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IRON AGE NOMADS OF THE URALS:
INTERPRETING SAURO-SARMATIAN AND SARGAT IDENTITIES

By

Ann Marie Kroll Lerner

A DISSERTATION
Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of
Doetor of Philosophy
Department of Anthropology

2006

ABSTRACT

IRON AGE NOMADS OF THE URALS:
INTERPRETING SAURO-SARMATIAN AND SARGAT IDENTITIES

By
Ann Marie Kroll Lerner

This dissertation investigates the. archaeological signature of pastoral nomads on
the Eurasian steppe and forest-steppe. In uncovering and identifying nomadic signatures,
it becomes possible to also recognize nomad identity. Iron Age nomads have been the
focus of scholars working in Western Siberia, but much of the interest has revolved
around their origins, and the distinctions of material culture to create chronologies.
Neither has been an insignificant or unimportant task, but this study advocates for a
different approach focusing more on local identity construction.

Eurasian Iron Age nomads have been identified as a common militaristic culture
in the literature, a Scytho-Siberian cultural complex. Traditionally archaeologists have
used the historic record to establish cultural identities, boundaries, and interactions across
this landmass. This dissertation explores the use of the landscape, the mortuary and
settlement evidence, and material culture from the Transurals and the southern Urals to
reevaluate assumptions about identity and cultural interaction. The two populations
occupying these areas, the Sauro-Sannatians and the Sargat, show that the
monochromatic use of pan-Siberian terminology blinds us to the uniqueness of local
populations. While broad regional patterns need to be understood, the local contexts of
interaction and cultural expression have been ignored.

Other studies have established a pan-Siberian description of nomad behavior.

This study advocates for a different perspective on their identities. As mobile groups, the

cultural contact between regional populations is vital, but nomad identity is not created
and maintained in any one context, but is shifting and contextual. While focusing on the
examination of a few sites, nomad burial customs cannot be divorced from their broader
regional contexts. It is towards a better understanding of local identity within a broader

Eurasian nomad culture that is the emphasis of this study.

Copyright by
ANN MARIE KROLL LERNER
2006

Dedicated to Mom and Pop
who taught me to learn

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

At the end of this doctoral process I cannot imagine ever doing it again... without
the incredible support that I’ve been given. My committee gave me the carrot and the
stick when necessary, always providing conviction and direction. William Lovis took on
a green idealist and kept me from becoming too jaded. I couldn’t count the hours of
discussion and revision, or the untold parenthetical clauses through which he steered me.
I owe you another pound of flesh. Lynne Goldstein and Helen Pollard directed several
independent readings courses and weathered the drafts with unwavering optimism that
the next draft would be the one. Sherrn Gamett joined my committee out of curiosity,
bringing with him the historical insight on Soviet society that provided a context for my
commentary. Norm Sauer marshaled me through the early years, during the coursework
and the comprehensives, and then bowed out with grace and a smirk when the
dissertation took me in other directions. And finally, Karlene Jones-Bley provided what I
consider to be the most comprehensive editorializin g that I could have imagined. When I
needed a friend, she listened; when I wanted a pushover, she said “no”; when I wanted
candy, she always had some tucked away. Without her knowledge of the literature of
Siberian archaeology I would have had to find a new calling.

I have grown from the life experiences taught to me in the field by the French-
Russian team under the tutelage of Marie-Yvanne Daire and Ludmila Koryakova. It was
Ludmila Nikolaevna’s exuberance for Russian archaeology and insistence that she
“always succeeded at firsts” that made me believe that I, her first American student,
would succeed. I would be remiss if I did not mention specifically Svetlana Sharapova,

Marie-Céline Uge, and Esther “Chica” Gonzalez, my international sisters in banya.

vi

Finally Bryan Hanks spent untold hours in a myriad of time zones commiserating and
encouraging as only a fellow survivor could.

There have been two campus communities that fostered my academic
development. At my home institution, Michigan State, Alison Rautman discussed my
research interests and participated in every stage of the process. I owe her a huge debt of
gratitude for sending timely epiphanies my way. Gail Barricklow and Nancy Smith did
the things that no one else could —they directed me through the paperwork jungle and
always asked how things were going at home, the balance I needed most. I can only call
out my fellow graduate students en masse -their number and contribution to this product
remains untold. In particular though, the Iron Circle helped to keep the passion of the
academic pursuit in front of the pitfalls.

My second home institution was SUNY College at Cortland. For three years I
was at home in the Department of Sociology/Anthropology, a temporary member of the
faculty with the full privilege of calling them colleagues. Sharon Steadman welcomed
my participation in all aspects of the department and shared her dedication to students
and teaching. I wanted to be a better teacher so as not to let the standard down. Jamie
Dangler, Kassim Kone, Ellis McDowell-Loudan, William Skipper, John Sosa, Anne
Vittoria, and Tiantian Zheng all exemplify why I wish to stay in academia, for the
camaraderie and the cake. To Gilda Haines Votra and Betsy Zaharis: you’re the reason I
wished to stay at Cortland.

The most important are always toward the end. The friends that I have found —by
kismet, fate, or blind luck —bolstered my flagging resolve, bandaged my battered ego, and

then said keep writing. Deb Rotman, Pam Galbraith, Mark Hoolihan, Carl Raymond,

vii

Richard Yidana —I count you among the many who kept me sane(r) than most. Heather
Van Wormer, you are in a class all your own. I don’t know whether to call you a friend,
a mentor, a madam, or a sister. You I picked.

And as ever, the family gets short shrift at the end of the page. My house
overflows with love and support. The academic goddesses shined down upon me when I
married into the Lerner family. They have welcomed my Russian background and filled
in the empty places in my library. I wonder at divine intervention. My natal family, the
ones who understand my food-tupidity and the need to do it until it’s done, there are
literally too many for any one person to deserve. I have always been most proud when
someone knows me as your little sister. My parents never wondered why I was still in
school; it’s just something I was supposed to be doing. I appreciate everything you have
loved into me.

My parents got the dedication, it is well-deserved. My husband deserves a medal.
I lost the list of things Dan contributed, but he’s not good at keeping score. Know that it
would not have been finished without you. Zev, your walking was the motivation I

needed to finish this dissertation. Now, we can go to the park. '

viii

 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF TABLES ............................................................................................................ xii
LIST OF FIGURES ......................................................................................................... xiii
CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION ............................................................................................................... l
DEFINITIONS .................................................................................................................... 4
Nomadism & Pastoralism .......................................................................................... 5
Mobility & Seasonality .............................................................................................. 9
GEOGRAPHIC AND GEOLOGICAL SETTINGS ...................................................................... 9
Western Siberia ........................................................................................................ l0
Climate ..................................................................................................................... l0
Ecological Setting .................................................................................................... I 1
PROJECT AREAS AND INTERPRETING CULTURAL GROUPS ............................................. I 1
Bronze Age and Early Iron Age ............................................................................... I2
The Research Problem ........................................................................................... l .. I6
CHAPTER SYNOPSES ...................................................................................................... I8
CHAPTER 2
ANTHROPOLOGICAL AND ARCHAEOLOGICAL APPROACHES TO
NOMADISM ..................................................................................................................... 2|
DEFINITIONS OF NOMADS AND PASTORAL NOMADISM .................................................. 2]
HISTORY OF NOMAD STUDIES IN ARCHAEOLOGY .......................................................... 34
Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries ......................................................................... 34
Environmental and Ecological Approaches ............................................................ 38
Pastoral Nomad Origins .......................................................................................... 45
Pastoral Nomad Socio-Political Organization ........................................................ 48
CHAPTER 3
SOVIET AND RUSSIAN ARCHAEOLOGY .................................................................. 51
CZARIST ERA ................................................................................................................. 52
SOVIET ERA ................................................................................................................... 54
Ethnogenesis and Nationalism ................................................................................. 57
Post-Stalin Period .................................................................................................... 58
GORBACHEV AND THE POST-SOVIET ERA ...................................................................... 6O
EURASIAN STEPPE NOMADS ........................................................................................... 65
BRONZE AGE TRANSITION ............................................................................................. 70
CHAPTER 4
THE SARMATIAN AND THE SARGAT CULTURES .................................................. 82
THE IRON AGE —HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT ................................................................ 82
SCYTHO-SIBERIAN CULTURAL COMPLEX ...................................................................... 85
MORTUARY TRADITIONS IN WESTERN AND SOUTHERN SIBERIA ................................... 88
THE SARMATIANS .......................................................................................................... 9]

ix

Summary of the Sarmatian Interpretations ............................................................ |03

THE SARGAT ................................................................................................................ 106
Summary of the Sargat Interpretations .................................................................. I l 3
CHAPTER 5
MODELS OF NOMADIC-SEDENTARY INTERACTIONS AND IDENTITY .......... I I6
TAPHONOMIC SIGNATURES OF NOMADISM AND THE USE OF
ETHNOARCHAEOLOGY ...................................................................................................... l 16
USE OF ETHNOARCHAEOLOGY ..................................................................................... I 17
Material Culture of Pastoral Nomads ................................................................... I I8
Material Culture of Western Siberian Iron Age Nomads ...................................... I20
CULTURAL IDENTITY AND INTERACTION ..................................................................... 121
Sex and Gender ...................................................................................................... 124
Ethnicity ................................................................................................................. l25
MORTUARY STUDIES ................................................................................................... 128
INTERACTIONS AND MODEL BUILDING ........................................................................ 143
CHAPTER 6
A NEW METHODOLOGY FOR SIBERIAN NOMAD DATA ANALYSIS ............... I48
SAUROMATIANS AND EARLY SARMATIANS OF THE SOUTHERN URALS ........................ 148
Two SARGAT SITES IN THE TRANSURALS .................................................................... 153
General Geographic Conditions of the Transurals and Southern Urals ............... 155
Sargat Data Sets .................................................................................................... l56
CATEGORICAL ANALYSIS ............................................................................................. 161
The Model .............................................................................................................. 167
CHAPTER 7
CURRENT ANALYSIS OF IRON AGE PEOPLES ...................................................... I70
LANDSCAPE FEATURES ................................................................................................ 172
South Urals ............................................................................................................ I72
Transurals .............................................................................................................. I72
Discussion of Landscape Features ........................................................................ I74
SETTLEMENT ................................................................................................................. 176
Malokazakhbaevo .................................................................................................. I76
ARCHITECTURE ............................................................................................................ I78
Sauro-Sarmatian kurgans ...................................................................................... I78
Sargat settlement and kurgans ............................................................................... 187
Discussion of Iron Age Architecture Features ....................................................... I92
TRADE ......................................................................................................................... 194
Sauro-Sarmatian Material Culture ........................................................................ I94
Sargat Material Culture ......................................................................................... 203
Discussion of Iron Age Trade ................................................................................ 217
RITUAL ACTIVITIES IN MORTUARY PRACTICE ............................................................. 208
Sauromatian and early Sarmatian Mortuary evidence from Pokrovka 2 .............. 209
Sargat Mortuary evidence fiom Skaty ................................................................... 220
Discussion of Iron Age Mortuary Ritual ................................................................ 222
x

CHAPTER 8

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS ........................................................................... 225
PAST RESEARCH .......................................................................................................... 227
PRESENT MODELS AND ANALYSIS ............................................................................... 230
DIMENSIONS OF THE ANALYSIS .................................................................................... 232
FUTURE RESEARCH INTO NOMAD IDENTITY ................................................................ 238

BIBLIOGRAPHY ............................................................................................................ 240

xi

LIST OF TABLES

TABLE 1.1 Regional chronology for the Eurasian Bronze Age (from Koryakova

1996:250) ........................................................................................................................... 14
TABLE 1.2 Regional chronology for the Eurasian Iron Age (from Koryakova

1996:252) ........................................................................................................................... 15
TABLE 6.1 Pokrovka 2: Kurgans, dates of excavations, numbers of individuals,

and cultural affiliation (summarized from Yablonsky 1993, I994, I995, I996) ............ 151
TABLE 6.2 Skaty kurgans excavated ............................................................................. 157
TABLE 6.3 Dimensions of Analysis .............................................................................. 171
TABLE 7.1 Pokrovka 2: Sauromatian kurgans (summarized from Yablonsky

I993, I994, I995, I996) .................................................................................................. 180
TABLE 7.2 Body position in cm below base of mound fill (summarized from

Yablonsky I993, I994, I995, I996) ................................................................................ 184
TABLE 7.3 Pokrovka 2: Early Sarmatian kurgans (summarized from Yablonsky

1993, 1994, I995, I996) .................................................................................................. 185
TABLE 7.4 Pokrovka 2: Sauromatian grave goods by age/sex categories .................... 196
TABLE 7.5 Pokrovka 2: early Sarmatian grave goods by age/sex categories ............... 197
TABLE 7.6 Pokrovka 2: Analyses of glass beads (after Anikeeva 1996; Hall and
Yablonsky I998) .............................................................................................................. 201
TABLE 7.7 Skaty: Sargat grave goods by age/sex categories ........................................ 206
TABLE 7.8 Ceramic content analysis (summarized from Demkin and Ryskov

1994; Ryskov and Demkin 1995) .................................................................................... 210
TABLE 7.9 Pokrovka 2: Burial of the Kurgan 3 Burial 2, the “priestess”, and

Kurgan 8 Burial 1, the “priest” (Davis-Kimball 1998b; Yablonsky I995) ..................... 216
TABLE 7.10 Pokrovka 2: Child and sub-adult burials ................................................... 218
TABLE 7.11 Skaty: Children’s burials ........................................................................... 222

xii

LIST OF FIGURES

FIGURE 1.1 Map of locations of various Iron Age nomad groups .................................... 2

FIGURE 6.1 General map of south Urals and Transurals indicating sites
discussed in text ............................................................................................................... 149

FIGURE 6.2 Pokrovka 2: Plan view Of cemetery complex (Yablonsky 1996,

Figure 18) ......................................................................................................................... 154

FIGURE 6.3 Skaty kurgan complex (from Daire and Koryakova 2002, Figure 27) ...... 158

FIGURE 6.4 Malokazakhbaevo cemetery and fortress (after Yipimakhov survey

1992; Daire and Koryakova 2002, Figure 81) ................................................................. 160

FIGURE 7.1 Malokazakhbaevo fortress (from Daire and Koryakova 2002, Figure

81) .................................................................................................................................... 177

FIGURE 7.2 Pokrovka 2: Orientation of head in early Sarmatian graves ...................... 187

FIGURE 7.3 Skaty Kurgan 1 with features I-11 and continuous ditch (from Daire

and Koryakova 2002, Figure 31) ..................................................................................... 190

FIGURE 7.4 Skaty Kurgan 4 with features 14 and half-circle ditches (from

Daire and Koryakova 2002, Figure 35) ........................................................................... I90
xiii

CHAPTER ONE
INTRODUCTION
The archaeological record of Siberia provides a valuable body of data with which

to examine various forms of pastoralism. My own research in this region examines the
relationship between nomads and sedentary groups in the Transurals and south Urals
during the early part Of the Iron Age (1000 BC - AD 1000; Fig. 1.1) using a wealth of past
research materials as well as my own material gathered during four research periods

(1996-1999). Exposure to alternative schools of thought, both within and. outside Russia,

has provided me with an Opportunity to elucidate a heretofore little known archaeological

record to scholars outside the former Soviet Union. Comparisons can be made Of the
changes in the relationship between sedentary and nomadic groups, as well as changes in
both mobility patterns and land use during this time period in two distinctive ecological
areas: the Transurals or forest-steppe zone to the east of the Ural mountains, and the
southern Urals steppe zone. The southern steppe populations represent a “real” nomadic
form (sensu Khazanov 1994), and thus is an area that should present a clearer expression
of nomadic lifestyles. The Transurals population, on the other hand, represents what is

assumed to be a more mixed economic and sociocultural form, with both linguistically
and culturally disparate groups (such as Ugrians and IndO-Iranians, semi-sedentary and
nomadic) and their broader regional interaction sphere. Thus, the Transurals present a
Zone of cultural interaction and potential mixing, one within which to examine alternative
l.dti'as about the development of cultural interaction spheres.
The focus of this dissertation is to examine the many potential avenues Of identity

”I . . . . . . . .
mag]? m uhiple dImenSIons of comparative analysrs. How nomads Med and maintained

their own cultural signature has been of utmost importance to both archaeologists and
historians. In addition, the construction of “nomad” as such a distinctly “other” identity
from the sedentary realm has helped to perpetuate the image of their separateness. But as
will be shown, there are considerable degrees of both mobility and dependence upon
animal husbandry, and there also must be degrees of variation in our interpretations of the
sedentary-nomad interactions along different dimensions and at different scales. The
most common archaeological signature of the pastoral nomads of this region, the burial
mound (kurgan) will be the primary data source. These kurgans are present across the
Eurasian steppe and have been the attention and focus of archaeological and other more
pedestrian forms of investigation since ancient times. By examining these sites from

multiple levels, it is hoped that one can gain a richer understanding of the complex

interactions among and between peoples.

o
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50 P0
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Altai
Mountains
Saka

 

”#131”

F1. gure 1.1 Map of locations of various Iron Age nomad groups.

Although Western Siberia was the focus of archaeological field investigations for
many generations, publication of work from this area contains assumptions or
generalizations that require more stringent evaluation and clarification. Moreover, the
reliance on historical evidence, a mainstay of Russian, Soviet and post-Soviet
archaeology, has Often focused the resultant inquiry and nature Of the interpretations too
narrowly. In order to redress this problem, I participated in three excavation seasons
(1996-1998), examined repository collections, and gathered published data from
archaeological sites of two geographically separate Iron Age populations. They are
related through their use of mortuary ritual, material culture, and economic strategy. The
ecological settings appear similar enough, with the evident differences considered
negligible to an outsider, but upon closer consideration the steppe zone Of the Southern
Urals is a wide swath of grassland north of the arid Central Asian desert while the forest-
Steppe zone of the Transurals is on the cusp of more northern and forested adaptations.

My field research at late Bronze and early Iron Age sites in Western Siberia,

including Skaty, Baitovo, Malokazakhbaevo, and Bolshekazakhbaevo, were conducted as
part of ajoint Russian-French archaeological project, headed by Dr. Ludmila Koryakova,
Professor of History and Archaeology, Ural State University, and Dr. Marie-Y vonne
Daire of the Université de Rennes 1. The excavations in which I participated are here
included among the published materials from the early Iron Age sites of the Transurals.
Another objective of my research has been to study the methodological and
theoretical issues associated with archaeology as an historical discipline and to interpose

I
bemethOdology of my anthropological education and experience. The discussions of the

nature of nomadic-sedentary groups' interactions, nomadism's taphonomic signatures, and
cultural identity in the archaeological record demonstrate differences in the core
influences between American and Russian archaeologists. I argue that the use of a
cultural-historical approach has limited the scope of Russian interpretations of the
archaeological record -a record which, until the last decade, was largely known only to
Russian and formerly Soviet scholars. It is these interpretations which dominate the
manner in which most of the non-Russian “outside world” understands pastoral
nomadism across the vastness of the Eurasian Iandmass. It would be inappropriate and
self-aggrandizing tO suggest that “the Russians have a lot to learn from US”; but it is not
inappropriate to view old data through new eyes, new models, and new theoretical
approaches - in essence teaching Old data new tricks (Kroll 1999).

The persistent application Of assumptions about mortuary behavior on the steppe
has revealed a single dominant model of funerary practice, a post-Soviet hegemony as it
were. It may be too simplistic to state that every burial mound must equal a nomad's
burial — for 1000 years of nomadic culture. It is also important to recognize at least the
potential for change in the relationship between nomadic pastoralists and the sedentary
people with whom they interacted over time. Nomads may have indeed "emigrated" into
and continually returned to these areas in search of fodder, but over time they may also
have become part of those sedentary societies - merging and mingling, thus changing the

culture 0 “indigenous”, sedentary societies.

DEFINITIONS

Nomadism & Pastoralism

Nomadism is a term that is used to encompass many, dynamic, cultural groups.
Most often the terminology of nomadism has been applied to cultural groups by their
neighbors, generally sedentary peoples. Historical writers from Strabo to Herodotus to
the Chinese chroniclers persistently maintained an image, a stereotype, of the nomad, one
that continues in the minds and imaginations Of sedentary people. The freedom. of
nomadic groups - open, fenceless range, limitless possibilities, the lure of a life with no
master, no walls, no taxes, and no military service, blinds us to the reality of nomadic
interactions, including confederacies and empires. The myth of the nomad is as Strong as
the cultural myth of the noble savage (Khazanov 1994).

For the purposes of this research, and because it is the principal definition
accepted by those who do research on the Eurasian steppe cultures, I will follow
Khazanov’s(1994) definition of nomadic pastoralism, “a distinct form of food-producing
economy in which extensive mobile pastoralism is the predominant activity, and in which
the majority of the population is drawn into periodical pastoral migrations” (1994:17).
Based on prior research done on the late Bronze Age/early Iron Age Sargat and
Sarmatian cultures, it is assumed that both of the study groups possessed some degree of
mobility as well as some degree Of mixed economic practice (pastoralism and
horticulture), but that nomadic pastoralism was predominant for some groups or segments
of society.

Within nomadic studies the term nomad encompasses many degrees of mobility
in combination with a food producing economy based on domesticated herd animals,

where “pastoralism is the predominant form Of economic activity” (Khazanov 1994:16)

with the presence of “suitable animal species” (Cribb 199129). Whether sheep/goat,
horse, cattle, camel, llama, or alpaca the animals of a nomadic pastoralist can be any
combination of the above, so long as there is positively no pig (Yablonsky, p.c.).
Yablonsky (1998) defines “classical nomadism” as having far more to do with herd
composition.

A more appropriate means of addressing the “reality” of nomadism is to view its
mobility and its economic production on two intersecting continua. As Cribb (1991)
notes, the association between pastoralism and nomadism is implicit, as pastoral
economies require high degrees Of mobility. In the contemporary literature, nomad and
pastoralist are at times virtually synonymous, if not unclearly defined and loosely used.
For the purposes of this dissertation, it is necessary tO clarify possible relationships that
exist between mobile and sedentary populations and the terminologies used in their
descriptions.

The most respected authority on Eurasian nomadism, A. Khazanov,
compartmentalizes nomads into three distinctive categories — nomad, semi-nomad, and '
semi-settled, categories considered to be “intellectually Sterile” (Dyson-Hudson and
Dyson-Hudson 1980:18) when pursued by Salzman ( 1972). Unfortunately, many
discussions of Western Siberian mobile cultures use these qualitative values when it is
likely that what is revealed in the archaeological record better reflects continuous
variables. The broad categorical labels, however, are de rigueur in the literature.

Based on a rich corpus of research in Middle and Central Asia, Khazanov (I994)
distinguishes semi-sedentary (village-based, herding people with animal husbandry) and

semi-nomadic (specialized, family level sub-groups within a society) from nomadic

(division of specialized labor between different societies/groups), and forms rigid
typologies that are difficult to define observable archaeological signatures in the
archaeological record. In essence, what this typology requires is one’s ability to see not
only the economic gradations but also the cultural identities, nomadic culture vs.
sedentary culture. Thus in order to examine the existence of nomadism within any
region, one must examine cultural identity in the archaeological record. I maintain that
the use of terms such as “nomad”, “semi-nomad”, or “semi-sedentary” confuses rather
than clarifies research on steppe populations when these groups are not examined to
carefully delineate group affiliations and relations. I argue that the use of such terms is a
holdover from archaeology’s roots in classificatory systems.

Salzman (2002) sees the range of economic activity falling between the two
extremes of pastoralism and agrarianism; the degree of mobility, between nomadism and
sedentism. It is overwhelmingly accepted that nomadic pastoralists could not exist
without other food producers (Barth 1973; Lees and Bates 1974; KOhler-Rollefson 1992;
Khazanov I994; DiCosmo 1994; Barfield 2001b), but there also exists a limited
opposition to this idea (Chang 1993; Salzman 2002). Anthropologists have long
acknowledged that much of the material culture and food of pastoral nomads is acquired
through exchange with sedentary societies (e. g. Barth 1961:98-99; Barfield 1993:68, 94—
5, 100; Khazanov 1994:202-12); this is an Observation that was first recorded by the

Medieval Arab historian, Ibn Khaldun (2005).

Nomadism most likely had its roots in the Neolithic', alongside sedentary
fanners/horticulturalists, but its origins are beyond the purview of this research. A
consequence of the specialization and integration of pastoralism and cultivation - within
which the two systems are perceived to exist in some level of symbiosis — where the
pastoralists are more aptly perceived to be like the leech on the back of glutinous
sedentary civilization or a stinging parasite sapping the strength of civilizations in order
to survive. I maintain that the archaeological record of Western Siberia during the late
Bronze Age shows the interaction of two different economic strategies, two different
cultures, but that over time those pastoralists in areas actively engaged with sedentary
societies, at least in the Transurals, became more engaged with their neighbors, becoming
as Khazanov describes semi—nomadic pastoralists, that “within the framework of a given
society (sub-society) there are groups which devote themselves primarily, or even
exclusively, to pastoralism” (1994:20). Over time the majority of the Sargat are believed
to have settled down as residents of settlements and fortresses in the Transurals and
adopted local economic practices (Koryakova 1996), but there remains the recognizable
archaeological signature Of nomadism, the burial mound or kurgan, continuing in this
region. Thus a more detailed analysis of the mortuary realm is necessary to comprehend

the changes in cultural interactions between these groups.

 

' The most obvious and commme attributed signature Of Eurasian nomadism, the kurgan is first found in
the Eneolithic, but become much more prevalent during the early Bronze Age with the Yamna Culture.
This is probably the earliest evidence Of mobility on the steppe (for a full discussion of this evidence see:
Jones-Bley 1999:9-13 and Chapter 4).

Mobility & Seasonality

Due to the very definition of nomad and pastoralist given above, the definition of
mobility and seasonality are almost implicit. In Western literature the term
“transhumance” is most often contrasted with “nomadic” when referring to pastoralism.
Transhumance is the exploitation of seasonal variation in the availability of pasture over
either long or short distances. Transhumant pastoralists are traditionally seen as being
village-based for at least some portion of the year, and involving only a portion of the
overall population. The exploitation of seasonal resources can force a group to be
nomadic, sedentary, or transhumant —and depending on the composition Of the human
herders (all Or only a portion of the community) defines the society as being transhumant
or nomadic. Again, rigid definitions belie the complexity of most groups’ organization.
There is Often a fluidity of formation Of residential association within given societies —
with the potential for some group turnover in local membership, seasonal occupation,
and/or longer-temr association with a group or region. Cribb (1991) discusses this
phenomenon in terms of the high degree of household autonomy and the need to maintain
a flexible system of rights of access to territory in accordance with frequent changes in
residence, wholesale shifts in the pattern of migration tracks, and the demands on grazing
land. In essence, nomadism is the regular migration Of a community, together, as a unit.
Such mobility may be in terms of following seasonal pasturage, or seasonal rounds within

a greater geographic region -but it is nonetheless territorial in nature.

GEOGRAPHIC AND GEOLOGICAL SETTINGS

".A

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w»

n.

.‘ Tr:
.....

Western Siberia

This study focuses on archaeological investigations carried out in Western Siberia
in the forest-steppe and steppe. This particular region extends from the Ural Mountains
in the west to the Tobol River in the east, from the northernmost landmass in the Arctic to
the Central Asian deserts in the south. Western Siberia is broadly divided into several
ecological zones: arctic, taiga (forest), steppe (grassland), and desert. Over its entirety,
Western Siberia is a relatively flat plain bordered by low, weathered mountains (the
Urals) and the rise of the Turgai plateau in the east. Within this plain are lakes, marshes,

and four major rivers—the Ob, Irtysh, Ishim, and Tobol —which form the Ob River Basin

and ultimately drain into the Arctic Ocean.

Climate

The climate of Western Siberia, cold continental, was fully expressed by the late
Bl‘onze Age (Khotinskiy 1984bz306). During the cold months, the Arctic air mass sweeps
dOwn from the north; this at times occurs during the summer months as well, creating
u“stable and highly variable conditions for archaeology, agriculture and pastoralism still
Practiced locally. The Ural Mountains effectively block what is left of Atlantic moisture,
making for dry conditions that turn to droughts every eight to twelve years. The cold
w i nters quickly transition into spring, followed by brief, hot summers. During the

warmer months, the winds are predominantly Off the deserts from the south-southeast.

10

Ecological Setting

Ecologically the forest-steppe is a transition zone from the pine forests (taiga) to
the north and the grasslands to the south - birch-pine woodlands and low swamps appear
sporadically across the multi-grass plains, gradually becoming the unbroken steppe.
Throughout the Holocene, Western Siberia has seen long periods of stasis followed by
rapid changes (V elichko 1977, 1984). Between 6000 and 4600 years ago the forest—
tundra boundary became very stable, while the grassland vegetation invaded the forests
from the south (Khotinskiy 1984a: 199). This area abounds with domestic horses, cattle,
sheep and goats, as it has for the last 4000 years. Historically bear, beavers, sable, foxes,
Wolves, roe and red deer, wild pigs, and steppe antelope have traversed the region

(Vereshchagin and Kuzmina 1984), though in much fewer numbers today.

PROJECT AREAS AND INTERPRETING CULTURAL GROUPS

There is a large amount of data that has been collected on the Sargat, within an
area stretching from the Eastern slope of the Ural Mountains to the Tobol River/ Baraba
lowlands, from the Irtysh River in the north to the lake region in the south. Here, I will
fOcus primarily on the sites around the Tobol River basin because it is here that the
I argest amount of detailed publication is available on both burial mounds and settlements,
and it is also where I have conducted the largest amount Of my own fieldwork. There

e"lists a large amount of information regarding Sargat sites to the north, but they will not
be discussed. As for the Sarmatian data, I focus on the excavation records at the site of
IZTOkrovka 2, recorded during five field seasons by Dr. Leonid Yablonsky (Moscow State

on i versity), and by the joint American—Russian excavation project led by both Dr.

11

Yablonsky and Dr. Jeannine Davis-Kimball (Center for the Study of Eurasian Nomads,
Ventura, California). I have made this selection in order to have a comparative data set
from more southerly nomadic groups, one that is not believed to have interacted with any

sedentary group in its immediate area. Also, the sites of Pokrovka have received the

most in—depth study of any Sargat or Sarmatian sites to date.

Bronze Age and Early Iron Age

During the Bronze Age the Sintashta-Arkaim culture existed with its so-called
“country of towns” (Zdanovich 1995), a series of small, kinship-based settlements based
on household level bronze production. These were primarily fortified centers with Open
Villages situated around them, dispersed at a distance of 20-30 km from each other.
Some groups also dispersed into peripheral locations to mine ore and their villages are
fl! rther apart. Within this steppe zone, the practice of advanced metallurgy was
cOmplemented by inventions that included spoke-wheeled horse-drawn chariots and
sPecialty items of horse tack (both for adornment and for protection). By the 17th or 16th
century BC factors including ecological change and migration led to the demise Of the
S i ntashta-Arkaim culture, which were replaced or absorbed by a less extravagant, the
more wide—spread Andronovo culture (coming primarily from west of the Urals (Genin g
et a1. 1992; Zdanovich 1995) and Srubnaya culture, and the formation of the Scythian-

S i berian cultural unity which incorporated groups from the Black Sea coast to the Altai

Mountains (Table 1.1-1.2).

The creation of the Scythian-Siberian cultural unity (Bashilov and Yablonsky

1 995; Koryakova 1996a, I998a) coincides with the early Iron Age in the forest-steppe

12

7:”.
c-'

sv-

I"? r

a
"I I5»

 

 

. R l
." \- hl
T" =II.
u “ml.

 

zone, a time of considerable social, technological, and ideological change across the
Eurasian steppe. While there existed a kind of “pastoral civilization” of nomadic/semi-
nomadic groups from the Bronze Age through the Iron Age (Koryakova l996a), changes
are seen in subsistence practices, settlement, and mortuary patterning (Khazanov

l 978: 120, 1984:94; Kuzmina I994; Vainshtein I978: 128), and deep, structural
differences apparently arose within ideo—religious arenas (Renfrew 1996:83). The
interactions of the “cultural worlds” (from Shchukin 1989) east of the Urals, primarily the
U grian forest communities and the nomadic, IndO—Iranian steppe groups, lays the
foundation Of my particular research areas and interests. It is at the intersection of these
economically and culturally unique areas that the Sargat culture emerges in the first

millennium BC —a continuation of nomadic traditions of the Central Asian Sarmatian and

Saka traditions.

I3

 

Table 1.1 Regional chronology for the Eurasian Bronze Age (from Koryakova 1996:250)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dates European Western Asiatic Steppe Middle Central China
Steppe Siberia Asia Asia
Dongal
Irmen’— - ~.
BC Mezhovo iiie’etlila ii?)
900 Final BA 6 ' ° ‘ ”
Sargaw
l 000 , .
Bjelozerka , Final BA Blshkent LBA West
1 I00 . AndronOId Tchou
Sabatmovka Cultural Choust
1 200 Horizon
T'mbe Yaz l
I r
l 300 Grave Andronovo Fyedorovo
I400 LBA
LBA Alakul’ Namazga VI
1500 Andronovo LBA MBA
Tashkovo LBA
I 600 Krotovo
1700 Potapovka “mums Zamanbaba
Abashevo MBA Petrovka Shang
l 800 Poltavka Arkaim-Sintashta BM AC Anyan
Pit Grave
1900 Catacomb 5MB MBA Namazga v
2000 MBA MBA EBA BA

 

I4

 

Table 1.2 Regional chronology for the Eurasian Iron Age (from Koryakova 1996:252).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fates European Western Asiatic Middle Asia Central China
Steppe Siberia Steppe Asia
Huns Sassanians
Sargat
400 separation
China
300 division
Goths Late Sargat Huns
200 Kushan Syanbi
1A3 Kingdom Huns
AD Western Khorasmia separation
100 Alans Huns (Kangiui)
O Alans
Han
I 00 Roxolany Hunnic dynasty
conquest Parthians Huandy
200 Aorsi Sargat Tsin
Early Greco- Shih
Sannatians EIA (1A2) Bactria Hum-
300 Alexander China Chzhan-
Scythian Sargat- the war GO
400 Kingdom Gorohovo Great
EIA (1A1) Sacians Hun
500 Early Kingdom Iron Age
Scythians EIA EIA
600 Sauromatia . . Yaz 2
ns Transrtronal Early
700 EIA pre-Sargat Sacians Achaemenid
Transitional
800 Kimmerians LBA Arzhan Cities-oases Tcheou
Plate
(pre- G BA
Scythian) Yaz I rave
Transitional “‘"u'e
LBA

 

15

 

 

The Research Problem

Previous research provides nearly uniform views of sedentary - nomadic
interactions and relationships during the early Iron Age. Hypotheses concerning the role
of nomads in the early Iron Age can be summarized in the following ways:

1) Nomads immigrated into the area;

2) Nomads brought with them a material cultural style that linked them with
other nomadic groups across Eurasia, the Scytho-Siberian unity (exemplified
by the "animal style");

3) Nomads buried their dead in separate, bounded funerary areas in kurgans
(earthen mounds);

4) These kurgans denote a three-part hierarchical arrangement of the society
—ru1ing elite, warrior elite, and other (disposed of in another location and some
other, as yet unknown, method).

Other descriptions of nomadic involvement in Western Siberia have largely
emphasized warfare as the primary cultural interaction. The reasoning behind this is that
large-scale social transitions resulted from the introduction of nomadic pastoralism and
the subsequent cultural interaction between various societies and the steppe/forest-steppe
led to significant social stressors — including wealth differentiation and socio-political

ties. The emphasis in Russian and Soviet archaeology has been to both label and debate
the location of bounded cultural groups, Obtained primarily through culture-historical
interpretations. Specific nomadic cultures were said to occupy specific spatial and
temporal locations in a seemingly homogeneous fashion. And yet, other possible

l"Itet'éICfiOns between nomads and their sedentary neighbors might well be examined.

16

Multiple scenarios have been created to describe the life ways of nomadic pastoralists in
Western Siberia, but truly understanding the socio-economic organization of these people
is difficult. Suggested reconstructions are often based on historical accounts and the
minimal animal remains that can be grossly recovered, without use of screening or water
screening (Hanks 2003). The strength of the data is problematic because of the heavy
reliance on the historical texts and the excavation techniques used by Soviet and Russian
archaeologists. The focus of archaeological inquiry has been on the excavation of
mounds, and only recently settlements, to the exclusion of other archaeological methods
such as survey. Recent attempts by the French-Russian project have begun to use aerial
photographs with on-the-ground verification, but for the most part these are used to find
more burial mounds and settlements for excavation. No attempt has been made to find
the ephemeral traces of the other kinds of Sites one would expect to be associated with
large-scale mobility - such as paddocks, grazing land.

Another reason why our knowledge of the pastoral economy in the early Iron Age
is incomplete is due to the specific interests of Soviet/Russian archaeologists.
Archaeology has been the “head” of history’s “horse” (Klejn 1993), where the role of the
historian has been to synthesize and theorize; the role of archaeology, to dig.
“Archaeology is history, what the telescope is to astronomy, the microscope to biology”

(Mongait 1961 :39). Much of the work of archaeologists during the Soviet era was to
produce descriptive reports (Klejn I977; Berezkin 2000). The post-Soviet era,
unfortunately, has been greeted by reduced financial support, a greater threat of Site

destruction due to lack of policing authority, and a thriving illegal antiquities market

17

(Anthony 1995; Berezkin 2000). Producing new interpretations of the material culture
was not the emphasis in the past and can only be an ideal in the current situation.
New models of interaction between sedentary and nomadic groups will be used in this
dissertation in cooperation with recent data and data collections to explore new
possibilities of social interaction represented in the Western Siberian steppe and forest-
steppe. Using Spielman (I991a, 1991b), this dissertation explores the dynamic nature of
cultural interaction to look beyond the prevailing views of cultural interaction as being
extortive (Barfield 1989; KOhIer-Rollefson 1992) to explore symbiotic relations, even
what Spielman denotes as “mutualism”, an exchange based on cooperation,

interdependence, and mutual benefit (1986:279-280).

CHAPTER SYNOPSES
A brief overview of the chapters of this dissertation is useful for outlining the
argument and the kinds of data employed. Chapter two consists of a review of the
relevant anthropological literature on nomadism, more specifically pastoral nomadism. In
it I define both concepts, trace the history of the study of nomadic pastoralists in
anthropology, and put into motion the spine of this dissertation -how nomads as cultural
“others” with reference to their sedentary neighbors interacted with the latter —the subject
of the next chapter. These interactions form the basis of interpretation of the
archaeological data, specifically mortuary practice, material culture, and landscape data
from Western SiberiaJn order to contextualize the contemporary archaeological being
done in Western Siberia, it is necessary to review the archaeology and ethnography of

Russia- The motives and ideologies of Tsarist, Soviet, and Russian archaeologists who

18

explored the mortuary domain of the early Iron Age shaped the manner in which they
observed, collected and interpreted the evidence as they were in turn Shaped by the
scientific community surrounding them. Archaeology as a historical discipline in Russia
is explored in chapter three and four, the latter chapter focusing specifically on the Iron
Age of Western and South Siberia. As I show, the Iron Age is a time period during
which important changes occurred on the Siberian steppe and forest-steppe, changes that
involved the climate, economic adaptation, and the interaction of populations across this
vast expanse of land area. How these interactions have been interpreted by
archaeologists and the data that have been used in these interpretations will be further
eXpIOI'Cd in this chapter.

Chapter five explores the methodologies employed to analyze pastoral nomads
archaeologically. The archaeological expressions of nomadism including taphonomy and
material culture are discussed with an eye toward the use of ethnoarchaeology in the
fllture to assist with the development of further signatures of nomadism. In Siberia the
Si gnature for the nomads has been contained within their mortuary practice, thus a full
discussion of mortuary analysis is contained in this chapter as well. The various forms of
identity expression and cultural interaction are addressed from multiple lines of evidence,
including the use of landscape, settlement data, architecture, trade goods, and evidence of
l‘itual practice. The data being used in this analysis is articulated in chapter six. I
e xamine the excavation data from two separate nomad populations in Siberia, the Sauro-
Sarmatian evidence from Pokrovka 2 in South Siberia, and the Sargat material from two

Si tes in Western Siberia, Malokazakhbaevo and Skaty. The analysis of these sites occurs

19

in chapter seven where I evaluate how local identities are expressed and whether forms of
local identity compete with or support a regional appropriation of nomadism.

Chapter eight consists of a broad discussion of our understanding of nomads on
the Siberian steppe and forest-steppe based on the previous chapters. Each of the lines of
evidence is assessed in terms of its ability to explain the expressions of nomad identity
and the interactions between nomads and sedentary groups. I review the results of the
analysis, including the unexpected characteristics of these particular sites in lieu of

regional expectations. The chapter concludes by identifying the course of future work.

20

CHAPTER TWO

ANTHROPOLOGICAL AND ARCHAEOLOGICAL APPROACHES TO NOMADISM

...to understand nomadism truly, we must grasp its dependence on human

objectives and upon multiple social, cultural, and environmental circumstances

and thus appreciate its variability, its malleability, and it impermanence.

(Salzman 20022261)

DEFINITIONS OF NOMADS AND PASTORAL NOMADISM

Popular and romantic conceptions of nomads often reduce them to individuals

With an aimless, wandering lifestyle, free from political impositions and the daily
Schedules of sedentary existence. Seen as adventurers on horse or camelback, our ideal
nOnlad is either wealthy from his stolen booty, or living in abject poverty beyond the
gates of prosperous civilizations. Our conceptions are rooted in Classical impressions of
the barbarians (primarily from Herodotus’ Histories and Strabo’s Geography) and to a
n'luch lesser degree the work of Chinese historians. In contrast to the popular
Conceptions, nomadism is neither based on one particular kind of economic system, nor is
it tied to perpetual mobility, mounted or on foot. Nomads are not limited to one type of
environment. They develop a myriad of land tenure practices, and their social
0rganization varies broadly, as does their ability to accrue wealth both individually and
Collectively. Due to the diversity of such practices researchers are hard pressed to come
to agreement on any one definition of nomadism, even within the same volume (see Bar-
Y(>Sef and Khazanov 1992;Ga1aty and Johnson 1990; Hall and Smith 1986). Often

definitions of nomadism are taken to be implicit, yet never clearly agreed upon. During

21

¥

 

the last three decades, however, anthropologists have carefully refined their study of

nomads and the language of nomadic studies to help alleviate the misconstruction of
these diverse populations while simultaneously developing definitions as diverse as the
populations being studied.

The vast majority of nomad research published within the last several decades has
been in reference to a particular type of economic adaptation, livestock raising, coupled
with a mobility strategy. This strategy can be referred to as pastoral nomadism or
nomadic pastoralism, terms that I use interchangeably. Even the most broad and
seemingly encompassing of titles — Nomads of South Persia (Barth 1961), Nomads in
Archaeology (Cribb 1991), or “Ancient Inner Asian Nomads” (DiCosmo I994) — all deal
SPecifically with the raising of domestic animals on natural food resources by populations
W ith varying degrees of transience. Nomadism is a descriptive meeting place of both
rnobility and economy (Dyson-Hudson and Dyson-Hudson 1980; Salzman 2002),
soI'netimes with an emphasis on economy that includes social organization (Khazanov
l 994). Some researchers have wed the pastoral nomads so closely to their physical
geography (Galaty and Johnson 1990) as to offer a framework for the comparative study
of pastoral systems on a global scale, a comparative look that can find similarities
between geographic adaptations, e.g. Andes, Caucasus, and Himalayas that have no
h i storical connection. Pastoral peoples have much more in common with their immediate

sedentary neighbors (i.e. the Hutu and Tutsi, or the Kyrgyz and Kazakh) rather than with

those groups sharing similar altitudes (Khazanov l994:xxxiv).

There has been a distinct movement in nomad studies to recognize the complexity

of nOmadic adaptations and to address the diversity of most economies. Most

22

contemporary researchers recognize a “nomadic” lifestyle as occupying some space on a
continuum between fully mobile and sedentary (Barfield I993; Khazanov I994; Salzman
1971, 2002). Most accept that there is a large degree of flexibility to their economic
adaptation, with groups often Shifting between animal husbandry alone, and husbandry
mixed with other forms of production or collection. Pastoralism can depend upon a wide
variety of political (Barfield 1989, 1993; Barth 1961; Honeychurch 2004; Khazanov
1994; Rowton 1981; Zagarell 1989;), social (Chang and Tourtellotte I998; Cribb 1991),
economic (Alvard and Kuznar 2001; Bradburd 1996; DiCosmo 1994; Levy 1983; Mace
1993) and environmental conditions (Adams 1981; Humphrey and Sneath 1996; Lees and
Bates 1974; Rosen, Chang and Grigoriev 2000), or combinations of these (Barth 1966;
Chang 1993). Nomadism must be recognized as historically and environmentally
situated, making narrow definitions that dictate specific criteria for inclusion unrealistic
and unhelpful. One cannot be as unconventional with one’s definition as to create an
altogether unique definition, as such particularism would surely hold little value in a
comparative discipline such as anthropology. In order to understand the nomads of
Western Siberia this study needs to examine both the nature of their movements and the
basis for their economies. Thus, a clear definition of pastoral nomad is necessary.

