FOOD FOR THOUGHT: THE POTENTIAL AND
PROBLEMS OF FAUNAL EVIDENCE FOR
INTERPRETING LATE ANTIQUE SOCIETY
STEVE ROSKAMS1
Abstract
This article considers the use of animal bones as an aid to understanding social dynamics in Late
Antiquity. Faunal evidence has been deployed to great effect in many aspects of archaeology but, I
argue, remains under-exploited in Classical and Early Medieval contexts. Making the most of this
material will require the development of new interpretative frameworks and an awareness of various
methodological barriers. Nonetheless, patterning of data from Early Roman contexts provides a ready
source of models to test and develop for later centuries. This process will be especially useful when
groups of settlements can be compared (here, major towns in North Africa), and when faunal patterning
can be related to contemporary developments in the landscapes where the breeding, husbandry and
culling of livestock took place. Here I use the area around Wharram Percy, North Yorkshire as a case
study.
BACKGROUND
The study of animal bones has come a long way since a late 17th c. find was reported as the
thigh bone of a ‘female giant’. 2 Cave digging organised by the Victorian upper classes,
especially clergymen, may have meant that early faunal interpretations were constrained by
biblical views of creation.3 From the mid 19th c., however, figures such as Darwin, Huxley
and Lyell laid the intellectual foundations for a revolution in our understanding of the natural
environment, and of humans and animals within this. Given these beginnings, it is not
surprising that the first faunal studies concentrated on ‘big questions’ with considerable time
depth, that is: the use of animal resources by early hominids and their seasonal movement, the
origins of animal domestication and the development of husbandry.
The study of later, more complex societies, however, signalled a move from the
meticulous study of a limited number of examples to the quantification and analysis of much
larger assemblages, with important implications for methods and practice. It also became
necessary to consider the full range of factors affecting recovered bone assemblages: not just
resource availability and livestock character at point of slaughter, but also carcass processing
and diverse approaches to meat consumption, secondary products and waste disposal.
Critically, these less itinerant societies needed to have food brought to them, rather than
procuring it from the landscape through which they moved. Thus, animal bone studies
became concerned with understanding the ‘reach’ of settlements in obtaining meat. Such
impact might be evident in various contexts: modification of herd structure, seen in the size of
animals; rearing of particular species, based on abundance; supply of specialised joints,
indicated by differential frequency of skeletal elements; whether animals that arrived after use
elsewhere were culled following seasonal abundance or killed to maximise meat yield, using
age-at-death/slaughter profiles; and the organisation of meat processing, for example whether
specialised butchery practices existed.
1
I am writing this not as a specialist in faunal analysis and interpretation, rather as a generalist with an
interest in bones and a feeling that they are not exploited as fully as they might be in elucidating social
trajectories in Late Antiquity. Equally, it is written for a general audience (any animal bone expert will
already know most of the first three sections, at least).
2
As quoted by Rackham (1994) 17.
3
Hutton (1781) provides an early, delightful example of the genre.
Early studies quickly demonstrated that human decisions on all of the above involved
not just questions of meat supply but also of overall animal usage, both during their life (the
provision of energy, for example for traction, or for manure, wool, dairy produce and eggs)
and post mortem (hides, bones, fat, tallow etc.). These choices, in turn, were a product of a
complex mesh of social and cultural forces. To interpret patterning in their evidence, therefore,
faunal analyses had to move beyond simple ideas about subsistence economic practices, and
to engage with more contentious issues such as the relationship between economic and noneconomic imperatives in human endeavour. In some ways, we are still on that journey.
Palaeoeconomic interests have been at the forefront of some of the most important
general developments in archaeological theory. In particular, the Cambridge research group
laid some of the foundations for the functionalist interpretations of ‘New Archaeology’ and its
critique of culture-history within the discipline. 4 These fresh interpretative frameworks
embodied the notion that human activity involved adaptive strategies in relation to the natural
environment, so raising just the sort of issues which bone assemblages might elucidate.
Equally, recent decades have seen faunal studies align themselves with current ‘mainstream’
concerns, for example the social context in which food is consumed and its relation to the
creation or maintenance of status and considerations of ritual and identity.5
Unfortunately, both the processual and post-processual perspectives noted above have
found easier resonance within prehistory than in later periods, where chronological structures
and research interests continue to be defined by documentary sources. Such approaches
remain of particular significance within classical archaeology, due to its complex relationship
with general developments in archaeological theory.6 A recent discussion of archaeozoology
in Spain, for example, saw culture-history as still dominant there, leading to a tendency to
settle on the vague notion of a ‘mixed economy’ when seeking out underlying dynamics.7
Analogous influences are clearly evident in much of the synthetic literature. Hence
relevant sections of the ‘magisterial’ Cambridge World History of Food are virtually devoid
of archaeological evidence and the chronologically-focussed volume Food in Antiquity relies
mainly on Athenian literary sources.8 More recent work on ancient food technology has a
similar emphasis, whilst mention of animals in the edited volume Supplying Rome and the
Empire is confined to discussing the provision of beasts for the games and the supply of
leather and textiles, not food itself.9 Why, even the recent summary looking at butchery and
related products in this book series notes equipment, premises, the associated leather industry
and so forth, but can quote very little literature on bones per se; archaeological evidence is
used, at most, merely to illustrate the margins of written sources.10
Naturally, I am not suggesting that archaeologists working in documented periods
should ignore literary evidence. However, the fact that detailed written material may cluster in
places such as Egypt, while animal bone studies concentrate in north-west Europe, is a
problem, but one that will be overcome in time and fully integrated, interdisciplinary research
will follow. 11 Equally, comprehensive documentation can expose the limitations of purely
archaeological studies. Thus work on documents from Vindolanda contrasts the mention of
4
The group coalesced around Higgs (e.g. 1972), who was himself a former sheep farmer. Trigger
(1989), Chs. 7 and 8 provides the best account of the process.
5
Status: for example, Miracle and Milner (2002). Ritual and identity: for example O’Day et al. (2004).
See further below. [ed. note: numeration lost here]
6
Dyson (1993).
7
Monton (2003).
8
Kiple and Ornelas (2000); Wilkins et al. (1995). Its single chapter on animals (Frayn 1995) using only
written and pictorial evidence to discuss butchery practices and premises, meat quality and sacrificial
matters.
9
Curtis (2001); Papi (2007).
10
Putzeys and Lavan (2007) 101ff.
11
See the Sagalassos project, Decupere (2001), for change on the horizon. The potential for
interdisciplinary research is already evident, for example in MacKinnon’s (2006) discussion of pig
rearing using a combination of faunal, documentary and pictorial evidence. See also Pluskowski (2007)
for animal use in later centuries.
pig and chicken, but total absence of sheep and cattle, with the very different picture supplied
by faunal data.12
Despite these recent, welcome advances, a breach can still exist between ‘humanistic’
and ‘scientific’ archaeology, exacerbated on both sides by use of jargon and conference
structures. 13 This looms particularly large in research on Antiquity and studies of animal
bones often drop through the fissure. To bridge the gap, it must first be remembered that the
objectives of some faunal research may be far more wide-ranging than the late antique world,
both geographically and chronologically, such as: the spread of a particular species such as
the camel or the black rat, the general processes of pig domestication, and so forth. Welldated assemblages from particular periods may feed into that process.14 Nevertheless, full
collaboration can only be achieved by all parties agreeing a set of more focussed research
objectives, to allow the definition and creation of a useful data set and a successful outcome
of its analysis.
Creating such integrated agendas demands, in turn, a critical evaluation of the
intellectual frameworks deployed when interpreting faunal evidence (discussed first, below),
and then an understanding of the methodologies employed in the identifying, quantifying and
analysing this material. That said, and without underestimating the challenges, it is already
possible to draw out some exciting and important, if quite general, patterns within existing
faunal data concerning the consumption of meat from pigs, cattle and sheep or goats in the
Roman empire, and this will be examined. Each poses important questions for the student of
Late Antiquity, in terms of whether, and where, these trends continued into later centuries.
Next, a consideration of urban faunal assemblages in North Africa, especially Carthage,
shows the potential for us to develop a more detailed understanding of the challenges facing
meat supply to these towns into the 5th c. and beyond. Finally the area around Wharram
Percy in Yorkshire can be used to suggest how we might start to understand the relationship
between changes in animal exploitation, as suggested by the bone evidence, and more general
developments in the settlement, division and organisation of rural landscapes. Each sphere
represents important ways forward for faunal and period specialist alike.
