In the other half of the frieze, the depiction of the standing woman in the second scene featuring two women at a loom (Fig. 10.6) is subtly different.26 The object she is grasping with her left hand passes over the middle of the upper beam. The interpretation of this object as individual warp threads is unsatisfactory:27 it appears instead to be a solid strap extending downward. Given that this would prevent an even spacing of warp threads over the top beam, it is possible that the image shows not the warping of a tubular set-up but the gradual letting down of a warp stretched between loose rods that are tied to

*Fig. 10.8. Warping a two-beam loom with a tubular warp. Weaver Ulrikka Mokdad arranges the warp threads around the lower beam. Photo: Author.*

the horizontal beams with cords or straps.28 If so, this is not the beginning but the end of the weaving process, an interpretation that would seem entirely appropriate given that this panel is not only far removed from the narrative centre of the frieze29 but also one that neatly complements the depiction in the panel just discussed, which shows weaving in progress.

### **Conclusion**

The damage to the frieze prevents a definitive conclusion. Nevertheless, it is evident that it celebrates the display of working processes that are done differently in the twobeam loom compared to the more familiar warp-weighted loom: warping, shed mechanisms, completion and the direction of weaving. The frieze's depiction of two-beam looms would have resonated with a contemporary audience familiar with the warp-weighted loom and it highlights the novel technological opportunities offered by such a loom. Well suited to its place in the Forum, which connected the busy lower end of the Subura to the public spaces of the Imperial Fora and the Forum Romanum itself,30 the motif of textile-technological development would have been recognisable to less affluent workers involved in textile production, many of whom may have worked or lived in the neighbourhood immediately north of the Forum Transitorium.31 The frieze's repeated display of anonymous weavers at work on this comparatively new loom type would have served to emphasise the range of women involved in textile work, not least through its inclusion of different age groups (Fig. 10.4).32 In contrast to later Roman depictions of the two-beam loom which display lone women at work,33 the frieze's emphasis on women working together, in pairs or in larger groups, brings to mind common working practices while at the same time suggesting that the weaver can be seen in terms of a wider context: the *chaîne opératoire* and a contribution to society. Intended to inspire, the frieze thus provides a space into which a viewer can insert herself and her weaving experience, sharing in both Minerva's protection and the wider benefits of technological diversification. It may even be that the motif of weavers and looms in the frieze represents an attempt by the emperor to encourage the use of new tools and production techniques, as well as serving as a reminder of the traditional duties of Roman women.34

True to its location, the frieze can also speak to elite audiences, especially to those undertaking or managing textile work as part of their performance of female domestic virtues.35 The display of female virtuous wool-work is connected to Domitian's efforts to revitalise Roman morals;36 but, set alongside the cautionary tale of Arachne's individualistic *hubris*, it also offers a counterpoint to an emerging stoic paradigm of uxorial loyalty whereby wives supporting or outshining their husbands in individual moral strength are lauded even though they may stretch the norms for female behaviour.37 Pliny the Younger's letters praise Arria (wife of Paetus, whose response to her husband's enforced suicide outdid his own) and her granddaughter, Fannia (who voluntarily went into exile with her husband) as icons of stoic virtue.38 Flavian epic prominently features several such women: Valerius Flaccus recasts the Arria episode in a mythological setting and Statius' Argia urges her husband to war.39 The emperor Domitian's display of the paradigmatic female activity of textile work instead advocates a realisation of conjugal loyalty, where spouses are committed partners with distinct responsibilities, both working together for an increased shared prosperity. This ideal had found recent expression in Columella's handbook on agriculture:40

*erat enim summa reuerentia cum concordia et diligentia mixta, flagrabatque mulier pulcherrima aemulatione, studens negotia uiri cura sua maiora atque meliora reddere*. (Colum. 12 *praef*. 7)

'For there was the greatest respect [between them], mingled with harmony and diligence, and the woman was fired with the most noble competition, and she strove to render her husband's interests greater and better through her own care.'

Drawing on similar themes, Arachne's story suggests that female dedication should serve shared goals, whether within the spousal unit or within the empire. Domitian's point is not merely a sexual–moral one. The detailed depiction of textile tools, and the repeated display of a loom-type rarely portrayed at the time, create a pronounced focus on the potential societal and economic output of female industriousness, expertise and technological innovation. Overall, the frieze reinforces the state-bearing role of Roman women by connecting that role specifically with the economic development of Roman society.41

### **Acknowledgements**

The research underpinning this paper received funding from the European Union's Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme under grant agreement no. 701557. Thanks also to Ulrikka Mokdad and Eva Andersson Strand who generously discussed two-beam looms with me and made vital contributions to weaving experiments undertaken for the Textile Reflections project. Any errors remain, of course, my own.

### *Notes*

of Ovid by Augustus, *e.g*. Galinsky (1975, 82–83); Harries (1990, 64–77); Vincent (1994, 361–383); Rosati (1999, 240–253); Oliensis (2004, 286–296); Feldherr (2010, 60–61). Harich-Schwarzbauer (2016, 150–156) sidesteps both the metapoetic and biographical interpretation of Ovid's Arachne, focusing instead on Arachne's rebellion against Minerva as a rationalist response to the hegemony of the Olympian pantheon.

### **Bibliography**

*Craftsmen and Traders in the Roman World*, 334–351. Oxford, Oxford University Press.

### Chapter 11

### Fringed clothing in Roman iconography and written sources

*Kelly Olson*

### **Abstract**

*This paper examines the depiction and function of fringes in Latin literature and Roman art, with a short survey of fringes in the ancient Greek, Near Eastern and Jewish societies. It argues that fringe may have functioned in an apotropaic manner, just as bells did. This hypothesis is strengthened by the fact that fringe was not a fashion item in Roman antiquity but usually used to decorate ritual garments.*

### **Introduction**

This paper examines the presence and meaning of fringed garments in Roman iconography and literature; there are no examples yet recovered from the archaeological record. Fringed garments in Roman society were not common; and when fringe did occur, it appeared on certain types of garments only.1 This overview of fringes in Roman antiquity will argue that fringes on garments in the Roman world may have served an apotropaic purpose, *i.e.* the power to avert evil or bad luck.

A fringe is an ornamental appendage to the border of an item.2 Today, fringe is a trim that is added to a finished textile; in antiquity, it was usually part of the garment and simply the warp end of weaving left unfinished. Where inlaid fringe did occur, wool, silk, linen or leather loops were stitched or inlaid in an S-shape on a woven garment and then the ends of both loops were cut (Fig. 11.1). If the fringe consisted of warp ends, they would need either to be knotted close to the weft or braided or twisted so that the whole garment would not unravel. If a garment was not fringed in the ancient world, it was usually finished off in a variety of other ways, for example by using a spiral warp; or with heading/starting and closing borders, a technique whereby the warp is looped through the border and thus requires no further finishing;3 or by tying off the warp threads close to the edge of the garment before snipping off the ends. It does not appear that the warp ends were merely left long as a matter of course to save the effort in finishing the garment (*i.e.* on poorer-quality clothing) – or, at least, fringe is seldom visible in the iconographic evidence.

### **Fringe in ancient Egypt, the Near East and Greece**

Fringe appears with some regularity on male garments in the visual sources of the ancient Near East (Fig. 11.2)4 and scholars of the Near Eastern world have concluded that fringe on a garment signified a special high social status in a man. From the 9th century BCE onwards, fringe and tassels appears on depictions of the clothing of gods, kings and great warriors.5 The fringes of a garment were considered to be an extension of the wearer's power and character and could even be used as a signature when pressed upon a document.6 Much later, 'Matthew's mention [in the New Testament] that scribes and Pharisees wear their fringes long (Matt 23:5) is a stinging remark intended to underline their thirst for social recognition'.7 There is also visual evidence that people wore garments with fringed edges in ancient Egypt, at least from the time of Thutmose II (*c*. 1490–1436 BCE);8 and evidence for different coloured fringes on Egyptian garments.9 Fringes (*tzitzit*) also have an important history in Jewish religion.10

*Fig. 11.1. Drawing of fringe (L) and inlaid fringe (R). After Barber (1991, 152 fig. 5.5). Artist: K. Olson-Lamari.*

*Fig. 11.2. Relief of Ashurnasirpal II, 883–859 BCE. Louvre, inv. no. AO 19851. Photo: Art Resource ART104860.*

*Fig. 11.3. 'Warrior Vase', 1200 BCE. Mycenean. National Museum, Athens, inv. no. 1426. Photo: Art Resource ART38200.*

Fringes appear to a certain extent on Greek clothing: on the 'Warrior Vase' from Mycenae, Greece, *c*. 1200 BCE (LH IIIC, Fig. 11.3), soldiers march with fringed tunics.11 But usually in the Greek world fringes were an exotic occurrence. Dandified young men in the late 5th century 'laconised' or used appearance to imitate the Spartans by sporting short, fringed cloaks made of rough cloth, long hair, beards and dirty hands.12 And some luxurious items of Persian clothing, adopted by Athenians in the 5th century BCE for reasons of status, also had fringes: the long-sleeved *chiton* or *chitoniskos cheirodotos*, for example, the shape itself non-Greek, was sometimes finished off with fringe.13 The *ependytes* was another Persian import, a shorter, sleeved, coat-like garment, worn by women and *parthenoi* (virgin girls) during some ritual activities, often embellished with fringe.14

Usually, then, the presence of fringes on a garment in ancient Greece or the Near East marked the garment out as sumptuous and the wearer as a person of some status.15 This may be explained in part by the sheer inconvenience of fringes, familiar to anyone who has ever worn a fringed garment: long, delicate fringes get tangled, knotted, torn and all too easily caught on things. They are a lovely but impractical decoration. In addition, fringes have a graceful, even arresting, movement while the wearer is in motion – and this fact may have served to mark the wearer out as a person of importance.

### **Fringe as a fashion item in the Roman world**

While fringe on blankets is mentioned by Varro, the elder Pliny and Celsus (and is sometimes seen on blankets in Roman iconography),16 fringes do not seem to have been worn much on everyday clothing in the Roman world either by men or women.17 Only three occurrences in ancient literature of a fringe being used as a fashion item for men are known to the author. Julius Caesar is described as being 'remarkably' (*cultu notabilem*) dressed in a broadstriped tunic with fringed, wrist-length sleeves,18 a tunic made inappropriate by its long sleeves as much as by its fringe. The upstart fictional character Trimalchio has about his neck a napkin with a broad stripe and fringes hanging from it on all sides.19 And finally, in the 4th century, Ammianus Marcellinus describes the Romans of his day in this manner:

Other men, taking great pride in coaches higher than common and in ostentatious finery of apparel (*ambitioso vestium cultu*), sweat under heavy cloaks … and they lift them up with both hands and wave them with many gestures, especially with their left hands,20 in order that the over-long

*Fig. 11.4. A–B. Shroud of a woman wearing a fringed tunic (detail: Author), 170–200 CE. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 09.181.8. Photo: Art Resource ART359710.*

fringes (*longiores fimbriae*) and the tunics, embroidered21 with party-coloured threads in multiform figures of animals, may be conspicuous.22

The written sources imply that fringes were effeminate or somehow an inappropriate fashion for a man; probably because of their Near Eastern (that is, 'effeminate') origin; for the Romans, certain races were naturally *mollis* or soft.23 Or perhaps the Romans did not favour fringes because certain religious groups (such as the Jewish people) did.