Based on the work of Barfield (1989, 1993), Khazanov (1978, 1994 and Bar-
Yosef and Khazanov 1992), and Salzman (1971, 1996, 2002) a clearer definition of
nomadic pastoralism can be forwarded. These authors, working over the course of
several decades, have provided a depth and understanding of nomads that covers a broad
geographical area including Africa, Eurasia, Asia, and the Middle East, and they are

among the most cited in the literature from any approach. Given the scope of their

23

collective work one has a stronger ability to decipher the economic, environmental and
social issues associated with nomadism.

“Nomadism” is used to understand mobility patterns of entire households, or
when “the majority of the population is drawn into periodic migrations (Khazanov
1994217). “Pastoralism” relates to the raising of domesticated herd animals (goats, sheep,
camels, cattle, or horses to name the most prominent'), specifically the “raising of
livestock on natural pasture”(Salzman 20022245 based on Salzman 1971; Barfield
1993:4; and Khazanov 1994:15-16). In this way, the issues of mobility and economy do
not become “conflated” and researchers can prevent a priori assumptions about the
nature of production, herd make-up, and movement (Salzman 2002:245). This definition
also separates nomads from hunter/gatherers or seasonal workers (e. g. itinerant farmers
or seasonal laborers). Nomadism specifically refers to the “regular, repeated, and
frequent displacement of people’s household and home base and of their community”
(Salzman 2002:246). “Pastoralism” refers to herding domesticated animals while making
regular movements of entire households (nomadically). This is an agreeable definition
that can be useful for narrowing our perspectives on nomads, but “a definition would
never become an end in itself, but only an instrument to aid our understanding of reality”
(Bar-Yosef and Khazanov 19922).

With its first English translation appearing in 19832, Khazanov’s Nomads and the
Outside World was the first comprehensive and comparative survey of nomadism,

although it does not acknowledge New World forms because they do not conform to his

 

' Other animals included in pastoral nomadism can and do include llamas, alpaca, and reindeer, animals
with very specific environmental and geographic distributions.

3 Khamnov prepared the text in Russian while still living in the USSR, drafts of chapters and proofs from
the publisher were smuggled back and forth through “holes" in the Iron Curtain (Khazanov l994:xxix-xxx).

24

 

definition of pastoral nomadism. Khazanov’s typology creates a series of empirical
categories for pastoral nomads that range from transhumance, to a village-based semi -
sedentary variety, to semi-nomadic, an extensive pastoral practice with some agricultural
supplements, and finally pure pastoral nomadism. While studies roughly contemporary
with Nomads initial publication date (e.g. Ingold 1986) placed the emphasis on mobility
and resource appropriation, this emphasis creates a false degree of similarity between
pastoralists and hunter/gatherers denying the contrasts between food-extracting and food-
producing economies as well as underestimating wild versus domesticated resources. In
many ways Khazanov’s typology is an ideal classification, and subsequently has been
criticized as too strict and narrow (see: Hanks 2002b; Ingold 1985), Khazanov states that
his categories should be used only to inform one’s analysis and serve the goals of
investigation (Khazanov 1994). His categories focus on the size and importance of
agriculture, a “defining feature of subsistence of any productive economy (Khazanov
l994:xxxiii). Thus his schema, while seeming to focus on mobility (transhumance, semi-
sedentary, semi-nomadic), actually does so only in direct relation to agricultural
production. When larger numbers of individuals are involved in agricultural work, within '
any given mode of subsistence, fewer people move with the herds, creating semi-
sedentary societies.

Pastoralists with mixed farming present a division of labor within the same
society. Pure nomadism requires a division of labor between different societies or groups
(Khazanov 1994:18). This “pure” form is defined as a:

...distinct type of food producing economy. ..lwherel extensive mobile

pastoralism is the predominant activity through which the majority of the

25

population is drawn into periodic migrations in order to maintain herds all year

round within a system of free-range pastures... characterized by the absence of

agriculture even in a supplementary capacity.

(Bar-Yosef and Khazanov l992:2)

In this definition, the key to uncovering pure nomadism is in the lack of
agricultural production. The recovery of domesticates without the recovery of
agricultural implements or the ephemeral traces of farm fields does not necessarily mean
a particular group is personally practicing agriculture. Detecting domesticated grains is
not at issue, but detecting the degree of their importance, use, and the origins of their
production is. The necessary reliance upon agricultural goods by pastoral nomads is
acknowledged and documented by many (Barfield 2001b; Barth 1969, 1973; Cribb 1991;
KOhler-Rollefson 1992), but when one looks only to the archaeological record,
determining the amount of grain obtained from external sources rather than that grown
directly by the nomads is nearly impossible to ascertain. AS pastoralists become more
focused herders with greater mobility, they increasingly depend upon sedentary groups
for economic resources, primarily fodder (Khazanov 1994; Lees and Bates 1974).
Khazanov posits an ideological dependency of nomadic societies on their sedentary
neighbors, where nomads model themselves for “comparison, imitation, or rejection”
(l994:xxxii), but the degree of this self-modeling is not fully explored. Through his
perspective it becomes impossible to distinguish between two groups living near each
other who may be part of a single culture, yet participating in separate economic realms,
versus two separate cultural groups. The sole use of archaeological materials is not seen

to provide enough “unambiguous answers” about the forms that pastoralism may take

26

 

 

(Bar-Yosef and Khazanov 1992z3). Based on his ethnographic work among four separate
nomadic groups in Iran and thirty years of experience and publishing, Salzman
determines the basic prerequisites for determining nomadism. One must find portable
housing, such as tents, lean-tos or huts made from “disposable, local materials”
(2002:246), and evidence of mobility in the course of making a living. Mobility of the
bulk of the population separates pastoral nomads from herders or shepherds.

Salzman (2002) elaborates twenty general tenets of pastoral nomadism, most of
which are points supported by a variety of other authors. Here, I condense these tenets
into five that are specific to the direction of this research, ignoring those that pertain to
nomads involved with contemporary, state-level governments. Pastoral nomads:

1. gain access to resources through movement;

2. make “rapid responses” to temporary situations;

3. do not practice just one economic activity (not determined by economic activity);

4. do not wander without purpose; and

5. have variable social organization.
Because of their reliance on herd animals, pastoral nomads must provide fodder for their
animals. Some nomads participate in some level of horticulture or agricultural
production or exchange to obtain a portion of their animals’ food, while others access
wild grains by moving the herds from area to area. Areas where the wild resources are
seasonal necessitate a mobility or economic strategy to maintain year-round fodder.
Populations without adequate storage facilities move to find wild grains and grasses or
beg, borrow, or steal grains from sedentary stores. If wild resources are less abundant or

lacking altogether for longer periods of time, groups may switch from pastoralism to

27

 

cultivation and alternate their levels of mobility. The practice of swapping prOductive
activities for a time is widespread and may be mandatory for survival (the Turkmen are
discussed by Salzman 2002).3

Because the entire household is participating in production, pastoral nomads can
respond more quickly to emergency situations caused by nature (flood, fire, drought) or
culture (population expansion, war, trade). “Rapid response” also addresses their ability
to access “irregular and unpredictable resources” (Salzman 2002:249), what some refer to
as “contingent” responses to a wide range of physical and social variables, including
everything from insects and disease to competition and unpopular, prospective authorities
(Dyson-Hudson and Dyson-Hudson 1980:17-18; Rosen 19922153).

While pastoral nomads are predominantly producing domesticated animals, this
does not preclude some alternate economic forms performed occasionally or regularly
—e. g. hunting among the Evenki (Fondahl 1998), fishing among the Yakut (Tokarev and
Gurvich 1956) and Nuer (Evans-Pritchard 1940), gathering wild resources, or cultivating
among the Baluch (Salzman 2002) and San (Wilmsen 1989). The practice of domestic
animal herding does not solely determine nomadism in the sense that portions of the
household may participate in these activities without necessitating the regular movement
of the entire household as with shepherding or contemporary ranching activities. “Heidi
is not the story of a Swiss nomad girl even though she herded cows and goats each

summer” (Barfield l994z5).

 

3 The ability to provide grains and grasses for a sedentary herd is much more economically disadvantageous
for groups without significant capital for investment. But it will be argued later that social capital might be
expended to “purchase” fodder from seasonal partners, sedentary groups with whom the pastoral nomads
might have a variety of relationships from symbiotic to parasitic.

28

 

The perception of nomads as itinerant drifters' undoubtedly has been reinforced by
the most common of sources, the dictionary, where the origins of the word “nomad” can
be traced to the Latin for “a person belonging to a race or tribe which moves from place
to place to find pasture; hence one who lives a roaming or wandering life” (Salzman
2002:245 citing OED VII: 182). But the roots of our perceptions are deeply embedded in
early histories as well (the fourth century BC Histories through the fourteenth-fifteenth
century writings of Ibn Khaldun). This definition solidifies the perception of nomadism
as tribal, ethnically or racially segregated, and somehow practiced in boundless open
space, without roots or ownership of land. The ethnographic record supports none of
these opinions.

Because they rely predominantly on their herds, pastoral nomads must be forever
conscious of where food will be found for their animals. Thus, decisions must be made
which are cognizant of the conditions of terrain, ecology, logistics, and weather to name
but a few considerations. Most nomadic groups move within distinct geographic
territories as direct knowledge of local weather patterns and specific resources are vital
for herd survival. Pastoralists thrive using value systems that require sophisticated
knowledge of the environment, sensible use of land and water resources, and a close
relationship with nature (Galaty and Johnson I990z5). Within their specific regions,
pastoral nomads may move as often as daily, may follow seasonal routes, or undertake
annual sojoums. And their routes do not necessarily recognize the authority of any single
state or nation. Many Central Asian nomads, such as the Baluchi and the Yomut, are

“fiercely independent” (Salzman 2002:251) of the state governments who “own” their

29

territories; while others, like the Komachi of Persia (Salzman 1996) can maintain full
mobility and be fully integrated by the state.

Within pastoral groups there are highly distinctive levels of social inclusion and
differentiation. Some are egalitarian, with equal access to resources and share in the
decision-making, like the Nuer and Maasai (Galaty 1994), Ju/’hoansi, i.e. Kalahari
Bushmen or San (Kent 1993; Lee 1979), and Turkmen (Irons 1994). It should be noted
that strong debate exists as to the possibility of any system existing without basic forms
of inequality (see Salzman 1999 for a thorough discussion). While others are considered
“weak chiefdoms”, like the Baluch, Basseri, and Rwala (Salzman 2000), to centralized
tribes, some with confederacy chiefships like the Zagros (Barth 1961) and Qashqa’i
(Beck 1986), Xiongnu (Barfield 1989), Saka and Wusun (Chang and Tourtellotte 1998).
Salzman (2002:253) and others (Barfield 1989; Beck 1986; Chang and Tourtellotte I998;
Irons I979; Zagarell 1989) note that social hierarchies, like chieftainships, organize in
response to direct confrontation with external populations (read “states”), thereby
implying or directly stating that pastoral nomads living in fringe areas or more remote
locations are less likely to organize themselves hierarchically. Because individual
households control the flocks, pastoral nomads like other mobile populations
(hunter/gatherers) will pack up and move when conflict arises if space is available.
Salzman spells this out most emphatically when he states:

Nomadic pastoralism is politically centrifugal, militating against central and

hierarchical power, if not always decisively. The mobility of nomadic

individuals, households, and capital resources, especially flocks, makes

avoidance, escape, and attack easier and more likely successful than among

30

sedentary populations. Nomadic mobility, in consequence, has a dampening effect
on centralizations, on chiefly coercion and Oppression. Tribal chiefs thus must be
sensitive and responsible to public opinion of tribesmen.

(Salzman 2002:254)

In the archaeological record recognizing social differentiation or hierarchy within
one group, or in the interactions of two distinct populations, it is necessary to identify the
taphonomic signatures of pastoral nomadism. Can we discern nomads as separate
cultures from their neighbors, sedentary or otherwise? Often the measure of social status
is based on wealth acquisition or differential treatment of the living or the dead. The
most common measures of wealth among pastoral nomads include numbers of herd
animals (“wealth on-the-hoof”), land ownership (though in arid environments land that
has no access to water is considered of “little worth” (Home 1994: 156), portable wealth
(exotic items, items made from rare resources, etc.), and pennanent/semi-permanent
structures. In this latter category, the determination of household wealth often relates to
the public displays of conspicuous consumption or those of practical use such as
production areas, the size of storage and living areas, animal enclosures, and the number
of rooms in a household (Home 1994: 159). In Western Siberia the most common
measure of social differentiation of the nomads has been the only taphonomic signature
available to us - the burial mounds and their contents.

Understanding whether I am looking at one population practicing two separate
economic modes, two interacting populations who are minimally separated by economic

practice and mobility, or the merging of two groups, where one part of the population

31

harkens back to nomadism as a means of differentiation is a vital question of this
research. Thus the definition of pastoral nomadism constructed specifically by
archaeologists practicing in Eurasia must be considered, as these are the social scientists
with the most knowledge of the conditions in Western Siberia.
Yablonsky (1998) delivers a six-point classification of “classical nomads” from Eurasia,
which, in order of importance:

1. composition (cannot have pig)

2. economic focus on animals

3. a hierarchical social organization

4. war as a “way of life”

5. active interactions with settled populations

6. some amount of migration or movement.
Here we see the establishment of specific requirements for nomadism but ones that
maintain some flexibility. Yablonsky specifies animals for exclusion, categorically
barnyard animals, flexible herd structure (sheep, goats, horse, cattle, camels), and leaves
room for alternative supportive economic practices like collecting, hunting, or fishing.
Within nomadism the possibility of some agricultural production exists as well. His
schema allows for a wide spectrum of mobility strategies but places this as the lowest
priority for classification of these groups.

Working with the Tuva of South Siberia, Vainshtein (1980) uses ethnographic,

ethnohistoric, and archaeological sources to reach conclusions about nomadism that
precede many of Yablonsky’s and Khazanov’s key elements. Vainshtein describes

“nomadic herding” as comprising two forms, either continuous migrations, which are

32

considered rare, or migrations with prolonged stops at seasonal campsites. Neither form
requires movement of any great distance, “a few kilometers to a few thousand
kilometers” will suffice (1980:96). These nomadic “ways of life” create three categories.
In the first, pure nomadic herdsmen migrate several times per season in “no ordered
pattern” (V ainshtein 1980:97 citing Tokarev 1936212). The second, semi-nomadic
pastoralism, combines cultivation, hunting, or gathering while the group maintains a
single, permanent dwelling visited annually. In the third, semi-settled pastoralism,
populations practice a type of economy where the herders move between two permanent
locales. For all of these the herd composition includes sheep, goats, horses, and camels,
even reindeer. All these categories are based on the ethnographic research done by
Soviet scholars from the 19308 through the 1970s and are used extensively by both Soviet
and now Russian authors researching Eurasian nomads (Khazanov 1978, I994; Markov
1976; Tokarov 1936; Zimonov 1958) especially those whose focus is on the Bronze and
Iron Ages of Western Siberia (Gryaznov 1969; Koryakova 1988, 1996; Kuzmina 1994;
Matveeva 1993, I997; Moshkova I995; Yablonsky 1995, 1998). Many use these
categories with impunity, regardless of archaeology’s ability to define the necessary
markers of inclusion into one group or another. Without the supportive historical
evidence for the nature of their movement and exchanges with sedentary agrarian
peoples, we cannot establish the degree of reliance upon internally produced agricultural
products.

A rigid adherence to any typological classification produces rules made to be
broken. So, within the finite world of archaeological enquiry, it is unnecessary to classify

a group as purely nomadic in order to indicate some degree of pastoralism. Perhaps a

33

better way to view any individual situation is to determine whether being a pastoral
nomad gave individuals membership to a different status, either within a greatersociety
or as a society unto themselves. Can individuals practicing pastoral nomadism be
distinguished in specific contexts, in this dissertation within a mortuary context? Did this
lifestyle allow for differential access to resources that has a material culture correlate and

a unique mortuary signature?

HISTORY OF NOMAD STUDIES IN ANTHROPOLOGY
Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries

Throughout the late 19"I and early 20‘h centuries pastoral nomads were seen as
invading, destructive, and altogether antithetical to civilizing, sedentary societies. Rarely
do nomads receive credit as a civilizing force, though a notable exception placed specific
cultural accomplishments on the African continent not in the hands of the indigenous
“Negro” populations, but instead gave credit to nomadic, and light-Skinned, Hamites
moving in from the North (Trigger 1995:130). This was less about the accomplishments
of nomads than a rejection of the accomplishments of Africans. One can argue that the
majority of histories written about the Mongol hordes emphasize their destructive nature,
rather than the unifying qualities of their empire building, the extension of trade routes,
and the sharing of genetic material that make so many Europeans “kin” to their ancestral
Central Asian conquerors. It is doubtful that the Chinese would have mustered the labor
and the ingenuity to construct the Great Wall without the presence of their nomadic
neighbors; there would have been no need. Thus one can trace many of the

accomplishments of civilizations back to nomadic “instigation”, direct threat, or pressure.

34

Duringthe early part of the 20‘h century, the Soviet Union was under the strong
influence of both a materialist approach, one invoking highly inductive methods (Kohl
198 1 :89), and a unilinear evolutionary approach with its roots wrapped around the ideas
of Morgan and Marx. These perspectives held sway over an entire generation of Soviet
social scientists, though not without internal struggles and debates. The official Soviet
view pitted armchair Marxists against the concrete evidence produced by ethnographers
in the field. Most often it was the unilinear viewpoint that prevailed. Ethnographers and
archaeologists alike found examples from primitive, patriarchal slave-owning, and feudal
systems in the field, just as Lenin expected. At the end of the Czarist period,
ethnographers had reported on pastoral groups who were semi-patriarchal, yet not feudal,
and others who operated markets that were quite nearly capitalist. Under the watchful,
dictatorial, and dogmatic eyes of the central authorities, it is hardly surprising that
“Slave-owning and feudal stages among nomads were discovered (Khazanov 199411 I,
author’s emphasis).

In the West, Montelian arguments put forth the idea that much of Europe owed a
debt of gratitude to invading forces from the East, mainly Semitic and Indo-European
speakers arriving during the Bronze Age, who brought with them the technologies of
Mesopotamia. That nomadism acted as a cultural insti gator remained a common theme
into the early 20‘“ century. Indo-Europeans spread their language, beliefs, technologies,
and social customs, forcing by some estimations the “lesser developed” cultural groups of

Europe to create social hierarchies they would otherwise have been wont to do (Trigger

35

1995:1684). Often indigenous European groups were merely submissive to the
conquering powers.

Both the mobility and the “superior” nature of these nomads explained the
cultural developments seen on the European continent in the subsequent Iron Age and
later Medieval period, their eventual superiority conquered the “barbarians” living to the
north of Rome. These were the pastoral nomads, specifically Aryans, whom V. Gordon
Childe called the “promoters of true progress” (Childe 1925) and “cultural innovators”
(Childe 1926:143), while the European peasantry were simply “an inert mass... |with|
narrow conservatism... an intense attachment to the soil” and a high susceptibility to
foreign influences (Childe 1926:143-153). The resulting synthesis of peoples and
material culture led to the development of the concept of archaeological culture. Childe’s
1925 work, The Dawn of European Civilization, introduces the idea that artifacts and
their prerequisite creators could be separated and geographically delineated according to
the attributes of the material remains (Trigger 1995:168). Childe would later cite John
Myres (The Dawn of History, 191 I) as a key figure, who debunked earlier notions that
pastoralism merely followed hunting and fishing on the evolutionary ladder leading to

‘6

agriculture. . . . pastoral nomadism is everywhere posterior to sedentary agriculture and
was only adopted by cultivators under the pressure of adverse climatic conditions or
political convulsions” (Childe 1926:84).

After World War II, the renewed fascination with nomads may be attributed to

our (Western) own disgruntlement with our daily, immobile, repetitive lives. The

 

" Trigger here cites very early 20‘“ century authors (like Myers 191 1, Crawford 1921, and Childe 1925) who
perceived Neolithic Europeans as quite backward by comparison to the Indo-Europmns. This persists as a
popular idea, Gimbutas (1956, 1965) clearly stated native Europeans were not less developed, while
Whittle in Europe in the Neolithic (I996) maintains that it is not at all clear that indigenous Europeans were
less developed so much as perhaps more submissive.

36

romantic stereotypes of the wandering, careless nomads held sway through much of the
19408, 19508 and 19608. Research continued to plug nomads into stereotypes, and prove
the boundedness and stability of structural systems (Dyson-Hudson and Dyson-Hudson
1980:.15-16), at the same time researchers neglected anomalous cultural groups,
individuality, and women. The Soviets, after a generation spent pursuing their own
version of Marxist romanticism, shifted their emphasis during the 19508 to obtaining
empirical evidence. Pastoralism proved a difficult practice to cleanly classify.
Pastoralists were shown to own livestock, but not communally, and while they held
livestock privately, at the family level, they did not personally benefit from buying and
selling animals as a capitalist would. The degree of state formation and social
stratification of living nomads proved “ephemeral and unstable and elusive” (Gellner
l994:xiii). By the 19708 much Soviet scholarship had attempted to find the slave-owners
in situ, ethnographically or archaeologically. All pastoral nomads should have been
slave-owning or feudal, or else something would be terribly wrong with their paradigm.
Contrary to these earlier pursuits of monolithic types, Barth (1969) introduced
what is perhaps the most fundamental shift in pastoral terminology with the concept of
continuum. As defined by Barth, pastoralism does not exist in an uncorrupted form, but
is combined with several other activities and modes of living. Nomadism is fraught with
variation as groups extend from free-range to sedentism. Individuals and groups can live
in sedentary households and have pastoral pursuits, and alternately nomadic households
might maintain traditionally sedentary economic pursuits. The continuum concept has

been widely developed since Barth to include a spatial and temporal component as well

37

(Michael 1987; Spencer 1998). In the process Of adopting this concept, there has been a
near obliteration of the nuances of these lifestyles and the individuals who practice them.
While Barth is commonly used as the proforma model of sedentarization, he is
also critiqued quite appropriately for his unproven assumptions regarding pastoral capital
(animals on-the-hoof denoting the wealth of individuals and groups), the cultural context
within which sedentarization takes place, and the ability for groups, individual
households, or individuals to become sedentary only to later revert to nomadism
(critiques eloquently taken up in Swee 1981). Salzman (1972) developed an alternative
model looking at the degree to which pastoralists relied on other modes of production;
this would allow us to quantify the variability of alternate forms of pastoralism. But
measuring percentages of bartered grains versus gathered wild resources versus livestock
consumption has apparently proven untenable, as no one seems to have pursued it‘further.
The focus on economy was one direction of nomad studies. Another direction,
focused on the role that the environment played in directing or even determining nomadic
economic forms and social structures, had its beginnings with Evans-Pritchard’s (1940)
work among the Nuer (see Dyson-Hudson and Dyson-Hudson 1980 for a thorough
discussion). But the fullness of these detenninist approaches resulted from the work of

numerous anthropologists and archaeologists.

Environmental and Ecological Approaches
The wider availability of research money and increased numbers of archaeologists
in the post-War era led to broader approaches to nomadism, in particular the introduction

of environmental and ecological approaches. To say that herd size directly impacts

38

household size the greater the degree of pastoral nomadic specialization seems self-
evident The size of the corporate network and the size or composition type of the herd
will directly influence a particular family’s ability to stave off famine, survive floods or
droughts by relying on personal ties to provide a buffer during hard times. But it is
especially necessary for pastoral groups to constantly factor the needs of their herds, for
protection and fodder, into their movements. In order to provide food and shelter,
especially in the desert or Siberian steppe, inhospitable environments where nomads are
commonly found, it is necessary for pastoralists to use the natural elements to their
advantage.

The accumulation of empirical field data allowed archaeologists to see that the
environment, as a dynamic variable, interacted with culture and society. The culture-
historical approach allowed us to learn about past ways of life by identifying cultures and
constructing chronologies. Change remained an illusive concept. The environment could
account for the bulk of this exogenous change (Trigger 1984:275). For Steward (1953,
1955), adaptation of groups to the environment influenced the “culture core”, itself a
vaguely defined concept that primarily focused on subsistence and economic
arrangements, but might also include ideology or social and political organization (Kohl
1981:101). In his search for regularities of human cultures, distinct traditions were
explained by environmental similarities (Orlove 1980:236-238). His cultural ecological
approach, with its emphasis on multilinear lines of evolution, would influence everyone
from Service’s bands-tribes-chiefdoms, to Harris’s neofunctional adaptations.

The New Archaeology sought to test general laws of human nature through the

establishment of systematic relationships. Binford (1972) saw human cultures as Open

39

systems that interacted, both positively and negatively, with nature creating a larger
ecosystem. Harris (1968) called for a “strategy of cultural materialism” based on both
the techno-environmental and techno-economic determinism of White ( 1969) and
Steward (1955). His strategy viewed culture as a response to the environment based on a
principle that “holds that similar technologies applied to similar environments tend to
produce similar arrangements of labor in production and distribution, and these in turn
call forth similar kinds of social groupings, which justify and coordinate their activities
by means of similar systems of values and beliefs” (Harris 1968z4). Within his
discussion of social organization and culture, Harris continues to see these as functional
adaptations that permit populations to exploit the environment (Orlove 1980:240) if not
be directed by their environment. The environment is not a passive backdrop but acts to
shape culture as it is in turned shaped by culture.

The New Archaeology put humans back into nature, operating within ecosystems,
surviving and adapting. Over time, it has been recognized that no one portion of a
culture, be it social forms, technology, or economy, entirely determines the response of
the entire system. If one portion were to be the sole determinant, then there would be far
less variation seen in the archaeological record (Trigger 1995:403). Having said this, one
cannot deny the limitations placed on a group’s economic practices by their environment
—one cannot whale hunt in the desert. Environment alone does not dictate spatial
behaviors, and the elements are not the only concern of pastoral nomads.

Sahlins (1972) believed that mobility conditioned an individual’s attitudes toward
the material world, but the material side is often missing in ethnographic accounts from

this era (Home 19942). Sahlins further suggested that nomadic societies developed

down two distinct paths. Down one path, low population density and uncertain
production left nomadic populations with little hierarchical structure; when more reliable
resources and larger populations co-occurred, “chiefly” organization was favored
(Sahlins 1968:32-39). The second developmental path required an adaptation to
sedentary neighbors, leading to “confederation and centralization of the herders” (Sahlins
1968:38). Sahlins believed that the wealth of the settlements, based on agriculture, was
what attracted the nomads and assisted in their consolidation. The regular interaction
with sedentary populations, peaceful and otherwise, led to the need for permanent
leadership among nomadic groups. It is these relationships, and not internal structures,
that Sahlins views as the primary source of development among peripheral nomadic
groups (Honeychurch 2004:9). Soviet scholars during the 19808 attempted to prove
pastoral societies were internally stratified, and that land was owned by the upper classes
(Ingold 1985:385). These two issues, land tenure and social stratification, were at the
focus of Soviet scholarship while Western scholars assumed pastoralists were egalitarian
(Gellner l994:xiii; Ingold I986; Layton, Foley and Williams 1991) unless, as Sahlins
made clear, the nomads had taken the second path of development. Markov (1976) notes
that what inequality emerges amongst pastoral nomads is often a consequence of war and
raiding, but can never involve keeping'the lower Strata of society from the means of
production (animals and pasturage) as they, the elite, would have needed the labor more
than the laborers needed them.

These productive relations would need to be cooperative or consensual, a view
reiterated by Khazanov (1994) but in relation to nomads and the outside, or sedentary,

world. To Khazanov, nomadism represents a specialized, if widespread, occurrence of

41

economic production and mobility, with social formations and historical specificity that
connect different societies and cultures. In his view, there can be no nomadic “autarky”
as their very existence is dependent upon the exchange relations with sedentary peoples
(Khazanov 1994:33-37. Many of his own conclusions on Eurasian nomads are rooted in
his archaeological work with the Scythians (Khazanov 1975, 1978), discussed more in
the next chapter on Soviet and Russian archaeology.

The interactions between nomadic and sedentary groups have remained of
particular interest to anthropologists for the past twenty years. A few researchers have
since documented the rare, but not impossible circumstances when nomads do live in
isolation (Chang 1993; DiCosmo I994; Hole 1978:138; Salzman 2002) largely dependent
on the diversity of their economies (i.e. the more components within the economy,
agriculture, fishing, hunting, gathering, and pastoralism, equates to a better chance at
independence), but as Salzman states most nomads have a “versatile, multipurpose
nomadism that they use to the fullest extent” (2002:249), sometimes living within states,
sometimes on the fringes, and at times isolated from regular interaction — independent if
not fully isolated from settled peoples. Most agree that even nomads with diversified
economies could not be successful without an interaction with sedentary populations and
their agricultural products (Barfield 2001b; Barth I969, I973; Khazanov 1978; KOhler—
Rollefson 1992; Lees and Bates 1974). Spencer (1998) even goes so far as to proclaim
that it is the marginalization from sedentary pursuits that maintains pastoralism as a
viable way of life. In this way nomads are considered as little more than pawns to the
sedentary, “civilized” world - related to, reliant upon, but not necessarily fully

“integrated” (Honeychurch 2004: 10). Surely as no man is an island, no cultural group

42

can operate in isolation, certainly not in the modern world, and likely not in prehistory
either (Kohl I987; Renfrew and Cherry 1986; Schortman and Urban 1987; Trigger 1995).

During the 19808, a period of rampant definition and categorization, the
comparative study of pastoral nomads was in disarray. While the nomads were largely
recognized as integrated into greater world systems, each cultural group was treated in
isolation with a “specificity jealously guarded by the ethnographer” (Ingold 1985:384).
Comparisons were drawn only intra-regionally - not between East Africa and Southeast
Asia, for example. And the terms “pastoralism” and “nomadism” were so loosely
defined as to lose value altogether. It is during this period of disarray that Anatoly
Khazanov emigrated to the West bringing with him his unpublished manuscript, Nomads
and the Outside World. His viewpoint, while born in the Soviet Union, was nonetheless
widely informed by anthropological and archaeological work from around the globe and
created one of the first comprehensive, comparative looks at pastoral nomadism.

While many anthropologists may prescribe to Barth’s continuum, in practice it is
more common to use some form of typology. Some anthropologists believe we can make
distinctive typologies of nomadic adaptation, from “pure” forms, where only animal
herding is practiced and only animal products are consumed, to categories that include
pastoralism and other pursuits (Khazanov 1994; Dyson-Hudson and Dyson-Hudson 1980
cite Jacobs’s (1975, 1979) work with the Masaai, and Elam’s (1973) work among the
Hima). It is historically rare that groups exist completely independent of agricultural
products, and perhaps more to the point, labeling a group does little to explain why they
might rely solely on animal products or what this might suggest about other elements of

their society. Another problem with strict typologies in any classificatory system is that

43

they break down whenever an exception is found to the rule. Currently, much of the
anthropological work on nomads looks at more informed, far—reaching questions that
integrate nomadic peoples into a broader region and socio-economic sphere (Bonte 1990;
Humphrey and Sneath 1996; Salzman 2000, 2002, 2004). Those who do look primarily
at the local level do so with the intention of showing the value/utility of new research
methods, such as ethnoarchaeologists using large-scale survey techniques (e. g. Chang
and Tourtellotte 1998).

In the latter part of the 20th century, the focus of ethnography and ethnohistoric
studies has been specifically the pastoral peoples of West Africa and East Asia. Some of
the rare cases focus on Inner Asia (Barfield 1989,1993, 2001a and 2001 b; DiCosmo
1994; Humphrey and Sneath 1996, I999; Humphrey and Onon 1996; Khazanov 1994), or
Siberia in particular (V ainshtein 1980), but largely this area remained cutoff from the
West until the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991. Since that time research has been made
easier for those interested in Siberian ethnography (Balzer 1992, 1999; Fondahl 1998;
Jordan 2003; Reid 2002) as well as archaeology (Anthony 1991 , 1995; Boyle et a1. 2002;
Davis-Kimball et a1. 1995; Davis-Kimball, Murphy, et al. 2000; Hanks 2003; Jones-Bley
1999; Jones-Bley and Zdanovich 2002; Kroll 2000; Kroll Lerner in press; Levine et a1.
1999).

Archaeologists’ specific contributions to the late 20th century discussion of
pastoral nomadism have focused attention on what happens when mobility is curtailed.
The loss of peoples’ mobility, and thus the loss of their flexibility often “precipitates
dramatic changes in food storage, trade, territoriality, social and gender inequality, ‘

male/female work patterns, subsistence, and demography”(Kelly 1992:43-44). Much of

the most recent anthropological work has focused on the post-colonial world, the
elimination of traditional lifestyles within larger states, and the curtailing of nomadism
across international boundaries (e.g. Fondahl 1998, Humphrey and Sneath 1996, 1999;
Jordan 2003. While archaeology provides a unique deep time perspective on the origins
of pastoral nomadism, our recent subdisciplinary focus has been largely on socio-political
Organization, and to a much lesser degree, the post-processual critiques of the New

Archaeology — in particular gender.

Pastoral Nomad Origins

We cannot distinguish, without access to an historical record, between cultural

similarities that are analogous and those resulting from historical connections

(homologous).

(Binford 1968:8-12)

The question of the origins of pastoralism no longer looks for “an” original
location where the very first animals were tamed, bred, and herded. Hole’s (1978)
suggestion that “origins should probably be sought in people who developed a technology
for the large scale processing of cereals or other plants, and the means for storage” (Hole
1978:139) points toward a general view of the potential areas to look. As with
agricultural production, we expect that pastoralism arose in many primary locations and
then spread through diffusion. When trying to examine the origins of nomadism, it is
especially difficult to isolate the cultural influences, either internal or external to this
economic adaptation. Did individual groups develop pastoral practices, animal

husbandry and full-household mobility, independently, or as a result of the diffusion of

45

knowledge from outside groups? Was this diffusion the result of a few individuals
moving into a new area and assimilating indigenOus groups, or did the concept move
across space? Since historical documents do not exist for most areas of the world when
pastoral nomadism first arose, we must heed Binford’s wizened words and be prudent in
the search for analogies and homologies.

Our understanding of the origins of specialized forms of pastoralism in any region
is tenuous at best and remains one of the most highly contested debates in nomadic
studies. Most scholars rely on ambiguous, even meager archaeological materials or
interpretations, looking for the appearance of domesticated flora and fauna (Braidwood
and Howe 1960; Gilbert 1983). Pastoralism occurs in areas where humans and animals
can excel and use the same resources — grains, nuts, and other vegetation (Hole 1978:38).
These resources can be collected from the wild and do not necessitate domestication.
Ecological assessments connect the origins of diverse modes of pastoralism linking them
to cultural processes such as population expansion and sedentism (Flannery 1968, 1972b;
Hole 1978; Lees and Bates 1974). These multi-economic modes of pastoralism are
largely the result of agriculturalists who begin to breed animals (Bar-Yosef and
Khazanov 1992:5; Khazanov 1994:86). Many believe that specialized pastoral
nomadism could have originated only after the development of fully sedentary, intensive
agriculture (Khazanov 1994:89; Lees and Bates 1974; Levy 1983; Markov 1976; Sadr
1991; Shnirelman 1980; Smith 1992), or with urban centers and their centralized political
organizations (Gilbert 1983). Some infer that agriculture must have been on the decline
in order to encourage members of society to begin such a difficult and risky practice

(Lees and Bates 1974; Lattimore 1962). Depending on the ecological context, pastoral

nomadism may be a better-suited and more productive alternative than agriculture. By
some accounts, in order to maintain pastoral nomadism, mounted animals would have to
have been domesticated first to successfully move herds and to have an upper hand in the
political relations with sedentary societies (Bar-Yosef and Khazanov 1992:5; Hole
l978:13)5.

What can be said safely of the origins question is that there is no need to put
social factors in conflict with ecological ones — you can have both a cultural push toward
mobility (animal husbandry specializations) and the environmental opportunity (e.g. the
opening of the Siberian steppe as viable grazing land during the Bronze Age)
simultaneously occun'ing. Both economic and social factors may combine to form a
successful adaptation: “the configuration at any given moment will be determined
principally by resource distribution, mechanisms of social boundary maintenance,
historical circumstances, and the needs of the moment (Gilbert 1983: 107) —none of which
may be recognizable archaeologically. Kuznar (1990) notes the emergence of nomadism
is in response to both decreasing foraging area and socio-economic conflicts over
diminishing resources. Khazanov (1994) identifies the technoeconomic trigger
necessary, climatic desiccation, and the sociopolitical backdrop, the existence of
agricultural states, under which pure pastoral nomadism occurred on the Eurasian steppes

(Khazanov 1994:90-97).

—¥

5 Horse domestication is embroiled in several different debates within Eurasian archaeology. One involves
the spread of Indo-European languages with horseback riders (Anthony 1986; Gimbutas 1979; Mallory
1989) as opposed to language spread with agricultural groups (Renfrew 1986; Sherratt I982; Shnirelman
I992). The other debate involves the timing of horse domestication itself based on horseback riding and
bitwear analysis (Anthony and Brown 2000; Brown and Anthony 1998) or traction and hippography
(Levine I999a and 1999b; Levine et a1 1999).

47

Most authors regardless of their general purpose of discussing pastoral nomadism
as economic practice, environmental adaptation, or political process couch their
discussions of origins in terms of the creation of nomads in opposition to sedentary
segments of society. Few continue to propose an evolutionary schema for nomadism as
the logical outcome of hunter/gatherers or collectors on their obligatory progression
towards sedentism, but those that do couch it in these terms largely remain in the former
Soviet Union (Kradin I996; Kradin 1992 cited in Khazanov’s 1994 introduction to the
second edition). Even when defining their independence from sedentary peoples, the
pastoral nomads are still compared with and defined in opposition to the settled
populations in their immediate area. I believe this is a response, in whole or in part, to
the perceived dichotomy between nomadic and settled, between moving or stationary
even while most societies contain elements of both. As a perceptual “either-or”, one
cannot define nomads without defining their neighbors. No society develops in a
vacuum; there must be some social interaction. The interaction, even when it is simply
withdrawal from another group (avoidance), will affect the economic practice, socio-

political formation, and spatial practices of pastoral nomads.

Pastoral Nomad Socio-Political Organization

One of the first Western works to address the socio-political situation of Eurasian
nomads, Owen Lattimore (1940) introduced three pertinent themes to the study of the
organization of nomads. First, he recognized nomadic societies’ potential for as much
complex organization as any other society. Secondly, he maintained that mobility would

play a key role in determining the nature of social forms. And third, inter-societal

relations not only would exist, but would help to create a “frontier” and thereby indirectly
stimulate the core, sedentary areas; a viewpoint not altogether dissimilar from Childe’s
expectation that nomads were responsible for Europe’s development. Lattimore’s
primary example documented the interactions between the nomadic Xiongnu (or Hsiung-
nu) and the pre-state level Chinese. Corresponding to the consolidation of the Qin state
(221 BC), we have evidence for the first, large-scale nomadic polity (Barfield I993;
Honeychurch 2004211). Their “supratribal” organization structured their basic purpose —
to extract products from their sedentary neighbors (Barfield 1989). Barth (1961)
documented this type of extortionate relationship in Iran, as did Rowton (1981) who
looked at nomadic autonomy within the Mesopotamian states during the first millennium
BC. Barth’s observations of the Basseri also corroborate Lattimore’s concept of central
core areas being stimulated by nomadic inputs, but for Barth the nomads who had
attained enough wealth could buy land in regional centers. Once settled in, these elite
held a dual socio—political placement in two worlds, as tribal leaders and, due to this
powerful base, as newly landed gentry influencing matters of the state.

Later Lattimore (1979) revised his early models of nomadic socio-political
interactions by questioning the structural independence of the steppe politics. He saw the
elites transforming their pastoral surplus into luxury and subsistence goods through
coercive exchange relationships with the early Chinese states (prior to Qin). In addition,
the elites redistributed the wealth with their followers to support both themselves and
their military campaigns (Honeychurch 2004). This elite level within the nomadic
hierarchy imposed its will over sedentary masses as well as lower level, common

pastoralists. The focus of power, in the hands of a few, does not allow for shared

49

bureaucratic responsibilities and eventual (independent) state formation (Khazanov
1994). Nomadic states or empires could arise only in response to and dependent upon
sedentary populations.

Distinctions have been drawn between nomadism occurring in “enclosed” areas,
where nomads are in close contact with settled people, circumscribed by geographic
elements such as mountains and seas, and “external nomadism” characterized by great,
open expanses of desert sand or grassland (Hole 1978; Rowton 1974, 1981). The
external forms could and did produce their own agricultural produce from within their
territories, thus proving to be more self-reliant economy as well as a more stable and
resilient political force. These populations were fully capable of developing large
confederacies composed of many sociO-economic groups (i.e. the Scythians, see: Chang
and Tourtellotte 1998; Khazanov I978). The nomadic populations living at the fringes of
the confederated area developed specialized predatory means by which to obtain goods
and services. These interaction zones created special political bonds between
marginalized nomadic groups and their sedentary neighbors. As Adams (1981) notes, at
the “edgezones” nomads became part of an “ethnic continuum” of rural producers whose
mobility provided channels of communication and integration between urban producers
and the “hinterlands” during state development. This once again reinforces the idea of

nomads playing an integral role in the development of sedentary states.

50

CHAPTER THREE
SOVIET AND RUSSIAN ARCHAEOLOGY

Recent studies in anthropology regarding the impact of material culture through
commodification and the constructions of cultural identity reflect current events. As our
attention is drawn to the plight of indigenous persons struggling against the affects of
globalization and colonialism, these studies have had an impact on archaeological
interpretations as well. Archaeologists have begun to pose important questions regarding
the use of material culture to create memory and shared experience and the reconstruction
of indigenous conceptions of identity. That contemporary issues affect our understanding
of past societies is neither new nor surprising. In order to understand the treatment of the
vast majority of archaeological material coming from Siberia it is necessary to delve into
the roots of modern Russian archaeology, a discipline that represents the very differences
between East and West - socialist versus capitalist — Russian archaeology differs in its
political, linguistic and ideological principles (Klejn 1977: 12). Any contemporary
science is the product of a long chain of investigation and theorizing, but perhaps none is
more uniquely fashioned than a discipline that grew in near isolation from the rest of the
world. The motives and ideologies of Czarist, Soviet, and Russian archaeologists who
explored the mortuary domain of the early Iron Age shaped the manner in which they
observed, collected and interpreted the evidence as they were in turn shaped by the
scientific community surrounding them.

Russian and Soviet archaeology has never been an anthropological discipline, but
as with most European countries it is housed within the discipline of history. The role of

archaeology within history cannot be underestimated in order to comprehend the ways in

51

which archaeological material has been and continues to be analyzed. Archaeology has
been perceived as but one of several data gatherers (as with ethnography and
historiography), while history or sociological disciplines (sociology, culturology, social
and cultural anthropology) interpreted the evidence (Klejn 1977, 1993). The handmaiden
to a historical master, “archaeology is to history what the telescope is to astronomy, the
microscope to biology” (Mongait 1961:39). It is, in essence, a tool. As Servants to
history, most archaeologists did not shape the theory within which they operated; it was
not their job. (This argument could be made with regards to the majority of cultural
resource management archaeologists working in the United States as well.) As paradigm
shifts did occur (amongst historians), they very slowly rippled their way out to the people
in the field (the archaeologists), but as Trigger (1995) points out, it was not uncommon

for there to be no theory in the field per se, just excavation, recording, and classification.

CZARIST ERA

While much of the archaeology of the 20th century can be separated both
ideologically and methodologically from that of the Czarist era, the importance of Peter I
(“the Great”) must be mentioned with regards to the development of modern interest in
Siberian antiquities, especially from burial mounds (kurgans). In 1718, Czar Peter
decreed that materials both old and rare — geological, paleontological, archaeological, and
golden — should be collected and sent to St. Petersburg, the then new capital (Mongait
1961). As in most areas of the world, looters require little encouragement, but it was
with the czar’s ukas (legislative decree) that much large-scale demolition began under the

direction of local Officials. Burials became of particular focus due to the wealth of

52

objects presumed, usually correctly, to be inside. Because the steppe landscape is rather
flat and open, and mounds are quite obvious there, the many thousands Of kurgans that
had been built were intentional targets of “collection”. In 1739 the first kurgan was
officially “excavated” near Krasnoyarsk (central Siberia), and with the annexation of the
northern Black Sea coast came the investigations of Scythian tombs such as
Mel’gunovsky in 1763 (Mongait l96|;Trigger 1995). These “royal” tombs provided
such large amounts of gold and other valuables that kurgans remained the focus of
investigations, sanctioned and otherwise, scientific and not, up until the present day,
though now the materials are most likely to remain in the regional museums rather than
be sent to the Hermitage. Consistent scientific enquiry did not begin in Western Siberia
until the 19608, but many of the kurgans were as likely as not to have been
unceremoniously investigated by someone in the past.