INTELLECTUAL AGENDAS
A gap between faunal research and other parts of the archaeological discipline was noted
above. How we go about filling it raises three still deeper issues: the definition of any
chronological framework over which to stretch investigation of the evidence; how we
characterise economic activity within that timeframe; and how we move beyond pure
economic imperatives to incorporate the full range of cultural and ideological dynamics.
Each is considered below, before clarifying my own view on a way forward.
Firstly, it is well known that 19th c. state formation in Europe profoundly influenced the
construction of scholarly views of the Roman empire and the impact of ‘Germanic’ peoples
on its demise. In the same way, the arrival of a new category, ‘Late Antiquity’, which was
given intellectual substance by the creation of the journals L’Antiquité Tardive and the
Journal of Late Antiquity, has a clear resonance with the creation of a European Union above
such nation states. 15 Alongside this political dimension, intellectual factors have also
impacted on the definition of Late Antiquity. Discourses, which obviously emphasise
continuity (or ‘transformation’) across the 4th-6th c., are mostly characterised in relation to
12
The disparity is probably explained by a collection policy which missed small fowl bones and by
cured pig meat arriving off the bone, and so not registering in the surviving assemblages: Pearce (2002).
13
Milner and Fuller (2003) 4ff.
14
See, for example, Seetah’s (2005) study of changing stature in cattle over time and its relationship
with their use for traction and milk vs. food supply.
15
At the same time fostering the notion of citizenship within sub-regions, a difficult circle to square:
Wood (2008).
ideological forces, particularly in the eastern Mediterranean.16 There may be some merit in
moderating the undue influence of western trajectories to get a more rounded view of the
whole Mediterranean, yet there is no guarantee that what emerges in one region will bear any
resemblance to changes elsewhere.17 More importantly, there is no reason to suppose a simple
relationship between a change in spirituality, which lies at the heart of ‘the Late Antiquity
project’, and dynamics in other spheres, for instance the very material questions surrounding
what people ate, and where and how they obtained that food. In short, when used as an
analytical category rather than a shorthand label, Late Antiquity has to be argued for rather
than assumed.18
Secondly, anyone wishing to understand the implications of faunal data for a wider range of
human activities will have to confront the vexed question of the character of the ancient
economy. Although some archaeozoologists clearly acknowledge this issue,19 most simply
assimilate ‘conventional wisdom’. Starting with a simple dichotomy between peasant
subsistence agriculture and a cash economy, and knowing that material from most Roman
sites cannot be based on the former mechanism, all patterning is then described as ‘the
market’.
This emphasis is understandable, given its dominance elsewhere. Consider, for
example, archaeological literature on Roman Britain. Millett’s influential work on
Romanisation stressed links between Iron Age and Roman periods, and the variety of social
and economic dynamics embodied in each.20 Yet, most interpretation of assemblage evidence
is far less wide-ranging. Thus discussions of coinage, emphasising the buying power of troops,
portray commerce as acting along modern lines and propose that a lack of official coin after
A.D. 402 must mark an end to meaningful economic activity.21 Things are similar in ceramics
research. The demise of Black Burnished Ware 1, for example, is depicted as a product of
unsafe conditions and the emergence of local competitors, this material then “withdrawing
from the northern markets”.22 When distribution evidence does not fit the market model, it is
explained away either by state intervention or by postulating indigenous people with a
cultural aversion to the new economy.23 Indeed, this rule of the market has now moved from
testable hypothesis to something no longer in need of empirical proof.24
Nor are these purely parochial, British perspectives; a long tradition in Mediterranean
archaeology, from Rostovtseff and Pirenne, has emphasised that trading systems, underpinned
by aristocratic profit motives, are the dynamic behind much social development. The only
question is whether the associated infrastructure results from ‘natural evolution’ or state
intervention. 25 Mattingly’s recent summing up divides dynamics between taxation/military
matters and free markets. It is only the annona, it seems, which “did not have to conform to
16
James (2008).
Any rounded view is notwithstanding Ward-Perkins’ (2005) claim that the “continuity camp” has
bent the stick too far in its direction.
18
Roskams (2006) 489.
19
For example, Maltby (1984) and Albarella et al. (2008) 1844.
20
Millett (1990).
21
Along modern lines: hence a focus on velocity of circulation, inflation rates and price indices:
Speidel (1992). End of economic activity: Brickstock (2000).
22
Fulford (1979) 128; Evans (2000). Pottery has a mind of its own, it seems, driven by the ‘invisible
hand’ of Adam Smith’s market.
23
For the first, see Fulford (2004) 322 on the “irrational distributions” which occur when Rome’s
administration engages with pottery supply. On the second, see Evans (1988) using native conservatism
to explain why 4th c. pottery from East Yorkshire, which “floods the market” north of the River
Humber, fails to penetrate further south, a region easily accessible from its production centres.
24
The new research directions of the Study Group for Roman Pottery put forward, without argument,
the need to investigate “marketing mechanisms”, “competition between industries” and
“marketing/distribution networks” : Willis (2004) 13.
25
See, for example, the conference proceedings from Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges (Économie
antique (1994)).
17
the normal rules of economic rationality”. 26 I have argued elsewhere that the notion of a
timeless form of economic behaviour based on the market is not helpful.27 This is especially
true when seeking to explain the complex processes of meat production, procurement,
consumption and discard, each of which changes through time, in different ways and at
different scales.
A third challenge to faunal research is to move beyond the simple economics of food supply
and elucidate wider forces, especially ideological structures and cultural affinities: “After all,
animals are more than just food – and food, for that matter, is more than just calories”.28 So
far, such studies have tended to concentrate on religious dynamics. Thus, faunal remains at a
number of Romano-British temples imply some selection of animals for ritual consumption,
and their deliberate burial.29 The deposition of proposed animal offerings on similar sites, at
other buildings and as grave goods in the Netherlands suggest that the animals were usually
part of normal breeding stock, with ritual activities having only limited impact on general
meat consumption, with the exception of horses which were seemingly a ‘taboo’ meat
source. 30 In a similar vein, but with more detail, the preponderance of eel, jackdaw, and,
especially fowl at certain Mithraea are probably a product of liturgical needs (e.g. cocks
linked to sunrise), whilst age-at-death data here imply an emphasis on sacrifice at the summer
solstice.31
When one looks at such evidence in detail, however, something more than ‘Roman’
religious practice may emerge. Investigation of Italian suovitaurilia (the burial of sheep, cattle
and swine in a single ritual action) shows that such practices have their origins well before
classical authors explicitly discussed them, and may embody regional variations within
mainland Italy and Sardinia.32 Similarly, a detailed examination of food supply to Vindolanda
suggests not just the expected resonance with Apician ideas of cuisine amongst the upper
echelons in that military post, but also that diet was adjusted to accommodate the Baetican
origins of some of its army units.33
Furthermore, the dynamics behind such choices range more deeply than mere cultural
identities, getting to the heart of relationships between humans and animals. Consider, for
example, the social, economic and symbolic association between dogs and humans. 34 The
high proportion of canine deposits found in pits in both urban and rural settings in Britain,
seemingly throughout the 1st to 4th c., suggests a link between dog burials and pre-Roman
practices.35 However, it is only in the Roman period that we see the first clear indications of
the use of pet dogs, including some evidence for dedicated breeding programmes. 36 Even
allowing for the fact that owners might become attached to hunting dogs, this move towards a
relationship between a human and an animal which is, in essence, social, and even
psychological, rather than purely functional, must mark an important departure from earlier
conceptions. What animal was chosen for special treatment, and what it meant for such
relationships, no doubt varied with inherited history, group identities, and local landscape
context: it was no mere product of a new, overarching religious obligation.
In this mix, contradictory requirements could easily exist alongside each other. Thus,
Gallo-Roman temples in the Dutch River area, in the modern Netherlands, are matched by the
statuettes and terracotta images of Roman gods, plus altar stones and votive inscriptions turn
26
Mattingly (2007) 225: my emphasis. See also his Table 1.
Roskams (2006) 510ff. See also Gerrard (2002).
28
Holt (1996) 105. See also Maltby (2006).
29
King (2005).
30
Lauwerier (2004).
