close of the civil war between Apries and Amasis, was pre-
ceded by years of enmity and most likely direct conflict. This may have begun
with an attack on Apries in 571 BC, itself in response to Egyptian aggression
(Leahy 1988: 194). Pending the discovery of new texts, the precise events of the
struggles c. 571–567 BC will remain obscure. Nevertheless, a point appreciated
long ago by Burn (1935: 145) is that there are likely to have been “plenty of bor-
der wars [in Southern Palestine] of which we know nothing” during the poorly
documented years of the later reign of Nebuchadrezzar.
For these reasons, in evaluating the destruction dates of various Late
Iron sites in Southern Coastal Palestine (including Ashkelon and Meẓad
Ḥashavyahu), we should not restrict the window of possibility to the last dec-
ade of the 7th century BC, as has recently been the case. To do so runs the risk
of writing a history of the region falsely weighted by the chance survival of
given years in the Babylonian Chronicles. Yet it is clear enough from the geo-
political situation, drawn from the meagre sources available, that there would
have been further warfare in the region between 571 and 567 BC.
A Sixth-century Date for Meẓad Ḥashavyahu
If, as suggested above, we are to consider a c. 35-year reduction in Archaic

Greek pottery (in the late 7th-early 6th centuries BC), then the imported pot-
tery found at Ekron, Ashkelon, Meẓad Ḥashavyahu, etc., would date to c. 565
BC—remarkably close to the historical date (567 BC) for the documented
Babylonian invasion of Egypt. Arguments regarding Aegean pottery chro-
nology aside, there are further considerations that would support a date for
Meẓad Ḥashavyahu c. 570/565 BC, during the third phase of the Saite empire.
Ekron
The ceramic assemblage of Stratum IB at Ekron (Tel Miqne) parallels that
of Meẓad Ḥashavyahu and pre-Persian Ashkelon. But in historical terms the
usually accepted date, 604 BC, for the destruction of Ekron IB is unsubstanti-
ated, and Na’aman’s (1992: 44) original suggestion that the city may have fallen
to the Babylonians after 595 BC is still viable, if not preferable (James 2006:
91–92). Otherwise, the discovery of the temple inscription of Ikausu should
have forced a rethinking of the chronology of the last Iron Age strata at Ekron,
established by historical guesswork before the discovery of the inscription. As
I have argued, the most likely date for the building of the temple (and hence
Stratum IC as a whole) is not the first (Gitin et al. 1997: 16; Gitin et al. 1998: 31)
but the second quarter of the 7th century BC (James 2005a).35 If Ikausu were
a long-lived king and the temple his swansong, then an even later date, in the
third quarter of the 7th century might be contemplated.36 I have discussed
elsewhere the likelihood that this will have a knock-on effect on the dating of
the succeeding Stratum IB, arguing that some major disagreements over the
chronology of the site can be resolved by dating IB not to the late 7th cen-
tury BC (630/623–604 BC), but to the first quarter of the 6th (James 2006). The
inscription alone cannot, of course, demonstrate this. Yet it is noteworthy that
35 Somewhat obfuscating matters, Gitin (2012: 245) still maintains that “it is clear that the
dating of Stratum IC to the first quarter of the 7th century BCE is based on the Neo-
Assyrian texts and the archaeological data.” This completely contradicts his own repeated
statement that: “It is reasonable to assume that the reign of Ikausu began at or around
the time that he is first mentioned in the annals of Esarhaddon” (Gitin et al. 1997: 16).
Ikausu of Ekron is first mentioned in Assyrian records in 673 and again in 667 BC. As to
the “archaeological data”, Gitin is referring to assumed pottery dates which lack histori-
cally fixed points, except the one he stubbornly avoids from Ikausu (only attested from
the second quarter of the 7th century BC), who built the Ekron Temple which is the defin-
ing feature of Tel Miqne IC. A full reply to Gitin’s remarks will have to await another study.
36 Personal communication, L. Stager, 2003.
358 James
the only firm historical evidence we have for dating Late Iron Ekron would pre-
fer a lower dating for Ekron IC and, by implication, IB as well.
Tel Kabri
The fortress of Tel Kabri (inland from the Phoenician city of Achziv) seems
to have housed a small Greek garrison, at much the same time as Meẓad
Ḥashavyahu.37 Various dates have been offered by the excavators for its
destruction—604 BC, 598 BC (Kempinski and Niemeier 1993: 184) and 585 BC
(Niemeier 1994: *35; 2001: 24), near the beginning of Nebuchadrezzar’s siege
of Tyre. These dates are based on the assumption that the Greek garrison was
in the service of Tyre (cf. Waldbaum and Magness 1997: 38). Alternatively,
with Fantalkin, we can see the apparent presence of Greek mercenaries at
the site as evidence that this was a shortlived Egyptian stronghold like Meẓad
Ḥashavyahu, while still accepting that the Babylonians were the likely destroy-
ers (Fantalkin 2001: 142; 2006: 203). Following the excavators’ suggestion, there
is no reason why Kabri may not have fallen to Nebuchadrezzar at any point
during his siege of Tyre (584/3–572/1 BC), and conceivably at the conclusion
or immediate aftermath as Nebuchadrezzar progressed toward Egypt (Kabri
lies to the south of Tyre). If so, Kabri may have been fortified by Apries to sup-
port his manoeuvres into Phoenicia. In any case, the date of 585 BC for its end,
allowed by the excavators, approaches the early 6th-century date for Meẓad
Ḥashavyahu argued here.
Strategic Considerations
The similar repertoire, style and close relative dating of the Greek finds from
Meẓad Ḥashavyahu, Yavneh-Yam, Ekron, Ashkelon, Tel Batash (Timna) and Tel
Kabri strongly suggest that they are part of a related phenomenon, within a
limited period of time (Fantalkin 2001: 140–41). Noting that they are all coastal
or near to coast, Fantalkin argues that they reflect one phase of Egyptian mili-
tary activity (effectively the fifteen years between c. 620 and 604 BC). I would
not necessarily go as far as Fantalkin in suggesting that the finds from Timna,
Ekron and Ashkelon are mainly due to the presence of Greek soldiers, rather
than trade.38 Trade remains a viable explanation of the smaller amounts of
37 The Greek pottery includes sherds of Milesian Middle Wild Goat II (Waldbaum and
Magness 1997: 30).
38 Fantalkin later (2006: 207, n. 93) moderated his position slightly, not wishing to “reject
completely the possibility of certain East Greek trade with the coast of Palestine, espe-
cially with places like Ashkelon. On the other hand, we should consider the possibility
that whatever East Greek trade existed, if any, would have been directed mainly toward
Aegean pottery at these sites, with Ashkelon as the most likely point of entry.39
Nevertheless, there remain at least three coastal or near-to-coastal sites (Meẓad
Ḥashavyahu, Yavneh-Yam and Tel Kabri) that can be seen in terms of a phase
of Egyptian military activity within a fairly narrow time range, conventionally
dated to the last decade or two of the 7th century BC.40
Yet what is the most likely historical context for such a (brief) spurt of
Egyptian activity along the Eastern Mediterranean coast, including control of
the port of Yavneh-Yam? It has long been realised that during the later 26th
Dynasty, beginning with the reign of Necho II (610–595 BC), there was a dis-
tinct change in Egypt’s northern imperial strategy, to one which de Meulenaere
(1951: 60–61) dubbed a zeepolitiek. The shift towards a sea-based policy was a
natural one as the Saites had become increasingly reliant on Greek mercenar-
ies, who would have had naval as well as military expertise (James 1991: 721;
according to Herodotus 2.163.1, Apries had a bodyguard of no less than 30,000
Ionian and Carians). Apries’ Phoenician expedition and the alliances formed
by the hellenophile Amasis with Cyrene, the thalassocrat Polycrates of Samos
and Croesus of Lydia, master of Ionia (Herodotus 2.181; 3.39–43; 1.77), as well
as his subjugation of Cyprus (Herodotus 2.210), were all part of the new zee-
politiek. The merits of this strategy are clear enough. By controlling the Eastern
Mediterranean, the Egyptians could block Babylonian access to trade while
reaping the benefits themselves; the volume of traffic can be judged from the
large quantities of Greek pottery found at Naukratis, given over by Amasis
to the Greeks. Second, raids and harassment of Babylonian forces and sup-
ply lines could be conducted by the Egyptians and their mercenaries, with the
safety of the sea at their back. Last but not least, the sea itself was used as a
barrier to Asiatic invasion of Egypt. It is unlikely that the Babylonians had any
serious marine capability until they had subdued Tyre (572/1 BC) and, even
after that, the Egyptians maintained naval supremacy. The policy thus worked
successfully, until Polycrates of Samos and the Egyptian admiral Udjahorresne
the East Greek mercenaries who were stationed in the region. In this case, those East
Greek mercenaries were able to receive some familiar goods (including pottery), other-
wise inaccessible in the local environment.” See now Fantalkin (2011), which argues more
strongly for an Egyptian-controlled Greek garrison at Ashkelon.
39 Still, we may have a picture here of ‘trade following the flag’, even though the flag was a
mercenary one. In practical terms, East Greek traders would have felt safer in waters and
harbours patrolled by compatriots (cf. Fantalkin 2006; 2011).
40 We should also not forget the great Egyptian fortress of “Migdol”/ T. 21 near the northern
coast of the Sinai peninsula, though this certainly had a longer period of use (see note 10).
360 James
switched alliegance to Persia, allowing Cambyses to invade Egypt in 525 BC

(James 1991: 725–26; Spalinger 1977: 235).
The zeepolitiek is agreed to have been initiated by Necho II who, according
to Herodotus (2.159), attempted the construction of a ‘Suez canal’, introduced
the trireme into Egypt, and built fleets on both the Mediterranean and Red
Seas.41 Exactly when in his reign Necho II built his northern fleet is a moot
point. Spalinger sees the development of the Mediterranean fleet (and zeepoli-
tiek) as a reflex to the collapse of Egyptian land-power in Asia c. 600 BC (1977:
236; cf. James 1991: 717, 721, 722). Lloyd argues that Necho began developing
naval resources earlier in his reign (1988: 160; cf. James 1991: 722). Nevertheless
the available evidence suggests that before about 600 BC the Saites very much
concentrated on land forces and routes. Psammetichus I fought at Ashdod,
Gaza, Beth Shean and deep into Mesopotamia; Necho II fought at Harran,
Megiddo, Carchemish and Migdol (on the Egyptian border) and had a base at
Riblah south of Hamath. The interest of these pharaohs in the via maris run-
ning through Philistia seems to have been that it led to the Jezreel Plain, the
Beqa Valley and beyond. While such ventures may have benefited from logisti-
cal backup by sea, there is no evidence that during their first imperial phase
(as defined above) the Saites already possessed a strong Mediterranean navy.
A case in point concerns the route taken by Necho II (2 Kings 23:29–30) on his
way to the Euphrates in 609 BC. It took him via Megiddo, where he encoun-
tered Josiah, prompting Na’aman to ask: “Why did Necho II not adopt the tac-
tics of the Egyptian kings at the time of the New Kingdom, who often sailed as
far as the Lebanese coast and launched campaigns from there . . .?”42
41 The growing importance of the navy in Egypt under the Saites is reflected in the num-
bers of known officials bearing naval titles—one from the reign of Psammetichus I, two
under Psammetichus II and four under Amasis (Spalinger 1977: 235–36; James 1991: 724).
As Spalinger (1977: 236) notes, the Herodotean account of Necho II as founder of the
navy is strongly supported by the increase in frequency of naval titles among officials.
Further, while the “overseer of the king’s ships” known under Psammetichus I appears
to “have controlled the internal trade of Egypt” (Spalinger 1977: 235), by the reign of
Psammetichus II we know of an official with the specific title “overseer of the king’s ships
in the Mediterranean”.
42 Na’aman (1991: 51) suggests that Necho probably did go by sea to the Lebanon but that, en
route, he stopped briefly in Palestine in order to take personally from vassals the oaths of
fealty due to him as a recently acceded Pharaoh. Further reflection renders Na’aman’s sce-
nario rather over-complicated. Would Necho have had to make further stop-offs to take
oaths from the kings of the Philistine pentapolis? Or did these, together with the kings of
Transjordan, congregate with Josiah at Megiddo, whether or not the latter’s intention was
to battle there with Necho? See Na’aman (1991: 52–55.) We should not forget that the goal
These considerations should have some bearing on our understanding of

when the Saites might have controlled the port of Yavneh-Yam and established
the support-base at Meẓad Ḥashavyahu. They cannot rule out the scenario
envisaged by Fantalkin in which Meẓad Ḥashavyahu was established c. 620 BC,
late in the reign of Psammetichus, when Southern Palestine (and its coastal
waters) lay in the political vacuum created by the recession of Assyria. On the
other hand, Fantalkin’s study overlooked the developments that culminated in
the third phase of Saite imperial ambitions. Though its seeds were planted by
Necho II (perhaps late in his reign), an aggressive zeepolitiek (with Phoenicia
and eventually Cyprus as focal points) was in place by the reign of Apries
and continued by his successor. As part of this strategy, we might expect the
Egyptians to have tried to secure harbourage along the Mediterranean coast.43
Control of Yavneh-Yam would have been invaluable, as it provides the only nat-
ural harbour between Tel Ridan of Gaza and Jaffa.44 The interest shown by the
Egyptians in the port of Yavneh-Yam fits just as well, if not better, in the period
of the developed Saite zeepolitiek under Apries than in the late 7th century BC.
Egyptian Scarabs from Yavneh-Yam

Two scarabs with pharaonic names are known from Late Iron Age Yavneh-Yam
(Fantalkin 2001: 132–34). One, bearing the name men-ka-Ra, is not helpful
chronologically.45 The other, a blue frit scarab with the name uah-ib-Ra
of Necho’s ambitious expedition, while it naturally helped to reinforce Egyptian author-

ity in Palestine and Syria, was to provide emergency support for the rapidly crumbling
Assyrian authority in the upper Euphrates against the Chaldaeans and Medes. As Necho
passed Megiddo, then a “forced march” for his large army through Palestine may simply
have been the only route available, the reason being that the luxury of a sea journey to
Lebanon, enjoyed by New Kingdom pharaohs, was not yet available to the Saites.
43 Josephus (The Jewish Wars I, 408) stressed the dangers, from storms, of sailing from
Phoenicia to Egypt without suitable harbours.
44 See map at http://www.rgzm.de/Navis2/Home/HarbourFullTextOutput.cfm?Harbour
NR=Israel-Harbors.
45 While scarabs of this type, and bearing this name, are fairly common from 7th–6th
century BC contexts (Gorton 1996: 80, 82–83, 85, Type XXVA, no. 14), the pharaoh that
it commemorates is uncertain. Gorton suggests a prince of the 25th Dynasty, but such
a figure seems unattested. Lalkin suggests an anachronistic use of the name of the 4th
Dynasty Menkaure (pers. comm. cited in Fantalkin 2001: 133). The writing of the name
(as Menkare) would also have to be defective—not impossible as scarabs of this type are
egyptianising products likely manufactured in a Phoenician workshop for the Punic and
Greek markets (see Gorton 1996: 80). There is only an outside chance that the scarab com-
memorates Menkare, an utterly osbcure ruler of the 8th Dynasty, known from the Abydos
Kinglist (Gardiner 1961: 437).
362 James
(Wahibre), is of possibly greater significance. The name is characteristic of the

26th Dynasty, and was the prenomen of Psammetichus I (664–610 BC) and
nomen of Apries (589–570 BC). Either reading supports the understanding
that Yavneh-Yam and nearby Meẓad Ḥashavyahu were under Egyptian con-
trol at some point in the 26th Dynasty. Fantalkin elected for Psammetichus I:
“It should be noted that the Horus-name uah-ib-Ra may belong to Apries as
well . . ., however, based on the context in which this scarab was unearthed
(Yavneh-Yam Stratum IX) and the general historical picture in the region during
the reign of Apries (above), this possibility seems highly unlikely” (Fantalkin
2001: 132, n. 61).46
Yet Apries may be a better candidate for the scarab, from stylistic dating.
There are no stated grounds for Fantalkin’s view that this type “most probably
appeared before the establishment of the Naukratis factory”. Rather it belongs
to Gorton’s type XXXB, which she tentatively attributes to the factory at
Naukratis, which “very likely . . . began mass-production only at the start of the
6th century” (Gorton 1996: 111, 178). In agreement with Gorton’s dating, I have
argued in some detail that the factory at Naukratis flourished during the reigns
of Psammetichus II and Apries,47 and that it was a Phoenician concern closed
when the Greeks were given the town early in the reign of Amasis (James
2003). If Gorton is right that this scarab type belongs to the Naukratis factory,
then Apries becomes a much stronger candidate than Psammetichus I for the
Yavneh-Yam find.48 Further scrutiny of the Wahibre scarab from Yavneh-Yam
by experts would be welcome. Unfortunately, however, it appears that its attri-
bution to Yavneh-Yam IX (allegedly 7th century BC) is far from clear (i.e., it
came from a deposit outside of the buildings).49 Yet, while no chronological
conclusions can be drawn from it, the presence of a possible scarab of Apries
at Yavneh-Yam nonetheless fits very well the historical scenario sketched out
here, that Apries used this harbour town as a stepping stone for his Phoenician
adventures, fortifying nearby Meẓad Ḥashavyahu to provide logistical support.
46 Strictly speaking, the name uah-ib-Ra, as it is enclosed in a cartouche, is not a “Horus-
name”, but a royal prenomen or nomen.
47 The only pharaohs reasonably attested on the scarabs from Naukratis; see Gorton (1996:
178); von Bissing (1951: 65–66); Boardman (1999: 121).
48 Even Petrie (1886: 5), who unrealistically preferred a date for the factory’s foundation in
the reign of Psammetichus I, accepted that the Wahibre scarabs from Naukratis belong
“probably to the latter [Apries]”; and again, “it is very likely that some of the scarabs with
that name belong to the later king, especially those made at Naukratis” (Petrie 1917: 32).
49 Fantalkin, personal communication.
Concluding Remarks
The reign of Apries, who was actively involved in warfare in Phoenicia, pro-
vides a plausible historical background for the establishment of a short-lived
Egyptian fortress at Meẓad Ḥashavyahu (and possibly also that at Tel Kabri).
This, and a measure of control over the southern coastal plain, may have been
achievable while the Babylonian army was occupied during Nebuchadrezzar’s
long siege of Tyre (584/3–572/1 BC). After the conclusion of the siege,
Nebuchadrezzar marched south to attack Egypt. There was at least one expe-
dition (567 BC), and possibly an earlier attack (c. 571 BC). Either occasion could
have led to the abandonment of Meẓad Ḥashavyahu by the Egyptian garrison
of Greek mercenaries there. The troops would have marched southwards to fall
back on more defendable positions, either in Philistia or in Egypt, or simply
taken ship from Yavneh-Yam. It could well have been during the same war that
Ekron IB and pre-Persian Ashkelon were destroyed by the Babylonians.
A range of archaeological and historical arguments have been offered for
dating the fall of Meẓad Ḥashavyahu to c. 570/565 BC. Due to the paucity of
historical records for this period, there is no cast-iron proof, but nor is there
proof—as has been shown—for the generally accepted dates of 609 and 604
BC suggested by Naveh, Fantalkin and others. To weigh the evidence in the bal-
ance, we have on one side: (1) the growing case for a lowering of the EC horizon;
(2) the fixed chronological points for Archaic pottery suggested by Herodotus
(for Naukratis, Old Smyrna and Cyrenaica); (3) the consideration that the zee-
politiek of Apries would have benefitted from the control of a Palestinian har-
bour (Yavneh-Yam); (4) the likelihood that the Yavneh-Yam scarab belongs to
Apries; and (5) the near certainty that there were further military struggles
between Egypt and Babylonia in Southern Palestine in the years 571–567 BC.
Against this, we have historical and archaeological arguments (Fantalkin)
linking the end of Meẓad Ḥashavyahu to a Babylonian campaign in 604 BC.
These both rely on the restoration of the name “Ashkelon” in the entry for the
first year of Nebuchadrezzar (604 BC) in the Babylonian Chronicle and the
unproven assumption that a Bablyonian destruction in this year can only be
identified archaeologically in the last pre-Persian stratum (Phase 7).
In short, there is no compelling evidence that dates Meẓad Ḥashavyahu to
the late 7th rather than the early 6th century BC, and much to recommend
the latter. Hence it cannot be used for a “fixed point” for dating the Wild Goat
Middle II and contemporary Greek styles to before c. 600 BC.
If the site dates, as argued, to the early 6th century, it will provide new evi-
dence for Late Saite military operations in the Levant in an otherwise poorly
364 James
documented period. Some archaeological flesh would be put on the historical

bones of the campaigns of Apries, hitherto known only from biblical and classi-
cal writings. While his aggressive strategies in Palestine, Phoenicia and Cyrene
ultimately failed, that does not gainsay the fact that he successfully inter-
rupted and impeded Babylonian domination of the Levant and Southeastern
Mediterranean for some twenty years.
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks are due to Nikos Kokkinos, for many years of discussion on
Aegean and Levantine chronology; Robert Morkot for help with Egyptological
matters; John Bimson, Peter van der Veen and Robert M. Porter for reading
drafts and providing invaluable comments; Juan Manuel Tebes for a continu-
ing flow of useful references; and most particularly Alexander Fantalkin—
though he disagrees with the dating I have suggested, Alex has been supremely
generous in patiently answering all my questions about the site. Last, and far
from least, I am immensely grateful to the Mainwaring Archive Foundation for
its generous support during the research and preparation of this paper.
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Provenacing Basket Handle Jars from Mendes, Egypt
Lawrence A. Pavlish†
Historical Perspective
The site of Tell el-Rub’a’s Northern Kom, Mendes (Greek name), is located
approximately 90 miles (145 km) north of Cairo, in the Northeastern Nile Delta,
on an ancient tributary of the Nile near the present day regional capital of
Mansoura. Mendes has been occupied almost continuously since Predynastic
times. The site includes the remains of port facilities, manufacturing centres
and residential areas that were occupied during the last two millennia BC. In
addition, the remains of monumental architecture are preserved at the site,
including the temple enclosure of Banebdjed (B 3nbdd), the Ram God, alluded
to by Herodotus, with its many generations of empty, long ago robbed, gran-
ite ram sarcophagi fragments still strewn about the landscape that mystified
travellers.1 Massive temene walls built by Ptolemy II, Philadelphus (284–
246 BC), form enclosures rising to an elevation of 4 m above the surrounding
† This paper was presented by Larry Pavlish at a session in honour of John S. Holladay Jr. at the
American Schools of Oriental Research Annual meeting held in Toronto, ON in 2002 and sub-
mitted for publication in this Festschrift shortly after. It was adapted from a paper presented
in Budapest at the Archaeometry Symposium in 1998 and later published by Archaeopress
(Pavlish et al 2002b). At the time this paper was submitted for this Festschrift, the article on
BHJ’s by de Rodrigo (2004) had not yet been published.
1 In 1892, Henri Édouard Naville (1844–1926) carried out large-scale excavations in the temple pre-
cinct near the Naos. He provided a description and correct ascription of the ram sarcophagi,
and compared them with an Arab account: “. . . cisterns of hard stone and of a very extraordi-
nary description . . .”. He included the following observations of the temple by a 15th century Arab
geographer :
The temple . . . is in ruins. . . . Remains of its walls and of the roof, made of very large
stones, have been preserved to the present day. . . . I saw there a hall with columns of
hard stone made of one single piece of a height of about 10 cubits, erected on a base-
ment also of hard rock . . . (Meulanaere and Mackay 1976: 118–19)
Visitors from J. Burton’s time (1824–1828) to Naville’s had a range of fanciful explanations for the
ram sarcophagi. The first recorded directly supervised excavation at the site was by A. Daninos
[Pasha] (circa 1840–circa 1912). He was at the site for one day on July 22, 1869, and in that short
time uncovered the giant sarcophagus of limestone still seen today in The Royal Necropolis
(Meulanaere and Mackay 1976: 92). (A. Mariette conducted in absentia excavations in 1860)
(Meulanaere and Mackay 1976: 89; see also Pavlish et al 2002a).