The Czarist period emphasized a culture-historical approach influenced by
Montelius. This typological approach held that humans attempts to control nature had a
cumulative effect on the development and change of technology (Bulkin et a1. 1982) and
diffusion and migration could account for changes in the archaeological record. Much of
the archaeological organization that was put into place during this era was replaced by the
Soviets, although initially under Lenin’s New Economic Policy (NEP 1921-1928) it was
recognized that there was a need to maintain some of the bourgeois intelligentsia in order
to instruct the masses (Trigger 1995:214). Science allowed for a respite from a strong
tradition of Russian mysticism, an opiate of their particular people. Archaeological
research was separate from undergraduate education with most researchers ensconced in

regional institutes. Here full-time archaeologists worked in conjunction with specialists

53

from geology to plant science, so while they were not theoretically oriented, Soviet

archaeologists were using a multidisciplinary approach.

SOVIET ERA

In the 19208 there were initial successes of the new Marxist ideology; within
archaeology it was applied within the re-envisioned, centrally controlled Russian
Academy for the History of Material Culture (RAIMK). This reorganization had more
far-reaching effects than simply changing letterhead; in essence RAIMK removed the
application of Marxist theory by archaeologists instead focusing their efforts on
descriptive reports of “realia”, things not fixed by language (Klejn 1993:341), devoid of
theory. The complete yet simple acceptance of Marx, which gave peasants and workers a
sense of belonging, led to the development within the historical sciences of the search for
the origins of class struggle. Archaeologists armed with preconceived Marxist ideas of
unilinear progress, went out into the field to find representatives of the primitive social
groups from the Lower Paleolithic through the matriarchal Neolithic, patriarchal Bronze
Age and tribal Iron Age. “Tribes” were often identified by stylistic patterns on artifacts
(e. g. “corded-ware tribe”) and represented a stage just prior to the creation of slave-
holding and subsequent feudal societies based on Marx and Engels. “Ideal research in
the USSR was not the study of the past but the identification and confirmation of laws
which regulate historical development, supporting Marxist theory” (Berezkin 2000: 155).
Much of the early foundations of pastoral studies in the Soviet Union were laid in this
theoretical framework long before ethnographic or archaeological evidence was brought

to bear.

Archaeological change was seen as a result of socio-economic shifts, with similar
languages sharing similar stages of evolution. At the directorship of RA] MK during its
critical founding sat Nikolay Marr, a linguist, who tied language to an “entity in blood” '
or racial categories (Shnirelman 1995: 121). While he held rather unique views compared
to his bourgeois contemporaries, those who remained from czarist times, Marr held a
great deal of influence over the training of the first generation of Soviet scholars. He
believed that people and language were the result of mixing or “interbreeding” rather
than splitting from common origins, the latter a position advocated by Indo—Europeanists
(Shnirelman 1995; Mallory 1989). During the 19308 and 19408 Marr influenced
archaeologists with his “theory of stages”, qualitative leaps resulting in economic
developments, e.g. appearance of a productive economy (Klejn 1977:14). Dialectical in
their origins and quite remarkable in terms of the cultural and linguistic changes, these
leaps were coordinated with changes in technology, thus Iranian speaking nomadic .
Scythians became Gennan-speaking Goth farmers, and finally feudal Slavs (Bulkin et al.
1982:275). This theory sent people out to look for autochthonous cultural units,
immovable native traits that had sprung from the fertile Russian, and other Soviet, soils
—although most avoided directly applying materialist theory figuring that working with
material culture was enough (Trigger 1995:215). As Klejn (1977, 1993) points out, this

“a-theoretical” fieldwork simply has been the responsibility Of archaeology after the

 

' This is a concept not altogether different from recent research on linguistics and genetics, the idea that
demographic expansion and differentiation of descendant groups from a common ancestral population will
tend to load to both linguistic and genetic isolation of the descendant groups from one another (Cavalli-
Sforza 1997; Cavalli-Sforza et al. 1994). Many have commented (see Commentary in Current
Anthropology 41 (3) that this leads to assumptions that ethnicity, language, and genetic inheritance are
today shared characteristics Of well-demarcated, easily defined human populations and that these
characteristics generally covaried in the past as they are held to covary in the present (MacEachem 2000),
and while Cavallie-Sforza et al. (1994) warn of the exceptions possible from their generalizations, as
practice these warnings Often go unheeded.

55

formation of RAIMK, as a gatherer of data. Marr downplayed the influence of large
migrations as a primogenitor of cultural change, instead believing in relatively local
integrations by adjacent groups. As integration took place, the languages and people
mixed, structured by social classes, and created ethnicities, each ethnic group arising
spontaneously from its homeland (Bulkin et al. 1982:274—276). Thus language, race,
culture, and religion are in constant “flux” and ethnicity is “ephemeral” (Shnirelman
1995:121-122), but class is a cultural structure that is universal, and therefore, class
struggle, inevitable. Once again Marx is validated.

Finding class struggle in situ required the excavation of a variety of domestic
spheres, not just the burials of the elite. During this time State support drove intense
settlement excavation with little attention being paid to classification, the study of which
was considered a “bourgeois tendency to ignore the social and political significance of
the archaeological record” (Trigger 1995:227) or the lingering of anti-Soviet attitudes
(Bulkin et al. 1982:276). Under Stalin’s regime the disenfranchising programs of
intensive industrialization and agricultural collectivization required the bolstering of the
ideology that drove the system and encouraged the masses to participate in the socialist
vision. Strict Communist Party discipline and doctrine led to the expulsion of the
intelligentsia from seats of authority and power within all institutions including the
scientific community. During these years the government forbade contact with foreign
scholars and removed dissenters from office. Yet the central control of science and
industry also led to the universal standards in training, publishing, and a common focus
for archaeological work so that a great deal of excavation was accomplished resulting in a

dramatic increase in the knowledge of past peoples long ignored, such as the Iron Age

56

nomads (Pazyryk peoples studied by Rostovtzev). The practical technologies that were
used in the past (e.g. irrigation and mining), notjust “the relics of by-gone instruments”
(Marx 1906:200) informing us about extinct forms of production, were once again

harnessed and used for the collective industries (Bulkin et a1. 1982).

Ethnogenesis and Nationalism

As the Soviet experiment entered its third decade, Soviet nationalism or
“intemationalism”, the inclusion of all Soviet peoples, spread as the Gennan’s retreated.
As Marx did not address prehistory (Engels did later) or social evolution, historians and
their minions, the archaeologists, used the archaeological record to demonstrate laws and
regularities of historical processes, specifically the existence of primitive egalitarianism,
the advancement of technology, and the prehistoric embeddedness of ethnic divisions.
Migration and diffusion were allowed as explanatory models, so long as the migration
was from within Soviet territories. Finding ethnicity in situ was an important means of
solidifying the borders of Soviet republics, so that during this era many projects in the
far-flung locations were sponsored and ethnogenetic evidence was gathered.

Ethnogenesis, or the “formation of peoples”, has played a strong role in Soviet
and Russian archaeology and is rooted in the 19308 and 19408. The non-Russians who
had been suppressed by Czarist forces, and who now created the lion-share of the Soviet
population, were made a participating entity by finding their ancestral roots within the
USSR. Intemationalism was a means by which the shortcomings of Marxism’s promise,
that socialism would spread throughout the world, could be Shown to have mOre than one ~

convert (Maoism would not “sweep” China for at least another decade). Within the

57

Soviet Union, many nationalities, ethnic groups, became the emblem of socialism’s
spread and inevitability. Ethnogenetic studies with their roots in 19408 and 19508 held
that archaeological cultures were identifiable ethnic groups based on sets of traits or
specific variables (i.e. pottery decorations); this is a View of archaeological culture that
can be seen in contemporary research (e. g. pottery types corresponding to cultural groups
in Western Siberia include Varabiova, Gorohova, Sargat, etc.). Soviet patriotism
required an appropriate origin of the Slavs, thus one was traced from a pre-Scythian
Bronze Age uninterrupted to the Kievan Rus (Shnirelman 1995:133), an origin that did
not rely upon Scandinavian or other Germanic groups.

The more data that was amassed, the more it became obvious that cultural groups
did not arise in a pristine vacuum — the “theory of stages” fell short as an interpretive
model. Stalin himself denounced Marr’s belief that dialectical change inextricably linked
linguistic change, social organization, and economic practice, pointing out that Russian
was the tongue of the czars and the Soviets as well (Trigger 1995), while his native
tongue was Georgian. But though no longer in vogue, nothing replaced it, leaving
archaeology without a middle-range theory through the rest of the century (Klejn

1977:12-13, 1993:345; Berezkin 2000:159).

Post-Stalin Period

Once Stalin’s stronghold on central planning and research interests was broken,
by his death, there was a general loosening of publicly allowable interpretation. Trigger
(1978, 1995) claims that unilinear cultural progression was tantamount to canon under

Stalin; a View that continued through the Cold War. Soviet scholars were not directly

58

applying Marx per se, but a modified concoction; one part Marx, one part Engels, with a
healthy dose of Lenin, stirred up by Stalin’s own totalitarian swizzle stick. During the
19508 and 19608 archaeological material illustrated and reinforced sociological ideas (i.e.
Mongait 1961), yet it became widely recognized that many Marxist-Leninist writers had
hastily applied theory, which now verged on “pedantic” (Klejn 1977:13). Soviet and
Russian authors point to theoretical debates that existed (Klejn 1977, 1993; Bulkin et al.
1982; Berezkin 2000:156-157), but rarely reached the printed page and hadn’t reached
the West apparently. Most Western understandings of Soviet archaeology (including
Trigger’s) were simplistic and based misconceptions of a unilaterally accepted Marxist
creed (Bulkin et al. 1982:273) and the seeming impenetrability of the Soviet Bloc.
Generations later the West continued to hold narrow views of the underpinnings of Soviet
science:
It must be emphasized... that diversity of opinions exist in Soviet archaeology,
and one often reads articles highly critical of the works or theories of fellow
colleagues. A monolithic structure promoting uniform, dogmatically held policies
is a caricature of the real situation and says more about Western stereotypic
conceptions of Soviet society than it does about the real nature of Soviet
archaeology.

(Kohl 1984:246-247)

By the 19608 typological study had become “artifactology” or the fetishizing of
things; dialectical materialism, the shift from one time period to another, was no longer

explaining or synthesizing; historical materialism was recognized as unable to “function

59

as applied sociology” (Bulkin et al. 1982:278). Once again abandoning the models put
forth in the past, and with an easing of centralized control, Soviet archaeology
experienced regional renaissances, including a growth in Institutes of Archaeology in the
republics. Under more reform minded leadership in the national government,
archaeologists reestablished contacts with the West. New administrations in the 19708
allowed for the critiquing of Marx, but few people, within or beyond the USSR, had
access to these new directions due to a lack of both publication and circulation, thus it is
little wonder that the West continued to misconstrue the Soviet use of Marxist-Leninist
doctrine (Klejn 1977:20). Materials that were finding their way into publication came
primarily from large-scale excavation projects, projects that were big on data recovery
and small on historical processes (Bulkin et al. 1982). Access to foreign literature
continued to be rare and mostly limited to archaeologists in Moscow and Leningrad, two
rival departments that represented long—standing rivalries in the arts, sciences, and
politics since the very beginnings of the Russian Empire. In the West, little material
written by Russian authors had reached English readers, with the notable exception of
Mongait’s Archaeology in the USSR (1961) and Semenov’s Prehistoric Technology
(1964), due to the political blockade and the lack of translated sources. Language
barriers continue to be a stumbling block for non-Russian speakers (Kohl 1995;

Lamberg-Karlovsky 1995)?

 

2 It should be noted that there were archaeologists interacting with Soviet scholars and referencing their
Russian publications early on, most notably the work of Childe (1925, 1926), and Gimbutas (1956, I965).

60

GORABACHEV AND THE POST-SOVIET ERA

The openness and recognition that debate and self-critique strengthens society and builds
better science, ideas allowed within Gorbachev’s glasnost and perestroika, pointed out
the inadequacies of many aspects Of the Soviet system, including archaeological
chronology. Chronologies continued to be tied to historical sources even while absolute
dates showed enormous temporal discrepancies (Bulkin et al. 1982; Klejn 1993:347;
Lamberg-Karlovsky 1995; recent investment in carbon dating is leading to further
clarification of these discrepancies, see: Goersdorf et al. 1998 for Bronze Age
chronologies and Renfrew et al. 1999 for late Bronze-early Iron Age). Analysis of
empirical data also created ambiguities for basic concepts - attribute, type, assemblage,
culture (Dolukhanov 1979 cited in Trigger 1995:238-239), as well as archaeological
culture (Y ablonsky 2002:89) — so that the most important contribution the data provided
were general descriptions and minimal statistical analysis (Bulkin et al. 1982:282).
Views appeared in Russian intellectual society challenging the applicability of Marxist
unilinear stages and allowing for “cultural and social patterns not extant today were
allowed to have existed in the past, including those considered hi gher...although it is
difficult to say how prevalent or localized they are” (Berezkin 2000: 158). Interpretation
became an unfortunate rush of nationalistic racism filling the void left by Marx
(Dolukhanov 1989). Perestoika began the unraveling of the Soviet centralized system as
control was redistributed to localities while unfunded mandates continued to be handed
down by Moscow — mandates for survey and protection of antiquities. By 1989 the

money for foreign literature in the scientific libraries was exhausted, while soaring fuel

61

prices denied scholars opportunities to travel to all but regional, domestic conferences
(Chemykh 1995; Berezkin 2000).

In 1991 the USSR disintegrated into a series of unbalanced and tentative political
entities, culminating in the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS). Out of the
former 15 republics, Russia maintained control over itself and Siberia, remaining the
largest country, by area, in the world. Many of the regional Institutes found themselves
in independent nations with sovereign control over their own resources, while the
Russian Academy of Sciences found it difficult to pay for electricity and water for many
of its facilities (Chemykh 1995:140). The central government, long the funding agency
of all archaeological projects, could not buy equipment or fund excavations for anything
but the “supersites” (Anthony 1995’). Many archaeological sites were threatened by
looters and neglect, and the antiquities market, long a source of funding and support
(educated collectors influencing research objectives), became a market for preciosities for
the uneducated (Berezkin 2000:157). Descriptive, religio-mystical, and psychic
archaeology pieces dominated, rather than theoretical ones (Berezkin 2000: 159; see also
a critique put forth by Klejn in 1977), or other facile interpretations produced for
publishers wanting ready-made history (Klejn 1993:341). The severe financial
conditions led archaeologists to creatively implement new strategies, bringing about a
plethora of cooperative projects with Japanese and Western institutions.

The cooperative projects, one of which I was a member, brought innovation

through cultural contact between scholars who had largely been isolated from each other

 

3 Many scholars critique this particular article of David Anthony’s for ignoring the socio-political struggles
faced by archaeologists and their innovative methods of overcoming the hardships imposed by the times
and by their government (Jones-Bley, personal communique). Unfortunately no one has published these
critiques and Anthony | 1995] remains the first Western “authority” on Russian archaeology just after the
fall of the Soviet Union.

62

for seventy years. The sharing of Russian data and Western resources should provide a
truly unique Opportunity for introduction of Russia’s archaeological heritage to the world.
But what it exposes are discrepancies in method between researchers trained in very
different traditions and conditions.

A consequence of Lenin and especially Stalin centralizing all aspects of Soviet
work, even establishing research quotas under the NEP’S 5-year plans, the central
government channeled all archaeological research through the Russian Academy of
Sciences in Moscow, to be redistributed back out to the provinces. The Academy
controls the “Open List”, the documentation of all available archaeological sites for
excavation in any given year. In order to have access to the Open List, and therefore the
ability to excavate, an institution must be in “good standing” a status that revolves around
presentation of reports and research, production of publications for museums, universities
and institutes - at the authors’ expense charged by the page (Anthony 1995) — successful
completion of past excavations following expected methods (Berezkin 2000: 156).
Obtaining the Open List provides the “license” to excavate, which has important cachet
with local officials, without it archaeologists have no access to any funding sources
whatsoever. The pressure to speedily comply with the very basic requirements leads to
the writing of primarily site reports with thinly discussed features and materials“.

Theoretical questions of the late 19708 continue to drive interpretations: How are

 

4 This is not ajudgment on the expediency of their site reporting, as globally producing any written
material from excavations and laboratory analysis often takes a backseat to further excavations. If anything
the original Soviet system of central control of the Open List has created the impetus to produce some form
of reporting, which can be Obtained by any archaeologist through the central repository in Moscow. The
same cannot be said for projects in the US. for example, where many CRM activities are little known to
academic archaeologists.

63

archaeological cultures defined (ethnos)? How do we reconstruct ancient demography?
Where was the horse domesticated? What is the nature of “pure” nomadism?
Universities do not teach archaeology as a profession so much as a specialization;
departments of archaeology are reduced to mainly field and lab methods (theory,
typology, rules of research are not taught), which “debases the level of professionalism in
archaeology weakening of the reliability of conclusions” (Klejn 1993:345). Many of
the strategies established in the 19308 and 19408, large-scale, horizontal settlement
excavation, continue to be pursued revealing the strength of long-term projects with
nearly 100 percent recovery. Ecological perspectives continue to be the basis of research
revealing the continued emphasis on the scientific interactions within the regional
institutes (Lamberg-Karlovsky I995, echoed by Trigger 1995), which means that it is not
uncommon to have a collection Of soil scientists on-site to perform analysis in the field
and help direct excavation. But what is considered basic methodology in the United
States - surface survey, subsurface testing, screening, flotation, etc. — do not have
widespread use, as they are not dictated by the List. Sampling strategies are either non-
existent or have unclear objectives (Lamberg-Karlovsky 1995:2), hence many of the
assumptions regarding the variety and degree 'of economic production are only beginning
to be addressed (see: Hanks 2003 for discussion and results of such an analysis). And
because of the dictatorial and oppressive nature of the Open List, there is no incentive to
try new methods and collect new kinds of data to explore ideas such as ritual practice and
landscape use (Kroll 2000; Kroll Lerner in press; Hanks 2002b), or regional interaction

(Lamberg—Karlovsky 1995) to name only a few. Several of these issues are directly being

addressed by the Franco-Russian project (archaeometry, surface survey, use of aerial
photography).

While the limitations of the Soviet system have been the focus of much discussion
in the post-Soviet era (e.g. Anthony 1995), it must be reiterated that hundreds of
expeditions and thousands of scholarly reports have been published, albeit by small
presses and usually only in Russian (a language barrier that remains a problem only for
non-Russian speakers). Archaeology has been used as an instrument of cultural
enhancement, at times politicized and highly nationalistic (Trigger I995; Lamberg-
Karlovsky 1995; Kohl 1995), but nonetheless a focus of public education that has
received a large amount of public funding. Russian archaeologists reach out to the
broader public through traditional venues such as museum exhibits, but also by writing
popular texts, which has resulted in a higher degree of public awareness of archaeological
sites, artifacts, and historical constructs (Chard 1963:540; Trigger 1995). While authority
and ultimate supervision remained in Moscow during the Soviet era, and to some degree
remains there to this day (e.g. the Open List), much of the direct control over
archaeological sites and the artifacts recovered fall under the pervue of local and regional
authorities.

The Soviets were the first to use archaeological data to understand Marxist
historical materialism (Trigger 1995:207), thus the intricacies of cultural identity revealed
by material culture. And by focusing on the importance of human action, Via class
struggle, they originated the discussion of human agency that is currently a key post-
processual critique in the West. It is by reinvesti gating and reinterpreting the data

recovered under this system that this dissertation seeks to apply an anthropological

65

understanding of the material culture of Western Siberia to a broader knowledge of

pastoral nomads.

EURASIAN STEPPE NOMADS

The reliance upon Marxist evolutionary models, and the embedded fixed stages of
social development, led Soviet and Russian archaeologists to recover the stages leading
up to capitalism and socialism (communism). Their association with history gave them
the first line of evidence —written sources. The first hand narratives of Greek, Chinese
and Persian historians give a vivid picture the “barbarians” at the gates of civilization.
These accounts, of “primitive social” and “slave holding” societies (prehistoric and
ancient historic peoples) became the basis of Engel’s later work. Prehistoric groups were
translated into the social categories of matriarchal society (Neolithic), patriarchal clan
(Bronze Age), and tribal society (early Iron Age). The late Bronze Age and early Iron
Age correspond to the first expressions of pastoralism on the Eurasian steppes.

It is primarily the work of one author, Herodotus’ Histories, which not only
provides the conventional names for Eurasian nomadic populations, but also details their
dress, mobility (horseback and wagons), warrior culture (patriarchal clan), ritual, and
their mortuary customs. Herodotus, born in a coastal Greek colony in Asia Minor,
traveled widely throughout the region gathering information on mythology and material
culture of the non-Greek peoples he “encountered” (there is much discussion as to the
authenticity of some of his “first hand” accounts and whether to treat his work as history,
story-telling, or fiction, see: Gould 1989; Lateiner 1989; and Pritchett 1993). He

nonetheless wrote the oft-cited details of Scythian and Sauromatae (Sauro-Sarmatian)

lives, evidence continually used as inspiration for archaeological investigation. The
names of these early Iron Age peoples represent collective identities of many independent
groups (Dyachenko et al. 2000:44) who shared aspects of socio-political tradition and
material culture. It is the compression of many populations into a handful of historical
titles — Scythian, Sauromatian, Cimmerian, Massagetae, etc. —- that has promoted a
homogenized view of Eurasian steppe and forest-steppe populations and their ideological
and ceremonial practices. Mortuary practices, Vivid expressions of a society’s socio-
symbolic strategies and norms, are but one example of the problems of a cultural-
historical approach to Eurasian nomadism.

Since the time of their construction kurgans have been looted, investigated, and
otherwise destroyed at a staggering rate. The excavations of those Scythian kurgans on
the Black Sea coast, providing the “catalyst” for the development of Russian archaeology
(Yablonsky 2000:3) also led to categorizing thousands of Iron Age burial mounds in
other regions as nomadic. The richly appointed burials with gold, chariots, and warrior
symbols were as Herodotus similarly described. It is from the historical creation,
Herodotus’ mapping of bounded cultural groups (Hanks 2002a:22), and the
corresponding archaeological similarities of the material culture and burial practice of
pastoral nomads across the Eurasian steppe that the “Pan-Siberian” or “Scytho-Siberian”
(Koryakova 1996) cultural complex was developed.

Descriptions of what became the Scytho-Siberian cultural complex began with
Gorodtsov (1901) and were fully articulated in the early 20th century by Rostovtzev
(1974 but first published in 1918), and later by Grakov and Melukova (1954) and Grakov

(1977). By the end of World War II, Soviet archaeologists had basic tenets of pastoral

67

nomadism codified —nomadism based on animal husbandry, warrior classes based on
mastery of horseback warfare, and material culture represented by the “Scythian triad”.
The “triad”, based on Grakov and Melukova (1954), is a trio of weaponry, horse tack,
and items decorated with the “animal style” found in funerary assemblages. These pan-
Siberian associations represent a diverse collection of regional artifacts that combine
materialism with stylized animal forms that connect groups from China and Mongolia to
Europe. The style traits stem from an assumed, uniform, nomadic way of life, interpreted
as representations of their relationship to the animals of the land (Mundkir 1984).
Nomadic art is culled out as quite unique from the sedentary civilizations surrounding the
steppe, but nomads across Eurasia are often lumped together in broad, inclusive
categories. Grousset (1970), who emphasizes the work of archaeologists over that of art
historians for establishing chronologies and connections, pays only brief homage to the
preferences of the Sannations for geometric ornamentation or particular enameling
techniques that make them identifiable from Scythian artwork of similar period (Grousset
1970:16). Instead the artistic motifs of the nomadic people’s are largely glossed into one
unified style, acting as yet another means by which nomads have been homogenized.

In the Scytho-Sarmatian art of western Siberia, as also in the identically inspired
art elaborated by the Hsiung-nu of the Ordos, the stylization of animal forms is at times
so complete —they entwine and interlace with one another in such complexity, and branch
in such unexpected profusion -that despite the sustained realism in the treatment of
deer’s and horses’ heads, or in those of bears and tigers, it is only with difficulty that
beast can be distinguished from ornamentation. (Grousset’s 1970. The Empire of the

Steppes: A History of Central Asia)

68

Typological classifications and chronologies thus developed, primarily rooted in
the written histories, and brought the work of archaeologists, historians, classicists, art
historians, and linguists together. The correspondence between Greco-Roman and
Persian sources and the archaeological material was unequivocally expected and
accepted; any inconsistencies were largely ignored until the latter decades of the 20th
century (see Moshkova 1989, I992, 1995). Thus Rudenko (1953, 1960) and Gryaznov
(1980) found Scythians as far away as the Altai Mountains and Tuva. The unsatisfactory
use of archaeological terminology is quite evident when one looks at the use of Scythian
i.e. “Scythian type cultures” with a blanket of some other phase or stage placed over the
top, e.g. Pazyryk Stage (Bokovenko 1995). The use of Scythian indeed may provide an
instantly recognizable image of cattle-breeding, horse-riding warrior nomad from the
Eurasian steppe, but it continues to mask the complex and varied adaptations seen across
this region. The major problem, as put forth by Yablonsky (2000:5) is that “this phrase
(Scythian Siberian World) is hardly scientific because it continues the ethnic terminology
‘Scythian’ thereby labeling populations who could not possibly have belonged to the
genuine Scythians since their genesis was unrelated to that of the population of the Black
Sea region.” Further reclassification has had little effect in clearing up the confusion.
Terminology has been a difficulty for generations of Soviet and Russian archaeologists,
one not greatly improved with the introduction of Bromley and Schtaobach’s
Nomenclature of Archaeological Terminology (1989). The terminology is but a

manifestation of a deeper tendency, on one hand, to rely too heavily upon the ancient

69

histories to create archaeological categories, and on the other hand, to continue to play
the role of history’s handmaiden, gathering data to fulfill historical conjectures.

The need for a reanalysis of previously published data is constant in archaeology.
As new methods and models are developed, it becomes productive to reassess prior
conclusions. With the fall of the Soviet Union and the Unprecedented exposure that
Western scholars now can have to once prohibited areas, it is a unique opportunity to
avail oneself of the diligent excavation efforts of several generations of archaeologists.
The Transurals region of Western Siberia is one such location where pastoral nomads are
the continued focus of research and where a wealth of data can be employed to reexamine
the relations between nomads and their sedentary neighbors, as well as the cultural
identity of nomadism itself. In order to understand the particularities of steppe and
forest-steppe nomadism, it is necessary to examine the transition from part-time
pastoralism of the Bronze Age to the fully nomadic activity seen across Eurasia during

the Iron Age.

BRONZE AGE TRANSITION

Prior to the development of contemporary desert, steppe, and forest-steppe
ecological zones, there was a large degree of north-south continuity of Mesolithic
cultures as evidenced by the distribution of the microlithic material culture (Matyushin
1986). These were cultures adapted to the wetter, milder environments prior to the
Holocene. But as the Holocene dawned, climatic changes led to the establishment of

these three zones as separate and unique both environmentally and culturally from each

70

other and interactions begin to take a definitive east—west directionality (Dolukhanov
1986).

After the appearance of domesticates in Eurasia, forms of nomadism begin to be
established within the agricultural sectors. These cultural groups, referred to as agro-
pastoral (Khazanov 1994:92—93; Renfrew 2002:5), spread from the Ukrainian agricultural
regions, the Yamna and Abashevo cultures, eastward to Siberia steppe as a highly
complex but non—nomadic productive economy. These origins, which are beyond the
scope of this thesis, are thoroughly discussed within the available literature (see: Gening
1977; Gening et al. 1992; Zdanovich 1995; Rassamakin 1999; Renfrew 2002).

Any report of Iron Age nomads requires a thorough discussion of the events preceding
the appearance of fully nomadic pastoralists. Three sub-boreal climates divide the
Bronze Age from the third millennium to the mid-first millennium BC (Khotinskiy 1977,
1984a and 1984b). The intervals between each sub-boreal period subsequently
corresponds with the rise and fall of settlements in the southern Urals. The first is a
humid and colder period of widespread pine/and birch forest corresponds with the
country of towns; the second, with the rise of one of the major religious centers, Arkaim;
and the by the end of the final interval, a time increasing moist, cold climate, corresponds
to the decline of settlements in the southern Urals (Zdanovich and Zdanovich 2002:253-
255). The continental climate of today, established during the transition from the Bronze
to the Iron Age, produced an “opening of the steppes” (Anthony 1995), a time of stable
grasslands across the vast expanse of the Eurasian steppe and the rise of fully nomadic
groups and their herds, but lessening levels of humidity from the western to the eastern

slopes of the Urals. So while the Ural Mountains have never presented a significant

71

physical impediment to movement from east to west, they do mark the border between
cultural adaptations to ecological subtleties as will be seen in the discussion of the Bronze
Age. In Western Siberia, from the eastern slope of the Urals to middle Asia, the material
culture and “spiritual traditions” are relatively similar (Koryakova and Patreau 1996)
despite the ethnic distinctions that have been drawn.

Steppe cultures developed independently from the southern agricultural areas with
respect to productive economy (Hiebert 2002:247), the southern Transurals of Western
Siberia are a part of the Eurasian steppe pastoral tradition. Though there does not seem
to be much discussion of how the first domesticated plants reach this region, Renfrew
(2002) states that pastoralism, a reliance on livestock and animals products for a primary
source of food, before plant resources make a significant impact (Renfrew 2002:2, 5).
While the connections between these regions and the west are highly debated (Boyle et
al. 2002), it is widely accepted that the origins of the Bronze Age cultural complex,
Sintashta—Arkaim, lie in the west and these groups migrate into the area. It is during the
third millennium BC that the land of towns (Zdanovich 1995) or country of towns
(Zdanovich and Zdanovich 2002) develops.

The defining features of the country of towns, nineteen to twenty-three well-
planned settlements existing within a relative small region (400 km north-south by 150-
200 km east-west, all found using aerial photos, and some of which have been excavated)
along tributaries of the Ural and Tobol rivers from 2000-1250 BC. The larger of these
settlements, Sintashta, Arkaim, and Kuisak, represent fortified centers surrounded by
smaller, open settlements 20-30 kilometers apart. These fortified settlements were

centers of craft production and stock-breeding, perhaps performing “ceremonial” or

72

“religious” functions (Zdanovich 1989) within a distinct, bounded territory. The
settlements had open central squares, water supplies from either dug wells and/or
diverted river water, drainage/sewage systems, wooden plank streets, and evidence of
advanced bronze metallurgy. In Arkaim every one of the approximately 60 households
(29 have been excavated while 30 to 40 more have been identified with a magnetometer)
has evidence of smelting facilities, a forge or domna (“blast furnace”). The fortifications
were composed of earthen ramparts several meters high (4m) with wood stockades,
reinforced with clay, surrounded by ditches, yet within the villages the houses shared
common walls and were remarkably undifferentiated -they are the same size, with
relatively similar features (well, hearth, and domna). The only distinctions that can be
made at Arkaim, a Village inhabited at the height of the Bronze Age ( I7th-l6th century
BC), are the inner and outer rings of houses a design similar to military camps found
along the Don River (Kuzmina 1994), yet it has been interpreted as a religious or
ceremonial center due to the lack of everyday items (Koryakova 1996az256)

These centers focused a dynamic steppe interaction sphere that harnessed the ore
mining from dispersed locations, animal products (milk and meat) from sheep/ goats,
cattle, and horses used as draft animals as well as for food, and the developing
agricultural production. As hunting and gathering played a lesser role, the production of
barley, and millet, and possibly wheat intensified. Reservoirs and irrigation canals
redirected the flow of local tributaries into the villages and surrounding fields, providing
water for crops, animals, and metallurgy (Gening et al. 1992; Zdanovich 1995). Even
with the extensive evidence for irrigation and the impressions of domesticated grain in

local ceramics (Renfrew 2002:2), there have been questions regarding the presence of

73

agriculture here (Shishlina and Hiebert 1998:228), yet admittedly these settlements have
a size, fortification, and permanence that does illicit the possibility of connections to the
southern agricultural traditions. These connections reverberate in the discussion of the
“fire cult” activities (see: Epimakhov 1995). Renfrew (2002) begs the question, how do
we call settlement-building, grain growers “nomads”?

Much of the elaborate material culture from the Bronze Age comes from the
burials and not the villages. The spoked-wheel, horse-drawn chariots, unique disc-shaped
cheek pieces (psalia), and animal sacrifices distinguish first the “burial fields” (per
Zdanovich and Zdanovich 2002:251 these are burial vaults filled with grave goods and
human remains) and then what becomes known as one of the signatures of nomadism, the
kurgan. Sintashta—Arkaim cemeteries, mainly kurgans, are characterized by three
primary complexes:

1) burial grounds with unmarked borders containing ten or more grave pits,

2) burial grounds with circular, marked boundaries also with ten or more graves,
and

3) singular burials on circular grounds with distinctive borders (Gening et al.
1992:167; Zdanovich and Zdanovich 2002:258).

Sometimes there is a clear contrast between the central and the peripheral graves,
with wooden structures built over the center and large amounts of prestige goods,
chariots, animal (primarily horse and sheep) sacrifice, and traces of fire (Epimakhov
1995; Koryakova 1996a). The burials are characterized by complicated burial structure
and organization with the remains Of numerous sacrificial animals, use of fire, and a

variety of grave goods made from metal (bronze and copper), bone, horn, and pottery

74

'Gtill

llfle

Zliilll
empl

Zdal

in 111
com.
llObl
gill
Will

Ctml

(Gening et al. 1992; Anthony and Vinogradov 1995; Zdanovich 1995). All age groups
are represented in these graves, with even the smallest child having metal work and
animal bones. As Zdanovich (1995:29-35) points out, there are “unnatural” elements to
the paleodemography; infant burials are Significantly underrepresented, there is a high
proportion of young adults, but an average age of the adults represented equals 30 years,
ten years younger than other Bronze Age Eurasian steppe sties (Zdanovich and
Zdanovich 2002:260). The age distribution correlated to the size of graves implies an
emphasis on the age-grades, similar to egalitarian or ranked societies (Zdanovich and
Zdanovich 2002:262).

The kurgan burials of Sintashta-Arkaim elaborate a social differentiation not seen
in the household sizes or accoutrements of the settlements. New systems of prestige
come to symbolize a three-part societal stratification — religious and military elite,
nobility, and others (Malov 1995), with multiple burials often surrounding double central
graves. The elite graves are marked by symbols of authority (maces, scepters, and staffs),
weaponry, wheeled-vehicles, and horse tack (bridles, cheek pieces, etc.). Large
cemeteries are found close to fortified centers (within 1.5 km). But this is apparently a
passing authority, for the chiefiain basis of Sintashta-Arkaim (Kuzmina 1994; Koryakova
1996a: 257) collapses in the seventeenth-Sixteenth century BC due to ecological crisis
and partial-mass migration (Zdanovich 1995; Koryakova 1996b), and/or the
demilitarizing of the steppe (Koryakova 1996a: 257). The collapse can be seen in the
decreasing size and degree of fortifications, the shrinking households, and the
simplification/standardization of the pottery. During this later period, the burial rites

simplified with fewer graves pits, decreasing animal sacrifice, and less above-ground

75

elaboration. As some of the people migrated outs of the southern Transurals, they were
absorbed by groups living to the west and north (from the Middle Volga to the Tobol
River), leaving in their wake a more generalized, less extravagant, and more widespread
cultural tradition —Andronovo.

The Andronovo cultural horizon (alternately a “zone” or “archaeological family”)
exists on the steppe from 1500-900 BC, flanked by Srubnaya (T imber-Grave culture) at
the Volga-Ural interfluvial, the Minusinsk depression (central Siberia), the taiga to the
north (a vague boundary), and the foothills of the Pamir and Tian Shan Mountains to the
south. In the southern Transurals two basic cultural stages come to represent these
newcomers from the south, presumably speakers of IndO-lranian languages; Alaky’l and
Fedorova (Salnikov I967; Koryakova 1998a). Though their relationship is debated
(Renfrew et al. 2002), pottery, tool kits, and funerary tradition separate them. The
Alaky’l placed their dead in pits in a supine position; Federovo cremated the dead and
buried the ashes. When these two cultures intersected the result was a “consolidation of
eastern and western Bronze Age cultural components” (ltina 1977 cited by Yablonsky
1995:241). As these Indo—Iranian populations pushed into the forest-steppe they
introduced pastoralism and tin-bronze production to the indigenous Ugrians who
occupied the area (Koryakova 1998:214), but they did not practice full mobility.

Two large cultural families or “confederations” (Koryakova 19982213)
characterize the Eurasian steppe during the late Bronze Age (1600-900 BC); Srubnaya
and Andronovo, the latter occupying the eastern side of the Urals from the forest-steppe

to the dry southern steppe. The Andronovo economy was a fairly stable system based on

 

5 Out-migration plays a significant role in the interpretations of Observed population decreases, rather than
other possible interpretations such as lower fertility due to socio-economic pressures or higher infant
mortality, both conventional conclusions of common demographic processes.

76

stockbreeding and supplemented by hunting, fishing, and gathering, and allowed
Andronovo elites to amass a high degree of status through trade. Craft specialties were
highly revered; metallurgists are easily identifiable in the kurgans based on the tool
assemblages and highly stylized metal artifacts (Kuzmina 1986; Chemykh 1992). The
metallurgical provinces were concentrated in centers in Central Asia, Kazakhstan, the
Altai and Ural mountains (Chemykh 1992) with trade in tin coming specifically from
Altai and Kazakhstan. Semi-subterranean, timber houses formed settlements along small
rivers, continuing a pattern of earlier Sintashta-Arkaim groups in the steppe. The
complexity of social structures is once again revealed in the cemetery complexes. High
status barrows of craft specialists (metallurgists) and warriors can be identified by the
wealth of grave goods associated with the limited number of individuals. Clearly wealth
and power did not rest solely on one’s ability to manipulate metal, but also in the control
of necessary trade routes for necessary components and finished goods (copper, tin, and
final bronze products), plus the other resources consumed by other elements of the
society (pastoralists) including cattle, horses, and grains (Frachetti 2002: 166-167). The
elaborate chariot burials continue, often with cattle and horse sacrifice, iron ore, and
ochre. But the forest-steppe provides a different expression of Andronovo culture. No
early cemeteries are found in the area, suggesting that the indigenous population adopted
aspects of Andronovo culture (pastoralism) without full assimilation.

At the beginning of the first millennium BC, the population of the steppe and
forest-steppe once again goes through a tumultuous change. Once more climatic

degradation, a sharp rise in aridity (Yablonsky 1995:242), ushers in changes that favored

77

a nomadic orientation and at this time, with all the prerequisites for a fully mobile
lifestyle in place, “pure nomadism” arises.

Khazanov (1994:92-93) details the necessary component parts of pastoral
nomadism: I) herd composition (animals capable of continual, long-distance travel), 2)
long-term practice of mobility and pastoralism, 3) dairying, 4) animal-driven, wheeled
transport, and 5) horsemanship. While horses had long been domesticated and used for
food this remains a highly contested debate, one that I feel has plenty of support, e.g.,
Levine 1998, 1999a, [99%; Anthony and Brown 2000; Levine and Kislenko 2002) or
transport since the Eneolithic, though the evidence for horse-riding versus traction is still
debated (Anthony 1998; Anthony and Brown 2002; Brown and Anthony 1998; Levine
1999b; Kislenko and Tatarintseva 1999). All five of Khazanov’s elements are in place
during much of the Bronze Age, but these groups remain agro—pastoralists and no
noticeable transformation occurs until the first millennium BC, at which point most
archaeologists, relying on the paleoecological data, refer to the drying out of the steppe as
the impetus for mobilization (Khazanov 1994:95). But for every cultural shift on the
Eurasian steppe, there cannot simply be a climatological impetus alone.

There has been too much recent speculation as to the special situation of
Andronovo culture and the subsequent rise of militarism (Renfrew 1996, 2002; Hanks
2002a), the sociO-cultural changes associated with dynamic changes in trade, subsistence,
and mobility (Khazanov 1978, 1994; Kuzmina I994; Renfrew 1996), and the
development of the “nomadic world” (Koryakova 1991; 1996a; 1998a, 2002b). The
agro-pastoralists had new communication with greater Eurasia, due to their use of

wheeled vehicles (Renfrew 2002:7), but the degree, the kind, and why this

78

 

communication is important is not readily apparent. The bronze industry that begins with
the country of towns, and operates through the Andronovo and Srubnaya periods provides
an economic basis for the flourishing of Eurasian cultures, when bronze production and
exportation eventually ties together a network of societies from Europe to China for the
first time. And it is during this period that true confusion over the nature and degree of
mobility, defining pastoralists as semi-nomadic, semi-sedentary, or purely nomadic
inhibits understanding of the diversification we begin to see in the archaeological record
at the turn of the millennium.

It is during the transition to the Iron Age", Renfrew’s “phase four” (2002:7),
Khazanov’s “pure nomadism” (1994), where nearly all authorities agree that fully
nomadic pastoralists for the first time disperse over the very broad expanse of the steppe
and forest-steppe zone from the Black Sea coast to Mongolia. The once ephemeral traces
of local steppe ceramics and other agro-pastoral material culture virtually disappear, and
the disappearance is attributed to a split in society from settled pastoralism to full
nomadism (Habdulina 1994). The Iron Age populations of Scythians, Sarmatians, and
Saka, to name only a few of the plethora of cultural names used, establish themselves
with distinctive settlements and mortuary patterns that are associated with the Scytho-
Siberian cultural unity (Koryakova 1991, 1996a2261; 1998a; Bashilov and Yablonsky
1995).

Models used to describe the characteristics of the early Iron Age are often based
on ethnohistoric understandings Of the Huns —the marauding Turkic people of the

Medieval time period. Nomadic sources of wealth are attributed to increased trade routes

 

6 Temporally this transition to the Iron Age is much later than elsewhere in Europe. In Western Siberia
bronze production persisted well into the mid-first millennium BC even though iron items were produced,
they have been considered exotics, expressions of wealth and status (Koryakova 1998a).

79

and warfare (raiding of neighbors and militia-for-hire), and their command of horseback
mobility allowing them to dominate their sedentary neighbors. Their increased mobility
brought them into increased contact with other peoples, producing an overall rise in
societal stress and conflict. These interactions produce warfare and the rise of classic
warrior nomadic societies with their pan-tribal confederations or “nomadic states”
(Koryakova 1996a, Hanks 2002a). While Russian archaeologists have primarily been
interested in teasing out the origins or classification of nomads as “early class societies”
(Koryakova 1996az265), less time has been dedicated to a richer understanding of the
relationships between nomads and their immediate neighbors — not the Greek, Persian or
Chinese civilizations — the populations living in the settlements in the Transurals.

The forest-Steppe becomes part of the “nomadic” world, with influences from the
steppe pushing northward. Distinctive changes in the mortuary ritual and burial
construction took place during the early Iron Age, a shift from no visible cemeteries to
the elite barrows. While kurgans first appeared in Eurasia during the Eneolithic, this did
not occur in the forest-steppe until metallurgical production had a foothold here. Bronze
Age burials reflect kin groups and extended families. The Iron Age sees the introduction
of elite systems of interment arriving in the forest-steppe, with cultural connections to
their Bronze Age forebearers from the steppe (Sintashta-Arkaim and Andronovo). The
widespread use and inclusion of “animal style” art forms, horse tack, and prodigious
amounts of weaponry among many Iron Age nomadic groups appears within elite
barrows and links them to the other nomadic cultures. Much of the cultural interaction is
attributed to the “division of labor” between metallurgical centers in the Ural foothills,

the settlements across the forest-steppe, and the nomads.

80

The work of sedentary peoples has been interpreted as being directed toward a
“mutual exchange” network where iron implements and domestic goods are exchanged
for military and political “factors” (Koryakova 1998az216), but what the expression of
these factors is remains unclear. From the 5"I century BC through the 5'h century AD
these interactions between nomads (Sakas then Sannations) and the local populations
create what has come to be known as the Sargat Culture of the Transurals, a model
referred to as simply “cattle breeders, hunters and nomads” (Koryakova 1988; 1991).
This Iranian-speaking influence from the steppe represents a “multi-component social
and ethnic unit... [which had] no radical change of population” (Koryakova 199832217).
The nomads summered their animals in the forest-steppe, and moved with them to steppe
lands in the winter. And while the local populations were indigenous Ugrians, they
adopted the mythology, burial customs, and features of social stratification from the Indo-

Iranian nomads.

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CHAPTER FOUR
THE SARMATIAN AND THE SARGAT CULTURES

Throughout the last two chapters 1 traced the historical development of nomad
studies on a global level and the political-historical context of Russian archaeology. The
measure by which these two trajectories intersect in my research is the topic of this
chapter. As I show, the Iron Age is a time period during which important changes
occurred on the Siberian steppe and forest-steppe, changes that involved the climate,
economic adaptation, and the interaction of populations across this vast expanse of land
area. How these interactions have been interpreted by archaeologists and the data that

have been used in these interpretations will be further explored here.