31
Lentacher et al. (2004).
32
Wilkens (2004).
33
Pearce (2002).
34
Snyder and Moore (2006).
35
Fulford (2001). See Hill (1995) for a general discussion of such ‘structured deposition’ in the Iron
Age.
36
Pet dogs: Grant (1989). Breeding programs: Bruch (2003).
27
up in rural settlements, suggesting a population conforming to expected religious practices.37
Yet, the deposition of articulated bones, alongside pots, metal items and wooden objects such
as ladders, spades and bowls, show that these same villagers were also busy using animals to
mark the lifecycles of their farmhouses and wells, and to delineate or commemorate
landscape boundaries: formal religious practice involved one set of choices; other ritual
actions, with an integral relationship with daily, rural life, involved another set. Such
decisions must be linked to contrasting material circumstances.
Similarly, recent work in Britain has suggested a general avoidance of wild animals
in the pre-Roman period, except for occasional examples of structured deposition. After the
conquest, we see a greater emphasis on undomesticated resources, linked with possible
evidence for reserved areas for deer (vivaria), hare (leporaria) and fish (piscinae).38 Age-atdeath data for deer suggest they were kept for many years before consumption, implying that
parks supplied elite cultural needs rather than functioning simply as ‘venison larders’. This
attempt to control nature seems, to me, clearly related to imperial approaches to rural
management, to systems of measurement which divided up the landscape, and to the general
push to change saltus into silva: it is the needs of an expanding empire which contextualise
these new attitudes to ‘the wilderness.’
Even when particular animals are worshipped because of their supposed strengths
(the brave lion, the wily fox, the tenacious wolf), these characteristics are themselves derived
from the activities of such beasts in nature: the leadership of the male lion, the adaptability of
the fox, the hunting of the wolf pack.39 Ethno-historic and direct historic approaches may
elaborate the symbolic roles of animals, yet such symbolism has to be located in the real
world.40 In the end, then, determining the circumstances of animal exploitation remains a key
function of archaeozoology.
When interpreting faunal evidence, how is one to define appropriate chronological
frameworks, moving beyond simplistic notions of ‘market forces’ and associated optimisation
models, and acknowledge that complex ideological imperatives have material roots? One
might expect an emphasis on urban hinterlands, evident in much recent scholarship, to allow
us to move forward here. After all, the notion of ‘a hinterland’ acknowledges that any
definition can embody both political forces and cultural identities, and that both factors have a
complex relationship with economic development. It also embodies the idea that a town’s
‘ecological footprint’ may extend well beyond its immediate environment, and thus have no
simple geographical definition.41 These advantages, potentially allowing us to move “beyond
the consumer city”, have been taken up by some studies of Late Antiquity.42 The shift from
considering how the idea of the town may have changed to the material context linking towns
and their territories is surely a positive one.43
Yet, discussion of hinterlands is still dominated by frameworks with, I suggest,
limited ability to interpret faunal patterning. Whittaker has distinguished between places
which exploit territory directly (the classic ‘consumer model’); those that get support by
taxing trade (the ‘service model’); those that organise rural estates more effectively (the
‘management model’); and those which control urban manufacture (the ‘processing model’).44
Each model is concerned, in essence, with what happens within the town itself, having little to
say about the mechanics of food production and the actual forms of exploitation on the land.
To understand bone assemblages in themselves, and still more to link these to other forms of
37
Groot (2009).
Allen and Sykes (forthcoming).
39
Seetah (2005).
40
Holt (1996).
41
See Perring (2002) for general approaches and methods, and works such as Morley (1994) for
chronologically specific aspects.
42
The consumer city: Parkins (1997).
43
Idea of the town: Brogiolo and Ward-Perkins (1999). Towns and territories: Brogiolo et al. (2000).
44
Whittaker (1995).
38
evidence (botanical remains, buildings materials, artefacts) and other trends (building space,
settlement morphology and landscape organisation), I would argue that we need broader
overarching concepts. These need to consider not just the different scales of production, put
forward by Peacock, but different mechanisms for surplus extraction: the core analytical tools
embodied in Marxist modes of production.45
Previously, I have sought to outline how faunal data, in elucidating matters such as
herd composition, culling regimes and butchery practices, might help define the relative
importance of tributary relations, slave relations, feudal relations and capitalist relations in
society.46 Thus, decisions as to which animals should be kept in the countryside, and when
each might be killed, will depend on who has power in those landscapes and at what level of
resolution. Culling when meat yield was maximised, despite these animals still being able to
provide other resources such as traction, dairy or wool, implies that external authority can
override the immediate needs of the countryside. Such direct intervention would be best
facilitated by using wage or slave labour in the production process, whereas animals killed off
only after a lifetime of rural use were probably delivered by other mechanisms. Further, if
whole beasts, or even whole herds, are found in an assemblage, these seem likely to be
derived from tribute taken as surplus from a large social group, rather than that extracted from
individual, feudal households.
For specialist butchery to develop, supply mechanisms have to be regularised, and
thus are likely to be a product of bureaucratic exploitation, not personal relationships between
elites and producers. Furthermore, such expertise is best passed on when labour can be
directed, once again implying a move towards slave or capitalist models. Finally, it is one
thing for animals to be driven into a settlement on the hoof, and then processed by
professional butchers, tanners, glue makers etc. who are working in a controlled environment,
it is another for specialised cuts of meat (ready processed) to be found in urban contexts,
suggesting control of all aspects of production from landscape to table in a systematic whole.
Here, it is surely diagnostic that the first time such dedicated supply can be identified with
certainty in Britain is in Early Modern layers in Exeter, a context and period when waged
labour came, for the first time, to dominate the economic process.47
I do not claim that the above form a fully developed set of models applicable to all
stages of meat procurement and taking account of every context. Equally, there is no reason to
expect that the existence of a particular mode of production at one stage of the process should
lead to the same mechanism at another – it is only in the recent past that one form of
organisation, capitalism, has come to control all parts of the social and economic process, and
the whole globe. Yet I would wish to argue that these analytical tools provide more
sophisticated ways of characterising the diverse ways in which meat was produced,
transported, processed and consumed than a simple dichotomy between subsistence strategies
and proto-capitalist markets based on supply and demand, or reference to ultimately vague
notions of consumer, service, management or processing cities. I would further suggest that
the contradictions embodied at the core of such analyses can serve to explain contrasting
ideological structures influencing the use of animals in diverse ritualised contexts.
METHOD AND PRACTICE
Intellectual barriers may still limit our use of animal bones to understand past social dynamics,
yet meaningful groups of material have been collected from antique sites from the 1970s, and
routinely and systematically across much of the area of the Roman empire from at least the
1980s. These have huge interpretative potential. In addition the methods needed to assess,
quantify and manipulate this material to allow these wider interpretations to emerge are now
45
Peacock (1982).
Roskams and Saunders (2001); Roskams (2006) 523ff.
47
At least as far as I am aware: Maltby (1979).
46
fairly well known, both within archaeology as a whole and in the more challenging context of
urban archaeology.48 Some of the most important are summarised below.
Animal bones go through a whole series of transformations from the point at which
they comprise parts of a living animal to when they are deposited in the ground.49 In the case
of domesticates in a herd, the latter’s profile will have been subject to various economic and
cultural influences concerning: what sort of animals are bred; which are allowed to mature;
how many might be needed to maintain herd numbers in the light of perceived future risk; and
what uses, if any, they are put to before being culled. Further selection will have taken place
in terms of what is transported and why: either traded, delivered in kind or simply driven off,
and how this is achieved, either killed where produced and sent as joints, or driven on the
hoof etc.
What happens when meat arrives at a consumption site depends on other variables,
that is, whether the carcass was butchered in one place or divided up, with some elements
used for food and others for leather, bone or glue production. Similarly, preparation for eating
can vary hugely, as does subsequent disposal, both in the first instance, as with kitchen waste
dumped in a dedicated nearby pit as opposed to being put in a midden with other rubbish at a
distance, and afterwards. This may involve the same midden later taken and spread on fields
as part of the agricultural process, or being dumped with similar material from other
households to raise ground levels to create a new monumental building. Thus, it would
obviously be misleading, for example, to argue from finding a large number of bones in a
building to interpret it as a kitchen.