372 Pavlish
countryside. From these walls one can easily view the extant of the Great Naos
of Amasis built circa 530 BC, the Royal Necropolis of the 29th Dynasty and the
inner and outer harbours of the city. In later periods, most notably the Greco-
Roman, slag was produced by numerous activities such as glass making, lime
plaster production, ceramic manufacture, metallurgical industry and the pur-
poseful mass destruction of architecture (e.g., the sacking of the city in 343 BC
by the Persian, Artaxerxes). The status of Mendes as a commercial centre came
to an abrupt end approximately 2000 years ago when the Mendesian branch of
the Nile became unnavigable and the site was abandoned.
Basket Handle Jars [BHJs]
Excavations at Tell el-Rub’a have yielded a large number of ceramic vessels known
as Basket Handle Jars (BHJ). These jars are a sub-set of a larger class of vessels
known as amphorae. Amphorae come in an assortment of shapes, but they tend
to have in common a narrow mouth, two opposite vertical handles and a pointed
base (Grace 1956: 80–109). The use of amphorae as jars for the transport of goods
in the Mediterranean region spans a time period from the end of the Middle
Bronze Age (circa 1550 BC) to the Arab conquest in the 7th century AD (Arthur
1986: 655–60).2 BHJs become the storage jar of choice for the movement of goods
during the Persian Period throughout the Eastern and Western Mediterranean.3
Because of the function they played in ancient economies, amphorae are different
from other ceramic vessels in that they are not only chronological and functional
indicators, but can also reflect large scale inter- and intra-regional trade trans-
actions.4 They were the trasport containers of antiquity. Amphorae were easily
manufactured, with their value deriving from their contents rather than from the
vessels themselves. Therefore, it is improbable that they were transported empty
for long distances from their place of manufacture (Garlan 1983: 27). However,
it is essential to ascertain where possible the original manufacturing location
of amphorae in order to attempt a reconstruction of exchange networks. As a
2 Arthur notes that amphorae use appears to decline in the Arab world after the conquest of
Tunisia in 690 AD.
3 The archaeological record is necessarily biased on this matter of amphorae utilization and
importance in the ancient Mediterranean world, because the remains of the millions of
bushel baskets, barrels and cloth bags that undoubtedly played a pivotal role in all levels of
commerce have returned to dust leaving no record.
4 The amphora appears to have become optimized for large scale lifting, carrying and empty-
ing in the Persian Period.
Provenacing Basket Handle Jars from Mendes, Egypt 373
cautionary caveat, it must be noted that secondary and tertiary use of these ves-
sels may make actual origin-destination determinations difficult or problematic
in certain situations—an issue that greatly complicates seriational research.
Provenance studies using chemical and petrological analyses have been
instrumental in the past few decades for chemically characterizing ceramics and
clays, and in determining the possible origin of different ceramic types. One of
the most effective and widely used methods in this field of study is Instrumental
Neutron Activation Analysis (INAA). This technique is employed in the present
study in order to chemically characterize Mendes BHJs along with petrological
work.
Archaeological and Historical Background

BHJs are found throughout the Eastern Mediterranean Region. They are found
at coastal sites in Cyprus, Rhodes, Syro-Palestine and in Lower Egypt along the
navigational routes of the Nile. Inland, they are only found in the Galilee,5 and in
the Negev (Zemer 1977: 29).
The earliest descriptions of BHJs are found in the publications of Petrie’s
excavations at Naukratis (1886), Daphnae (1888) and Memphis (1909). Petrie con-
cluded that BHJs were of East Greek origin because of the strong association of
BHJs with the East Greek pottery corpus (Petrie 1891: 48, fig. IX:225; see also Bliss
et al 1902: 101). Given the analytical data available, this view was reasonable, and
all scholars that followed also ascribed BHJ’s to foreign origins, whether their sites
were located in Egypt or the Levant. The numbers of these jars on sites and in
tombs in Cyprus caused Gjerstad (1948: 241, n. 4; see also 1935: 450–52, fig. 189:4)
to suggest that they originated on that island (see also Salles 1991). He reasoned
that BHJs were traded to Rhodes, and were then later manufactured on the
island, but the majority of those that he examined were Cypriot in origin. He pro-
posed, however, that BHJs found in Egypt and Syro-Palestine were imports from
Cyprus (Gjerstad 1946).6 Gjerstad’s argument was based on stylistic grounds.
He suggested that the ancestral forms of BHJs were to be found in his Cypriot
Plain White III and IV groups, where they appear in the form of small jars with
handles similar to BHJs. In their developed form, BHJs appear in Plain White V
(600–475 BC), having a biconical shape, and continue with small modification
in Plain White VI (475–400 BC), in which the body becomes more conical in
5 Zemer’s No. 24 Basket Jar (1977: 29) most closely approximates the BHJs that are recovered at
Mendes.
6 Gjerstad (1946: 9)had the view that there was a possibility that manufacturing of BHJs took
place in Syro-Palestine or Egypt. He notes that: “. . . Similar amphorae (BHJ) are found in Rhodes,
Egypt, and Palestine; there were probably non-Cypriot, local workshops, at least on Rhodes . . .”.
374 Pavlish
shape. The Final form was a BHJ with a carinated shoulder (slightly) and narrow
indentation in the body (centre section). This type he termed Plain White VII
(400–325 BC) (Gjerstad 1960: 120–21).7
Stern determined that there are two types of BHJs in Palestine: a biconical one
(7th to the middle of the 5th century BC); and a conical shaped BHJ (5th to the
4th century BC). These two types correspond to Gjerstad’s Plain White V and VI
respectively (Stern 1982: 111). Stern disagreed with Gjerstad that these jars were
of Cypriot origin and argued for a Rhodian origin. He pointed out that the earli-
est BHJs were found in Rhodes and in Eastern Greek colonies such as Daphnae
and Naukratis in Egypt, and Meẓad Ḥashavyahu, in Palestine (Stern 1982: 111–12).
However, the assertion of an earlier date, has not been verified, and this view has
only a limited number of defenders (Salles 1980: 135–41).
Salles identified three types of BHJs in the excavations at Tell Keisan. This dis-
covery encouraged him to carry out detailed ceramic and functional analyses of
them (1980). The BHJs at Tel Keisan are an homogeneous group and are classi-
fied as type (a), described as being biconical with a low shoulder and a flat base.
They were found in Level 4, which dates to the second half of the 7th century
BC, thereby making them the earliest BHJ group to appear in Palestine (Salles
1980: 136–41). Tel Keisan’s type (a) show clear similarities with Tell Sukas BHJs
[VIII 2A] (Buhl 1983: 19), and with Tomb 3 at Salamine [T.3] (Karageorgis 1967;
1970: 97–101). Although Salles pointed out the similarity between his type (a)
and Salamine [T.3], he does not show where this type fits into the evolution of
these jars in Cyprus (1980: 136–41). For the intermediate form, Salles wrote: “. . . Le
type (b) intermediare, est mal represente en Palestine: les examples qu’en donne
Stern en general non publies . . .” (Salles 1980: 139). In actual fact, type (b) has been
found at Ashdod (Porath 1974: 43–55), Tell Megadim (Broshi 1969: 118) Tell Abu
Zeitun (Stern 1982: 112), ‘Atlit (Johns 1933: 41–144; 1997: 145–164) and at Tell el-
Hesi (Bennett and Blakely 1989: 212).
At Tell Sukas, further to the north, a number of well preserved BHJs have been
recovered, principally in burial contexts (Riis 1970: Vol. V, No. I; 1979: Vol. X,
No. II). The number of jars and variety of their shapes encouraged Buhl (1983)
to reassess the evolution and classification of BHJs. Buhl was able to define
five types, of which types VIII 2A and VIII 2B (VI century BC) were deemed to
be imports from Cyprus, while the later types, VIII 2C–E (V–IV century BC),
are suggested to be Phoenician imitations of earlier Cypriot prototypes. Buhl
(1983: 23) suggested that these types spread to Cyprus during the Persian period.
Based on stylistic and chronological evidence, Salles objected to the possibility
of a Phoenician production for these jars. But the petrological analysis he carried
7 B HJs of Plain White VII type are extremely rare.

out on the Tell Keisan BHJ group was inconclusive in determining their prov-
enance (Salles 1980; Bennett and Blakely 1989: 444).8 Until relatively recently,
BHJs seemed to cover the time range between 650 BC and 300 BC. However,
recent finds at Tell Kazel, imply that a variant of these jars continued to be used
up to approximately 130 BC They are described as having “. . . a hole mouth, sur-
rounded by concentric mouldings and a rounded ribbed shoulder-part to which
two basket handles are attached . . .” (Gubel et al. 1990: 23–54). Similar Types
have been found at Tell Arqa, dating from 250 to 150 BC (Thalmann 1978: 91–94).
In keeping with Petrie’s original observations, all other researchers attribute BHJ’s
to foreign makers outside their place of discovery, and do not address the origins
of Egyptian BHJ’s directly.
Uses of Basket Handle Jars

It is evident from archaeological evidence that the distribution of BHJs along the
Mediterranean, and their occurrence at underwater sites (Barag 1963: 13–19), is
the result of their use in sea and riverine transport. Furthermore, BHJs are simi-
lar in design in many respects to other amphorae that were made with the pur-
pose of transporting liquids, particularly wine and olive oil, or solids like nuts or
salted fish. The narrow mouth permitted efficient stoppering and prevented the
liquid content from spilling during transportation and subsequent storage. The
body is fashioned in such a way as to facilitate stowing of these jars in the hold
of a ship, and to maximize contact to prevent breakage during a rough journey.
Where necessary (e.g., wine), the body could also be treated with a sealant (e.g.,
pitch, wax) to prevent leakage through, or exchange with, the ceramic material
itself (Koehler 1986: 49–67; Lucas 1962: 19, 318).9 However, these jars have two
unique qualities: 1) their large capacity, and 2) the unusual loop-shaped handles
that rise above the rim. It has been estimated that the gross weight of a jar when
full could be up to 80–100 kg (Salles 1980: 136). This large capacity may have
been the result of an attempt by traders to reduce the number of jars needed
for the shipment of liquid products in order to conserve space. But, it is more
8 Neutron Activation Analysis has been carried out on 24 BHJ samples from Tell el-Hesi. However,
the published results only give a qualitative assessment. There is no reference to the lab or per-
sons that carried out the analysis. Fourteen were determined to be “red clay”, two “Syrian”, four
“Dura- Europos or Dura-Europos like”, one “Palestinian red”, one possible “import”, and two
“unassigned”.
9 Lucas attributes the darkened organic materials that are found on the inner surfaces of many
amphorae to heated resins. This view has a long history in the classical literature where the
greater value associated with a lined vessel is clearly stated (cf., Koehler 1986: 51). Resin, along
with a myriad of other sweetening agents, was also added to the wine to improve its charac-
teristics and to preserve it, (cf., Neuburger 1969: 107).
376 Pavlish
likely that a spectrum of economic factors, not unlike those considered today in
the container ship industry, played a role in their preferred utilization including
optimal container-to-product ratios for water transport, improved anti-thievery
potential (the high-looped handle facilitated easy two-person carrage, but not
‘casual’ removal), better shipment vs receipt ratios (i.e., lower intrinsic loss), due
to improved sealing potential, improved short-term or long-term storage poten-
tial, and more efficient tax assessment potential.
In addition to their function in sea and riverine transport, BHJs had additional
uses. Many are found in association with burials, and in particular, they were
used as urns for burial of children, (e.g., those found at Camiros (Jacopi 1930),
Salamine (Karageorghis 1967), and Sukas (Riis 1979). There are also indications
that BHJs were used for general storage. Normally, those found in storage con-
texts were buried to the middle of the body in sand or in the mud floors of what
appear to be storage rooms, (e.g., those found at Al-Mina (Woolley 1938: 133–170),
Daphnae (Petrie 1888), and Keisan (Salles 1980)). There must also have been an
assortment of other uses (Meijer and Nijf 1992: 111).10
In order to evaluate the significance of BHJs within the context of interre-
gional water transport-based trade in the Eastern Mediterranean, it is important
to know what commodities were transported in them. Among a variety of prod-
ucts, it appears that BHJs were intended primarily for the transportation of olive
oil. Since oil does not leak or evaporate as quickly as wine, which would necessar-
ily require an internal jar sealant (Parker 1973: 361–81),11 and since the problem
10 The large number of amphorae that resulted from trade had several secondary uses. Some
of these uses are evident from the archaeological record and some are known from liter-
ary sources. Herodotus (III:6) relates: “I will now mention something which few voyagers
to Egypt are aware. Throughout the year, not only from all parts of Greece but Phoenicia
as well, wine is imported into Egypt in earthenware jars; yet one might say that not a sin-
gle empty wine-jar is to be seen anywhere in the country. The obvious question is: what
becomes of them? I will explain. The local official of each place has orders to collect all
the jars from his town and send them to Memphis, and the people of Memphis have to
fill them with water and send them to this tract of desert in Syria (to supply water to the
trade route). . .” (Herodotus 1996: 156). They were also used in war stratagem, as noted by
Herodotus (VIII: 28), where narrowed routes were made treacherous by amphorae burial to
incapacitate horses (Herodotus 1996: 459).
11 There are differing opinions on this subject. Wine amphorae appear to have been sealed
with resin universally (some 1930’s analyses suggested that the sealant was bitumen, but
this view has been overturned through re-analyses), but the same does not seem to apply
to olive oil. Parker (1973) has argued that olive oil would eat away a resin lining and would
serve little functional purpose, as there would be no souring, leakage and no evaporation.
The general consensus is that the oil jars were better made (i.e., more highly fired) with
better clays. There are detractors from this view. Frel (1973: 9) argues unconvincingly that
of souring relatively quickly does not arise, neither interior lining, nor hermetic
sealing are required in the transport of this commodity. This conclusion is fur-
ther supported by epigraphical evidence. A vessel found in Tomb 3 at the site of
Salamine dating to the end of the 7th century BC (Karageorghis 1967: 101) bore an
inscription on its shoulder that was translated as “olive oil” (Karageorghis 1965:
148). Painted on the shoulder of another BHJ from Kadesh Barnea was the letter
shin, interpreted as an abbreviation of the Semitic name for oil “shemen”. This was
accompanied with the sign “V”, interpreted as five measures of hin (Dothan 1965:
134–51). Similar evidence has been found at Tell Keisan (Peuch 1980: 301–10).
In addition to wine, olive oil was the major commodity that energized the
trade in the Mediterranean basin and led to intensive, large volume, interregional
trading activities. The uses of oil are many and varied: as a food staple, fuel for oil
lamps, in rituals and medication, in the perfume industry and as a primitive form
of currency (Zemer 1977; Meijer and Nijf 1992: 113; von Reden 1995).12 Olive oil was
produced in Greece, Cyprus, Asia Minor, and Syro-Palestine. Some of the surplus
of oil was intended for the Egyptian market. Paintings in a tomb of an Egyptian
official, dating from the 15th century BC, show Syrian princes offering tribute,
among which one can read “. . . incense, sefet oil and olive oil . . .” (Grace 1956: 98).
The Bible also confirms the importance of oil (194 references), to jars of oil (three
references: 1 Kings 17:12, 14 and 16), and to its trade to Egypt (one reference: “And
oil is carried into Egypt”, (Hosea 12:1) (Zemer 1977: 111).
Basket Handle Jars in Egypt
In Egypt there are two types of BHJs represented on archaeological sites. The first
is a biconical-shaped jar exemplified by the complete jar from Daphnae which
dates to 600–525 BC (Petrie 1888: 64). Although Petrie’s illustration is not detailed,
if there is no evidence of a sealant, neither wine nor oil can be assumed to have been car-
ried within, and that they were unused. Brand (1953: 134) presents a reasoned argument
for certain amphorae not being sealed: 1) the quality of the vessel was high due to a better
manufacturing proceedure (i.e., higher firing, careful clay selection and mechanical con-
struction) 2) the contents of the vessel was not oil or wine being rather salted fish, honey,
nuts, fruits or dryed preserves; 3) the sealants have been removed through chemical and
biochemical activity within either ground or seawater; 4.) the vessel could be emmersed
in or filled with a very hard water that with repeat application could produce a calcium
carbonate layer that would act like a sealant.
12 Aristotle, Economics, II. 2. 16: “. . . The people of Clazomenae, suffering from shortage of
grain and scarcity of funds, passed a resolution that any private citizen who had stores of oil
should lend it to the state at interest . . .”
378 Pavlish
it does show that the jar is conical or ovoid in shape. A jar from Tell el-Maskhuta13
and Naukratis (Petrie 1886: 20–21) also belong to this group. The second type is
similar to those recovered at Memphis dating to 300 BC (Petrie 1909: 14). Another
occurrence of this form in Egypt is at the site of Mendes.
BHJs at Mendes were found in three areas: 1) the dig house construction (HC),
2) the Outer Harbour, and 3) the Royal Necropolis. The only reconstructed BHJ
from Mendes is conical in shape and corresponds to both Gjerstad’s Plain White
V (475–400 BC), which was not attributed to Egypt (Gjerstad 1960), and Petrie’s
second type, dating to approximately 300 BC and later. It has the typical loop-
shaped handles rising above the rim. The rim itself is ring-shaped, the neck is
absent, the shoulder is wide, and the body narrows down to a truncated base.
Parallels are found at Sukas (Buhl 1983), Megiddo, (Lamon and Shipton 1939:
64), Salamis (Karageorghis 1970: 3), Shiqmona (Elgavish 1968: 137–138), Al-Mina
(Wolley 1938: 143) and Tell Arqa (Thalmann 1978: 60).
Large quantities of Petrie’s late period jars are found at Mendes. This con-
centration may be attributed to a number of factors. Mendes was an important
economic hub during the Saite and Ptolemaic periods. Its importance is attested
by the great architectural features that still mark the landscape today. The great
Naos, built by Amasis, and the temene walls of Ptolemy II, are two examples that
survive from that period. Mendes would have had a large population, and as it
had a major harbour, it would have been a major distribution centre. This eco-
nomic vitality would have created a high demand for oil, both for consumption
and application. The demand for an oil base in the perfume industry for which
Mendes was famous cannot be underestimated. Pliny speaks of the unguen-
tum Mendesium as being one of the most favoured perfumes in antiquity (de
Meulenaere 1976). This classical source undoubtly reflects an old tradition of a
quality perfume industry at Mendes.
Basket Handle Jars INAA
The assessment of the literary, epigraphical and archaeological evidence leads

one to certain conclusions. As stated above, BHJs originated in Cyprus, and
their use subsequently spread to Rhodes, Syro-Palestine, and Egypt. Phoenician
production of them in the 5th and 4th centuries BC is almost certain. The
commodity most likely to have been transported in BHJs was olive oil. Since
13 B HJ make up 1 percent of the total sherd count of the Persian and Hellenistic periods at Tell
el-Maskhuta. One complete BHJ shows traces of mending indicating that these jars were
semi-valuable vessels (J. S. Holladay Jr. personal communication).
quality olive oil was not produced in Egypt (Lucas 1962: 333–35),14 Egyptian
production and transhipment of the jars would seem unlikely. This leads to the
assumption that BHJs found at the site of Mendes were imports. To test this
hypothesis, INAA studies were carried out on Mendes’ BHJs, and the results
were compared to published Nile alluvium and Eastern Mediterranean chemi-
cal profiles (Pavlish et al. 2002b).
Methodology and Sampling Procedure15

