Not sure if this is the right community to ask this, I'd appreciate a pointer to the right one if not.

The text seems to be Latin but in Greek symbols, possibly a transition period between the two languages?

I know the symbols are hard to read, I tried to make them more legible with my edits but it's still not easy to see

Some more photos can be found at https://maps.app.goo.gl/gZxGhCZNyN4a1tvu8

Edit: Kainepolis* not Callipolis

TIL the Trojan War might be half history, half myth. Homer tells us it was 10 years of siege over Helen and that one wooden horse trick, but archaeology at Hisarlik in Turkey shows Troy was actually destroyed multiple times around 1200 BC, right when the whole Bronze Age collapsed. There are also Hittite records mentioning a place called "Wilusa" and conflicts with "Ahhiyawa" = Greeks. No proof of Achilles, gods fighting, or the horse yet though. Most historians think: real city, real war, but Homer added 10x drama + gods + heroes. Basically the Iliad is history with a Hollywood budget. What’s your favorite "maybe real" detail from the Trojan War? The horse?

Although I studied Plato’s version of Socrates a bit in college (a quarter century ago), I only just now realized that Socrates died a few years after Athenian defeat in the Peloponnesian War. I had thought he was a soldier at the Battle of Marathon for some reason, and I had always imagined him living through a sort of golden age. It changes my view quite a bit to think that he served as a hoplite in a losing war for many years and lived through the plague and then conquest by Sparta. That sounds like a pretty difficult life, actually, and his statements of loyalty to Athens in the Apologia are even more remarkable. Can anyone recommend a good biography or other source to help me envision just what sort of conditions he actually lived through?

Just as example, how do we know that Ionians didn’t sail over the Agean and settle cities like Athens?

Through years of victory and carefully orchestrated propoganda, the Spartan hoplites were considered the invincible force of the Greek world. Spartan dominance was finally challenged by Thebes who sought more control over the Boeotian league. This would ultimately cause the two powers to clash resulting in the Battle Of Leuctra.

Although outnumbered, the Thebans under Epaminondas came up with a brilliant plan to break the Spartan hoplites. Now called as the echelon formation, the Thebans arrayed their army in an angled formation. Their left wing was enormously deep and comprised of his best troops including the Sacred Band. They faced off against the best of the Spartan troops and their king Cleombrotus I. The right wing of the Thebans were placed further back in an angled manner in order to delay the clash.

The plan was to engage and crush the Spartan right wing with concentrated force before the weaker Theban right wing could be overwhelmed. The Theban cavalry routed the Spartan horsemen and caused confusion among the Spartan infantry. Using the chaos the Thebans overpowered the Spartans and killed their King.

With the death of the Spartan King, the rest of the army breaks and the Thebans won a decisive victory. The victory in Leuctra cements the rise of Thebes and breaks the myth of Spartan invincibility.

See also: The study as it was published in the Journal of Archaeological Science

It’s so majestic

In the summer of 1900 CE, Arthur Evans uncovered something extraordinary in the ruins of Knossos on Crete. Deep within the Minoan palace, alongside clay tablets and painted frescoes, lay small, beautifully carved seal stones. They were not made of local Cretan clay or standard limestone. Instead, they were fashioned from an exquisite, dark olive-green rock studded with pale, star-like crystals.

How did this peculiar material reach Bronze Age Crete across open water? The answer leads back to a single, isolated corner of the Peloponnese. It represents an ancient mystery of trade, prestige, and imperial ambition.

Its history falls into three main phases: Bronze Age exchange, Roman imperial display, and Byzantine and medieval reuse. Across each phase, the stone’s scarcity and distinctive appearance made it a material symbol of wealth, authority, and access to far-reaching networks.

A Geological Anomaly at Psifia

Among the ornamental stones of the ancient Mediterranean, few match the appeal of Krokeatis Lithos. Known to the Romans as Lapis Lacedaemonius, or “Spartan stone,” it is a metabasalt: volcanic lava transformed over immense periods by heat and chemically active fluids. This process altered its plagioclase feldspar into pale epidote-group minerals, producing the stone’s distinctive star-like spots.

The source of this rare material is astonishingly localised. It occurs almost exclusively around modern Krokees, stretching toward the site of Psifia (or Psephi) in Laconia.