THE IRON AGE —HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT

It is evident that the very concept of the Iron Age has evolved from a general time
period, to a series of specific ethnic groups, and back again to more general concepts of
the “ScythO-Siberian World” or “Scythian-Siberian cultural complex”. Initially, the Iron
Age represented the period in Eurasian prehistory when weapons and tools began to be
made from iron and over time replaced bronze almost entirely. Thompsen’s introduction
of the Three-Age System terminology in the 19‘“ century led to the labeling of all iron
production as a technological advancement introduced by Rome. Tsarist and early Soviet
archaeologists took this ideal of ultimate diffusionism, a technological revolution
spreading from the West, and applied it to all the people living during a roughly
thousand-year period. They subsequently divided the Iron Age into two historical

periods, the Cimmerian and the Sarmatian. Western populations with iron technology

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passed this metallurgical knowledge, sometimes through migrations, on to peoples living
in the cast, including Western Siberia.

As political influences vacillated during the Soviet era, so did the concept of the
Three-Age system as having either a Western origin or a more universal applicability. In
the 19208, the Russian Academy for the History of Material Culture (RAIMK) became
the authoritative center of all Soviet archaeology, a reorganization that had far-reaching
effects. In essence, RAIMK eliminated the application of Marxist theory by
archaeologists and instead focused their efforts on descriptive reports and a search for
Marxist stages of development (see Chapter 3 for a full discussion). This shift resulted in
the onset of a search for Iron Age tribes in Western Siberia. Nomads played an important
role in this time period, a period in fact labeled the “epoch of nomads” (Gryaznov 1957).
Instead of two universal historical periods, Eurasia was now divided into a litany of,
largely nomadic, regional periods. From the 19208 and 19308 archaeologists identified
unique ethnic groups (ethnonyms) that corresponded with specific regions, i.e. the
Scythians (Black Sea, Pontic Steppe), the Saka (Aral Sea, Central Asia), and the
Sarmatians (Volga River to Ural Mountains) are the most notable. Smaller cultural
variants were created by the interaction of these supratribal groups within smaller
regional contexts, e.g. the Sargat (T ransuraIs/Westem Siberia) or the Pazyryk (Altai
Mountains).

Many of the ethnic tribes that were identified corresponded directly with
historical texts of the Greeks, Romans, Chinese, and Iranians, in correlation with material
cultures. The Achaemenids recognized at least three varieties of Saka; the Greeks, at

least four Sarmatian tribes; and the Chinese list three (Hall 1997:868; Sinor 1990). No

83

singular Russian perspective on ethnic groups can be given, most Russian and Soviet
scholars agree that the idea of an ethnic identity or ethnos is a “substantial social
phenomenon” (Bromley and Kozlov 1989:429, my emphasis) though a minority did
attribute ethnic identity to biology (cf. Gumilev 1967 cited by Bromley and Kozlov
1989). Here ethnos is defined as

...a firm aggregate of people, historically established on a given territory,

possessing in common relatively stable particularities of language and

culture, and also recognizing their unity and difference from other similar

formations (self-awareness) and expressing this in a self-appointed name

(ethnonym).

(Dragadze 1980:162 citing Bromley and Kozlov 1975:11)

Dragadze’s (1980) definition, while taken from earlier works, is a refinement
nonetheless, as he distinguishes ethnos as separate from the common Russian word for
people, narod. Ethnos embodies the assumption that a group feels a special
“corporateness” (Dragadze 1980:163) and this internalized perception is not bound by
historical stages or societal development, thus avoid the pitfalls of evolutionary terms like
“band” or “tribe”.

The balance of historical documentation and material culture is important because
of the way in which it was understood by Russian ethnologists and for their
archaeological establishment of ethnic groups. As Yablonsky points out, material culture
has no ethnic component of its own, but rather reflects the economic and ideological
orientation of the people who utilize it (1998:133). This approach differs greatly from

Western perspectives on ethnicity and will be dealt with in the next chapter. For now,

84

suffice to say that the strict naming conventions used in Russian archaeology created
formalized, bounded ethnonyms. Created from a direct culture-historical approach, these
populations are seen to exist in particular spatial and temporal locations, as an “ethic
community: [organized according to] language, cultural features and the like”
(Shnirelman 1996:219) that ignore the necessary flexibility of cultural identity and social
relations.

While specific nomadic populations were identified, the Iron Age nonetheless
remains broadly divisible into two periods of “influence”; Scythian (7‘h — 3rd centuries
BC), and Sarmatian (2"d century BC — 5‘h century AD), despite the fact that these are both
successive and overlapping populations (Sarmatians have a roughly 1000 year
development beginning in 6th century BC). The ethnonymic divisions still remain in use
throughout Eurasian archaeology, but simultaneously a new categorization has risen to

the level of normative generalization; the Scytho-Siberian cultural complex.

Scytho-Siberian Cultural Complex

The rise of pastoral nomadism in Eurasia has traditionally been seen to rely on a
concrete series of variables that include increasing climatic aridity from the Bronze to the
Iron Age (Demkin and Demkina 2002), a progressive change to animal husbandry
(Gryaznov 1957), interaction with and increasing pressure from sedentary civilizations
(Lattimore 1940), and the development of some pro-requisite socioeconomic and
technological features (Khazanov 1975, 1994:94). Russian archaeologists detected
nomadism in the changing patterns of subsistence, settlement, funerary ritual, and

material culture (Bashilov and Yablonsky 1995; Chernetsov and Moszyonska 1974;

85

Gryaznov 1957, 1969; Koryakova 1988, 1996a; Okladnikov I950; Rudenko‘1953, 1960).
The variable spheres of influence of these nomads occupy the vast majority of the
literature. To a large extend the research focus has been on the origin of Eurasian
nomadism, whether related to changes in husbandry practices (Gryaznov 1957), socio-
economic prerequisites (Khazanov 1994), socio-economic pressures from settled
populations (Lattimore 1940), or climatic shifts (Zdanovich and Shreiber 1988).
Regardless of its first expressions, nomadism itself is seen as a culturally unifying force,
one that brings about cultural consolidation and the creation of ethnonyms (T omilov
2000).

Archaeologists placed a heavy emphasis on the elements of style that indicate a
common history or at the very least a common sense of cultural values (ideology or
worldview). The literature on Eurasian nomads often makes reference to the Scytho-
Siberian cultural complex, a collection of material expressions utilized by nomads. The
package of material elements is conceived of in three parts — horse tack, weaponry, and
the use of the “animal style” for decoration. Each of these has deep-seated significance
in the discussion of the nature of nomadism from the Black Sea to Mongolia, everywhere
that this “Scythian Triad” (after Grakov and Melyukova 1954) has been found.

The appearance of horse tack (bits, bridles, and cheek pieces, or psalia) has been
the single most important piece of evidence indicating the dominance of nomads over
their sedentary neighbors. Pastoralism does not require the use of mounted steeds, and
even “pure” nomadic pastoralism does not focus on horses per se, only the residential
movement of the entire family unit in the course of daily herding. The horse allowed

groups to move quickly across the steppe, utilize more territory, and protect range

86

animals and their families. Mounted nomads, coupled with advances in weaponry and
military-style capabilities, i.e. mounted archers, presumably allowed a small number of
nomads to “menace” their sedentary neighbors (Sulimirski 1970:22). Regardless of the
type of weapon, be it short daggers, long swords, or arrows‘, these have all lent the
nomads an air of domination over their sedentary neighbors — not a means by which to
dominate each other. Subjugation of sedentary groups allowed nomadic pastoralists to
provide the necessary materials for their people and animals that they would not (could
not?) produce for themselves, primarily grains and metal goods. The existence of
specialized metallurgical centers servicing either side of the Urals (Ananyino in Europe
and Itkyl’ in Siberia) is used to define the degree of “tributary dependence” (Koryakova
1998b: 151)

The “animal style”, a series of stylized zoomorphic motifs, is preserved on horse
wares, weapons, textiles, even body adornment. The animal style became part of the
discussion of the nomads’ origins, movements of and relatedness to the Scythians, and a
unifying and homogenizing label that absorbed all groups who employed this style of
artifact embellishment. When the “Scythian Triad” appellation was invoked, it meant
that the archaeological material fell into a commonly accepted cliché of Eurasian
nomadism, an “undeviating burial tradition” (Bashilov and Yablonsky 1995:xii), of
waning tribal groups terrorizing the early Iron Age. Even the chronology became a de
facto acceptance of relative dates established by typological sequencing. This
chronology is beginning to be challenged by the establishment of regional l4C dates and

the use of dendrochronology (Hall 1997; Hanks 2002a; also see Mallory et al. 2002), as is

 

' No bows have actually been found in the burials, but they can be presumed due to the presence of quivers
and arrowheads and further from the iconography (see Rolle 1989).

87

the belief in a single Scythian (or Greek—influenced) animal style diffusing from west to
east (Bokovenko 1995).

Moreover, the animal style has been Viewed as directly reflective of the
mythology and the belief systems of the nomads (Basilov 1989:37; Yablonsky 2002:87);
the animals depicted were not gods, but instead were worn to invoke the power of the
animal itself. These interpretations, as with many of the ethnic identities given to steppe
nomads, have their bases in the historical accounts. While the similarities in these
cultural features are impossible to dismiss, the assumed relationships between these
groups has led to an overly simplified View of the archaeological record. Whether it is
called a “cultural complex” or the “Scytho-Siberian World,” it signals a unity that
discourages alternative interpretations. It also uses “illogical terminology because it
connects etymologically discrete terms... the first refers to ethnicity while the second to
geography” (Yablonsky 2002:83-4). Yablonsky goes on to propose using the Scythian
Triad not as an indication of ethnic cohesion, but instead as a means by which we might
identify cultural horizons (after Willey 1953) rather than genetic indications. The
movement of nomads across the steppe allowed for the sharing of information, ideas, and
material culture, creating similarities and some degree of affinity. It therefore remains
vital to examine each region of Eurasia individually to properly understand the cultures
that developed there. Thus I have chosen two areas of Western Siberia, the south Urals
and the Transurals, to more carefully examine the cultural identities of nomadic

populations and the relations between the nomads and their sedentary neighbors.

MORTUARY TRADITIONS IN WESTERN AND SOUTHERN SIBERIA

88

 

Age
com

lien

WI

1111
3 S
of

uni

M ii

Kurgans represent the only known mortuary tradition of the nomads from the Iron
Age. All the individuals buried within a kurgan are Viewed as being of elite (non-
commoner) status, either royal or warrior, ordinary or dependent populations, a system
iterated by Khazanov (1975) and fully established by Grach (1980). Koryakova
(I996az249) notes that these four categories are obtained through the correlation of
several key elements of funerary construction and decoration, including above ground
kurgan size, internal spatial organization, and value and variety of grave goods. The size
of the structure has been viewed as purely a measurement of labor investment, where the
time involved in building and the materials used in construction equals an increased
status of the individual(s) buried within the kurgan. Another measure of value is in the
presence of large wooden funerary structures found in mounds within regions where
wood is a precious commodity, i.e. the steppe (Polosmak 1994; Koryakova 2000:15).
Spatial organization is Viewed as a dichotomous value (central grave equals high status,
peripheral grave equals lower status). Archaeologists have compared the numbers of
particular grave goods in burials and inferred increased Status, or their value based on
availability of particular substances, gold or bronze for example. But when different
categories of grave goods are compared, how can one determine the status of the
individual? Usually an iron knife and arrowheads has been equatedto higher status than
a spindle-whorl and pottery, but this has more to do with contemporary value assessment
of male versus female status, even public versus domestic roles, and cannot be
unilaterally attributed to the value systems of prehistoric people.

With the four-part hierarchy of kurgan personages also comes the label “nomad”

or “semi-nomad”, the classification set out by Khazanov (1994) but without the specific

89

 

elements of his definitions. Largely the terms are used as if there is an a priori
understanding of a universal definition, one that does not indeed exist. The defining
characteristics of nomadism rest upon the material culture found in some of the graves
(for example horse and other animal bones, chariots or wagons, horse tack), though in
recent years more attempts have been made to ascertain a biophysical signature of
nomadism from the human remains themselves (see: Coutraud and Rajev 1997, 1998;
Koryakova and Daire 2000; Murphy 1998; Murphy and Mallory 2000; Murphy et al.
2002). During the Soviet era, when archaeological excavations focused on large-scale
settlement projects, surface (and aerial) surveys of specific geographic regions were not
undertaken. As a consequence, other types of nomadic sites that have been identified in
other areas of the world, such as conals, paddocks, or temporary shelters, remain
unidentified in Western Siberiaz. The use of aerial photography was used extensively
with the cooperative Russian-French archaeological program (Koryakova and Daire
1997; Koryakova and Patreau 1996), but to date, the photos have only been used to
identify new kurgans, thus reinforcing a sense of the monolithic site typology’.

Nomads are classified as “warriors” based not only on Herodotus’ description of
Scythians in battle, but also on the rich Collection of weaponry (arrowheads, quivers,
swords, daggers) recovered from the graves. Their imputed status is not only related to
their inclusion in a restricted form of mortuary treatment, but also to the traded items and
preciosities buried with them. Linking them ideologically is their material culture, the

animal style motifs, which appear on everything from textiles (clothing and felted carpets

 

2 A few examples of these structures have been identified tentatively by Merpert (1974) and Shilov (1975)
for Bronze Age sites.

3 Aerial photographs have also been used extensively in the identification of Sintashta-Arkaim sites (see:
Zdanovich 1995).

90

found in the Altai Mountains), to weaponry, and other imported metal objects. The
“nomadic way of Iife”, an economy and technology based on animal husbandry and
trade, an ideology linked to animistic beliefs, became the de facto interpretation of all
individuals found within kurgans, divided into regional ethnic groups during the 19408
and 19508, as well as the Soviet emphasis on the continued interest in ethnogenesis
(Shnirelmann 1997).

Two specific groups, the Sarmatian and the Sargat cultures, are the focus of this
dissertation, and will be employed as case studies of nomadic interactions with sedentary
peoples. Descending from Bronze Age groups, the Sannation and the Sargat peoples,
who spoke Indo—Iranian languages, occupied similar ecological zones (Sarmatian, the
steppe, the Sargat the forest-steppe) in Western Siberia. These early nomadic pastoral
groups maintained an animal herding lifestyle for roughly the entirety of the Iron Age

(Davis-Kimball and Yablonsky 1995; Koryakova 1988).

THE SARMATIONS

The Sarmatians were a confederation of lndo—Iranian speaking nomads living on
the steppe between the Volga River and the Ural Mountains during the second half of the
1" millennium BC" and into the early centuries AD (Sulimirski 1970; Melyukova 1990;
Barbarunova 1995; Moshkova 1995). Russian interest in Sauro-Sarmatian remains began
as early as the 18"I century, with earliest archaeological excavation credited to Gorodtsov
(1905). Since that time, some of Russia’s most eminent archaeologists have spent time

investigating the cemeteries of early Iron Age people (Rostovtsev 19108, Rudenko 19108,

 

4 The use of “BC” and “AD” used throughout this text is the designation of time period used by the vast
majority of Soviet, Russian, and Western authors working in Eurasia. To alter it and use instead “BCE”
and “CE” would simply be inappropriate at this time.

91

Gryaznov 19208, Grakov 19408, and Yablonsky 19808 to today), though the Sarmations
specifically received little individualized attention until Sulimirski’s The Sarmatians was
published in 1970. The history of these nomads was established by the work of Rau
(1929) and Grakov (1947), who created the basic guidelines for the Scythian-Sannation
period (early Iron Age), setting the research agendas, typological classifications, and the
study of Eurasian nomad ethnos (Yablonsky 2002:82).

Two hypotheses for the ethnogenesis of the Sannatians have been put forth 1) that
there is an ethnogenetic link between the slightly earlier Saruomatian and Sarmatian
people (Grakov 1947; Smimov 1964); and 2) that the Sannatians were an external group
that migrated from the east (Rostovtsev 1922). The first hypothesis is generally accepted,
along with their periodization of Sarmatian culture (Moshkova 1995:92; Yablonsky
1995):

° Sauromatian 6'“-4"' century BC

' Early Sarmatian5 4"’-2"d century BC

0 Sarmatian6 2"“l century BC — 2"" century AD

0 Late Sarmatian 2"d — 4"I century AD

Smimov (1964) established their origins between the Volga and Urals, hypothesizing that
they were descended from two Bronze Age populations, the Srubnaya in the west, and
Andronovo people in the east. Though contemporary researchers have found a lack of
sufficient transition period sites from the late Bronze Age to the early Iron Age in the

southern Urals (Dvomichenko 1995: 102), other elements of cultural continuity can be

 

5 As Grakov’s early chronology was later challenged, the Early Sarmatian stage is also known as
Prokhorovskaya Culture and the terminal date stretched to the I" century BC (Davis-Kimball and
Yablonsky 1995:23). -

6 Also known as Middle Sarmatian.

seen, which include a continuation of burial rites and “fire rituals” (Smimov 1964;

Sulimirski 1970; Zdanovich 1995). What is commonly accepted with regards to the

origins of these and other nomadic pastoralists in the early Iron Age can be summarized

in five points (Dvomichenko 1995: 101 ):

1.

In the midst of deteriorating steppe climatic conditions, a
corresponding shift occurs in economic forms (from agrarian to
pastoral);

The adaptation to horseback riding gave a distinct advantage over
sedentary neighbors (militarism);

Increased mobility led to increased contact and increasing ethnic
heterogeneity;

Nomads served as a conduit through which cultural achievements were
actively transmitted to other cultures;

Sedentary populations, drawing on their own established industrial
bases, provided nomads with necessities such as grain and luxury

items.

The “advantages” of nomads over their sedentary neighbors has colored the

interpretation of the archaeological record for several generations. That nomads had

military interactions with sedentary people has been well documented in historical

sources from Greece and Rome, to the Chinese Chronicles. But no other interaction has

been investigated, and they appear mere “conduits”, seemingly without contribution to

the cultures of sedentary people.

93

Archaeologists of the Soviet era focused on the increased development of the
“military democracy” amongst pastoral nomads, fitting the steppe nomads into the
Marxist framework along the unilinear progression of kin-based communal societies
(Koryakova 1996az244). During the 19508 and 19608, the discovery of kurgans
containing the “Scythian Triad” in the Altai Mountains (Rudenko 1953, 1960; Sulimirski
1970) led archaeologists to begin bandying about the idea of cultural unity among
nomads stretching across Eurasia. From this began the direct application of the
ethnonym “Scythian” (Yablonsky 2002:83), which resulted in the misinterpretation of
diverse populations as a unified whole, the birth of the Scytho-Siberian cultural complex.

“The Sarmatians” as a singular cultural entity is a misappropriation of
terminology coming directly from historical sources. The Greeks (Herodotus and Strabo)
called them “Sauromatae”; the Romans (Agrippa, Ammianus Marcellinus) used the term
“Sarmatian”. Herodotus notes the similar mode of life, social organization, and mortuary
ritual practiced by the Sauromate and their predecessors the Scythians. AS legend has it
(Histories IV. 1 [0-1] 7), the Sauro-Sannatians, originated from the Scythians, specifically
the marriage of Scythian men to Amazon women. Describing the social position of
women in Sarmatian society, Sulimirski (1970:33-34) based his archaeological
interpretations on Herodotus’ origin myth, “This accounts for the fact that their wives
kept to the ancient Amazon mode of living, going out on horseback to hunt, and joining
their husbands in war, wearing the same dress as men” (my emphasis).

Archaeologists continued to rely heavily upon the ancient historical records,
drawing upon Strabo’s Geography to propose four tribes (“tribal unions” according to

Moshkova 1995:87) within the Sarmatians —Aorsi, Roxolani, Siraces, and Iazyges

(Sulimirski 1970), and finding material similarity between historical descriptions and the
nomads living along the Volga River into the southern Urals, a distribution also
elaborated on by Strabo. Historians, describing lifestyles quite alien to Greece or Rome,
provide us with rich details of the lives of these barbarians,

...living in tents made of felt, Ithatl are fastened to wagons (drawn by

oxen) in which they spend their lives; round about the tents are the herds

which provide milk, cheese, and meat on which they live... in general but

also on horse-meat and mare’s milk... they follow the grazing herds, from

time to time moving to other places that have grass.

(Strabo Geography VII: 3, 4, 17, I8)

Sulimirski’s 1970 work, The Sarmatians, shows the marriage of historical sources
to interpretations of the archaeological record. He draws upon a wealth of archaeological
evidence collected over a half a century, and interprets it directly through the lens of
history, giving most of the credit for the details of Sarmatian affairs to Herodotus,
Hippocrates, Strabo, and Ammianus Marcellinus. Thus not only does he rely on the
naming convention and distribution of the tribes, he has evidence for their mobility; clay
models found in a burial mound at Kerch-Panticapaeum (Sulimirski 1970:26). The
discovery of young children buried with weapons (1970:28) is evidence of the training of
young Sarmatian warriors (taken from Strabo VII 4.6); wall paintings found at Kerch-
Panticapaeum are combat scenes expressing that with “the ferocity of their glance they
inspire dread... they delight in danger and warfare” (Ammianus Marcellinus, 4m century

AD cited in Sulimirski 1970:28). History makes for interesting reading, even when

95

“reading” the archaeological record, but the problem is that the interpretation of material
remains has Often floundered in the historicization of the archaeological record.
Accounts of ethnic identity reported by Herodotus or Strabo have been the foundation for
locating concrete, static ethnic groups archaeologically, a perspective that is the antithesis
of modern interpretations of ethnicity as fluid and flexible (Hanks 2002a: 185, see also
Jones 1997; Wells 1998;2001). The increased cultural contact is seen as one of the most
interesting challenges for contemporary research, in that the impact and interpretation of
the archaeological record will help to provide a better understanding of the creation of
cultural identity in the past (Hanks 2002a: 186).

A singular Sarmatian people has been debated since the work of Rau (1929) and
fueled by Moshkova (1974; see also Moshkova and Smimov 1977). Recent analysis of
Sarmatian funerary material from both the Volga/Don region and in the southern Urals
(Moshkova 1995; Otchir-Gorieva 1988, 2000) has concluded that there is significant
enough distinction in several aspects of funerary ritual and material culture as to warrant
a separate treatment of the materials, especially after the 3rd century BC when the
influence of settled Greek colonies would have more strongly influence western
Sarmatian populations. As there is even difficulty in finding unified terminology (see
Moshkova 1995 for a complete discussion) through which to treat materials from Europe
and from Asia; this dissertation focuses on the stages of Sarmatian development found in
the southern Urals alone. This Sarmatian population has direct links to the Transurals-
and therefore is looked to as a more compelling comparative population.

The development and flourishing of Sarmatian culture occurred over nearly a

thousand year period. The focus of my research is the early Iron Age, a time of transition

in

the

from primarily agrarian adaptation to a new emphasis on pastoral nomadism and the ‘
initial establishment of nomadic influence in the Urals and Transurals. Thus I focus on
the first two stages of Sauro-Sarmatian culture, the Sauromatian (Oh-4'“ centuries BC) and
the Early Sarmatian (4"'-2"" centuries BC).

During the Sauromatian stage there is a shift from agro-pastoralism to pastoral
nomadism in the steppe zone, the cause of which has been directly linked to climate shifts
(Koryakova 1998az215). The rising aridity favored the expanded use of steppe grasses
for grazing sheep/ goat, cattle, and horses, but without the use of irrigation, this dry
grassland could no longer support agriculture (Moshkova 1995:185)’, thus the population
had to become increasingly nomadic to support an economy now based solely on animal
husbandry. This continuation of certain Andronovo traditions met with an infusion of
populations from Central Asia (Chernetsov and Moszynska 1974:72-74; Gryaznov 1947;
Dvomichenko 1995: 104) revealing a population that shared some elements of earlier
funerary practices. Earthen mounds (kurgans) continued to be used but now with
complex stone or wood superstructures (Dvomichenko 1995: 102; Sulimirski 1970:40).
Graves were often primary and placed within a mound built for that individual.
Occasionally secondary burials were placed within Bronze Age Andronovo mounds;
collective burials are rarely found, and these are only found in the southern Urals
(Dvomichenko 1995:105).

The structure of the burial pit itself varied. Narrow or wide grave shafts led down
to a rectangular shaped, timber-lined grave. Within the grave the body lay in a supine

position with the head toward the west or southwest. Traces of fire are significant within

 

7 While there is no direct evidence for irrigation per se, there are examples of the control and diversion of
water into Bronze Age Villages like Arkaim (Gening, Zdanovich, and Gening 1992).

97

the burial ritual, with hearths often found at the mouths Of the shaft, or traces of ash and
charcoal found in the grave itself. Some of the bodies Show signs of partial cremation or
burning from these fires (Otchir-Goriaeva 2000:197-198; Sulimirski 1970:34). Corpses
were also commonly sprinkled with chalk or ochre. All of these uses of fire have been
interpreted as a continuation of the “fire cult” of the Andronovo (Dvomichenko
1995:102), who “worshipped the sun as well as fire, and believed in its purificatory
power” (Sulimirski 1970:34).

Grave goods show the developing nomadic interconnectedness and an emphasis
on militarism. Weaponry and tools are by far the most common grave good categories.
Arrowheads of bronze (few iron) were held in leather or birch bark quivers. Swords and
daggers commonly had zoomorphic pommelss. The use of animal style decoration
reveals the Scytho-Siberian cultural influences (Smimov 1961130, 1976; Dvomichenko
1995: 106, 1 14-116)— connecting the southern Urals to inner Siberia. Often the animals
are seen in fighting poses, but these appear to be a local tradition. All weapons decorated
with the animal style are interpreted as having magical qualities, which lent protection
and prestige to the bearer (Dvomichenko 19952116; “protective amulets” Grakov
1971 :36). Storage vessels made from pottery are the most common item and are found in
nearly all graves, while cast bronze cauldrons, many of which indicate extensive, even
daily, use (Koryakova: personal communique) are found throughout the Sauro—Sannatian
territory. Those that are found in situ carry food offerings usually sheep, though horse or

cow is not unusual.

 

8 Pommels differ from hilts in that a hilt is a protective piece of the sword or dagger handle that is found in
front or distal to the grip. A pommel is the part of the handle behind the grip and is commonly decorative
rather than functional, though pommels do function as an additional surface to use for blunt strikes of the
sword/dagger.

98

Male and female graves can be seen to exhibit unique collections of grave goods.
Males are buried with weapons, horse trappings (bits, bridles, and cheek pieces), and
items decorated with the animal style. Horse skeletons are more common in male burials,
and human sacrifice, while rare, has been interpreted as accompanying the “princely”
class (Sulimirski 1970:50) or “guard warriors” (Otchir-Goriaeva 2000:199). Female
Victims, however, are simply seen as “wives following their husbands” (Sulimirski
1970:50). Female burials generally do not have weaponry, instead the deceased carry a
collection of tools (knives and awls), “toiletry” items (mirrors, spoons, combs), and
personal adornment (bracelets and torques of bronze or gold, pendants, and beads). Rolle
(1989: 61) has shown mirrors to be present in male graves as well, thus their designation
as “toiletry items” and posited as distinctly female artifacts is highly questionable.
Sulimirski identifies a separate class of female burials, richly furnished “priestesses”,
with weapons, saddles, and portable altars — incense burners with or without legs
(Sulimirski 1970:46) — which speaks to another characteristic of the cultic rituals devoted
to fire. Children’s burials are noted only by the inclusions of sheep astragali, which are
usually interpreted as game pieces (see: Jones-Bley 1999:65).

More than 1000 early Sarmatian kurgans that date from the 4"'-2"d centuries BC
have been excavated. This is the time of the “Royal Sarmatians” of the Pontic steppe that
in the southern Urals expresses itself within two primary river basins, the Ilek and the Or.
The transition to this second Sarmatian stage has its roots in massive migrations, which
some have interpreted as the introduction of a new Sarmatian population into the areas of
the Sauromatians (Smimov 1964, 1975; Moshkova 1963, 1974). As populations of

nomads moved from the forest and steppe, they introduced new innovations into the

south Urals mortuary styles (Barbarunova 1995: 121; Moshkova 1963, 1974; Sulimirski
1970:83). “Podbois” (side niche type) graves become fairly typical, with catacomb
(earthen vaults), and ledge types also present; the introduction of “dromos” style also
appears; the wooden structure accommodates reuse of the same central grave chamber
rather than simple earthen interment. While the body is still placed in a supine position,
the orientation of the head is now towards the south instead of the west/southwest. A
funeral chamber is constructed over the body made from wood planks and the mounds
are built larger or there is a reuse and expansion of older kurgans. Some continuity
continues from earlier mortuary patterning: the use of stone or wood superstructures, and
the spreading of chalk or ochre on the bodies.

Cemeteries are arranged with smaller kurgans grouped around one or two large
kurgans. Some of these cemeteries are in linear sequences along river terraces, and
occasionally single kurgans are constructed separate from true cemetery complexes.
While also acknowledging a great degree of diversity within one cemetery, or even
within one kurgan, Barbarunova (1995) identifies two basic types of kurgan: kurgans
with one to three graves, and those with three or more (upwards of 20). Within the first
category, single burials predominate, but when there are two or three graves, there seems
to be no systematic arrangement i.e. they are not arranged around a central grave. Men,
women and children are represented, with children at times accompanied by a female.
Within the second type of group kurgan, there appears to be more symmetry in their

anangement. These burials are usually concentrically placed around a central “ancestor”

100

grave, occasionally in parallel lines, in what have been interpreted as kin groups. In the
kin burials it is more likely to find deviations in body orientation".

Grave goods Show continuity from the Sauromatian stage, but with some
variability also evident. The variation is seen as social differentiation and a manifestation
of the heterogeneity of Sarmatian tribes. The influx of new populations is seen as the
creation of a heterogeneous culture, the Prokhorovka culture. Pottery continues to be the
most common grave good: hand-thrown, talc tempered, round bottomed vessels Showing
influences from the forest-steppe. There are also some wheel-tumed vessels from Central
Asia, the Don and Kuban river areas. Bronze cauldrons remain common, as does the use
of fire ritual, but the animal style begins to disappear.

Male burials continue to contain weapon sets — arrowheads, swords, daggers, and
scale armor — though there is a breakdown in the “Scythian triad”. The arrowheads are
primarily three—edged, socketed, and made of bronze. The swords are over a meter long,
and the daggers have bar-shaped pommels instead of animal motifs. Tools include knives
and whetstones, some iron axes or celts/adzes, which may indicate farming, but the
climate had not significantly shifted to allow for large-scale production without irrigation
(still not evident). Horse harnesses are less frequently found, though there are some bits
and cheekpieces. There are rare scattered kurgans, from the Dniepr River to the south
Urals, of single male burials with rich assortments of horse accoutrements.

Female burials contain personal ornaments and pottery; however, pottery is now
found exclusively with women. The female tool kits are similar to those buried with

men, but with the addition of spindlewhorls, awls, and needles. Beads made from semi-

‘¥

9 Barbarunova ( 1995) does not conelate dromos-style kurgans and kin burials, but one would expect to find
some evidence of reentry into already established kurgans.

101

precious stones and bronze are the most common form of personal adornment. Less
frequent are torques, bracelets, pendants, and earrings. Richly adorned male and female
burials will contain plaques of bronze, silver, gold, or shell, sewn onto clothing.

”'0 of combs, spoons, mirrors, and small clay pots accompany many

“Toiletry items
females, though the bronze mirrors are much more rare than in prior times. The inclusion
of “altars” is debatable, though Barbarunova (1995: 124) includes decorated stone dishes
(without legs) as incense burners, albeit she notes these are rare.

By the height of the subsequent Sarmatian stage (2"" century BC — 2"d century
AD) additional waves of nomads, pushed out by the Huns in Central Asia, swell the
Sarmatians to their territorial maximum, approximately twice the size of the Sauromatian
area. The movements of nomads are mentioned in both Strabo and in the Chinese
Annals. But while population sizes in general are on the rise, in the south Urals the
population declines. This has been attributed to the continuing deterioration of climatic
conditions (Moshkova 1995:137). Kurgans are built smaller and are scattered, generally
singular male burials with some collective burials of women and children. The grave
goods continue to show the interconnectedness of nomad populations to the outside world
—metalwork imported from the Urals, Italy, and Asia Minor, beadwork of semi-precious
stone, European glass, paste, some Egyptian faience, and wheel-tumed pottery (the
nomads made only hand thrown vessels).

By the Late Sarmatian stage (2“d-4‘“ centuries AD) the incursions from the east

have introduced a litany of new customs to the mortuary realm sufficient to give them a

“polyethnic” interpretation. The real differences from earlier periods are in a quantitative

¥

'0 The continued use of phrases like “toiletry items” reinforces a gendered stereotype that is highly
inconsistent with the associations between artifacts and specific sexes. This concept will be addressed in
Chapters 5, 6, and 7.

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measure of burial structure investment in ratio to the burial rites (Koryakova personal
communique); 95% of the burials contain only one grave, designed to save construction
labor (Moshkova 1995:150—151). While local pottery continues to be included in the
burials, most other elements are a hodgepodge of items representing eastern Siberian and
Central Asian materials. By the end of this period strong Hunnic influences overwhelm
the Sarmatian area and can be seen in the inclusion of composite bows, horse ware, Han-
Chinese mirrors, and burials with cranial deformation”. After the Huns seized control of
the Asiatic steppe, Sarmatian archaeological complex ceases to exist east of the Caucasus

and Don River (Moshkova 1995: 160).

Summary of the Sarmatian Interpretations

The social organization, as deciphered solely from the burials since no Iron Age
settlements are found in this area, reveals a stratified system similar to that which is seen
across the steppes and into the forested regions to the east (Moshokova 1974249 cited by
Otchir-Goriaeva 2000:199). Males, involved in trade networks, which moved goods both
east-west and north-south (Hall and Yablonsky 1998; Hall et al. 1998), formed the higher
social status groups. The burial grounds were clustered in specific localities, with a few
richly adorned burials. The cultural orientation of the burgeoning “aristocracy... poised
on the threshold of class formation” (Dvomichenko 1995:105-106) shows the influences
of the eastern steppe — the animal style utilizes camels, birds of prey, and griffins; the

pottery vessels are pear-shaped showing similarities to the Pazyryk from the Altai

‘

H Cranial deformation is a trait that can be seen in the Volga-Don area during the Catacomb period (see:
JOnes-Bley 1999214; Sulimirski 1970:36).

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mountains and the Saka of Central Asia; the diagonal tombs are common from the Aral
Sea to Mongolia (Otchir-Goriaevo 2000; Smimov 1961; Sulimirski I970).

Labeled as a tribal level society, Khazanov portrays them as individual clans and
“ethnic communities” (1975: 119-20), which he correlates to the material culture and
historical texts. Conceptualizing ethnicity in this way compartmentalizes cultural
identity, creating neat packages of bounded cultures, distributed cleanly across the map.
This static conceptualization of ethnicity perpetuates and privileges discussions of
ethnogenesis of cultures and their subsequent chronological sequencing. As Hanks
(2002a: 186) states, “this problematic situation has been perpetuated by typological dating
schemes that leave a great deal of room for argument concerning artistic and stylistic
patterns, cultural sequences, and cross-cultural relationships.” Absolute dating
techniques now being applied to the Siberian archaeological material is now putting into
questions the accuracy of typological chronologies (Hall 1997; Hall and Yablonsky I998;
Mallory et al. 2002). In part the issue of labeling all animal motifs as part of a Scytho-
Siberian animal style goes to Hanks’ argument. By placing enonnousimportance on a
triad of artifacts, we entangle economic and social categories for all those groups
possessing weapons, horses, and animal decorations. It ignores the fluidity of ethnic
constructs. While ethnicity is “fluid” by our contemporary conceptualization of it, there
are still concrete elements of cultural identity, and these can be seen in the archaeological
record in terms of patterns of material culture behavior.

Sarmatian burials display a diversity of grave types found not only within a given
cemetery, but also within a single kurgan. The hi ghest—ranking individuals were usually

afforded significantly more grave preparation (wooden structures) as well as grave goods

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(including imported or non-local items). Non-elites represented in the burial mounds are
interred without elaboration, collectively, or in peripheral positions (in niches, as
“sacrificial victims”). Generally the Sarmatian burials are individual intennents, with
some exceptions, for example those with only three to eight skeletons, and some with as
many as 20. While there may be many skeletons in the same grave, it is important to note
that they were all placed there at the same time, as part of a single mortuary event, and
that the grave was not reopened to add bodies at a later date. There are alternating
patterns in the choice of wood as funerary structures, sometimes as “stretchers” or litters
and sometimes the use of wheeled burial vehicles (e.g., Mechet Sai Cemetery, from
Smimov 1975: 124 plate 44, and p.137 plate 53). Evidence for the use of fire in the
funerary ritual declines through time and is credited to Bronze Age traditions carry-over.
Grave goods tended to follow sex categories, with females having domestic items, often
labeled as “toiletries”, and personal ornaments; males possessed weaponry, horses and
horse tack; both sexes were interred with tools. While kurgans were still built and used
during the Middle and Late Sarmatian periods, flat-grave inhumations became more
common.

Unlike the Sargat to their north, the Sarmatians are not associated with specific
settlement types or'locations, though settlements exist in their region. All the
archaeological material associated with the Sarmatians is found in the burials.
Researchers believe the nomadic Sannatians terrorized settled populations when they
came into contact, keeping them in a subservient position through the use of fear
(Moshkova 1995:85—9 citing Herodotus; Smimov 1977; Sulimirski 1970:27-31 citing

Strabo and Ammianus Marcellinus), but that when they did settle into Village, agricultural

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life, it is believed that “a mixed culture emerged and the traits of the diverse sedentary
and nomadic ethnic groups blended into an integral whole” (Moshkova 1995:186). What

these “traits” looked like is not discussed.

THE SARGAT

The burials of Western Siberia were described by travelers during the 18th and 19lh
centuries (Pallas I786; Slovtsov 1890; Radlov 1891), but not united under one name, the
Sargat culture, until initially penned by Chernetsov (1953). Looters, collectors, and
antiquarians removed large amounts of cultural material from the burials, some of which
they shipped back to the Hermitage, and were there mistakenly labeled as “Scythian”
gold (Rudenko 1962; Matveev and Matveeva 1987). In some ways this mislabeling aided
the acceptance of the idea of a “Pan-Scythian” or “Scytho—Siberian cultural complex” that
also incorporates the Sarmatians and other notable steppe peoples (i.e. the Pazyryk of the
Altai Mountains). The bulk of archaeological investigation of the Sargat burials has
occurred during the past four decades (by Stoyanov in the 19608 and 708, Gening in the
19808, Mogil’nikov 19708-19908, Matveeva in the 19808 until the present, and
Koryakova from the late 19708 until the present), with only a few individuals devoting
time to the inclusion of settlements in the analysis (Koryakova 1988; Matveeva 1993).
While complete excavation of settlements has been emphasized since the Soviet era, few
cemeteries were directly associated with the settlements, and even fewer cemeteries have
been examined fully (Matveeva 1993). The Soviets used much of Western Siberia to
develop scientific and military projects, thus most of the area was off limits to Russians

much less westerners until the 19908. Today, western archaeological projects and

106

subsequent publications exist, but only within collaborative projects with Russian
researchers (for example Coutraud and Rajev 1997, 1998; Hanks 2000, 2002a, 2002b,
2003; Kroll 2000; Kroll Lemer in press). The results of most Russian investigations have
appeared primarily in small regional publications in Russian.

The defining characteristics that divide Eurasian nomads into separate cultures
involve long-term social, economic and cultural processes. The people in different
regions of the Eurasian landmass were involved in trans-continental communication
through trade and migrations. Each cultural group has been divided according to the
different climates, vegetational zones, and ecological niches in which they live. The
Sargat culture is considered a northern, regional variant of Iranian steppe culture mixing
with Ugrian forest cultures (Moshkova 1992:2745) or more succinctly put, Urgro-
Iranian (Koryakova 1988), a synthesis of local ingenuity and Iranian influences in the
forest-steppe. The regional distribution of Iron Age (500 BC — AD 500) settlements and
mortuary sites stretches from the eastern slopes of the Ural Mountains to the Tobol River,
from the forest in the north to the steppe in the south. The climate Of this area has been
largely continental since the beginning of the Iron Age, with some periodic fluctuations.
Warm weather airflows come north off the Kazakh steppe and desert Steppe, while winter
winds are Arctic, yet very dry (the Urals operate as a moisture sink). The resulting -
weather creates long, cold, but dry (low snowfall) winters, followed by brief springs
which transition into short, hot (maximum 50 degree Celsius) summers, and brief falls.
Droughts occur regularly, on eight-twelve year intervals. The Western Siberian forest-
steppe is identified by multi-grass meadows with insurgent groves of birch/aspen trees

stretching between several large rivers and their tributaries. By examining ethnographic

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and ethnohistoric accounts of steppe nomads from the Middle Ages to the present,
researchers concluded that the forest-steppe would provide a large amount of high quality
animal fodder from early spring throughthe fall, allowing for combined settled and
nomadic forms of animal husbandry, hunting, fishing, and even primitive agriculture
(Koryakova and Sergeyev 1995219). The expectation for the Transurals is that five to Six
family members acted as a single economic unit, exploiting a small range of pastures (30-
40km annually) to maintain animal populations consisting primarily of horses, then
sheep/ goats, and cattle. Rudenko (I970) calculated that 25 horses, or their equivalent in
other stock, would be needed to provide for one family unit. Historically these family
units were nomadic during the warmer months, settling down during the winters in
villages consisting of upwards of ten-fifteen families as a rule closely related (Koryakova
and Sergeyev 1995).

Unlike the Sarmatians, there are no historical references to the Sargat per se,
instead our understanding of their lifestyles comes from the archeological evidence, but it
is additionally heavily influence by interpretations of the Scytho-Siberian cultural
complex. The Sargat world View is interpreted by connecting economy, burial practice,
and the Scythian triad (Koryakova 2002b: 107). The nomads’ religious ideology has been
interpreted as animistic, ancestor worship (Rudenko 1970), or Zoroastrian sun/fi re
worship (Hannatta eta. 1994; Herodotus I: 4), and much has been written interpreting
Eurasian nomads’ beliefs in light of the Avesta and Rig Veda (Gening 1977; Kroll Lerner,
in press; Kuzmina 1986; Mandelshtam 1968:102-103 cited in Yablonsky 1995:249;

Puhvel I987).

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The location of Sargat settlements changed over time, but there is a marked
increase in upland terrace and easily defensible positions during the later Iron Age. The
use of fortification and size of these Villages changes through time as does the size and
patterning of the houses — though they appear to be single-family semi-subterranean
dwellings, with single hearths. Intensive fieldwork and analysis of local pottery types,
including largely round-bottomed vessels with a variety of temper and design, has
allowed for chronological determinations and the determination of several archaeological
cultures, among them are the Gorokhovo (T ransurals steppe/forest-steppe 4"‘-1" century
BC), Itkul’ (metallurgical sites in the Middle Urals, Upper and Middle Iset River from
8"‘- 3rd century BC), Koulayskaya (forest zone 5th century BC — 3'd century AD) cultures,
and numerous subdivisions based on local ceramic typologies (see Sharapova 2000, 2004
for a thorough discussion of recent ceramic typological classifications). As more MC
dates are performed, some inconsistencies have arisen in the chronological sequence (see
Hanks 2003).

The kurgans of the Sargat were placed in highly visible settings, on upland
terraces, commanding expansive views of the gently rolling terrain, distinctively different
from the burials of Bronze Age that were along river courses. Their construction is
variable but follows several general plans. Sod is cut from an area of varying size; from
three to five meters in diameter to 100m in diameter. One to several graves are then dug
into the subsoil, sometimes more than one individual is placed in the grave with a variety
of grave goods; males, females, adults, and subadults are represented. Sometimes there is
a wooden structure built over the central grave, the graves are filled, the sod blocks are

then built over the graves, possibly in a pyramidal shape (T airov and Botalov 1988: 100-

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25); at times there is a ditch or semi—continuous ditch (both interrupted circles and half
circles) dug around the outermost extent of the mound. The burials are believed to show
much more cultural affinity with steppe nomads, a “superstratum” of insurgent Iranian
speaking nomads, while the settlements are a cultural “substratum” of local settled
Ugrian peoples (Koryakova 19952320). Four stages of development are seen for Sargat
society as well (based on Koryakova I988, l996a):

° Pre-Sargat Bronze-Iron transition (7"'-6'h centuries BC)

0 Sargat-Gorokhovo/ early Iron Age (5"’-3rd centuries BC)

' Sargat/ Middle Iron Age (2"‘I century BC — 2"" century AD)

' Late Sargat/ Late Iron Age (3"'-5th centuries AD)

The transition to a wide use of iron tools and weapons occurred between 800 and
300 BC and were produced by local Itkul’ populations in the Urals. Prior to this time
iron appears as a prestige item in burials, but iron smelting is a local technology. During
the 2nd century BC and 2"" century AD the Sargat had minimal connections with Central
Asian states as evidenced by the trade goods that included many manufactured of bronze,
gold, and silver that came from Bactria and China, in addition to those that came from
Greece. By and large the convention of naming local archaeological subgroups within
the Sargat culture is based upon ceramic typologies (i.e. Baitovo, Nasilovo, Vorobievo),
although there are some exceptions such as the Itkul’ culture, which is based on
metallurgy.
The 7"‘- 6"I century BC reveals a time of high adaptability with local Andronovo

populations modifying their lifestyles in accordance to new nomadic Indo-Iranian (Saka)

influences arriving from the south. Climatic instability (cold and humid weather

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spreading southward) is seen as the activating mechanism for cultural change. The
appearance of new horse wares and weapons (non-ferrous metallurgy) show early animal
style and a me’lange of Saka and forest cultural influences. These are interpreted as areas
of exchange and not necessarily migration. Local metallurgical populations living in the
Ural Mountains, the Itkul’, provided the bulk of metal items.