The BHJs analysed in this study were excavated from the Harbour, the Royal
Necropolis, and the House Construction area over three seasons of excavation.
Out of the 266 samples (Table 1), sixteen were obtained from the only recon-
structed BHJ from Mendes to show the level of elemental variation within a
single vessel.
Samples were irradiated for 5 minutes, and following a delay time of 16–18
minutes, each sample was assayed for 300s with a Ge (Li) spectrometer (Hancock
1986: 107–17; Hancock 1991: 109). The concentration of up to eleven short-lived
isotope producing elements were measured in the first day count: aluminum
(Al), calcium (Ca), chlorine (Cl), magnesium (Mg), manganese (Mn), sodium
(Na), titanium (Ti), vanadium (V), and potassium (K). In the second day count,
five elements were measured: europium (Eu), galium (Ga), Na, K, and tungsten
(W). Tungsten was measured, as contamination from the drill bits was suspected.
The highest levels of contamination occur in the first thirty samples (1–30), while
samples 31–266 rarely exceed 200 ppm of tungsten. This may be explained by
the fact that one brand of drill bit was used for the first 30 samples and a differ-
ent brand was employed for the remaining samples. The levels of contamination
did not effect the measurement of any element with the exception of vanadium.
Samples with high tungsten show unusually high levels of vanadium.
Results
Scattergrams of all possible combinations among the 14 elements sought were
systematically plotted, examined, rated and prioritized according to the degree
of clustering. Nine of the fifteen elements proved to be reliable for character-
ization of the pottery: Al, Ca, Cl, Mg, Mn, Na, Ti, V, and K. The other five ele-
ments Eu, Ga, Ba (barium), Dy (dysprosium), and U (uranium) were less useful,
as they scattered to a degree that made them uninformative. Scattergrams of
14 Local oil of poor quality was produced in limited quantities for lighting and the perfume
trade in the Fayum and in the region around Alexandria.
15 The experimental procedure followed in this study is as that established by Hancock
(1976: 1443–45; 1978: 21–27).
380 Pavlish
any combination of the nine useful elements immediately distinguish two dis-
tinct groupings: a large cluster containing 94 percent of the samples (Mendes
#1), and a smaller cluster containing 6 percent of the samples (Mendes #2).
Mendes #1 forms a compact group, while the Mendes #2 cluster is more dis-
persed. The samples obtained from the only reconstructed jar, which belongs
to Mendes Group #1, show that both the mean and the standard deviation
approximate those of the large cluster. This strongly suggests that Mendes
Group #1 is representative of a single clay source.
Interpretations
In order to suggest a possible clay source for the Mendes BHJs, the data pro-
duced in this study were compared with control groups from other regions
where BHJs have been found. The Mendes BHJs results are compared to previ-
ously published chemical data on ceramics from Rhodes, Cyprus, Syro-Palestine,
and Egypt. Only a few compositional groups were available from Rhodes. An
additional complication was the lack of comparable elements in the avail-
able studies, as different labs use varying sets of elements for the chemical
characterization of pottery. In the Rhodes data only four elements (Ca, Mg, Ti,
and Na) were available for comparison. However, it is readily apparent, that
Rhodian groups have an unusually high concentration of Mg and low Ti, which
were sufficient to descriminate them from BHJ groups.
BHJs Compared with Foreign Materials

A more extensive data set is available for Cyprus. Initial comparison of the
33 compositional groups from Cyprus with BHJs (Mg vs Ca, and Al vs Ca)
show that three Cypriot groups were placed in the range of Mendes Group
#1. However, when the values of titanium concentration of the Cypriot groups
(0.45±0.2) were compared with those of Mendes (0.91±0.12) the similarity did
not hold. Based on the available analytical data it is concluded that a Cypriot
origin for the Mendes BHJs is unlikely (Figs. 1 and 2).
Unfortunately very few chemical characterization studies on ceramics from
this period are available for Syro-Palestine. The only major INAA characteriza-
tion of pottery carried out at Tell el-Hesi, and its vicinity, while minor studies
have been done at a few coastal sites, such as Ashdod. A further complication
is that out of the 17 elements measured, only three (K, Na, and Mn) are similar
to the elements used in this study. Therefore, no clear comparative statement
can be made, but based on the data available it appears that the Palestinian
pottery have higher K and Na concentrations than the BHJ groups. The con-
centration values of the same elements (K and Na) from Ras Shamra, ancient
Ugarit deviate from the BHJ groups by more than 3 sigma, making it unlikely
that Syrian BHJs are of the same clay source.
BHJs Compared with Egyptian Materials

INAA data of Egyptian compositional groups are obtained from Hancock’s
(1986) analysis of Egyptian ceramics and clays from the Western Delta.
Surprisingly, Mendes Group #1 showed a positive correlation with all the Nile
alluvium compositional groups (Figs. 1 and 2). Apart from calcium, all the
other elements used for inter-elemental comparisons are within one standard
deviation from those of the Nile alluvium and Western Delta groups. A posi-
tive assignment with Egyptian clay sources was the least expected result, it
conflicts not only with the hypothesis that BHJs were imports, but also with
the functional interpretation of these jars. No bulk liquid substance is known
to have been exported from Egypt (perfume was shipped in smaller contain-
ers). Egypt exported grain, linen, papyrus and an assortment of other products,
none of which is known to have been transported in amphorae.
The questions raised by these results prompted further investigation of
the analytical data and the archaeological and historical evidence. It became
apparent upon further examination that the highly calcarious clays from Abu
Qir, a site near Alexandria, shows significant similarity of composition to that
of Mendes #2 (Figs. 1 and 2). The chemical concentration profile of Mendes
Group #1 is also more similar to some Alexandrian clay source (Mamora-2
and Hagar Nawateia; the closest fit is with Mamora-1), than to Nile Alluvium
control groups (Figs. 1 and 2). In addition, historical records reveal that olive oil
was produced in small quantities in the vicinity of Alexandria and the Fayum
region.
In light of this, a new hypothesis can be suggested: BHJs were manufactured
in the Alexandria region, where they were filled with locally produced oil and dis-
tributed to the Egyptian markets for non-food purposes. The olive oil which
historically was never considered of high quality would have been satisfactory
for use in the perfume trade based at Mendes. Archaeobotany suggests a pos-
sible secondary use of these containers for the storage or movement of salted
fish or honey. The comparative data from the Alexandria region is from clay
rather than pottery, but the degree of similarity between the chemical profiles
of Nile alluvium, the Alexandrian clays and BHJs, suggest a fair probability that
the hypothesis will stand up to further scrutiny.
Basket Handle Jar Analytical Summary
The hypothesis that Mendesian BHJs are imports from outside Egypt did not
hold true in light of the INAA carried out on 266 samples from BHJs recovered
at Mendes, Egypt. The elemental concentration profile of BHJs found at Mendes
show positive correlation with Nile alluvium from Western Delta clay sources,
382 Pavlish
while the geochemical compositional groups from Rhodes, Cyprus and Syro-
Palestine show significantly different elemental concentrations from the BHJ
elemental groups at Mendes. These results shift the focus of trade in BHJs from a
traditonal international view of trade in the Eastern Mediterranean to one based
on intra-regional transactions. One diffiuculty that presents itself, is that the ana-
lytical interpretation that BHJs are similar to Alexandrian clay sources is based
on the calcium concentrations. The geochemical similarity between Mendes and
Abu Qir may not exclusively characterise the Alexandrian clays as the source,
because localized calcarious clays may also be exhibited in other areas along the
Nile. However, there are no other source areas that could provide such high con-
centrations of calcium, nor are there other areas that would have both high cal-
cium and an economy condusive to the production of BHJs.
It is in fact, not the geochemical data by itself, but the archaeological and his-
torical information in conjunction with the geochemical data that makes a case
for the Alexandrian origins of the Mendes BHJs. The distribution of BHJs and the
commodity that was transported in them (possibly olive oil for perfume bases)
makes a good case for shifting the BHJ trade focus to the Alexandria region. The
hypothesis that BHJs transported oil is crucial to this argument. Therefore, it is
important to elevate the argument of oil transport from a hypothetical statement
to a finding based on scientific criteria. This would allow one to establish with
certainty whether or not the commodity transported to Mendes in BHJs was
olive oil.
The microscopy of BHJs (Maisterrena 1994) and their chemical analyses by
INAA also provided insights into their manufacturing origin and their primary
use. Both the microscopy and the INAA provided data suggesting that the
BHJs were being manufactured in the limestone-rich areas near present-day
Alexandria. The characteristic Nile alluvium fingerprint is present in the BHJ
data, with the added calcium from weathered limestone in the Alexandrian
area also being present. The caveat must always be stated that one can only
really state where something may have come from in a provenance study,
and we can rarely state assuredly that it indeed come from a particular place.
Notwithstanding this caution, it is a reasonable testable hypothesis that the
BHJs were transported containing olive oil from the environs of their point of
manufacture to Mendes. Ancient sources suggest that the Egyptian oil was of
poor quality and would not have been a consumable. This fact, however, would
not have precluded its use as a base in the perfume industry at Mendes, a well-
known centre for the perfume trade in the first millennium BC.
Archaeometry does have a small but vital role to play in archaeology generally
and Egyptology in particular. The Mendes example illustrates the spectrum of
contributions the natural sciences can make to an archaeological program with
a multi-disciplinary philosophy. Regrettably, as the Mendes experience clearly

demonstrates, there is no fixity in nature. Thus, the hypotheses we test today, and
find acceptable, have their own fleeting existence. Tomorrows understanding of
ancient human behaviour may well be quite different, and that is as it should be.
Acknowledgments
This paper is dedicated to ‘Doc’ Holladay, John S. Holladay Jr, whom I have
known for very long time. I wish to express my sincere thanks to him for his
advice and support over these many years on a number of archaeological and
archaeometric issues. His familiarity with the literature of some abstruse prob-
lem and his corresponding ability to put his hand on the written answer in
his library was and still is a great comfort to me. In some ways he has been
the court of last resort for theoretical research problems in chronometric dat-
ing and seriation. I too must thank this group without which this paper could
not have been written: Professor Cathy D’Andrea of Simon Fraser University,
while a Ph.D. student, carried out the floatation work on the BHJ’s and other
amphorae; and Johnny B’naity carried out crucial aspects of the field work on
the Basket Handle Jars under the watchful eye of Alicia de Rodrigo and me.
There also are those back home that supported the BHJ field work, and they
too deserve hearty thanks. Ron Hancock made sure that the INAA data from
the research reactor were meaningful. Graham Wilson carried out the thin sec-
tion analyses of the BHJs, and translated the Spanish work carried out on the
thin sections. Professor Emeritus Ron Farquhar (Toronto) provided financial
and moral support throughout the research, as did University Professor Ted
Litherland (Toronto).
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Figure 1 Bivariate plot comparing Titanium and Calcium levels of Tell Mendes
INAA Data, Nile Alluvium, Alexandria Cyprus and Palestine (Ashdod)
compositional groups. Adapted from Pavlish et al. (2002b: fig 3a).
Figure 2 Bivariate plot comparing Sodium and Calcium of Tell Mendes INAA Data,
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388 Pavlish
Table 1 List of samples analysed from Mendes
Sample # Weight (mg) Catologue # Locus Part of vessel
1 306.0 MMP93196 HC4 inner shoulder

3 368.0 MMP93196 HC4 handle base
4 171.0 MMP93196 HC4 handle
5 278.0 MMP93196 HC4 inner rim
8 106.0 MMP93196 HC13 inner
9 64.0 MDS921 HC4 handle base
10 172.0 MDS922 HC handle base
12 651.0 MDS923 HC slip of handle
13 125.6 MDS924 HC handle base (slip)
14 222.3 MDS924 HC handle (slip)
16 132.5 MDS926 HC handle base (slip)
17 331.5 MDS927 HC handle arc
18 81.3 MDS928 HC handle base and center
23 109.0 MDS9213 HC handle
29 398.3 MDS9218 HC handle base frag.
30 452.6 MMP94205 – –
31 183.1 MMP94205 – –
32 130.4 MMP94205 – –
33 204.0 MMP94206 – –
34 89.1 MMP94207 – –
35 155.5 MMP94208 – –
36 180.6 MMP94205 – –
37 88.8 MMP94205 – –
38 172.8 MMP94205 – –
39 223.6 MMP94205 – –
40 208.5 MMP94205 – –
41 101.3 MMP94205 – –
42 106.4 MMP94205 – –
43 110.3 MMP94205 – –
44 93.1 MMP94205 – –
45 138.4 MMP94205 – –
46 169.5 MDS9219 HC from above base to
center
47 129.2 MDS9220 HC from base to center
51 284.1 MDS9224 HC base to center
52 533.2 MDS9225 – base to center
55 462.9 MDS9228 – base to center (slip)
57 148.4 MDS9230 – base and part of handle
58 241.5 MDS9231 – above base to center
61 319.3 MDS9234 – above
62 282.8 MDS9235 – handle base
65 274.5 MDS9238 – handle arc
68 425.1 MDS9241 – base and neck
72 342.5 MDS9245 – base and part of
shoulder
390 Pavlish
Table 1 List of samples analysed (cont.)

74 395.1 MDS9247 – base and neck (slip)
76 316.0 MDS9249 – base and part of
shoulder
81 457.1 MDS9254 – base to neck
82 664.4 MDS9255 – above base to center

122 342.5 SP44 – jar base
123 465.8 SP45 – jar base
124 650.4 SP41 – jar base and lower body
125 355.1 SP42 – jar base
126 264.5 SP43 – jar base (narrow)
127 259.8 MDS9295 – base
128 391.7 MDS9296 – base
129 298.1 MDS9297 – base
130 264.7 MDS9298 – base
131 193.9 MDS9299 – base
132 498.3 MDS92100 – base
133 328.8 MDS92101 – base
134 394.2 MDS92102 – base
135 659.8 MDS92103 – base
136 508.3 MDS92104 – base
137 366.3 MDS92105 – base
138 368.1 MDS92106 – base
139 607.6 MDS92107 – base
140 652.3 – – –
141 578.1 MDS92109 – base
142 634.4 MDS92110 – base
143 513.0 MDS92111 – rim and shoulder
392 Pavlish

157 250.0 MDS92125 – shoulder with ill-
defined rim
158 251.5 MDS92126 – shoulder with ill-
defined rim
159 447.8 MMP9223 KII10 handle
160 532.2 MDS931 93-AMC handle
163 590.7 MDS934 AMCI(2) handle
168 756.1 MDS939 ALRIII7 handle
169 214.3 MDS9310 ALQII8 handle (slip)
170 312.9 MDS9310 ALQII8 handle
171 362.2 MDS9311 ALRIII1 handle
172 352.0 MDS9312 ALRIII1 handle and base
173 346.0 MDS9313 ALRIII1 handle and base
174 527.1 MDS9314 ALRIII9 handle base
177 791.9 MDS9317 AMCII9 handle base
179 505.6 MDS9319 ALQII8 central part of handle
180 595.1 MDS9320 ALLI3 handle base

181 489.2 MDS9321 ALR handle base and centre
(sabakh)
182 447.6 MDS9322 ALQR1 handle base
183 401.5 MDS9323 ALMII10 handle base
184 314.5 MDS9324 ALRII3 handle base
185 446.6 MDS9325 ALRI1 handle base and centre
186 446.0 MDS9326 ALR handle base
(sabakh)
188 191.2 MDS9328 ALKIII46 handle base
190 437.4 MDS9330 ALQR1 handle base
(sabakh)
193 383.0 MDS9333 AMDI2 handle base
(sabakh)
195 517.2 MDS9335 ALFII3 handle base
196 595.4 MDS9336 ALQII5 handle base
199 507.6 MDS9339 ALFIII11 handle base
204 423.6 MDS9344 ALLIII17 handle arc
205 370.6 MDS9345 AMC16 handle arc
206 178.5 MDS9346 ALRIII2 handle arc
207 128.5 MDS9347 ADEII12 handle base
208 193.4 MDS9348 ALQR1 handle arc
209 380.4 MDS9349 ALRIII1 handle arc
210 220.0 MDS9350 ALFIII3 handle arc
211 429.5 MDS9351 ALRI1 handle arc
212 229.2 MDS9352 ALRII5 handle arc
394 Pavlish
214 269.6 MDS9354 ALQII8 part of shoulder

215 322.2 MDS9355 ALQR1 jar base
216 293.3 MDS9356 ALFIII6 jar base
217 474.1 MDS941 (harbour jar base
surface)
218 234.5 MDS942 (harbour handle base
surface)
219 459.0 MDS943 SWVIA2 handle base
220 202.2 MDS944 AM-AX6 handle base
221 454.0 MDS945 AM-CI19 handle base
222 331.3 MDS946 AM-X handle base
223 413.3 MDS947 AB-AIII2 jar base
224 487.6 MDS948 AN-DX5 handle base
225 315.7 MDS949 AM-AV27 jar base
226 430.6 MDS9410 AM-AIV12 jar base
227 349.4 MDS9411 AM-AXV3 handle base
228 348.4 MDS9412 AM-CI24 handle base to center
230 316.1 MDS9414 SNI22 jar base
231 413.3 MDS9415 SN19 jar base
233 211.8 MDS9417 AM-AX6 jar base
234 224.7 MDS9418 AM-AX6 handle base to center
235 351.1 MDS9419 SNII6 rim and shoulder
236 170.4 MDS9420 SWII1 handle base (slip)
238 337.2 MDS9422 AL-NV1 surface
239 499.2 MDS9423 AM-AXV handle base to center
240 319.3 MDS9424 SN19 handle base
241 313.3 MDS9425 AM-AX6 jar base
242 308.1 MDS9426 AN-DIV4 handle base
243 214.4 MDS9427 AM-AXV2 handle base
245 253.1 MDS9429 AN-DV9 handle base
246 427.2 MDS9430 SSIV11 handle arc
247 255.0 MDS9431 AMAX6 jar base
248 469.5 MDS9432 AMAXV4 handle base

249 blank MDS9433 AMA-AXV3 handle base
250 445.4 MDS9434 (harbour handle base
surface)
251 414.0 MDS9435 AM-A10 handle base
252 321.7 MDS9436 SNI4 handle base
253 273.7 MDS9437 ALA2(1) handle base
254 185.7 MDS9438 AMAXV2 part of shoulder
255 194.0 MDS9439 AMAXV2 handle base to center
256 306.3 MDS9440 AL-SWII2 handle base
(baulk)
258 333.8 MDS9442 P-F1 handle base
(sabakhin)
259 467.7 MDS9443 ALRIb-IIb1 handle base
260 545.0 MDS9444 AM-AXI2 jar base
261 766.0 MDS9445 P-F1 jar base
(sabakhin)
262 802.4 MDS9446 AD-DVII5 handle
263 541.7 MDS9447 AD-DVII5 handle base
Sojourner in the Land: The Resident Alien in Late
Period Egypt
Philip Kaplan
University of North Florida
The Saite and Persian periods provide a unique insight into the role that for-
eigners played in Egyptian society. Unlike earlier periods in Egyptian history,
our perspective on the status of foreigners in Egypt in this era comes largely
from the point of view of the immigrant communities themselves. There is lit-
tle direct testimony from the Late Period that might reveal Egyptian attitudes
to the foreigners that came to live in the country; but the evidence coming
from the foreigners themselves is comparatively rich. We can infer from this
material that the immigrant communities in Egypt were a two-edged sword.
On the one hand, the Saites, and later the Persian occupiers, recruited for-
eigners to serve as a military support in manning garrisons and protecting the
frontiers, enabling the rulers to engage in external campaigns, and protecting
their position at home. Foreigners were also recruited to engage in trade and
other productive activities, providing taxes to support the royal exchequer.
This policy required granting these foreigners rights and privileges which were
anomalous, and generated strong resentments among the native population.
The resentments occasionally boiled over into acts of violence, and even out-
right revolt. Thus, the kings also had to create the appearance that those for-
eign groups, so vital to their rule, were being strictly controlled and restricted.
The balancing act, of encouraging foreign groups while at the same time being
seen to restrict them, was inherently unsteady. It contributed to the instability
of the Saite Dynasty, and later exacerbated the resentment of the Persians by
the Egyptians they sought to control.
Various groups settled in Egypt in the Saite and Persian periods (Kaplan
2003).1 In addition to the Libyans who settled in the Delta from the 20th
Dynasty on, Greeks, Carians, Phoenicians, Jews, and Aramaeans all made their
way into Egypt. Once there, they formed communities of mercenaries and
traders. Although these groups served a similar range of functions in the dif-
ferent parts of the country in which they settled, there were also significant
differences in the circumstances in which they found themselves in Egypt.
1 For a general discussion of Egypt and foreigners, abroad and at home, in this period, see
Valbelle (1990: 199–272), and Vittmann (2003).