By contrast, Roman women never seem to appear in fringed wear as a fashion item in literature. The only reference to fringe comes from the scholiast on Juv. at 2.124, who wrongly described *segmenta* as 'fringes' (incorrectly, as *segmenta* are bands or borders on women's dress).24 A linen shroud from Roman Egypt (Fig. 11.4) also exists which depicts a woman wearing a fringed/beaded tunic or undertunic, with an Egyptian god on either side of her. Her fringes may be part of her local dress; the Romans clearly seem to have associated fringes with the East (Fig. 11.5, a relief from Rome).25 In a text likely dating to the late 4th century CE, the Eastern queen Zenobia is described at public assemblies in Palmyra arrayed gorgeously 'like a Roman emperor' in a purple-bordered garment with gems hanging down from the fringe.26

*Fig. 11.5. Personification of a Roman province, probably Egypt. Marble bas-relief from the Temple of Hadrian, 145 CE. Palazzo Massimo, Rome. Photo: Art Resource ART372208.*

### **Fringed cloaks in the Roman military**

Fringe was also present on some Roman military cloaks. Sumner has observed that:

a number of cloaks depicted both on Trajan's Column and elsewhere clearly have at least one edge that is fringed. It is not certain if this indicates any kind of status but it does appear to be associated with higher grade troops including cavalrymen … praetorians, and senior officers such as tribunes. Other sculpture and art works indicate that some cloaks could be further decorated with tassels27 at the bottom corners.28

The scarlet *paludamentum* was the general's cloak; in iconography it is thickly fringed and pinned with a large circular brooch (Fig. 11.6, on a bronze statue of the emperor Augustus now in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens).29 After the death of the emperor Commodus, the author of the *Historia Augusta* tells us that the sale of his clothes included 'curly' military cloaks (*cirratas militares*), possibly a reference to fringe.30

### **Fringes on Roman religious garments:** *rica* **and** *ricinium***31**

Outside military wear, fringe was most often employed by the Romans as trim on religious garments. A few sources speak of women wearing a fringed garment in the context of ritual.  Festus and Paul. ex Fest. state the *rica* was a four-sided garment (*vestimentum quadratum*) and that it was fringed.32 Festus also states that the *rica* and the *ricula*33 are 'little *ricinia*', little *pallia* women use for covering the head, and which *flaminicae* (wives of Roman priests) wear in place of *vittae.*34 Festus then goes on to assert that 'others say that it is made from fresh white wool, that virgins make [it], virgins who are freeborn citizens with fathers and mothers still alive, and that it is dyed with a blue colour'.35 Varro seems to equate it with a garment for use in sacrificing; in other authors *rica*  seems to have been employed as a synonym for 'mantle' or even 'veil'.36 The *rica* was thus a small fringed female garment, sometimes associated with ritual activity and with *flaminicae*.

Another cloak, the *ricinium*, is known about only from literary sources.37 Festus defines the *ricinium* as a four-sided ancient garment in general use (*omne vestimentum quadratum*), says that it may be made *praetexta* with a purple stripe (*praetextam clavo purpureo*; the *toga praetexta* is a *toga* so bordered) and further defines it as a 'man's *toga*'(?) used by women.38 Varro also names the *ricinium* as a garment of the greatest antiquity (*antiquissimi amictui ricinium*); and Servius describes the *ricinium* as a garment originally for women.39 Festus considers the *ricinium* almost a generic term for any four-sided mantle and then goes on to mention it in relation to mime-dancers.40 Sometimes the *ricinium* is described as '*duplex*',41 a term which continues to puzzle modern commentators. Varro stated that women wore it 'double-folded' (*duplex*, probably meaning having a double layer of cloth) and 'half thrown back'.42 Isidore (following Servius and Varro?) states 'likewise also the *ricinium* is so called by that Latin name because a doubled part of it is "thrown back", which vulgarly they call the *mafurtium*'.43

Some ancient authors mention the *ricinium* as a cloak of mourning for women, although for what purposes and for how long they adopted it is unclear. Varro tells us women don it when they are mourning44 and also that, while the corpse is above ground, women mourn in *ricinia*; but that, at the funeral itself, they are wrapped in dark *pallae.*45 Cicero mentions the number of *ricinia*  allowed at funerals in the XII Tables.46 Based on these references, several modern authors identify the *ricinium*  as the distinctive mantle of the widow and state that it has a fringed border. As a result, the woman at the juncture of the third and fourth panels of the north frieze of the Ara Pacis in Rome (Fig. 11.7) has been identified by some as Augustus' daughter Julia, the widow of Agrippa, because she wears this mantle. Kleiner states that 'the fringed shawl or *ricinium* of a widow is draped across her left shoulder … Julia is represented in widow's garb, which alludes to Agrippa's death in 12 BC'. A woman in the second group of the north frieze (Fig. 11.7, also from Rome) is also wearing a fringed mantle, identified as a *ricinium*, 'indicating that she is a widow'. She again has been variously identified by virtue of this mantle.47 As we have seen, however, the literary sources do not describe the mourning mantle or *ricinium* as fringed. It is not without significance that the only two women in fringed cloaks appear together, in the north frieze, along with a young boy who also wears a fringed cloak (he is possibly a *camillus*, a religious attendant).

A number of points are worth noting at this stage: the *ricinium* is not described as fringed in the literature; the *ricinium* is not associated with formal religious ritual (such as sacrifices or worship); and in the literary sources it is portrayed as a female garment. In addition, the garment which *is* described as fringed and *is* associated with ritual in the literary sources is the smaller *rica*, also a strictly female garment. Although Festus does indeed state 'the *rica* is a little *ricinium*', modern authors are wrong to assume from this that both mantles were fringed: ancient literature names *no* mantle as fringed except the (small) *rica*.

The Arval Brethren or *Fratres Arvales* were a company of twelve priests who originally offered sacrifices for the fertility of the fields. Were it not for the inscriptions featuring the Arval Brethren, all the above statements might be

*Fig. 11.6. Augustus wearing a fringed* paludamentum*, 12–10 BCE. Found in the Aegean Sea between the islands of Euboea and Agios Efstratios. National Museum, Athens, inv. no. 23322. Photo: Art Resource ART404856.*

*Fig. 11.7. Panel of the north frieze, Ara Pacis Augustae, 13 BCE. Louvre, Paris, inv. no. Cp 6468. Photo: author.*

assumed to be correct. But, in the Arval *acta*, the priests' inscribed protocols from Rome, boys functioning as their attendants are described as *riciniati* and *praetextati* (*i.e.* wearing the *ricinium* and the purple-bordered *toga* of the citizen boy) across a wide chronological period.48 And it is also noteworthy that in several of the inscriptions it is the *promagister* (or vice-master of the priests) who wears the *ricinium*: he is described as *riciniatus et soleatus* (wearing the *ricinium* and sandals).49

Fringe can be seen on some garments in Roman artistic depictions of ritual despite literary references to ritual fringed garments for men being non-existent. The earliest appearance of fringe can be found on some Etruscan statuettes of priests such as the small *haruspex* (Fig. 11.8).50 Fringe appears on the cloaks of men and boys who (probably) have a religious function on the reliefs of the Ara Pacis (Fig. 11.9 and 11.10, as above), on one of the west panels of the same monument (that of Aeneas sacrificing)51 and on the smaller Cancellaria reliefs (the so-called Vicomagistri relief from Rome, 14–37 CE; Fig. 11.10).52 These figures often carry incense boxes or statues of the Lares and clearly have a ritual function.

Pollini and others53 have tentatively identified the figures on the smaller Cancellaria relief as the boys of the *Acta*, who are *riciniati et praetextati*. 54 The boys in the relief, however, wear fringed mantles and ungirded tunics (not *togae praetextae* as the inscriptions state) – as do most boys

*Fig. 11.8. Etruscan bronze figure of a* haruspex *wearing a fringed cloak, 4th century BCE. Vatican Museums, cat. 12040. Photo: DAI arachne.dainst.org/entity/1080305.*

*Fig. 11.9. Photo of north frieze, Ara Pacis Augustae, Rome, 13 BCE. Museo dell-Ara Pacis, Rome. Photo: Art Resource alb1462877.*

*Fig. 11.10. Altar of the Vicomagistri (smaller Cancellaria relief), 14–37 CE. Vatican Museums, Rome, inv. no. 1156-7. Photo: Art Resource ART359170.*

wearing fringed mantles in other depictions of Roman ritual.55 Although this type of mantle is known to appear on youths in depictions of ritual, there is no name found for it in the literary sources; and nor is it known what the *ricinium* looked like. The *ricinia* of the Arval inscriptions may, therefore, have been fringed mantles but they could also have been doubled, short, decorated or coloured in some fashion. The *ricinium* of literature and epigraph is not necessarily the fringed mantle of Roman iconography.

One final puzzle: why does any Roman garment at all have fringe, given that fringe as a fashion item was regarded as something to be avoided? Perhaps the fringe was in some way apotropaic, *i.e.* intended to guard the wearer against ill-chance, accident or the Evil Eye.56 Much like the shifting *oscilla* in Roman gardens,57 tinkling *tintinnabula* in houses,58 music in temples59 and bouncing phallic amulets,60 the movement of fringe may have been intended to distract demons and bearers of the Evil Eye from their intended target. The fact that fringe is not usually a fashion item but instead appears on military wear and on ritual garments (at least in

Roman iconography, whether or not the mantle depicted is in fact a *ricinium*) supports the view that this might be the reason behind ornamenting a garment with fringes. Priests and generals might need additional protection from misfortune and accident; a case has indeed been made recently that rosettes and tassels on Jewish clothing in the Hebrew Bible serve an apotropaic purpose.61

### **Conclusions**

Fringe as a fashion item for men seems to have been frowned upon, perhaps because of its Near Eastern (and therefore 'effeminate') connotations; it is not mentioned at all as a fashion item for women. In Latin literature and in Roman iconography, fringe is seen on blankets, on some religious garments and on some high-status military cloaks. It might simply have been intended to signal high status: holders of religious office and military generals were necessarily of the elite classes and, perhaps, the presence of fringe on their garments reflects this. But the wearers of such garments also needed extra protection from invidious persons and demons, and this is something that an apotropaic fringe might have offered.

### *Notes*

see Makhlaiuk (2015, 312–315); Eastern effeminacy, Williams (2010, 148–151).

### **Bibliography**

Barber, E. (1991) *Prehistoric Textiles: The Development of Cloth in the Neolithic and Bronze Ages with Special Reference to the Aegean*. Princeton, Princeton University Press.

Social Policy. In E. D'Ambra (ed.), *Roman Art in Context: An Anthology*, 27–52. Englewood Cliffs, NJ, Prentice Hall.

### Chapter 12

### Between realism and artistic convention: Woollen mantles in the iconography of Roman Palmyra

### *Marta Żuchowska*

### **Abstract**

*Palmyra is one of the rare archaeological sites dated to the Roman period where abundant organic materials have survived, including a substantial group of fabrics. Among them, fragments of over 500 textiles have been documented, all dated to the period between the end of the 1st century BCE and the 3rd century CE. Archaeological research in Palmyra has also brought to light numerous contemporary representations, mostly funerary sculpture but also some wall-paintings, which illustrate a wide spectrum of the clothing and fabrics worn by the Palmyrenes. Some of the most commonly represented items of clothing on the sculptures are woollen mantles, which are chosen as a case study in this paper. The analysis of archaeological and iconographic material from Palmyra provides a unique opportunity to assess the extent to which the artistic vision of the Palmyrene sculptors corresponds to reality.1*

### **Introduction**

Textiles are rarely preserved in the archaeological record due to their extreme fragility and susceptibility to environmental conditions. Most of the knowledge about ancient clothing therefore comes from iconographic material rather than from the original ancient fabrics themselves. Palmyra is one of the rare archaeological sites where archaeological textiles are preserved in abundance and where the state of their preservation is good enough to allow for in-depth investigation. Rudolf Pfister published a large part of the information about the textiles before the Second World War.2 New scientific analyses of the finds, old as well as new, were performed by a Syro-German team and published in a spectacular volume by Andreas Schmidt-Colinet, Annemarie Stauffer and Khaled al As'ad in 2000.3 Some objects have also been analysed by Jerzy Maik.4 Among the preserved finds, numerous examples of both patterned and unpatterned linens, wools, silks and cottons were recovered. Together these reveal a fascinating spectrum of locally made and imported fabrics used for clothing in ancient Palmyra. Only in a few cases do the preserved fabrics allow us to determine the original shape and type of garment.

Palmyra holds a special importance for any research into ancient clothing because the site also has an abundance of funerary sculpture – portraits representing the citizens of Palmyra. Of these, two main kinds predominate: reliefs on the slabs closing the *loculi* and the banquet scenes on elaborate sarcophagi covers. According to the reports on the work from the Palmyra Portrait Project, recently carried out under the direction of Rubina Raja, over 3,700 examples of funerary portraits had been documented in Palmyra, and in museum collections around the world, before the recent disastrous events in Syria caused a large destruction of the Palmyrene sculpture.5

Taken together, the fragments of preserved textiles and the funerary sculpture with their representation of preserved clothing provide a unique resource to interpret and analyse the typical dress in the region. These sources, however, can have their limitations: they both relate to the funerary rites and, as such, may not fully correspond to the everyday clothing worn by Palmyra's citizens. Nevertheless,

*Fig. 12.1. Palmyrene garments most frequently represented on funerary portraits: A. Man wearing a tunic and* himation*, funerary portrait from the collection of Louvre, inv. no. AO2068. Second half of the 2nd century CE. Photo: R. Żukowski; B. Woman wearing a tunic,* himation *fastened with a circular brooch on the left shoulder, headdress and veil. Louvre, inv. no. AO1575. 3rd century CE. Photo: R. Żukowski.*

they provide significant information about the textiles used and worn in Palmyra.

Cloaks or mantles are among the most commonly represented types of Palmyrene garment and different styles can be recognised on the funerary reliefs (Fig. 12.1). Some types of cloaks can be recognised among the archaeological material found in the Palmyrene graves, giving us an opportunity to compare data coming from these two types of sources.