Funerary similarities, specifically compact cemeteries, link this time period to the
Bronze Age, but the burials become more individualized (Koryakova l996a: 263). Some
solitary kurgans exist, primarily on upland terraces whereas Bronze Age cemeteries
tended to be closer to the riverbanks. Certain rules of Sargat funerary tradition apply to
the majority of burials. Central burials have a north-south access. In general, internal
wood constructions were placed over graves with social stratification of the population
interpreted from the existence of some enormous barrows, but in later periods wooden
structures were not built. At this time most funerary investment occurred above ground.
Neither unique to the Sargat culture, nor originating in the Iron Age, mound building had
a long history and a broad geographical distribution in Eurasia. As early as the Eneolithic
(also called the Chalcolithic), kurgans became one distinctive method of disposing of the
dead in Western Siberia. Yet, it is not until the end of the 6‘h century BC that there is a
marked change and elite burials are the first to appear in kurgans. Koryakova (1996a:
265) attributes these new burial forms, representing the restricted access of a segment of
the population, with the introduction of nomadic culture (Saka) to the forest-steppe, what
she labels as a “Turkization” of Western Siberia (Koryakova 1995). During this time the
Gorokhovo culture emerges under the political influence of nomadic populations that

traveled through the Transurals during the summer months (Koryakova 1995).

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At the dawn of the early Iron Age (5"’-3rd centuries BC) Gorokhovo pottery styles,
which consisted of crude hand-braided, talc tempered, round-bottomed vessels, become
the common style in the Transurals along the southern reaches of the forest-steppe. This
is a time referred to as the Golden Age of the Sargat culture, or the Sargat-Gorokhovo
stage, because of the increased number of sites. Extensive settlements with
fortifications/fortresses were built usually on promontories near rivers on the edges of the
Sargat territory; along the taiga zone, in the southwest along the Urals (the Gorokhovo
cultural sites (Matveeva 1993, 20022379), and in the east as at Ak-Tau (Habdulina 1994).
Notably, fortresses are absent along the southern steppe frontier, which is interpreted as
the expansion of trade routes with the Saka in the south (Koryakova I995). The hill forts
are surrounded by defensive works that conform to particular shapes within the main
river basins within the Transurals, the Tobol and Irtysh Rivers. As defined by Koryakova
(1988) they can be categorized as l) promontory with lined fortifications (T obol River),
2) “cape style” high terraces with two lines of fortification (Irtysh River), and 3)
waterside fortresses with ramparts and ditches (double fortifications) (Koryakova 1988;
Matveeva 2002). In the southern forest—steppe zone, groups were scattered as this area
shows an absence of long-term settlements or fortresses.

Many more cemeteries are found during the Sargat-Gorokhovo stage, and a higher
ratio of burials to settlements (though a higher degree of fortification than earlier or later
times). Burials are primarily inhumations in graves beneath kurgans, a burial tradition
introduced by the steppe nomads. These mounds reveal a hierarchy according to size
(labor investment) and amount of effort invested (personalization) in the internal

structures. Large, royal constructions (often referred to as “czar kurgans”) are analogous

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to those found on the steppe; they contain rich grave goods and complex tomb features.
The grave goods fall into three broad categories 1) royal (scepters, maces, and sumptuary
items); 2) warrior (weaponry); and 3) other (pottery vessels, spindle whorls, beads). This
burial practice is used for a very small segment of the population, interpreted as the
warrior class consolidating its power by transforming internal conflicts between settled
and nomadic elements of the society into territorial expansion (Koryakova 1995:320).
While the alternative forms of disposal remain unknown, it is hypothesized that kurgans
delimited subterranean cemeteries, with other members of society being interred in

between the mounds. This has yet to be tested (Daire and Koryakova 2000).

Summary of the Sargat Interpretations

The interpretation of the existence of fortified settlements and hierarchical burials
has been that movements of steppe nomads from Middle Asia/Kazakhstan pushed steppe
nomads into the southern Urals and Transurals (T airov 1997 personal communique).
This marks the arrival of nomadism to the Transurals and of nomads who had active
relations with states to the south, west, and east. Thus the settled populations, indigenous
remnants of Bronze Age Ugrian populations formed a social “substratum”, while the
Iranian nomads formed a cultural “superstratum” dominating relations with their
neighbors through trade and warfare (Koryakova 1995, 1996a, 1998b, 2002b). By the 3rd
century BC populations of Saramatians began to impinge upon the Transurals bringing
with them a changing style of kurgan ritual, one involving fire ritual, and role changes.

Increased production of iron implements, especially weaponry and its inclusion in

the burials, denotes the beginning of the Sargat stage or the Middle Iron Age (2"d century

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BC —2"d century AD), which was a period of increased military emphasis reflected in the
burials. Increased numbers of settlements in the Tobol and Irtysh river valleys
correspond to this increased population. Both open and fortified settlements existed
along the riverbanks, and there is some indication of both one and two-room houses.
This difference in house size may indicate social differences between people who lived
with their animals and those who had separate facilities. Trade networks existed which
pulled this region into the northern periphery of the Silk Road (Daire and Koryakova
2002). Funerary rites Show a degree of continuity from the Gorokhovo-Sargat stage, but
with some new elements.

As noted earlier, kurgans commonly contain more than one grave, from two to 20,
the number dictated by clan or family statuses (Koryakova 1998, personal communique).
These collective graves Show a complex system of grave goods including ceramic vessels
of local and non-local production (some with Iranian solar symbols on their bases, cf.
Moguil’nikov 1973), bronze mirrors from China, weapons, and items of personal
adornment. The diversity of grave goods indicates a continuity of involvement in long-
distance trade from earlier stages. Male graves held weapons (knives, swords, spears,
arrows, and horse tack). Female graves contained pottery, beads, jewelry, and weapons.
Within the kurgan the central graves were surrounded by one or two ditches (not
necessarily continuous). If one can consider social stratification in household Size, it is
also seen in the mortuary realm. Kurgans are divided along three social strata —
aristocracy (military power), warriors, and ordinary people (i.e. those without property
and included in the kurgans of one of the elites; Koryakova 1988, 1998a, 2002b). High

social status was not necessarily marked by large mounds, but by internal structures, for

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example the wooden linings of the graves in addition to grave goods. Despite the
considerable external influences and exchanges, this stage is signified as the
consolidation of Sargat culture.

Another climatic event, leading to the degradation of pasturage resulting from
either an environmental decline at the macro-level, or micro-anthroclimatic events
caused by over-pasturage (see Sinor 1990228), and this degradation of pasturage resulted
in cultural changes in the 3rd — 5‘h centuries AD. This final stage, the Late Sargat stage, is
poorly understood due to a lack of archaeological material; the exception to the general
dearth of material is within the Irtysh River basin where there are rich burials and large
settlements. These sites are not a complete expression of the Sargat culture, but tend to
maintain some of its components. New influences from the northern, forested zone Show
perhaps an expansion of the Koulayska culture while the Sargat were pushed to the south
and west. The kurgans are much lower in profile, with one ditch or none at all. Some
traces of fire exist, but as the mound fill is not usually the focus of recovery during an
excavation, Often the fill is only cursorily examined thus ash and charcoal may be missed.
At the end of this period, which corresponds to the end of the final Sarmatian stage as
well, came the introduction of Hunnic populations that led to the so-called “Great
Migration of Peoples”. This push of populations, caused by wars between the Huns and
the Chinese, may have led to the decline of the Sargat populations. Another
interpretation, or influence, may have been declining pasturage that undermined the
stability of the Sargat populations (Koryakova 1995). More mobility and the admixture

of many new populations mark the end of the Sargat period, and the end of the Iron Age.

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CHAPTER FIVE

MODELS OF NOMADIC-SEDENTARY INTERACTIONS AND IDENTITY

TAPHONOMIC SIGNATURES OF NOMADISM AND THE USE OF ETHNOARCHAEOLOGY

Identifying nomads in the archaeological record has historically been problematic.
Childe (1936:81) identified nomads’ use of biodegradable materials and a lack of
substantial architecture (i.e. no walls of stone or brick) as reason for their “invisibility”;
the myth of “invisible culture” later discussed by Cribb (1991:65-83). This led to a
lengthy period of speculation as to the nature of their material culture and its ephemeral '
traces. Often the lack of settlement evidence, the absence of seasonally identifiable
economic resources, or the interruptions in the material record of sedentary groups was
taken to indicate the existence of nomads (Cribb 1991 :66) due to the disruption of
sedentary sequences in the archaeological record. In many ways pastoral nomads and
other mobile populations are seen as lacking not only a presence, but as being a part of
the very “interstices”, spaces between civilized places (e.g. Spielman 1986, 1991a;
Zagarell 1989). Nomads held the distinction of not being “settled”, in the sense that
studies of the origins of sedentism, agriculture, and the rise of civilization often identified
nomads as a by-product of these events (e. g. Adams 1966; Braidwood 1960; Cohen
1977). Anyone focused on the origins of nomadism itself focused on the changes in the
composition of domesticated herds (Adams 1974; Gilbert 1983; Hole 1978; Khazanov
1994; Bates and Lees 1977; Masson 1972). Thus the initial signatures of nomadism
consisted of the absence of permanent settlements coupled with the presence of

domesticated animals capable of long-distance travel, e. g. sheep/ goat, horses, and camels.

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It was not until archaeologists began to study living populations of nomads that they
recognized the presence of a broader range of settlement types used and produced by

nomads themselves (Cohen 1992; Cribb I991; Haiman I992).

USE OF ETHNOARCHAEOLOGY

Archaeologists often use the ethnographic record to create analog models of
patterned behavior to assist in their interpretation of the archaeological record.
Ethnography throws light on human variability as it may be expressed, but often does not
address processes of long-tenn change (Plog 1974:1 1), which is one fundamental
contribution of archaeology to the discipline of anthropology. By the late 19708 an
increasing number of archaeologists engaged in ethnographic research among living
populations, under the rubric of ethnoarchaeology (or also the separate approach of
archaeological ethnography) (Binford (1978) among the Eskimos; Gould (1980) among
Australian Aborigines; Yellen (1977) among African Bushmen). Ethnoarchaeology
involved the search for regularities based on known, observed, or recorded behaviors that
would permit the archaeologist to infer human behaviors from archaeological data. One
of the earliest such studies of pastoralists involved Frank Hole’s work among the Lur of
southwest Khuzistan (Hole 1978). Hole looked at patterns of movement, size and
variability of herd structure, and the division of labor among other elements of nomad
lifestyle, to conclude that nomads are constantly on the brink of death. But more
importantly for ethnoarchaeology, he determined that modern campsites have ample
evidence of occupation including animal dung accumulation (as did Chang 19992141),

disturbance of natural plant resources, and trash. Importantly much of the trash consisted

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of pottery sherds, an element of debatable assistance for distinguishing the difference
between sedentary populations and nomads (cf. Cribb 1991; Koryakova 1988).

Based on this work Hole (1974) declared formerly invisible cultures found, and
after thirty years of ethnoarchaeologists focusing on nomads an explicit methodology was
developed for recovering and identifying nomads through a series of specific signatures
or criteria (i.e. Cribb 1991). While nomads often have the same physical appearance,
language, dress, household utensils, domesticated animals, and even tribal affiliation as
their sedentary neighbors, there are separate material correlates to their economic
practices. Archaeologists now have a healthy series of features to help identify pastoral
nomadism, including corrals, enclosures, folds, encampments, even the shallow

impressions left by tent poles (Chang 1993; Cribb I991; Khazanov and Bar-Yosef 1992).

Material Culture of Pastoral Nomads

While some archaeologists have defined specific “technocomplexes” (Zarins
1992, after Clarke 1968) for their particular circumstances, Cribb (1991) set out to
establish a middle-range theory to identify key indicators for the analysis of the
archaeological data (cf. Binford I983: 129) associated with nomads. TO define pastoral
nomads in the archaeological record, the material culture must point to their specific
economic identity as herders and breeders of specific animals. Cribb (1991) made
extensive inventories of the material culture of Turkish and Iranian nomads. He
subsequently divided these into three dichotomous dimensions, building up a model of
nomad material culture with a View toward assessing the variables appropriate for

archaeological investigation. Building on Binford’s (1978) idea 0 “site furniture”, Cribb

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determined whether an item is permanent or portable; most nomads’ material culture
must be portable to accompany them wherever they move. Heavy items, tent poles or
metal objects, may be left in caches. His second dimensions are durable or perishable.
Perishables must continually be renewed rather than circulated (Cribb 1991 :68) and are
therefore less likely to become part of the archaeological record. While pastoral pottery
may instinctively be placed in the perishable column, it is actually a fairly ubiquitous
element in nomad sites, albeit as fragmented sherds; therefore it is durable. Another quite
durable feature that seems counterintuitive are nomads’ tents. As many
ethnoarchaeologists have noted, not all tents are flimsy or perishable, having stone or
wooden bases, in addition to wood support structures (see Bar-Yosef and Khazanov’s
1992 edited volume for many examples from the Levant). Cribb’s final divisions identify
the relative worth of material possessions, either valuable or expendable. Valuables are
curated and preserved. Expendibles are readily discarded and only preserve if they are
highly durable.

Combining these three, paired dimensions (fixture V8. portable; durable vs.
perishable; valuable vs. expendable), Cribb devised an archaeological model describing
the material culture one would expect to find, and its associated interpretations. For
example, items that are portable, perishable and valuable, like carpets, are expected to
have “virtually zero archaeological visibility” (Cribb 1991269). Unfortunately, he does
not mention the frozen tombs of the Pazyryk that have produced several items of cloth
and felt, including rich carpets (Rudenko 1970). But, allowing for the extraordinary
preservation attributed to the Pazyryk tombs, these three dimensions provide a valuable

model from which to address the material culture recovered from my research area.

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Material Culture of Western Siberian Iron Age Nomads

The type of nomadism practiced in Western Siberia focused on Sheep/goat, cattle,
and horse husbandry. While the rare occurrences of Bronze Age short-term corrals
(Merpert 1974; Shilov 1975) and even winter structures (Polosmak 1994) have been
documented, because of the nature of investigation of sites in the region (an emphasis on
settlement archaeology, see Chapter Three), the bulk of our knowledge about the Sargat
and the Sarmatian people comes from the mortuary domain or from historical accounts.
Fifty percent of Sargat graves contain horse harnesses (Koryakova 1988), which makes
this the most laudable evidence of pastoral nomadism in Western Siberia. Other artifacts
that attest to their mobile lifestyles include wagons and carts (more common for the
Bronze Age of this region: Shilov 1975; Kuzmina 2000), and even more rarely the
containers made from wood, birch bark, and leather found in the frozen Pazyryk tombs
(Rudenko 1960, 1970; Polosmak 1994). Pottery, both imported wheel-tumed and local
hand-thrown vessels are commonly found in the burials as well. While it has been shown
that the nomads could easily make their own pottery on dung-fed fires (Koryakova and
Fedorov 1993; Koryakova 2000215; Sharapova 1999, 2004), the pottery styles are
commonly associated with both sedentary villages and the burial mounds of the nomads.
Koryakova (2000:15) notes that the Sannatians of the Don and Volga steppe are “known
to have obtained pottery in this manner [from sedentary populationsl.”

Other taphonomic signatures of nomadism expected to be in abundance as noted
by ethnoarchaeologists —among these are animal droppings and herd structure (Banning

and KOhler-Rollefson 1986, 1992; Cribb 1991; Hole 1978) —remain to be fully utilized in

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this region. Vital to the reconstruction of cultural interactions between sedentary and
nomadic peoples is understanding how they occupied the landscape. The current,
accepted model of nomad land-use of the Eurasian grasslands involves long-distance,
horizontal movement across the steppe from the warmer climatic zones in the south, to
the colder forest-steppe zones in the north where herds grazed in the warmer months
(Khazanov 1994:37-39, 44-45, 51). Shishlina’s (2001) Bronze Age study may provide
future means by which we can identify land-use and movement. She analyzed pollen
residues below the kurgans, initiated osteological investigations of fauna (age/sex
structures), and the incremental analysis of dentin and cementum, to determine
seasonality. In the future these types of analyses may allow us to more carefully define
the seasonality of their pasturage and the timing and possible extent of their interactions
with local sedentary populations. Determining the time of year in which Iron Age
kurgans were constructed will allow us to better understand their seasonal timing and use
of the landscape. Locating other potential taphonomic markers on that landscape, i.e.
storage facilities for fodder or shelter for animals, will give us a better understanding of

how pastoral nomads interact with their environment and other cultural groups.

CULTURAL IDENTITY AND INTERACT ION

People, objects, and places —this is the holy trinity in which identity is
developed. The relationship between each pair of terms has its own
contribution to make to the creation and continuous re-creation of personal
and collective identities in the past, as much as in. the present.

(Chapman 2000327)

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Cultural identity and cultural interactions between nomads and sedentary people
have been the highly contested domain largely of cultural anthropologists, as revealed in
Chapter Two. Archaeological contributions to these discussions have only occurred in
the last ten to fifteen years, and thus far have yielded either extremely mixed or limited
results.

Whether we see the nomads as outright dominant users of nefarious techniques to
obtain advantage, or bound in a complex balance of fight or flight, the relations between
seemingly separate populations are rarely interpreted in a balanced way. The
construction of “nomad” as such a distinctly “other” identity from the sedentary realm
helps to perpetuate the image of their separateness. But as has been shown, there are
considerable degrees of variability in both mobility and dependence upon animal
husbandry, and there also must be degrees of variation in our interpretations of the
sedentary-nomad interactions.

In order to consider the interaction of two cultural groups, sedentary people and
nomads, it is necessary to establish a nomadic identity as unique from its neighbors. But,
to do so begins with the assumption that we can identify distinctions in the archaeological
record that correlate with separate peoples. I do not feel that this is beyond the realm of
archaeology so long as we do not reconstruct immutable, “monolithic, individuate
entities” (Jones and Graves-Brown I996z4). Identity creates an opportunity for
archaeology to interact with other disciplines but also with the greater community.
Identities can and have been used as unifying elements in the creation of supportive or

collaborative groups (unions, social clubs, fraternities, the SAA), or “identities can act as

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the motive forces behind history” (MacDonald l993z7), such as the feminists,
Communists, or “Liberals”. None of these categories is homogenous in their membership
roster, and yet a picture is created by the simple use of their names.

Cultural identity contains many components that interact with and overlap each
other. We can speak of status or class, sex and gender identities, ethnicity, even
occupation as a means by which we categorize a population. The ways that any of these
are expressed by the individual players within a society or between societies would
necessitate the use of symbols, to obtain social self-consciousness and awareness
(Durkheim 1976:230-231) that evokes a strong enough reaction from others to allow for
the easy identification of membership into a particular group. Especially among non-
literate peoples, it is necessary to recognize that memory preserves their identity and
traditions where a written record would function for literate societies (Goody 2000).
Material objects and their symbolic value would facilitate fallible human memory, thus
material objects become “mneumonic devices” (Wells 2001:19) that may assist in
remembering the sequence of events or creating the intended sequence. Within the
mortuary realm alone material symbols can be interpreted as reflections of reality (e. g.
Binford 1972; Brown 1981; Chapman 1981; Goldstein 1976;0’Shea I984; Saxe 1970);
as mental building blocks with design rules and grammars or ways of thinking (e. g.
Hodder 1982; Parker Pearson and Richards 1994; Peebles I992; Shanks and Tilley 1982);
as reflections of agency, personhood, and practice (Chesson 2001; Gillespie 2001, 2002;
Joyce 2001); or symbols that are considered arbitrary fragments and phenomenological
(e.g. Barrett 1994; Bloch and Parry 1982; Chapman 1981). Archaeology has three basic

conclusions with regards to symbols: 1) any serious consideration of prehistory requires

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us to deal with symbols, 2) the diversity of human symbols requires a multifaceted
approach, and 3) it is problematic to establish how varied symbols relate to one another
(for a full discussion see: Robb I998). Mortuary behaviors have been used to explain
status identities; material culture addresses every identity from occupation, status,
ethnicity, nationality, to gender. Status as determined by mortuary remains and material
culture will be discussed in short order, so the following will briefly outline other areas of

cultural identity commonly addressed by archaeologists: sex and gender, and ethnicity.

Sex and Gender

As Meskell (2002:283) aptly puts it, “The creation of specialty topics like gender
or children, as discursive taxonomic entities has resulted in a predictable ghettoization,
whereby the majority of scholars still consider such areas outside their interpretive
remit.” And yet since the early 19908 library shelves, journal indexes, and conference
sessions have become exultant with explorations of gender identity (e.g. Claassen’s 1992
Exploring Gender through Archaeology: Selected Papers from the l 99] Boone
Conference; Gero and Conkey’s I991 Engendering Archaeology: Women and
Prehistory; or Rautman’s 2000 Reading the Body). Sex, once thought to be a biological
imperative and one that came in pairs, is now a much more complex picture of males,
females, and intersexes based on honnones,genes, and cultural choices. Gender
archaeology began with questions of simply finding representations of women in the past,
to a broader awareness that by misidentifying women’s roles we in turn misjudge the
roles of men as well. For example Patricia Galloway’s (1997) Where Have All the

Menstrual “Huts” Gone? forces us to reconsider the interpretation of women’s

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segregation during menses as either a bad thing for women, or a good thing for men as
they would have had to pick up the extra slack when the women were “indisposed”. By
doing more than “adding women and stirring” gender studies have expanded our ability
to hear multiple interpretative voices, and recreate more interesting analyses. Burials and
their contents are particularly good sources of information about gender because, given
adequate preservation, their occupants can be sexed with a relatively high degree of
accuracy, and the grave goods can be assessed according to “conformity and
nonconfonnity of our expectations according to sex” (Nelson and Rosen-Ayalon 20026).
This concept will be addressed in the analysis of my data and its comparison to the
“gendered” approach of Davis-Kimball ( I997, I998b). In contemporary approaches to
gender in archaeology, gender is positioned in relation to other identity markers such as
age, class, sexuality, and ethnicity (Brumfiel 1992; Knapp I998; Meskell 1996, 2002;

Moore and Scott 1997).

Ethnicity

Archaeologists have used ancient texts written by Greek and Roman authors,
among others, as fairly direct guidelines for examining Iron Age peoples. While perhaps
not believed to be accurate accounts, these ancient texts are rarely scrutinized in the
archaeological literature, which leaves the impression that ancient historians portrayed
objective depictions of Iron Age societies. With these texts in hand archaeologists have
gone into the field to find the ethnic groups and their signatures as described in the works
of Herodotus, Strabo, and Ovid. In this way we have perpetuated the view of nomads

from the outside (etic perspective) rather than attempting to understand how they may

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have identified themselves (emic perspective). But to speak of ethnicity among some
archaeologists is to grab for the proverbial “third rail”, to open one’s analysis up to untold
amounts of criticism. And yet touch it we must.

Barth (1969) states that ethnic identity is primarily a form of social organization
whereby participants make use of a selection of cultural traits or symbols in order to
differentiate themselves from others with whom they come into contact. His becomes the
basis for an interaction approach to ethnicity, whereby proponents assume that
individuals within given societies are highly self-reflexive about their choices and quite
cognizant of the symbolic meaning (Barth I969; Comaroff I987; Duff I999; Emberling
1997). Groups are dynamic, and consciously manipulate symbols for cultural inclusion
or exclusion. Ethnic identity creates potential disagreement for roles that must constantly
be renegotiated (Emberling 1997) by the members, often through the use of visible
markers that act as symbols of membership, which can and do change over time (Cohen
1978). Without this constant negotiation and reification, ethnicity will disappear,
similarly without another group, a “them” against which to define “us,” ethnicity will
also disappear or at the very least fade from view. Ethnicity is not expressed in every
interaction. Critiques of this approach to ethnic identity emphasize its focus on
interaction without recognizing its cultural context, the broader cultural system (Jones
1996, 1997). To avoid this epiphenomenon, Bourdieu (1977) described the cultural
content within which ethnic groups operate —the habitus.

Bourdieu’s ( I977) concept of habitus refers to the underlying set of rules of a
society that individuals are largely unconscious of, but which result in lasting

predispositions that condition how an individual perceives the world around him/her.

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These rules are based on past experiences of enculturation, and influence how all new
interactions are structured (Jones 1997), conditioning our perceptions, emotional
reactions, and behaviors in social situations (Bentley 1987:39). Bourdieu uses children’s
acquisition of language as a metaphor for habitus; children learn vocabulary and the
underlying rules without being explicitly taught the differences between nouns and
adverbs. As applied to ethnicity, once a person has been raised within their particular
habitus, it is difficult to learn the “language” of a new ethnicity and it is often
accomplished imperfectly (Bentley 1987 :35). There will be material correlates of an
imperfect translation. Ethnic groups reveal affinities based on their shared habitus and
changes in these material expressions come only with radical social and economic
changes (Bourdieu 1977:168). The material culture is created through social practice,
structuring human agency and a product of that agency (Jones 1997:117). Thus the
critique of this approach to ethnicity often points to its cultural determinism (Stone
2003:39). Because habitus is unconscious, people cannot question it; because it is
communally based and in a homeostatic state, it cannot be changed without external
influence (migration, colonization) leaving the individual with little creativity or room to
maneuver (Meskell 2000:20; Strathem 1996). Agency must be recognized as an element
in behavioral changes and their resultant material variability, an element in a “dynamic
recursive relationship linking structure and agency” (Gillespie 2001 :74).

Where archaeologists have largely agreed is that ethnic consciousness is tied to
the rise of the state (Barth 1961; Bentely 1987; Chang and Koster I986; Emberling 1997 ;
Jones 1996, 1997; Sherman 1989), a consciousness tied to resistance to hegemonic rule

and assymetrical power (Stone 2003). But assymetrical power is found even within

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“egalitarian” societies (Salzman 1999) and the existence of ethnicity in pre-state societies
is being questioned (e.g. Dolukhanov 1989; Stone 2003). Archaeologists have a difficult
time identifying ethnicity, not simply because of the baggage associated with the term
(though there is considerable baggage), but also because ethnicity is fluid and changing,
and individuals display their ethnic identity differently according to context. It is to be
expected that one would find general, broader ethnic identities when individuals are
further from their home, but more narrow and distinctive traits when they are closer to
home, but still in contact with “others”. The material correlates of ethnic identity often
overlap other cultural identities and are difficult to discern; because it is created by
particular actors in a given time and space, it is highly fluid; and because it requires both .
emic and etic acceptance of membership, many feel it cannot be determined consistently
without documentation (for recent approaches to this dilemma see Bemardini 2002, 2005;
Borgstede 2004). Perhaps by eliminating other roles, especially in very particular spatial
contexts where we would expect to find identity broadcast loudly, i.e. the mortuary

domain, we may be able to find ethnicity a salient identity for discussion.

MORTUARY STUDIES

One of the key components of cultural identity and social structure, especially in
non-state societies, involves kinship. Early attempts at establishing these familial ties
equated artifact typologies with archaeological cultures and hence tribal affiliation (e. g.
the assumed relationship between ceramic design and social organization of Longacre
I964, 1974). However Saxe (I970), Binford (1971) produced a much more promising

“approach” (Saxe-Binford approach as coined by Brown 1995) involving the use of

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mortuary data. It was ascertained that certain resources were crucial within any given
system, and formal burial areas were used to maintain lineal claims and legitimate rights
to these resources. Cemeteries were seen as having a structure, one that informed us of
the organizational principles of the society.

The New Archaeology of the 19708 reacted against the diffusionist models of the
prior century that sought to equate nearly all cultural change with migration, and all
similarities between mortuary sites, subsequently the ritual expressions, were seen as
shared beliefs between cultural groups within particular regions (Chapman 1995229).
Diffusionists relied on chronologies of Montelius and spatial patterns of Kossina to
define cultural groups, but these ended up viewing culture as a static homogenous
concept, one heavily reliant upon outside forces for change. This approach assumed
disposal methods for the dead were vestiges from past societies or the results of outside
influence. The New Archaeologists believed that evolution to be determined by the
environment and the internal dynamics of each culture, concurrent processes that had to
be understood using scientific methods.

Saxe (1970) and Binford (I971) searched for the social source of variability in
mortuary treatments. Both were interested in unique or contradictory treatments that
might reveal the organizational rules of the social system, and role-defined individual
status (Brown 1995:] I), ones that revealed the social identities an individual had
achieved during the course of his/her life. In these roles, the living maintained a series of
rights and duties, both to the living and the dead by means of constructing a complex
social arena, the cemetery. The form, quality and quantity of grave goods and features

signified the rank and status of the dead (Binford 1971:18); variation equated to

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differentiation. Binford defined the variability of social obligations, the size and the
composition of the social group in terms of a “duty-status” performed for the deceased.
The mortuary treatment, that is the amount and quality of grave goods, reflected the
social responsibilities of the living to the dead. Theoretically in egalitarian societies
where achievement establishes status, a child has few identity relationships; in a ranked
society, the same child inherits rank as well as the social bonds and symbols that go with
it. Material culture was seen as a passive entity, one directly reflecting the structure of
society that created it (Binford 1971:14—15; Peebles and Kus 1977:431), and for the first
time “mortuary variability was no longer seen as an expression of cultural belief but
rather as a reflection of the organizational principles of the social system itself” (Barrett
19962394), with increasing social complexity came increasingly complex mortuary
displays. In effect they created a unified analytical, even theoretical approach to a single
kind of archaeological material and the “lack of correspondence of symbol, practice, or
ideology motivated their search and those who followed them (Brown l995:6).

For Saxe the number of social identities was finite, as there were a finite number
of variables present in the mortuary realm. He produced a cross-cultural, nomothetic
model to show how mortuary practices were interrelated with the sociocultural system.
The number of “contrast sets”, numbers of elaborations found within the lowest
percentage of graves, equated to the social significance of the deceased (his Hypothesis
6), providing a means of “monitoring social complexity” (Saxe I970:2). Later Goldstein
(1976) would show through the use of ethnographic analogy that this only worked within

particular social strata.

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The expression of one’s social relations to the deceased allowed for the living to
establish links to “critical but restricted resources. . .by means of lineal descent from the
dead (i.e., lineal ties to ancestors), such groups will maintain formal disposal areas” (Saxe
1970:119). Corporate groups would maintain formal disposal areas, rather than more
dispersed arrangements, when the control of restricted resources was crucial (Hypothesis
8). These bounded areas became symbols of the social obligation owed to the dead, a
composite of social identities and alternate identities. Mortuary ritual was seen as the
medium for directly expressing social relationships (Brown 1995:12), differential
treatment in life reflected that cultures social structure (Goldstein 1981:55). Within a few

years, Saxe’s Hypothesis 8 was also found not to be universally applicable:

...a lineal group controlling critical resources does not always have a
formal disposal area. If the area does exist, however, the reason does seem
to be corporate lineal control.

(Goldstein 1976:58)

Hence, if there is a formal bounded dispersal area, used exclusively for the
dead, then the culture is probably one which has a corporate group
structure in the form of lineal descent system. The more organized and
formal the disposal area is, the more conclusive this interpretation.

(Goldstein 1976:62)

One problem as defined by Goldstein became the question of whether cultures

with similar environment and economic conditions will symbolize and ritualize aspects of

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their organization in similar ways, a question with direct implications for the pastoral
nomads of Western Siberia. But the problem with Saxe’s original hypothesis is its
inherent circularity:
...cemeteries are taken to indicate the existence of corporate
groups, the need for corporate groups to establish control over ‘critical
resources’ is then assumed (Chapman 1981) and the cemeteries are seen to
result from the need to legitimate that claim.

(Barrett 1996: 395)

Circularity or universal applicability aside, Saxe’s Hypothesis 8 still provided a
highly provocative point for many other scholars upon which to build (e.g., Brown 1981;
Chapman 1981; Charles and Buikstra 1983; O’Shea 1981, I984; Peebles and Kus I977;
Tainter 1977). These studies highlight the importance of economic conditions for
determining the mortuary realm.

The ways in which the mortuary data from Western Siberia have been
traditionally analyzed indicates that much of the analysis (not merely publication of site
reports) of burials has been limited to these highly influential, if not outdated, analyses of
the I970s and, I argue, the century prior. Archaeologists have assigned mortuary remains
to nomads and to pan-Siberian cultural groups by relying the Scythian-triad (burial
mounds with weapons, horse tack, and animal style artifacts; see: Chapter Four), so that
the assemblage of artifacts equated to cultural groups with presumed tribal affiliations.
The Sargat (as interpreted by the work of Koryakova and Matveeva) and that of the

Sarmatian (especially in the analysis of Davis—Kimball 1997, 1998b) materials have

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produced direct correlations between burial structure, location, and grave goods (type and
quantity) to concepts of rank and status within those societies (Hanks 2000), assumptions
shared by processual archaeology (Levy 1989:156‘). Studies of labor investment (e. g.
Brown 1971; Peebles and Kus 1977; Tainter 1977) have been used to establish the
hierarchical nature of the kurgans, where energy expended in the building of the mounds
themselves equals higher levels of status (Koryakova I988, 2000:15) as does attaining
necessary elements for interior constructions as status indicators (e. g. Polosmak 19942).
While Davis-Kimball does add the component of gender identity to her discussions
(Davis-Kimball 1997, 1998) it once again correlates the grave goods (weaponry, trade
goods, and cultic/“ritual” objects) directly to aspects of cultural identity. While energy
expenditure is a valuable means with which to identify high and low status in ranked
societies (as noted by Brown 1995), it remains problematic when we do not know what
elements of the mortuary behavior have not been preserved or recovered
archaeologically. These analyses largely ignore the work done in mortuary studies since
the 19805, including critiques of processualism, and improvements to the Saxe—Binford

approach.

In death people oflen become what they have not been in life.

[an Hodder, The Present Past (1982b: 141)

 

' “...the fundamental assumption of all these studies [processual] is that there is some regular

correspondence between the morphology, contents, and spatial position and arrangement of a grave (that is,
the material manifestations of at least part of the death ritual) and an individual’s social position or
positions in life” (Levy 1989:156).

2 Wood tombs required a high degree of labor invested to transport trees from a great distance away, across
frozen water. This parallels Brown 1975, where the value of grave goods is equated to status.

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The critiques of the Saxe-Binford paradigm came from both within the processual
camp and from without. Some demonstrated directly the failure of quantification to
support interpretative models (Braun 1981 challenging the work of Tainter 1978). The
subjectivity inherent in the labeling of precious grave goods, a value divined by the
archaeologist, is not necessarily a direct reflection of social relations or social position.
By the 19808 criticism appeared that paralleled developments in social anthropology
(Hodder 1982a; Sherman 1987) that emphasized “mortuary remains as symbolic codes
rather than as direct reflections of social organization” (Levy 1989: 156); codes that could
be manipulated by any number of social players or represent social values. Many felt that
by searching for categorical realities, the Saxe-Binford approach used cross-cultural
ethnographies to replace a context driven analysis. By seeking general statements that
crosscut mortuary sites, processualists ignored individual actors.

Postprocessualism, a conglomerate label that represents multiple theoretical
approaches developed in opposition to processualism, presents a unified front in its
indictment of processual approaches to mortuary ritual (Rakita and Buikstra 2005:7).
Mortuary variation could just as readily represent the decisions of the living as the social
personae of the dead, and the material remains were as likely to misrepresent as represent
society. Hodder (1982a: 168) established that burial programs were more a reflection of
the prevailing feelings towards death and rather uninforrnative in relation to social
organization. He used the example of the Nuba, who found purity in death over the
pollution of life (Hodder 1982a: 125-84). Similarly expenditures and mortuary treatment
did not have to equal personal status. Wealthy individuals are often not given the richest

cemetery display, such as the size of crypt or monument (Parker Pearson 1982); the size

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of monument or its absence may more reflect the changing attitudes of society toward
death itself, not the social value or wealth status of the individual (McGuire 1988).
Shanks and Tilley (1982:130) state material culture reflects the society that created it, but
acts recursively to reproduce and structure that society as well. The way in which the
society is structured may reflect an idealization of social order or structures by
transforming the remains of the dead (Bloch and Parry 1982:36). In this vein, Ucko
(1969) and Metcalf and Huntington (1991 citing Helander 1988) use ethnographic
examples of mortuary behavior that either masks or outright subverts the social order.
Practice may disguise the true nature of society, but sometimes a too narrow perspective
on mortuary practice blinds one to the elements of elaboration that may be hiding below
the surface (e.g. Bloch 1971). Whether society is being recreated or created in a
preferred vision of itself, mortuary behavior is non-random, thus if it is also a distortion,
one can expect these distortions to maintain a regularity and predictability (O’Shea

198 1 :52). As Cheeson’s (2001) volume elucidates, studies of death and mortuary ritual
must help create a more nuanced understanding of the relationship between social
memory, and creation and negotiation of identities (cf. Bloch and Parry .1982; Metcalf
and Huntington 1991).

The concern for social systems remained, but an emphasis was placed on ideology
and complexity to understand variation. People did not remain passive in the face of
death ritual; they also did not need to follow preordained plans. Within this school of
thought, death itself is an important way .in which societies recreate themselves, revealing

otherwise transient social systems, not just concrete claims to resources (e. g. Bloch and

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Parry 1982). Postprocessual 3 archaeologists have sought to better understand the roles
of ritual in maintaining the society (symbolic archaeology) as well as how the living and
the significant distinctions among the dead, affect change of the system itself. Some of
what postprocessual archaeologists have embraced to clarify variation is the role of ritual
in perpetuating society (after van Gennep 1960, and Giddens 1984), ethnicity (Jones
1997, Wells 2001), social structures (Randsborg 1975), and ideology (Kristiansen 1984;
Shanks and Tilley 1982).

Treatment of the body was deemed an important vehicle of social symbolism.
Parker Pearson ( 1982, I984b) states that political decisions helped to determine the way a
body was treated, that burials are an “acting out” of living relationships (1984b269) that
legitimize authority and naturalize the social order. Barrett (199421 12) sees the body as a
“symbolic resource”, one that can be manipulated by social norms or by individual
needs/desires. The material culture interred with the dead had to involve more than
assumptions about status or roles also. Material culture cannot be interpreted through the
eyes of our contemporary society as our values do not represent a “Truth” that can be
placed on objects. The material residues of past societies must be seen as ritual
indications. Building on Goldstein (1976), Trinkaus (1984) determined that the physical
treatment of the dead frequently was not the focus of significant social differentiation:

The expression of rank is indeed present but in an “inverted” sense in

which the high rank and lavish possessions during life are expressed in

death with much nonmaterial asymbolism and lavish nonpennanent

 

3 Postprocessualist is a term used for expediency to represent archaeologists who positioned themselves in
opposition to the New Archaeology. As noted by Ashmore (200221 173) it falsely homogenizes the
perspective and its contributors, as well as “giving short shrift” to a wide range of other archaeologies.
Processual vs. Postprocessual is not altogether invaluable as a device for describing opposite ends of a
spectrum, but perhaps is a false dichotomy best used sparingly.

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display (feasting, elaborate hearses, flowers, presence of significant
persons, etc.). The emphasis is heavily shifted from mortuary remains to

mortuary ritual.

(Trinkaus 19842675)

While we declare “ritual makes social structure” (Bloch 19772286), many
archaeologists have difficulty defining ritual itself other than, as with the case of
pornography, we know it when we are in its presence (Morris 1992:8-9). In order to
make a more positive identification many archaeologists have used van Gennep’s (1960)
seminal volume, The Right ’s of Passage (original publication 1908), to analyze ritual
behavior and the dynamics of social life. He defined three separate stages to any social
ritual: rites of separation, transition rites, and rites of incorporation. Death is part of the
initial stage, a separation from a person’s normal status, where some become mourners,
another the corpse itself. The mortuary site and funeral are part of a liminal zone, a place
of transition belonging to no one and part of the second stage (cf. Leach 1976). During
transition the living and the dead often travel down parallel paths toward different
destinations. The mourners are separated from society by their roles in the death ritual
often displayed through dress, action or even inaction. How soon they move out of this
stage is determined by the closeness to the deceased (van Gennep 1960:147). The
deceased, now a corpse and a soul, also remains in limbo, not ready to move on and also
commonly perceived as being in danger of returning. The rites that lift all special
regulations on the mourners reintegrate these individuals back into the realm of the
living. It is usually at this point that the soul transitions to the world of the dead or

ancestors as the mourners return to every day life. What adds to the confusion of

I37

interpretation of funerals is that they often contain defensive rites, rites that hold the
deceased at bay to ensure that he/she does not return. Van Gennep states that it is often
difficult to identify whether a particular ritual is one of protection or of separation
(1960212). The social energy spent during the rites of separation is regenerated and
renewed during the funeral (Goody 1962), helping to restore the social fabric of daily life
that has been torn by death.

In order to address the archaeological correlates of sacred rituals Renfrew (1973)
focused on the spatial context and the social aspect of the individual, in many ways
advancing the work of Saxe and Binford to assess the class of individuals afforded a
particular type of burial as reflected by the grave goods, but also to address the symbolic
meaning behind the material culture. Grave goods may be the necessary tools to
transition the dead to the afterworld, not directly reflecting the dead’s status but the
necessities accorded to all who must make the journey (van Gennep 1960:153-154), thus
one must determine whether there is a uniformity to the use of material culture in the
graves.

But not all elements of the mortuary ritual are either preserved in the
archaeological record or placed with the deceased at all, and many of the most successful
critiques of the Saxe-Binford approach come from historical archaeology (Gillespie 2001,
2002; Joyce 2001; McGuire 1992; Morris 1991, 1992; Rakita and Buikstra 2005:7). Who
was in attendance (and how many)? What did they say? What could be heard and by
whom? What did they wear? These are among any number of elements that cannot be

recovered archaeologically, thus we necessarily have only a partial picture of the total

138

ritual. To truly reconstruct the mortuary ritual Morris (1992210) listed four sources of
information:

1) Direct observation/participation in the ritual;

2) Verbal testimony (oral/written) describing the ritual;

3) Artistic representation of the rituals often created for the event itself);

4) The material remains.

While the writings of Herodotus do detail certain elements of Scythian funerary rites
(e.g., Histories IV 71-75), for the mortuary rituals from Western Siberia the only direct
evidence available are the material remains found in the kurgans themselves. In order to
compensate for this and other limitations on the data, i.e. that only certain ritual elements
preserve in the archaeological record, and this does not include things like the number of
mourners, Morris (1992) suggests a careful synchronic approach, describing each
episode, burial mound and grave(s), one prescribed by Jon Chapman (2000a, 2002) as
well.

Identifying ritual, such as linking the establishment of formal cemeteries to
inheritance, is problematic. By using ethnographic and archaeological materials Morris
(1991) suggested that the inheritance of property based on links to formal disposal areas
gets mixed results, often this policy is part of a culture’s ideology, but in practice the
living use mortuary ritual to symbolize conflicting messages, in contrast to Binford’s
one-to-one correlation. Others have attempted to see if kin groups can be established
based on “real” spatial organization (Howell and Kintigh 1996), thus this line of
archaeological inquiry has been found to not only have staying power, but to also

produce continued understanding of past societies. Not all applications of Saxe-Binford

139

have borne fruit — such as in Tainter’s (1977, 1983) componential analysis of Middle
Woodland crypts (see Braun 1981 for a critique, and Brown 1995 for a complete
discussion). By far the most rigorous application of this approach is one that uses both
political and economic aspects for “. . .life is a limited resource” (Bloch and Parry
198228) and mortuary practices can be restated structurally as allocation problems
(Brown 1995:10), of redistributing both political power and economic resources among
the living. Limitations on resources lead to competition, for grave goods, labor, etc.
Some aspects of the mortuary regime may be subverted while others are emphasized in
the archaeological record of any particular cemetery or given grave. In order to make
effective arguments with limited or poor data, mortuary specialists sought patterns over
space (e.g. Morris 1987; Beck’s 1995 edited volume) and by examining the entire
mortuary ritual. A broader approach seeking regional variability can help us to better
understand past societies, but it can also introduce the complication of a greater emphasis
on diachronic variability. Without a tightly focused chronology, based on absolute dates,
this variability is difficult to explain.

By examining the placement of mortuary sites across the landscape,
archaeologists attempt to establish the role of the dead, the ancestors, in the lives of the
living. Seeking patterns within a region, we can identify key elements of location,
individual and group treatment, and change to determine how representative any single
factor is. In some societies van Gennep noted that there is not always a special place for
the dead beyond the grave and that among these groups burial is a rite of incorporation
into the realm of the dead (1960:163). If the dead are placed close to the living, near a

settlement, or for the case of pastoral nomads, in the path of seasonal migrations, then

140

people may remain in the liminal stage longer by revisiting the burial site.
Archaeological approaches emphasizing the landscape as more than a sacred series of
shrines and monuments to the dead (e.g. Arnold 2002; Ashmore and Knapp 1999; ’
Silverman and Small 2002) help to create a more inclusive and informed view of the
deeper meanings and importance of the ancestors to the living.