Sojourner in the Land 397
As a result, there are evident differences in the ways that Egypt treated them.
The Egyptian policy seems to have developed in this period on an ad hoc basis,
according to the needs of the Egyptian king, rather than on the basis of pre-
existing social and legal traditions.
The first Greeks and Carians to settle in Egypt were recruited as mercenar-
ies by Psamtik I. Although Herodotus claims that they arrived in Egypt origi-
nally as brigands, Diodorus and the contemporary evidence of Ashurbanipal’s
annals suggest that Psamtik requested the Greeks and Carians from the Lydian
king Gyges (Diod. 1.66.12).2 Phoenicians were probably recruited by the Saites
as well, to serve as soldiers and sailors.3 Later, Jews and Aramaeans played
a similar role under the Persians. The bulk of the evidence for these groups
comes from the papyri of the Persian-era garrison at Elephantine (Yeb)/Syene
in Upper Egypt, but there is good reason to believe that the community there
traced its origins to the Saite period. The author of the second-century BC
Letter of Aristeas asserts that Jews had been sent to help Psamtik (I or II) with
his campaigns against the Nubians.4 These soldiers, being essential to the Saite
and Persian kings for the maintenance of control over the country, were, as we
shall see, accorded special privileges.
Foreigners in Egypt who did not serve as mercenaries often came as mer-
chants and craftsmen. Here again most is known about the Greeks, who were
granted the settlement of Naukratis as an emporion to regulate trade between
Greece and Egypt, and also for the purpose of craft manufacturing for local sale
and for export; but Phoenicians, Jews and Aramaeans also engaged in these
activities.5 Merchants and craftsmen occupied a lesser status than mercenaries.
2 On the Ashurbanipal material, see Spalinger (1978: 402). Jer. 46:9 refers to people of Cush,
Put (Libya) and Ludim (Lydians?) serving under the Egyptian king in the late sixth century;
the latter could encompass the Carian and Greek mercenaries sent by Gyges; see Lundbom
(2004: 201).
3 The evidence for Phoenician mercenaries in Egypt is scanty but compelling. The Phoenician
residential district in Memphis is named the stratopedon Tyriōn by Herodotus (2.112), suggest-
ing its function was originally as an army camp. Herodotus tells the story of the Phoenicians
sent by Nekau to circumnavigate Africa (4.42). There are some Phoenician inscriptions along-
side the Greek and Carian ones at Abu Simbel (Sauneron and Yoyotte 1952a: 132; 1952b: 188).
4 The reference is usually associated with the well-known campaign of Psamtik II to Nubia in
593; for arguments in favor of identifying it with an expedition of Psamtik I, see Sauneron
and Yoyotte (1952a), and Burstein (1985: 149–151). On the arrival of the Jews, see Modrzejewski
(1995: 22–23).
5 The primary account of the establishment of Naukratis is in Herodotus, 2.178–9. A later ver-
sion in Strabo (17.1.18), credits the Milesians with founding Naukratis, after establishing a fort
on the Bolbitine mouth; but Herodotus’ version is generally preferred. The bibliography on
398 Kaplan
They were allowed to settle in the Delta by the Egyptian kings, who saw in
them both a source of luxury goods and a source of revenue through taxes and
duties. However, because they were also potential competitors to native com-
mercial interests, and because they had a strong motive in self-interest, their
status was evidently more closely regulated than that of the mercenaries.
Finally, there were foreigners who came to Egypt as refugees, fleeing the
destruction caused by Assyrian and Babylonian campaigns in Syria-Palestine.
The Book of Jeremiah attests to the arrival of Jews in Egypt before and after
the destruction of Jerusalem, and their settlement in Migdol, Tahpanhes,
Noph (Memphis) and the land of Pathros (Upper Egypt).6 Phoenicians and
Aramaeans who made their way into Egypt and signed up as mercenar-
ies may have come under similar circumstances. The population of Carians,
although recruited as early as the sixth century, may have been bolstered by
a wave of refugees from Cyrus’ conquest of Anatolia in 546 (Vittmann 2003:
156). As refugees, their legal and social status was undoubtedly tenuous at first,
although those that chose to serve as soldiers under the Saites and Persians
were undoubtedly assimilated into the category of mercenaries, while others
found other economically productive roles. An untold number who could not
find gainful employment ended up as slaves.
Limitations on Physical Location
The primary means of control of aliens in ancient societies involves physical

segregation of the foreigners from the native society. Egypt, with its long his-
tory as a territorial state, had an established tradition of control of its borders
and settlement of immigrants (see Morris 2005). Psamtik I and his successors,
who recreated a unified state out of a land divided between local dynasts and
foreign occupiers, had a particular interest in reasserting the integrity of their
territory. But the evidence from the Late Period shows that attempts to control
and regulate settlement of foreigners were inconsistent: Psamtik I seems to
have been more concerned with effectively deploying his foreign troops and
merchants, while Ahmose II made token efforts to restrict foreign soldiers and
traders, but effectively increased the presence of foreigners in the land This
the Greeks in Egypt is extensive. For recent treatments, see Austin (1970); Bowden (1996); and
Möller (2000). On the economic activities of the Jews and Aramaeans of Elephantine and
Syene, see Porten (1968: 62–102).
6 Jer. 24:8, 26:20–24, 41:16–17, 42: 7–22, 43:1–13, 44:1–30. On Migdol, Tahpanhes, Noph and
Pathros, see Lundbom (2004: 157).
has been taken to reflect a deliberate change in policy on the part of Ahmose
(Cook 1937: 230).
Border Defense and Garrison Communities

The deployment of foreigners in Egypt had much to do with the needs of
border defense. Egypt’s system of protecting the integrity of its borders had
a long history. While this system was in abeyance through much of the Third
Intermediate Period, allowing large scale incursions of Libyans and Nubians,
with Psamtik I’s rise to power over Egypt, a new concern for the control of
the borders emerges. Herodotus says that Psamtik created garrisons at the
main approaches to Egypt: at Elephantine against the Ethiopians, at Daphnae
on the Pelusian branch of the Nile against the Arabians and Syrians, and at
Marea against the rest of Libya (2.30) (Niemeier 2001: 21–22).7 These garrisons
were employed in turn by the Persians. Because of the unreliability of native
Egyptian troops, Psamtik developed a policy of recruiting foreign groups as
mercenaries and settling them in garrisons near or on the frontiers. Daphnae,
the Biblical Tahpanhes, was manned later by Jews who had fled the Babylonian
conquest of Jerusalem (Jer. 43:4–13). Petrie excavated Tell Defenna and identi-
fied it as Daphnae: a deposit in the central structure contains a cartouche of
Psamtik I, architectural evidence indicates that it was a fortified settlement,
and finds of Greek pottery point to a substantial community of Greek soldiers
there in the sixth century (Petrie 1888: 48; Austin 1970: 15). Herodotus also tells
us that the Greeks and Carians were originally settled at the Camps, Stratopeda,
on either side of the Pelusian branch of the Nile, downstream of Bubastis; later
Amasis moved them to Memphis. The Camps have not been securely located.8
The Greeks continued to guard the borders of Egypt to the end of the Saite
Dynasty. Psamtik III (Herodotus’ Psammenites), for example, attempted to use
his mercenary army stop the Persian invasion at Pelusium (Herodotus 3.10–12).
7 Herodotus puts Marea on the border of Libya (see also 2.18); according to Diodorus, it was the
site of Ahmose’s battle with Apries (Diod. 1.68.5; Herodotus put the battle at Momemphis:
2.169). Thucydides describes Marea as south of Pharos (1.104.1); Stephen of Byzantinium
locates it on the Mareotic lake (s.v. Μάρεια); Ptolemy puts it in the Mareotic nome (4.5.34).
Its relation to Rhakotis, the forerunner to Alexandria, according to Strabo established as a
frontier outpost to keep out foreigners (Strabo 17.1.6 C 792), is unclear.
8 Petrie (1888) argued that the Camps and Daphnae were the same, but this has largely been
rejected; see Cook (1937). Austin (1970: 20) argues that the Camps were not fortified settle-
ments, but living communities for the mercenaries stationed at Daphnae, and so should be
located somewhere between Bubastis and Daphnae. Lloyd (2000: 372–3) suggests that the
mercenaries were pulled out of the camps as part of the anti-Greek backlash that brought
Amasis to power, but were re-introduced later.
400 Kaplan
Other such frontier establishments have come to light, particularly in the

Eastern Delta, where the Saite kings sought to regain control of their border.
The site excavated by Eliezer Oren and labeled by him T.21, near Tel el-Her, rep-
resents one of a number of smaller garrison forts he surveyed along the “Way
of Horus,” intended to resurrect Egyptian control of this region (Oren 1987).
Oren identified T.21 as Migdol, one of the places to which the Judaeans fled
after the Babylonian conquest.9 He also suggested that the name might have
been interchangeable with the Greek Stratopeda, although this identification
also has been contested. Oren found at the site local Egyptian, Phoenician and
Palestinian, and East Greek pottery, thereby confirming the pattern of mixed
garrisons. The dating of the assemblage puts it in the period from the late sev-
enth to the late sixth century BC.
In Upper Egypt, the island of Elephantine (Yeb) traditionally served as the
border of the land. The garrison was originally composed of native troops;
these deserted at some point, and were replaced by foreigners. Here was
located a garrison community under Persian rule composed primarily of Jews
and Aramaeans; the community itself believed that it was founded under
Egyptian kings.10 The evidence of the letters from the garrison indicates that
it was a mixed community. Not only did Jews and Aramaeans live there, but
people of other nationalities as well. In addition, there was a substantial native
population living side by side with the foreigners, who worshipped at the
temple of Khnum. There was some internal segregation: the Jews lived largely
on Elephantine itself, while the Aramaeans in the garrison were stationed in
Syene, on the banks of the river. But it seems that by the later fifth century, the
divisions were more nominal than real and native Egyptians lived side by side
with the mercenaries.
Memphis
Herodotus credited Ahmose II with reorganizing the Greek garrisons, and
relocating their camps to Memphis, so that they might serve as his personal
bodyguard. The evidence for Greeks in Memphis is scattered, and some have
9 Jer. 44:1, 46:14; Ez. 29:10, 30:6; Oren 1984: 28. Oren identifies this site also with the Magdolos
at which Herodotus says Necho met and defeated the Syrians (2.159); see also Niemeier
(2001: 22). An Aramaic letter (Padua Papyri 1), written by an Osea in Migdol to his son in
Elephantine, attests to the Jewish population; see Fitzmyer (1962: 16).
10 In the letter to Bagavahya, governor of Judah, for support in seeking permission to recon-
struct the temple to YHW in Elephantine, the petitioners assert that the Egyptian kings
had given permission for the temple to be built; Porten and Yardeni (1986: A4.7 l. 13);
Porten (1996: B19, 141); Porten and Yardeni (1986: A4.8 l. 12); Porten (1996: B20, 146).
denied that there was a permanent settlement there (Jeffery 1969: 355; Möller
2000: 206–7). In the Hellenistic period the city had a Hellenion, a Greek quar-
ter inhabited by Hellenomemphitai, which probably originated in Ahmose’s
reorganization (Malkin 2003: 93). A series of gravestones from Saqqara with
Carian inscriptions points to a settlement of Carians in the Memphis region
(Vittmann 2003: 164–76). It is also asserted by Herodotus that the Phoenicians
had a settlement at Memphis called the “Camp of the Tyrians,” around the
sanctuary of “Foreign Aphrodite,” established by King “Proteus” (2.112), which
may date back to the Canaanites who lived in Memphis in the Late Bronze Age
(Redford 1992: 228). In addition, Memphis (Noph) is mentioned as one of the
places to which the Judeans fled at the sack of Jerusalem.
Ahmose’s motive in concentrating his foreign troops in Memphis is uncer-
tain. It might have been a product of his insecurity, as a usurper; having
come to power by harnessing the discontent of Egyptian soldiers with the
foreign troops, he recognized the need to keep close to him the only troops
whose loyalty he could count on. Or it may be that his moving of the garri-
son is an indication of his more stable position (Sullivan 1996: 187). I suspect
that the move was purely logistical. With Necho II’s campaign against Judah
and Babylon, Psamtik II’s campaign in Nubia, and Apries’ campaign against
Cyrene, the Saite rulers had moved quickly from a defensive military strategy
to an offensive one. Rather than dispersing his mercenary forces at the fron-
tiers, Ahmose saw the need to concentrate his troops at a central location from
whence he could deploy them where needed. It also made it easier to keep
these foreign communities under control, and to limit any conflicts with local
Egyptians. The consequence of this strategic decision was that it brought the
foreign communities into more intimate contact with the native Egyptians,
which resulted in closer cultural interchanges (as witnessed by the number of
mixed Carian-Egyptian families at Saqqara). On the other hand, concentrating
the foreigners in the capital made them a more prominent, and perhaps more
disruptive, presence.
Naukratis
Ahmose pursued a parallel centralizing strategy with his economic base.
Naukratis represents the best-known concentration of foreigners in the Saite
period. The date of the founding of Naukratis has been a point of contention.
Herodotus attributes its establishment to Ahmose (2.178–9); but the earliest
pottery from the site has been dated to the third quarter of the seventh cen-
tury. Later, and perhaps less reliable, evidence is provided by Strabo, who says
that the city was built by Milesians, sometime after they had settled the site
known as the “Milesian Wall” at the Bolbitine Mouth in the reign of Psamtik
402 Kaplan
I (Strabo 17.1.18 C 801).11 There is little archaeological support for the notion
that the Milesians were primarily responsible for the founding of the settle-
ment, although they maintained a sanctuary to Apollo there.12 In the debate
over how to reconcile Herodotus with the archaeological record, the view has
prevailed that the settlement was begun by Greeks under Psamtik I, and then
reorganized in some fashion by Ahmose, so that Herodotus understood him to
be the founder of the settlement.13
The primary raison d’être for the settlement at Naukratis was trade.
Herodotus calls it an emporion, and notes that at first, it was the only place that
Greek traders were allowed to go to when they arrived in their ships (2.179).
Earlier Egyptian practice tended to regulate foreign trade by restricting it to
border settlements. The Saite kings in their attempt to reinstitute control of
the territory may have intended to resurrect this policy. Psamtik may have
originally granted permission for the Greeks to settle on the coast. Then, for
strategic reasons, he relocated their settlement closer to Sais. At some point
Naukratis was granted a monopoly on Greek trade. In associating Naukratis
with Ahmose II, Herodotus portrays it as a privilege granted to the Greeks, an
aspect of his philhellenic policy, but the provision that all Greek ships must
go to Naukratis was also a restriction (2.179).14 A number of scholars, most
recently Möller, have applied Polanyi’s “Port of Trade” model to understanding
Naukratis, suggesting that it served as an emporion meant to limit the contact
that Greek merchants had with Egyptians, and to facilitate the collection of
taxes and duties (Bowden 1996: 29; Möller 2000: 203–4). As such, it was part
of an attempt to reassert the integrity of Egyptian territory. Ahmose, who had
led a revolt against Apries by tapping into native discontent over the freedoms
granted to foreign troops, appeased his native supporters by restricting the
activity of the Greeks to the emporion, while at the same time, as we shall see,
giving the Greeks a high degree of autonomy, and thereby encouraging the
activity of Greeks at the site.
11 Sullivan (1996) accepts that the Milesians were responsible for the founding of Naucratis.
12 Drijvers 1999. The claim that Miletus founded Naukratis is repeated in later sources.
13 The bibliography on Naukratis is vast. For an overview of the state of research, see the
publications of the recent surveys and excavations by Coulson (1996), and Leonard (1997).
On the founding of the settlement, see Austin (1970: 22–23). Sullivan (1996) argues force-
fully that Psamtik I was responsible for the settlement, but asserts with insufficient evi-
dence that he founded it originally as a military garrison.
14 Austin 1970: 28. Möller (2000: 204) and Lloyd (2000: 374) note the parallel with the fort
of Mirgissa/Irqen on the border with Nubia in the Middle Kingdom, in which Senwosret
III proclaimed that the function of the fort was to interdict the entry of Nubians, except
those on an embassy or those engaged in trading in Mirgissa.
It is uncertain how strictly the garrison and mercantile communities were

segregated from each other and from native Egyptians, and whether they
were intended to restrict access to the rest of the country. Foreigners under
the Saites were encouraged to form communities with some degree of eth-
nic exclusion, which developed an internal identity. Over time, the foreign-
ers resident in both the garrisons, the trading communities, and in Memphis,
saw themselves as permanent residents of those communities. At the frontier
establishments such as Daphnae, the situation was probably very fluid: resi-
dents were more transient, and there may have been a substantial presence
of Egyptians, along with the various other mercenary contingents brought in
as circumstances warranted. The “Camps,” on the other hand, were separated,
according to Herodotus, into one for Greeks and one for Carians, even though
the two groups were closely associated. The Phoenicians were given their own
quarter in Memphis; this may have served as both their garrison and their mer-
cantile headquarters. Naukratis was predominantly Greek, and by the fourth
century it had attained the status of a polis in the political sense, but it was not
exclusively Greek. There is also evidence for a Cypriot presence, but one won-
ders whether, from the Egyptian perspective, the Cypriots were distinguish-
able from the Greeks.15 There is little direct evidence of Phoenician presence
in the settlement, although the argument has been made that some of the craft
manufacturing done at the site could only have been done by Phoenicians
(Austin 1970: 65 n. 3; Sullivan 1996: 187). Even the supposed Egyptian presence
at the southern end of the site has been thrown into doubt, with the identifica-
tion of the “Great Enclosure” as a Ptolemaic structure (Austin 1970: 30; Muhs
1994: 99–113; Sullivan 1996: 188–89; Leonard 1997: 14, 28–30). Egyptians may
have overseen the Greeks, and came to do business with them, but evidence
for long-term co-residency remains to be found (and will not be, given that
most of the site is now submerged under a lake).
The degree to which Greeks and other foreigners, either resident or visiting,
were allowed access to the rest of the country, is harder to determine. Small
amounts of Early Greek pottery have been found at various sites around the
country. Although some of this is utility ware, this may nevertheless indicate
the circulation of imported goods, rather than individuals (Austin 1970: 33;
Möller 2000: 205–6; Oren 1984: 25). There is some evidence of the integration
of Greeks into native society: a papyrus, dated to c. 575, lists an individual
named Ariston as a priest of Thoth in Hermopolis (Zaghloul 1985: 23–31;
15 Davis 1979; 1980. Masson (1983: 353–88) notes that none of the syllabic Cypriot inscriptions
known from Egypt date to earlier than the fifth century; see also Cassimatis (1984: 33–38).
404 Kaplan
Burstein 1985: 28). The Carian funerary stelai from Memphis record several
mixed marriages, attesting to local cultural interactions.
After the Persian conquest, evidence for non-natives in the country becomes
more substantial. Herodotus says that Greeks flocked to Egypt in the wake of
the Persian conquest to do business, take part in the fighting (on which side is
not indicated), and some just to see the country (3.139). Various Greek individu-
als claimed, or are said, to have visited Egypt, including Solon, Sappho’s brother
Charaxus, Hecataeus, Herodotus, and Plato. While some of these may not have
ventured beyond the Delta, Hecataeus and Herodotus at least claimed to have
seen Thebes.16 Graffiti from the foreigners in the country show up at various
sanctuaries, such as the Greek, Carian, Cypriot Greek, Aramaic and Phoenician
graffiti inscribed on the walls of the Memnonion at Abydos (Perdrizet and
Lefebvre 1919; Rutherford 2003: 177–79). There is also more evidence for Greeks
and permanent residents in the land: fifth-century graffitti from Abydos are
signed by Chariandros son of Straton, “the Memphite,” and Timarchos “the
Daphnaite,” as well as a “Naukrates” (Jeffrey 1969: 355, 51, 54). These examples
show that by the time of the Persian occupation Greeks permanently resident
in Egypt were free to visit shrines in other parts of the county. The corpus of
Aramaic papyri from Elephantine contains letters to and from Aramaean and
Jewish individuals in Elephantine, Luxor, Memphis, Migdol, and elsewhere.
Not only does travel by foreigners seem unrestricted, but much of the corre-
spondence is between family members, who spent substantial time living at
different ends of the country (Porten 1996: 89–124). Conditions for foreigners
were relaxed under Persian rule, so that access to the country became easier
than under native rule. At the same time, this policy correlates with contin-
ued native resentments against Persian rule, expressed in the negative view of
Cambyses, and in the regular Egyptian revolts of the fifth and fourth centuries.
Organization and Legal Restrictions
The status of the foreigners in Egypt in the Saite and Persian periods can be
further clarified by considering how the communities were organized and gov-
erned, and what legal status individuals lived under. There is little evidence
of an overarching policy or legal structure for dealing with foreign groups,
16 Doubts about the veracity of the autopsy accounts of Hecataeus and Herodotus are long-
standing; see Armayor (1985), West (1991); contra, Pritchett (1993: 182–3, 187–91, 243–252).
But it is substantially harder to maintain that they did not visit Egypt at all, than that they
did not travel all the way to Thebes.
comparable to the laws regarding metics in Athens, or the laws concerning the
ger in Israel. Instead, policy seems to have been made on an ad hoc basis by
individual rulers. Furthermore, the function and professions of the different
foreign groups largely determined their organization and legal status.
Oversight by Egyptian Officials