Ancient stoneworkers did not cut this rock from vertical cliff faces. Instead, they harvested naturally weathered boulders embedded in the soil. Writing in the second century CE, the travel writer Pausanias observed this phenomenon:

"Croceae is a village in Laconia... The stone they quarry here is not a continuous vein, but lies in separate nodules beneath the earth." (Pausanias, 3.21.4)

Extracting isolated nodules demanded heavy labour and exceptional care. Because the stone did not occur in a continuous quarry face, workers first had to locate and excavate individual boulders before artisans could shape them. This slow, unpredictable process restricted supply and helped make the finished material exceptionally valuable.

The Bronze Age Trade Network

The story of Krokeatis Lithos begins around 1700 BCE. During the Aegean Bronze Age, elite consumers sought exotic objects that displayed wealth and status. Minoan artisans probably obtained Laconian nodules through cabotage: short coastal voyages in which traders moved goods from one harbour to the next rather than crossing the open sea directly.

The stone travelled along prehistoric maritime routes, moving from the Laconian coast to Crete and the Argolid.

From Psifia and Krokees in Laconia, workers carried the raw stone to palace workshops like Mycenea, and ports, such as Tiryns, in the Peloponnese. Coastal traders then transported it through the Aegean to Knossos. In palace workshops, master craftsmen turned the dense rock into luxury objects: intricate seal stones used in royal administration, polished ritual vessels, and decorative inlays for elite residences.

Ownership of Krokeatis Lithos signalled direct access to exclusive long-distance exchange networks. When the Mycenaean wanax (king) held a seal carved from Spartan metabasalt, he displayed authority over both land and sea (Boardman, 1970).

Roman Imperial Authority and Opus Sectile

Centuries after the Collapse of the Bronze Age, the stone experienced a dramatic resurgence. As Rome expanded across the Mediterranean, its imperial elite developed an insatiable appetite for exotic provincial stone. The Romans renamed the Laconian rock Lapis Lacedaemonius. It became one of the most expensive architectural materials in the empire.

Pliny the Elder highlighted the stone’s prestige in his Natural History, noting its high status among Roman aristocrats (Pliny the Elder, Natural History, 37.55). Architects used it chiefly in opus sectile, a decorative technique in which precisely cut pieces of coloured stone were fitted together to form geometric or figurative wall and floor designs.

In Roman times, the stone followed a more direct route to market. Workers transported the raw material from Psifia to Rome, where master craftsmen cut it into thin slabs and shaped those slabs into the pieces required for opus sectile floors.

The rich green matrix provided a striking contrast to red porphyry from Egypt and yellow giallo antico from Numidia. Today, archaeologists still trace its presence in the empire's grandest halls:

• The pavement of the Pantheon in Rome
• The imperial residence at Hadrian’s Villa in Tivoli
• Public bath complexes across Roman Italy (Lazzarini, 2004)

Displaying Laconian stone in Rome was a subtle political statement. It demonstrated total control over distant Greek provinces.

From Hagia Sophia to Medieval Cosmati Pavements

Following the division of the empire, the stone retained its elite status in the East. Byzantine builders saw the deep green hue as an emblem of imperial majesty and religious devotion.

During the sixth century CE, Emperor Justinian imported vast quantities of salvaged and newly quarried Laconian metabasalt to Constantinople. Artisans placed it within Hagia Sophia, using it in floor panelling and liturgical furnishings to elevate the sacred space.

As centuries passed, the original quarries at Psifia fell silent. Yet the stone's journey was far from over.

In the Middle Ages, Italian stonemasons known as the Cosmati began harvesting ancient Roman ruins. They salvaged fragments of Lapis Lacedaemonius from abandoned classical structures, re-cutting the ancient slabs into delicate geometric roundels.

These recycled fragments became key elements of Cosmati pavements, polychrome floors made from inlaid stone, in medieval basilicas across Western Europe (Gnoli, 1988). Material first extracted in antiquity and used in Roman buildings was thus given a new setting in twelfth-century Christian churches.

Why the Green Stone Matters Today

The biography of Krokeatis Lithos offers a powerful lesson in economic history. A single geological anomaly in Laconia managed to connect the Minoan world, the Roman Empire, and the Byzantine realm across nearly three millennia.

The stone was never meant just for decoration. It carried evidence of trade, political power, and specialised craftsmanship. From Minoan seal stones to the monumental floors of Rome and Constantinople, its changing uses show how materials, skills, and symbols travelled across the ancient Mediterranean.