### **Palmyrene funerary sculpture**

The earliest funerary reliefs were the stelae. These were simple small stone slabs, rounded on the top and representing the whole figure of the deceased; they were erected on the earthen graves and understood to be *nephesh* – an incarnation of the soul of the tomb occupant.6 Only a small number of such objects have been found to date. Characterised by their rough style and lack of details, the analysis of these stelae adds little to research into ancient fabrics and clothing.

A new style of funerary art emerged from the first century CE with the development of monumental tombs.7 At Palmyra, the earliest examples of the monumental funerary architecture are the tower-tombs unique to the site. The earliest dates to the year 9 BCE and the last to be built to 128 CE.8 Inside these multi-storey buildings the deceased members of the big families or clans were buried in superimposed *loculi* closed by rectangular slabs. These slabs were decorated with the image of the dead, often accompanied by a short Aramaic inscription recording his or her name and the names of his or her predecessors, sometimes with the date of the death. Shortly after, along with tower-tombs, large hypogea began to be constructed on the *necropoleis* surrounding the city. The system of *loculi* was also used in these tombs while richly decorated sarcophagi with funerary banquet scenes on their covers were located in some places along the walls and especially at the niches closing off the corridors. Temple-tombs, the final type of monumental funerary architecture, became popular especially during the 3rd century CE. The walls and covers of sarcophagi in these elaborate mausolea were abundant with funerary reliefs.

The *loculi* slabs were typically square or rectangular in shape and portrayed the torsos of the grave occupants from the mid-waist level upwards. They were similar for men and women and sometimes represented the deceased accompanied by a spouse or children who were placed above the shoulder of the main figure. Rarely did the reliefs represent a couple. Another type of funerary representation was the banquet scene showing the deceased reclining on a couch instead of as a simple bust. This type of representation was usually used to decorate the sarcophagi covers. The banquet scenes show the most prominent citizens, almost exclusively male,9 reclining on the mattresses in the banqueting position and often holding libation accessories such as a bottle and *kylix* or *phiale*. The main figure is usually surrounded by the family members, represented on a smaller scale and standing or sitting behind and close to the feet of the lying man.

The Palmyrene portraits come from all types of graves. Many are now found in museum collections around the world, are of unknown origin and cannot be linked back to individual tombs. The textiles, by contrast, were found only in the tower-tombs and come from just seven of these: the tomb of Atenatan (tower-tomb no. 7, dated to 9 BCE); the tomb of Kitot (tower-tomb no. 44, dated to 40 CE); the tomb of Iambliq (tower-tomb no. 51, dated to 83 CE); the tomb of Elahbel (tower-tomb no. 13, dated to 103 CE); and three tombs of unknown date (tower-tombs nos 46, 65 and 69).10 Unfortunately, however, all the tombs were plundered long before the first archaeological excavations in Palmyra and their contents mixed up and largely destroyed. Moreover, the large tombs – *hypogea*, funerary towers or so-called 'temple-tombs' – usually belonged to wealthy families or clans and were used for generations and therefore contained dozens or even hundreds of individual burials. As a result, even though both textiles and funerary sculpture were recovered from the same tombs, indicating that the fabrics belonged to the people represented in the sculptures, it is impossible to make any direct connections between the iconography, the bodies and the garments.

Despite these limitations, the remarkable assemblage of archaeological textiles and their iconographic representations in funerary sculpture, when taken together as a whole, provide a unique opportunity to analyse the ancient clothing of the people of Palmyra. The data from both types of sources form two clusters which partially overlap, and in most cases supplement, each other, offering the chance to build a much more complex picture than would usually be possible from the study of one category of artefacts alone. The analysis of these textiles with their iconography makes it possible to test some hypotheses and to interpret the images more accurately, revealing those aspects where artistic convention took precedence over the realism of the representational art.

### **Palmyrene clothing**

Palmyrene clothing, as represented in the iconography, reflects the syncretism which can be seen in almost all spheres of Palmyrene culture. Both oriental and western influences are evident in the local dress style, together with some unique local features.

Palmyrene male dress was quite varied. Rare but distinctive sculptures, mostly honorific, portray Palmyrene citizens wearing the official Roman *toga.* Numerous representations show Palmyrene men also in the Greek dress composed of a tunic and a large rectangular cloak (*himation*). Finally, popular among Palmyrenes was the Parthian dress: a mid-knee tunic, tied at the waist; long, loose pants; and ankle-length shoes made probably of embroidered leather or fabric. This type of garment was sometimes worn with a short cloak fastened with a brooch on the shoulder in the style of the Greek *chlamys*, but in many cases it was accompanied with a *himation*, wrapped around the body. The Parthian-style dress was clearly popular in Palmyra from the earliest times and probably constituted the garment worn by the elites. The inscriptions accompanying the funerary reliefs, together with iconographic details such as the so-called *modius* (a characteristic cylindrical hat, brimless and with a flat top, which in Palmyrene iconography symbolised the priestly profession), allow many of those wearing this type of dress to be identified as priests.11 It is also the style used routinely in religious iconography to represent the dress of gods, though it is then usually accompanied by the cuirass.12 An analysis of the Palmyrene funerary sculpture shows that men often wear one of three types of cloaks: *toga*, *himation* or *chlamys*. Each of these refers to a different cultural sphere, social position, profession and, perhaps, value system.

Female dress was usually composed of three elements: a tunic, a mantle made of a rectangular piece of fabric (*himation*) and a veil covering the body from head to feet. On funerary portraits women are usually represented wearing a simple, undecorated tunic in the Greek style (*chiton*) with a *himation* wrapped around the body and fastened on the left shoulder with a *fibula*, or round brooch, and covering the head, shoulders and arms with a veil. Relatively less frequent are representations of women in tunics or long-sleeved dresses decorated with patterned bands on the chest and on the sleeves, and sometimes also with fringes around the wrists. This type of dress was usually worn with a *himation* and veil. Rare representations show women bare-headed, with a large mantle (a *himation* or veil) wrapped around their shoulders and chest. Although some inscriptions mention women as founders of altars and as making offerings to the gods, or as buyers and sellers of the funerary spaces in the underground tombs, the funerary inscriptions are usually restricted to the names of the portrayed women, their father's names and, sometimes, information about their marital status.13 It is therefore difficult to decide whether their style of wearing the mantle refers to their social position and function in Palmyrene society or is simply a variation in local customs.

### *Toga, himation, chlamys* **and veil**

### *Toga*

The *toga* was the national Roman outfit worn for public occasions. Vergil was already describing the Romans *gens togata* ('people wearing *togas*') in the 1st century BCE14 and over the next few centuries the *toga* was one of the most significant symbols of Roman identity. It was also one of the important signs of Romanisation in the conquered provinces. Describing the *toga* is generally problematic, however, because no fabric has yet been found in the archaeological evidence that can be identified with this type of garment. Instead, its features have to be established using iconographic and literary sources.15 There were many types of *togas* mentioned by the ancient authors; and the style and the method of draping the cloth, as can be seen from the iconography, changed over time. In the absence of specific evidence, it is assumed that the *toga* consisted of a large piece of fabric, probably semi-circular or nearly so in shape, which was draped without the use of any fastening.

The Roman *toga* does not appear to have been commonly worn in Palmyra. This is unsurprising given that it was seldom used in the other eastern Roman provinces or even in Rome itself during the late principate. In the late imperial period particularly, the *toga* developed into an official garment regarded as being impractical for everyday wear.16 Representations of Palmyrenes wearing a *toga* are rare and mostly dated to the 3rd century, by which time the privileges of the provincial cities had improved and the political importance of Palmyra within the Empire had increased considerably.17 These geopolitical conditions might well have led to a growing (but transient) sympathy for Roman values and a short-lasting identification of the elite class with Roman citizens, reflected in the *toga* appearing as part of the official Roman dress. However, the scarceness of such representations in Palmyrene art, and the generally minor influence of Roman culture on clothing styles in the Eastern provinces, suggest that there must have been a more fundamental explanation as to why certain members of Palmyrene society chose to be represented wearing a *toga*, especially in funerary contexts.

Only a few such representations survive. Among them are two funerary statues of unknown context, both dated to the 3rd century CE. One of them was placed, probably in modern times, on the console of a column in section A of the Great Colonnade, the main artery of the ancient city; another was stored in the old depot of the Museum at Palmyra. The statue from the Great Colonnade depicted a priest, identified by the *modius*. 18 There are also some examples of *togas* represented in funerary reliefs, the most spectacular being the so-called sarcophagus B from the collection of the Museum at Palmyra. In this, the deceased, wearing a *toga*, appears on the front wall of the sarcophagus chest in a scene of sacrifice, while on its cover he is represented reclining in a banquet scene and wearing richly decorated Parthian garment.19

In the eastern, unlike the western, provinces, the *toga* was not a requirement for public duties. Instead, the Greek *himation* was typically worn by those who performed at official functions.20 In her recent publication, Ursula Rothe observed that most of the examples of men in *togas* in Palmyrene funerary reliefs concern the priests and are associated with cult activities. She suggests that in Palmyra, the Roman outfit was used only to carry out the imperial cult, which was most probably performed only as a secondary function by the priests of one of the local gods.21

### *Himation*

The *himation* (a rectangular textile wrapped around the upper body and normally thrown over the left shoulder) was a typical Greek garment, worn from the Archaic period up to Hellenistic and Roman times. In classical Greece, it was worn by both men and women over a *chiton.* In female attire it was often used as a veil, as can be seen from the vase paintings. Its use spread out from Greece to the Hellenistic East and became the accepted male dress for public occasions, a practice which extended into Roman times.22 The *himation* was a rectangular piece of fabric, usually woollen, and was less voluminous than the *toga*. It is worth noting that even the native Romans considered the *toga* too heavy and impractical for everyday activities. For less official occasions, the Romans began to wear the *himation*, which they called *pallium*. Tertullian wrote of his knowledge of this garment as being Greek in origin though now given a Roman name.23 The *pallium* could be made of various fibres, such as linen, wool or even silk, dyed in bright colours and often decorated. In the Eastern provinces, the *himation* was introduced before the Roman conquest and the Palmyrene garment of this kind is referred to as *himation* rather than *pallium*.

The *himation* seems to have been the most popular type of cloak worn by the Palmyrenes. Both Palmyrene men and women were portrayed wearing this type of garment, though with different styles of draping. Men wore the *himation* wrapped around the body, without any fastening. The overwhelming majority of male representations on the slabs closing the *loculi* show them in *himatia* without any decoration or ornaments and all worn in the same manner – wrapped around the right arm and slung over the left shoulder. Interestingly, some banquet scenes featuring the deceased show men wearing Iranian dress together with the *himation* which covers their hips and thigh. Women usually wore their mantles wrapped around the body, passing under the right arm and pinned on the left shoulder, often with a decorative brooch.

Its popularity in Palmyrene iconography suggests that the *himation* was commonly worn by different classes of society and had no relation to particular professions, unlike the *toga*, and perhaps the *chlamys.* So far, the only type of mantle identified from the archaeological material has been the *himation*. As a result, its analysis provides the most informative data about the links between the original clothing worn by Palmyrenes and its iconographic representation.

### *Chlamys*

The *chlamys* (a short cloak) was another Greek garment; it was worn only by men and usually associated with messengers and soldiers. Hermes was represented wearing the *chlamys*. Like the *himation*, it was to be found in both Hellenistic and Roman dress but always associated with a military context. In classical Greece, the *chlamys*, as represented on the black- and red-figure vase paintings, seems to have consisted of a square or rectangular piece of fabric. At some stage during the Hellenistic and Roman period this developed into a more elaborate form: although still four-cornered, its lower edge now had a circular shape while the side edges were cut diagonally. Such a shape is noted by many ancient authors, including Ptolemy of Ascalon, Plutarch and Pliny the Elder.24 In contrast to the *himation* and *toga*, the *chlamys* was fastened with a *fibula* (dress-pin), usually on the right shoulder, leaving the right hand free. A similar type of mantle formed part of the Parthian military costume. Leaving the right arm free made it easier to use the sword and to throw back the material to facilitate movement. A cloak fastened on the right shoulder called *paludamentum* was also a part of the Roman military commanders' outfit. It is difficult to determine whether this type of mantle in Palmyrene costume originated from western or oriental tradition. The fact that it is usually accompanied by elements of Iranian dress, tunic and trousers, may suggest an eastern origin. However, in Palmyrene iconography, the Iranian costume is sometimes combined with a *himation*, making such an argument not completely convincing.