The Egyptian state maintained its traditional prerogative of controlling for-
eigners and their access to the country at the borders of the land. A “Governor
of the Gate of the Countries of the South” is attested in the Saite period, as is a
“Governor of the Gate of Egypt by land and sea,” one Nechthorheb (Tresson 1931;
Kaplan 2003: 12; Möller 2000: 195–6; Vittmann 2003: 220, fig. 111). The primary
responsibility of these officials was the collection of taxes. This duty is stressed
on the so-called Naukratis Stele of Nectanebo I (380–362), which directs that a
tithe of the revenues from the products imported from the Mediterranean and
produced in Naukratis and a place called Hnt be given to the temple of Neith in
Sais. The stele indicates that the taxes were in addition to those imposed pre-
viously, so they probably go back at least to the time of Ahmose, and possibly
earlier (Austin 1970: 28–9; Lichtheim 1980: 86–89; Möller 2000: 207).
Ahmose’s restriction of Greeks to Naukratis may have reflected a desire
for strict control of foreigners. At the same time, the settlement was appar-
ently allowed a degree of self-government. The question of whether Naucratis
was a polis in the sense of a fully self-governing community has been long
argued; Herodotus’ use of the term polis is not indicative (2.178).17 If it was a
true polis—and it is important to recognize that the evidence for its constitu-
tional status as a polis comes no earlier than the fourth century—it operated
under exceptional conditions, having multiple founding metropoleis and being
under the jurisdiction of the Egyptian king. Its market was regulated by Greek
officials appointed by the cities that had founded the Hellenion, the common
Greek sanctuary. These Herodotus calls the prostatai tou emporiou, the over-
seers of the market. A later source refers to timouchoi, officials of some sort,
but it dates only to the fourth century and later, when Naukratis was formally
recognized as a polis. Nevertheless, aside from the obligation to pay their taxes,
the Naukratites were left substantially alone to mind their own affairs.
The mercenary communities had a different, if also anomalous, status,
to some extent self-governing, and at the same time under native military
command. We do not have to accept Diodorus’ statement that Psamtik I
17 The argument that Naukratis was a polis was made by Roebuck (1951: 212–20). Austin
(1970: 27–33) held that the site had a “dual” nature; see also Bowden (1996: 29–31); Möller
(2000: 195–6).
406 Kaplan
entrusted the Ionians and Carians with the administration of his rule (1.67.2),
although the story reflects a memory of the important role they played under
the first Saite king. The Greeks who served under the Saite pharaohs were,
as elsewhere, under the control of their own leaders, who were more or less
directly answerable to the Egyptian king. There is a later Greek reference to one
Pigres, a Carian commander under Psamtik I (Polyaenus, Strat. 7.3.2; Kaplan
2003: 11). The later graffiti at Abu Simbel suggests a more stratified command.
A soldier by the name of Archon says that he is there with Psammetichos the
son of Theoklos—probably a second-generation Greek inhabitant of the mer-
cenary garrison named after the Egyptian king who recruited his father—who
may have been the strategos of the mercenaries. But Archon also says that the
foreign detachment (alloglossos) was led by Potasimto, while the Egyptians—
the Machimoi, as Herodotus calls them—were led by Amasis. Both of these are
known Egyptian officials (Rowe 1938; Sauneron and Yoyotte 1952b: 159; Austin
1970: 21). Later, Herodotus mentions a Phanes of Halikarnassos, probably the
commander of the mercenaries under Ahmose (Herodotus 3.4.11). At the gar-
rison at Memphis, timouchoi are attested from the Ptolemaic period; these may
date back to the early days of the community (Wilcken 1922: 636–41; Austin
1970: 20).
Under Persian rule, the system was modified somewhat. Mercenary con-
tingents were organized into units under a commander who was Persian. At
Elephantine the soldiers were organized into the hayla, the troop, composed of
all of the different mercenaries, and diglin, detachments of the separate ethnic
groups, each of which had a Persian commander. When an Egyptian dynasty
regained control of the country under Nectanebo I, the new rulers had to rely
heavily on newly recruited Greek mercenaries, whose commanders demanded
even more autonomy. In 361 the Spartan king Agesilaos, in fact, balked at shar-
ing command with the Athenian Chabrias under the Egyptian Tachos (Teos),
and switched sides to fight for Nectanebo II (Plutarch, Life of Agesilaus, 36–9).
Property Ownership
Restriction on land ownership is a key feature of the diminished status of
foreigners in early states. Surprisingly, the Saite kings seem to have had a
relaxed attitude toward foreign control of land. Herodotus, in his description
of the founding of the “Camps”, says that Psamtik gave land to the Greeks and
Carians to settle (2.154). Whether this land was considered alienable or inher-
itable is not clear. Austin has argued that the mercenaries were granted indi-
vidual holdings of land, on the parallel with the Egyptian Machimoi, who were
each granted twelve arourai of tax-free land (Herodotus 2.168; Austin 1970: 18
and 54–55, n. 2). This also recalls Herodotus’ description of Ahmose’s act in
allowing the Greeks to settle at Naukratis: “Amasis gave [the Greeks] the
city to settle in” (ho Amasis . . . edōke . . . polin enoikēsai). Herodotus says that
Amasis gave Naucratis as a place where any Greek who came to stay in Egypt
could live. Furthermore, those Greeks who did not settle there permanently
were given land on which they could set up altars and precincts to their gods
(2.178). This sounds like a grant of enktēsis, the right to own land, much like the
grant made by the Athenians to Egyptians to build a temple to Isis sometime
in the fourth century.18 On the other hand, the fourth-century Naukratis stele
describes Naukratis as belonging in “the King’s domain;” the monarch kept
ultimate claim to the land, as was common in Egypt (Austin 1970: 27).
There is also the precinct granted to the Phoenicians in Memphis. Herodotus
says that within Proteus’ sanctuary, around which the Phoenicians live, is a sanc-
tuary to the “foreign Aphrodite”. Herodotus assumes that this is Helen, although
it is certainly Astarte, a Semitic goddess who may have been imported to Egypt
as early as the Second Intermediate Period. As such, it no doubt controlled the
land around it in the same manner as all other temple establishments. The land
was inalienable from the goddess, but the Phoenicians may very well have been
able to buy and sell to each other the property on which their houses were built.
At the Elephantine garrison there is abundant evidence of house ownership
in the form of sale contracts, grants and wills. The houses in which the Jews
lived were both alienable and heritable. No mention is made in the legal docu-
ments of a conditional status of ownership by the state or by temples (Porten
1996: 94–102, 213–19, 225–34, 237–45). This also includes the land on which the
temple of YHW was built. Although it is possible that allowing the ownership
of land by individuals was a Persian innovation, the land for the temple was
almost certainly granted under Egyptian authority. Another exceptional aspect
of the rights of the Jews and Aramaeans at Elephantine is that they could own
Egyptians as slaves (Porten 1996: 203–5). In this way, Egyptian practice, at least
under the Persians, was quite different from that of the Greek cities. A simi-
larity may be seen with the biblical allowance for a ger to own an Israelite,
although that right was limited to indenture, rather than outright ownership
(Lev. 25: 47–54).
Religious Practice
Restrictions on religious practice vary according to the theological framework
of the host society. Egypt had a long tradition of accepting foreign cults, and was
18 The grant of enktēsis to the Egyptians is mentioned as a precedent in a decree proposed
by Lykourgos in 333/2, granting enktēsis to a group of merchants from Kition to build a
sanctuary to Aphrodite, probably in the Peiraeus: EM 7173; see Schwenk (1985: 141–46).
408 Kaplan
more inclined than many other societies to recognize connections between its
own gods and the gods of others. Under the Saites this liberal policy was con-
tinued. Herodotus gives an account of the sanctuaries set up at Naukratis, and
he mentions the Hellenion, a joint foundation by a number of Greek cities.
He also mentions a sanctuary of Zeus built by the Aegenitans, a sanctuary of
Hera built by the Samians, and a sanctuary of Apollo built by the Milesians.
Athenaeus records an early temple of Aphrodite (15.18). The early excava-
tors, Petrie, Gardner, and Hogarth identified Sanctuaries of Apollo, Hera, and
Aphrodite, Zeus, and one to the Dioscouroi, as well as the Hellenion, based on
inscribed material correlated with some architectural remains (Bowden 1996:
19–25; Leonard 1997; a few inscriptions may mention Zeus, see Sullivan 1996:
189). That these sanctuaries required the king’s permission, however, may indi-
cate that the construction of temples by foreigners was not routine. Alternately,
it may just reflect the traditional royal sponsorship of construction of religious
monuments. Outside of Naukratis, the presence of Greek sanctuaries before
the Hellenistic period is not attested. The Camp of the Tyrians in Memphis
contained a sanctuary to the “foreign Aphrodite,” or Astarte. It may also have
contained a sanctuary to Melqart, and possibly Baʿal as well (Kaplan 2003: 15
and 29, n. 71). In Elephantine, the Jews were able to build a temple to Yahweh,
despite local opposition (Porten 1996: 284–98; on the archaeological evidence
for the temple, see Rosenberg 2004). The Aramaic letters from Elephantine
indicate the presence of Aramaean temples to Nabu, Banit, Bethel and the
Queen of Heaven (Anath) in Syene. In addition, references are preserved in
the Aramaic letters to Bel, Shamash and Nergal, probably also the subjects of
local worship. Jeremiah accuses the refugees from Judah of continuing to wor-
ship the Queen of Heaven in their new homes in Upper Egypt, a clear sign of
religious interpenetration among the mercenary communities (Jer. 44:15–25;
Porten and Yardeni 1986: A2.1, line 2; Porten 1996: 33, 164–66).
Shrines to Egyptian gods throughout the land were open to foreigners, as
indicated by graffiti. It is not always possible to determine whether graffiti was
left by worshippers or tourists. But often placement and the nature of the mes-
sage left provides evidence for the purposeful visiting of Greeks, Carians, and
Phoenicians to Egyptian shrines.19 The Greeks, comfortable with the interpre-
tatio graeca of Egyptian gods, would have had little problem with worshipping
their own gods in Egyptian sanctuaries. For the other communities, the situa-
tion was much the same, with the exception of the Jews, since the prophetic
19 For a survey and analysis of the graffiti left in the Memnonion (the temple of Seti I) of
Abydos, see Rutherford (2003). On the Phoenician graffiti at Abu Simbel and at Abydos,
see Vittmann (2003: 61–65).
theology forbade such syncretic practices. Jeremiah transmits God’s anger at

the refugees from Judah for worshipping the Egyptian gods (44:8).
Intermarriage
One does not see in Egypt the broad prohibitions against epigamia, or inter-
marriage, prevalent in the Greek world. It is often asserted that the merchants
who lived in Naukratis were not allowed to marry Egyptian women. The evi-
dence for this is late: papyri from the Hadrianic age reaffirm the prohibition
against Naukratites marrying Egyptians, although this privilege is allowed to
the citizens of Antinoupolis (Mitteis and Wilcken 1912: I.1, 13, 51; I.2, 44–45,
no. 27; Roebuck 1951: 216; Austin 1970: 28 and 65, n. 2). It seems likely that the
mercenary soldiers were free to take wives locally. A number of the Greeks
who left inscriptions at Abu Simbel had Egyptian names. They were likely
second-generation Greek residents of Egypt, and so may have come from
mixed parentage. The Egyptianizing funerary stelai with bilingual Carian-
Egyptian inscriptions from Saqqara show the Carians as intermarrying and
assimilating into local Egyptian culture. One late source says explicitly that the
Carians had epigamia with the natives (Aristagoras FrGrHist 608 F 9; Austin
1970 18; Kaplan 2003: 19–20). Evidence of intermarriage is even clearer within
the garrison community at Elephantine, where we have several marriage
contracts between Jews and Egyptians; Aramaeans also freely intermarried
with Egyptians and gave their offspring Egyptian names (Vittmann 2003: 91).
Of course, these marriages transpired under the Persians, but there is no evi-
dence to suggest that under Egyptian control, marriages between the foreign
mercenaries and natives were forbidden.
Attitudes of Native Egyptians
A clear symptom of the anomalous status of the foreigners in Egypt, and espe-
cially the mercenaries, is the hostility they inspired in the native Egyptian pop-
ulation. The hostility of the Egyptian Machimoi to the foreign troops reached
a crisis during the unsuccessful siege of Cyrene, when they gave their support
to Ahmose in his revolt against Apries (Herodotus 2.161–69; Lloyd 2000: 373).
After overthrowing Apries, Ahmose made some conciliatory gestures towards
his Egyptian troops by bringing the Greeks and Carians from the Camps to
Memphis and reorganizing Naukratis. Ultimately, however, Ahmose earned
a reputation as a philhellene. He continued to rely on foreign troops, and
most of the archaeological evidence for Greeks at the frontier garrisons dates
to his reign. Nor was mercantile activity on the part of the Greeks or other
410 Kaplan
peoples curtailed significantly, despite his imposition of a trade monopoly on

Naukratis.
Another significant outburst of anti-foreign hostility is recorded in
Elephantine. Tensions between the Jews and the local Egyptians at Elephantine
are reflected in accusations of theft made against members of the Jewish com-
munity (Porten and Yardeni 1986: A4.2, A4.3, A4.4; Porten 1996: B15, B16). These
tensions climaxed in an incident in which the Egyptian priests persuaded a
Persian official, Vidranga, to send his son Naphaina with Egyptian troops to
destroy the temple of Yah(weh). The incident reflects a religious hostility
between the cults of Khnum and Yahweh; but it hints also at broader dissat-
isfaction among the Egyptians with the foreigners in their midst (Porten and
Yardeni 1986: A4.5, A4.7, A4.8; Porten 1996: 284–93, B17, B19, B20; Rosenberg
2004: 7–8). This dissatisfaction was exacerbated by the perception that the
Jews were loyal enforcers of Persian rule. Certainly the Jews themselves made
much of their loyalty in a letter soliciting support from the Persian governor
of Jerusalem. The temple was rebuilt, and then eventually abandoned, pos-
sibly at the end of the first Persian occupation. The recent excavators found
animal dung on the floor, suggesting deliberate desecration (Porten 1996:
294–96; Rosenberg 2004: 9). This evidence suggests that the foreign communi-
ties, while tolerated when imposed by the pharaoh or the Persian king, were
nevertheless resented, particularly when they claimed too much political and
religious power.
Despite the periodic hostility displayed towards them, the foreigners were
an enduring presence in Egypt. Under the Saites, they allowed the king to reas-
sert control of his borders, and to promote economic contacts with the outside
world. For the Persians, they facilitated their control of the land. As is well-
known, they provided a primary conduit for the influence of Egyptian culture
on surrounding lands, but they also allowed for significant contacts and accul-
turation between the various alien communities that lived side by side.
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Author Index
‘Amr, A.-J. 243–244n34, 269–270(tbl) Bell, C. 212

Aarons, L. 269(tbl) Bellorini, Fr. T. 114n62, 118n72
Abd el-Maksoud, M. 106 Belmaker, M. 213
Abou Assaf, A. 244, 269–270(tbl) Belmonte Marín, J. A. 75–78
Acere, T. 213 Ben Dor Evian, S. 212
Aharoni, Y. 111, 113, 207, 246n37, 335n4 Bennet, J. 111
Albright, W. F. 12–13, 29, 242n26, 269(tbl), Bennett W. J. Jr. 237n7, 374–375
336n9 Bennett, C.-M. 102
Altenmüller, H. 220 Bentley, P. 278, 281n21
Amyx, D. A. 340 Ben-Tor, A. 206
Andreu, G. 283, 284n28 Berelov, I. 13–14, 16, 22, 24, 30
Arav, R. 236 Berman, L. M. 1
Archi, A. 74, 76–78 Betancourt, P. P. 95, 97n22
Armayor, O. K. 404n Bienkowski, P. 109n55, 234, 243, 245,
Arnold, F. 103 250n46, 266(tbl), 268(tbl)
Arthur, P., 372 Bikai, P. M. 99n32, 101n40, 319
Artzy, M. 114 Bissing, F. W. von 362n47
Ash, P. 205n7 Blakely, J. A. 237n7, 374–375
Aston, B. G. 296n Bleed, P. 50
Aston, D. A. 11, 26, 30, 279n14, 293, 296n, Bliss, F. J. 373
298, 301, 310n Blitz, J. 224
Astour, M. C. 74, 76–79, 111–112 Bloch-Smith, E. 293
Aström, P. 93n8 Blyth, P. H. 49
Atici, L. 102n42 Boardman, J. 342–344, 362n47
Aufrecht, W. E. 239n10 Bonechi, M. 74, 76–78
Aufrère, S. H. 2, 52 Bonfil, R. 31n25
Austin, M. M. 398n5, 399, 402n13–14, 403, Bonnet, C. 2–3, 38–39, 48
405–407, 409 Bordreuil, P. 273(tbl)
Avigad, N. 238n10, 241, 268–269(tbl) Bourke, S. J. 236, 265(tbl)
Bourriau, J. 27, 40, 294, 296
Badawy, A. 103 Bowden, H. 340–341, 398, 402, 405n,
Bagh, T. 202n 408
Balfour, H. 43 Bracco, J.-P. 39
Bamforth, D. B. 50, 52 Brand, Y. 377n11
Banning, E. B. v, vii, 58ff Brandl, B. 106, 296, 304, 309
Barag, D. 375 Breiner, S. 61
Barako, T. J. 106 Breton, J.-F. 112
Baramki, D. 249n45 Brewer, D. 215, 220
Bard, K. A. v, 1ff, 112 Bright, J. 348, 354
Barjamovic, G. 75 Brinkman, J. A. 343
Barwik, M. 299 Broshi, M. 374
Bass, G. 114n63 Brovarski, E. 237
Beck, P. 13 Brunner-Traut, E. 52
Beckerath, J. von 302 Bryan, B. 109n54
Beit-Arieh, I. 105, 303–304 Buhl, M. L. 374, 378
416 Author Index
Bunimovitz, S. 30 Dothan, T. 106, 108n52, 115n66, 116, 139(fig),

Burke, A. A. 90, 103, 116 242, 293, 295–296, 303–304, 309
Burn, A. R. 356 Driesch, E. von den 214, 218, 222, 232(tbl)
Burstein, S. M. 397n4, 404 Drijvers, J. W. 402n12
Callaghan, T. 278, 281 Dunand, F. 294
Campbell, E. F. 90 Dunham, D. 41, 44
Cargill, J. 344n16 Dupont, P. 338
Carnarvon, G. E. S. M. H. 46
Cassimatis, H. 403n Echt, R. 279, 283
Casson, L. 112n Edel, E. 3, 355
Castel, G. 2 Edmonds, M. R 42, 49
Černý, J. 278 Eerkens, J. W. 30n23
Clark, J. D. 43 Eggler, J. 238–240, 265–269(tbl)
Clédat, J. 104–105 El Awady, T. 2
Cline, E. H. 97 Elgavish, J. 378
Coe, M. D. 61 Ellis, C. J. 49–50, 52)
Cohen, S. 13, 31 el-Maksoud, M. A. 106
Cole, D. P. 13, 22, 29–30 Emery, W. B. 37–38, 44
Collon, D. 240n18 Eph‘al, I. 342, 349, 351n26, 355
Cook, R. M. 338, 340–341, 399 Eriksson, K. O. 93n8, 300
Cooley, R. 218, 223–224
Cornelius, I. 282, 284 Falconer, S. E. 13, 22, 25n17, 26, 30
Cotelle-Michel, L. 292n–293, 298, 300–301, Fall, P. L. 13, 22, 25n17, 26, 30
307–310 Fantalkin, A. 333–337, 339, 341, 343–345,
Coulson, W. D. E. 402n13 349, 358–359, 361–364
Crowfoot, J. W. 238 Fattovich, R. v, 1ff, 112
Finkelstein, I. 30, 201–202, 204n–206, 208,
Dabrowski, B. 265(tbl) 210n, 218, 222,
Dagg, A. I. 113 Fischer, P. M. 239
Daressy, G. 43 Fitzmyer, J. A. 400n9
Daviau, P. M. M. vi–vii, 234ff Fleming, S. J. 280, 306n25
David, A. 279 Forbes, R. J. 40, 49
Davis, W. 403 Forstner-Müller, I. 297
de Rodrigo, A. D. 371† Fortin, M. 75
Degoy, L. 31 Francis, E. D. 336n9, 338–340
Demichelis, S. 278n12 Franke, D. 2
Deutsch, R. 241 Frankfort, H. 278
Dever, W. G. 11, 110, 205 Franken, H. J. 110, 113, 246
DeVries, S. J. 202 Frayne, D. v, vii, 74ff
Dietler, M. 225 Freedy, K. S. 350–352, 354
Dion, P.-E. 243, 245, 247–249, 251, Frel, J. 376n11
269–271(tbl) Freund, R. A. 236
Dixon, D. M. 3 Friedman, F. D. 45n6
Dodson, A. 294, 298–299 Friedman, R. 215, 220–221
Donbaz, V. 355 Fritz, V. 90, 116
Dornemann, R. H. 102, 236, 243–244, 246,
250n47, 265(tbl), 270(tbl), 273(tbl) Galal, A. 293
Dothan, M. 106n, 293, 377 Galán, J. M. 317n5
Author Index 417
Gardiner, A. H. 116, 137(fig), 361n45 Harris, J. R. 46, 51