After burial, further taphonomic factors come into play. Bones often survive well in
the ground, albeit to varying degrees on different sites. Although two-thirds inorganic, the
remaining organic components and attached tendons, ligaments and so on attract scavengers
such as dogs and rats. Equally, more general geological and biological forces such as erosion,
freezing/thawing, acidic soils and plant roots impact on the material, affecting differentially
the bones of different taxa and of young vs. old animals within a taxon.50 This has important
implications for the interpretation of the surviving assemblage. However, many of these
problems can be overcome using contextual information on deposit types and site formation
processes recorded during recovery, together with data generated subsequently when
identifying, classifying and quantifying faunal material, for example on bone fragmentation,
even if large groups are then needed to derive secure conclusions.
Finally, recovery of the material during excavation creates a new series of issues
regarding sampling procedures. There is a considerable literature concerning hand-collected
material compared to that derived from various types of dry and wet sieving. 51 The
implication is not simply that more material is recovered with more careful methods, but that
differential recovery rates hugely impact on the type of questions which can be asked of the
material. It is obvious that we need to adopt certain procedures to get any evidence of fish and
small vertebrates, but equally it is only by implementing such practices consistently that we
can also generate reliable samples of the bones of larger animals.
Designing a viable sampling strategy for recovering faunal material, therefore, will
depend on having developed a clear set of research objectives, then setting this beside
estimates of the survival characteristics of bone as indicated by initial site evaluation. 52
Strategic responses here are likely to take two forms, one proactive and applied consistently
to all deposits within the fieldwork process, the second reacting to specific opportunities, for
example when encountering articulated bones within a particular context. It is never easy to
achieve a balance between allowing intra-site comparisons, yet at the same time remaining
aware of the potential for unexpected circumstances. A key issue is to make both the general
O’Connor (2000) and references; O’Connor (2003).
I.e. the move from biosphere towards lithosphere: Lyman (1994).
50
Although it is not always the larger and stronger bones that are best preserved: Conard et al. (2008).
My thanks to Terry O’Connor for drawing my attention to this paper.
51
O’Connor (2001a): O’Connor (2003) and references.
52
Orton (2000).
48
49
strategies and occasional changes of focus, plus the underlying rationale for each, an explicit
part of site recording procedures.
After recovery, the methods used to analyse faunal remains comprise a dedicated
suite of specifically archaeological techniques whose strengths and weaknesses are well
known.53 Initial identification, of course, requires expertise and, in particular cases, access to
comparative osteological collections. These collections are widely available, though
difficulties can arise when working in particular locales. 54 The quantification needed
thereafter to define a species’ abundance raises more difficult issues, each measure having its
strengths and weaknesses.55 A crude indicator such as bone weight, for example, bears no
relation to animal weight or numbers. Fragment counts can generate data for the Number of
Identified Specimens (NISP), thus allowing comparisons between sites at a broad brush level.
However, fragmentation varies with culture and taphonomy. Hence any inter-site
comparisons require material to be derived from comparable contexts in terms of the degree
of bone fragmentation, and from samples gathered using similar collection techniques on site.
Because of these limitations, NISP has sometimes been superseded by other measures,
most obviously the Minimum Number of Individuals (MNI), based on the identification of
diagnostic skeletal elements. Such measurements may vary somewhat between different
analysts, due to their different levels of expertise and knowledge, indeed, any such measures
may be calculated in slightly different ways, hence the need to state the exact method used in
any published archive. In addition, MNI may be affected by post-slaughter processing,
especially where certain parts of an animal are used for other things such as bone artefact
production, and it will almost certainly underestimate total numbers. Nonetheless, it has an
important role to play as a guide to gauging the relative abundance of different species.56
Calculating age-at-death, essential to elucidate culling practices, largely depends on
measuring dentition and epiphyses. Dental eruption is obviously related to age and, when
cross-referenced to epiphyseal fusion, allows more accuracy for younger animals. Dental
attrition extends this range into older stock, helping to elucidate matters such as nutrition and
the impact of castration on skeletal growth. Such wear and tear, on the other hand, will be
affected by differential access to local food sources and to changes in the latter over time. Sex
can be investigated using sexually dimorphic characteristics, most obviously of the skull and
pelvis, and perhaps by stature. However, changes in size may be a result of
introduced/indigenous or wild/domesticated differences, rather than representing male/female
divisions.
Any quantification can only be secure when based on the analysis of a significant
number of identifiable fragments. Thus very few analysts are prepared to draw conclusions
from NISP or MNI data on the basis of less than 100 fragments, and far larger numbers may
be needed for calculating age-at-death and sex, indications of pathologies and gnawing, or the
investigation of butchery marks. Obtaining such numbers will often require amalgamation of
assemblages from different site contexts, with resulting problems for interpretation. Consider,
for example, an analysis which can only generate a large enough sample by grouping ‘all the
bones from phase 5’. The material in this category may include a single kitchen midden
formed at one point in time, occupation debris from the area accumulating gradually
throughout the phase, broadly contemporary rubbish dumped here from activities beyond the
site boundaries, and material redeposited from underlying, pre-phase 5 levels. The resulting
‘signature’ will be a product of these many processes.57
O’Connor (2003).
From my personal experience, for example, finding a way to identify what turned out to be a lion
bone on a North African site.
55
MacKinnon (2004) chapt. 2 and 3 for a discussion in a late antique context, Lyman (2008) for a more
detailed treatment.
56
Although see O’Connor (2001b) for further reservations.
57
Judicious definition of research questions may, however, allow even small samples to elucidate
aspects such as butchery: O’Connor (pers. comm.).
53
54
A final problem, more organisational than methodological, concerns access to faunal
evidence. The recent tendency for such work to become more integrated with ‘mainstream’
archaeological studies in its research agendas, noted above, is welcome. Yet, a high
proportion of the data generated in the last 25 years come from commercial fieldwork. Recent
changes in how this specialist work is structured in western Europe means that outputs now
appear mostly as ‘grey literature’, rather than in conventional, formal publications. 58 Even
where full publication occurs, faunal matters may be hived off to a separate chapter, with
conclusions on any patterning rarely integrated within the body of the report. Thus, faunal
specialists still find themselves working in isolation from other researchers, and even in
isolation from corresponding data generated by their colleagues.
For all of the above reasons, syntheses of faunal data of late antique date are few and
far between, most studies comprising individual site reports. Only some of these then go on to
make comparisons with other assemblages in their vicinity. That said, certain general trends
can be drawn out. These are discussed in the next section.
GENERAL PATTERNS
Two major studies of faunal evidence, one across the whole empire and the second with a
more restricted, Italian focus, classified their evidence by animal type. This was done usually
by just domesticates (cattle, sheep/goat and pig, and horse) and by wild fauna. Any patterning
found within this was then cross-referenced by site type, that is: by town (sometimes
subdivided between large and small), fort, villa and rural settlement, and also by geography,
and at times chronology. 59 The resulting conclusions were necessarily broad brush but do
provide provisional models of animal usage, and thus a context in which to further investigate
regional diversity. They also allow discussion of chronological variation across the
Classical/late antique boundary, and between the latter and the Early Medieval period.
Concerning meat-bearing species, wild animals have been shown to be rare in
quantified assemblages, both in core areas and in the periphery. 60 This might be seen as
suggesting that such sources provided very little contribution to diets at the time. Whether this
absence of deposition reflects entirely an absence of consumption could be questioned; the
bones of wild animals might have been discarded at other places which have not been subject
to archaeological investigation to the same extent, for example.61 In addition, although wild
fauna may be a marginal component of the diet, the very fact that it was so marginal makes
any such appearance of potential cultural significance, both in itself and because it shows that
the resources of adjacent landscapes were accessible to the communities concerned to some
degree, not controlled by another party. Thus, for example, the slight increase in wild boar,
red deer and roe deer in 5th and 6th c. levels at Wroxeter in northern Britain may signal an
important change in the relationship between that settlement and its surrounding
countryside.62
Nonetheless, what follows will consider the main domesticates: pig, cattle and
sheep/goat. In interpreting them, it must be remembered that each species differs in terms of
meat yield, both because of the size of the animal and because the amount lost in butchering
varies, ca.25% of overall weight in pigs, and up to half in cattle and sheep. Thus, a cow will
58
Grey literature: Roskams (2007) section 2, plus references. Formal publications: Stallibrass and
Thomas (2008) editorial introduction.