The *chlamys* can be easily identified on many Palmyrene reliefs: representations of gods wearing Parthian dress and a cuirass as well as cavalrymen. In funerary art this type of cloak is often worn by men who are holding a sword. One example of this is the funerary portrait of Šalmallat, son of Maliku, from the hypogeum of Šalmallat in Palmyra.25 The representation of a deceased person wearing such a garment might refer to his war prowess, his position in the army or simply have been used to emphasise his military skills. This type of mantle might also have been a part of the dress code used in Palmyrene funerary reliefs to signify that the deceased had been a brave man and, perhaps, a good soldier.

Although the association of the *chlamys* with a military context seems to flow naturally from the evidence, the garment was also found in other settings. It was, for example, a part of the uniform of the priests represented on the *loculi* slabs. In the banquet scenes, the priests are usually shown dressed in the Parthian style with an accompanying *chlamys* or *himation.* In their study of the male costume represented on the Palmyrene funerary reliefs, Maura Heyn and Rubina Raja focused on the elaborate brooches used to fasten the *chlamys* on the right arm. Their study shows that this type of jewellery, though closely associated with representations of priests, only appears in about a third of their portraits. The authors suggest that these brooches might have been a symbol of the high social status of the elite families from which the priests came. This is a plausible hypothesis. However, this jewellery might also have been part of a complex iconographic code: the short mantle fastened on the right arm was often combined with Iranian costume most clearly identifiable by the distinctive nature of the trousers; this characteristic would not have been easy to recognise on the funerary busts where the lower part of the body is not shown. It is possible, therefore, that a mantle with a brooch became a typical iconographic way of representing priests on the *loculi* slabs – and one designed, moreover, to emphasise the oriental (or local) character of the entire garment.

### *Veil*

A veil, by definition, is a headdress rather than a mantle. Nevertheless, it is included in this research because it is impossible to decide on some reliefs whether the garment worn by the deceased women is a large mantle or a veil wrapped around the shoulders. The veil in Palmyrene costume is indeed difficult to describe since it is defined by the way it is used, and perhaps by its size, rather than its shape. As mentioned above, women in ancient Greece used the *himation* as a veil;26 and Roman women wore a similarly rectangular mantle, the *palla*. It is therefore impossible to dismiss the idea that Palmyrene women might have used the *himatia* for both purposes – and have draped it in different ways according to its purpose. Iconographic representations of the Palmyrene women suggest that the veils were rectangular and, at least in some cases, large enough to cover the whole body from head to feet. They could be made of a variety of fabrics depending on the economic status of the wearer and also, perhaps, on the season. Some of them seem to be lined with fur, a feature that strongly suggests they should be classed as mantles rather than headdresses. A good example of one such heavy garment is found in a funerary portrait of Apame, daughter of Atilinus, from the *hypogeum* of the Barikai family at the south-east necropolis at Palmyra, dated to the 2nd century CE.27 With only rare exceptions, veils are portrayed as undecorated.

Given the poor state of the textile preservation, it is impossible to establish whether the *toga*, *himation* and *chlamys*, described above, and the veils, were worn by the citizens of Palmyra going about their daily lives or were specially chosen as part of an iconographic code designed to differentiate the classes and professions within society.

The only possible way to identify the preserved fragments of fabrics as various types of cloaks is to compare the ornamentation of textiles represented in iconography with the preserved textiles from Palmyra.

### **Decoration and patterns**

Most of the funerary portraits show Palmyrenes in patterned tunics and trousers with mantles that are usually undecorated. Where any pattern decoration is present, it routinely appears in two areas, along the edge and the reversed inner border, or hem. Only very rarely can the decoration

in the reliefs be compared with known examples from the archaeological record.

### *Chlamyses with patterned borders*

In some cases, the border of the *chlamys* is decorated with a floral motif. A fine example of this is an inscribed funerary relief on the slab closing a *loculus* from the collection at the Louvre Museum.28 This represents Zabdila, son of Bar'a, son of Zabdateh, who died in 176 CE (Fig. 12. 2.a). The relief shows the upper part of the male body from the waist upwards. The man wears two superimposed tunics, the upper one of which is decorated with a geometric border around the neck and fastened with a belt with a large, rectangular buckle with floral ornamentation. The man also wears a cloak, pinned up with a circular brooch on the right shoulder and a cylindrical *modius*, the typical headdress of the Palmyrene priests. He holds a small libation vessel in his right hand and a circular container with a floral pattern in his left. The upper edge of the cloak around the neck is decorated with a floral border.

Unfortunately, this representation appears to be highly stylised and as such can provide little information about Palmyrene clothing. The relief shows the man only from the

*Fig. 12.2. The motif of rosettes in Palmyrene sculpture and architectural decoration: A. Portrait of Zabdila, son of Bar'a, son of Zabdateh. 176CE. Louvre, inv. no. AO2200. Photo: R. Żukowski; B. The Monumental Arch at Palmyra (photo taken in 2010). 3rd century CE. Photo: Author.*

waist upwards with his mantle slung over his shoulder. The way it is worn, together with the fact that it is pinned with a brooch, suggests that it is a short mantle of the *chlamys* type, which fits in well with the other elements of Iranian costume – ornamented tunic and a belt with a large, rectangular buckle. The decorative border has a rosette pattern; this was popular in architectural design and appears to have been an invention of the sculptor rather than a realistic representation of the fabric (Fig. 12.2.b). This interpretation is supported by the use of an identical motif in the decoration of the vessel which the priest holds in his left hand.

A similar pattern decorates a short mantle worn by the men represented on the banquet relief from tomb no. 36 in the western necropolis (Fig. 12.3).29 The sculpture is badly damaged – the head is missing, as well as the right arm and leg, the left hand and both feet. The man is shown lying on the mattress in a banquet pose – he was probably holding a libation *kylix* in his left hand. He is dressed in Parthian dress: a pair of loose trousers with decorative bands down the front of each leg; and a long-sleeved tunic with side slits decorated with patterned bands centrally in front, at the lower edge and at the sleeves around the wrists. This outfit is completed by the short mantle, fastened at the right arm. It is decorated with a line of pearl motifs and a band of floral rosettes at the lower edge on both sides of the fabric and the turned upper edge, around the neck. In this case, too, the patterns of the decorative bands have close analogies to the architectural decoration of Palmyra.

Nothing from the archaeological finds at Palmyra can be identified as fabric belonging to a mantle of the *chlamys* type. The iconography suggests that they were probably decorated with a patterned inner border or lined with a patterned fabric: the latter possibility cannot be dismissed, especially in the garments of the elite. Many examples of patterned textiles were found in Palmyra, including woollen fabrics decorated with bands of diverse geometric and floral patterns, as well as imported silks. A piece of Chinese *jin* silk (polychrome warp-faced compound tabby), excavated from tower-tomb no. 65 and decorated with male figures picking grapes, tigers and camels, was found together with a few pieces of green woollen thread, suggesting that it had once been attached to the other fabric, probably to form an edging.30 It is therefore possible that the short mantles were decorated with woollen patterned linings or decorative edging made of wool or silk.

*Fig. 12.3. Man wearing Parthian-style tunic and trousers with a short mantle. Banquet relief from tomb no. 36. 3rd century CE. After Schmidt-Colinet (1992, tab. 37a B3). Courtesy of A. Schmidt-Colinet.*

### *Female himatia and veils with decorated borders*

The *himatia* or veils worn by the Palmyrene women could also be decorated with patterned edgings or ribbons sewn onto the borders. Although most representations portray the women wearing unpatterned mantles and veils, there are some very rare funerary busts which show them with ornamented coats wrapped around their chests. A good example of this is the relief representing Batti, daughter of Yarḥai, from the collection of Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek (Fig. 12.4).31 The woman is bare-headed, with her hair pulled back and flowing down her shoulders; she is dressed in a tunic decorated with patterned bands and wears rich jewellery – a strand of small beads and an oval pendant on a twisted cord hang around her neck; and on both arms are bracelets made of a few twisted straws of pearls.  Both the upper and lower edge of the cloak are patterned: the upper border is composed of a stylised meandering floral scroll, while the lower border is decorated with a motif of oblique squares with four-petal rosettes in the centre. While the upper border is definitely turned back so the visible pattern is clearly on the inner surface, it is impossible to know for certain about the lower one.

*Fig. 12.4. Funerary portrait of Batti, c. 230 CE. Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, inv. no. IN 1053. Photo: Anders Sune-Berg, courtesy of Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek.*

The mantle represented on this relief sheds an important light on the relationship between the textiles shown on sculptures and those found in the archaeological record, even though its exact shape and approximate size cannot be reconstructed. Significantly, the motif of the oblique squares is a typically 'textile' pattern, unlike the stylised floral patterns described above which resemble architectural decoration; the oblique square is a particularly popular design on tablet-woven ribbons and belts and, because of its lack of curved lines, easy to reproduce in any type of weave, including extended tabby, tapestry or diagonal. It is, moreover, found on many of the textiles recovered from the excavations at Palmyra.

The decorative woven ribbons are not commonly found among the archaeological textiles from Palmyra. Only two examples are known to date. These were sewn onto fragments of good quality woollen tapestry decorated with ornamented bands with floral motifs; they were found in the tower-tomb of Iambliq, dated to 83 CE (Fig. 12.5). The patterns are made up of yellow, light and dark red, and green weft threads. The spaces between the decorative bands are red with a shading of green lines.32 The surviving fragments of this fabric were bordered with two types of patterned ribbon: one with a motif of lozenges and the other decorated with oblique squares inside which were four smaller oblique squares. The ribbons seem to have been woven specifically to be attached to this fabric as they are made of yarn in the same colours. Both ribbons were sewn onto the longer edges of the fabric, in the warp direction, probably to the opposite sides.

This textile find from the tomb of Iambliq is usually interpreted as a part of an Iranian-style ornamented tunic,33 or mantle.34 The presence of two different decorative ribbons on both of the longer sides of the fabric, however, weakens the tunic hypothesis. Instead, the fabric shows a striking similarity to the mantle represented on the funerary portrait of Batti. The two different edgings, including one with the motif of oblique squares, suggest that these textile pieces might have been fragments of a woman's mantle or veil. This suggestion, however, raises an interesting question. The fabric found at the tomb of Iambliq is patterned, whereas the mantle on the relief is plain. Was this discrepancy the result of an artistic convention whereby funerary reliefs showed only the decorative borders of the mantles – or were there other reasons for such a difference? One possibility is that the original cloaks were indeed made of plain fabrics but had ornamented linings, leaving the patterned edgings visible only when the garment was wrapped around the body. It is, however, difficult to understand why elegant and rich Palmyrene women would hide the high quality, elaborately woven, patterned fabrics and use them merely as linings for less spectacular plain cloaks.

Another possible explanation is that patterns were painted rather than carved and that the veils and *himatia* worn by Palmyrene women were originally represented on the reliefs as decorated but that this evidence has been lost as the paint has faded. Until now, only traces of colour paint have survived on the sculptures. However, scientific analyses now reveal that the reliefs were originally painted and that the featured jewellery was often gilded. A detailed examination of the so-called 'Beauty of Palmyra' – a female funerary portrait from the collection of Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek – revealed traces of yellow, pink, red, black and white paint as well as gilding (Fig. 1.6 in this volume).35 Another funerary portrait, a female representation, originally a part of the banquet scene on the cover of a sarcophagus, also from Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, was recently studied using a range of analytic methods and revealed the traces of blue paint made from a lapis lazuli pigment.36 In both cases, unfortunately, the only traces of the original paint are found

*Fig. 12.5. Fragment of woollen fabric with a sewn-on ribbon, from the tomb of Iambliq. 1st–3rd century CE. After Schmidt-Colinet (1995, fig. 96). Courtesy of A. Schmidt-Colinet.*

preserved in the folds of the garments, making it impossible to determine whether the main surface of the costumes was plain or patterned.

An example of a painted funerary portrait with visible traces of paint can be found in the collection of the Museo Nazionale d'Arte Orientale in Rome.37 It represents a woman wearing a tunic, her *himation* fastened with a circular brooch on her left shoulder; she wears an elaborate headdress and jewellery, and a veil. The figure of her son can be seen behind her right shoulder. The boy wears the oriental dress composed of a tunic with decorative bands in front and around the wrists; his trousers are also decorated with an ornamental band running down the front of each leg. The decorative bands on his garment are not carved with any design, as was a standard practice in Palmyrene sculpture, but those on his chest and left wrist show traces of orange paint.38 This evidence is especially significant since it shows that in some cases the decorative features were indeed expressed by painting rather than carving.

The funerary portrait of Batti described above is exceptional among the Palmyrene women represented in funerary art. Most of the reliefs show deceased Palmyrene women in *himatia*, and veils, without decorative edgings represented. However, if it is accepted that the fabric recovered from the tomb of Iambliq was indeed part of a woman's patterned mantle, then it surely follows that some of the women's cloaks would have been patterned. The textile from the tomb of Iambliq is the only example found where the sewn-on decorative edging has been preserved – though plenty of similar woollen fabrics, woven usually in a tapestry weave and decorated with ornamented bands, have been found in Palmyra.