Garlan, Y. 372 Harrison, T. P. v, viif, xviiff.
Garstang, J. 303n21 Häser, J. 244, 270–271(tbl)
Gauthier-Pilters, H. 113 Hastorf, C. A. 31
Gehman, H. S. 201n Hausleiter, A. 101, 111–112
Geraty, L. T. 102 Hawkins, D. 78
Gerisch, R. 5 Hayden, B. 224
Geva, S. 319 Hayes, J. H. 336, 351–352, 354
Giddy, L. 38–39, 42, 44, 46, 278, 284n26 Hayes, W. C. 43
Gilbert, G. P. 38, 43, 53 Hein, C. J. 26
Gilboa, A. 212 Helck, H. 74
Gill, D. W. J. 339, 341 Hendrix, R. E. 239, 266(tbl)
Giorgini, M. S. 41 Hennessy, J. B. 89–100, 102, 107n51–109,
Gitin, S. 244n31, 357 132(fig), 136(fig), 141–143(tbl),
Giveon, R. 110 146–147(tbl), 152(tbl ), 157–159(tbl),
Gjerstad, E. 339, 373–374, 378 164–166(tbl)
Glanzman, W. D. 280 Herr, L. 90–92, 96, 98–100, 102–103, 105n46,
Goedicke, H. 3, 213 107n50–108, 139–140(tbl), 143(tbl),
Golani, D. 217, 219, 222, 233(tbl) 167–179(tbl), 222, 238, 240, 245,
Gonen, R. 90, 104, 293 268–269(tbl)
Goren, Y. 30n24 Herrmann, G. 251
Gorton, A. F. 361n45–362 Herzog, Z. 335
Gosselain, O. 31 Hickman, C. N. 43
Grace, V. R. 372, 377 Higginbotham, C. R. 119, 294, 305–306,
Grajetzki, W. 23 308–309
Gram, L. 220–221 Hikade, T. 40, 42
Gratien, B. 38–39 Hoade, Fr. E. 114n62, 118n
Graves-Brown, C. A. v, 37ff Hoffmeier, J. K. 106, 275, 279
Grayson, A. K. 340, 343–344 Holladay, J. S. Jr. ixff, 12, 15–16, 30, 70–71, 90,
Griffith, F. L. 301–302 100n39, 102n42–103, 106, 110, 114, 116,
Grimal, N. 352 157(tbl), 297, 316, 319, 321, 333, 337, 339
Gubel, E. 375 Holland, T. A. 24
Gunter, A. C. 112 Hölscher, U. 42
Holthoer, R. 298n11
Haiman, M. 30 Homès-Fredericq, D. 239, 245–246, 251,
Halpern, B. 204, 207–209 267(tbl), 271(tbl)
Hanasaka, T. 279 Horn, S. H. 237n9, 239, 266(tbl)
Hancock, R. G. V. 318, 379, 381, 383 Horowitz, L. 214
Handoussa, T. 299 Hoyland, R. G. 112
Hankey, V. 90–93, 95, 97–98, 100–101,119, Hrouda, F. 63
141(tbl), 143–146(tbl), 148–166(tbl), Humbert, J.-B. 249
175(tbl), 186n78, 250 Hüsken, S. M. C. 219–221
Harding, G. L. 90, 93n10, 96–100, 102, 107,
109, 152–153(tbl), 157–161(tbl), Ibrahim, M. M. 102, 243, 247–248,
164–166(tbl), 186n79, 237, 239, 270–271(tbl), 273(tbl)
265–266(tbl), 269(tbl), 272–273(tbl) Ikram, S. 220–221, 294, 298–299n13
Harrell, J. A. 40, 46 Iliffe, J. H. 236
Harris, E. C. 331 Inge, C. H. 107
418 Author Index
Jacopi, D. G. 376 Lamon, R. S. 236, 378

Jaeger, B. 238 Langdon, S. H. 353
James, F. W. 116n69–117n70, 135(fig), 277, Lapp, N. L. 237
279, 293, 305n23 Lapp, P. W. 337, 338
James, P. vi, 333ff Larick, R. 52
James, T. G. H. 352, 359–360 Larsen, H. von 43
Janssen, J. J. 47, 51 Leach, B. 294
Janssen, Josef M. A. 67 Leahy, A. 351, 355–356
Jasmin, M. 113n60 Lechtman, H. 31
Jeffery, L. H. 401 Leclant, J. 105
Johns, C. N. 374 LeCount, L. 224
Johnston, S. I. 275 Lefebvre, G. 404
Jondet, M. G. 112 Lemaire, A. 238
Joukowsky, M. 212 Leonard, A. 102, 111, 402–403, 408
Lernau, H. 214–215, 217, 232–233(tbl)
Kabahenda, M. K. 219–221 Lernau, O 214, 217, 219, 221–222,
Kadish, G. E. 3 232–233(tbl)
Kafafi, Z. 97, 99–100, 107n51, 139–140(tbl), Lesko, B. S. 275n2
167–168(tbl), 170–179(tbl) Lev-Tov, J. 218, 224–225, 232(tbl)
Kahn, D. 350 Levy, T. E. 103, 157(tbl)
Kantor, H. J. 250 Lichtenberg, R. 294
Kaplan, P. vi, 396ff Lichtheim, M. 405
Karageorghis, V. 376–378 Lieven, A. von 293
Katzenstein, H. J. 348–352, 354 Lilyquist, C. 111n56
Kawanishi, H. 279 Linseele, V. 215–216, 221–222, 233(tbl)
Keates, S. 46 Lipton, G. 304, 309n29
Keel, O. 238–240, 244n33, 265–268(tbl) Little, R. M. 94
Kemp, B. J. 23, 25, 43n, 103, 278 Livingstone Smith, A. 31
Kempinski, A. 358 Lloyd, A. B. 350–353, 355–356, 360, 399, 402,
Kendall, T. 41, 115 409
Kenyon, K. M. 24 London, G. 222–223
Kitchen, K. A. 2–3, 5, 95, 105, 109n54–112, Love, James R. B. 50
243, 249 Lucarini, G 5
Klassen, S. v, xii, 11ff Lucas, A. 294, 375, 379
Klengel, H. 75 Lundbom, J. R. 397–398
Kletter, R. 247
Kochavi, M. 13 MacDonald, B. 15, 113
Koehler, C. G. 375 Mace, A. C. 41
Kokkinos, N. 335n4, 344n16, 351 Mackay, P. 371
Kopetzky, K. 14, 26 Maeir, A. M. 13, 29
Kotter, W. R. 247, 272(tbl) Magness, J. 337–338, 358
Koutsoukou, A. 237, 265(tbl), 267(tbl), Magness-Gardiner, B. 30
272(tbl) Maher, E. 217–218, 224, 232(tbl)
Kreiter, A. 31n26 Mahfouz, E. 5
Kuentz, C. 52 Maisterrena, E. 382
Kuhrt, A. 335, 349 Malamat, A. 203
Malkin, I. 401
LaBianca, Ø. S. 102 Manhart, H. 214, 218
Ladynin, I. A. 356 Manniche, L. 112, 114
Author Index 419
Manuelian, P. der 109 Mumford, G., v, 89fff 212

Manzo, A. 3, 5–6, 8, 112 Münger, S. 218
Marcus, E. S. 11 Murray, M. A. 236, 239
Martin, M. A. S. 30 Mussell, M.-L. 240, 268(tbl)
Martin, M. F. 234
Maspero, G. 352 Na’aman, N. 205n10–207, 333–336, 344,
Masson, O. 403n 349–350, 357, 360
Mattingly, G. L. 248, 273(tbl) Najjar, M. 237, 245, 249
Mazar, A. 90, 104, 205n9, 279, 293 Naveh, J. 333–335, 337, 363
Mazar, E. 238 Naville, É. 72, 301–302
McDermott, B. 37–38, 45, 52n Neuburger, A. 375n9
McDowell, A. G. 108n53 Niemeier, W.-D. 334n–336, 358, 399–400n9
McGeough, K. 225 Nijf, O. V. 376–377
McGovern, P. E. 92, 102–103, 113, 119, Nordström H.-Å. 27
249–250, 293, 305–306n25 Noth, M. 199–201, 203
McLeod, W. 43 Noblecourt, C. D. 52
McNeill, T. 116n67
McQuinn, Z. 266(tbl) O’Connor, D. B. 1, 3, 48, 115, 280
Mee, C. 97, 101n41, 111 Ogden, J. 47, 51
Meeks, D. 112 Ogunja, J. 219–220
Meijer, F. 376–377 Olive, M. 39
Meshel, Z. 30n24, 105 Oppenheim, A. L. 349, 353n31, 355
Meskell, L. 51 Oren, E. D. 14–15n11, 24, 30, 97, 103, 116, 279,
Mesnil du Buisson, le Copte du 301 293, 295n7–296, 304–306, 308, 336,
Meulenaere, de, M. H. 359, 378 339n, 400, 403
Millard, A. R. 267–268(tbl)
Miller, J. I. 112n Paice, P. vi, 316ff
Miller, J. M. 336, 351–352, 354 Palaima, T. G. 115n64
Miller, R. 38–39, 42–43, 49–50, 99n31 Parker, A. J. 376
Milwright, M. 225 Parkinson, R. 101
Mitteis, L. 409 Parr, P. J. 100n39, 103, 112–113, 157(tbl)
Modrzejewski, J. M. 397n4 Patch, D. C. 45n6
Möller, A. 398n5, 401–403, 405 Pavlish, L. A. vi, 371ff
Monnier, F. 105–106 Payne, H. 339
Montet, P. 1, 310 Peet, T. E. 277–278
Montgomery, J. A. 200 Pendlebury, J. D. S. 278
Moran, W. L. 80, 110–111, 118 Perdrizet, P. 404
Morkot, R. G. 335–336, 354 Perlingieri, C. 112
Morris, E. F. 116, 119, 279–280, 283, 293, 308, Peters, J. 214–215, 222–223, 233(tbl)
398 Petrie, W. F. M. 295n4, 297–300, 321, 355n,
Morris, I. 340 362n48, 373, 376–378, 399
Morris, S. P. 340n12 Petschel, S. 43
Moscati, S. 244 Peuch, É. 377
Mountjoy, P. A. 92n7–93, 95, 97n22 Peyton, J. 220
Moussa, A. 222 Piacente, P. 74, 76–78
Muhammed, M. A.-K. 112 Piasetzky, E. 218
Muhs, B. 403 Piccirillo, M. 102
Mullins, C. 60 Pierrat-Bonnefois, G. 2
Mullins, R. A. 300n16 Pinch, G. 45, 277
420 Author Index
Pirelli, R. 5 Runnels, C. 48

Platt, E. E. 247, 268(tbl), 272(tbl) Rutherford, I. C. 404, 408n
Pollock, S. 225 Rye, O. S. 25
Pomponio, F. 74, 76–78
Pope, S. T. 49 Sabbahy, L. Kuchman 292–293, 296, 305
Porath, J. 374 Sagona, A. G. 321
Porten, B. 398, 400, 404, 407–408, 410 Saleh, A. A. 102, 112
Porter, B. 225 Saleh, M. 44
Pouls Wegner, M.-A. vi, 292f Saller, S. 237, 241n24, 265–266(tbl), 269(tbl)
Pratico, G. 218, 223–224 Salles, J.-F. 373–376
Pritchard, J. B. 236–237, 243, 248, 271(tbl) Sandars, N. K. 97
Pritchett, W. K. 404n Sass, B. 238, 241, 268–269(tbl)
Sauneron, M. S. 310, 397n3, 406
Quirke, S. 275 Säve-Söderbergh, T. 39
Sayed, A. M. A. H. 3, 5
Raban-Gerstel, N. 216, 219, 232(tbl) Scandone Matthaie, G. 249n45
Rainey, A. F. 349n23 Schaeffer, C. F.-A. 249
Ralph, E. K. 70 Schaus, G. 341
Randall-MacIver, D. 41 Schiestl, R. 297
Raven, M. J. 280n18 Schneider, H. D. 295296, 306
Ray, J. D. 335 Schofield, L. 101n41
Ray, P. J. Jr. 247, 265–266(tbl), 272(tbl) Schwenk, C. J. 407
Redford, D. B. 1, 109–110, 234, 240, 249n43, Scott, R. B. Y. 203
267(tbl), 349–354, 401 Sedman, L. 245, 248, 271–273(tbl)
Redmount, C. A. 11–12, 15–16, 32 Seeden, H. 243, 249
Reed, W. L. 242, 267(tbl), 269(tbl) Serpico, M. 45n6
Reese, D. S. 273(tbl) Shackley, M. 111
Rehak, P. 115n64 Shalomi-Hen, R. 286
Reinold, J. 3 Sharon, I. 218
Reymond, E. A. E. 52n Shaw, I. 2, 48
Ribichini, S. 115n64 Shelmerdine, C. W. 111
Richards, J. E. 45, 50–51 Shipton, G. M. 236, 378
Rigault-Déon, P. 294n Simmons, J. 74, 78, 83(fig), 84(tbl)
Riis, P. J. 374, 376 Simpson, W. K. 3, 284
Ritner, R. K. 46, 275 Sinclair, A. 53
Roaf, M. 131(fig) Singer, C. 113
Roddick, A. P. 31 Singer-Avitz, L. 30–31
Roebuck, C. 405n, 409 Smith, H. S.
Roeder, G. 43 Smith, J. Z. 282
Rogerson, J. 103 Smith, R. H. 241
Rolfe, J. C. 81 Smith, S. T. 43–44, 47, 51, 106, 280, 282,
Rollinger, R. 344 285–286
Rose, M. 48, 53, 215, 217, 222, 232–233(tbl) Somaglino, C. 112
Rosen, S. A. 48, 53 Soukiassian, G. 2
Rosenberg, S. G. 408, 410 Sourouzian, H. 44
Rothenberg, B. 100n39, 113 Sowada, K. N. 278, 281n21
Routledge, B. v, 221ff Spalinger, A. J. 45n5, 47, 110, 349–350,
Routledge, C. 52 353–355, 360, 397
Rowe, A. 238, 406 Sparks, R. T. 307
Author Index 421
Spencer, A. J. 39, 46 Ventura, R. 303

Spencer, N. 275, 279 Vickers, M. 336, 338–340
Spurrell, Flaxman C. J. 46 Vieweger, D. 244, 270–271(tbl)
Stager, L. E. 13, 30, 344–347, 357 Vila, A. 37–38, 44, 53
Staubli, T. 247 Vittmann, G. 396, 398, 401, 405, 408n–409
Steiner, M. L. 24, 237, 265(tbl) Vogel, C. 109
Stephan, St. H. 115n65 von Reden, S. 377
Stern, E. 244, 249, 337–338, 345, 347–348,
374 Waerzeggers, C. 343
Stevens, A. K. 278, 283 Waldbaum, J. C. 337–338, 358
Stowers, S. K. 282 Wallace-Jones, S. 5
Strange, J. 102, 234 Walter, H. 340
Sullivan, R. D. 401–403 Walter-Karydi, E. 340
Swann, C. P. 306 Waraksa, E. A. 277n8, 280
Sweeney, D. 282 Warburton, M. 41
Szafranski, Z. E. 11 Ward, W. A. 90, 93, 116n69, 157–158(tbl),
Szpakowska, K. vi, 274ff 165–166(tbl), 212, 234
Weinstein, J. M. 238–240, 266(tbl)
Tait, J. 294 Weiss, H. 251n48
Tallet, P. 112 Wenning, R. 335, 344
Taylor, J. H. 45 Wente, E. F. 118n
Tchernov, E. 214 West, S. 404
Thalmann, J. P. 375, 378 White, R. 45n6
Thomas, S. 279 Whitehouse, R. D. 45, 281n23
Thomsen, I. 214, 218–219, 232(tbl) Whitley, J. 338
Tillmann, A. 39–41, 44–45, 47–49 Wiessner, P. 42
Timm, S. 238n10, 250 Wilcken, U. 406, 409
Tite, M. S. 60 Wilkinson, J. 111, 115, 118
Török, L. 41 Williamson, H. G. M. 205
Towner, R. H. 41 Wilson, P. 279
Tresson, P. 405 Wimmer, D. H. 102, 249n45
Tsahar, E. 214 Wimmer, S. J. 235
Tsujimura, S. 279 Winckler, H. 80
Tubb, J. N. 101, 237, 265(tbl) Wiseman, D. J. 78, 342–345, 349–351, 353,
Tufnell, O. 107n49, 238, 246n37, 298n10 355
Tushingham, A. D. 241–242 Wood, B. G. 109–110
Woodhead, J. 205n10
Uehlinger, C. 244n33 Woolley, C. L. 103–105, 109, (136(fig),
Ussishkin, D. 205–206, 208 277–278, 376
Worschech, U. 235, 250, 265(tbl), 268(tbl)
Valbelle, D. 396n Wright, G. E. 90
Van Creveld, M. 52 Wright, J. 225
van der Kooij, G. 243, 247–248, 270–271(tbl),
273(tbl) Yadin, E. 13
Van Loon, M. 249 Yadin, Y. 37, 104, 107
Van Neer, W. 113, 213, 216–220, 232(tbl) Yardeni, A. 400n10, 408, 410
Van Seters, J. v, 199ff Yassine, K. 102–103, 134(fig), 239, 241, 247,
Vanderhooft, D. 350 267(tbl), 269(tbl), 272(tbl), 293
Veenhof, K. R. 102n42, 113n62 Young, I. 336n9
422 Author Index
Younger, J. G. 115n64 Zawadzki, S. 349, 351n26

Younis, S. A. 335n7 Zayadine, F. 243, 246, 249n44,
Younker, R. W. 102, 241, 268(tbl), 270(tbl)
270–271(tbl) Zeeb, F. 77–78
Yoyotte, J. 397n3, 406 Zemer, A. 321, 373, 377
Zertal, A. 218
Zadok, R. 335n6 Zibelius-Chen, K. 40–41
Zaghloul, O. M. 403 Ziffer, I. 24, 30
Zarins, J. 5 Zohar, I. 213
General Index
‘Amu 2 Arab 371–372
‘Apiru 94, 109 Arabia 100, 103, 111–113, 120, 133–134(fig),
‛Aruna pass 217 157(tbl), 190(tbl), 192(tbl), 354
Abydos Kinglist 361 Arabian 103, 112, 114, 399
Achaemenid 342–343, 345 Peninsula 5
Aegean 2, 101–102, 106, 153n, 189(tbl), 212, Arabic 76
305–306, 333–335, 337–339, 357, 359, Aramaean 205, 396–397–398, 400, 404,
364 407–409
Aegenitan 408 Aramaic 207, 238, 400n9, 404, 408
Aegina 339 Archon 406
Ahab 207 Aristeas, Letter of 397
Ahaziahu 207 Ariston, priest of Thoth 403
Ahmose (hmt-ntr) 239 Aristotle 377n12
Ahmose II 398–402, 405–406, 409 Artaxerxes
Ahmose-Nefertari 239 I 343
Akhenaten 39, 94, 101n41, 109 III 372
Akizzi 80 Ashtarte (Astarte) 244n32, 284, 407–408
Alcaeus 335–336 Ashurbanipal (Assurbanipal) 336, 397
Alexandrian 381–382 Asiatic 2, 11, 118, 355–356, 359
Alyattes 341 Campaign 342
Amarna Assyria 361
Letters 80, 88(tbl)5, 110–111, 118n72 Assyrian 76, 78, 249–250, 335n7–336, 342,
Period 80, 110, 278–279 348–349, 354, 357n35, 361n42, 398
Amasis 339n–340, 351–352, 355–356, Old 102n42, 113n62
359–360, 362, 372, 378, 399, 406–407 Neo- 79, 348
Amenemhat IV 5 Ayyalon Pass 204n
Amenhotep
II 109n54 Ba‘al 249n45
III 109–110, 234, 299n13 Ba‘alyaša‘ 241
Amenophis IV 80 Ba‘qah Valley 240
Ammon 95, 102, 112, 234n*, 243, 245, Babylonia 341–342, 363
249n42–251, 263(fig), 352n27 Babylonian 335–336, 344–346, 348–359,
Ammonite 205, 236, 238, 240–241, 363–364, 398–400
243–244n34, 246, 248–249 Chronicles 342–344, 349, 356, 363
Amun 74, 238, 277 Neo- 342–343
Amun-Re‘ 239, 274, 286 Banebdjed (B 3nbdd) 371
Anat (Anath) 251n, 283–284, 408 Base Ring Ware 105, 163–164(tbl), 169(tbl),
Anatolia 102n42, 113n62, 398 303n21
Anatolians 353 I 91–92, 100, 141(tbl), 149(tbl), 157(tbl),
Aphaia, temple of 339 162(tbl), 300
Aphrodite 401, 407–408 II 92, 100, 157(tbl)
Apollo (temple of) 340, 402, 408 Bedouin 2, 110, 115n65
Apollonia 341 Benjamin, territory 208
Apries (Hophra) 349–356, 358–359, Bes 235–236, 242n28, 246, 265(tbl), 273(tbl),
361–364,399n7, 401–402, 409 296
424 General Index
Beth-David 207 Early Classical 339

Bitter Lakes 316 Eastern Desert nomads 2
Bronze Age 39, 240, 346 Edom 110–112, 245, 249n42, 250, 263(fig), 352
Edomite 205, 240, 248
Cambyses 339n, 360, 404 Egypt vii, 1–2, 4, 11, 37–38, 40, 42, 46–49,
Camp (Stratopeda) 399, 401, 403, 406, 52–53, 63, 91, 93n9–95, 97, 102–103,
408–409 105n46–106, 109n54–110, 112, 113, 115n65,
Canaan 48n, 111, 114, 131(fig), 218, 250n47 116–117, 118–119, 131(fig), 133–134(fig),
Canaanite 1, 5, 48n, 112, 116–118, 203–205, 187–188(tbl), 190(tbl), 192(tbl), 199–201,
244n33, 250n47, 307, 401 203–204, 209, 212, 214, 216, 219–221,
Carian 335n7,–336, 359, 396–399, 401, 235n2, 237, 241, 243, 245, 248–251, 275,
403–404, 406, 408–409 280, 282–286, 292–296, 299–300,
Carmel range 217–218 302–303, 306–311, 316n1–317, 336–337,
Chalcolithic 213 341–342, 349–361, 363, 373–373,
Chaldean 354 376–381, 396–400, 403n–405, 407–410
Charaxus 404 Egyptian vii, xviii, 1–6, 11, 37–53, 72, 74–75,
Chariandros 404 77, 79, 84(tbl), 89n3, 93n8, 99–101,
Chelebi 115n65 105–106, 108n52–109n55, 111–112, 114–119,
Chios 318 137–139(fig), 143–144(tbl), 149(tbl),
Corinthian 338–340 159(tbl), 162(tbl), 164–167(tbl), 169(tbl),
Early 340–341–342, 344, 348 173–174(tbl), 177–179(tbl), 181–182(tbl),
Middle 340 187–188(tbl), 193–194(tbl), 199–205,
Croesus 359 212–213, 218–219, 221, 234–244, 246–251,
Cypriot 91–92–93, 100–101, 105–106n, 110, 261(fig)3, 264(fig), 265–275, 278,
117n17, 141(tbl), 143(tbl), 149(tbl), 153n, 280286, 292–297, 301–311, 331, 333–340,
157(tbl), 166(tbl), 169(tbl), 185–186n79, 343–344, 347–353, 356, 358–363, 375,
188–189(tbl), 193–196(tbl), 212, 237n6, 377, 379, 381, 396–410
300 334–335n4, 339–340, 373–374, 380, Egyptian Dynasty 406
403–404 1st Dynasty 41
LC I B1 92 2nd Dynasty 41
LC II A1 92 4th Dynasty 361n45
LC II A2 92 5th Dynasty 2
LC II B 93 6th Dynasty 3
LC III 215, 232(tbl) 8th Dynasty 361n45
Cyrenaica 340–341, 363 11th Dynasty 1, 44
Cyrus 338, 344n16, 398 12th Dynasty 1–5
13th Dynasty 2
Darius I 316, 342 15th Dynasty
David 199–202, 204–207, 209–210 17th Dynasty 295
Davidic 204 18th Dynasty 39–42, 44, 239–241, 243,
Diodorus 316, 351, 397, 399n7, 405 248, 251, 278–279n13, 283, 295–296,
Dioscouroi 408 298–300, 302–303
Dynastic 48, 52–53 19th Dynasty 39–40, 234–235, 239–240,
Early 37, 39–41 251, 279, 296
ED IIIb 76 20th Dynasty 213, 239, 251, 279, 283,
301–302, 309, 396
Ea-ilūta-bani 343 21st Dynasty 42, 249
Early Bronze Age xvii, 223 22nd Dynasty 42
EB IV 294 23rd Dynasty 42
General Index 425
24th Dynasty 42 Hera 408