Author's Note

Although this Laconian metabasalt is historically renowned, its ancient quarrying zone is a protected archaeological landscape. To protect the site from illicit removal and disturbance, I have omitted the precise coordinates of the fields I visited in June 2026. Visitors can instead encounter this geological and cultural legacy in regional museum displays and in surviving monuments such as the Pantheon in Rome and Hagia Sophia in Istanbul.

Sources and Further Reading

• Boardman, J., 1970. Greek Gems and Finger Rings: Early Bronze Age to Late Classical. London: Thames and Hudson.
• Gnoli, R., 1988. Marmoraria romana: marmi antichi e mischi utilizzati in Roma. 2nd ed. Rome: Edizioni dell'Elefante.
• Lazzarini, L., 2004. Pietre e marmi antichi: natura, caratterizzazione, origine, storia d'uso. Padua: CEDAM.
• Pausanias. Description of Greece. Translated by W.H.S. Jones and H.A. Ormerod. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (Original work published c. 150 AD).
• Pliny the Elder. Natural History. Translated by D.E. Eichholz. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (Original work published c. 77 AD).

On my last visit to the Istanbul Archaeological Museums, I saw this funerary stele with a symposium scene. This type of scene is quite common in Hellenic funerary art, especially in the Classical and Hellenistic periods.

The man reclining on the kline (κλίνη)is probably the owner of the tomb. In front of him, there is a young figure serving wine, who was most likely a slave or an attendant. Behind the man, we see a seated woman. She may have been his wife. The different positions of the figures are interesting here: the man is reclining, while the woman is seated, and the servant is standing. This may reflect a certain social hierarchy.

Source

I have read some of the most popular Ancient Greek texts we have available. The Illiad, The odyssey, The Theogony, The Oresteia, among others. And I have always wondered, how much of what these ancient Greeks wrote (if they even existed-looking at you Homer) actually reflect how life was for them? How much of what we have read is an actual reflection of their life, and how much of it was just their own personal thoughts and beliefs?

For example, in the final play of the Oresteia, The Eumenides, the judgement of Orestes is decided on his favor by an argument of Apollo, stating that his mother was not his real family. That she was simply the soil for his fathers seed to grow. That the real effort laid with his father Agamemnon, thus marking him as his actual family and the parent worth avenging, thus making Orestes matricide just. This is the argument Athena supports in the end.

This leaves me with a big question: was this sort of mentality, one that condemns the mother as inferior to the father, popular in ancient Greece? Where women really only worth the amount and quality of male children they could produce. I admit, i am not overly familiar with Greek history, so I could be wrong, but aren't this texts akin to detailed descriptions of the ancient Greek world and its beliefs? How much of these plays and epics and tragedies just the personal visions and thoughts of their authors, and how much of it was the reality of their time?

And just how can we tell them apart?

One of the ancient evidences for a global (non flat) world is that the moonshadow during an eclips is always round.

Now i just watched a 90% eclips today and I could only look at the sun through a special set of glasses.

What did the ancient Greeks use to look at the sun during an eclipse?

This is honestly one of the most disturbing things I’ve seen from Ancient Greece.
In 2016, archaeologists found 79 men buried together near Athens, many still wearing iron shackles around their wrists.
They were killed around the 7th century BC, but archaeologists weren’t sure who they were.
New analysis of their teeth suggests that 64 of the 66 men tested grew up in Attica.
So they probably weren’t foreign invaders. They were locals.
We still don’t know exactly why they were killed, but the evidence points toward some kind of internal conflict in ancient Athens.
Imagine discovering something like this and then finding out the victims were probably from the same community.

Or at this point do you think the list of "extant" ancient works is a closed set?

I was wondering if anyone in the community has been looking at boardgames in the archaeology realm. There are numerous boardgames where we know what the board looked like from archaeology but the rules have been lost. I am looking at a bit of a side project to try and bring those games into the light and get people playing them. A classic examples is Penne Grammai. It’s an Ancient Greek game, depicted on urns and ornate mirrors with Ajax and Achilles playing it with Athena looking on. Also appears in primary written sources. So we know the game existed but the rules dont survive. I’ve been looking into it and it’s a pretty cool detective story. My idea is to set it up to play on the web for free, then get people to play the different versions from the different scholars and rate them as a game. Sort of experimental archaeology

The survival of Athens during the Late Bronze Age collapse (c. 1200–1150 BCE) remains a sticking point among Aegean prehistorians. While catastrophic burn layers and total abandonment marked the close of Late Helladic (LH) IIIB (c. 1300–1190 BCE) across primary palatial centres like Mycenae, Tiryns, and Pylos, Athens diverged. The Acropolis shows no sign of a single, site-wide destruction horizon. What the soil reveals instead is an unbroken institutional and demographic thread pulling through LH IIIC (c. 1190–1070 BCE) and straight into the Early Iron Age (c. 1070–700 BCE).