One of the most significant of these finds is a piece of woollen fabric with yellow patterns on a red background, found in the tomb of Kitot and dated to 40 CE. The decoration consists of bands decorated with various floral and geometric ornaments, clearly resembling the patterns of architectural decorations. The areas between the decorative bands are ornamented with four-petal rosettes. The decorative bands are positioned symmetrically on two sides of the central motif, composed itself of the central row of diagonal squares with four-petal rosettes flanked on both sides by the wave pattern, a row of small diagonals and a simple line.39 Interestingly, one of the other decorative motifs on this fabric shows a floral scroll similar to the decoration on the upper edge of the mantle in Batti's funerary portrait.

Many details point to the local production of this type of fabric, particularly the close resemblance between the Palmyrene architectural decoration and the patterns used in the weaving; another characteristic is the typical shading on the unpatterned areas between the decorative bands.40 It appears, therefore, that they were produced in local workshops. They may also have been exported, given that similar fabric was also found in Dura Europos.41

These textiles probably had different uses as furniture textiles – coverings for couch mattresses and pillows – and as women's headdresses: both kinds of textiles are represented as patterned in the iconography. However, their use in the manufacture of patterned women's mantles or veils cannot be discounted. If such a hypothesis is accepted, it would mean that Palmyrene women's clothing had a specific local style typified by the *himation* fastened with a brooch on the left arm, a veil covering the head and the body, and mantle patterned with a local Palmyrene design. Further research on the polychromy on Palmyrene funerary portraits may produce some new evidence to confirm or refute this hypothesis.

### *Himatia with H-shaped patterns*

The *himatia* worn by Palmyrene men are rarely represented with decorative borders although in some cases their hems are shown with an ornamental motif. Where the figure of the deceased is reclining on the banquet couch, the motif usually appears on the part of the mantle covering the thigh. In the case of funerary busts, represented on slabs of the *loculi*, the motif is sometimes placed on the upper part of the dress, usually on the chest. The most popular design is an H-shaped ornament, one of the variations of decorative motifs usually called *gammadia* or, sometimes more specifically, 'forked pattern'.42

The best example of such a representation is the funerary relief from the collection at the Museum of Louvre portraying Yarḥai, son of Elahbel, according to the inscription placed in the upper right corner of the slab (Fig. 12.6).43 Yarḥai is represented as a bearded man, wearing two superimposed tunics of which the bottom one is decorated with a simple pearl pattern around the neck and the upper one with two large vertical bands stretching down from the shoulders. The pattern is visible only on the right shoulder. It represents a vine-scroll with human figures. The left shoulder and the whole of the left hand are covered by a mantle which is also wrapped around the right arm and elbow. The sculptor put plenty of effort into representing the large H-shaped pattern on the mantle. Interestingly, this was done without any attempt at realism. The ornament, patterned with a floral motif surrounded by pearls, is shown with a stylised full rounded view which almost completely ignores the effect the folds of the fabric would have had, even though these are carefully carved.

Another significant sculpture is that of a banquet scene on the cover of the sarcophagus found in the hypogeum of 'Alaine (Fig. 12.7).44 It represents a group of six people of whom one is lying on a mattress, holding a small bottle in the right hand and a *kylix* in the left; the other five are represented on a smaller scale behind and close to the feet of the first figure. The head of the main figure is missing but the rest of its body is well preserved. It represents a man wearing a typical Iranian dress composed of a long-sleeve

*Fig. 12.6. Portrait of Yarḥai, son of Elahbel. Louvre, inv. no. AO2398. End of the 2nd century CE. Photo: R. Żukowski.*

tunic with slits down the sides, loose trousers and fabric boots. All these items are richly decorated: the tunic has two patterned bands with floral decoration, stretching from the shoulders down to the lower border; the trousers are ornamented with wide vertical bands with a floral design on the front of each leg; and the boots are fully covered with a floral pattern. A mantle is wrapped around the hips and thighs and one of its ends is strapped onto the man's left elbow. The short edges are decorated with patterned edging. In the middle, at left thigh and knee height, the sculptor has included a large H-shaped ornament with a floral pattern. Here again the ornamentation is represented as a full rounded shape that takes no account of the direction of the fabric's folds.

Archaeological material demonstrates that mantles with such designs were indeed worn by Palmyrene citizens. Seven fragments of woollen fabric with partially preserved forked *gammadion* or H-shaped patterns were found in the tombs of the Palmyra necropolis.45 The first example, found in the tomb of Kitot, is a small piece of woollen fabric with a forked pattern, purple on a yellow background. Only a fragment of the motif is preserved but it can be recognised as H-shaped.46 A large fragment of cloth with a light purple *gammadion* and *tabula* on a deep violet background was found in the same tomb (Fig. 12.8). Analyses of the dyes

*Fig. 12.7. Man wearing a Parthian-style tunic and trousers and a Greek-style mantle with an H-shaped pattern. Banquet scene from the tomb of Alaine in Palmyra. 3rd century CE. Photo: Waldemar Jerke, Courtesy of the Polish Centre of Archaeology of the University of Warsaw.*

showed that the weft thread used for the tapestry decorative motifs was dyed with Murex purple.47

The next fragment, from the tomb of Iambliq, is a piece of woollen fabric with a light purple forked pattern on a green, greyish background (Fig. 12.9). While the pattern was probably made using wool dyed with purple, the background colour was obtained by mixing indigo with flavonoids from an unknown plant.48 A similar fragment from the same tomb had a yellow background, dyed with tannin probably obtained from oak apple.49 From tower-tomb no. 65 came a small piece of yellow wool with a deep blue, H-shaped decoration (Fig. 12.10).50 And from the tomb of Elahbel came another small piece of woollen cloth in a natural beige colour, with a deep purple H-shaped pattern made of wool dyed with Murex purple.51 The final example is a piece of yellow wool with a purple H-shaped pattern found in tower-tomb no. 46.52

Mantles decorated with *gammadion* or H-shaped patterns seem to have been popular garments in the eastern Mediterranean during the Roman period – they are widely represented not only in the Palmyrene sculpture but also in the paintings from Dura Europos.53 The popularity of such garments is also supported by the archaeological finds from other sites. Numerous fragments of similar clothing have been found in Dura Europos.54 The first was found in Tomb no. IV at the necropolis of the Citadel; it was a well-preserved large piece of undyed woollen mantle decorated with a purple band forked at the end.55 The next, found in Tower no. 1, was a fragment of a beige woollen tapestry mantle with a purple H-shaped decoration.56 Four fragments of undyed woollen tapestry mantles with *gammadia* were also found in Embankment no. 7 (nos 22, 23, 24, 25). Most of the patterns were purple in colour; in one case the pattern was made of two different types of wool – grey-blue and grey and pink-purple – and the decoration was shaded.57 The final example was also a fragment of undyed wool mantle with a *gammadion* pattern, in this case made of indigo-blue wool.58 The dyes used were probably indigo and madder.59

Many pieces of woollen fabrics with coloured, often purple, decoration were also found in the At Tar caves in the south-western part of present-day Iraq, most of them unfortunately too small for any patterning to be identified. There are a few items, however, which can be confidently interpreted as fragments of garments similar to the examples found in Palmyra and Dura Europos. A good example of this is a piece of woollen fabric made of yellow-reddish wool and described in a published report as a plain weave

*Fig. 12.8. Fragment of woollen fabric with a purple* gammadion *pattern from the tomb of Kitot. 1st–3rd century CE. After Schmidt-Colinet*  et al. *(2000, col. pl. IIId (no. 167)). Courtesy of A. Schmidt-Colinet.*

*Fig. 12.9. Fragment of woollen fabric with a purple H-shaped pattern from the tomb of Iambliq. 1st–3rd century CE. After Schmidt-Colinet*  et al. *(2000, col. pl. IVb (no. 296)). Courtesy of A. Schmidt-Colinet.*

with ribs60 decorated with a greyish purple H-shaped motif and a band along the edge.61 This type of dress was popular in the whole of the eastern Mediterranean area – such garments have also been found along the Levantine coast, for example at Masada.62 Another example has also been recovered from Mons Claudianus in the Eastern Desert in Egypt. It consisted of a tunic sewn together from pieces of an old mantle which had *gammadion* patterning which resulted in the decoration appearing in rather odd places on the tunic.63

Woollen mantles with H-shaped patterns and *gammadia*  were clearly a characteristic and popular type of clothing in Palmyra and its adjacent regions. Numerous iconographic representations from Palmyra and Dura Europos show

*Fig. 12.10. Fragment of woollen fabric with a purple H-shaped pattern from the tomb of Elahbel. 1st–3rd century CE. After Schmidt-Colinet*  et al. *(2000, col. pl. IIIb (no. 414)). Courtesy of A. Schmidt-Colinet.*

that this type of garment was worn by the male citizens of these cities in a variety of contexts – though some of the characteristics which distinguished the Palmyrene clothing are not found elsewhere. Although most of the archaeological textiles are too small to reveal the shape and type of the garment of which they were once a part, the iconographic representations from both Dura Europos and Palmyra reveal that the fork-ended patterns are usually found on the large, rectangular cloaks – the *himatia.* In Dura Europos they are represented as a part of the Greek style garment, wrapped around a long tunic or *chiton.* In Palmyra, by contrast, this type of mantle is found associated with the Parthian dress.

This style, blending oriental and western elements of garments, seems to be purely Palmyrene. The typical Parthian dress, as represented in Iranian sculpture, was usually accompanied by a long-sleeved coat and sometimes a shoulder cloak in the style of the Greek *chlamys*, but never with a *himation-*type mantle.64 As has already been noted, the archaeological textiles from Palmyra were seldom found in context because the tombs were plundered. As a result, the archaeological finds cannot confirm whether such combinations of clothing were actually ever worn – though the colours of the preserved fragments from Palmyra may provide some clues.

Most of the fragments of this type of mantle found in archaeological contexts on sites such as Dura Europos, Masada or Mons Claudianus were made of undyed wool; they would therefore originally have had a creamy-white background with purple (or red) patterns added. This finding fits in well with the iconographic representations, mostly paintings, that were found in the Synagogue of Dura Europos; here, male figures are usually shown wearing white *himatia* with purple H-shaped patterns. In Palmyra, by contrast, almost all preserved fragments are made of dyed wool and the most popular seem to be yellow mantles with purple or deep blue ornamentation. The natural-white mantle was probably too modest to blend in well with the more colourful, richly ornamented elements of oriental dress. Therefore it is possible that in Palmyra the H-shaped motif, popular in the eastern Mediterranean region, was used and adapted to fit in with local fashions; indeed, the *himatia* with such decoration were worn with trousers in place of the classic *chiton* or tunic that was common in the Hellenised Mediterranean cities.

Such a conclusion might also shed some light on the location of the workshops that produced woollen mantles with tapestry patterns. Since the garment had a Mediterranean origin and developed most probably from Hellenistic dress, it is possible that specialised workshops were located in the Hellenistic cities in Greater Syria, where Hellenistic culture had replaced the earlier indigenous fashions. However, regional differences between woollen mantle fragments found at the different sites suggest that this type of garment was more likely to have been produced in local workshops to supply local markets. The differences between the materials are significant, though minor. For example, both the pattern and background of the cloaks found in Dura Europos were made of tapestry while in Palmyra and Masada the tapestry pattern is interwoven into a plain weave background; and in At Tar the background was plain with a ribbed pattern. Another discrepancy – already mentioned – is the colour. In Dura Europos, the white/natural wool-coloured mantles predominated, while in Palmyra there existed a wide spectrum of colours, from yellow through green to deep purple. These differences reveal the distinctive features of a local production in clothing that would in all other respects have fitted perfectly into the general clothing fashions of the Roman world. It can therefore be assumed that the colourful *himatia* were produced in Palmyra for the local market and were targeted at the local high-status citizens who could flaunt their social and economic status through the rich, vibrant clothing they wore.

It remains possible that the colour of the mantles had some additional meaning – perhaps an association with a particular profession or social status – or that a colour or colours were reserved for priests. The archaeological textiles cannot, unfortunately, be matched with the individual burials, often provided with inscriptions, so it is impossible as yet to support such a hypothesis. Further analyses of the original polychromy preserved on some reliefs may provide more answers in the future.