59
Whole empire: King (1999). Italian focus: MacKinnon (2004).
60
Core areas: MacKinnon (2004) 190ff. Unsurprisingly, proportions are slightly higher in the
countryside, falling to miniscule in urban contexts. Periphery: Luff (1982).
61
My thanks to Terry O’Connor for drawing my attention to this point.
62
Hammon (2005).
yield about three times as much meat as a pig, which in turn yields three times more than a
sheep.63
It is clear that pork is a frequent, and sometimes the most common, meat in the Italian
core, and this proportion increased over time.64 Pigs were nearly all killed before three years
of age, being of use only for meat supply, and two types may have been specifically bred: a
small, long-legged, bristled kind, kept in herds and pannaged in woodland, this sort of pig
supplying the main source of meat; and a larger, fat, short-legged variety, perhaps mainly kept
in stalls in towns and a source of suckling pig twice yearly. These were a minority supply
mechanism, but more dominant in terms of artistic representation.65 Work at Monte Gelato
near Rome, with its nearby woodland and local slaughter of pigs, gives some insight into the
form this pork production may have taken.66
Beyond Italy, pigs are disproportionately represented on more ‘Romanised’ sites
(towns and villas).67 This implies cultural rather than environmentally determined dynamics,
and perhaps centrally controlled supply. This trend fits nicely with the documented notion of
pork as a ‘Roman’ trait. Further into the western empire, however, things diversify, in part
due to different landscape contexts. Proportions of cattle may be much higher, in places over
50% of the total in terms of animals represented.68 In Britain, where some of the most detailed
studies have taken place, a move from sheep to cattle was underway before the Roman
conquest, so may relate to more fundamental influences than simple ‘Romanisation’. 69
However, it does seem to have intensified thereafter, even if the emphasis on sheep was
retained longer in purely rural settings.70
The increased importance of cattle may be a result of the need to use them for traction
in developing arable land rather than simple dietary demands.71 Most cattle here were killed
after 4 years, not between 18-24 months as prime steers. Stress injuries are evident, for
example, in 3rd c. assemblages supplied to York.72 The proportions of bulls to cows in Italy,
was mostly between 1/3 and 1/5, not the 1/15 expected of a dairy herd.73 This implies that
traction, not milk, was the emphasis here too, though perhaps they were still fattened up at the
end of that useful life to increase meat yield. 74 Overall, even if other uses remained
predominant, there may have been an increased emphasis on meat production.75
One of the factors which affected the proportions of different species was military
needs, which obviously impacted on outlying parts of the empire more than its centre. Work
looking at the north-west provinces showed that, when on the march and occupying
temporary camps, for example in the Rhine delta, pigs and chickens were favoured, doubtless
due to ease of movement, alongside some imports, presumably a product of the military
infrastructure.76 When things became more settled, however, troops exploited a range of local
resources, not by indiscriminate plunder but as a long term strategy in tune with existing
63
Cool (2006) Table 9.2. These proportions, however, assume a fairly similar approach to what
constitutes ‘edible meat’ across cultures and time, whereas much anthropological research shows that
this can vary considerably.
64
MacKinnon (2004) 139ff. That said, beef consumption was by no means as limited as some
commentators have suggested: Kron (2002), quoting Peters (1998).
65
MacKinnon (2006).
66
King (1997).
67
King (1999).
68
King (1999). Cattle are thus even larger in terms of meat provision, perhaps over 80% in certain
cases: Lauwerier (1986) 208.
69
Albarella (2007).
70
Grant (1989).
71
Van der Veen and O’Connor (1998).
72
O’Connor (1988).
73
MacKinnon (2004) chapt. 4.
74
Kron (2002) 57.
75
Seetah (2005).
76
Stallibrass and Thomas (2008); Cavallo et al. (2008).
landscape contexts, for example by receiving surplus stock from rural processes.77 In this way,
military dietary preferences became increasingly indistinguishable from civilian ones, even if
both were responding to longer-term, underlying trends.
In addition to evidence on the proportions of different species, faunal studies have
elucidated changes in the size of animals, combating the negative view of Roman stockbreeding once held in many circles. Thus, Kron suggests that changes in the withers heights
of cattle, perhaps from ca.1.1m to 1.3m would have allowed a disproportionately higher meat
yield.78 There are uncertainties about this conclusion, in that relevant measurements on these
long bones are more likely to be obtained from animals killed in ‘ritual’ circumstances and
buried complete than those killed for meat, where those bones are then split to obtain marrow
and thus fragmented. Nonetheless, the fact that similar changes are evident in quite out of the
way places such as Britain gives greater credence to the patterning.79 This change, when seen
in Essex in Britain, has been interpreted as the importation of new stock into that region just
after the Claudian conquest, perhaps mainly for meat consumption.80
Corresponding changes are also evident in sheep.81 This is something backed up by
research suggesting the consistent presence of a minority of ‘tall sheep’ in assemblages from
sites in the south and east of Britain.82 Interestingly, this morphotype is absent in earlier, Iron
Age assemblages and in Roman material from the north and west of the province. It also
vanishes from groups of bones dating after the 4th c. The cause of such changes is contested.
Grant does not choose between new farming practices and imported breeds impacting on
indigenous herds as the reason for this.83 Kron, however, argues for the changes being the
result of better husbandry based on ideas derived from Greek, rather than Roman sources,
whereas Albarella et al. favour new introductions in Essex. 84 The latter occur alongside
corresponding changes in pig size and, interestingly, date to the 2nd c. A.D., so many decades
after the increase in cattle stature, at a time when the latter become more focussed on
producing animals for traction than meat.
The one instance where selective breeding can be more strongly argued is with equids.
Johnstone has looked in detail at the ratio between horses, donkeys and, especially, mules
across the empire.85 The first are predictably widespread, whilst the second appear in only
small numbers beyond the Mediterranean. Mules turn up, surprisingly, in Late Prehistoric
contexts, perhaps brought in from adjacent Roman lands. More significantly, once regions
were formally conquered, they came to represent a much higher proportion of equid stock,
anywhere between 15% and 40% of the total.86 More importantly, throughout the empire,
mules have a higher average stature than even that of the horse from which they were bred.
The most likely explanation of this apparent anomaly is that larger-than-average mares were
deliberately used for breeding mules. Furthermore, concentration of such horses are
particularly evident in Danubian and Balkan provinces, in turn allowing the possibility that
mules born in central areas were then distributed more widely across the empire.
Although there are exceptions to this broad patterning, for example in the Dutch
River Area, the spread of mules (presumably as pack animals), and of larger horses, is best
explained by state and military needs for communication and supply.87 Such an improvement
may be an example of the army as the main source for Roman technical development.88 The
77
Groot (2008).
Kron (2002) 62ff.
79
Grant (1989).
80
Albarella et al. (2007).
81
Kron (2002) 69ff.
82
O’Connor (1981).
83
Grant (1989).
84
Kron (2002); Albarella et al. (2007).
85
Johnstone (2004).
86
Patterning in these percentages suggest that indigenous horses may have been retained more often as
pack animals in Gaul, and even more so in Britain.
87
Dutch River area: Groot (2008) 92ff. Larger horses: Johnstone (2008).
88
See Millett (2001) for other spheres.
78
paid soldier, arguably the most significant form of wage labour in Antiquity, seems to have
been pivotal to this development, something with important implications for the character of
economic change within the empire as a whole.89
The question of whether general improvements in stock were a result of better
husbandry practices or imported breeds may remain open to question, yet carcass processing
certainly became increasingly regularised across the board, and more specialised in large
urban contexts. 90 This is evident in the faunal material, with: the over-representation of
scapulae, pelvis and ribs in certain assemblages; the cracking of long bones for marrow; the
trimming of the glenoid cavity in cattle scapulae to facilitate salting, or piercing them to allow
smoking (Fig. 1); and the burning of cattle mandibles, perhaps to provide specialist fat for
lamps, cosmetics and medicine.91
An increased division of labour is equally clear from a range of urban evidence.