Thus placement of the dead in a kurgan needs to be addressed in lieu of the
mound and/or cemetery’s position in relation to other spatial features of the society
(Arnold 2002; Chesson 2001). Kurgans situated close to villages place the dead and the
living in constant communion; burials found in seeming isolation may communicate
territorial behavior (identifying trade routes or pasturage) especially among individuals
who are spatially dispersed (Ingold 19862133; Renfrew 1973; Goldstein 1995), or may
physically manifest resource control (Chapman 1981, 1995). Beginning with van
Gennep’s emphasis on ritual space and rites of passage, incorporating the material culture
found in mortuary spaces, and the placement of the burials on the landscape, one can
address the potential of the monuments to the dead, the kurgans, to communicate
information to a wide audience through time and space (Chapman 1995:46; Chesson
200123).

Kurgan burial may reflect the individual’s place in society as prior interpretations
have established. Mound placement may in part mark territory or allow the living to
interact with the dead. Mounds may delimit trade routes or position the dead in cosmic
alignment with culturally defined vortex, but ultimately “a burial is part of a funeral, and
a funeral is part of a set of rituals (Morris 199221). By judging the nature of the ritual

itself, the transitory nature of the experience of death that is encompassing all members

141

of society (van Gennep’s transition stage, or liminality per Turner 1969), the creation of
kurgans (constructing) and the ceremony involved engulfs members of the society and
communicates to the greater community who come into contact with that space. In the
course of the ritual people symbolically express their social structure, elements of daily
life. The kurgan and its contents (material culture) are symbolic expressions of society
reestablishing itself after the loss of one of its members, making the transition, along with
the dead, and entering the next stage. Kurgans were built within a particular cultural
milieu, but afterward they represent a living entity on the landscape, a physical entity that
has a changing social meaning as any other piece of material culture does. Each passing
generation witnessing, interacting with, passing by, even excavating these mounds,
interprets and incorporates them into a new cultural condition.

Interpretations of the “living entity” are not the purpose of this dissertation;
instead it is to carefully use the material remains of past societies to gain some
understanding of the complex interactions between groups. There is value in
understanding the nature of differential access to mortuary sites, as we become
accustomed to the development of hierarchy in the past, but direct expression 'of material
remains as reflecting the values of past societies must be reexamined in order to find
something of more interest to relate about the nomads of Western Siberia. As Davis-
Kimball (1997, 1998) has begun to do for the Sarmatians, and as Hanks (2000, 2003) has
called for with the Sargat, I too will add alternate categories which cross-cut the social
hierarchies, such as age, sex/gender, and occupation. These cultural identities may reveal
relations that unite individuals rather than divide them, and allow us to produce more

interesting interpretations of the past. In order to do this it is necessary to reinvigorate

142

the existing data with new models that allow us to explore alternative relations between

nomads and sedentary people, relations other than fear, loathing, or assimilation.

INTERACTIONS AND MODEL BUILDING

Eurasian steppe nomads have been seen as “predatory pastoralists” (Bell-Fialkoff
2000:181) where one key element, the horse, took peaceful herdsmen and created
“swashbucklers” (Lindner 198124). They can be “extortionists” (Barfield 1989), who
clash over niche resources with their sedentary neighbors (Khazanov 1994250) or
alternatively nomads were simply peripheral to civilized areas. These types of
interactions are all based on the assumption that pastoral nomads could not function
without sedentary people, but that the inverse was not true. None of these interpretations
recognize the considerable variability of this type of economic practice. Pastoral people
may supplement animal husbandry with their own small-scale agriculture, fishing, or
foraging and collecting. Sometimes nomads live in the back of wagons or in highly
portable tents (discussed in the historical texts of Herodotus and Strabo, also see
Sulimirski 1970), while others maintain substantial seasonal residences (Cribb 1991);
sometimes they purchase land and settle down (Barth 1961). When this occurs some
maintain identities of social prominence in both worlds as the wealthy, landed Basseri did
(Barth 1961), while others cease to be recognized as part of the ethnic community as was
the case among the Saami of northern Sweden (Hjort 1990). Pastoral nomadism is and
has been a flexible lifestyle that allows for flexible kinds of social identities and
interactions. As Chang and Tourtellotte(1998) speculated “farmers, herders and nomads

were all integrated into single cultural groupings — and thus autonomous in their

143

allegiance to a single polity” (19982269). The degree to which pastoralists specialize in
one form of production depends on their environment, demography and interactions with
other local populations, the degree to which they can obtain products they do not produce
for themselves (Bates and Lees 19772825). When building a model for the cultural
interaction between sedentary groups and pastoral nomads, it is important to recognize
the diversity of potential interactions and seek out new perspectives.

Eurasian nomads are traditionally viewed as specialists (Irons 1979; Khazanov
1975, 1994) therefore a high degree of intergroup exchange would presumably have been
practiced. Khazanov’s highly influential archaeological studies of the Scythians (1975,
1978) and later his global comparison of ethnology, have made him the most oft cited
authority on Eurasian nomads. In Nomads and the Outside World (first published in
1983, with a second edition in 1994) he used the term “symbiosis” to describe the
relations between Eurasian populations. Nomads had need of specific agrarian resources
that they could not produce for themselves, thus they relied upon sedentary agriculturists
through trade or raid between Inner Asian nomads and the Chinese state (Barfield 1989;
DiCosmo 1994), tax or tribute systems among the Baruch (Salzman 1971), even renting
their fallow lands as Barth (1961) detailed among the Basseri. But the farmers did not
require the existence of relations to the pastoralists in order to survive. This is not the
form of symbiosis discussed by others, but instead what I call “parasitism”. Others define
a relationship of shared benefit as mutualism:

...because the resources which are acquired through mutualistic exchange

constitute part of the adaptation of each population, mutualism is regular

and predictable, rather than ad hoc in occurrence. Thus, both the hunter-

144

gatherer and horticultural populations must organize their subsistence

activities to meet the needs of their exchange partners as well as their own

subsistence needs. In addition, social mechanisms must be developed to

sustain the economically based interactive system.

(Spielman 19832258)

Spielman (1983, 1986, 1991a, 1991b) defines the more or less inter-reliant
systems, or “subsistence interdependence” (Spielman 1986:279-80) that act as more than
a buffering mechanism against shortfalls. Buffering mechanisms are stochastic by
nature, determined by local shortages. Mutualism is the differential distribution of
resources due to the utilization of different resource bases. While her model is based on
interactions between farmers and hunter/gatherers, two groups truly involved in separate
resource acquisition, the same cannot as easily be said of agriculturalists and pastoralists.
Both are productive economies, often utilizing the same kinds of animals, and occupying
overlapping if not the same ecological zone(s). I believe that due to farming’s attachment
to particular locations throughout the growing season, year after year, and pastoral
nomadism’s shifting locational strategy, the model is still applicable to Western Siberia.

Spielman’s research involved egalitarian populations. The interactions of these
groups are dynamic environmentally, demographically, and sociopolitically. For
mutualism to function the relationships must be between two distinct cultures", where the
majority participate, each using distinctively different modes of adaptation, and separate

yet “contiguous ecozones” (Spielman 19862288). Because of these differences, material

 

4 Between the Khoikhoi and the San, believed to be of related ethnicity, evolved a form of mutualism that
was environmentally and socially dependent. Intertribal competition for land and water holes and the
presence of strong leaders propelled these two populations through strategies emphasizing
hunting/gathering, mutualistic interactions between hunter/gatherers and pastoralists, and pastoralism
(Elphick 1977 cited in Spielman 19862303-304).

I45

culture should not be similar so that trade can be identified readily (cf. Luedtke 1976).
Mutualism will persist so long as the costs and benefits remain relatively equal to each
party, though the benefits to each must be maintained at a high level through regular
interactions and exchanges of surplus. The kinds of resources involved in these
exchanges commonly involve critical subsistence resources; “mutualism will be indicated
by a significant increase in the volume of trade goods from non-local environments...
accumulated volume of these goods over time should leave a clear archaeological record
of continuous interaction” (Spielman 19832258). These interactions are more than
economic gains. They lay the groundwork for the co-evolution of societies through
mutual dependence (Schortman and Urban 1987). Both groups will change separately
and in relation to each other.

One can recognize several types of mutualism within the larger overarching
construct. Facultative mutualists benefit from the presence of one another but can survive
independently, but at lower carrying capacities. Obligate mutualists cannot survive in the
absence of their partners; this relationship may involve the power and control of one
society over another, but once the cost-benefit ratio is imbalanced, there may be other
intangible benefits to maintaining a separate (ethnic) identity (Spielman 19862305).

The types of materials one expects to find in mutualistic exchanges include food,
fodder, raw materials, finished wares (pottery, metalwork), utilitarian goods, or materials
used for gifts. Craft production is often used in exchange for food. Between pastoral
nomads and agriculturalists, pastoralists provide meat, milk, transport, and other animal
products (hair, blood, etc.), and trade items; agriculturalists provide vegetables, grains,

pottery, and metal items (Bates 1971; Lees and Bates 1974). By providing

146

complementary items to each other’s economies, sedentary and mobile populations tend
to increase the productivity of the other and the system as a whole (Spielman 19862298).
Certain characteristics of Spielman’s model are different from the conditions in
my research area. The populations under consideration here are not egalitarian, to the
contrary they show a fairly significant degree of social differentiation based on mortuary
practice. Spielman’s work involves hunter/gatherers and agriculturalists, but as noted
above, the shifting nature of Khoikhoi and San relations has elements of mutualism also.
Moreover, the interpretation of Eurasian populations may benefit significantly from this
model to explore other benefits of a mutualistic system, such as alliance formation, and
more importantly joint participationin rituals. As Spielman notes for her own research,
since trade had been the focus for too long, the models reflect the same ecological
approach that looked at buffering strategies or economic security through exchange. The
concept of mutualism allowed for a new approach to the differential distribution of
resources, an approach that also informed archaeologists of social, political,
demographic, and technological changes (Spielman 1991b24). But due to the differences
in the available data (beyond the settlement data, Spielman also had written sources), the
application of this model requires additional fine-tuning, and will be addressed in the next

chapter.

147

CHAPTER SIX

A NEW METHODOLOGY FOR SIBERIAN NOMAD DATA ANALYSIS

As discussed in previous chapters the interpretations of nomad identity are often
based upon one or two components of their material culture as preserved in the mortuary
context. In this chapter I present data sets from the sites of Pokrovka 2, Malekazahbaevo,
and Skaty (Figure 6.1), representing two geographically separate but related early Iron
Age cultures; the Sarmatian culture and the Sargat culture. I begin by outlining the data
selected from each of these geographic regions, then discuss the five analytical units that
will allow for a more thorough understanding of nomad identity, and finally discuss the
categorical analysis which allows me to systematically compare the Sarmatian and Sargat

cultures.

SAUROMATIANS AND EARLY SARMATIANS OF THE SOUTHERN URALS

The Sauromatian and Early Sarmatian kurgans chosen for analysis in this
dissertation include those excavated by the Ilek Archaeological Expedition at Pokrovka 2,
under the direction of L.T. Yablonsky; the Kazakh/American Research Project, Inc. co-
directed by J. Davis-Kimball and Yablonsky (l995b), and four subsequent field seasons
(1992-1995) (Yablonsky 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996). During a systematic field survey
conducted during the summer of 1990 using the field notes from earlier field expeditions,
thirteen cemeteries and one large, single kurgan were found in and around the village of
Pokrovka, situated 120 kilometers south of the city of Orenburg in the Sol Iletsk and

Akbulak regions (raions), Orenburg oblast. At the time of these investigations,

148

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N SEE cl

   

5382 8m o

      

MmZ—msfiumlo

* cgaaxaaugséé

149

Pokrovka, located at the confluence of the Ilek and Khobda rivers, was part of a state—
owned collective (kolkhoz), which has subsequently been divided into two separate farms
dedicated to mechanized cultivation of cereal crops for 50 years. Cattle, horse and sheep
grazing have taken place there for millennia. Only nine cemeteries remain in the
Pokrovka farm area. The area is drained by these two larger rivers (the Ilek and Khobda)
and their tributaries, all of which flow to the north. The land within the region is dry
steppe to the north, flat steppe broken by small riverine terraces, and the less steppe-like
Melobaya foothills in the south (Kazakhstan).

Each survey recorded the topographic location of each kurgan within the nine
cemeteries, their spatial relationship to each other, their height and diameter and
comments regarding condition. In general “robbed” or “deeply cultivated” were the most
common comments describing their physical appearance. During the summer of 1995
the team located another cemetery, this one contains 97 low-profile (0.5 m high) kurgans
that appeared to be undisturbed, i.e. not robbed (Table 6.1). Nothing further has been
published related to these kurgans. I chose the Pokrovka 2 cemetery for analysis for
several reasons: 1) there are abundant publications of the field notes that include physical
anthropological data and archaeological materials (Davis-Kimball and Yablonsky 1995;
Yablonsky 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996), 2) there have been repeated excavations at the same
cemetery over several years, a relatively uncommon occurrence for Siberia, and 3) some
other supplemental analyses had been performed that might assist in determining the
origin of artifacts from within the graves, thus helping to clarify the relevant histories of
the artifacts. During each year of excavation the team identified more kurgans through

surface survey in the cemetery until the final number reached 29. Pokrovka 2 is also the.

150

Table 6.1 Pokrovka 2: Kurgans, dates of excavation, numbers of individuals, and cultural

affiliation (summarized from Yablonsky 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kurgan Diameter] Excavation Burials Time Period Notes
Height (In) Date (persons) ("C)
1 48/25 1992 2 Sauromatian/ Robbed
Medieval
2 36/20 1991 3 (5) Sauromatian Robbed
3 25/0.85 1993 2 Sauromatian Plowed
(6—5’“ c. BC) B2“priestess”, blue
beads
4 20/0.6 Not excavated
5 12/0.4 Robbed
6 l 2/0.05 1994 1 L. Sarmati an Plowed
(3-4"I c. AD)
7 24/025 1994 9 (9) E. Sarmatian Plowed
(4—2"d c. BC) B6 sub-adult male
=“young priestess”,
B1 central, sub
male =“warrior
woman”, B2
“hearth woman”
8 30/ 1 .25 1994 12 (13)* Sauromatian B5“warrior woman”
(6—5‘h c. BC)/ B4 “warrior
E. Sarmatian priestess”
B12 Man w/ infant
9 35/0.95 1994 scatter L. Sarmatian Robbed, timber
1-4‘h c. AD tomb
10 10/0. 1 1994 2 Sauromatian
(6—5'“ c. BC)/
E. Sarmatian
1 l 18/0.25 1995 l L. Sarmatian Robbed
12 20/0.3 Robbed
l3 26/0.3 Robbed
14 30/0.5 Robbed
15 20/0.4 Robbed
l6 16/0.2 1993 1 L. Sarmatian Not included in
analysis
17 30/0.7 1993 2 Sauromatian/
E. Sarmatian
18 1993 Bronze Age Not included in
15-14"I c. BC analysis
19 1993 Bronze Age Not included in
15-14‘h c. BC analysis
20 L Not excavated

 

151

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

21 Not excavated
22 16/0. 1 1993 2 Sarmatian Not included
23 20/0.3 1993 18 (29)‘r Iron Age Not included
24 1993 Bronze Age Not included in
15-14‘h c. BC analysis
25 13x1 l(oval) 1993 2 Sauromatian/ 5 Yellow beads
/0.2 E. Sarmatian

26 Not excavated
27 Not excavated
28 Not excavated
29 Not excavated

 

 

 

 

 

 

Items in Notes found in quotation marks come from Davis-Kimball’s on-line
publication “Statuses of Sauromatian and Sarmatian Women” found at:
(www.csen.org/WomenWarriors/Statuses_Women_Warriors.html), where she has
made direct reference to many of the same burials summarized in Davis-Kimball
1998b.

*Kurgan 8 central grave contained no human remains.

TKurgan 23 contained 18 separate graves with a total of 29 individuals
represented, 12 in the central burial alone. It had no reliable dates, thus was not
included in the kurgans under discussion here.

Kurgans 1-15 were part of the 1990 survey conducted by the Scytho-
Sarmatian Department of the Institute of Archaeology, Russian Academy of
Sciences, Moscow, headed up by L. T. Yablonsky.

Kurgans 20, 21, 26-29 have not been excavated.

Where notes indicate “plowed” (Kurgans 3, 6, and 7) this is in reference to
significant historic mechanized agriculture. The entire area is in an agricultural
field, but some sections show more evidence of significant disturbance.

location of some of Davis-Kimball’s (1997, 1998b) most elaborate descriptions and

interpretations of Sarmatian gender roles

The Sauromatians and Sannatians at Pokrovka located their kurgans on the first

and second terraces above the Khobda and llek rivers (Figure 6.2). Occasionally Sauro-

Sarmatians used existing Bronze Age kurgans, and some Sarmatian burials are found

within older Sauromatian mounds, but the preponderance of kurgans at this site were

built during the Sarmatian period. Only burials dating from the Sauromatian and Early

152

 

Sarmatian periods were used as these dates correspond to the early Iron Age sites of the

Sargat culture that I use for comparative purposes.

Two SARGAT SITES IN THE TRANSURALS

The Sargat culture, originally defined and penned by Chernetsov (1953), has
mainly been researched during the past four decades, by Stoyanov in the 19608 and
19703, Gening in the 19803, Matveeva in the 19808 through to today, and Koryakova
from the late 1970s to today, with the results of these investigations primarily appearing
in small, regional publications. Only very recently, since the fall of the Soviet Union and
the opening of this military/industrial region to foreign researchers, has the Sargat culture
been addressed by westerners, in particular under the auspices of jointly sponsored,
French-Russian research projects and the publications stemming from these projects
(Coutraud and Rajev 1997; Daire and Koryakoval996, 2002; Hanks 2002, 2002a; Kroll
2000, Kroll Lerner 2004). Sargat culture is considered a northern variant of Saka steppe
culture, which has a large areal distribution of settlement and mortuary sites from the east
slope of the Ural Mountains to the Tobol River during the Iron Age (500BC - AD500)

(Daire and Koryakova 2002).

153

 

 

 

0 150 300m
L..___I___l

Contours at 5m intervals

Figure 6.2 Pokrovka 2: Plan view of cemetery complex (Yablonsky 1996, Figure 18).

154

In 19961 joined a project that had begun in 1993. My participation in this
particular research area involved four consecutive field seasons (1996, 1997, 1998,
1999), during which period I excavated late Bronze and early Iron Age burial mounds
and settlements in the Transurals region, and conducted laboratory studies. During this
field work I participated in a French-Russian team under the direction of Marie-Y vanne
Daire (Universite de Rennes 1) and Ludmila Nikolaevna Koryakova (Russian Academy
of Science, Institute of History and Archaeology, Ural State University, Ekaterinburg,
Russia), sponsored by the Russian Academy of Sciences (Urals Branch) and a CNRS
research grant. 1 was directly involved in excavations at the mortuary sites of Skaty
(1996), Malokazakhbaevo (1997, 1998), and Bolshekazakhbaevo (1998) and the
settlements of Baitovo (1996), and Malokazakhbaevo (1997). The data discussed in this
research comes from my field notes, and the French-Russian site report publication
(Daire and Koryakova 2002). The settlement of Baitovo was not associated with a
cemetery complex and will not be included in this discussion. The cemetery at
Bolshekazakhbaevo dates to the Bronze Age and also will not be included here. The
remaining two sites, Skaty and Malokazakhbaevo provide two different locations within
the Transurals, one along a significant watercourse, the other on a smaller tributary, and
from these I take a preliminary look at the mortuary tradition of the Sargat peoples and

the possible interactions they had with their sedentary neighbors.

General Geographic Conditions of the Transurals and Southern Urals
The research area is an almost flat plain with a slight northward elevation incline

and gradual transitions between ecological zones from the steppe in the south, through

155

the forest-steppe of the Transurals, i.e., the eastern slope of the Urals to the Tobol River
in the east, to the taiga in the north. Small lakes dot this area. There are also a few
significant rivers cutting through the region, the several largest being the Ob, Irtysh,
Ishim, Iset, and Tobol. These rivers traditionally run very high during the spring run-off,
with water levels as low as 90% compared to those during the remainder of the warmer
months (Kosarev, 1984; Koryakova and Sergeev, 1986). During the winters they freeze
solid.

The climate is continental. In the warm seasons winds come from Kazakhstan and
Central Asia, creating droughts and arid conditions. The winters are characterized by
Arctic air patterns. The Ural Mountains, while quite ancient and weathered, are not an
insignificant feature in terms of regional climate; they act to remove moisture from
Atlantic air currents before they reach the eastern slope. These factors have created a
steppe zone that reaches much further north than in European Russia. The forest-steppe
constitutes a zone of mixed wild grasses, and small birch-aspen woodland pockets
interspersed with lowland swamps that dry out for most of the year, and expanses of open
steppe. Current paleobotanical research suggests that these environments were in
existence since the beginning of the Iron Age (Daire and Koryakova 200227). This
ecological zone provided ample fodder and natural protection for the breeding of horses

and cattle.

Sargat Data Sets
The sites of Skaty and Malokazhbaevo are situated in different areas within the

forest—steppe. The cemetery of Skaty is located in the Kourgan oblast, Belozersky raion,

156

1.5 km northwest of a village of the same name. The cemetery complex is stretched
along a length of at least 1 km on a series of low sloping terraces rising 50-55m above the
left bank of a tributary of the Tobol River, which lay 14-15 km east (Figure 6.3). The
complex, first discovered during reconnaissance surveys in the 19603, is composed of 14
identified kurgans (though from aerial photos many more kurgans are seemingly
apparent) with a wide diameter size range from small (46.5m) to very large (42 and

78m). Four kurgans were excavated during the 1996 field season (Table 6.2).

Table 6.2 Skaty kurgans excavated.

 

Kurgan Diameter/ Burials Time Period Notes
Height (m) (persons) (”C)

 

 

 

 

l l6/0.4 2 (2) Gorohovo Robbed; single ditch

2 25/0.3 1 (1) Gorohovo Well preserved wood
structure

3 l6/0.6 3 (3) Gorohovo Robbed

4 20/0.5 2 (3) Gorohovo Robbed; non-

 

 

 

 

 

 

(2292 BP*) continuous ditch

 

* Five "’C dates were obtained from two burials in Kurgan 4, dates ranged from

2220 to 2360 BP (average 2292 BP) (Koryakova personal communication 1997).

The site of Malokazhbaevo, consisting of a small settlement and a cemetery, was
first discovered in 1949 by Salnikov (1951). It is located between the cities of
Ekaterinburg and Chelyabinsk, in the Chelyabinsk oblast, Kynashev raion. The site rests
on a very low terrace, just 7m above the Karabolka River (200m above sea level), and
350m south of the village of the same name. The site consists of a cemetery,
Malokazhbaevo 1, with five kurgans ranging in size from 10m to 17m, and a small,
roughly circular fortified settlement measuring 50m in diameter. Only one actual kurgan

was excavated at this site during the summer of 1997; another “mound” was excavated

157

.CN oSwE .88 goo—abov— vca 2:5 :85 5358 b86666 him m6 2:?“—

MNS—LNEN Eh. :v «(30300

 

 

158

that same year, but proved to be nothing more than a knoll. The data recovered from the
one kurgan included two entire ceramic vessels, some pottery sherds, and the scattered
remains of one individual.

Early Iron Age settlements in the Transurals are considered to be of two types, 1)
small, largely open settlements with any number of surface depressions, or 2) fortified
settlements with ditches, embankments, and/or walls protecting them. Within the
fortified category, Koryakova (1988) distinguished three additional subdivisions within
the Irtysh and Tobol rivers’ basins, a) promontory with lined fortification (T obol), b)
“cape style” or high terrace locations with two lines of fortification (Irtysh), or c)
waterside fortresses with ramparts and/or ditches (often double fortifications).
Malokazhbaevo most closely resembles this final category of waterside fortress. The

layout of the site and the relation of the cemetery to the fortress can be seen in Figure 6.4.

159

Karaboma River

Contours at 2m intervals

Figure 6.4 Malokazakhbaevo cemetery and fortress (after Yipimakhova survey 1992;
Daire and Koryakova 2002, Figure 81).

 

 

10m

CATEGORICAL ANALYSIS

In order to analyze the data detailed above I employ Spielman’s (1987, 1993)
approach to mutualism, in concert with Chapman’s (2000a, 2002) use of categorical
analysis. People, the living, are social actors with specific social practices that result in
deliberate deposition of material remains. In a re-analysis of Hungarian prehistory
Chapman (2000a, 2002) takes data collected in the past, and by using a contextual
approach he reveals new interpretations. Hungary has well-tested typologies, and relative
dating (based on ceramic seriation), similar to Russian prehistory. Chapman examined a
small number of sites in great detail, ignoring the vast majority, to establish the context of
his few within the many, defining “the main strands. ..lof the] research agenda to see
whether, or to what extent, the mortuary analyses which follow will in fact articulate with
current research interest” (Chapman 2000a212); his current interest is the articulation of
age/sex relations. His contextual analysis uses a micro-spatial context, which can be
defined as households, pits, ditches, wells, etc. He is not ignoring the overall picture, but
focuses on the distance materials travel to reach their final destination, linking the macro-
spatial with the micro-spatial by means of “artifact biographies” (Edmonds 1999;
Kopytoff 1986). Material items have a history, the story of each stage of the object life
from its creation out of raw material to its final destination. In his contextual study, the
context for final deposit of once exotic material is the key to the manner in which the
object has been domesticated. Once an object has been locally “tamed”, given a new
meaning separate from the producer’s meaning or value, it begins a new phase of its

biography.

161

Understanding artifact concentrations, places on the landscape where individuals
have chosen to place their things, intentional site locales, is vital. One arena he focuses
on are exchanges. How do people confront the dichotomy between local and exotic?
One means of doing this is by domesticating the exotic, “linking the web of symbolic
associations intertwined with object biographies to the pre-existing structures of the
domestic sphere” (Chapman 2000a:78) by means of repetitive ritual use. An object’s rite
of passage begins with its separation from the original owner/manufacturer, at which
point it loses its original identity, meaning, and possibly purpose. En route to its final
destination, sometimes as part of a cache or collection of artifacts, the object enters a
liminal stage. Finally the new owner ritually incorporates the object and assigns it new
meaning and value within its new context. By linking to the exotic artifact, an individual
creates a symbolic association with the material. For example, in Western Siberia,
exchange networks bring materials into the forest-steppe, somewhere that particular
technologies or raw resources are lacking (e. g. tin for making bronze), others where they
were simply not used (e.g. wheel-tumed pottery). If the people importing those artifacts
are considered to be “nomadic” — the Scythian triad of horse tack, weaponry and animal
style — were not practicing a nomadic way of life, they could link themselves to the
identity and possibly the rights and privileges associated with it. One can create an elite
identity through association with nomadic artifacts and local knowledge of the exotic
would remake the material biography.

Instituting the social in things is a question of alienability or inalienability.
Weiner (1985, 1992) puts it as “keeping while giving”. The dynamic of exchange is the

challenge of capturing “someone else’s inalienable possessions, then embracing their

162

ancestors, magic and power, and transferring part of them to their own next generation.”
By using or adopting someone else’s material culture, we ally ourselves with their
ancestors, their authority, rule and control, heritage, even lifestyle. We connect ourselves
with the basic elements of who or what they are/were, creating and recreating our own
dominance and authority. In this way, “cultural reproduction is achieved through the
ability to reproduce more of one’s self and one’s group through time by asserting
difference while defining an unchanging past” (Chapman 2002275). Connecting one’s
own group to permanent monuments regardless of direct biological lineage to the original
owner is a means of proclaiming the ancestors to be one’s own, with all their rights and
inheritance.

Another means of establishing and institutionalizing difference is through
exchanges that demonstrate one’s ability to keep-while-giving, which if successfully
exercised expands social identity into forms of rank and hierarchy. This form of
inalienability is constructed as “enchainment,” which Chapman (1991) developed as the
direct relationship between objects and people and builds from Weiner’s (1992) concept
of inalienability. Objects carry part of the previous owner with it, thereby leading to a
chain of social relations as the objects are dispersed, sort of tracing a chain of custody
(kula ring is an excellent example of this). For example, my grandmother’s gold watch
may have intrinsic value, but it is the enchained meaning that is of far more personal
value; its biography may include my great grandmother, and so on. My mother may have
secretly purchased the watch at a thrift store, and it may not even be gold, but 1 will
impart value to it by establishing the chain of familial ties. If I simply collect watches, or

buy and sell gold for profit, this contrasts enchainment and becomes accumulation.

163

Accumulation leads to the loss of this relationship to previous owner(s), and in
Chapman’s analysis, creates tensions (Chapman 2000a232). Goods or commodities lose
their personal value or symbolism (Gregory 1982, updated by Wagner 1991). If objects
are separated from the “life process which created them...they lose their fractal integrity”
(Wagner 1991265) becoming merely objects of wealth (commodities). Wealth has
symbolic meaning, but not necessarily the same meaning imbued by enchained objects.
For example, if weaponry decorated in the animal style are merely indicators of wealth,
then they no longer recreate a “nomad” in every kurgan where they are found on a
wealthy man. By this line of reasoning, one cannot continue to argue that animal style
artifacts are both wealth indicators and signs of nomadism; it is tautological. They may
cany the message of power because they represent the nomads, but they cannot then
indicate nomadic identity single-handedly.

My purpose in this analysis is not to address the act of exchange itself, but the
transference of cultural identity. Is it possible to detect the acquisition of cultural identity
by means of artifact adoption? That is, to display the trappings of nomadic power and
authority, without actually being a nomad? One means of interpreting the material
culture and associated identities might be seen as absconding with the association without
having to mount the steed. Could a sedentary elite be created who obtained, or
maintained, power through this “fictive” association with nomads and nomadism? As
Coutraud and Rajev (1997, 1998) have noted, the biological evidence for nomadism
among Sargat populations is inconclusive. By opening the possibility of alternative
interpretations of the burial mounds, instead of the Scythian triad equaling nomad, we

can say more about the diverse populations living across the steppe. “Like a nomad”

164

rather than being a nomad. Maintaining the trappings of nomadic authority without the
hassle of movement makes more logical sense, because being mobile means not having
direct or consistent rule over one’s subjects and territory. Even the khans settled down
once their wealth was secured.

Using a categorical analysis based on Miller (1985, 1986) and Chapman (2000a,
2002) it is possible to see cultural identities expressed within the burial mounds of
Westem- Siberia. Considering the cultural biographies of artifacts allows us to
demonstrate more complex patterns of people-object relations, but inherently uses the
idea of artifacts as categories as developed by Miller (Chapman 2000a230). The
biography of an object expresses its life history and therefore a part of its cultural impact.
Objects sometimes acquire quite long histories, from the hands that made them, through
the hands of each owner. Each person who possesses the object in this chain of
Custodianship invests meaning into the object and adds to its biography.

Miller constitutes his theory of culture by means of objectification, a creating and
recreating of culture, thereby a dual process exists in a Hegelian sense (Miller 1986218).
Through the creation of the material world, humans externalize themselves, but in turn
“re-appropriate this extemalization through sublation” (Chapman 2000a:3 1 , my
emphasis). Hegel’s philosophical notion of sublation allows for the maintenance or
preservation of something, while it is simultaneously ceases to exist (Hegel Science of
Logic, n.185)‘. The very preservation of something from an archaeological perspective

involves the expected loss of some aspects of an object’s original character; e.g., bodies

 

' Miller’s poststructuralist vision of modern, industrial consumption perhaps stretches Hegel a bit too far. I
would restrict and simplify the use of “active reappropriation of objectification” (Miller 1986) to simply
refer to the ways in which cultures objectify themselves and learn who they are by examining what they
produce. Material objects reproduce, represent, and manipulate society, but not a society blind to their
meanings and functions.

165

are “preserved” through mummification. What is sublated is not lost, and by no means
annihilated. In this sense, Chapman points out that “This view of culture — where culture
is the extemalisation of society in history — can have no independent subjects, since they
are reflexively constituted and are also, by the same token, an assertion of the non-
reductionist nature of culture as process” (Chapman 2000a:31). Artifacts are both a
creation from natural materials and a relation created with people, through experience
and continual interaction. Miller (19862105—106) distinguishes between categories and
classes, where classes are secondary. Categories are divisions placed on artifacts by the
producers themselves (an emic categorization). Categorization becomes a medium
through which we can understand the subjectivity of the archaeological record, and reveal
some form of habitus (1986:129-130).
By defining two systems of categories, people and objects, Chapman establishes
that through categorical analysis of material culture found with individuals it becomes a
vehicle to understand past biographies.
Artifacts are, in short, insider stories —known to group members only —which
carry within them the community’s categorisation processes. Categorisation
relies for its effect upon principles of inclusion and exclusion. The categorisation
of any society is structure. 80 a key question for exploration is how material
culture is used to make interventions about age/sex categorisation —in itself, an
indicator of age -and sex-based tension.

Chapman 2000a:33

166

By using the grave goods, deposited with different categories of individuals by age and
sex (men, women, children), we can produce more informative analyses of the

construction of social identities.

The Model

The model for analysis I have developed here utilizes elements of taphonomy,
ethnoarchaeology, material culture, cultural identity, and cultural interactions (detailed in
Chapter 5). The five dimensions of analysis are summarized in Table 6.3. Comparing
mortuary and settlement sites within the Sargat territory (a bounded territory defined by
shared material culture and mortuary style) to the mortuary remains from a well-
excavated Sarmatian site in the southern Urals, I seek to discover if a “nomadic identity”
can be identified, and if so, what alternate identities can be deduced from the
archaeological evidence. If a nomadic identity exists (e.g., shared mortuary style and
treatment of individuals that links both areas and cultural groups) then perhaps the use of
“Scythian triad” or “Scytho-Siberian cultural complex” needs to be accepted and we need
to address further issues of how these identities were maintained (e.g., through
trade/exchange, kin networks, or marriage). But if no or little connection can be
established between the two cultures in these adjacent regions, then it is time we abandon
a cultural diffusionist explanation and treat each region as a more unique expression of
differing sedentary-nomadic interactions.

Within this search for nomadic identity, I examine the building of the Sarmatian
cemetery at Pokrovka, as a micro-spatial representation of the macro-spatial context of

the nomad world. Pokrovka is used as a comparative Eurasian nomad identity.

167

Examinination of the placement of this cemetery on the landscape, its physical
environment, topographic location, and periods of use will enhance our understanding of
how and when nomads used their landscape. The architecture of the kurgans in this
cemetery reveals the elements of permanence, durability and perishability, hierarchy, and
social ideology (habitus). Within the graves themselves, placement of the body or
bodies, internal mound constructions, grave goods (local and exotic), and other more
ephemeral traces (e.g., fire) will allow for a better understanding of the value of trade and
the ritual activities involved in Sarmatian mortuary practices. Within the mortuary realm,
identifying the symbols of status and interaction will help create an image of nomad
cultural identity of the southern Ural steppes, an identity that can then be used to
investigate the nature of Sargat nomad identity.

The data available from the Transurals allow us to analyze several levels of the
Sargat culture as well. By taking a landscape approach, the mortuary sites can be
compared to the settlements found in the immediate area, a juxtapositioning of sites with
information about the interactions between local settled peoples and nomads, and a
comparative element between the two regions. Settlements are well known in the forest-
steppe. In the following chapter I examine the influence of the proximity of settled
populations to the mortuary realm of the nomads. Settlements allow for an examination
of social differentiation within sedentary populations, a hierarchy already established and
accepted for the mortuary sites. With the addition of settled households, we can discuss
nomad-sedentary interactions, mutualism vs. parasitism, in a context well removed

physically from the large civilizations to the east, south, and west. The architecture,

168

 

 

 

 

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evidence of trade, and the mortuary practices of the Sargat provide the same opportunities
for investigation as discussed above for the Sarmatian site of Pokrovka 2.

The creation of personal identity is itself an expression of the group to which an
individual belongs. Thus personal identities (occupation, ethnicity, gender) are reflective
and reflexive and can be discovered through the spatial organization within graves,
within cemeteries, and within a location on the landscape. The spatial dimension is
coupled with that of social relations by relating individuals to the groups with whom they
are buried, and the groups with whom they share a common mortuary signature. These
aspects of personhood obey the rules of the greater society, whether they are direct
expressions of a person’s living identity or the idealization of the mourners, how the
living wish to create identity upon the dead. In these ways it is necessary to move
analytically to increasingly more inclusive scales of reference, from the individual grave,

to the kurgan, to the cemetery, to the broader landscape.

169

CHAPTER SEVEN
CURRENT ANALYSIS OF IRON AGE PEOPLES

The five categories of analysis (landscape, settlement, architecture, trade, and
mortuary ritual) detailed in the previous chapter allow for the examination of the Iron
Age materials from several scales. By examining the physical landscape 1 am situating
the data found in subsequent levels within a regional environment. The analysis of the
settlement data is incomplete as there is only one fortress represented here, but it does
pose several interesting questions for future research. While the examination of
architecture involves any permanent structure, as just indicated, much of the discussion of
architecture necessarily focuses on the mortuary context.

Trade and mortuary ritual involve two overlapping arenas of material culture that
create a context for the examination of status, hierarchy, and social identity. The method
I employ to examine these materials from the Transurals and south Urals utilizes a
categorical analysis of artifacts and individuals previously discussed in Chapter 6. It is
useful to consider the cultural remains by categories, which I have created, that appear to
compliment the artifacts and their uses by Iron Age peoples, e. g., arrowheads, swords and
daggers are all placed in the category “weapons”, beads, plaques, and pendants, “personal
adornment”. 1 took care not to lend unduly deterministic labels to the different
categories. Thus, mirrors and spoons are not placed in a “toiletry” category, but they are
also not considered “domestic tools” or “household items.” Both these titles infuse the
material with distinctive, and for some, negative gender connotations related to
“womanly” pursuits of home and hearth. Instead I chose to place them in the category

“Other.” Similarly daggers worn or placed at the side of the deceased are “Weapons,”

170

while knives usually found with animal bones in caches near the feet or head of the
deceased are “Tools” as determined by my personal, subjective convention. It must be
noted that any categorization created in the absence of historical documentation is
necessarily and completely subjective, but every effort has been made to identify the
reasoning behind the categories chosen. I recognize that even by placing arrowheads in
“weapons” 1 am imparting my own meaning on these objects, yet I recognize that
arrowheads could easily have been placed as votive objects with broader ritual
significance.

The general demographic categories of people are based on the assessment of the
physical features of the human remains in the graves, thus categories of adult
(male/female), sub-adult (male/female), and child. I have assumed the accuracy of the
Pokrovka 2 assessments based on the acquired status of the principle investigator, Leonid
T. Yablonsky, a physical anthropologist with more than thirty years of field experience.
The human remains from Skaty and Malokazakhbaeovo 1 were interpreted by Patrice
Courtaud and Dmitri Rajev using standard age and sex determination techniques.

While examining each of the four lines of evidence from the Sauromatian and
early Sarmatian burials from Pokrovka 2 (landscape, architecture, trade, and mortuary
ritual), and the five lines of evidence from the Sargat sites of Malokazakhbaevo and
Skaty (landscape, settlement, architecture, trade, and mortuary ritual) it is necessary to
reiterate the defining regional characteristics of these two geographic locales to reveal
similarities and discrepancies. I will provide side by side comparisons of each line of
evidence where available followed by a discussion of the comparisons and contrasts of

each level of inquiry.

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LANDSCAPE FEATURES
South Urals

As mentioned in Chapter 6 the Pokrovka 2 cemetery is located five kilometers
east of Pokrovka village on the second terrace above the Khobda River. The site
stretches along the top of a low prominence. The general area is 244m. above sea level,
with the elevation of the second terrace rising approximately 27 meters from the riverbed.
At this elevation, the kurgans maintain a prominent position from which to view the
surrounding, relatively flat steppe landscape, and conversely can also be seen from great
distances. Over time the mounds have been significantly diminished in size due to the
combined effects of both mechanized plowing and natural erosion. The diminution of
kurgans, by natural or cultural practices, makes it difficult to immediately identify some
of them as burial structures. The kurgans range from 48-12m in diameter with heights of
2.0 to 0.3m. All 29 kurgans are arranged in a roughly linear fashion running north-south
along the promontory (see Figure 6.2), with the Bronze Age kurgans (Kurgan l8, l9, and
24) on the first terrace. This pattern is similar to sites found throughout the southern
Urals, where earlier Bronze Age mounds occurred at lower elevations, closer to water
sources, and the Iron Age mounds were built in groups along hilltops or in isolation on
higher ground (Moshkova 1995; Koryakova 1996; Yablonsky 1995), emphasizing the

few topographical features available on a seemingly featureless landscape.

Transurals
The sites of Skaty and Malokazhbaevo are situated in different areas within the

forest—steppe. The cemetery of Skaty is located in the Kourgan oblast, Belozersky raion,

172

1.5km east-northeast of a village of the same name. The cemetery complex is stretched
along a length of at least 1km on a series of low sloping tenaces rising 50-55m above the
left bank of a tributary of the Tobol River, which lays 14—15 km east. The cemetery
complex, first discovered during reconnaissance surveys in the 19608, is composed of 14
identified kurgans (though from aerial photos many more kurgans are seemingly
apparent) indicating the use of this site by a significant population for the burial of their
dead. Since only four kurgans have been excavated, it cannot be stated exactly how
many or for how long individuals were interred at this location.

The site of Malokazhbaevo, consisting of a small settlement and a cemetery, is
located between the cities of Ekaterinburg and Chelyabinsk, in the Chelyabinsk oblast,
Kynashev raion. The sites rest on a very low terrace, just 7m above the Karabolka River
(200m above sea level), and 350m south of the village of the same name. The Karabolka,
while not a seasonal watercourse, is not a significant river in Western Siberia. This area
of the Transurals is dotted with a large number of small lakes and seasonal marshes many
of which dry up during arid years. The site consists of a cemetery, Malokazhbaevo 1
with five kurgans ranging in size from 10m to 17m, and a small, roughly circular fortified
settlement measuring 50m in diameter. Within the categories of fortress identified by
Koryakova (1988) Malokazhbaevo most closely resembles a “waterside fortress” with
ramparts and/or ditches and occasional double fortifications. But this is a fortress only by

name not by apparent function, as I will discuss below in the Settlement section.

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Discussion of Landscape Features

Each of the sites discussed sits on a promontory or upland terrace, a position
above the riverine valleys. From the perspective of mobile populations, these sites would
have provided easy visibility of the surrounding territory and been readily visible for use
in ascertaining a seasonal migration path with a large or small group of domesticated
animals. The nomads could not have built the kurgans and settlement embankments
during the harsh winter months when the ground was frozen, thus the most logical time of
their creation would be during the summer months, from June through August when the
soil would have been soft enough and dry enough to use. This is also the likely time of
burial. That the Sauro-Sarmatian and Sargat nomads were clearly making use of these
regions fairly regularly, perhaps even within the lifespan of any one individual, is attested
to by the continuity of mound construction and use of the fortress. Pokrovka 2 is one of
nine cemeteries in the immediate area. Malokazahbaevo shows evidence of the
settlement being used from the Eneolithic through the Iron Age and if the other kurgans
in the cemetery are excavated it may be found that they were constructed during times
beyond the early Iron Age. Several Bronze Age kurgans were excavated during the 1997
and 1998 field season at Boshekazakhbaevo, a site within a few kilometers of
Malokazakhbaevo. Skaty, a site with a considerable range of kurgan sizes may also
reveal a longevity of use not necessarily seen in the four kurgans excavated during the
1996 field season.

An assumption must be made based on the continuity of use that through
substantial knowledge of these locations, based on oral tradition and/or personal witness

of previous burials, the community of nomads must have had an awareness of these

174

particular areas’ importance (see Chapman 2000). Whether this awareness can be
discussed in terms of direct ownership, however, cannot be addressed before examining
the contents of the kurgans and their burials.

The placement of both Skaty and Malokazhbaevo allow for the best views of their
respective surrounding areas. The largest mounds at Skaty are situated at the highest
point on the landscape (50-55m above the river)(Figure 6.3), allowing for expansive
views of the surrounding countryside, especially from the top of the highest mound (7.5m
high). These are sites from which to see and be seen as they are also quite visible from
the nearly treeless, gently rolling expanses. Malokazhbaevo, while much lower and
closer to the river, still sits well placed for an unobstructed view of the broad river valley.
Skaty shows a much clearer distinction from the Bronze Age cemeteries, usually found
much closer to river courses. Malokazhbaevo is not as clearly separated from the Bronze
Age sites; just to the north lies a Bronze Age cemetery, Bolshekazahbaevo, which sits at
approximately the same elevation. This spatial proximity may indicate a closer affinity
between the people inhabiting Malokazhbaevo and their predecessors in the area.

The proximity of settlements and cemeteries seen in other areas of the Transurals
was not observed at either Skaty or at Pokrovka 2 in the south Urals. Whether this is an
issue of discovery/recovery or preservation is unclear. It may be an indication of the
differences between the adaptations of nomads in the steppe, and those of nomads in the
forest-steppe. Perhaps this is a means by which we can begin to address the differences
between more mobile populations and those who have diversified their economic

portfolios and altered their mobility strategies.