Iconographic material from Palmyra demonstrates that the H-shaped pattern would have been an important feature of the clothing, perhaps designed to highlight the high status or some other social aspect of the wearer. Where it appears on the reliefs it is always highly visible with its full frontal shape displayed, even if it does not fit the realistic representation of the fabric folds. The pattern is usually oversized. Although the preserved fragments of textiles from Palmyra show that the H-pattern was usually 10–15 cm long, it appears on the reliefs to be at least twice as long based on a comparison between it and the size of the wearer's body. Moreover, it is always represented as decorated with elaborate floral patterns. No examples of H- or *gammadion*  patterning with this additional detail have been found on the archaeological sites in this region. The closest has been a textile fragment found at Dura Europos; here the decoration was shaded with the use of two different colours of the weft thread, as has already been mentioned.

These two features, the large size and the additional decorative detail, seem to be a purely artistic convention and therefore probably an attempt to represent the deceased's garment as the most luxurious possible. As already noted, recent analyses prove that the Palmyrene sculptures and reliefs were painted65 and may therefore have reflected the actual colour of the textiles involved. If this is so, then there would have been no reason for the artists to have added an additional detail to their work by sculpting the decorative bands and in-fills with geometric or floral motifs that are not found within the archaeological record. Interestingly, the floral motifs used to fill the patterns and borders which, on preserved archaeological textiles, were distinguished by contrasting colours, were taken from the repertoire of the architectural decoration – rosettes, vine or peopled scrolls being among the most popular.

The convergence of decorative patterns of textile with architectural decoration in Palmyra was first observed and discussed by Andreas Schmidt-Colinet66 who pointed out that the artisans from Palmyra must have been using the pattern books popular in the Mediterranean for more than one type of craft. This observation is well confirmed by multiple examples of patterned fabrics decorated with easily recognisable among motifs adorning Palmyrene monumental architecture. It seems, however, that in some cases the motifs popular in architectural decoration were chosen by sculptors randomly and do not represent a realistic view of how the textiles worn by the Palmyrenes really looked. Instead, they are intended to give a general impression that the clothing was decorated. It is only natural that artisans working in stone were more accustomed to reproducing motifs from the masonry than those actually used to decorate fabrics.

### **Conclusion**

Archaeological remains from Palmyra provide a unique opportunity to study its ancient clothing through the analysis of both the textiles recovered from the funerary contexts and the funerary sculpture representing citizens of different social status and different professions. The detailed study of just one type of garment, the woollen cloak, demonstrates how the archaeological evidence provides information from two types of sources: archaeological textiles and the iconography. These not only supplement each other but also facilitate the interpretation of the surviving artefacts.

The archaeological textiles yield plenty of data about the fibres, dyes, weaving techniques and colours, as well as about the production centres and the local features of weaving production. Only too often, however, crucial information about clothing fashions and typical costumes is lacking. Iconography, on the other hand, provides evidence about the styles of clothing – though this information must always be interpreted with caution: the iconographic intention, artistic convention and the varying skills of the makers can combine to misrepresent the clothes worn both routinely and on special occasions.

In the Palmyrene iconography, the perhaps richly decorated female mantles were portrayed as unpatterned; and some decoration on the male cloaks was produced in an unrealistic manner, suggesting the idea of patterned fabric rather than its realistic depiction. On the other hand, some patterns were emphasised by being made much larger than they would have been on real garments – and embellished with additional decorations unknown from the archaeological evidence.

There can be multiple reasons for the observed discrepancies between archaeological textiles and the way they appear on funerary portraits. The first and perhaps the most obvious would seem to be the skill of the sculptor; some portraits are of good quality while others are simplistic and ineptly made. Some artisans might be just not skilled enough to execute complicated floral designs in stone. This might apply especially to the fabrics decorated with patterned bands which would have been extremely difficult to sculpt in stone while maintaining a realistic representation of the fabric folds. Another reason, associated with the first, might have been economic. A more detailed portrait would have cost more; and only the richest citizens and the most prominent members of the families could have afforded (or been honoured with) high-quality portraits sculpted by the most expensive sculptors who alone would have had the skills to present them in richly ornamented garments.

The third reason, already discussed above, could be related to the fact that the Palmyrene reliefs were painted. Only traces of this decoration have survived, making it now impossible to reconstruct more than the colours used: the decorative details have vanished and there is now no way of knowing whether they were patterned or merely covered with one colour of paint. In short, an important part of the message encapsulated in the funerary portraits is now missing.

Finally, and most importantly, differences between the textiles and their images in the Palmyrene iconography appear to be a function of the funerary portraits themselves. These images promoted not only the memory of the deceased but presented a range of information about his or her social and family status, profession and values. These portraits, along with the funerary garments, were intended to show the deceased as they wanted to be seen – or as their families wanted to present them. The images, therefore, are in a sense idealised, perhaps not so much in the way the facial features are shown as in the clothes and the items that accompanied them. The representation of clothes and fabrics was not realistic; instead, it was designed to draw attention to those elements of the garment and its idealised decoration that fitted in with the visual conventions in vogue in Palmyrene society.

The Palmyrene portrait was for the most part a formalised one. In the majority of cases, the type of dress represented on the funerary sculpture together with the accessories held by the subjects were connected both to the deceased's profession and to the special attributes the sculptor intended to portray. The Parthian garment, for example, which accompanied the mantle and *modius*, was typically the dress of priests; Greek costume and writing accessories revealed the literacy accomplishments of an individual; and a woman wearing a veil and holding a spindle and distaff was a manifestation of the perfect symbol of the good wife.67 Many of the details included on these funerary reliefs were evidently symbols designed to inform future generations. The garments in which the Palmyrenes were represented on the funerary portraits formed part of that self-same message. They speak of how the citizens wanted to be seen, not necessarily how they dressed in their everyday lives.

### **Acknowledgements**

I would like to express my thanks to Dr Dagmara Wielgosz-Rondolino for an inspiring discussion on Palmyrene sculpture. I also thank Dr Susanna Harris, Dr Cecilie Brøns and the two anonymous reviewers for their valuable comments which have helped me to improve the manuscript, and to Prof. Andreas Schmidt-Colinet who kindly provided me with a number of the illustrations for the present publication.

### *Notes*

### **Bibliography**

### Chapter 13

### Reading dress and identity in the Roman mosaics of Carthage and Tabarka

### *Amy Place*

### **Abstract**

*This paper examines the iconography in two mosaics: the Dominus Julius Mosaic from Carthage and a villa rustica mosaic from Tabarka, Tunisia. It explores the methodological issues of extrapolating Roman dress practice from mosaics. Depictions of dress in mosaic floors can be understood as a form of 'represented' clothing, a form that documents dominant societal ideas and ideals that have been transformed into the visual medium to become 'image-clothing'. The use of mosaic pavements formed part of broader mechanisms of identity negotiation and expression, particularly in elite circles. In such dress imagery, elite patrons signalled appropriate participation in clothing practice both by employing suitable themes and in the dress styles they were shown wearing. Social differentiation could also be maintained by contrasting how different figures were clothed. 'Reading' dress from mosaic imagery requires an appreciation of how visual imagery was intended to be viewed. It was, most significantly, a version of 'lived' dress practice manipulated to reflect contemporary visual conventions.*

### **Introduction**

The Roman world enjoyed a vibrant clothing culture. Roman dress offered a significant means of expressing identity and the clothed body was a highly symbolic medium. Dress served a functional purpose in protecting and covering the body, but it was also an important area of social competition and display. The wearer manipulated their clothing to signal important associations, promoting, to an extent, how they wished to be perceived.1 This becomes particularly apparent from the 3rd century onwards when dressing fashions became increasingly more colourful and ornate. A multiplicity of interactions – from actual experiences to idealised interactions – conveyed aspects of dress experience, mediated through different media. It was not just the textiles themselves that negotiated and framed an individual's recognition of the language of dress. Many versions of dress served to structure and enhance an individual's engagement with clothing practices. The majority of Roman textiles have not survived, except in cases of extreme environmental conditions.2 This material lacuna accurately reflects neither the ubiquity of textile production nor the integral part played by clothing in the diverse and dynamic cultural system that was such an integral part of identity construction.3 Given this absence of material evidence, any study of ancient dress has to look to other categories of evidence. One such category is the visual representation of what can be described as 'image-clothing'. Dress imagery can never, of course, offer the rich details that textile fragments might, but they nevertheless provide some insights into aspects of Roman textile reality, at least visually, and thereby enhance the understanding of the language of clothing fashions.

This paper focuses on one type of visual media: mosaics. It examines two 4th-century mosaics from Tunisia: the Dominus Julius Mosaic from Carthage and a *villa rustica* mosaic from Tabarka. Mosaics offer a far more durable example of how people chose to portray themselves than do fragile textiles from archaeological contexts. Composed of vivid polychrome images, mosaics hint at a colourful textile world. Indeed, the use of increasingly vibrant textiles from the 4th century CE onwards mirrors the growing popularity of colour decor in elite residences.4 But how far does the dress imagery found in mosaics relate to what was worn in real life? Do these mosaics present an 'accurate' view of clothing garments or are they merely highly stylised representations? If the latter is the case, then how can such images be used to study Roman dress? Despite the somewhat surprising neglect of mosaic iconography as a resource for the exploration of Roman clothing habits, such evidence can, when studied closely, shed new light on the language of Roman dress.5 Mosaics do this not by offering a photographic snapshot of Roman clothing as it was worn in normal life; instead, elements of Roman sartorial discourse were embedded in imagery and articulated tile by minute tile. It follows that mosaic dress iconography records the painstaking construction of a particular version of dress practice that can be used to decipher both the symbolic and semiotic role of clothing in the later Roman world.

The research begins by outlining some key methodological issues that arise when using mosaic pavement imagery to interpret contemporary later Roman dress, given that such images may not represent the actual clothing worn in real life. Its purpose is to demonstrate that, by adopting the correct approach, the visual portrayal of dress imagery in mosaic iconography can inform discussions about Roman dress. Two contemporary case studies, the Dominus Julius Mosaic from Carthage, *c*. 380–400 CE, and a *villa rustica* mosaic from Tabarka, *c*. 400 CE, both from Tunisia, North Africa, are used to contextualise the textile iconography that features figurative imagery.6 All too often, modern scholarship dismisses mosaic pavements as being mere images, the illustrations to a text, and as such divorced from the material significance they once held. Their role in terms of identity construction and elite performance, however, influenced how people at the time interpreted their iconography. Conditioned through experience to interpret the iconography in particular ways, the responses of people at the time to the imagery would not have been the same as those of the modern viewer.7 By examining the relationship between dress iconography and clothing discourse it is possible to appreciate both how such imagery contributed to the cultural rhythms of dress in the later Roman world and how dress iconography operated within the bounds of the visual rhetoric of dress.

### **Visual imagery as a source for Roman dress: Some methodological issues**

Sources for Roman dress essentially fall into three groups: archaeological, visual and textual. Although each is undoubtedly informative in its own right, it would be wrong simply to combine evidence from each source without considering each within its own context. Different versions of clothing reveal different interpretations of clothing as worn in their respective circumstances. As a symbolic representational system, clothed bodies reflect prominent ideas and ideals. This is true for any form of dress, be it metaphorical clothing in literature, visual portrayals or the dressed individual who appears in public. On occasion, the resulting interpretations

may appear to contradict each other as they seek to recognise different aspects of the clothing experience, but this does not necessarily invalidate the accuracy of these sartorial conclusions. Therefore, investigating the relationship between visual depictions of clothing and the version of dress that the image represents is a crucial step towards interpreting how ancient iconography, and more specifically mosaics, can be utilised in discussions about Roman dress.

How the three categories of evidence for dress, the archaeological, visual and textual, interrelate with each other from a theoretical perspective is a subject tackled by Roland Barthes in *Système de la Mode* (1967). In his study, he examines contemporary French fashion using evidence from fashion magazines. Barthes' structural framework offers a useful departure point for dress historians as it provides a methodological foundation for conceptualising different forms of dress evidence and understanding their relationship to one another. His fashion theory can readily be adapted for the study of ancient textiles and his tripartite structure for sources of dress has recently been employed with increasing enthusiasm in the study of Roman dress.8

For Barthes, clothing has three modalities: real clothing, clothing portrayed through images ('image-clothing') and clothing that is described in text ('written clothing').9 This identification of the three constituent parts of clothing into three 'versions' of a garment is perhaps the most influential aspect of Barthes' formulation of fashion as a system: his tripartite scheme can also be neatly mapped onto the types of dress evidence used by dress historians.10 The first of these categories refers to the actual textile itself – the 'technological' garment – while the other two – the 'iconic' and 'verbal' garments – can be understood as 'represented' clothing. Importantly, though, these two groups of represented clothing do not operate in an identical way; one is a system of images, the other a system of language. In fact, while they refer to the same reality – that is, dress experience – image-clothing and written clothing can inherently convey different ideas and details about the 'original' real garment and in so doing overwrite these ideas. Furthermore, they are not identical to the physical textile itself and can never fully encapsulate the reality of the actual garment; instead, they serve to signify different facets of the original textile and thus offer the modern scholar insights into the rhetoric of contemporary dress.