Detailed study of butchery techniques in Britain using artefactual and experimental evidence,
alongside patterning in butchery marks, shows that nondescript, tanged knives may have been
sufficient for occasional use in the countryside.92 In contrast, large riveted cleavers, designed
to both slice and chop, were employed on suspended carcasses in towns. This investment in
specialist artefacts, handled by expert butchers working in contexts which allowed a heavy
carcass to be hung up, allowed much speedier processing. Whether inspired initially by
butchering in military contexts or not, it spread far beyond the army. The resulting division
between town and countryside distanced those who raised stock from those who killed and
butchered it, perhaps for the first time on a systematic basis.93
Finally, there is a more specific spatial dimension to these processing activities. In
Britain, for example, primary butchering at special urban slaughter sites seems to have
generated particular dumps of waste in the centre of Dorchester and Cirencester, on the
Lincoln waterfront, in landfill at Caerleon and extramurally at Chichester.94 Material from the
fort and adjacent settlement at Nijmegen in Holland is yet more specific, suggesting that
specialist smoking of beef took place in one zone of the canabae, with brawn production from
animal skulls taking place in another, each no doubt linked to supplying troops in the main
camp.95
All of the above trends, demonstrated mainly in relation to Early Roman
developments, provide testable models for, and thus pose questions about, the late antique
period. Thus, for example, the western Mediterranean from the 4th c. sees an increase in the
proportion of sheep/goats over pigs, with higher proportions of goats over sheep, and such
animals being culled from more adult herds; mutton was becoming more common than
lamb.96 North of the Alps, increases in beef in selected areas implies, for King, a loosening of
the fabric of the empire, and suggests that the focus on pork production in the core may have
been unsustainable following changes to the central authority.97 Here, in the Italian peninsula,
it is interesting to note that such high proportions of pig are only seen again when papal
power developed much later.
These trends become clearer with more detailed study. At Monte Gelato, the early
domination of pig was replaced by sheep, something seen in other rural contexts in the area.98
The sheep were slaughtered after being used in wool production and then subjected to less
organised butchery techniques than hitherto. Woodland advance in the Late Roman period in
the vicinity may be related to this move from arable to wool production. Such changes have
89
See Roskams (2006) 514ff for wider discussion.
MacKinnon (2004) 177ff.
91
O’Connor (1988).
92
Seetah (2006).
93
Urban and rural butchering divisions: Maltby (1989).
94
Cool (2006) 85.
95
Lauwerier (1986) 209ff.
96
King (1999).
97
King (1999).
98
King (1997).
90
their counterparts in centres such as Ostia and Naples at a later date, perhaps delayed in those
places because these towns could be insulated from local developments for a while by
importing from external sources such as North Africa. Even there, however, sheep and goat
became more common than pig by the 6th c., perhaps after external trading links were cut off
following the Vandal incursion (see further below).
These changes near the core stand in some contrast to trajectories elsewhere. At
Wroxeter in the 5th and 6th c., somewhere clearly on the margins of empire, pigs stayed at
25%, comparable to 4th c. levels, suggesting that the ‘high status’ of its inhabitants were
maintained at this time.99 Something similar might also be argued for 5th-7th Sagalassos in
Turkey, a place where a comparable proportion of pig remains in these layers.100 In addition,
diets at Wroxeter remained beef-rich, perhaps with an increased emphasis on fillets and on
prime over mature beef, although cattle continued to be used before slaughter for ploughing,
as metacarpal splaying remained constant. Finally, no reduction in animal size is apparent.
The above evidence from Wroxeter, together with the large numbers of animal bones
still found in the town, alongside indications of long distance trade, has been interpreted as
showing a continuity of trajectories here past the 4th c..101 Some parts of this argument might
be questioned. Absolute population levels are difficult to calculate on such evidence; a fall in
control of rubbish disposal could mean that bones, now dumped centrally, mask a real
reduction in meat consumption. Equally, continued contact with the Mediterranean is argued
on the basis of a single phalanx of a Barbary ape. Yet, the overall trends do indeed suggest a
settlement retaining significant control of meat supply into what is considered the ‘postRoman’ period in a region out on the empire’s periphery. To see how this trajectory compares
with a more central area, it is useful next to turn to some towns in North Africa.
URBAN TRANSITIONS IN NORTH AFRICA
As noted already, general patterning in faunal material should offer the opportunity to look at
‘big questions’ on critical transitions across the Roman empire, in particular the impact of the
movements of Germanic people, and of Byzantine then Islamic expansion. North Africa has
been pivotal in such discussions, whether in terms of Vandal incursions, Justinianic
reconquest or Muslim invasion, or more generally in terms of the relationship between
indigenous, Berber society and external incursion in whatever form.102 This whole debate has
been given even more impetus recently for scholars of Late Antiquity by the importance
accorded to the Vandal conquest by Wickham in his influential work Framing the Early
Middle Ages.103
It comes as no surprise then to find that archaeological evidence has been deployed to
elucidate a great many aspects of late antique north African society.104 Urban trajectories have
been particularly relevant to this debate, looked at in terms of topographical organisation,
private and public building and trade and production.105 What is mostly lacking, however, is
discussion of palaeoeconomic evidence and, within this, of faunal assemblages.106 Some of
the reasons for this shortcoming relate to the limited range of places for which material has
been collected and a lack of securely dated assemblages and those from secure contexts. In
addition, the absence of local reference collections, plus technical problems associated with
the identification of different equids and issues distinguishing between sheep and goats, have
99
Hammon (2005).
Decupere (2001).
101
Hammon (2005).
102
Berbers: Brett and Fentress (1997). General incursions: Merrills (2004).
103
Wickham (2005).
104
See the review and references by Mattingly and Hitchner (1995).
105
Leone (2007) plus references provide an up-to-date bibliography for some eastern provinces, Boone
and Benco (1999) for works on Islamic areas to the west.
106
Leone and Mattingly (2004) 152-53 provides an honourable, if brief, exception.
100
played a part. Nonetheless, large faunal groups are available from Setif, Cherchel, Leptiminus,
Benghazi/Sidi Khrebish and Lepcis Magna. 107 Critically, UNESCO work at Carthage has
provided data from a number of sites across the city.108 All this evidence can be considered in
terms of species proportions, butchering and age at death.
The Carthage data, showing the main species represented in the assemblages, have
been gathered together in Fig.2. The interpretation of these figures is made complex by the
problems of quantification, that is the size of the assemblage analysed, and the data from
different sites being calculated in different ways, and also by divergent site formation
processes, and thus dating. Cisterns 1-3, for example, have different dates of construction, but
may have fallen out of use at roughly the same time, around A.D. 600.109 It is also clear that
any patterning before the 5th c. is based on very limited sample sizes: less than 450 bone
fragments for all three sites of this date when taken together. As such, any comparisons
between ‘Roman’ and ‘Vandal/Byzantine’ trends must accept that the former comprise
merely a provisional hypothesis, not proven patterns of consumption.
Nonetheless, even given vagaries in the nature and size of the samples and
differences in site contexts, some clear patterns emerge. The proportion of pig remains fairly
constant, at roughly one-third, through to the 7th c., i.e. to the end of Byzantine rule in the
city. The high figure of 66% for the earliest site, beside the harbour, is based on an extremely
small assemblage but, if true, might reflect its centrality within the city, whether for
consumption of pork or disposal of pig bones. In contrast, over the same period, cattle seem to
fall from up to a quarter for the whole to only a few percent, its place on the table being taken
by sheep or goat meat. The harbour-side site, with 16% cattle [?] for a 5th-6th c. assemblage,
again provides a possible exception.
As noted, care must be exercised in interpreting this data, especially that from early
sites. Nonetheless, taken at face value, the move away from cattle seems to be quite sharp and
to belong to the 5th c. This could be seen as an impact of the Vandal conquest on the region,
the point when the pre-existing, wide-ranging contacts which allowed cattle to be driven into
the city on-the-hoof became disrupted. Similar changes are evident at Cherchel, where cattle
fall from one-third to 3%, at a time when sheep/goats increase to almost 90%.110 That figure
of percentage of cattle fits that seen at Setif, Leptiminus and Lepcis Magna of 6%.111 So the
move away from cattle appears to be more than just a Carthage-specific trend, although the
absence of data from early assemblages means it is not always possible to assess the preexisting situation.
However, the proportion of sheep/goat to pig is quite different at Leptiminus and
Lepcis Magna, roughly equal at Setif, and decisively favouring sheep/goat over pig at Lepcis.