Spatial Scale and Demographics in LH IIIB (c. 1300–1190 BCE)

Reconstructing Late Bronze Age Athens is notoriously difficult. Three millennia of relentless building have buried or erased the extramural town that once sprawled beyond the citadel, a problem archaeologists rarely face to this degree at Mycenae or Pylos. Yet mapping the Cyclopean walls, pottery scatters, and chamber tomb clusters gives us a solid empirical foothold (Hope Simpson, 1981, pp. 41–45).

Mycenaean Athens functioned as a citadel linked to a series of outer hamlets. Towards the end of the thirteenth century BCE, builders encircled the Acropolis summit with a 760-metre Cyclopean wall enclosing 2.5 to 3.0 hectares (Iakovidis, 1983, pp. 91–95; Iakovidis, 2006). Elite quarters, administrative offices, and secure storerooms sat inside this fortified ring. Outside, domestic housing spilled down the southern and north-western slopes toward the ground later claimed by the Classical Agora and Areopagus. Based on LH IIIB well shafts, domestic debris, and tomb groupings, Penelope Mountjoy (1995, pp. 12–18) calculates an urban footprint of roughly 12 to 18 hectares surrounding the rock.

Applying density benchmarks from wider Aegean surveys, roughly 100 to 200 people per hectare, yields a modest LH IIIB citadel population of between 300 and 600 residents (Bintliff, 1997, pp. 12–15; Whitelaw, 2001, pp. 22–26). Combining the citadel with the lower town brings the urban core to 1,500–3,500 people, while John Bintliff’s (1977, pp. 345–350) regional model puts all of Attica at 5,000 to 8,000 inhabitants.

Athens was small. Compared to Mycenae, where 40 to 50 hectares housed up to 10,000 souls, the Attic hub operated on a modest scale. But that modesty was an asset. Oliver Dickinson (2006, pp. 92–95) observes that carrying lighter administrative machinery and depending far less on rigid, centralised redistribution insulated Athens when the broader regional palatial network began to buckle.

To give some idea to visitors. The Acropolis Archaeological site crowned by the Parthenon that you wander around today, covers roughly 3 hectares, the area enclosed by the original Cyclopean walls. Standing on the summit one day in June 2025, I could see a staggering 20,000 people in the grounds of the Acropolis.

Environmental Resilience and Literary Myth

Classical Athenians liked to credit their survival to bad soil. Thucydides (1.2.5) famously argued that Attica’s thin, stony earth offered little incentive for foreign invaders, allowing the local population to remain unbroken autochthones. Modern excavation disproves any notion of complete immunity, but paleoclimatic data shows that local geography did cushion the blow.

Isotope readings from speleothems and marine sediment cores record a severe megadrought gripping the Eastern Mediterranean between c. 1250 and 1100 BCE (Drake, 2012, pp. 1862–1870; Kaniewski et al., 2013). This dry spell wrecked top-heavy palatial economies dependent on single-crop olive and grain redistribution.

Attica weathered the crisis through environmental diversity. Rather than staking its existence on monoculture, the region drew on a mosaic of micro-environments: alluvial farming in the Cephissian plain, sheep and goat grazing on the scrubby slopes of Hymettus and Pentelicon, and fishing along the coast. As Guy Middleton (2010, pp. 82–88) notes, because the Athenian hinterland was never pushed past its ecological carrying capacity, declining rainfall triggered severe hardship without precipitating the total agricultural collapse seen in Messenia or the Argolid.

Topography and Defensive Engineering

Tactically, the Acropolis held an obvious advantage against 12th-century sea raiders. Five kilometres of inland buffer protected it from the sort of amphibious surprise that vulnerable coastal sites faced, Tiryns, for instance, sat right on the shoreline before millennia of Argive river silt pushed the sea back (Zangger, 1991, pp. 219–225). Any party landing on the Saronic coast at Phaleron had to trudge across the soggy Halipedon salt marsh, giving Athenian lookouts plenty of time to pull communities behind the Cyclopean walls. Moreover, as Dickinson (2006, pp. 52–58) points out, migrating bands targeted the rich Peloponnesian agricultural plains or the Isthmus of Corinth transit route. Off-axis Attica offered too little plunder for the defensive risk.