Knowledge of the structural and technical practicalities of Roman clothing has been enhanced by the developments in Roman textile research. Working from an extensive body of preserved archaeological fragments, this research throws fresh light on the material reality of Roman dress, offering insight into such things as yarn type, weaving technologies, dyeing techniques and decoration.11 These details are important when exploring Roman dress. Yet, as Barthes' clothing system demonstrates, the technicalities of the garment run along parallel lines to that of the clothing portrayed in the iconography. This paper focuses on the way clothing has been represented, on the translation of the garment as worn on the body into visual representations of the clothed body. Given how few textiles survive within the archaeological record in large parts of the Roman world, other dress sources inevitably come to the fore. This in not in itself a disadvantage: as Caroline Vout notes, the study of Roman dress is 'not a study of the clothes themselves but of the images of clothes, not a study of how Roman people looked but of how they perceived or defined themselves as looking'.12 Ursula Rothe draws a similar conclusion in her study of 1st- to 4th-century CE funerary monuments in the Rhine-Moselle region, arguing that elements of selection and standardisation do not preclude these images being at the same time artefacts of how the people viewed themselves.13

According to Barthes' framework, the signals given out by 'represented' garments are governed by their respective structures. How Barthes constructs that interpretative structure is therefore a significant part of his methodology. For written clothing, the transformation of textiles into language through description or a photograph caption limits the number of potential meanings: 'words determine a single certainty'.14 Barthes' comment referred to fashion photographs, a genre bound by its own agenda and language. As such, the written clothing which evokes the original technological garment (Barthes calls this the 'Fashion description') must describe this real clothing accordingly.15 In the context of ancient textiles, written clothing is more akin to Barthes' 'literary description' where references to 'real' garments – whether through specific textile terminology, garment names or recognisable associations – are needed to make the garment exist for the reader. In many cases, though, the primary intention behind the written clothing discourse was not necessarily to debate dressing habits *per se*. The writings of authors like Tertullian or Cyprian of Carthage make the overt language of clothing a proxy for debating wider social anxieties. An example of this is the debate about gender dynamics achieved through Patristic recommendations of female dress practices, particularly those that promote female modesty in both dress and action.16

Effectively, verbal clothing reveals relevant socio-cultural associations through reference to specific articles of clothing or modes of dress. Visual media works similarly but offers far more possible meanings for image-clothing than does text, with its finite number of possible meanings. As Barthes writes, 'we know that in fact an image inevitably involves several levels of perception … every glance cast at an image inevitably implies a decision i.e. the meaning of an image is never certain … The image freezes an endless number of possibilities'.17 Of course, the iconic garment created does not have to exist in a physical sense: it must merely be acknowledged by its audience as a reflection of cultural norms and practice. A pertinent example of this is the proliferation of Roman statues clad in *togas* as a result of the 'public and status-orientated nature of Roman art'.18 As static modes of expression, these cultural artefacts performed a particular function and were subject to stylistic conventions and social expectations.19 Public visual imagery of this kind displayed clothing practices deemed suitable for public consumption.20 Although they might offer something worthy of imitation by reinforcing social and gender ideals, it is important to remember that 'it was never the primary aim of any artistic medium to render detailed representations of either Roman clothing, or of any other textiles'.21 Visual dress was not intended to be copied in everyday life; instead, the ideas embedded within the imagery were meant to be absorbed and emulated by the wider social body.22 This does not diminish the contribution made by visual media to the discussion of Roman textiles; instead, it thereby becomes an artefact that sheds light upon how the Romans visualised clothing, how the viewers responded to such depictions and, most significantly, how visual clothing functioned as a means of communication.23

There are, therefore, multiple versions of Roman dress rhetoric reflected in the different types of sources. These discourses take many different forms and run parallel to one another but at the same time still bear some relationship to each other insofar as they originate from the same composite system, *i.e.* the social reality of Roman sartorial fashions. Dress imagery represents clothing practice translated into the visual sphere. That being so, the image-conscious clothing portrayed in mosaics was surely governed by the relevant traditions of that artistic genre which, in turn, conditioned how image-clothing was constructed, displayed and interpreted. Ultimately, mosaic pavements are not exact records of the later Roman textile reality: this would be a far too literal interpretation of their imagery. Instead, such iconography should be appreciated as artefacts of a clothing discourse which reflects visual clothing as experienced in the context of contemporary societal discourse.

### **Clothing imagery in North African mosaics: Two case studies**

Two well-known North African mosaics, the Dominus Julius Mosaic and the Tabarka *villa rustica* mosaic panel, both discussed below, illustrate the methodological issues involved in synthesising visual depictions of dress. These mosaics are frequently referred to in discussions of elite life, primarily because they showcase the world of rich African aristocrats. Scholars have suggested varying degrees of realism for the designs on the mosaics. Roger Wilson, for example, argues that generic representations of large houses and grounds were valued forms of iconography, producing desirable statements of wealth and status.24 Katherine Dunbabin, by contrast, views such depictions as actual images of real places, basing her argument on the lack of conventional motifs included in their portrayal.25

The true position is likely to lie somewhere between these two interpretations. Clothing, as will be argued below, contributed to how viewers interpreted the imagery by framing the iconographic message within dominant cultural ideals. Both mosaics were excavated from urban settings, yet the mosaic iconography advertises elite *otium* – a somewhat ambiguous Latin term broadly denoting a sense of leisure or freedom.26 The mosaic pavements transport the viewer into this rural ideal, communicating associated cultural connotations and core values.27 In this respect, these mosaics were manifestations of a discourse that increasingly defined elite identity. Details of dress in the iconography contributed to this strategy of elite self-representation and thus can be seen as artefacts of an image-clothing rhetoric.

### *Dominus Julius Mosaic***: Reinforcing social distinction through clothing**

The desire to visualise aspects of the elite experience on mosaic floors can be seen in North African pavements that directly commemorate the patron's lifestyle. This ideal was neatly encapsulated by the well-known Dominus Julius Mosaic which portrays a version of the rural idyll even though found in an urban setting (Fig. 13.1).28 Very little is known about the original archaeological context, although it has been suggested that the mosaic floor once decorated a room with a fountain.29 Dating to around 380–400 CE, this vast mosaic (4.5 × 5.65 m) is composed of three registers of small vignettes organised around an image of a substantial building which dominates the landscape.30 These vignettes anchor the imagery as the representation of the elite *habitus*  by including activities associated with its inhabitants and the estate's productivity. In the upper left corner, a male servant carries two ducks. There are also peasants gathering olives in a basket. A female servant offers a basket full of olives to the *domina* who is seated under the shade of the cypress trees (Fig. 13.2). In the same row, another servant brings the *domina* a lamb while to the right of this scene a shepherd watches his flock. Flanking the estate in the centre is a mounted rider on the left, the *dominus*. He is accompanied by a servant. On the other side of this impressive structure are two hunters who appear to be leaving the

*Fig. 13.1. Depiction of the Dominus Julius estate with various scenes of agricultural activities and rural life from Carthage,* c. *380–400 CE. Musée du Bardo, Tunis, inv. no. 1.  Imagery in the lower row also reinforces the performance of rural *otium.* The *domina*  appears again on the left (Fig. 13.3). She leans against a column while her attendant offers her a necklace from a jewellery box. In the far right, a person carries a basket of roses. The other scene in this row depicts the seated *dominus* who receives a scroll from a figure. Completing this scene is another worker. He carries a basket and grasps a rabbit by the hind legs.

This mosaic, though composed of rather commonplace imagery, has adopted an unconventional format to produce a more personalised and selective approach to mosaic motifs.31 With the use of superimposed levels, the design amalgamates aspects of estate life in one single artistic snapshot. The primary iconographic message is that of the leisurely lifestyle of the rural elite – no doubt due to the wealth of the estate – and this is exaggerated through the repeated depiction of the elite couple alongside their numerous workers. The imagery revolves around the *dominus* and *domina* and this confirms their superior status.32 The patrons are either approached by the other figures who produce gifts for the *domini* or, in the case of the middle level, by an attendant who walks besides the *dominus* who is shown mounted on a horse.

The way the figures in the Dominus Julius Mosaic are dressed would have reinforced social distinction and reaffirmed the elite position of the patron and his family. In both of his visual depictions, the *dominus* is garbed in an ornamented *tunica strictoria* (a long-sleeved tunic). Clothed in these long voluminous tunics, the master is certainly not dressed for manual labour; his costume matches his leisured pose. His long tunic contrasts to the short garments worn by the labourers who are engaged in agricultural activities. Both *dominus* and workers wear the same tunic type – the *tunica strictoria –* so it is not the garment type but its variable length that signifies social status and occupation. The viewer is invited to reflect upon the differences in status between the *dominus* and his workers through reflecting on their clothing. This is not to say that patrons would commission imagery that depicted their labourers in rags, far from it. Since the *dominus* provided his servants with their wardrobe, the way workers were dressed in visual media was a direct reflection of the master's social position: ornate, but socially relevant, dress was therefore an effective way of claiming elite status.33 Somewhat surprisingly it is the labourers' clothing that is colourful, rather than the *dominus* (or the *domina* for that matter). Again, the decision to present the figures in this way might be another mechanism for communicating status since white clothing was more expensive to maintain.34 Furthermore, the range of coloured clothing supplied to estate workers would be seen as yet another sign of wealth.

*Fig. 13.2. Seated* domina *under the shade of a cypress tree in the upper register of the Dominus Julius Mosaic, from Carthage,*  c*. 380–400 CE. Musée du Bardo, Tunis, inv. no. 1. Photo: Sean Leatherbury/Manar al-Athar (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0).*

Not surprisingly in a floor pavement designed to show aspects of the elite world, the *domina* also uses her clothing to signal status. While her use of heavy jewellery immediately displays her wealth and brings to mind traditional Venus motifs – she wears a double-rowed necklace but is also shown in the process of accepting an additional necklace from her attendant – there is more subtle dress rhetoric at play to mark social difference.35 In the upper scene, the *domina* is depicted wearing a short-sleeved tunic decorated with thin monochrome *clavi* (vertical decorative stripes).36 Her figure is accentuated by the thinness of her gauzy garment which falls slightly down, revealing her shoulder. Perhaps this is meant to imply a silk tunic – another marker of her wealth. The *domina* is portrayed again in the lower level but her appearance is notably individualised and different from her portrayal in the upper one. Here, she is shown wearing a thin *tunica strictoria*  decorated with continuous *clavi* that run from the shoulder to a floor-length hem. She leans on a pillar and accepts a necklace from her attendant who holds a jewellery box. This attendant is clothed also in a *tunica strictoria* which is worn under a *tunica dalmatica* (a type of tunic with

wide long-sleeves). While this might at first suggest social distinction, this attendant is given a somewhat anonymous characterisation as her appearance is very similar to that of the female attendant in the upper level who carries a basket. A lack of individual stylisation is also apparent in the depiction of the *clavi* on this mosaic floor, although all *clavi* are monochrome. Despite wearing different types of tunic, the *clavi* decorating the attendants' tunics is identical and less ornate than that worn by the *domina*. This may be an attempt to replicate a bar stripe *clavi* on the attendants' tunics, which contrast to the block check design depicted on the *domina*'s *clavi*. 37 The mosaic iconography was intended to communicate some sort of distinction in *clavi*  design. Furthermore, the voluminous sleeves of the attendant's *tunica dalmatica* are tied under the bust, a feature which suggests that this is designed to aid movement.38 The female attendant's dress therefore reiterates her social position in contrast to the *domina* whose leisured lifestyle does not require such clothing adaptions. As a *graffito* from the forum at Timgad declares, *venari lavari ludere ridere occ est vivere*, 'hunting, bathing, playing, laughing, that is living' (CIL 8.17938).39 At the same time, the social

*Fig. 13.3. Standing* domina *leaning against a pillar and accompanied by her attendant in the lower register of the Dominus Julius Mosaic from Carthage,* c*. 380–400 CE. Musée du Bardo, Tunis, inv. no. 1. Photo: Sean Leatherbury/Manar al-Athar (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0).*

position of the domestic attendants who wear long tunics is also contrasted to that of the labourers whose agricultural role necessitated shorter garments. Overall, the repertoire of clothing presented by this image-clothing enhances the *domina*'s clothing display, highlighting not only her ability to alter her own costume as desired (a consequence of her leisure time) but also her ability to dress her attendants in different costumes according to their social status and identity which, in turn, reflect back on the status of the *dominus* and *domina*.