Equally, at Sidi Khrebish, in the coastal setting of Benghazi, proportions of cattle seem to
remain high at 20% even after the 4th c. (though based on a sample of only 190 fragments),
having varied considerably before that point.112 Thus, although cattle supply may have come
under pressure in places, other factors seem to have offset this elsewhere. Furthermore, even
when a gap was created in beef supply, how it was then filled depended on the local
landscape situation and its potential/restrictions.
A final consideration concerns the role of pigs after the Islamic conquest. As might be
expected, proportions fell to virtually zero in some places, for example at Setif and Lepcis
Magna and on the Byrsa hill in the core of Carthage, though the sample is miniscule here.113
107
Setif: King (1991); Cherchel: Clark (1993); Leptiminus: Burke (2001); Benghazi/Sidi Khrebish:
Barker (1983); and Lepcis Magna: Siracusano (1994). See Mattingly and Hitchner (1995) Table I for a
convenient summary.
108
British team: Schwartz (1984) and Levine (1994); Michigan team: Reese (1977), Reese (1981);
specific assessment of Islamic evidence from the Byrsa Hill: Payne (1981).
109
Humphrey (1981) viii.
110
Clark (1993).
111
King (1991), Burke (2001) and Siracusano (1994) respectively.
112
Barker (1983).
113
Setif and Lepcis Magna: King (1991) and Siracusano (1994) respectively.
How quickly this happened after the Muslim incursion cannot be answered easily, given the
quality of dating evidence.114 Certainly, the trend away from pork is much less obvious in
Cherchel, still at 8% after the 7th c. Here a return to high proportions of cattle at this time
(27%) suggests that the pattern is real, not a product of pre-Islamic bones being redeposited
into later layers. At the ‘ecclesiastical’ site in Carthage, pig bones also comprised a high
proportion, 25%, of the assemblage from the 10-11th c. levels, leading one commentator to
suggest that Christian dietary needs continued to be catered for at this time.115 However, in
this case, the continuing low proportion of cattle and the character of the stratigraphic
sequence at this point in time imply, to King, that the figures include a large element of
‘background noise’ disturbed from earlier activity at the site, rather than an accurate picture of
meat consumption at this late date.
Evidence for butchering and age-at-death of cattle and sheep provides some
elaboration of the above picture. As seen across the empire, the majority of the cattle used for
meat show signs of having been used for draught beforehand. However, there is some
indication, from earlier levels at Carthage of the production of specialised calf joints, perhaps
indicating an ability to intervene in rural production. 116 Provision of lamb, as opposed to
mutton, at this time also backs up the notion of urban authority sometimes being able to
dictate to its hinterland. Perhaps surprisingly, the juvenile sheep delivered to Setif in the 5th c.
arrived as partially dressed carcasses.117 Maybe these were animals culled on some scale as
tribute from transhumant flocks. Similarly, Post Roman Cherchel saw sheep killed at 12-24
months, as well as diversification into secondary products, especially goats for milk. 118
Material from Leptiminus shows a continuing emphasis on organised butchery and bone
disposal.119
This evidence provides a useful tool to examine the different ways in which livestock
resources were being exploited, but also suggests some increasing stresses on such
mechanisms. This is especially evident in Carthage, a city whose status and trading networks
might have helped it ride out local disruptions, but whose sheer size must have presented
challenges of a quantitatively different nature from those visited on smaller towns. Work by
Schwartz, for example, shows that bones from Vandal period levels embodied certain
peculiarities.120 Pigs were left to grow to maturity, well past the time when this animal, useful
only for food, would normally have been kept. In addition there is evidence from these levels
for butchered horse, donkey and camel, and even ostrich.121 Whatever the wealth and lifestyle
of its controlling Germanic elite recorded in documentary sources, this evidence implies that
the supply networks for the majority of inhabitants were coming under stress.
In the course of the 6th c. supplies may have stabilised, with less evidence for
butchery of unexpected food sources, perhaps a result of the Byzantine reconquest. Yet, even
then, there is no evidence for the consumption of the specialised urban joints seen at an earlier
date, all animals now being eaten only after primary use elsewhere. Furthermore, rubbish
tipping at this point shows no differentiation between animal parts. Thus, any ‘Justinianic
revival’, argued for on the basis of the construction of ecclesiastical and military monuments
within the city, was not reflected in the food on the tables of the lower orders.
Finally, 7th c. Carthage saw evidence for the consumption of occasional groups of
juvenile animals as well as some very old beasts. The latter would have been well past their
‘sell by date’ in terms of earlier practice seen in the city. In addition, very young animals
would normally have been required for the maintenance of long-term husbandry practices
elsewhere. Here we may be seeing urban inhabitants dipping into the productive stock of the
114
Although Leone and Mattingly believe it to be a drawn-out process: (2004) 152.
King (1999).
116
Levine (1994).
117
King (1991).
118
Clark (1993).
119
Burke (2001).
120
Schwartz (1984).
121
Schwartz (1984) 236ff.
115
countryside on occasion. That they could manage this at all is, of course, interesting. However,
more significant is that this tactic, although it provided a temporary solution to immediate
problems, would have been difficult to maintain as a long-term strategy for urban food supply.
The picture of a city reduced to adopting purely reactive mechanisms in order to feed
itself can be set beside other indicators of urban decay. These include the town walls falling
into decline; the appearance of intramural burials with no clear ecclesiastical association; the
silting up of the monumental harbour and it being replaced by cist burials and kilns for local
amphora production; and more concerted encroachment onto public thoroughfares. 122 Any
one of these changes could be explained by specific circumstances but, taken together and set
beside the faunal patterning, they suggest a settlement under severe stress well before the
Arab incursions of A.D. 698.
As far as it goes, the above evidence has important implications for urban trajectories in Late
Antiquity. However, if linked to other forms of evidence, it could be even more informative.
Multidisciplinary study integrating patterning in meat consumption to ceramic studies of
tablewares and other trends in artefact usage allows for interesting conclusions, and detailed
work such as that at Sagalassos provides a still more focussed level of resolution.123 Here the
identification of animal fats from Late Roman cooking pots demonstrates a high abundance of
C54 [?], something characteristic of ruminant fats and thus interesting to compare with
contemporary faunal evidence. Further research at the same site has taken the integration of
evidence a step forward, combining architectural, artefactual, faunal and botanical evidence in
relation to site formation processes in different spatial contexts.124
Such innovative work is welcome, even if it has some way to go before emulating the
detailed consideration of what it meant to be a prisoner in Late Medieval Mechelen,
Belgium.125 Yet even these studies are mainly concerned with food processing, consumption
and discard, and then mainly in an urban context. The real key to future progress involves
relating faunal evidence to changes in the landscape: the settings in which animals were bred,
husbanded and transported.126 A case study is considered next.
BONES IN THE YORKSHIRE LANDSCAPE
Many of the trends seen across the empire are evident in northern Britain. For example, the
general link noted between pork consumption and status is clear in the south of the province,
shown by the concentrations of suckling pig at early sites such as the Fishbourne ‘palace’ and
in the Bishopsgate area of London.127 It is also evident in the higher proportions of pig bones:
inside the fort at York compared to outside it; at the Late Roman ‘signal station’ on the
Yorkshire coast at Filey compared to its surroundings; and perhaps within senior officers
houses compared to elsewhere in forts along Hadrian’s Wall, if the pork products mentioned
in accounts at Vindolanda are a true reflection of meat consumption there as a whole.128 Some
effort seems to have gone into maintaining this emphasis on pork even in the much straitened
circumstances of the 5th c. or later, judging by the ‘small pig horizon’ in the shell of
principia.129
122
Roskams (1996a) 45.
Artefact usage: as carried out, for example, by Cool (2006). Sagalassos: Kempe et al. (2005).
124
Putzeys et al. (2007).
125
Troubleyn et al. (2009)
126
See Groot and Kooistra (2009) for an attempt to do just this in the Dutch River area
127
Cool (2006) 83.
128
York: Hall (1997). Filey: Ottaway (2001). Vindolanda: Bowman and Thomas (1994).
129
I prefer the notion of feasting as a mechanism for elite consolidation (Roskams (1996b) 284), rather
than the run-down self sufficiency of the published account: Rackham (1995).