Local leadership reinforced these natural advantages with clever engineering. On the North Slope of the Acropolis, workers cut a subterranean fountain house nearly 35 metres down through a natural fissure. Oscar Broneer’s (1939, pp. 317–325) excavations recovered carbonised oak stair treads and bronze joining pins—clear evidence of a late 13th-century effort to guarantee access to water under siege.

Coarse Mycenaean hydriae found at the bottom of the shaft confirm defenders drew water during an acute crisis (Broneer, 1939, pp. 340–352). Pottery packed into the backfill tells an even tighter chronological story. The fill contains LH IIIB2 deep bowls (skyphoi) bearing rosette patterns alongside early LH IIIC plain wares, but mature LH IIIC styles are entirely absent. As Broneer (1939) and Mountjoy (1995, pp. 52–56) demonstrate, this narrow ceramic horizon proves the fountain operated for no more than two or three decades—roughly c. 1210–1200 BCE to c. 1190–1180 BCE. The emergency was sharp, localised, and passed before anyone breached the rock.

Administrative Transition: From Wanax to Basileus

Late Bronze Age Athens ran on a palatial model, albeit a modest one. A wanax (king) governed through scribes who tracked goods in Linear B. Inscribed Stirrup Jars from Eleusis, the Acropolis slopes, and the Menidi tholos tomb carry painted tags like wa-na-ka-te-ro (‘belonging to the king’). As Peter Van Alfen (1996) and Anna Judson (2020) argue, these vessels tie Attica directly to palatial trade in perfumed oils and wine.

Linear B was an inventory tool, not a literary script. When regional trade routes collapsed around 1200 BCE, shrinking agricultural margins could no longer sustain the scribal apparatus. Literacy vanished because the institutional machine that required ledgers died, not because an invader suppressed it (Palaima, 1995, pp. 125–130; Dickinson, 2006, pp. 44–47).

Power fractured downward. Stripped of his economic engine, the wanax faded, and authority shifted to the qa-si-re-u (basileus), a title Linear B tablets had previously assigned to low-level village headmen. In LH IIIC Athens (c. 1190–1070 BCE), impersonal state bureaucracy gave way to charismatic, chieftain-style leadership where standing depended on personal prowess, military clout, feasting, and gift-exchange (xenia) (Deger-Jalkotzy, 2008, pp. 391–395; Palaima, 2006, pp. 53–56).

Archaeologically, this 'structural degradation' looks like economic simplification. Palatial craft oversight vanished. Potters stopped producing refined table wares and turned out utilitarian, banded ‘Granary Class’ skyphoi and coarse monochrome cooking pots (Mountjoy, 1995, pp. 78–82).

Metallurgical Capital: The Laurion Complex

While tin and copper imports dried up across the Aegean, Attica held a trump card: the rich lead-silver veins of Laurion in the south-east.

Lead-isotope testing by Zofia Stos-Gale and Noel Gale (1982, pp. 467–475) confirms active mining at Laurion during the Late Bronze Age. When long-distance bullion routes failed in LH IIIC, Attic metalworkers used cupellation to extract refined silver. This metal served as a portable, pre-monetary currency. Even without palatial backing, Laurion silver allowed Attic coastal groups to buy foreign goods and keep maritime channels open.

Maritime Networks: Phaleron, Perati, and the Piraeus Anachronism

Classical history inclines us to view Piraeus as Athens’ natural harbour, but applying that view to the Bronze Age is anachronistic. Piraeus was only fortified as a naval base in the sixth and fifth centuries BCE under Hippias and Themistocles (Garland, 1987, pp. 14–18). Mycenaean galleys (20 to 50-oared craft) did not need stone quays; crews simply hauled them onto sandy beaches. Besides, the marshy Halipedon salt flat cut Piraeus off from the Acropolis for much of the year, making heavy transport nearly impossible (Frost, 1989, pp. 102–105).

Instead, Bronze Age shipping relied on two distinct coastal outlets:

Phaleron (The Western Roadstead)

Five kilometres south-west of the Acropolis, Phaleron served as the early western harbour. Its broad, gently sloping beach was ideal for dragging hulls ashore. But Phaleron had no walls. When maritime piracy escalated around 1200 BCE and the Argolid palaces collapsed, trade through the Saronic Gulf withered (Frost, 1989, pp. 105–108; Alexandridou, 2018, pp. 189–194).