I75

The use of landscape reveals a permanence of these nomad populations, a term not often
used in conjunction with contemporary views of nomadism. But clearly these
populations were not constructing their burials to blend in with the surroundings.
Mounds were built with a view toward the viewers and the viewed. They were easy to
discern from a distance and only the ravages of geological forces, industrial farming .
techniques, and archaeological excavation have taken their toll on the kurgans.
Significant time was invested to build these earthworks that distinctively altered the
natural landscape, producing a continuity between living populations and the dead in a

space used and reused for generations.

SETTLEMENT
Malokazakhbaevo

The only early Iron Age settlement available from my data sets comes from the
site of Malokazhbaevo. The local villagers have located their own cemetery in the
immediate area, thus it has been protected from agriculture and other forms of incursion
during much of the last century, but today the site is under threat due to the expansion of
this contemporary cemetery. The plan view appears circular, but in reality the
excavations revealed it to be more of a polygon (Figure 7.1). A line of protective walls
and ditches surround the entire settlement, though they are not easily distinguished.
These structures are fairly shallow, ranging from 70cm to a maximum of 120cm. Two
entrances were identified, one to the N-NW the other to S-SE. Within the limits of the
walls, a number of depressions correspond to the possible houses or other types of

domestic structures, and are concentrated in the southern part of the settlement. Two ,

176

successive horizons within the settlement were distinguished by Salnikov’s excavations
of 1951 and 1952, one corresponding to the late Bronze Age, the other the early Iron
Age, Gorokhovo period (4th — 1st century BC). In 1997 the original area excavated by
Salnikov (168m2) was expanded to 264m2 to see how much impact the local Bashkir
cemetery has had, and to identify the chronology of building and expansion of the

settlement.

 

2———)

I 1997 French-Russian excavations
I 1951 Salnikov excavations

Figure 7.1 Malokazakhbaevo fortress (from Daire and Koryakova 2002, Figure 81).

Many Bronze Age (16” -13"’ century BC) pottery sherds were recovered,

verifying Salnikov’s interpretation of this site’s use during multiple time periods.

177

However, the 1997 excavations also recovered 4th -3rd millennium BC Eneolithic pottery,
and very little evidence of an Iron Age occupation layer other than a light scattering of
pottery dating from the 6‘“ -4“’ century BC. Analysis of the stratigraphy proves complex;
the site is not interpreted to have been continuously occupied from the Eneolithic to the
Bronze Age (Daire and Koryakova 2002). The sparse nature of the Iron Age materials
might suggest that, at best, this was a temporary settlement for the Gorokhovo peoples,
semi-nomadic pastoralists, and possibly associated directly with the burials in the
immediate vicinity. Thus this “fortress” may actually have operated in a more humble
role; as little more than a holding pen for domesticated animals. Yet this settlement site
does appear to belong to nomadic populations and therefore provides an important and

new context for nomad archaeological signatures in Western Siberia.

ARCHITECTURE

Architecture refers to the permanent or portable structures built at both Sauro-
Sarmatian and Sargat sites, which includes both settlement and mortuary “site furniture”;
durable and perishable materials that reveal a level of hierarchy based on labor

investement (Cribb 1991).

Sauro-Sarmatian kurgans

The Sauromatian period (6th -4th century BC) represents the shift from agro-
pastoralism to pastoral nomadism across the Eurasian steppe. Many of the Andronovo
traditions from the Bronze Age continue, and at Pokrovka this can be seen in the

continued use of the kurgans as the mortuary architectural signature. There are at least

178

three Bronze Age kurgans on the first terrace above the river, thereby indicating this area
had been used as a place to bury the dead at an earlier time as well. As in the case of the
early Iron Age sites from across the southern Urals, these mounds have been built at
higher elevations than their earlier models, using local soils that slowly eroded over time.
The Iron Age nomads would have understood the changes to the landscape and the
imperrnanence of this type of structure, as they no doubt would have witnessed the earlier
mounds slowly shrinking in visibility and importance.

Today, the kurgans range broadly in size both in diameter and in height from
nearly flat to 2.5m in height (Table 7.1). Twenty of the 29 kurgans have usable
measurements, with mean dimensions of 23.05m x 0.61m. To discuss the size
distribution any further it is necessary to separate these mounds by the time period during
which they were first constructed. It would seem that to discuss the size distribution of
the mounds is only of value for the Sauromatian kurgans, as four out of five Early
Sarmatian kurgans (8, 10, I7, and 25) are reused Sauromatian ones; the fifth (Kurgan 7)
measures 24m in diameter with a height of 0.25m. There are seven Sauromatian kurgans
(l, 2, 3, 8, 10, 17, and 25), averaging 27 m in diameter. Much of their original height has
been eroded by natural and anthropogenic forces, thus a discussion of their height seems
uninformative with the exception of three of the kurgans that still had heights in excess of
Im at the time of excavation ( l , 2, and 8). It is clear from the numbers of individuals
buried within each of these Sauromatian kurgans that certain individuals were afforded
greater labor investment, but this labor investment may have occurred over the course of

many generations since the Sauromatian dates at this site range from the 6th to the 4th

179

century BC and may not accurately reflect true status differences within one group so
much as possible labor shortages, expediency, or other factors.

While there is clearly temporal continuity in the use of site location, what is
exceptional here is that the increasing complexity of interior structures, the use of wood
or stone, found at other Sauro-Sarmatian sites in the south Urals is not strongly developed

at Pokrovka 2. Only four of 12 Sauromatian graves have evidence of wooden burial

Table 7 . 1. Pokrovka 22 Sauromatian kurgans (summarized from Yablonsky 1993, 1994,

 

 

 

1995, 1996).
Kurgan Diam (m) tht (m) Individs. Notes
1 48 2.5 1 Center: 1 adult male, wooden structure,
burned, horse burial. Medieval inclusion.
2 36 2.0 5(3) Center: 1 adult male, wooden structure.

Peripheral: 1 adult male w/ wooden
structure; 1 male in pit; 2 adults near pit.

 

 

3 25 0.85 2 Center: 1 adult male. Peripheral: 1 adult
female w/ wooden structure.
8 30 1.25 3 Center: 1 adult female, disturbed by later

burial. Peripheral: 1 adult male; 1 sub-
adult male (burial cuts into other male’s).

 

 

 

10 10 0.1 1 Center: 1 indeterminate, disturbed by
later grave.

17 30 0.7 1 Center: 1 adult male, podbois.

25 13 0.2 1 Center: 1 adult male, disturbed by later
catacomb.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

structures. Within the Early Sarmatian burials evidence of wood is more prevalent, but
only slightly (six of 22 graves) and most of these are merely small fragments, nothing
that would indicate a substantial structure such as that in Kurgan 1. None of the burials at
Pokrovka 2 are intrusive burials into the Bronze Age (Andronovo) mounds, an occasional

occurrence elsewhere, though five of the seven mounds originally built for a Sauromation

180

burial were reused in later periods; the Early Sarmation burials, and one Medieval burial.
Only one of the seven kurgans, Kurgan 2, has more than two Sauromatian graves within
it. Two of the five individuals’ graves were so disturbed that their cultural association
has not been determined. The lack of collective Sauromatian burials is not unusual and
fits the pattern seen elsewhere in the south Urals.

The material investment not related to labor found within the graves may play as
much a role as the over all size in determining overall “cost” of burial. The cutting of
trees on the steppe, and transporting them would involve a great deal of effort on the part
of mobile populations. There is one adult male buried within a large (24m diameter)
wooden structure that was burned prior to the construction of Kurgan 1; the mound size
at the time of excavation was 48 m. Kurgan 2 held two adult males in two separate
wooden chambers, one additional male in a burial pit, and two more adults outside of this
third male’s grave; the size of this kurgan was 36 m. For many of the individual burials,
exact dating techniques have not been applied, leaving broad relative date ranges for
individuals and some entire mounds. Due to coarseness of the dates, it is unclear if the
use of wood is a temporary tradition or a function of individual status, or either corporate
or individual identity.

The grave shafts are consistently wide with the use of only one podbois, or side-
niche style grave. More than half of the burials were substantially disturbed by pot
hunters or intrusive burials that body position can only be assessed for six of 13 burials,
five follow the expected W or SW orientation, the other is oriented S/SE (K2 B3). There

is no apparent deviation from the regional pattern related to sex or age, as the lone

181

deviator is an adult male. There are seven adult males, one juvenile male, one adult
female, and five undetenninable, again due largely to disturbance.

If we look at the other aspects of body positioning within the kurgan specifically
whether it is a central grave or peripheral one, and depth below surface, there is
insufficient information to draw many conclusions. The two female burials (K3 B2, and
K8 B6) are interesting in that one is indeed peripheral, fitting the common assumptions
about the overall social status of females during this pastoral transition. But, because her
grave was not located in the center of the kurgan it was missed when the looters
burrowed into the central grave and scattered the remains of the other occupant, which
was determined to be male based on the long bones and his grave goods'. Kurgan 3
Burial 2 proves to be one of the richest of all the Sauromatian burials at the site in terms
of golden objects, beads, and a horse burial all intact. The other female burial, the central
grave in Kurgan 8 (Burial 6), was largely destroyed by the subsequent burial of an Early
Sarmatian juvenile male. What was recovered from her burial indicates that while there
is no wooden structure, there was a large mass of sheep/goat and camel bones, some of
which display cut-marks interpreted as an indication of a possible feast held during the
ritual of her burial (Yablonsky (1994:34-35) indicates “processing” cut marks on the ram
and camel bones found to this individual’s right side).

Grave depths are reported here only when a clear gender/age category of
individual is associated (Table 7.2), including both Sauromatian (six males, and two

females) and early Sarmatian (six females, five males, and two sub-adult males) periods.

 

I From those skeletal remains indicated in the report, it is unclear that a solid sex determination could have
been made, thus I believe that it was assumed that the occupant of the grave was a male because of its
central location and the artifacts inten'ed with this individual, including 1 1 bronze arrowheads, bones of
horse, camel and ram, and ceramic sherds (Y ablonsky 1994).

182

The Sauromatian patterning that emerges by looking at the mean and standard deviation
reveals that males are treated with the most variability, though this is not highly
significant. Males are found in both the deepest grave (186cm) and the shallowest
(73cm). This variation cannot be linked to the use of formal graves as all the burials were
placed in formal grave pits. The variable grave/pit depth does not seem to contribute to
preservation as one of the shallowest graves at 80cm below ancient ground surface
(K232) contained one of only three delicate, leather quivers found at the site. The other
quivers were recovered from early Sarmatian graves at depths of 165 and 163 cm below
ancient ground surface. Among the early Sarmatian burials males constitute the
shallowest graves (22 cm and 5 lcm below ancient ground surface). K8 B3, the
shallowest grave, is an adult male in “warrior pose”, with one leg bent. What makes this
burial even more distinctive is both his curious lack of pottery, nearly ubiquitous at this
time and at this site, and also some indications that he was buried expeditiously. His only
grave goods point towards an untimely demise. K8 B3 was buried with a knife and a
lone arrowhead, which was found in his chest cavity. This may have been worn as an
amulet around his neck or it may have contributed to his cause of death. There was some
evidence of wood in his grave that may indicate a coffin/box in which he was carried and

buried.

183

Table 7.2 Body position in cm below base of mound fill (summarized from Yablonsky
1993, 1994, 1995, 1996).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Location Sex Depth Location Sex Depth
category (cm) category (cm)
Sauromatian early Sarmatian
K231 Male 184 K732 Female 213
K232 Male 80 K7B4 Female 246
K233 Male 186 K7B6 Sub-male 140
K3Bl Male 133 K7 B7 Female 195
K3B2 Female 121 K7B8 Male 239
K836 Female 138 K7B9 Female 100
K1731 Male 163 K8B3 Male 22
K2531 Male 73 K835 Female 200
K8B8 Sub—male 206
K8312 Male 51
K 1032 Male 165
K 1732 Male 163
K2532 Female 339

 

 

 

 

 

The early Sarmatian burials at Pokrovka 2 (Table 7.3) total 13 individuals in five
kurgans, four of which are reused Sauromatian mounds. The only kurgan built I
specifically for this group, Kurgan 7, has a diameter of 24m and holds the remains of nine
individuals in eight graves; one additional grave contained only a ceramic vessel with no
evidence of human remains. This may indicate a cenotaph, a form of memorial

uncommon but not rare in Iron Age cemeteries in Western Siberia (see Kroll 2000).

184

Table 7.3 Pokrovka 2: Early Sarmatian kurgans (summarized from Yablonsky 1993,

1994, 1995, 1996).

 

Kurgan Diam. (m) tht (m) Individ. Notes
(total)
7 24 0.25 9 Center: 1 sub-adult male. Peripheral: 4
adult females (wood structure); 1 adult
male; 1 sub-adult male; 2 children; 1
empty grave.

8 30 1.25 10 (12) Center: 1 sub-adult male (cuts into
Sauromatian). Peripheral: 2 adult males
(1 w/ wood fragments); 1 adult female
(in partial coffin); 5 children (2 w/
wood fragments); 1 indeterminate sub-
adult

10 10 0.1 1 (2) Center: 1 adult male (cuts into
Sauromatian grave)

17 30 0.7 1 (2) Center (?)2 1 adult male (w/ wood
fragments); kurgan added on to

25 13 0.2 1 (2) Center: 1 adult female (cuts into
Sauromatian grave)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only some scattered wood was found in four of the peripheral graves; an
additional grave contained enough wood to qualify as a possible structure, and another
contained a partial wood coffin (K8 BS). Kurgan 8 contains the remains of ten
individuals placed in an earlier Sauromatian mound. The central grave, a sub-adult male,
cuts through the grave of the Sauromatian female. This burial pattern is similar to
Kurgans 10 and 25, thus I interpret that there is no familial relationship of these later
individuals to the earlier. An alternate interpretation would be that once buried disturbing
the dead did not matter, but this does not seem to be indicated by the other Iron Age
cemeteries in the region. Peripheral graves were added in trenches/ditches around the
base of the mound (the case in Sargat burials, see Koryakova and Daire 2002) and in

mound fill, but intrusive burials that crosscut earlier graves are rare.

185

When early Sarmatian graves are placed in an existing mound they are oriented
around the new central grave, not that of the Sauromatian central burial. This
arrangement is seen in Kurgan 8 where the mound was expanded to incorporate the new
graves. Kurgans 10, 17, and 25 have only one early Sarmatian burial added to each of the
Sauromatian mounds. Two of these, Kurgans 10 and 25, cut directly into the central
grave of the former owner again in a similar way as Kurgan 8, while the other, Kurgan l7
Burial 2, misses the earlier central grave. It appears that this mound was expanded for
the Early Sarmatian burial, due to its irregular shape. There is evidence of wood having
been placed over at least a portion of this individual (K17 32) as significant wood planks
were found in situ.

The body positioning within the kurgans, their general placements, and their style
of interment (podbois, catacomb, or simple grave) follow expected patterns with only a
few exceptions during the early Sarmatian period. The innovations in mortuary style
seen elsewhere with the advent of Early Sarmatian burials, such as the use of podbois
(side niche) and catacomb burials (Barbarunova 1995; Moshkova 1963, 1974; Sulimirski
1970) are also found here at Pokrovka 2. The exception is that dromos-style burials,
those with wooden entrances built to reuse the central grave, have not been found at this
site. The preponderance of single burials seen among other early Sarmatian kurgans is
not significant here; three of five kurgans are represented by single inhumations. The
remaining two kurgans do show the symmetrical arrangement of graves around a central,
single grave (a pattern identified by Barbarunova 1995). The two group burials, Burial 7
and 8, are both spatially organized around sub-adult males. The expected body position

was with the head towards the south, no longer the W-SW orientation of the

186

Sauromatians. This is not the overwhelming case here at Pokrovka 2. Of 22 burials, four
were too disturbed to determine the orientation of the body. Of the 18 remaining, ten are
oriented W-SW, seven are oriented to the S (the expected direction), and one lay with his
head to the north (Figure 7.2). This last burial (K10 B2) is distinctive among all the

burials for the inclusion of a sword held in his right hand and positioned across his pelvis.

This will be discussed further below.

Figure 7.2 Pokrovka 2: Orientation of head in early Sarmatian graves.

W/SW

 

Sargat settlement and kurgans

The architecture from Malokazhbaevo again implies the temporary, perishable
nature of a short-term settlement, yet one that was largely a reuse site initially occupied
by much earlier individuals. With an understanding of the climate of this region, it is

likely that without substantial storage facilities, none of which were recovered from the

187

settlement, the nomads would have used this facility during the warmer months, and then
moved with their herds further south to avoid the bitter winter months. The depth of the
ditches and height of the walls, while not impressive enough to deflect human attack,
would still have involved a communal investment of energy large enough to assume an
annual return. Thus if these nomads were in contact with any long-term resident,
sedentary people in the area, they would have had to have been on good terms with
themz. Their fortress was not very strong, and their population could not have been very
large judging by the size and number of house structures. There is not enough evidence
to determine whether they would have formed mutualistic relations, truly interrelated and
mutually beneficial and interdependent economic relations, but Malozakhbaevo does
represent one of the few identifiable short-term nomad sites in the Transurals.
Malozakhbaevo 1, the cemetery within which the settlement is located, consists of
five kurgans situated in close proximityto each other, within an area of 100m x 50m, a
more compact arrangement than at other Sargat sites. Each kurgan showed some signs of
disturbance from looters. Kurgan I was excavated while work progressed on the
settlement during the summer of 1997. Kurgan 3 was excavated in 1994, but the data
have not been published and were not available for use in this analysis. None of the data
from Malokazakhbaevo 1 have been published, thus only basic information may be
reported here (taken from Daire and Koryakova 2002 supplemented by Yipimakhov’s

1992 survey map). Kurgan 1 was the smallest of the five kurgans at this cemetery, 10m

 

2 Keeley (1996) discusses the vulnerability of small-scale, pre-state societies to warfare and raiding,
deducing from a collection of cross-cultural examples that the infrastructure and logistics of these groups
makes them more susceptible to looting, famine, and ultimately destruction by what might be considered
small raids. His work supports my conclusion that the nomads at Malokazakhbaevo would have had to be
in good stead with their sedentary neighbors. Also Keeley, albeit while looking at small-scale societies,
was looking at large-scale destnrction including widespread evidence of fire, destruction of villages, and
mass graves. None of these things are found at Malokazahbaevo.

188

in diameter and 0.3m high. There was no ditch around the limits of the kurgan, a
common element among Sargat kurgans. The positioning of the cemetery, quite close to
the settlement, would indicate a close association between the individuals occupying the
settlement and the individuals buried in the mounds. The relatively small size of Kurgan
1, though not distinctly smaller than those others in this cemetery, suggests that this
individual was not of particularly high social status when compared to other kurgans in
the region. Perhaps this is more a reflection on the social status of the group using the
settlement as all the mounds are of similar size and lacking in external elaborations
(ditches).

The architectural nature of the Skaty kurgans is significantly different from that of
Malozakhbaevo. First, there is no settlement in proximity to Skaty. Today the cemetery
stands near a small village of the same name, but no Iron Age fortress, settlement, or
short-term encampment has been located in this area. Skaty cemetery has kurgans
stretched out across an upland terrace overlooking the valley. The smallest kurgans in
the complex cover an enormous range of size, from 4—6.5m at the smallest, to very large
at 42 an 78m. The four kurgans excavated for this study are at the much more modest
end of the scale, 15-25m with an average of 17.75m. Within this collection, only Kurgan
2, the largest, is beyond one standard deviation, and containing only one burial, this
individual does receive significantly more labor expenditure. Considering other external
features that increase community involvement in the burial rite, external ditches are
common occurrences in Sargat kurgans, but only Kurgans 1 and 4 have ditches; the
largest kurgan, Kurgan 2, does not. Ditches may be continuous, half circles, or a series of

unconnected arches as reported from other locations. Here at Skaty, Kurgan 1 (Figure

189

7.3) has a continuous ditch and Kurgan 4 has the half-circle variety and evidence for a
significant amount of burnt wood (Figure 7.4). Internal structures are another measure of
both labor and time investment. Finding wood for the internal structures is not as
difficult in the forest-steppe as it is on the steppe, but the felling of trees and transporting,
shaping, and building funerary tombs is more effort than not doing it. All four of the
kurgans contain funerary structures and also have evidence for postholes (from 4 to 8
postholes) revealing the size of structure that was built. Preservation of the wood logs is
intermittent, as the high alkaline soil does not preserve wood well. Still there are
significant enough quantities of wood found in all of the kurgans to indicate that they
were not merely lining graves or building litters/stretchers; these were houses for the
dead. Elsewhere among Sargat kurgans the size of the internal structures is not
necessarily correlated with the size of mound, but at Skaty the largest wood structure
comes from the largest excavated mound, Kurgan 2.

Another means by which to measure social differentiation is body placement,
specifically numbers of graves per mound and center versus peripheral grave. All the
kurgans have been extensively robbed, leaving contextual evidence from all of the central
graves quite muddled. Kurgan 1 for instance, had 11 features that were excavated as if
they were burials (refer to Figure 7.3), but only two individuals were found in three
separate grave features. It was determined that the child grave contained elements that
were inconsistent with central grave burial (Daire and Koryakova 2002:83), instead it is
posited that the central grave may have either been empty, another cenotaph, or belonged
to the adult female found in the adjacent grave (Feature 10). Kurgan 4, robbed

repeatedly, contains the remains of two undetenninable individuals in the central grave.

190

2

 

Figure 7.3 (top) Skaty Kurgan 1 with features 1-1 I and continuous ditch (from Daire and
Koryakova 2002, Figure 31).
Figure 7.4 (bottom) Skaty Kurgan 4 with features 14 and half-circle ditches (from Daire

and Koryakova 2002, Figure 35).

191

Under these conditions any conclusions about social hierarchy based on body
positioning can only be limited. The lone male found in Kurgan 2, the largest kurgan
with interior wood construction would appear to be the highest status individual, but
much larger mounds remain to be excavated from this cemetery complex and a final
determination of status cannot be made at this time. It is apparent that individual status is
not achieved, as there are a number of children found in these four kurgans (four of nine

individuals), one of whom is buried in a central grave of Kurgan 3.

Discussion of Iron Age Architecture Features

In conclusion, the architectural features of the Sauromatian burials at Pokrovka 2
indicate a broad size range for mound construction, and a limited use of wood for internal
grave structures. Perhaps other, more ephemeral materials were used to create structures
over the graves, for example something resembling more the tents they built from felts
(yurts), but due to preservation these may have perished over the course of time.
Nonetheless, a great deal of labor investment is indicated for any burial mound. As
reconstructed by Koryakova and Sergeyev (1995) it would have taken a group of four to
five persons one week (28-25 person days) to build a mound 16m in diameter. The
average size of the Sauromatian mounds here is 13m; the largest mound in this cemetery
(48m) would have taken one family unit, of four to five adults, around three weeks to
construct. This is a large amount'of time for any group to dedicate to a singular activity
and it is likely that either more individuals participated in a large mound’s construction or
the mound took an entire summer season to construct. In addition to the labor needed to

construct the earthen mound, the internal structures would also have required additional

192

time and resources to obtain the wood for the burial chambers. Though there are not as
many such structures as expected, these internal features reveal differences in the
treatment. of the dead within any given mound. Thus, the assumption of social
differentiation between individuals who were placed in these mounds of varying size, and
those who were not, is a safe conclusion. Whether this social difference was a direct
expression of the individual or their kin group affiliations are both possible, and probably
mutually dependent conclusions.

The amount of time involved in the disposal of the dead may indicate the
stratified nature of these societies. As Criado (1989) states, egalitarian societies dispose
of the dead quickly, maintaining the order of “us”, the living, and “them”, the ancients.
The recent dead create a problem in that they blur the boundary between the living and
the dead. The dead are quickly removed from society. Criado discusses the creation of
large burials as a meaningful discontinuity from an egalitarian pattern, but burial
variability need not signify a ranked society (Huntington and Metcalf 19792122; Parker
Pearson 1982). The assumption that graves are reflections of social order (Binford 1971;
Saxe 1970) is simplistic and fails to account for the collective representations of aspects
of religion and worldview (Carr 1995:110-111; Morris 19912147). Variability becomes
an especially thorny issue when we consider the treatment of children. If a particular
elaborate child’s burial were found with an adult, the treatment may be taken to indicate
wealth, power and or status. This high rank in a child therefore must indicate ascribed
status and evidence of a hierarchical society (T ainter 1978:106), suppositions not
universally supported by archaeology or ethnography (Hayden 1995:49-50). The

treatment of a child in death may be more a reflection of her/his parents’ status, or

193

perhaps reflect the fact that they do not operate in an adult status realm, and unwrapping
these relations draws questions about any direct association of labor investment or grave
goods with a particular individual (Brown 199528; Gillespie 2001277; Pader 1982257).
Again the larger arena of other aspects of the mortuary ritual, or which burial is but one
component (Parker Pearson 19932226-227) will aid in clarifying these issues. Mortuary
ritual indeed may have more to do with the relationships negotiated among survivors and
between survivors and the dead or ancestors (Joyce 1999; Parker Pearson 1982, 1993).
The slow construction of the mound directly links a person or group to the
deceased, identifies one with their status, and establishes, reestablishes, and reinforces
social differentiation. The direct link to the dead, through the building of new mounds or
the reuse of existing ones, as seen at Pokrovka, allow for groups to legitimate their claims
to crucial resources (Goldstein 1976; Saxe 1970), here the pasturage, or lay claims to
crucial identities, nomad, by means of utilizing social memory (Chesson 2001).
Assigning status based on the labor invested alone has been shown problematic (cf.
Tainter 1978), including the inability to account for other aspects of the ritual that may
have no archaeological signature. In order to further explore the ways in which 1an Age
peoples expressed themselves through their mortuary behavior, it is necessary to further

examine the contents of the mortuary ritual that did survive.

TRADE
Sauro-Sarmatian Material Culture
The grave goods of Sauro-Sarmatian sites are commonly divided into three main

descriptive categories of weaponry, tools, and pottery (Barbarunova 1995; Moshkova

194

1963, 1974; Smimov 1961; Sulimirski 1970). Here I have used six, broader descriptive
categories that are less subjective. Each artifact is cross-listed with one of three available
categories of personhood: adult female, adult male and subadult male (Table 7.4 and 7.5).
The expectation is that the grave goods reflect nomads’ interconnectedness with the
outside world, with militarism, and during later periods a degree of social differentiation
based on in-migration, the introduction of new populations. Arrowheads are expected to
be predominantly bronze, swords and daggers will display zoomorphic designs (the
animal style), and pottery, the most commonly found artifact of all, will be found in
nearly all graves. These expectations are not met at Pokrovka 2. By count arrowheads
are the largest category of artifact (Sauromatian n=172; Early Sarmatian n= 101), but this
may reflect several things; 1) they are made of the most durable materials (bronze, iron,
and bone) and preserve well, 2) because of size and recovery techniques, they are quite
easy to find compared to small “seed” beads that are best found using flotation
techniques, and 3) if pottery is tended with care, it is either preserved as one piece, or at
the very least reassembled into one artifact and counted as such. At Pokrovka 2, often the
beads were only counted if they were of a particular size or had a unique quality, such as
distinctive color or design. Projectile points have historically been given more weight
because they have been used to establish local chronologies. Thus part of their
representation is due to an emphasis on relative typological dating. Another emphasis, it

could be said, is due to the weight given to men’s roles in defining nomad society.

195

Table 7.4 Pokrovka 2: Sauromatian grave goods by age/sex categories

Artifact Categories

Personal adornment
beads

beads

belt buckle
clothing rings (sewn)
finger ring

finger ring
pendant

pendant

plaque

plaque

plaque animal style
plaque animal style
Weapons

armor

arrowheads
dagger

dagger

knife

quiver

sword

whetstone
Containers
ceramics

ceramics

Fauna]

faunal bones
faunal bones
faunal bones
faunal bones
faunal bones
faunal bones
Horse tack

horse harness rings
horse hamess rings
Other

altar

brazier

lump

mirror

shells

spoon

Material Female
Adult (n=2)

glass

shell

iron

gold x
gold

iron

bone

gold

bronze w/ gold foil

iron w/ gold foil

bronze

gold x

iron

bronze

iron

iron w/ gold foil
iron

leather

iron

stone

hand-made sherds
hand-made vessal x

antelope antler

boar tusk

camel x
domesticated animal

horse

sheep! goat x

bronze w/ gold foil
indeterminate

stone x
iron w/ enamel

chalk

bronze

sea shells

bone x

196

Male
Adult (n=8)

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXX

XX

Subadult
Male (n=1)

Table 7.5 Pokrovka 2: early Sarmatian grave goods by age/sex categories

Artifact Categories

Personal adornment
beads

beads

bracelet

earring

finger ring
pendant

pendant
Weapons
arrowheads
arrowheads
arrowheads
dagger

knife

quiver

sword

whetstone
Containers
ceramics
ceramics
container (fragments)
container (fragments)
Faunal

faunal bones
faunal bones
faunal bones
faunal bones
Other

ground stone tool
loom weight
lump

minor fragment
mirror

shells

spindle whorl

spoon

Material

glass
indeterminate

gold

bronze w/ gold foil
gold

glass

shell

leather
iron
stone

hand-made sherds
hand-made vessal
bronze

bark/birch

boar tusk
camel

sheep/ goat
sheep astralagi

stone
stone
chalk
bronze
bronze
sea shells
clay
bone

Female
Adult (n.=6)

XXXXXXX

197

Male Subadult
Adult (n5) Male (nfl)

X X

X
X

X

X

X

X X

X

X

X

X

X X
X
X
X
X
X
X
X

Children
(n=6)

Nomads are seen as warriors as well as herders and traditionally men are seen in
this role. Thus, finding and cataloging weaponry becomes an exercise in defining
manhood and nomadism in the Iron Age. Even though Herodotus depicted the Sarmatian
women as warriors, it has not been common for archaeological analysis to consider them
in this way. The exception to this oversight is the work of Davis-Kimball (1997, 1998b),
but while I applaud her efforts in getting women’s roles in Eurasian nomad societies
recognized, I will also take issue with her methods in my ensuing discussion. The second
highest artifact count is iron armor (n=40), all of which came from one individual
Sauromatian grave (K2 Bl).

Pottery is expected to be ubiquitous, but is found in only three of seven kurgans,
four of 12 Sauromatian burials (minimum number of vessels equals five), but pottery
becomes increasingly more common among the Early Sarmatian, as expected, where it is
found in four of five kurgans and within 16 of 21 graves (minimum number of vessels
equals .18). All of the pottery is hand-fonned (not wheel-tumed), flat or round-bottomed,
thin or thick-walled, usually with a coarse, talc temper. Sauromatian adult females (n=2)
were always buried with pottery, as were Early Sarmatian adult females (n=6). Two of
eight Sauromation adult males had pottery (25%), while that percentage increases
significantly among the same group during the Early Sarmatian period; three of five had
pottery in their graves (60%). Significantly the two who did not have pottery (K738 and
K1032) are both uniquely positioned, the first in what is considered a “warrior pose”, a
supine position with one knee bent. The other individual was buried with his head
pointing north, grasping a sword in one hand, the blade laid across his pelvis. The only

category of Sauromatian individuals without pottery was a sub-adult (n=l), with one of

198

two sub-adults, but pottery is found with these groups. Among the Early Sarmatian sub-
adults (n=5), two identified as male were without pottery (K731 and K838), the other
three had pottery. Of these sub-adults with pottery, two of them had substantial numbers
of unique grave goods including beads. Kurgan 7 Burial 6, discussed in Chapter 6 for the
determination of sex as male (see Yablonsky 1995), was buried with an infant, beads, a
spindle whorl, and a bronze mirror which aided in the preservation of some of the fabric
of his tunic. This is Davis-Kimball’s “warrior priestess” (Davis-Kimball 1998b).

It may indicate something about these particular individuals that they do not have
pottery in their graves. As is the case at many sites in Siberia, pottery is also used to
established chronology, but once the sherds have given all they can in the determining the
age of a given grave, they are most often thrown away without counting or weighing.
This skews their representation in the laboratory record. Some of the pottery vessels
have been analyzed to determine their contents upon burial. Analysis of the pottery is
discussed in the following section on mortuary ritual. The origins of two of these classes
of artifacts, weaponry and tools, indicates a high degree of interaction between the
Sauromatians and more sedentary social systems/societies. Most of these items are made
of metal that would have required a high degree of specialization to manufacture and
work. There is no evidence to support the local working of metal at Porkrovka 2. The
limited sample size precludes confident inferences as to the nature or degree of
interaction based solely on these two groups of artifacts. The pottery represented at this
site is all non-wheel turned. It is coiled and could have easily been made by nomads in

their summer or winter locations or during seasonal movements over open fires. Hand-

199

made pottery is a common craft witnessed by ethnographers, and is a common artifact in
mobile hunter-gatherer archaeological sites.

Animal style artifacts have been used to unify the Eurasian steppe under a single
cultural category or influence, a Scytho-Siberian cultural complex. Among the burials at
Pokrovka 2 there are only nine individual artifacts displaying any animal motif
decorations, found in just three Sauromatian burials. Kurgan 2 Burial 1, the burial of an
adult male, has bridle ornamentation in the form of two cheek pieces with stylized horse
heads on them, two horse harness rings with stylized horse heads made of bronze with
gold foil, and one bronze plaque with gold foil which looks like a horse head as viewed in
plan view. Kurgan 3 Burial 2, the burial of an adult female, has three mountain lion
pendants that were worn around her neck, and Kurgan 17 Burial 1 has a bronze plaque
with the image of two horses locked in combat as another animal, either a horse or lion,
looks on. These three burial sets show opposite ends of the perspective on the animal
style; one that directly reflects the lifestyles of those who adorn themselves and their
animals with animal imagery, and the other that these items can help provide a glimpse
into the ritual or religiousness of past peoples. For example, the three mountain lions
(K3B2) are similar to emblems found in the Tien Shan Mountains (Davis-Kimball
1998b), and clearly show trade/exchange links between the southern Urals and the Far
East. I have chosen to identify them as “pendants” rather than the more common
“talismans” for the very reason that the significance of the latter forms an immediate idea
of the purpose of the item as well as an identity for its owner, for Davis-Kimball (1998b)
she is a “priestess” and/or protected by their prestigious magic (Dvomichenko 1995,

Grakov 1971). This particular individual may be a good candidate for discussions of

200

prestige, cultural value, and social differentiation based on the entirety of her burial
assemblage. There is a slippery slope that begins with assigning to archaeological
artifacts classifications full of contemporary meaning, especially in the assessment of
cultural identity.

Other items of personal adornment have been analyzed to determine the origin of
their production. An analysis of eight glass beads from the Sauro—Sannatian burials at
Pokrovka 2 was performed to identify the source of the glass (Hall and Yablonsky 1998).
Using electron probe microbeam analysis and energy dispersive X-ray fluorescence the
chemical content of the beads revealed four separate origins. An additional petrographic
analysis was conducted on four glass beads from Kurgan 3 Burial 2 (Table 7.6)

(Anikeeva 1996).

Table 7.6 Pokrovka 2: Analyses of glass beads (After Anikeeva 1996; Hall and

Yablonsky 1998)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Provenience fig £01m Orig'n

Kurgan 3, Burial 2 1 Bright blue Central Asia/Kyzylkum
2 Greenish Desert (Aral Sea region)
3 Blue w/ green tint
4 Pale blue

Kurgan 7, Burial 2 5 Clear w/ green tint Crimea/Georgia, Egypt
6 Blue -irregular —Syria/Palestine

Kugan 8, Burial 12 7 Blue “eye”

Kurgan 25, Burial 2 8-12 Yellow Near East or S. Asia

 

 

 

Beads 1 through 4 were all recovered from the burial of a Sauromatian adult
female. Her burial also contained a diverse assortment of pendants, one bone, the other
three were the gold snow leopard plaques discussed earlier, Caspian Sea shells, gold

ringlettes sewn into her clothing, a stone altar, a bronze mirror, and the three animal style

201

plaques with the mountain lion design. The beads were determined to all be from the
region of the Kyzylum Desert of Central Asia near the Aral Sea.

Beads 5, 6, and 7 all originate from two possible locations, Crimea/Georgia or
Egypt-Syria/ Palestine. The first two were recovered from the burial of an adult female in
the Early Sarmatian kurgan. Her burial also contained a bronze mirror fragment, sea
shells, beads of semi-precious stones and clay, and several fragments of a bronze
container. Kurgan 8 Burial 12 contained an adult male with an infant tucked into his
right arm, with only an iron knife and some pottery sherds in addition to Bead 3. The
“eye” bead style recovered from the burial is commonly found elsewhere in Eurasian Iron
Age mounds, from the Black Sea coast to the southern Urals (Smimov 1975: Plate 31).

Kurgan 25 Burial 2 contained an Early Sarmatian adult female grave. Also
recovered from this grave were a bronze mirror, clay spindle whorl, ceramic sherds, and
the scapula of a domesticated animal. All of the yellow beads found in this burial come
from the same location in the Near East or South Asia. }

These bead analyses reveal evidence for trade/exchange not only in an East-West
direction, involving the Mediterranean and Central Asia, the focus of past research, but
also North-South, adding the Indian subcontinent. Further reference to literary sources
(Dikshit 1964/ 1965) makes mention of a thriving glass industry during the Maruyan
Empire (ca. 325-185 BC) which as already noted had trade links with Bactria, Persia,
China, and Afghanistan (Hall and Yablonsky 1998:1243). While trade/exchange in these
exotic items is clearly evident, the interpretation of the interactions between the nomads

buried at Pokrovka and the sedentary states to their east, west and south remains caught

202

between exacting tribute (Sulimirski 1970: 92-143) or acting as intermediaries along the

trade routes that crossed their territories (Gorbunova 1993/1994).

Sargat Material Culture

Artifacts from Sargat sites are usually divided into three main categories of
sumptuary items that correspond with statuses — royal wares are items denoting authority,
e.g., scepters, maces, rare trade items; warriors’ weapons including swords, daggers,
lances, armor, etc.; and other materials such as pottery vessels, spindle whorls, and beads.
Another implication of the artifact categories used for this region is that males will
occupy the first two artifact and status categories, “royal” and “warrior”, and women will
fill the third, “other”. Children are once again largely ignored in the literature, except to
say that they do occur in kurgan burials. As with the Sauro-Sarmation, these items are
expected to reflect the nomads’ interconnectedness with the outside world, through trade
and militarism. Increasing hierarchy was interpreted in part through the association of
individuals with kurgan burial and access to exotic items as the Iron Age progressed.
Settlements in the Transurals during the early Iron Age are seen as the product of
remnant Bronze Age Ugrian populations. As the nomads move in from the south, they
bring with them an Iranian cultural superstratum that dominates the sedentary substratum
(Koryakova 1995, 1998). To protect their dominance, nomads warred and raided, while
the sedentary people responded by building fortresses. This pattern is seen across the
Transurals except in the southern area along the Ural Mountains where the “border”

seems to be much more porous.

203

Malokazakhbaevo is a good example of the non-fortified settlement found in the
southern Transurals. This settlement was a small, secure, temporary shelter for pastoral
nomads moving through the area during the summer months. ‘ A discussion of trade items
from either the settlement or the cemetery of Malokazakhbaevo, tucked in near the ‘
eastern slope of the Urals, would not be fruitful at this time. The artifacts recovered from
the settlement, ceramic sherds from the Eneolithic, Bronze Age, and Iron Age
(Gorokhovo) were merely gathered and recorded. Their provenience is broadly “the
settlement.” The purpose of this particular excavation was largely exploratory, i.e. to
evaluate the susceptibility of the site to further destruction by human agents, and to assess
the stratigraphy of the fortress ramps and ditches. The few artifacts that were recovered
from the lone burial mound excavated, a spindle whorl and one Gorokhovo and one
Sargat ceramic vessels, only assist in narrowing the time period of the burial to the 5th-
3rd centuries BC. These types of items are readily available throughout the Transurals.
especially here in the southwestern end of the region at this time.

The richly adorned burials at Skaty provide a much more fertile assortment of
trade goods to examine. What must be acknowledged is that two of the four kurgans had
more than 200 artifacts recorded for certain graves (the central graves of K3 and K4).
This discussion must begin from an artificially shortened list, one that encompasses the
artifacts mentioned in the field notes, on plan views, and in the text of the French-Russian
report (Daire and Koryakova 2002).

Three categories of individuals can be identified from the four kurgans at Skaty -
adult females (n=2), adult males (n=1), and children (n=4); two individuals were not able

to be identified. Since none of the large kurgans were excavated, the expectation is that

204

no “royal wares” would be found within the kurgans, and none were. I show the three
categories of individual and the artifact categories in Table 7.7. The six artifact
categories include:

a) Personal adornment: beads, combs, jewelry, plaques, and torques

b) Containers: both whole pottery vessels and sherds

c) Weaponry: armor, arrowheads, daggers, and swords

(1) Horse tack: harness pieces, buckles

e) Other: cauldron, knives, shells.

The lone adult male burial did not have anything out of the ordinary in his grave.
weapons, horse tack, and a bronze cauldron. His grave goods show links to the nomads
of the steppe, his lance and spear are both commonly found in Early Sarmatian graves
(Smimov 1961, 1964; Moshkova 1963), and the circular bronze plaques are used on
bridles among the Central Asian Saka (5th -3rd century BC, Grach 19802205). The two
adult female graves held ceramic sherds, beads, a harness buckle, and a few iron
arrowheads. The only unique item from either of their assemblages showing ties outside
of their immediate community, was the inclusion of a blue and white “eye” bead (K3 F3).
The only one of its type found during this field season, beads of this sort were commonly
produced on the Black Sea coast, and are found in burial contexts throughout Eurasia. It
is the children, as with the Sauro-Sarmatian burials, that provide for the most provocative
interpretations of identity and status, which will be discussed shortly in reference to the

ritual context.

205

Table 7.7 Skaty: Sargat grave goods by age/sex categories.

Artifact Categories

Personal adornment

pendant
plaque
plaque
plaque
torque

Containers
ceramics
ceramics

Weaponry
armor

arrowheads
arrowheads
dagger
lance/spear
quiver hook
sword

Horse tack

horse harness

horse harness buckle
horse harness buckle

Other
astragali
burnt bone
cauldron
comb
knife
object

Material

glass

gold

stone
unidentified
bone
bronze

iron
unidentified
bronze

sherds
vessels

bone
bronze
iron
bronze

iron

iron
bronze

bone
bone
bronze
bone

stone

Female
Adult (n=2)

206

Male
Adult (n=1)

Children
(n=4)

XXXX

XXXX

Discussion of Iron Age Trade

The artifact categories used to discuss the material culture of these Iron Age
cultures reveal confounding features of nomad relations and identities. Much of the
material recovered from the Sauromatian kurgans at Pokrovka 2 followed the
expectations set forth in the literature. Females were overwhelmingly associated with
items of personal adornment and exotic items such as bronze mirrors and shells.
Weapons and horse tack were, with no exceptions, the specific realm of adult males.
Animals were included with both female and male burials, but horses, wild boars, and
antelope were associated only with males. It is apparent the gender distinctions
elaborated in the literature can'y through these early intennents at Pokrovka 2. Where the
expectations fall apart is with the early Sarmatian remains.

Categories of personal adornment, including jewelry and beads, weaponry,
containers, faunal bones, and other items are found with all categories of individual
regardless of sex or age. The few distinctions appear to be sheep astralagi and birch box
containers are associated only with children, expectations that are broadly Sarmatian both
in the Urals and the Don-Volga basin (Jones-Bley 1999). While children did not stand
out for other distinctive material culture correlations, they do stand out for their sheer
numbers, the largest numbered category. This is also the case for the site of Skaty where
children represent half of the total excavated population. Truly distinctive in the cross-
over of artifact category with age/sex category are the inclusions of mirrors and spindle
whorls with both females and subadult males. The former is an exotic item imported

from China, a status indicator based on its rarity and difficulty in procurement. These

207

items were located with individuals who also had a volume of grave goods, which also
supports a status element.

The importation of metal items includes items of bronze and gold. Though gold
objects could have been procured from local sources (Hall and Yablonsky 1998), there
are no indications that anyone buried at these sites was a metallurgist by trade. Whether
these populations procured their metals, both exotic and local, through mutualistic
sharing or parasitic raiding is unclear. Clearly metals are functional, as aspects of horse
tack or commonly occurring items such as knives and arrowheads, but in order to support
a claim for mutualism it is necessary to see the other half of the equation and have
evidence of the materials that nomads share with their sedentary neighbors. As no
metallurgical sites were included in this study, this question cannot be fully explored (cf.
Spielman 1986).

What is clear from the material evidence here is that the literary focus on
militaristic nomads in the early Iron Age (Hanks 2002a, 2002b; Yablonsky 1995, 2002)
needs to be broadened to encompass populations whose reliance on horses and weaponry
is not as evident. While the four kurgans at Skaty contain ample evidence of militarism,
including armor and weapons buried with young children, the inclusion of weaponry,
horses, and use of the animal style, wanes in later period burials among the early
Sarmatians. Clearly there are many forms of nomadism and many interactions occurring

across the length and breadth of the Urals.