### *Tabarka villa rustica panel:* **Reaffirming social status through textile activity**

The second example of how clothing in mosaics related to the elite lifestyle is seen in a suburban apse mosaic from Tabarka (Fig. 13.4).40 Located west of Carthage, Tabarka, ancient *Thabraca*, was situated along the coastal road (Plin. *NH* 5.22). This panel is a *trifolium* apse mosaic arranged around a dining room in a building complex dated to around 400 CE.41 This central dining space was decorated with a mosaic pavement that depicted scenes of hunting – another appropriate elite pursuit.42 Unfortunately, only the reception space was excavated and recorded by Toutain and Pradére in 1890, but the scale of the room and the ornate mosaic floors suggest they belonged to a substantial building.43 As a whole, these apse mosaics showcase traditional aspects of a rural estate, echoing Columella's earlier tripartite division: the *villa urbana*, *villa fructuaria* and the *villa rustica* (*Rust.* 1.6), referring respectively to the *villa* estate's dwelling space, the storehouse and the production quarter*.* 44 The composition of each panel depicts a central structure supplemented by thematically suitable flora and fauna to help with the interpretation. It is clear that these pavements were intended to be viewed as a whole.

Of the three panels, the floor mosaic most relevant to this discussion about the interpretation of mosaic iconography, identity construction and elite performance is the *villa rustica*. In this, the central building is flanked by agricultural scenes including trees and vines. A horse is tethered to the right of the complex. In the background, birds are scattered across a hilly landscape. The imagery in the foreground is obscured by damage to the mosaic but a seated figure is visible on the left and there are sheep below her. It is

*Fig. 13.4.* Villa Rustica *mosaic showing a rural scene dominated by a central building with supplementary rural scenes from Tabarka,*  c. *400 CE. Musée du Bardo, Tunis, inv. no. A27. Photo: Sean Leatherbury/Manar al-Athar (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0).*

the seated woman that is of particular interest (Fig. 13.5). Significantly, she is the only figure depicted on these three apse floors.45

The Tabarka mosaic offers a more nuanced example of the language of contemporary dress and the intricacies of matching visual imagery with social reality. The *villa rustica*  mosaic from Tabarka has only one preserved figure whose identity is at first sight ambiguous. Nevertheless, there are clues to be found in the details of the clothing that both promote the iconographic narrative in this floor pavement and provide a greater insight into how image-clothing reflected prominent cultural values. The sole figure is shown in the process of drop-spinning, as is indicated by the spindle and distaff. The woman's size, in comparison to the rest of the scene, and her posture, suggest that she is a part of the narrative rather than a principal character; the central building remains the iconographic focus. The presence of the woman spinning steers the viewer's interpretation towards identifying this panel as corresponding to the *pars rustica*. The figure has conventionally been identified as a shepherdess.46 Although this interpretation at first appears logical, given the presence of the flock of sheep, it is too

*Fig. 13.5. Depiction of a female leisurely spinning while seated on a rock in the* villa rustica *mosaic from Tabarka,* c. *400 CE. Musée du Bardo, Tunis, inv. no. A27. Photo: Sean Leatherbury/Manar al-Athar (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0).*

literal and does not account for the figure's clothing. This woman is dressed in a short-sleeved tunic which is decorated with continuous striped *clavi* that run the length of her garment. There is matching decoration on her sleeves. Her clothing appears too fine for that of a shepherdess but at the same time too plain for that of a wealthy *domina*, if the dress of the *domina* on the Dominus Julius Mosaic is accepted as being typical of visual clothing for elite women*.*

However, a closer examination of the way the spinning woman's clothing has been portrayed, together with a consideration of the theme of the mosaic, reveals that her wardrobe has in fact been carefully constructed. Her image is a carefully selective portrayal. Variations in the colour of the *tesserae* (the pieces of mosaic) give body to the figure under the clothing and help to accentuate the leisurely nature of her actions. Only a small element of the overall mosaic design remains; nevertheless, the woman's costume speaks volumes to the viewer. Although this portrayal of the spinning woman calls to mind the attendant in the lower level of the Dominus Julius Mosaic, her posture evokes a sense of elite *otium* as she sits to one side of the agricultural scene. Her actions may look like a form of manual work but they are unhurried and in direct contrast to the movement of the animals elsewhere in the scene. Unlike the first example from Carthage, this figure should not be interpreted as a straight depiction of a particular individual; instead, it should be viewed as an embodiment of an ideal of elite behaviour, *lanificium* (wool working).

The ideal of the virtuous Roman *matrona* spinning had a long and established history in Roman cultural discourse by the 4th century.47 This cultural association carried on into the 5th century as a letter from Jerome to the wealthy ascetic Demetrias outlining suitable behaviours shows (*Ep.*  130.15). Images of *matronae* spinning or weaving were not necessarily intended to document actual female activities – although this possibility cannot be discounted – but rather to showcase female and gender appropriate roles.48 Set within a wider discourse about feminine virtues which paradoxically presented wealthy *matronae* as modest both in character and by their rejection of *luxuria*, the wearing of modest clothing became part and parcel of the cultural uniform expected of this idealistic practice.49 Such an interpretation is further confirmed by the depiction of the *matrona*'s head covering, one typically worn by married women as an outward sign of modesty.50

At Tabarka, the spinning female is depicted inhabiting her feminine ideal – the domestic space – and her clothing therefore reflects a fashion appropriate for this context. In fact, this modest clothing actually transports the literal interpretation of the imagery into the realm of idealisation and cultural construction. She does not hide away in a weaving room, as is implied by Sidonius' vivid and dramatic portrayal of his villa (*Epist.* 2.2.9) but acts as an active caricature in the villa scene. The inclusion of this spinning figure reveals an aspect of female activity, her *lanificium*, that can potentially take place on these great African estates, even if only on a visual level. Such a representation also demonstrates the coexisting properties of identity markers and the emphasis of certain characteristics through the clothing forms chosen.

### **Visual imagery: Embodying the elite lifestyle through mosaic pavement**

Mosaics are undoubtedly one of the most recognisable artefacts of Roman visual culture. Excavated throughout the Roman world – from the far reaches of Britannia to the Syrian deserts – mosaic floors were a shared and popular form of self-expression.51 Frequently employed as decoration in domestic spaces in the urban *domus* or the rural *villa*, mosaics were interactive decorative features.52 The Roman *domus*, as the locus of the proprietor's social, political and business activities, framed and choreographed social interactions.53 Research into housing in *Africa Proconsularis* highlights a decided preference for reception rooms, with some residences found to have multiple such spaces.54 A critical survey of North African mosaics also reveals an underlying desire to make patrons present in mosaic designs.55 Despite a growing body of scholarship examining the complexities of ancient dress, research that focuses on non-textiles routinely treats dress in mosaic images in one of two ways.56 In the first, clothing is treated as a passive, incidental element of the mosaic design, carried out with little care for its execution. As such, clothing is neither explicitly mentioned nor described and is not seen to contextualise the imagery beyond the basic characterisation of figures.57 In the second, imagery is interpreted as a direct record of reality, with the assumption that such pavements accurately showcase dress as it was once worn. Clothing details are therefore used to establish chronology.58 Neither approach fully appreciates the complexities of reading mosaic dress, nor appreciates that, as 'image-clothing', mosaic iconography reflects a particular version of the language of dress.

Both the Dominus Julius Mosaic and the Tabarka *villa rustica* mosaic, despite being excavated from urban contexts, evoke elite *otium* and transport the viewer into this social landscape. As such, these images do not depict a literal environment but an elite world in which the patron was thought to inhabit and operate.59 As Brown remarks, this is 'art *by* the rich that was devoted with particular zest to the theme of *being* rich'.60 Of course, both the subject and medium reinforced notions of status and prestige. A vivid episode from the 5th-century poet Luxorius recalls how Fridamal – presumably his patron – commissioned an '*imago*' of himself killing a boar.61 While Chiara Tomassi Moreschini follows Dunbabin in viewing these African genre motifs as having a 'fantastic style' due to the increasingly 'unrealistic' compositions and animal groupings, this perspective plays down the self-promotional benefit of such images, especially given that this ingenious portrayal explicitly singles out Fridamal's mosaic from the other artworks.62 Increasing cultural value was placed upon representing the patron's *habitus*; that this was achieved through mosaic pavements and echoed in visualisations of clothing demonstrates the symbolic function of dress.

It cannot be assumed that the ubiquity of mosaic floors as a mode of elite competition made them any the less effective strategies of elite self-expression, nor that these categories of mosaic motif therefore faded into the architectural background. Rather, the opposite is true. The consumption of such artefacts by other elites fuelled the proliferation of these scenes and reaffirmed the association between the elite lifestyle, mosaics and elite activities. In doing so, it blurred the lines between realism and representation. These images provided imitations of elite pursuits, not factual impressions, but were produced with the appropriate degree of thematic realism to communicate with the viewer. In a similar way, the clothing imagery in visual media were not exact translations of real garments but examples of image-clothing that documented a version of sartorial practice enacted out in the visual sphere. As with mosaic iconography, dress imagery in these mosaic pavements would present acceptable clothing fashions, even if they formed exaggerations or sartorial idealisations.

### **Conclusion: Understanding the context of dress imagery in mosaic iconography**

Mosaic iconography was a familiar means of elite selfexpression and it was that iconography as well as the ideas and ideals encoded in mosaic designs that reaffirmed elite culture. This conclusion is supported by the critical examination of the language of dress embedded in mosaic iconography. Dress, as represented in mosaics, contributed to the display of elite behaviours and was itself an arena for social display. Elite status was reinforced through clothing hierarchies; and clothing functioned as a means of social competition. Rather than being seen as direct statements of clothing practices, the dress images constructed in mosaic floors showcase 'acceptable' characteristics for dress in the visual sphere and thus document dress strategies which are bound by their own internal logic. This body of 'image-clothing' sits alongside other type of dress evidence. In this way, the *domina* on the Dominus Julius Mosaic presents the best 'version' of herself, an image that would be instantly recognisable to her viewer but nonetheless a constructed caricature of her identity. Her husband exhibits a similar caricature and his clothing reaffirms his social position rather than his actual sartorial reality. Similarly, the lone spinning female from Tabarka does not depict a real individual; instead, she acts as the embodiment of the Roman *matrona* engaged in her *lanificium.* However, without an understanding of the catalogue of cultural intricacies that enabled contemporary society to recognise the artistic imagery, the modern viewer is likely to view mosaic floors solely as decorative vignettes. Frequently divorced from their original architectural contexts and displayed in museums, these mosaic floors belong to a world that has to be seen in a different context: clothing was an active component of mosaic iconography and as such provides another means of investigating mosaic imagery and providing insights into the elite world that that imagery evokes.

Deciphering textile imagery from extant textile iconography is not a precise science. Many methodological issues affect the simplistic extraction of styles of dress from clothing visualisations. Nonetheless, scholars should not dismiss all iconographic depictions of dress as being devoid of authenticity. The Roman viewer was adept at reading these cultural clues. The clothing depicted on mosaic floors takes the form of image-clothing, a version of the late Roman dress codes transported and translated via visual media. Although such examples are visually encoded and infused with a considerable degree of idealisation, as versions of elite activity they provide some insights into the study of Roman dress. Clothing as portrayed in mosaics filtered into the elite experience of dress as the negotiation of clothing behaviours appropriate to different contexts. Mosaic dress articulated important cultural associations. Such examples therefore offer significant insights into an important aspect of Roman dress.

### **Acknowledgements**

I am grateful to the Midlands3Cities Doctoral Training Partnership for providing the funding for this research at the University of Leicester, and for funding my attendance at the EAA 2018 in Barcelona. My thanks also go to the session organisers, two anonymous peer reviewers and editors.

### *Notes*

Eretz Israel including the sites of Beit She'an, Beit Guvrin, Beit Alpha, Gaza Maiumas, Zippori, Hammat Tiberias, Merot, Khirbet Wadi Hammam, Huqoq, Kissufim, Kibbutz Erez, Caesarea, Tel Malhata, Horvat Beit Loya, Be'er Shem'a, Ein Ya'el, Khirbet Mukhayyat, Jerash, Madaba, Mount Nebo, En Nashut, Sepphoris and Jerusalem.

image was intended to show a thin, and likely continuous, design.

comprised of small episodes spread in levels across a white background or with a freer distribution, Février (1983, 160– 161). Also Parrish (1984) who discusses seasonal imagery; Dunbabin (1978, 46–64) who examines hunting motifs; and Dunbabin (1978, 109–123) for rural scenes.

### **Bibliography**

*of Women in Antiquity: Proceedings of the First Nordic Symposium on Women's Lives in Antiquity, Göteborg 12*–*15 June 1997*, 85–95. Jonsered, P. Åströms Förlag.

*From Pagan Rome to Byzantium*, 319–409. London, Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.

### Chapter 14

### Epilogue

### *Mary Harlow*