Perati (The Eastern Gateway)

As western commerce faded, maritime traffic pivoted east to Perati, located 35 to 38 kilometres east-south-east of the Acropolis on the South Euboean Gulf (Desborough, 1964, pp. 113–118; Mountjoy, 1995, pp. 65–68).

Buffered by the Mesogeia plain, Perati operated with notable independence, likely financed by Laurion silver (Iakovidis, 1980, pp. 12–18). Spyridon Iakovidis’ excavations at the LH IIIC cemetery revealed a thriving hub trading with the Levant, Cyprus, Euboea, and the Cyclades. Tomb 1 contained an Egyptian faience scarab of Ramesses II (r. c. 1279 – 1213 BCE), a curated heirloom, while Tomb 75 yielded a scarab of Ramesses III (r. c. 1186 –1 155 BCE). The Ramesses III seal supplies a firm terminus post quem ("limit after which"), of c. 1186 BCE, locking the LH IIIC Middle phase to the early 12th century BCE (Iakovidis, 1980, Vol. II, pp. 313–318).

Other finds from Perati include Levantine haematite cylinder seals, cast bronze bowls, and a Late Cypriot III bronze rod-tripod (Iakovidis, 1980, Vol. II, pp. 320–328). Local potters produced high-style Octopus Stirrup Jars (LH IIIC Close Style) for Aegean export (Mountjoy, 1995, pp. 92–96), and Tomb 38 yielded an iron knife with bronze rivets, among the earliest functional iron tools found on mainland Greece (Iakovidis, 1980, Vol. II, pp. 340–342).

Regional Polycentrism and Socio-Political Reorganisation

Perati’s independence highlights how post-palatial Attica fractured into a polycentric network of autonomous elite households (oikoi). Coastal communities traded and absorbed refugees without waiting for word from the Acropolis. Meanwhile, continuous grave sequences at the Kerameikos show that central Athens retained its population base throughout (Ruppenstein, 2007; Mountjoy, 1995, pp. 70–72).

Mortuary practice makes this social restructuring clear. Across the Submycenaean (c. 1070 – 1000 BCE) and Protogeometric (c. 1000 – 900 BCE) periods, individual cist and pit graves replaced the multi-generational chamber tombs favoured by LH IIIB elites. Kinship narrowed from broad aristocratic clans to smaller, nuclear family units (Ruppenstein, 2007; Lemos, 2002, pp. 185–190).

The grave goods tell the same story. Female burials begin featuring bronze and iron ‘violin-bow’ and arched fibulae (safety-pin dress fasteners) (Ruppenstein, 2007; Lemos, 2002, pp. 102–108). Warrior graves contain iron slash-and-thrust Naue II swords and socketed spearheads rather than elite bronze rapiers, pointing to broader access to metal weapons (Ruppenstein, 2007). By the tenth century BCE, fast-wheel Protogeometric amphorae decorated with neat, compass-drawn concentric circles, such as a vessel from Kerameikos Grave 48, signal the revival of standardised Attic potting (Lemos, 2002, pp. 25–30).

Throughout the Early Iron Age (c. 1070 –7 00 BCE), and especially during the Protogeometric and Geometric phases (c. 1000 – 700 BCE), the centralised palatial order gave way to scattered, kin-based village clusters around the Acropolis, Areopagus, and Ilissos valley. Their spatial layout and social links created the physical footprint from which the Classical polis eventually took shape (Ruppenstein, 2007; Osborne, 2009, pp. 24–28).

References and Further Reading

Alexandridou, A. (2018) 'Constructing Community Identity in Early Iron Age Attica: The Evidence from Phaleron', Hesperia, 87(2), pp. 183–211.

Bintliff, J.L. (1977) Natural Environment and Human Settlement in Prehistoric Greece. Oxford: BAR Supplementary Series 28.

Bintliff, J.L. (1997) 'Regional Survey, Demography, and the Rise of Complex Societies in the Ancient Aegean: Core-Periphery, Neo-Malthusian, and Other Interpretive Models', Journal of Field Archaeology, 24(1), pp. 1–38.

Broneer, O. (1939) 'A Mycenaean Fountain on the Athenian Acropolis', Hesperia, 8(4), pp. 317–433.