RITUAL ACTIVITIES IN MORTUARY PRACTICE

208

Sauromatian and early Sarmatian Mortuary evidence from Pokrovka 2

One could argue that mortuary practice is ritual itself. How is it possible to
remain passive in the face of death when it is necessary for the society to recreate itself,
reposition living members and recreate altered social relations. Ritual maintains society,
rebuilds it, and allows for it to continue (van Gennep 1960; Giddens 1984). In the
mortuary realm many elements can be looked to inform us about the death rituals of the
Sauro-Sannatians.

The treatment of the body is the first important vehicle of social symbolism,
whereby the body is a “symbolic resource” (Barrett 199421 12) manipulated by the
society. In the Sauromatian burials throughout the southern Urals, the dead are placed
with their heads to the West/Southwest. As mentioned above, all but one of Sauromatian
burials fit this pattern, thus linking them as a group. The lone dissenter from this norm,
an adult male, had other markers of inclusion into the greater society. He was laid to rest
in a wooden chamber, there were weapons consisting of an iron dagger and bronze
arrowheads, and evidence of an animal sacrifice. Among the Early Sarmatian graves
there are more deviators from the proscribed regional norm of placing the dead with
his/her head towards the south. Nearly half of the individuals (10) follow the earlier
format of heads towards the W-SW, seven were placed with their heads toward the south,
and one lay with his head to the north. Without more accurate dating, this may not be
better understood. Those following the older tradition could have been from transitional
time periods, or more closely related to Sauromatians. The sole unique position (K 10
B2) is also distinctive among all the burials for the inclusion of a sword held in his right

hand and positioned across his pelvis. His burial was placed directly over the previous

209

occupant of the kurgan, indicating no cultural affinity with the Sauromatians, and as he
has no pottery in his grave, this too would indicate his separation from the Early
Sarmatians as well.

Mortuary pottery has been analyzed to determine the contents of the pots when
they were placed in the graves. By collecting samples from the soil found within the
upper level of the pots and at the base of the pots, measures of P205 were compared to
determine what, if anything, was placed in the vessel and then placed with the dead.
These analyses were conducted in 1993 and 1994 (Demkin and Ryskov 1994; Ryskov
and Demkin 1995) and are summarized in Table 7.8. Most of the pots date from the
Early Sarmatian period, except for a few Sauromatian (K8, B4, 5, and 10) and two Late
Sarmatian (K16 31 -both vessels). While the Late Sarmatian materials from Pokrovka 2
are not the focus of my discussion, it is valuable to note that as time progresses
individuals maintain the tradition of placing food items in the ceramic vessels, and from

Table 7.8 Ceramic content analysis (Summarized from Demkin and Ryskov 1994;
Ryskov and Demkin 1995)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kurgan Burial Vessel location Contents Animal bones
3 2 Head Water Near legs
1.25 m S of head Water The horse burial
6 1 Head Milk
(large, broken vessel) Water Near legs
Legs Bouillon
7 2 Head Water Near feet
3 Head Water Near head
5 (no skeleton) Empty
6 Head Bouillon Near head
8 4 Legs/Feet Cereal (kasha) Near legs
5 Head Water Near legs
Knees Fermented milk
10 Head (fragments) Water Near legs
I 6 I Legs Bouillon Near legs
Legs Bouillon/Cereal

 

210

 

this extremely small sample, there appears a focus on animal products reflecting a similar
emphasis among the living. Of the 15 ceramic vessels only one was determined to be
empty, the only pot to come from an empty grave (possible cenotaph). Of the remaining
14, six contained water, four bouillon (one of which had both bouillon and kasha), one
cereal (kasha), and two contained milk, one of which was fermented cow’s milk and
therefore alcoholic.

A simple analysis correlating location and contents of these pots indicates that
seven of seven vessels containing water are placed near the head (100%). The only pot
(100%) containing cereal was placed near the legs, as were three of four (75%) pots
containing bouillon. Milk containers were evenly split (SO/50%) with one at the head and
the other at the knees. Of these 10 individual burials nine had animal bones in addition to
the pottery vessels containing the liquids, and which have been interpreted as meat
offerings (Demkin and Ryskov 1993; Ryskov and Demkin 1995). In situ food offerings
of domestic sheep, horse or cow are not considered unusual within Sarmatian cemeteries
(Koryakova personal correspondence), and one can readily interpret the placing of
bouillon, milk, and grains in the graves as food for the dead on their journey to the
afterworld. Perhaps even more valuable is to use these foodstuffs as a comparative tool
to discuss changing dietary influences. Demkin and Ryskov (1993) indicate that among
sedentary agriculturalists, pots containing “vegetable matter” are found most frequently.

In the Early Sarmatian kurgans at Pokrovka 2, the animal to vegetable liquid
proportions are split evenly, but again with the addition of meat, milk, and bouillon, this

number becomes completely skewed toward animal product consumption. This is

211

another indication of the diet and occupation of these individuals, as nomads are expected
to employ animal products as a principle element in their diets. More importantly, the
inclusion of food stuffs with the dead is interpreted here as providing the dead with a last
meal, perhaps shared with members of the community who mourn his/her passing.

Animals are found in the burials of both groups, but the difference is in the type
of animals buried. In the earlier burials, the inclusion of animal sacrifices (camel, horse,
sheep/goat) can be found in nearly every burial, thus it is more telling to discuss when
they are absent. In Kurgan Burial 1, the central grave contains an adult male, with a
wealth of animal style artifacts. As mentioned above, the majority of artifacts with this
motif comes from this particular individual’s grave, but he has no animal bones buried
with him. The only other burial completely devoid of animal bones is another adult male
burial (K25 31); this individual has only a small flat-bottomed pottery vessel in his
grave. One other Sauromatian grave is without animal sacrifice, the burial of a sub-adult
male (K8 32) has an antelope antler, clearly not a sacrifice but perhaps a trophy or
symbol of some other personal quality. One other antelope antler exists amongst the
burials at Pokrovka 2, it is also from a Sauromatian male (adult) burial (K 17 B 1 ), but that
individual also had some camel bones in his grave.

It is clear that the inclusion of animal bones in these burials represents an
important element of the mortuary ritual. It is most commonly interpreted as food for the
dead, or a meal for the mourners held during the funerary ritual. An adult female burial
(K8 36) contained the bones of a butchered camel indicated by the cut marks on them. In
two other burials there were entire animals, in these instances single horses found near

the graves of an adult male and an adult female (Kl BI and K3 32 respectively). Horse

212

sacrifices are less often discussed in terms of ritual meals, though it has been shown that
horse meat is and has been commonly used as a food resource (see the discussion in
Levine and Rassamakin 1999).

Animal sacrifice is also very common in Early Sarmatian burials from the site,
though it is only sheep/goat that are placed with the dead. Of 21 burials, only nine are
without any sheep/ goat bones, and one of these is the grave lacking or absent human
remains, only one ceramic vessel. Children seem far less likely to receive an animal
sacrifice, only two of seven (K7 B3 and K8 310) have sheep/goat bones. If a child is
present in the grave, as there are two double burials involving infants, then there is no
animal sacrifice for the male present (one adult and one sub-adult, though the latter had
bouillon in the pot he was buried with). Adult females always have sheep/goat remains.
The three adult males with no animal sacrifice are unique in other ways as well. One (K8
B3) is only individual placed in a “warrior pose” with one leg bent (cf. Smimov 1973,
1975; Sulimirski 1970), again imposing contemporary interpretations of prehistoric
motives and identity. Another individual (K10 32) is the male whose body was put
directly in a Sauromatian central grave, with his head oriented towards the north and a
sword in his right hand; and the last one (K17 32) was buried with two unique red clay
pitchers, a dagger with a gold inlaid hilt, and a gold bracelet.

The final element of the mortuary ritual that linked the Sauromatians of the
southern Urals to the Bronze Age Andronovo people was the use of fire in the ritual.
Traces of fire were considered to be a significant connection to the “fire cult”
(Dvomichenko 19952102) ofthe Andronovo who “worshipped the sun as well as fire, and

believed in its purificatory power” (Sulimirski 1970234). The archaeological signature of

213

the fire cult (burnt clay layers, ash lenses, charcoal) is found in only three adult male
burials, though the inclusion of chalk is sometimes considered part of a fire ritual (Otchir-
Goriaeva 2000:197-8; Sulimirski 1970:34), and chalk is found in three of five Early
Sarmatian kurgans. Kurgan 1 Burial 1 had a large wooden structure that was partially
consumed by fire before it was buried under the earthen mound, this is evidenced by the
burned soil, charcoal, ash, and carbonized wood. Kurgan 2 Burial 3 showed a small
amount of charcoal in the bottom of the grave, and the last example, and Kurgan 8 Burial
3 had a small ash lens. Neither of these latter two examples is a strong candidate for the
adherence to a fire ritual. The first example is more compelling. What makes it most
compelling are that this is one of the oldest mounds (6th century BC based on projectile
point chronology), it is the largest (48m) and it contains only one burial, not including the
intrusive Medieval burial. There were a large number of horse skulls (n=14) buried in the
mound as well, all facing the central burial chamber that measured 24m in diameter. This
individual was buried with a bronze brazier, a cauldron-like object with holes in the
bottom. This individual is nearly idiosyncratic and clearly of very high status or the
representative of a high status kin group lineage.
Grave goods have been assessed for Sauro-Sarmatian sites throughout the south

Urals according to the sex and age of the individuals with whom they are placed. The
standards are as follows (based on Dvomichenko 1995; Moshkova 1974, 1995; Otchir-
Goriaeva 2000; Smimov I973, I975; Sulimirski 1970):

' Men: weapons, horse tack (bits, bridles, cheek pieces), animal style decoration

(these last two categories become more infrequent in the Early Sarmatian period);

214

horse skeletons more common in male burials; and tools, including knives and
whetstones, axes or celts.

0 Women: mirrors (become rare in Early Sarmatian), spoons, combs; items of
personal adornment (bracelets, torques, pendants, beads —all becoming less
common except for beads); tools including knives and awls, spindle whorls; altars
and pottery (exclusively in female burials in the Early Sarmatian period).

' Children: barely addressed in the literature, but when assessed they have sheep
astragali, and are accompanied by women.

Wealthy burials from the Early Sarmatian period bend the rules of inclusion. Both men
and women possess plaques of bronze, silver, and gold, and have beads or rings sewn
onto clothing. The following is a discussion of the sex and age categories found at
Pokrovka 2.

Within seven kurgans and their 11 formal graves; male burials are far more
common (n=8) than female burials (n=2) during the Sauromatian period, and children.
not including an additional sub-adult male, are not represented at all. The lone sub-adult
male’s burial contained only a single antelope antler, not definitive in its singularity. The
male burials contain all the weapons, including armor (one burial), arrowheads, daggers,
quivers, and sword (one burial), and all elements of horse tack. This fits the regional
model.

Female burials contain all the beads, pendants, shells and bone spoons. This fits
the regional model as well. Both males and females have animal style plaques, ceramics,
stone altars, and camel bones. The wealth of the objects found in these graves, assessed

by shear number of grave goods and their uniqueness, allows for the cross-over in these

215

types of artifacts. The two stone altars, signs of “priestess” burials (Sulimirski 1970;
Davis-Kimball 1998b) were placed with a female of extremely high status (social
position of either earned or inherited prestige) and wealth (control of surplus, unique, or
exotic goods or services), and a male with an entirely unique collection of grave goods
(K3 32 and K8 31 respectively, Table 7.9). While horse burials are rare elsewhere, here
there are two -the female from K3 B2, and the male in K1 3 l —and there is also some
indication of a “camel feast” in Kurgan 8 Burial 6 (Yablonsky 1994). Since all of the
male burials largely fit the regional pattern, it is really the identity of the female in
Kurgan 3 that is most interesting.

Table 7.9 Pokrovka 22 Burial of the Kurgan 3 Burial 2, the “priestess”, and Kurgan 8
Burial 1, the “priest” (Davis-Kimball 1998b; Yablonsky 1995).

 

Burial Personal Weapons Containers Faunal Horse Other
adornment inclusions tack
Kurgan 3 l3 Beads None 2 pottery Horse burial Horse 3 sea

Burial 2 vessels harness shells

“priestess” 2 Bell-shaped (bronze) (Caspian)
pendants
(gold) Stone altar

 

Pendant Mirror
(bone)

Bone spoon

Ringlettes for
clothing
(gold)

3 Animal
style plaques
( old)
Kurgan 8 Frnger ring None Basin Camel None Stone altar
Burial 1 (iron) (enameled
“priest” iron)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

216

Not surprisingly, she has received the most attention of all the Sauromatian
burials from Pokrovka 2. Davis-Kimball (1998b), based on the review of 174 skeletons
collected from five of the excavated cemeteries at Pokrovka, created several categories
for burials, including “priest/priestess,” the category that includes this particular female.
The artifacts that garner this particular status include: stone-carved “sacrificial” altars, sea
shells, complete bronze mirrors, carved-bone spoons, and objects decorated with animal
style embellishments (Davis-Kimball 1998b2142). The other individual with an altar (K8
3 1) fits this category only by means of this one artifact, thus perhaps it is not a label to
place on him.

Early Sarmatian female burials continue to contain most of the things considered
part of the female “tool kit” - spindle whorls, loom weights, and mirrors and fragments
of mirrors. Males have the preponderance of “weapon sets” and men’s “tool kits”—
daggers, quivers, and swords, knives and whetstones. What makes both of these groups
unique is the inclusion of ceramic vessels with all categories of individual. Large and
small, jars and globular pots, flat-bottomed and round, hand-made pottery vessels are
ubiquitous to the burials at Pokrovka 2. Another element normally reserved for women
are beads, both glass and those made from stone, this is another artifact category that
crosses sex and age lines.

What makes Pokrovka 2 an exceptionally unique case study is the ability to
discuss the roles of children and sub-adults. As mentioned previously, the role of

children in nomad society is largely ignored in the literature. The seven children form the

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largest age category at this site (tied with adult female), if we consider the four sub-adults

in this group, together they are nearly half the entire population (Table 7.9)’.

Table 7.10 Pokrovka 2: Child and sub-adult burials

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Location Category Placement Orientation Grave goods Notes
K7Bl Sub male Central Undet. 17 glass beads, earring, Robbed; no
iron knife, sheep pottery
K733 Child Periph. SW Pottery vessel, sheep
K7B6 Sub male Periph SW Glass beads, boar tooth Preservation of
pendant, iron knife, cloth
pottery vessel, bone
spoon, spindle whorl,
bronze mirror
K7 Child Periph. SW Unassigned Buried with 36
K834 Child Periph. SW Beads, shells, 40 Niche at feet
arrowheads (1 as with large
pendant), knife, dagger, number of
astralagi, pottery vessel, artifacts
bark box w/ sheep, boar
tooth pendant, quiver w/
40 arrowheads
K837 Child Periph SW Iron objects Wood fragments
K8B8 Sub male Central Undet Arrowheads, iron object, Cut into Sauro.
ground stone fragasheep central grave
K839 Child Periph Undet Pottery sherds
K8310 Child Periph SW 2 pottery vessels, sheep I imported
vessel
K831 1 Child Periph S 2 glass beads, pottery ln niche above
vessel, gold ring, sherds man and child
burial (312)
K8 Child Periph S Unassigned Buried w/ adult
male 312

 

Three of four sub-adults appear to straddle the world of both male and female sex

identities. One is found in the central burial of Kurgan 7 (Burial 1), the only burial at the

cemetery entirely unique to the Early Sarmatian. Although his grave had been robbed, an

iron knife with O-shaped pommel, a gold-foil covered bronze spiral earring, and 17 glass

and semi-precious stone beads were recovered during excavations (Yablonsky 1995).

 

3 Demographic data for this population are not available.

218

 

This individual’s sex was determined in the field (Yablonsky 1995224), and while he is a
juvenile the preservation and the completeness of his skeleton allowed for his sex
determination. It is understandable that he was misidentified as a “warrior woman”
(Davis-Kimball 1998b) due to the existence of grave goods usually associated with
women“. Another sub-adult, indeterminate sex (K8 B4), was buried with 40 bronze
arrowheads and leather quiver, a dagger and a knife, glass beads, originating in the
Crimea or the Middle East, a boar tusk pendant, fossilized shells, and a pottery vessel
filled with kasha. The last sub-adult, a male, is buried with an infant found in a podbois
just above him (K7 36). This individual had a woman’s “tool kit” including spindle
whorl, bone spoon, and bronze mirror, and an iron “knife” worn at his waist — the usual
placement of a dagger— a boar tusk pendant, and a rather lumpy and irregularly-shaped
pottery vessel that contained bouillon. The placement of the mirror, under his shoulder,
is both unusual and fortuitous as it allowed for the preservation of some of the textile
from his clothing. This individual has been labeled a “young priestess” (Davis-Kimball
1998b), and perhaps this is the gender role that this boy was filling. The fourth sub-adult
male (K8 38) has bronze and iron arrowheads, a ground stone fragment, and a lump of

chalk, a match for the male tool kit.

 

4 Sex determinations based on DNA evidence are providing fascinating fodder in the forensic science
literature (cf. Brown and Brown 1992; Brown 1997; Ovchinnikov et al. 1998) by Yablonsky during field
excavations in 1994 (Yablonsky 1995), but he does not reference the techniques he used to make this
assessment. He does note that this is an unusual male, due to the collection of grave goods found in
association with him, he does not further elaborate (Yablonsky 1995:23—4). Sex determinations on juvenile
individuals can be difficult, but it has been shown that using at least six criteria of pelvis morphology
produces most effective sex determinations of any individual regardless of age (see Rogers and Saunders
1994 for a complete discussion and review of the pertinent forensic literature). Regardless of methodology,
the sex identified is our interpretation of whatever evidence used, DNA, osteological markers, or material
culture, and not an individual’s gender, her/his socially constructed identity, that is revealed through daily
interactions within their society.

219

The seven children, all in infancy or near weaning (two years), are buried in two
mounds, Kurgan 7 (three individuals total who had not reached adulthood) and Kurgan 8
(seven who had not reached adulthood). Two infants are buried with males, one adult
and one sub-adult, have no unique burial number, and no grave goods are associated with
them individually. Kurgan 7 Burial 3, a single child interment, had a pottery vessel and
some sheep/ goat bones, which tend not to be found near children. The remaining five
children are all found in Kurgan 8, one infant in its own grave with an object of iron and
evidence of a wood structure (coffin?), one infant buried with Burial 12 (an adult male
buried with beads, pottery, and a knife), and three infants (1-2 years), buried individually,
with pottery (one with two complete vessels), one of whom also had a gold ring and two
glass beads. One interpretation of this large number of children all occurring within two
kurgans is that this is evidence of disease, perhaps an epidemic. This would need to be
supported with other evidence, either skeletal analysis or other burials from the area with
similar numbers of children. Altemately this just may well be where children were

buried.

Sargat Mortuary evidence from Skaty

The elements of burial that have been preserved at Skaty largely follow the
expectations set forth in the literature. Where discemable individuals’ body placement
and treatment follow the norms of a supine position with the central burial on a north-
south axis. Based upon their size, internal elaborations, and the grave goods these four
kurgans represent a “warrior class” (Koraykova 1995). What makes them unique is the

large number of children buried with “warrior” status items.

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Of the seven identifiable individuals from Skaty, the only adult male was interred
alone, and another four individuals are children (Table 7 .1 1). They are found in three of
four kurgans, and in the central grave of one (Kurgan 3), which is also the only other
single grave, other than the male, that has more than 200 artifacts. They have beads and
pottery, tying them to women. The children also have bone armor, arrowheads, and
daggers, the weapons of Sargat men. What makes them unique here is the inclusion of
plaques of iron and bronze, and sheep astragali (interpreted as game pieces, Jones-Bley
1999265). The plaques may be associated with horse tack, or armament. The iron
plaques buried with the infant in K3F2 are considered protection when found among the .
Sarmatian graves (c.f. Moshkova 1963, Table 25).

The two children in Kurgan 3, buried with an adult woman, not only straddle the
adult identities of man and woman — the infant in Feature 3 has both bone armor, beads,
and two ceramic vessels - but also possess status markers that set them apart from the
other burials. The child buried in the central grave was buried with more than 200
artifacts, among which include sherds, arrowheads, beads, astralagi, and horse and cow
bones. This individual also had the only representation of animal style decoration, a wolf
pendant made from bone, and 40 rectangular plates of perforated bone armor; both these
items tie this child to the steppe nomads such as those buried at Pokrovka (Smimov 1961,
1964). Finally the bronze torque, discoloring the bones of the neck green, is interpreted
to be a sign of “aristocratic status” (Melukova 19892107). One other torque was found
among these burials; that one was gold and found in Kurgan 4 Feature 1, a highly

disturbed central burial with two unidentified individuals.

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Table 7.1 1 Skaty: Children’s burials

 

—

Placement Grave goods Notes

Kl Fea10 Peripheral None Charcoal, burnt bone;
robbed, mixed w/ adult
female remains

 

 

 

K2 Pen 1 Central 200+ artifacts: sherds, bones, W/in wood structure;
bronze dagger, plaque, 3 features in assoc. w/
arrowheads, armor, knife, pendant cow, sheep, and horse
(wolf), torque, beads, astragali bones; ties to

Sannatians

K2 Fea 2 Peripheral Bone armor, bronze dagger, bead, Ties to Sauro-
2 pottery vessels Sarmatians

 

K4 Fea2 Peripheral Beads, object bronze w/ gold foil, Shells from Indian
horse bones, shells, stone object Ocean

 

 

 

 

 

 

The four kurgans excavated at Skaty and the cemetery at Malokazakhbaevo do
allow us to examine the types of intercommunity and intracommunity relationships being
built by these individuals during the early Iron Age. More importantly it was the
numbers of infants and children, as with the Sauro-Sarmatian burials at Pokrovka 2, that
were most surprising, largely because there were no explicit expectations from the

literature. Children have been largely ignored in the archaeological record.

Discussion of Iron Age Mortuary Ritual

l have discussed elsewhere that mortuary practice is ritual itself. With the
personal and social investment of time, energy, and memory in the creation of a
distinctive mortuary pattern Iron Age peoples used death to recreate the accepted patterns
of their daily lives. Women were accorded their place, their objects, their statuses, as
were men, and as has been discussed, children. With the death of any individual, that
person’s loss to their community alters the way in which things are done and forces the

repositioning of social roles and relations in order that life can continue. When a great

222

leader is lost, a warrior, a child —their positions within the social group must be filled, or
the social group must change. In this way the funerary ritual helps to maintain society.

The emphasis on the funerary remains misses the mortuary ritual elements, both
preserved and not preserved. These ritual elements are potentially more vital in our
understanding of social personae and social relations. Unfortunately the best sources of
the unpreserved ritual expressions, historical documents and direct eyewitness accounts,
are not available here. In order to situate social identities, their creation and negotiation
or maintenance (cf. Bloch and Pam 1982; Metcalf and Huntington 1991; Weiner 1976) I
focused heavily upon the artificially built environment (the created landscape), the
elaboration of the deceased (placement of the body), the material culture, and the patterns
of the categories of the individual sex identity in relation to all of the above. As Gillespie
(2001) called for a need a to analyze the “person” in order to understand the “social
relationships and recognize the collective aspects of agency (Gillespie 2001273), it is
through the understanding of mortuary patterns that identity may be revealed.

In both the Sauro-Sarmatian and Sargat cultural remains elements of regional
mortuary tradition are expressed. The construction of kurgans, the use of specific
internal elaborations, be it podbois or catacomb graves at Pokrovka 2 or elaborate
wooden structures at Skaty, the lay out or disposition of the body, the use of fire or its
representation (ash, chalk, ochre), and importantly material culture signifiers that link the
deceased to well-established cultural traditions found throughout the region. But the
unique qualities of both these sites create a more fascinating point to depart from the
literature and explore the individual identities of persons or family lineages represented

by the burials at these specific sites. The evidence .for the roles of females, sub-adult

223

males, and children have only begun to tease us with their complexity. From these
preliminary findings much more must be examined to more fully understand the identities

and interactions of nomads in Siberia.

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CHAPTER 8

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS
The archaeological record of Siberia provides an at times enigmatic, yet also rich, body
of data with which to examine various forms of pastoralism. Outside of Russia, the
archaeological perception of much of Siberia is as a metaphorical black hole, an area
within which many scholars assumed that ongoing research was taking place, yet to
which few had access. My research into nomadic identity and expression has, I hope,
allowed for a small amount of light to escape from the black hole.

The focus of this dissertation has been to examine the many potential avenues of
identity through multiple dimensions of comparative analysis. How nomads lived and
maintained their own cultural signature has been of utmost importance to both
archaeologists and historians. In addition, the construction of “nomad” as such a
distinctly “other” identity from the sedentary realm has helped to perpetuate the image of
their separateness. But as has been shown, there are considerable degrees of both
mobility and dependence upon animal husbandry, and there also must be degrees of
variation in our interpretations of the sedentary-nomad interactions along different
dimensions and at different scales. It is the most common of the broader array of
material elements of pastoral nomads’ way of life that have been the primary focus of
past archaeological investigation, and remain so for this dissertation. The earthen burial
mounds, their kurgans, are present across the Eurasian steppe and have been the attention
and focus of archaeological and other more pedestrian forms of investigation since
ancient times. Such investigation was encouraged by Peter the Great, codified under the

Soviet system, and today remains under the direct control of a central archaeological

225

planning office in Moscow. This dissertation has used the work sanctioned by these
authorities in an attempt to better understand the lives of the nomads once seen as a direct
threat to the existence of the Russian state itself.

A common focus of earlier interpretations of the Iron Age of western Siberia
largely revolved around the nomads and their perceived warrior ways. While this is an
important aspect of the lives some people led, it is not the entire picture. Exploring the
full range of potential identities expressed in the mortuary realm, and from one settlement
site, has allowed for a more nuanced understanding of the Iron Age. As was shown from
the Sauromatian and Sarmatian burials at Pokrovka 2, little of the warrior lifestyle is
necessarily reflected in their burial material, especially from the later time periods. From
the Sargat remains at Skaty and the Malokazakhbaevo settlement a more complex aspect
of this warrior image develops. The Sargat buried their dead in richly outfitted, even
extravagant kurgans at Skaty, replete with grave goods endowed with military symbolism
such as swords, daggers, and bone plate armor, but a preponderance of the individuals
represented were women and children. These are not the common images of “warrior
nomads.” From Malokazakhbaevo a new aspect of the Eurasian nomad taphonomic
signature is revealed; that of short-term settlement. It is possible, therefore, to begin the
further discussion of the Sargat, not only as a superstratum of ruling elites, but also as
seasonal residents of the forest-steppe. Both early Iron Age populations, the Sauro-
Sarmatian and the Sargat, reveal a more nuanced image of the lifestyle of nomads, as
complete individuals and complete communities including women, men, and children

with more than raiding on their minds.

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PAST RESEARCH

The image of the warrior nomad has largely been the product of Russian
archaeological inquiry. For many generations, Siberia had been inaccessible to
researchers outside of the Soviet Union, and today it largely remains inaccessible due to a
combination of language and cultural barriers. The archaeological work conducted in the
Transurals and southern Urals was largely directed by the historical record, with
archaeology remaining the data-gathering arm of a primarily historical discipline. The
works of Herodotus, Strabo and Ovid created a narrative of the nomads living on the
edges of so-called civilization, i.e. sedentary agro-pastoralists, attacking and taking from
“civilized” people the booty that they desired. While the images from the Histories
depict vivid accounts of battles and burials, these narratives cannot be taken as accurate
scripture, nor even as mildly objective. Ovid, for example, describes his exile from
Rome in Siberia, which he clearly sees as a fate near to death. Herodotus’ details of his
encounters with Scythians and Sarmatians have been challenged for their mythical
aspects, e.g., the birth of the Sarmatians as the marriage of Scythian males and Amazon
warrior women, and their similarity to many other written accounts. For many
generations the archaeological work in western Siberia reflected an effort to find, verify,
and map the nomads as dictated by the historical accounts.

In the ensuing efforts to find nomads, defining what the term nomad meant
became lost. Consequently, much of the effort of Western social science research on
nomads involved defining nomadism and the contexts within which such adaptations
arise. While Russian archaeologists excavated thousands of nomad sites, the West

remained embroiled in defining their mobility and their economy and the continua of

227

each —from mobile to sedentary, from agricultural to pastoral. What becomes available in
the marriage of these two academic juggemauts, Russia and the West, is largely revealed
in the research and influence of Anatoly Khazanov. Khazanov continues to influence the
work of his native Russia, through his interpretations of Scythian archaeology and the
cross-cultural comparison of pastoral nomads from around the globe. His ethnological
work, especially the 1983 seminal volume, Nomads and the Outside World, created an
amalgamated model for the research on pastoral nomads, which allowed for the
complexity of their economic practices. Pastoralists were no longer expected to be either
mobile or sedentary, either practioners of animal husbandry or agriculturists.
Khazanov’s typology creates a series of empirical categories for pastoral nomads that
range from transhumance, to a village-based semi-sedentary variety, to semi-nomadic, an
extensive pastoral practice with some agricultural supplements, and finally pure pastoral
nomadism. While studies roughly contemporary with Nomads initial publication date
(e.g. Ingold 1986) placed the emphasis on mobility and resource appropriation, this
emphasis created a false degree of similarity between pastoralists and hunter/gatherers,
thereby denying the contrasts between food-extracting and food-producing economics, as
well as underestimating the relationship between wild versus domesticated resource
reliance. In many ways Khazanov’s typology is an ideal classification, and subsequently
has been criticized as too strict and narrow (see Hanks 2002; Ingold 1985). Khazanov,
however, states that his categories should be used only to inform one’s analysis and serve
the goals of investigation (Khazanov 1994). His categories focus on the size and
importance of agriculture, a “defining feature of subsistence of any productive economy

(Khazanov 19942xxxiii). Thus his schema, while seeming to focus on mobility

228

(transhumance, semi-sedentary, semi-nomadic), actually does so only in direct relation to
other forms of production. His focus on the interactions between mobile and sedentary
people is part of the inspiration of this dissertation, while the need to identify nomads
archaeologically is another.

Identifying nomads in the archaeological record has historically been problematic,
whether it be due to the “biodegradable” (Childe 1936281) nature of their lifestyles, a
false assertion that they built no substantial architecture (Cribb 1991:65-83), or a focus on
settled civilizations, nomad archaeological evidence was often defined by a lack of clear
archaeological signatures or a drastic disturbance in the record of settled communities. In
many ways pastoral nomads and other mobile populations are seen as lacking not only a
presence, but as being a part of the very “interstices”, spaces between civilized places
(e.g. Spielman 1986, 1991; Zagarell 1989). Nomads held the distinction of not being
“settled”, in the sense that studies of the origins of sedentism, agriculture, and the rise of
civilization often identified nomads as a by-product of these events (e.g. Adams 1966;
Braidwood 1960; Cohen 1977).

Anyone focused on the origins of nomadism itself focused on the changes in the
composition of domesticated herds (Adams 1974; Gilbert 1983; Hole 1978; Khazanov
1994; Lees and Bates 1977; Masson 1972). Thus, the initial signatures of nomadism
consisted of an absence of permanent settlements coupled with the presence of
domesticated animals capable of long-distance travel, e.g. sheep/goat, horses, and camels.
Through the use of ethnoarchaeology, archaeologists began to define the parameters of
what kinds of archaeological materials would be left behind by pastoral nomads, and then

go out and find those places. The results of this enterprise have allowed for the

229

identification of multiple kinds of nomad sites and associated signatures, such as corrals,
enclosures, folds, encampments, even the shallow impressions left by tent poles (Chang
1993; Cribb 1991; Khazanov and Bar-Yosef 1992). The new models of inquiry resulting

from this work will provide fruitful directions for future research throughout Siberia.

PRESENT MODELS AND ANALYSIS

The present analysis was modeled around Spielman’s definition of mutualism as
the “regular and predictable, rather than ad hoc occurrence...” of exchange where both
mobile and sedentary populations “must organize their subsistence activities to meet the
needs of their exchange partners as well as their own subsistence needs” (Spielman 1983:
258). The existence of pottery, which are stylistically identifiable as regional types, does
not preclude the nomads from having made their own ceramics rather than trading for it.
As has been shown, a pile of dung makes for ample fuel to fire many of the ceramic
wares commonly found in the kurgans (Koryakova I988; Koryakova and Fedorov I993;
Sharapova 1999), and as pastoralists herding horses and sheep (and camels as the case
study of Pokrovka 2 illustrates), the nomads had plenty of ”fuel for their fires. Other
means by which to Show mutualism is to compare these nomad sites with the neighbors
with whom they may possibly have shared resources. To accomplish this task, it must be
shown that the two economies were truly integral to each other. Thus in the future the
material records of both sedentary and mobile populations in the Urals must be examined
comparatively.

Exchange in other valuable commodities, such as horses and Silk, are known to

have occurred based on the historical texts of Greeks, Romans and Chinese, the results of

230

which have been found in the kurgans from Pokrovka 2 and Skaty. By analyzing the
categories of artifacts and their relationship to categories of individuals, it has been
possible to identify the different kinds of commodity exchanges that took place between
early Iron Age nomads and sedentary people from across the Eurasian Iandmass. Beads
and metalwork are the most common kinds of artifacts that had their origins in the settled
communities from the Mediterranean, to the Black Sea coast, to South Asia and China.
Thus, we know the nomads were consuming items of state-level production as well as
more small-scale, local sedentary production. An interesting area for future inquiry
would be to investigate the degree to which sedentary elites relied on either the products
of nomad production or on the goods and services that nomads offered, and how this
reliance fueled a mutualistic or symbiotic benefit for the nomads as well. Nomad
warriors provided military service to, among others, Rome and Persia; nomads produced
horses for Chinese emperors. The discussion of status differences, especially through the
examination of the greater corpus of kurgan data, relies on the existence of exotic trade
items buried with the nomads that help to define, display, and symbolize the differences
of specific individuals from the rest of the population. Elites had access to sumptuary
goods that do not or should not appear in the graves of lower status individuals. This is a
consumption pattern restricted to the nomad elite alone. This is perhaps a form of elite
mutualism, a change in the use of Spielman’s term, but the exploration of alliance
formation between nomad elite and sedentary elite holds promise for future research.
What became increasingly evident through the analysis of the data used in this
dissertation is that our impressions of nomads, their identities and their lifestyles, have

been highly simplistic. By focusing on only a few sites instead of the broad regional

231

sweep of these cultures, it was possible in this research to look at the contextual
differences of nomadic identity. The regional use of the “Scythian triad” consisting of
weapons, horse tack, and animal style decoration does not apply to the burials
investigated here. Weapons may contribute the highest artifact count, but this is both a
matter of the durability of the materials from which they are made, and the focus of

archaeological researchers themselves or their visibility.

DIMENSIONS OF THE ANALYSIS

Five dimensions of analysis were examined as vehicles through which to compare
the Iron Age populations from differing areas within the steppe and forest-steppe.
Through examination of nomad use of the landscape, their settlement features and
associations (or non-association), architecture, trade items, and mortuary ritual, it has
been possible to reveal and discuss a full range of social identity and societal interaction.
The image of the nomad warrior identity has been honed through generations of history
and archaeology. I do not necessarily debate its existence or accuracy, only its
superposition over other forms of identity.

The Specific landscapes where the nomads from both the steppe and the forest-
steppe chose to place their kurgans, on high ground above the floodplains, provide broad
views of the surrounding area and create a visual and spatial focal point. These are not
simply subtle alterations of nature, but rather can be viewed as a commandeering of the
landscape for those who wish to possess it, and who wish to physically demonstrate their
tenure of place. The dead, through their inclusion at these focal points, are clearly meant

to be continuing participants in the lives of the living, not hidden away or disposed of

232

quickly. The dead are placed in earthen monuments within cemeteries that are used for
generations. Pokrovka 2, consisting of 29 burial mounds, is one of nine cemeteries
containing nearly 100 kurgans in the immediate area of the south Urals. Skaty has 14
kurgans that have already been identified, but dozens more can be identified in aerial
photographs. And, Malokazakhbaevo’s fortress, a short-term enclosure used for seasonal
corralling of livestock, was not continuously occupied, but was periodically used from
the Eneolithic through to the early Iron Age. The ancient settlement is found within a
cemetery of five kurgans and an historical cemetery that continues to be used by the local
settled Bashkir herdsmen. Clearly, the tradition of nomad burial did not deny the dead’s
relation to the living, but celebrated the ownership of the ancestors and a permanence of
nomad identity.

The above and below ground architecture employed by the nomads to construct
their kurgans and the settlement also exemplifies the permanence with which they
assumed control of their landscape. While the settlement at Malokazahbaevo may
indicate an impermanence or transience, its continual reuse and proximity to the cemetery
shows that the nomads considered this their own. Kurgans with diameters from ten to 48
meters were built at all three sites of sod blocks, stacked over the deceased. Beneath
these mounds, prior to kurgan construction, nomads constructed sometimes simple
shallow pits, sometimes elaborate wooden structures for their dead; the latter indicating a
high degree of social differentiation that may be interpreted as the existence of rank
because of energy expended, difficulty of acquiring specific natural resources (i.e. wood
on the steppe), and exotic trade items found only in the mortuary context. It has been

shown (Koryakova 1988, 1996; Kroll 2000; Matveeva 1997) that the use of this kind of

233

mortuary treatment is restricted to a small segment of the population, i.e. it is not
ubiquitous; not everyone is afforded this burial treatment. On a comparative basis it is
more restricted among the Sauromatians, and less restricted among the early Sarmatians
at Pokrovka 2. Temporally, it appears to become more restricted through time among the
Sargat, but there is not enough current evidence from Skaty to support this regional
pattern. The continued use of this architectural signature, the building of kurgans, attests
to the inscription of a nomad identity on the living. The direct link to the dead, through
the building of new mounds or the reuse of existing ones, as seen at these cemeteries,
allow for groups to legitimate their claims to crucial resources (Goldstein 1976; Saxe
1970), in this instance the pasturage, or lay claims to crucial social identities, nomad, by
means of utilizing social memory (Chesson 2001).

To partially understand the linkages between the nomads and their sedentary
neighbors, I explored the ownership of trade goods by performing a categorical analysis
(after Chapman 2000, 2002). The results of this analysis brought to light some
interesting new conclusions, although many of the expectations based on the
archaeological literature did hold true. For example, at Pokrovka 2 during the
Sauromatian period we see mainly males buried with weaponry, horses and horse tack,
and the existence of artifacts decorated in the animal style. The two females at Pokrovka
2 had items of personal decoratiOn; the single subadult male had some animal bones. But
the early Sarmatian burials at Pokrovka 2 and the burials at Skaty did not fit the
expectations of the literature. Categories of personal adornment, including jewelry and
beads, weaponry, containers, faunal bones, and other items are found with all categories

of individual regardless of sex or age. This distribution of material goods indicates an

234

inclusiveness of these items, rather than using them to exclude individuals. All people
buried within the kurgan Shared these elements of identity with each other. Truly
distinctive in the cross-over of artifact category with age/sex category are the inclusions
of mirrors and spindle whorls with both females and subadult males. The former is an
exotic item imported from China, a status indicator based on its rarity and difficulty in
procurement. The composition of the grave goods and their origins, often from distant
locations in China, the Crimea, or the Mediterranean, indicate that all of these people are
tied into a much broader interaction with their sedentary neighbors. Whether these
populations procured their metals, both exotic and local, through mutualistic sharing or
parasitic raiding is unclear. Clearly metals are functional, as aspects of horse tack or
commonly occurring items such as knives and arrowheads, but in order to support a claim
for mutualism it is necessary to see the other half of the equation and have evidence of
the materials that nomads shared with their sedentary neighbors. As no metallurgical
sites were included in this study, this question cannot be fully explored (cf. Spielman
1986). While children did not stand out for other distinctive material culture correlations,
they do stand out for their sheer numbers, the largest numbered category. This is also the
case for the site of Skaty where children represent half of the total excavated population.
The grave goods at Skaty fit the general expectations of the literature - pottery,
weapons, and exotic sumptuary items — but it is with whom these items are buried that
make the results more surprising. The largest category of individual at Skaty, tied with
adult female, is child, and with these children are buried large amounts of weaponry
(arrowheads and armor). This variation is difficult to assess when we consider the

treatment of children. If a particular elaborate child’s burial were found with an adult,

235

the treatment may be taken to indicate wealth, power and or status. This high rank in a
child therefore must indicate ascribed status and evidence of a hierarchical society
(Tainter 19782106), suppositions not universally supported by archaeology or
ethnography (Hayden 1995:49-50). The treatment of a child in death may be more a
reflection of her/his parents’ status, or perhaps even reflect the fact that they do not
operate in an adult status realm, and unwrapping these relations draws questions about
any direct association of labor investment or grave goods with a particular individual
(Brown 199528; Gillespie 2001277; Pader 1982257). In order to help clarify the treatment
of children, I looked at the final dimension in my analysis, mortuary ritual.

We cannot identify all aspects of mortuary ritual archaeologically. The burial or
final interment itself is only one aspect of the larger ritual, and many things simply do not
preserve. In addition, things that were said or who was in attendance and what they did
are only a few of the elements of the ritual that I cannot examine from these
archaeological remains. What can be seen is the continuity of the treatment of the bodies,
the direction of their placement, and the common elements of kurgan burial seen from
across Siberia during the Iron Age. The individuals buried at these sites shared the
commonality of these mortuary ritual details that could only have been shared through
direct cultural access. Several elements of the mortuary ritual make these sites unique
and suggest a form of local identity either uncommon or not identified in other parts of
the region.

At the site of Pokrovka 2, we can discern adult males as the final caretakers of
infants and children, and adult females as possessing implements of a warrior identity.

At both Pokrovka 2 and Skaty, the large numbers of children present, found with large

236

amounts of prestige items and weaponry, and in places of centrality within the kurgans,
illuminates an entire category of person that has been largely ignored in the discourse on
nomads as well as in archaeology in general. The use of material culture by indiViduals
and social groups functions to reproduce the greater society, whether to reflect or enhance
it. By building kurgans, a form of Eurasian nomad material culture, these societies
differentiated themselves from the groups around them, and continued to re-appropriate a
nomad identity even when “pure nomadism” (Khazanov 1994) ceased to exist (as with
Malokazakhbaevo) if it ever existed. The idea of a search for a purely nomadic adaptation
needs to be forgotten in lieu of the recognition of the complex ways in which nomadic
economies operate. The flexibility of a nomadic adaptation is a more informative way by
which/through which to see how humans adapt to new social and ecological situations.
The kurgan emphasized the connection to the dead, not their elimination from the living
society. These mortuary Sites were placed in conspicuous locations for the whole world
to see. The consistent return to and ritual reuse of cemeteries, especially the reuse of
older kurgans (as with Pokrovka) links living populatiOns to this identity. The site of
Malokazhbaevo produced one example of a settlement in direct association with the
primary nomad signature — kurgan burials. The temporary nature of Malokazakhbaevo
implies its seasonal use by mobile populations of nomads for many generations, and
provides the starting point for future research into both this form of nomad Signature and
the specific interactions between sites like Malokazhbaevo and other more permanent
settlements in the immediate area. Nomads did not necessarily need to be involved in

either trading or raiding.

237

Mortuary sites have a continuing presence in the social landscape, one that can
outlive the communities themselves or their memories of the rituals involved (Bradley
1985, 1998). Life and memory are ephemeral, but the kurgans as monuments to the
nomads of the early Iron Age have true staying power. Many generations buried their
dead at Pokrovka, well beyond the living memory of any one person, but not beyond the
social memory of a cultural group. The kurgans will continue to be interpreted and
reinterpreted by generations to come as the values of our own societies change. People
manipulate the dead to fit their own purposes, whether that is to find barbarians to help
define us as civilized, to find warrior women to help define us as engendered and
powerful, or to find children to Show our value in their contributions to our own lives. It
is certain that these cultural icons, reminders of the past, will continue to influence the

present and the future.

FUTURE RESEARCH INTO NOMAD IDENTITY

The results obtained from this research can in many ways be viewed as a
preliminary stage in the further expansion of nomad research. The mulitiple analytic
dimensions used here have provided a first lens through whichto observe nomad identity,
its expression and construction. In the future it will be necessary to apply further data
elements, including a careful reading of the historical evidence for “eye-witness”
accounts of mortuary ritual, methods, and theory in order to explore the interactions of
nomads and their sedentary neighbors. Mutualism has not been shown to exist in the
Urals, but it did allow for development of a new approach to nomad-sedentary relations,

one not completely vested in a single idea of who the nomads were. To further examine

238

their cultural interactions it will be helpful to find more kinds of nomad Sites, perhaps
more of the Short-term corrals/settlements seen at places like Malokazakhbaevo.
Additionally seeking traces of nomad material culture in the sites of sedentary people will
help us to identify the necessary amount of shared economic reliance to address a
mutualistic existence. The work in Western Siberia and south Siberia has been ongoing
for hundreds of years, and yet in some ways is in its infancy. I expect that addressing the
diversity of nomad identities will help bring about a greater understanding of life in the

steppe and forest-steppe during the Iron Age.

239

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