25th Dynasty 335n7, 361n45 Herodotean 340–341, 360n41
26th Dynasty 39, 42–43, 316, 319, 333, Herodotus 72, 316, 340–341, 343, 349–351,
355, 359, 362, 396, 399 353, 355n, 359–360, 363, 371, 376n10,
29th Dynasty 372 397, 399–409
El 243, 249 Hezekiah 354n32
Elephantine (Yeb), island of 42, 222, 336, Hittite 75, 78, 90, 114–115, 235n2
355–356, 397–400, 404, 406–410 Holocene 214
Eritrean 6 Horemheb 94, 110
Esarhaddon 79, 354n32, 357n35 Horus (uah-ib-Ra) 52, 105, 236, 239, 244n34,
Esdraelon plain 204, 209–210 249, 260(fig), 265(tbl), 299n14, 362, 400
Eshmunazar 242n28 Hoshaiah (Hoshhavyahu) 336
Ethbaal 354 Hyksos 11, 63, 165–166(tbl), 239–240, 292,
Ethiopian 335n7, 399 297–298
Euesperides 341
Ezekiel 351, 353–354 Ikausu 357
Intef-iker 3
Fatimid 245n36 Ionia 335, 359
Fayum 5, 294, 299n12, 307n, 379n14, 381 Ionian 334, 337, 359, 406
First Intermediate Period 1, 294 Iron Age (IA) vii, xx, 90, 101n39–103, 105,
110–112, 114, 116n68, 120, 195(tbl), 206,
Galilee 95, 373 212–216, 219–223, 225, 232(tbl), 234–235,
Sea of 218–219 237–242, 244–245, 247–251, 280, 293,
Geometric Period 340n12 296, 301, 304, 307–308, 333, 338, 346,
Late 340n12 357, 361
Gilead 113 I 97, 102n43, 204, 215, 217, 232–233(tbl),
Goddess of the Harvest (Great of 235–237, 240–241n26, 246
Magic) 284 IA 97–98, 116n69120, 218, 224,
Governor of the Gate 405 232–233(tbl), 305, 307, 309, 311
Greek 45, 81, 200–202, 333–337, 340–343, IB 212, 217–218, 224, 232–233(tbl)
345, 348, 350, 358–359, 361n45–363, 371, II 206, 233(tbl), 235, 237, 239, 240–241,
396–409 247, 250, 337
Archaic 333, 338, 341, 357 IIA 212, 217, 236
East 333–334, 336, 340–342, IIB xix, 232(tbl), 248
358n38–359n39, 373–374, 400 Ishbosheth 209
Islands 318 Isis 274, 407
Gyges 397 Islamic 217, 232(tbl), 247
Israel vii, xvii, xix–xx, 199, 201, 205–210,
Hadrianic 409 214–217, 234n*, 236, 250, 303n20, 405
Harkhuf 3 Israelite 319n2, 407
Harpocrates 235, 241 Itj-tawy 294
Hathor 105, 113, 244, 249n45, 261(fig)3,
271(tbl), 274, 286, 296 Jehoiachin 348, 350, 353
Hatti 349 Jehu 207, 209
Hazael 207, 209 Jeremiah 336, 350–352, 398, 408–409
Hecataeus 404 Jews 354, 396–400, 407–410
Hellenion, Greek quarter 401, 405, 408 Jezreel Valley 208, 217–218, 360
Hellenistic 70, 237n5, 242, 317, 326, 351, 355, Jordan Valley 26, 90n4, 101n41, 218, 237–239,
379n, 401, 408 240, 245, 247–248, 250
426 General Index
Josephus 351, 355–356, 361n43 Melqart 408

Josiah 334, 337, 360 Memnonion 404, 408n
Judaean 336, 400 Memphite 299n12, 335n7, 404
Judah xx, 199, 207–208, 241, 334–335, 337, men-ka-Ra 361
344, 348–352, 400n10–401, 408–409 Menkaure (Menkare) 361n45
Merenptah 110
Kerma 2–3, 38, 48, 115 Meretseger 283–285, 291(fig)2
Classic 3, 48 Mesopotamia 2, 187(tbl), 349, 360
Middle 38, 48 Mesopotamian 100n38, 149(tbl), 1669tbl),
Khnum 400, 410 1799tbl), 181(tbl), 189(tbl), 193(tbl), 222,
Khnumhotep 353
I 220 Middle Bronze Age 2, 11, 32, 102, 115n64, 213,
II 2 215, 240n18, 241n23, 294–295, 307, 372
King’s Highway 103, 111, 114–115 MB I 294
Kition 335n4, 347, 407n MB II 11, 16n12, 17–24(fig), 30–32, 104,
Kittim (ktym) 335n4 297, 304
Koryak 49 MB IIA 11–13, 22, 30n22
MB IIB 12–13
Late Helladic 45, 97 Middle Kingdom vii, 1–10, 37–38, 40, 43–44,
LH I 95n16, 97 50–51, 53, 93n8, 118n, 280, 285,
LH II A 92, 97 294n–296, 310, 336, 402n14
LH III A2 95, 97n22–23 Midianite 100n39, 103, 111, 113, 157(tbl),
LH III B 93, 95, 97n22–23 166(tbl), 187(tbl), 194(tbl)
LH III B1 92–93, 95, 97n22–23 Milesian 341, 358n37, 397n5, 401–402, 408
Late Bronze Age (LBA) 90–92, 99, 102–104, Wall 401
107n49, 109n55, 112n–113, 115n64, Milkomʾur 241
119–120, 212, 216–217, 219, 232(tbl), Milqom 243
234–235, 237–238, 240–244, 246n37, Min 246n38
247, 249–250, 274–275, 292, 295, Minoan 2, 5, 100, 110, 147, 153n, 157(tbl),
297–298, 300n16, 307, 309–311, 401 166(tbl), 185–186(tbl), 189(tbl),
LB I 90–91, 104, 159(tbl), 233(tbl) 193–194(tbl), 196(tbl)
LB II 215, 218, 233(tbl), 246n37 IB 115n64
LB IIA 90, 93, 120, 224 III 115n64
LB IIB 90, 97, 112–113, 120, 224 IIIB 95, 97n22, 100n36, 146(tbl)
Lesbos 318 Mitanni 143(tbl), 235n2
Levantine 11–12, 32, 91, 93n9, 95, 97, 104–105, Mn-hpr-R‘ 238
110, 112–114, 116, 118–119, 231(fig), 249, Moab 95, 110–112, 235, 235n2, 237n6, 245,
284, 318–319, 321, 336–337, 350, 353, 364 248, 248n41, 249n42, 250, 250n46,
Linear B 115n64 263(fig), 352n27
Lydia (Ludu) 341, 344n16, 359 Moabite 237, 238n10, 239
Lydian 341, 397 Monochrome 105
Lykourgos 407n Montu 1
Mount Gerisim 104n45
Machimoi 406, 409 Mount Gilboa 209
Madaba Plains 222, 245 Mount Nebo 237
Mahirpir 43 Mount of Olives 202
Mareotic 399n7 Mycenaean 93, 92n7, 95, 97n22, 98n25,
Median 341 99–101, 100n34, 101n40, 101n41, 106n48,
General Index 427
110–111, 111n56, 115n64, 117n70, 141(tbl), Valley 1–5, 281, 297

143(tbl), 145(tbl), 147(tbl), 149(tbl), Nile Delta vii, xi, 5, 215, 242, 281
151(tbl), 153–157(tbl), 166(tbl), 169(tbl), Eastern 297, 371
185–186(tbl), 188–189(tbl), 193–194(tbl), Western 381
196(tbl), 237n6, 241n23, 306 Nubia 2, 4, 40–43, 46–48, 51, 53, 106,
III B 92, 95, 95n16, 97n23 292–293, 295, 306n26, 307n27, 336, 350,
III B1 92, 95, 95n16, 97n23 397n4, 401, 402n14
III C 97 Lower 2
Upper 2–3, 115n64
Nabataeans 114 Nubian 3, 37–43, 47–48, 118, 243, 280, 293,
Nabonidus 343, 349 337, 397, 399, 402n14
Chronicle 344n16 Middle 6
Nabu 408 Nuzi Ware 105
Nabû-kāṣir 343
Naphaina 410 Old Kingdom 1–3, 46, 51, 222, 294
Naukratis stele 405, 407 Omri 207
Nebamun 284n28 Omride 201–202, 205–209
Nebuchadnezzar 210 Osea 400n9
Nebuchadrezzar II 343n13, 344, 346, Osiris ix, xviii, 243, 249, 249n45, 251, 274,
346n20, 348–349, 351–356, 352n27, 280n20, 347
353n31, 358, 363
Necho 317 Persian 316, 318–319, 321, 334, 337–339,
II 316, 349–350, 359–361, 360–361n41–42, 344–345, 347–348, 354, 357, 363,
400n9, 401 372, 396–400, 404, 406–407,
Nechthorheb 405 409–410
Nectanebo Early 242n28, 322
I 405–406 Period 237n7, 242, 246n37, 249, 316–318,
II 406 321–324, 326, 330–331, 338–339,
Neferabu 283n25 346–348, 350, 372, 372n4, 374, 378n13,
Negev 110, 112–113, 373 396
Negebite 30, 30n24 Phanes 406
Neith 283–284 Pharaoh 74, 200, 203–205, 209, 335, 339n10,
Temple of 405 340, 349–350, 360n42
Nekau 397n3 Pharaoh’s daughter 199–203, 200n1, 209
New Kingdom 1, 37, 39–51, 53, 106, 112, Pharaonic 52, 220
115n66, 138(fig), 139(fig), 165(tbl), 245, Pharos 399n7
251n48, 274, 278, 280, 283, 286, 293, Philistia 204, 344, 350, 354n32, 360, 363
295n4, 300–303, 303n21, 306n26, 307, Philistine 204–205, 208–209, 346, 348,
307n27, 309–310, 309n28, 310n30, 336, 352n27, 360n42
360, 361n42 Phoenician xii, 115n64, 116, 116n68, 238,
Late 100n39, 108n52–53, 111n58, 237, 240n18, 243n30, 244n31, 248–251,
279 318–319, 320(fig)1–2, 321, 335, 335n4,
Niankhkhnum 220 337, 340, 347, 347n21, 351–352, 351n25,
Nile 5, 26–27, 213, 276, 316, 318, 371–373, 379, 352n28, 353n31, 354, 358–359, 361n45,
381–382, 387(fig)1–2, 399 362, 374, 378, 396–398, 397n3, 400–401,
Mendesian 372, 381 403–404, 407–408, 408n19
Pelusiac 11, 297, 399 Fine Ware 346
Upper 3 Pigres 335n7, 406
428 General Index
Plain White Ware Resheph 251n48

III 373 Retenu 109n54
IV 373 Rhakotis 399n7
V 373–374, 378 Rhodes 373–374, 373n6, 378, 380, 382
VI 373–374 Roman 247, 316–317, 239, 330
VII 374, 374n7 Rumeilah River 216
Plato 404
Pliny 316, 378 Sabir 6
Polyaenus 335n7, 406 Sahura 2
Polycrates of Samos 359 Sais 275, 279, 279n13, 283, 285n29, 355n34,
Potasimto 406 402, 405
Predynastic 46, 93n9, 100n35, 371 Saite vii, 321–323, 330, 333, 339, 342, 344,
Prehistoric Italy 46 349–350, 357, 361, 363, 397, 400–402,
Proteus 401, 407 406
Protocorinthian 338, 340, 340n12 Period 245, 316–318, 322, 326–327,
Early Ripe 338 330–331, 378, 396–397, 401, 404–405
Psammetichus Samaria 202, 205, 208, 238, 251
I 335, 335–336n7, 349, 360, 360n41, Samian 408
361–362, 362n48 Samos 318, 340, 359
II 350, 360n41, 362 Sappho 404
Psamtik Saqqārah Papyrus 347
I 397, 397n4, 398–399, 401–402, 402n13, Sardis 344n16
405–406 Saul 200, 208–209
II 397, 397n4, 401 Sea Peoples 97, 101n41, 293
III (Psammenites) 399 Second Intermediate Period xi, 47–48,
Ptah 235–236, 260(fig), 274 295n6, 297–298, 302, 317–318, 331n6, 407
Ptah-Sokar (pataikos) 236, 265(tbl) Sekhmet 237, 244, 244n33, 261(fig)3,
Ptolemaic 296, 378, 403, 406 271(tbl), 274
Ptolemy II 316, 371, 378 Seleucid 80
Punt 2–6, 112 Selinus 339–340
Bia- 5 Semitic 249n45, 377, 407
Semna 44, 336
Quintus Curtius 81 Senebi 40
Qurraya Ware 100, 113, 113n61, 187(tbl) Senenmut 43
Sennacherib 354n32
Ramesses Senusret
I 94 I 1
II 45, 95, 105, 110, 234, 279, 303 II 2
III (Wesr-Khapesh) 90, 100n39, 110, Seth 52
111n58, 112, 116n69, 301–302 Seti I 94–95, 105, 110, 116, 137(fig), 234,
IV 90, 97, 240 408n19
V 97 Shamash-shuma-ukin Chronicle 343
VI 97, 302, 320n19 Sharon Plain 209
Ramesside 40, 46–47, 50–51, 99n33, 104, Shasu-Bedouin 94, 105, 110
106n48, 113, 119, 239, 277, 279, 282–283, Sheshonq I (Shishak) 204–205, 207
296, 305–306 Sinai 1, 14, 26, 30, 32, 94, 99n33, 106, 111n58,
Re 52 115n65, 116, 137(fig), 279, 297, 359n40
Red Lustrous Ware 91, 100n36 North 11, 14, 15n11, 22–23, 106, 108n52,
Renenutet 283–285, 284n28 115n66, 116, 279
General Index 429
South 105 Tutankhamun 43, 80, 110

Sinuhe 50 Tuthmosis III (Men-kheper-re‘) 234, 238,
Si-Renenutet 284 240–241
Solomon vii, 199–205, 204n6, 207–210 Tyrian 351, 354, 354n33
Solomonic x–xi, xiii, xix, 199, 204–209
Solon 404 Udjahorresne 359
Solutrean 53 Ulu Burun Shipwreck 114n63
Shobai 336 United Monarchy 199, 210
Strabo 316, 397n5, 399n7, 401–402 Upper Palaeolithic 220
Straton 404
Sudan 5 Valley of the Kings 46
Sudanese 6 Vidranga 410
Sutean 109
Syannu 76 Wadi
Syene 397, 397–398n5, 400, 408 Arabah 46, 103, 113
Syria 74, 76, 80, 88(tbl)6, 95, 114n63, 215–216, ath-Thamad 237, 248
234, 249–250, 349, 361n42, 376n10 Brisa 353n31
-Mesopotamia 100, 103, 133–134(fig), Faydan 267(tbl)
192(tbl) Faynan 103, 113
-Palestine 90, 95, 97, 99n33, 110, 113, 117, Gawasis 1–6
119n, 398 Milik 218
Syrian vii, 74, 76–79, 100n38, 157–158(tbl), Mujib 234–235, 239
166(tbl), 201, 241n21, 243, 243n30, 244, Musa 234
248–250, 251n48, 375n8, 377, 380 Tumilat vii, x, xii, xviii, 11–12, 15–16, 15n8,
15n10, 21(tbl)3, 26, 28–29, 32, 60–61,
Tachos (Teos) 406 297, 316, 316n1, 318, 321, 331n7
Taharqo 354n32 Umm Nikhaybar 46
Tanwetamani 335–336n7 Zarqa 90n4
Tayma‘ Oasis 100–101n39, 111n58, 112 Wadjet 237, 237n5, 237n7, 244, 260(fig),
Tementhes 335n7 364(fig), 265(tbl), 283, 285
Teti 299n14 Wahibre (uah-ib-Ra) 362, 362n48
Thasos 318 Wenamun 213
Theban 39, 43, 283, 291(fig)2 Weret Hekau 284
Third Intermediate Period 39, 46, 108n53, White Slip Ware 105
278–280, 303, 399 I 93, 100n36, 157(tbl)
Thoth 52, 245, 403 II 93, 100n36, 157(tbl)
Thutmose Wild Goat Style 334, 338, 341
III vii, 74, 76, 80, 83(fig)1, 84(tbl), Middle Wild Goat II 342
85(tbl)2, 87(tbl), 91, 93, 109n54, 119,
143(tbl), 298, 300, 300n16 Xerxes 343n13
IV 109n54, 300n15
Tiglath-pileser III 76–77, 79, 81, 88(tbl)6 Yahweh (YHW) 200–201, 204, 408, 410
Timarchos 404 Yarah ‘Azar 243
Tja-wy 284–285 Yarīm-Līm 80
Trajan 316 Yarkon River 217
Transjordan vii, 113–114, 119–120, 209, 222,
234–236, 237n9, 238, 239n15, 244–245, Zedekiah 335–336, 351, 352n27
248–251, 360n42 Zeus 408
Transjordanian 251
Site Index
‘Atlit 374, 385 Stone Village 278n11

‘Ezbet Helmi 40 Amaršaggi 77–78, 86(tbl)
’à-maad 74 A-mar-ša-gi 85(tbl)2
A’ušun 80 Am-ma-ak-ki 85(tbl)3
A-ba-ru12-duki 77 Amman vii, 89, 89n3, 90–91, 94n11, 97–98,
Abatum 86(tbl) 101, 101n41, 102–107, 102n42, 104n45,
Abrut 77, 86(tbl) 105n47, 109–125, 109n54, 113n61, 127,
Abu ‘Alanda 269(tbl) 129–130, 132(fig), 136(fig)9, 138(fig),
Abu Ghâlib 43, 53, 56 153(tbl), 186(tbl), 188(tbl), 192–194(tbl),
Abu Qir 381–382 196–198(tbl), 222, 235–248, 249n44,
Abu Simbel 397n3, 406, 408n19, 409 250n46, 251–259, 261(fig)2,
Abydos 41, 57, 275, 276n5, 277, 277n7, 280, 265–267(tbl), 269–270(tbl),
280n20, 282, 288, 303n21, 314, 361n45, 272–273(tbl), 315
404, 408n1, 412 Airport Structure vii, 89, 89n3, 90, 97,
Tomb D 29, 41 101–103, 114, 119–120, 123, 132(fig)2,
Achziv 249n45, 257, 358 138(fig)
Adanat 86(tbl) Citadel 130, 240, 256
Ad-ra-te 85(tbl)3 Amrit 249n45
Aegina 339, 366 Amurru 349
Agudu 86(tbl) Anemospilia 115n64
Akē 86(tbl) Anra 239
Akoris 275, 279, 287–288 Antinoupolis 409
Akšiurunnē 86(tbl) Apamea 80
al-Ahwat 217–219, 232(tbl) Aphek 13, 33, 35, 209
Alalakh 78, 80–82, 85(tbl)3, 86(tbl), Aqabah 100n39
88(tbl)5, 130, 196–198 Aram 209
a-la-la-ḫu 78 Ariante 86(tbl)
Aleppo 74, 76, 79–80 A-ri-an-te 85(tbl)2
Alexandria 379n14, 381–382, 387(fig)1–2, Arra 86(tbl)
399n7 Ašḫani 88(tbl)6
Alima 86(tbl) Ashdod 217, 228, 232(tbl), 360, 374, 380,
Al-Mina 376, 378 387(fig)1–2
al-Mraygha 248n41 Ashkelon 13, 30, 36, 217, 232(tbl), 236,
Amakwan, 86(tbl) 254, 334, 342, 344–348, 345n18,
Amame 86(tbl) 346n20, 347n21, 356–359, 358n38, 363,
Amanus 349 365, 369
Amarna 46, 58, 101n41, 103, 110, 114, 124, 128, South Tell 345–346, 346n20
275–281, 283–284, 284n26, 285n29, Askut 10, 38–39, 44, 47, 50–51, 106, 129, 280,
288–289, 290(fig), 291(fig)3 285
Central City 278n11 Aswan 3
Kom el-Nana 278n11 Athens 366, 383–385, 405, 412
Main City 278n11 Atinnu 88(tbl)6
Workmen’s Village 278n11 Atrate 86(tbl)
North City 278n11, 309 aṭ-Ṭurra 234
North Suburb 278n11 Aušun 86(tbl)
Site Index 431
A-ú-šu-un 85(tbl)3 Dhībân 240n19, 241–242, 242n28, 248,