123
However, a full understanding of this, and other changes in meat supply can only be
understood by turning to what is happening in the hinterlands of these central places.130 A
good opportunity to do so comes from work at Wharram Percy, set on the Wolds 35km northeast of York. The famous excavation of the deserted medieval village there also investigated
aspects of a pre-medieval settlement, and consequently the work done there became
influential in the development of landscape archaeology in Britain as a whole. 131 In the
process of this work, ca.13,000 bones were gathered from all periods (though only a quarter
can be fully identified and quantified), including Prehistoric and Roman assemblages.
Naturally, there are some problems with this material, notably that it comprises mainly
elements deposited in features or on floors, and not dispersed in fields in the course of
manuring, as much of the organic refuse in the countryside must have been. As a result, how
representative it might be of occupation as a whole could be questioned. Nonetheless, some
significant patterning is evident.132
The early assemblages show little evidence of wild animals or fowl, and display no
real signs of change either side of the late 1st c. A.D., the point from which ‘Roman’
influences might have been expected to show up. Thus, both Late Iron Age and Early Roman
assemblages have a profile of ca. 60% sheep, 15% cattle, and 25% pig, the first two elements
also showing significant evidence for multi-purpose use before consumption, that is herd
maintenance, traction, milk and wool.
From the 3rd c. A.D., there are signs of significant change. The proportion of sheep
remains high, alongside an increase in pig and a reduction in horse, although the last two
remain minority species throughout. However, age and sex data suggest that some production
prime beef was now being targeted, with the remaining stock being kept to maturity mainly
for breeding, rather than the earlier, multi-purpose uses. Equally, juvenile sheep were now
more often killed for meat. Fusion data show that few were slaughtered up to the age of 18-28
months, but the population halved of those between 30-42 months. Ewes within the latter
category would have been bred, at most, once, so providing only two fleeces and perhaps one
set of offspring before slaughter. Hence they could be viewed as being fattened over two
years for the table, not yet a full part of a breeding population.
Such indications of specialised production can be set beside not only more focussed
bone discard at the time, but also changes in landscape organisation (Fig. 3). The Early
Roman landscape here, as across most of the Yorkshire Wolds, inherited its configuration,
virtually unchanged, from pre-existing Iron Age divisions. The latter comprised a series of
linear enclosures, so-called ‘ladder settlements’, which were laid out beside prehistoric
trackways, which had been in place for at least a thousand years (Routes D and E, Fig. 3).133
In the course of the late 2nd to early 3rd c. A.D., the ladders were swept away, replaced by a
series of individual enclosures. At the same time a ‘villa’ was inserted on a hill to the north at
Wharram Grange.134
Should these newly-created landscape features be seen as sheep folds or cattle pens?
In the one enclosure which has been subjected to excavation, sheep bones comprised a lower
proportion of the whole assemblage than that seen beyond, perhaps favouring the latter
interpretation. Most of this material, however, was recovered from the large ditch that
surrounded that enclosure, a deep context which may have favoured the discard of larger
cattle bones over sheep. Yet, even this would imply large-scale slaughtering of cattle nearby,
with the resulting rubbish then deposited in more collective contexts than before.
Alternatively, the enclosed spaces may have been where now-dispersed estate workers met
with each other, perhaps periodically, and with other, more itinerant, social groups such as
artisans, travelling traders and so forth.135
130
Roskams (1999).
Beresford and Hurst (1990).
132
Atha and Roskams (forthcoming) has a full discussion of the evidence, which is summarised below.
133
Stoertz (1997) fig. 26.
134
Rahtz et al. (1986). See Roskams (1999) for a discussion of this dating.
135
My thanks to Terry O’Connor for this suggestion.
131
Whatever the exact function of the enclosures, when faunal patterning is analysed
alongside landscape changes, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that a fundamental shift in
the dynamics of exploitation in this area had taken place. The Early Roman landscape
embodied communally integrated households occupying ladder settlements largely inherited
from the Iron Age, which were set up to meet localised demand, with an emphasis on both
mutton and lamb, alongside a range of other foods, and cattle for traction, milk and leather.
From the 3rd c., all this was swept away, replaced by discrete enclosures under surveillance
from a single, higher status settlement to their north, with a clear element of specialised meat
production seen in the faunal evidence. Whether the new enclosures were used as paddocks to
keep animals or functioned as periodic gathering places, they certainly became sites where
cattle were killed and their bones discarded on an increased scale.
This move towards greater specialisation would have allowed the landscape to cater
for a dedicated supply to areas beyond Wharram to a much greater degree. From this time,
material changes are evident in core areas such as both the fortress and colonia at York: stone
barracks, defensive refurbishment and extra-mural roads in the former case; organised
development of the waterfront, monumental religious and bath buildings, plus terracing to
create space for high status town houses at the latter.136 This, it could be claimed, is the real
point at which a proper civilian town was created at York, the point at which a central
authority was able to properly impose its will on the nearby landscapes of the Wolds for the
first time.
CONCLUSIONS
This article has argued that those interested in how faunal evidence can aid our understanding
of Late Antiquity face a double challenge. On the one hand, we have to develop the types of
framework within which such evidence is set and, on the other, we have to overcome various
difficult issues concerning the nature and size of bone samples, methods of quantification, and
data access in order the generate meaningful interpretations.
The first, intellectual issue might prove the more intractable. It will require
decisions on the timescales and levels of spatial resolution which might be appropriate to
fully appreciate the implications of faunal patterning, and demand a move away from notions
of ‘market forces’ and functionalist models of optimisation in interpreting the breeding,
procurement, processing, consumption and discard of animals. Overcoming the latter,
simplistic approach is best achieved, I have argued, by adopting a truly interdisciplinary
approach to interpretation which can accommodate both the full range of evidence relevant to
all of the above stages, and the various factors, whether economic, social or cultural, which
influence human relationships with animals. Furthermore, I suggest, this must be carried out
without losing sight of the material context within which ideological structures are erected
and deployed.
That said, some important trends can already be traced across the Roman empire:
changes in proportions of species, changes in animal size, carcass processing and discard
practices. These provide a ready-made source for models which could be tested in relation to
the evidence gathered from a whole range of late antique contexts and settings, then
elaborated by more detailed, comparative studies of urban hierarchies, and by integrating
faunal patterns with changes to landholding systems in the landscape.
In particular, and to begin that process of investigation, I would describe the
following as being worthy of consideration straight away:
– an increased emphasis on pork consumption is evident in core areas and on
‘higher status’ sites, a development perhaps related to the influence of state structures. Is this
change still evident in the ‘Post Roman’ West or ‘Byzantine’ East? Does its incidence
correlate with contexts where some form of state authority remained in place?
136
Roskams (1996b) 269ff for arguing this case; Ottaway (2004) for the detailed evidence.
- there are indications of initial differences between military and civilian
consumption practices. Do these distinctions disappear when army units, whether due to
military strategies, economic forces or to social dynamics (e.g. intermarriage), became more
integrated with local people?
- diversity in meat consumption was always visible beyond core areas, whether
influenced by the landscape or by different cultural needs. Does such fragmentation increase
in Late Antiquity, as regional forces give way to local ones?
- a long term trajectory of increased stature of cattle and sheep has been established.
Is such improvement retained into Early Medieval contexts or does it drop away again over
time?
- specialised butchery practices and rubbish disposal are apparent in urban contexts
in the first two centuries A.D. Does similar division of labour and organisation of settlement
space continue into later centuries?
Whatever the answers to the above questions, it seems clear that the full exploitation of
animal bone evidence will allow us to engage with both cultural dynamics and economic
imperatives. Researchers interested in Late Antiquity, in all its diversity and multiple facets,
would be ill-advised to ignore such a vibrant form of evidence.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank Martyn Allen and Andy Hammon for giving me access to their work on
Fishbourne and Wroxeter respectively, ahead of its formal publication; to Krish Seetah for
further discussion of Roman butchery; to Bryan Ward-Perkins for the Kron (2002) article; and
Emmeline Marlow-Mann and Stuart Wrathmell of the Wharram Research Project for
allowing the use of Fig. 3. I am indebted to two anonymous readers and my colleague Cath
Neal for comments on a draft of the text, all of which much improved it; and, especially, to a
second colleague, Terry O’Connor, for both his comments and discussion of the text, and for
his recommending of references for some of the more intricate and obscure aspects of animal
bone quantification and interpretation. Finally, thanks to Luke Lavan for inviting me to
contribute to this volume, and for tolerating the increased length and extended gestation of
this text.
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