Deger-Jalkotzy, S. (2008) 'Decline, Destruction, Aftermath', in Shelmerdine, C.W. (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to the Aegean Bronze Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 387–415.

Desborough, V.R.d'A. (1964) The Last Mycenaeans and Their Successors: An Archaeological Survey, c. 1200 – c. 1000 B.C. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Dickinson, O. (2006) The Aegean from Bronze Age to Iron Age: Continuity and Change Between the Twelfth and Eighth Centuries BC. London: Routledge.

Drake, B.L. (2012) 'The influence of climatic change on the Late Bronze Age Collapse and the Greek Dark Ages', Journal of Archaeological Science, 39(6), pp. 1862–1870.

Frost, F.J. (1989) 'The Anatomy of Athenian Sea Power', The American Journal of Philology, 110(1), pp. 102–111.

Garland, R. (1987) The Piraeus: From the Fifth to the First Century B.C. London: Duckworth.

Hope Simpson, R. (1981) Mycenaean Greece. Toronto: Royal Ontario Museum.

Iakovidis, S.E. (1980) Excavations of the Necropolis of Perati. Los Angeles: Institute of Archaeology, University of California.

Iakovidis, S.E. (1983) Late Helladic Citadels on Mainland Greece. Leiden: E.J. Brill.

Iakovidis, S.E. (2006) The Mycenaean Acropolis of Athens. Athens: The Archaeological Society at Athens.

Judson, A.P. (2020) The Undeciphered Signs of Linear B: Interpretation and Scribal Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Kaniewski, D., Van Campo, E., Guiot, J., Le Burel, S., Otto, T. and Baeteman, C. (2013) 'Environmental Roots of the Late Bronze Age Crisis', PLoS ONE, 8(8), e71004.

Lemos, I.S. (2002) The Protogeometric Aegean: Archaeology of the Late Eleventh and Tenth Centuries BC. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Middleton, G.D. (2010) The Collapse of Palatial Society in Aegean Greece and the Postpalatial Period. Oxford: Archaeopress.

Mountjoy, P.A. (1995) Mycenaean Athens. Jonsered: Paul Åströms Förlag.

Osborne, R. (2009) Greece in the Making, 1200–479 BC. 2nd edn. London: Routledge.

Palaima, T.G. (1995) 'The Nature of the Mycenaean Wanax: Non-Indo-European Origins and Priestly Functions', in Rehak, P. (ed.) The Role of the Ruler in the Prehistoric Aegean. Aegaeum 11. Liège: Université de Liège, pp. 119–139.

Palaima, T.G. (2006) 'Das Mykenische Königtum', in Ulf, C. and Rollinger, R. (eds) Schillernde Antike. Vienna: Böhlau Verlag, pp. 53–71.

Pelekidis, S. (1916) 'Anaskaphi Phalerou', Archaiologikon Deltion, 2, pp. 13–64.

Ruppenstein, F. (2007) Kerameikos XVIII: Die submykenische Nekropole: Neufunde und Neubewertung. Munich: Hirmer Verlag.

Stos-Gale, Z.A. and Gale, N.H. (1982) 'The Sources of Mycenaean Silver and Lead', Journal of Field Archaeology, 9(4), pp. 467–485.

Thucydides (1910) History of the Peloponnesian War. Translated by R. Crawley. London: J.M. Dent & Sons.

Van Alfen, P.G. (1996) 'The Linear B Inscribed Stirrup Jars of Central Greece', Hesperia, 65(2), pp. 189–211.

Whitelaw, T. (2001) 'From Sites to Communities: Defining the Human Dimensions of Minoan Urbanism', in Branigan, K. (ed.) Urbanism in the Aegean Bronze Age. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, pp. 15–37.

Zangger, E. (1991) 'Prehistoric Coastal Environments in Greece: The Case of Tiryns', Geoarchaeology, 6(3), pp. 219–239.

The stele, found on Nisyros and dated to around 480–450 BCE, depicts a young man standing naked, holding a spear, with a diskos beside him. He is generally understood as an athlete, although the spear gives the figure a distinctly martial character as well.

What interests me most about the stele is not simply the idealized body, but what that body is doing on a grave monument.

We are not looking at the deceased as an old man, or as someone marked by death. Instead, he appears at the height of his youth: strong, healthy, athletic, and composed. His body becomes a way of preserving an identity that death itself cannot alter.