Avaris 7, 33, 45, 54 257–258, 267–269(tbl)
Aziris 341 Tomb J 3, 242, 242n28, 269(tbl)
Tomb J 5, 242n27
Babeye 86(tbl) Dimat 86(tbl)
Balu‘ 234, 243, 248, 250, 259, 265(tbl), ḏ-nw-r-ś 77, 84(tbl)
268(tbl) Drah abu el-Nag’a 295n5
Banit 408 du-ḫu-la-bu6-um 76
Beni Hasan 2, 7, 9, 127, 215, 229 Dura-Europos 375n8
Tomb 3 2
Tomb 29 215 Ebla 74, 76–78, 81, 249, 258–259
Beth Shean 13, 207, 217, 219, 228, 232(tbl), Egyptian Delta 11, 36, 311, 331
238, 242, 250, 275, 277, 279–280, Ein-Hagit 218, 232(tbl)
283–284, 287–288, 294, 295n7, 303–307, el Amarna 58, 103, 128, 288
305n23, 306n25, 309, 314, 360 el-Ahaiwah 237
North Cemetery 304–306, 306n25, 309 Tomb 553, 237
Tomb 241, 306 el-Asasif 295n6
Bethel 408 el-Ashmunein 39, 43, 46, 58
Bethsaida 236, 252 Elephantine 42, 222, 336, 355–356, 367, 397,
Birak el Nazzazat (Site 25) 15, 26 398n5, 399–400, 400n9–10, 404,
Bīt-Dērāya 88(tbl)6 406–410, 412
Bitin 86(tbl) el-Kurru 41–42
Borot Roded 100n39 Ellitarbi 88(tbl)6
Borsippa 343, 343n13 el-Mabrak 102–103, 114–115, 134(fig)6
Bubastis 399, 399n8 Emar 79, 86(tbl)
Buhen 37–38, 44, 51, 54 Erirambi 86(tbl)
Bumame 88(tbl)6 Euesperides 341, 366
Busyara 245
Byblos 1, 9, 111, 118n72, 213, 249, 249n43, 350 Fayum 5, 294, 299, 307n27, 379n14, 381
Camiros 376 Gadara 244, 255, 259

Carchemish 79–80, 103–105, 105n46, Gallabat 86(tbl)
108–109, 118, 130, 136(fig)8, 196–198(tbl), Gaza (Kadytis) 122, 349–350, 360–361, 367
349, 360 Gebel Zeit 2
Chios 318 Gezer ix–x, xiii, xviii–xix, 109n54, 199,
Clazomenae 377n12 203–205, 204n6, 207–211
Cyrene 341, 359, 364, 369, 401, 409 Gibbi 86(tbl)
GN Ab(a)rudu 77
Damascus 95, 111, 131(fig), 218, 259 GN ab?-ra-te 77
Daphnae 373–374, 376–377, 399, 399n8, 403 GN Abrut 77
Deir ʿAlla 90n4, 94, 97, 110, 122 GN Ḫursanu 78
Deir el-Balah 106, 108n52, 115n66, 116, 122, GN ki-na-li-a/ku-na-li-a 79
139(fig), 294, 295n7, 303–305, 307, GN lu-ba-an 78
309n29, 311–312, 314–315 GN Mirar 78
Tomb 301, 303–304, 309n29 GN Murar 78
Tomb 118, 304 GN Nuranti 78
Deir el-Medina 51, 282, 284n28, 289, 299n14 GN Šannadu 78
Deve Hüyük 246n37 GN Sa-na NE-du 78
432 Site Index
GN Šanuka 77 Irride 86(tbl)
GN tar-ma-na 77 Ir-ri-de 78
GN tar-ma-na-še 77–78 Ir-ri-di 85(tbl)3
GN ti-ri-i-[sa] 79 Irrite 78–79, 82
Gurnabit 86(tbl) Ištabar 86(tbl)
Itj-tawy 294
Ḫa-al-li-wa 85(tbl)3 Ituwe 86(tbl)
Hagar Nawateia 381
Hala Sultan Tekke 215, 232(tbl) Jabal Shīhan 234, 249
Halab 79 Jaffa 361
Halikarnassos 406 Jalul 243, 248, 260, 261(fig)2, 268(tbl),
Halliwe 86(tbl) 270(tbl)
Halpa 86(tbl) Jdur 113n61
Hamath 74, 88(tbl)6, 349, 360 Jebel al-Hawayah 102
Harran 79, 360 Jebel al-Qasir 102
Haruba 116, 275, 279, 281 Jemmeh 103n44
Ḫatatira 88(tbl)6 Jerusalem ix–xi, 30, 34, 36, 121–122, 126,
Hatti 349 128–130, 199–200, 202, 208–211, 210n11,
Hazor 104, 104n45, 107n49, 130, 199, 205–208, 214, 219, 227–228, 232(tbl), 252, 254,
210–211, 366 268(tbl), 287–288, 312, 314, 348–349,
Hermopolis 57, 403, 413 351–352, 364, 368, 384–385, 398–399,
Hesban 102, 122, 235–236, 237n9, 239, 247, 401, 410–411
247n39, 249n44, 255–257, 265–266(tbl), Jezreel 202, 205–211
272(tbl)
Hnt 405 Kadesh Barnea 377, 384
Horvat Rosh Zayit 116n68 Kahun 43, 314
ḫ-r-r-ś 78, 84(tbl) Kamid el-Loz 275, 278, 281, 283, 286–287
ḫ-š-w-r-n-t 78, 84(tbl) Kanesh 113n62, 120, 129
ḫ-t-m-y 79, 84(tbl) Karnak ix, xviii, 39, 43, 56, 74, 234n1
ḫ-t-r-d 79, 84(tbl) East 39, 43, 56
Hurm 86(tbl) Karum 102
Hursanu 77, 86(tbl) Ka-tu-me 85(tbl)2
Ḫuzarra 88(tbl)6 Kazzuwe 87(tbl)
Kerma 2–3, 7, 38, 48, 54–55, 115, 125
i-?-r-ḏ-n 79, 84(tbl) Khartoum 3, 44
Igar 86(tbl) Khirbat al-Mudayna (on Wadi ath-
Ika-az-zu! 85(tbl)3 Thamad) 237, 237n6, 239, 245,
I-ma-ar 85(tbl)3 247–248, 253, 262(fig)5, 269(tbl),
i-m-r-ś 79, 84(tbl) 271–273(tbl)
i-m-r-s-k 77, 84(tbl) Khirbet el-Kom ix–x
i-m-t 74 Khirbat Mudaybi‘ 247
i-nr-ṯ 79 Khirbet Umm ad-Dananir 102
i-nw-q 76, 84(tbl) Kisādu 87(tbl)
Iraq al-Amir 237n5 Knossos 115n64
Irgillu 88(tbl)6 k-nr-t 79, 84(tbl)
Irkille 86(tbl) Kom Abu Rady 313
i-r-n-r 79, 84(tbl) Kom el-Qolzoum 104–105
Irqata 88(tbl)6 Kom Firin 275, 279, 289
Site Index 433
Kom Rabi’a 38, 39, 42, 44, 55, 278, 287, 289 Mersa Gawasis 9, 112
Kulmadar 88(tbl)6 Meẓad Ḥashavyahu vii, 333–334, 336–338,
Kultepe-Kanis 102n42 341–342, 344, 348, 350, 356–359,
Kumidi 278 361–363, 365, 368, 374
Kunalia 79, 88(tbl)6 North slope 345–346
Kunalīa 88(tbl)6 Migdol (Magdolos) 336, 338, 349, 359n40,
360, 368, 398, 398n6, 400, 400n9, 404,
La-az-zi 85(tbl)2 412
Lachish (Tell ed-Duweir) 36, 107n49, 113n61, T.21 338, 359n40, 400
129, 208, 217, 219, 222, 226, 228, 233(tbl), Mirgissa (Irqen) 37–39, 41–48, 50–51, 54, 59,
236, 238, 246n37, 251, 257, 259, 365, 386 294n3, 314, 402n14
Tomb 218, 238 Momemphis 399
Layašum 80 Mount Nebo 237, 241
Lazzi 87(tbl) Tomb 20, 237, 265–266(tbl)
Lehun 239, 245, 246n37, 248, 255–256, Tomb 84, 241
267(tbl), 271(tbl) m-r-r-ḫ-n-s 78, 84(tbl)
Lesbos 318 Mu-ra-ar 85(tbl)3
Lisht 294 Murar 78, 87(tbl)
Lubān 78, 87(tbl) Muzunnum 80
Lullubu 87(tbl)
Luxor 404 Na-aš-tar-bi 85(tbl)3
Nabu 408
Ma’layba 6 Nami 114, 254
Madaba 102, 111n56, 128, 222, 229, 237, 239, Nanap 87(tbl)
245, 248, 253, 255, 258, 260, 265– Naos 371n1, 372, 378
266(tbl), 268(tbl), 273(tbl) Naukratis 239, 340–341, 359, 362, 362n47–
Mamora 381 48, 363–366, 368, 373–374, 378, 386,
Mansoura 371 397, 397n5, 401–403, 402n12–13, 405,
Maqabalayn 245, 247–248, 272(tbl) 405n17, 407–412
Marea 399, 399n7 Nebesheh 332, 339n10, 386, 412
Mari 80 Nii 80, 88(tbl)5
Masos 103n44, 113n61 Nimrud 251, 255
Medinet Habu 42, 56 Nišin 87(tbl)
Megiddo xix, 111, 199, 202, 204–210, 217–219, n-n-r-m-n-d 78
227, 233(tbl), 236–237, 240, 256, 337, Nuḫašše 80
360, 360–361n42–42, 378, 385 Nuranti 78, 87(tbl)
Meir 40
Memphis (Noph) 38–39, 42, 44, 46, 275, 278, Oryx (nome) 2
398, 284, 284n26, 287, 297, 312, 335–336,
355, 355n34, 368, 373, 376n10, 378, 386, Pa-ar-ri-e 85(tbl)3
397n3, 398–401, 398n6, 401, 403–404, Parrē 87(tbl)
406–409 Peiraeus 407n18
Fayum 5, 294, 299n12, 379n14, 381 Pella 111, 236, 240, 241n23, 248, 250, 252, 258,
Mendes 371–373, 373n5, 378–383, 385–386, 265(tbl), 267(tbl)
387(fig)1–2, 388(tbl) Petra 114, 234
Outer Harbour 378 Pharos 399n7
Royal Necropolis 371n1, 372, 378–379, Ptolemais 341
386 Pylos 115n64
434 Site Index
Qantir 40–41, 44–45, 58, 275–276, 279, 286, Smyrna (Old) 340–341, 363

301n18 Soleb 41, 55, 306n26
Qir 381–382 ś-t-ḫ-b-g 77, 84(tbl)
Qla‘at-Twal 234 Suharu(w)e/a 87(tbl)
Qraya 101–102n39 Susa 242n28
Syene 397, 397–198n5, 400, 408
Rabbath-Ammon 243
Ramesseum 39 Ta’e 88(tbl)6
Ras el ‘Ain 209 Taanach 207
Ras Shamra 258, 380 Tahpanhes 386, 398–399, 398n6, 412
Rehob 207 Tall Abu al-Kharaz 239
Rhakotis 399n7 Tall Abu Hawam 217
Riblah 360 Tall al-‘Umayri xvii, 102, 214–215, 222, 236,
238, 240, 241n21, 248, 253–255, 257,
Sa-a[r-ba]-at 85(tbl)3 265–269(tbl)
Sais 275, 279, 279n13, 283, 285n29, 289, Tall al-Mazar 238–239, 245, 247, 267(tbl),
355n34, 402, 405 272(tbl)
Sakkara (Saqqara) 275, 278, 281, 281n21, 289, Tall as-Sa‘idiyya 237, 248, 250, 265(tbl),
401, 409 268(tbl), 271(tbl)
Salamine 374, 376–377, 385 Tall Dayr ‘Alla 243, 247–248, 267–268(tbl),
Tomb 3, 374, 377 271(tbl), 273(tbl)
Salamis 378, 385 Tall Jawa 238, 239n15, 242n26, 243, 248, 253,
Šallun 87(tbl) 266(tbl), 270(tbl), 272(tbl)
Samaria 202, 205, 208, 238, 251–252 Tall Nimrin 248, 254, 273(tbl)
Šannadu 78, 87(tbl) Tall Safut 102, 249n45, 271(tbl)
Šanuka 77, 87(tbl) Tall Zir‘a 244
Ṣarbat 87(tbl) Tanis 118n72, 332, 386
Sardis 226, 244n16, 367 Taraba 87(tbl)
Sarepta 215, 217, 233(tbl), 236–237, 243n30, Tarisa 87(tbl)
257 tar-ma-na-še 77–78
Šarnadu 78 Tarmannē 87(tbl)
Saww 1, 6 Tarmanše 87(tbl)
ś-b-q 77, 84(tbl) Tarmanzi 77, 88(tbl)6
Sedment 313 Tawilan 248, 258, 273(tbl)
Seir 110–111 Tel Akko 217
Selinus 339–340 Tel Arad 335n4
Semna 44, 336 Tel Batash (Timnah) 334, 358
Šeniruwana 87(tbl) Tel Beit Mirsim 12
Sera‘ 103n44 Tel Dan 207
Serabit el-Khadim 99n33, 127 Tel Dor 216, 219, 226
Sheikh Sa‘ad 234 Tel el-Her 400
Shendi 3 Tel Gerisa (Tell Jerishe) 217
Shiqmona 378, 384 Tel Kabri 358–359, 363
Shunem 207, 209 Tel Kinneret 214, 218–219, 229
Šibate 87(tbl) Tel Miqne (Ekron) 244n31, 254, 257, 357n35,
Sidon 351–353, 351n25, 352n27–28 366
Site 61 (on Wadi Tumilat) 27 Tel Mor 106, 121
ś-k-ḫ-y 77, 84(tbl) Tel Qasile 217
Site Index 435
Tel Ridan 361 Tell Tayinat 79, 88(tbl) 6

Tel Shechem 13 Tell Tweini 215–216, 228
Teliše 87(tbl) ṯ-g-r-r 79
Tell Abqa’in 275, 279, 289 Thamad Site WT-13, 235-236
Tell Abu al-Kharaz 254 Tharros 244
Tell Abu Hawam 111 Thasos 318
Tell Abu Zeitun 374 Thebes xii, 1, 39, 53–54, 56, 58, 295n6,
Tell al-’Oreme (Tel Kinneret) 218 299n12, 404, 404n16
Tell Arqa 375, 378 Western 53, 295n6
Tell ar-Ratabeh 66 Timna 103, 113, 113n61, 128, 358
Tell Atchana 86(tbl), 103, 130 Tiri[sa] 79
Tell Beit Mirsim 32, 237 Tišalum 87(tbl)
Tell Defenna (Daphnae) 399 t-n-p 74
Tell Dothan 218, 223–224, 226, 228 Tocra 340–341
Tomb 1, 218, 223–224, 228 Tod 1, 9
Tell el-Amarna, see Amarna t-r-ḏ 79, 84(tbl)
Tell el-Borg 106, 106n48, 124, 275, 279 t-r-n-ś 78
Tell el-Dabʿa 11, 14–15, 32, 35 Tub 87(tbl)
Tell el-Hesi 103n44, 237n7, 252, 374, 375n8, Tudmanna 87(tbl)
380, 383 Tuḫul 77, 87(tbl)
Tell el-Hayyat 13, 30–31, 34 Tu-ḫu-ul 85(tbl)2
Tell el-Kuʾa (Site 37) 15 Tunanab 80, 88(tbl)5
Tell el-Maskhuta vii, x–xii, xviii–xix, 11–12, tú-ne-ep 74
15 16, 15n8–9, 16n12,14; 17(fig), 18(tbl), tu-ni-ip 75
19(fig), 20(tbl), 21(fig)3, 22(fig)4, Tunip (Tell ‘Acharneh) 74–75, 82
23(fig)5, 23(tbl)4, 24(fig)6, 24, 27, 31–32, Tyre 99n32, 101n40, 111, 121, 319, 331, 340n12,
35–36, 60, 62, 63(tbl)1, 63–64, 64(fig)1, 349, 351–354, 352n27–28, 353n31,
73, 297, 313, 316–319, 316n1, 320(fig)1–2, 358–359, 363, 367, 370
321–322, 323(fig)3, 324(fig)4, 325(fig)5,
326, 327(fig)6, 328(fig)7, 329(fig)8, Ugarit 80–82, 229, 243, 249, 251, 258,
330–331, 378n13 380
Tomb 11, 22, 32 Umm ad-Dananim (Dananir) 92
Tell el-Rub’a 372 Um-mu 85(tbl)2
Tell el-Yahudiya vii, xii, 292–293, 297–303, ù-na-gú 76
300n16, 305, 309, 312 Unigâ 76–77
Tomb 23, 300, 300n16 Unika 81, 87(tbl)
Tomb 24, 300 Unqi 77, 79
Tell er-Retabeh 104 Untube 87(tbl)
Tell esh-Shihab 234 Un-tu-be 85(tbl)2
Tell es-Sa‘idiyeh 101n41, 257, 259 Urē 87(tbl)
Tell Farah South 113 Uu(w)e/a 87(tbl)
Tell Heboua 106, 125
Tell Kazel 375, 384 Yam 3, 7
Tell Keisan 374–375, 377, 386 Yaṭba 88(tbl)6
Tell Masos (Khirbet Meshash) 113n61 Yavneh-Yam 334, 337, 343, 358, 359,
Tell Megadim 374 361–363
Tell Saḥab 102 Yokneam 207
Tell Sukas 374 y-t-ḫ-b 75–76, 84(tbl)
436 Site Index
Zahrat adh-Dhraʿ 13, 14n7, 22, 30, 33 Za-ú-ti 85n2

Zaita 88(tbl)6 Zawayet Umm el-Rakham 275
Za-la-ki-ia 85(tbl)2 Zeitun 374
Zalakiya 87(tbl) Zi-ki-ir 85(tbl)3
Zapulḫe 77 Zinzar 80, 88(tbl)5

Walls of The Prince: Egyptian Interactions With Southwest Asia in Antiquity

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Walls of the Prince:

Egyptian Interactions with

Essays in Honour of John S. Holladay, Jr.

culture & histo ry o f th e ancie nt n e ar e ast

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/chan

One day I saw your trowel

Timothy P. Harrison, Edward B. Banning & Stanley Klassen

Copyright 2015 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Egyptian Long-Distance Trade in the Middle Kingdom and the Evidence

MB II Flat-Bottom Handmade Cooking Pots from Wadi Tumilat: A Useful

Geophysical Surveys at Tell el-Maskhuta, 1978–1982 60

The Amman Airport Structure: A Re-assessment of Its Date-Range,

Israel and Egypt in the “Age of Solomon” 199

A Fishy Business: The Inland Trade in Nile perch (Lates niloticus)

In the Shadow of a Giant: Egyptian Influence in Transjordan during

Snake Cults and Egyptian Military Bases 274

Anthropoid Clay Coffins of the Late Bronze Age to Early Iron

A Preliminary Analysis of Some Elements of the Saite and Persian Period

Meẓad Ḥashavyahu Reconsidered: Saite Strategy and Archaic Greek

Provenancing Basket Handle Jars from Mendes, Egypt 371

Sojourner in the Land: The Resident Alien in Late Period Egypt 396

Walls of the Prince is the culmination of a long-running team effort to honor

also coincided with his involvement in the Drew-McCormick Expedition to

This commitment to a precise and accurate documentation of the archae-

1978 Introduction and interpretive captions to Burton MacDonald, The

1999 Tell el-Maskhuta. Pp. 786–89 in Encyclopedia of the Archaeology of

James S. Ackerman (Indiana University)

Baruch Halpern (University of Georgia)

Susan Stock (Royal Ontario Museum)

Long-distance Trade in the Middle Kingdom

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_002

Beyond the cultural and historical context of geopolitical relations in

The Evidence at Mersa/Wadi Gawasis of Seafaring Expeditions and

At Mersa/Wadi Gawasis there is evidence of a large sheltered harbor that

Flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots are a signature vessel of the Middle

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_003

Typology of Flat-bottomed Handmade Cooking Pots Southern

Scholars have long argued that morphological variation in finger impressions

Eastern Delta Forms Tell el-Dabʿa

Flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots are confined to Strata H through

Wadi Tumilat Survey

Excavations and a regional survey in the Wadi Tumilat,8 directed by John S.

Figure 1 Representative examples of of MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots from

Figure 2 Representative examples of MB II flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots from

Survey Site Type of Decoration Total

Table 4 Measures of Central Tendency of Tell el-Maskhuta MB II flat-bottomed handmade

Forming Techniques Tell el-Maskhuta

Figure 7 Image of voids indicating organic inclusions (image width = 4 cm).

secondary forming techniques are clearly evident where wiping occurs in a

Fabric and Provenance of the Eastern Delta Cooking Pots

Stylistic variances of the flat-bottomed handmade cooking pots between sites

Figure 8 Photomicrograph showing voids containing silica skeletons of a highly tempered

Figure 9 Photomicrograph of petrofabric showing bimodal quartz inclusions with fine

A number of scholars have attempted to interpret the function of these unique

suggested that baking (Stager 2002: 355) or roasting (Magness-Gardiner 1995:

It has been suggested that unconscious mechanical attributes, also defined as

Studies of ancient Egyptian pharaonic warfare tend to privilege metal over

The Mirgissa Lithic Assemblage

1 In this paper ‘flint’ is taken to also include chert.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_004

Were the Lithics Standard Military Issue?

2 E.g., Manchester Museum M239c from Lahun.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_002

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_003

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_004

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_005

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_006

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��5 | doi ��.��63/9789004302563_007