Animals in War

After a long time focussing on a new job, a new country, and developing other parts of the website, it is finally time for another blog entry. I do so with the serious but important topic of war. It is difficult to put words on the tragedies of war – the loss of lives, the displacement, the violence and the many years of trauma that follow. With over 10 years of war and unrest in Syria, and now a new war in Ukraine, this seems a good time to pick up on this topic and look at the role of and impact on animals. The devastation to human lives and the countries where war takes place can hardly be overstated. Death, abandonment, injury, displacement, loss of home, family and friends are some of the things faced by victims of war, both human and animal. What follows is a small window into how war affected human as well as nonhuman animals in ancient Mesopotamia. 

Animals fighting and dying alongside humans in war

The most striking way that animals occur in war is as part of battle. Some of the earliest evidence of this in Mesopotamia comes from the visual material – plaques, inlays, seals, sealings and the famous Standard of Ur. The Standard of Ur, found in a wealthy tomb in the so-called Royal Cemetery at Ur is dated to the Early Dynastic III period (mid-third millennium BCE). It has two large panels of decoration, the ‘Peace’ side and the ‘War’ side. On the ‘War’ side, we can see wheeled vehicles (sometimes called battle wagons) pulled by a team of four equids – probably either donkeys or the hybrid equids known as kungas. On the lowest register, they are right in the midst of battle, trampling enemies and with soldiers and drivers in the wagon itself.

The Standard of Ur, British Museum 121201

Another early example of donkeys fighting as part of chariot-teams comes from the so-called ‘Stele of Vultures’. The stele relates to a border dispute between the two city-states of Lagash and Umma in the third millennium BCE, and it records this dispute in both image and inscription. Both sides of the stele are carved, but unfortunately only preserved in fragments. One side shows the god Ningirsu having captured his enemies in a net and, in a register below, probably the same god in his divine vehicle (the part with the animals pulling it has not survived). The other side depicts the king of Lagash, Eannatum, heading a tightly packed infantry unit on foot in the top register; in the second register, he leads another infantry unit from a wheeled vehicle (the part with the animals again not surviving). In a third register, he presides over some of the events of the aftermath of battle, including animal sacrifices, libations and the building of a tumulus for the dead soldiers. The associated inscription mentions how the Lagashite king had burial mounds made for his fallen soldiers and abandoning 60 teams of the enemy’s donkeys and the bones of their personnel. At this point in time, the equids were typically in teams of four, as also on the Standard of Ur. In other words, a total of 240 donkeys of the enemy died in the battle (customarily, the losses of the victor are not recorded). 

The Stele of Vultures, Louvre

Equids continue to fight in human wars throughout the second and first millennia. In the second millennium BCE, there are big changes in chariot warfare: the ’true’ chariot appears. This is a much faster and lighter vehicle, with only two wheels that are spoked rather than the earlier disk version. It is usually pulled by a team of two horses instead of the four-team donkey/kunga. In the Late Bronze Age, this combination became widespread and is found not only in Mesopotamia but also Egypt and the entire Eastern Mediterranean. It was an important part of any army, and the Amarna Letters suggest that cities had difficulties defending themselves without a chariotry component.

In the first half of the first millennium, we also see horses and chariots being a part of the Assyrian army – as well as in the armies of their opponents. They are most evocatively depicted on the palace reliefs of Neo-Assyrian kings, but also in earlier Hittite images such as for example the early first millennium orthostats found at Carchemish. Although chariots appear to continue to dominate, the Neo-Assyrian reliefs also increasingly depict horses used as cavalry. Donkeys and other equids were no longer used for direct battle, but were present in other ways, as we will see below, and could be used in emergencies to escape or retreat from the fighting. 

However, another animal occurs at this time as ridden and fighting: the camel. The Neo-Assyrians did not themselves have war camels, but some of their enemies did. We thus have heartbreaking images of Arabs and their camels clashing with Assyrians and succumbing to the attack.

Palace relief from the North Palace at Nineveh, depicting Assyrians and Arabs in battle, 7th century BCE, British Museum 124926

The final animal that participated in battle that I would mention here is perhaps more surprising: the dog. Their participation is only known from the second half of the third millennium BCE (read also more here). We do not know their exact role during combat, but they are depicted alongside equids and wheeled vehicles, and recorded in the written records as belonging to army generals. This is just one testament to one of the most enduring close human-nonhuman animal relations. With the dog most likely being the earliest domesticated animal, and the many varieties of the relationship over time – including modern canine units and dogs trained to detect explosives, drugs, money and human diseases, among many others things – this early collaboration is perhaps not as unusual as at first sight.

Animals carrying and providing provisions for the army

A less obvious aspect of animals in war is as carrying provisions for the army on the move. The impact of beasts of burden and traction as facilitators of war would have been immense, and can be illustrated with examples at least as recent as WW I and WW II, where horses, mules and donkeys, along with other animals such as dogs and messenger pigeons participated in large numbers. Many died: almost half a million horses are recorded as lost during WW I. Although other animals could be used to carry provisions (for example, cattle and human porters), donkeys were most commonly used for this purpose in ancient Mesopotamia. It is of significance mostly for an army on the offensive – that is, an army moving in order to attack, and therefore needing to bring provisions with it. Especially the large contingents of the Neo-Assyrians moved over very long distances, and sometimes besieged far away cities for months or even years on end. These would have required substantial amounts of food and water, along with other goods – for both humans and other animals.

This much less dramatic aspect is not usually the subject of the visual evidence. It can occasionally be found indirectly in the written sources, although even then usually only when there are problems, as a letter found in the city of Mari shows:

When we departed (to get) here, Ishme-Dagan, together with his troops, started out in the middle of the night for Ekallatum. And the grain that Ishme-Dagan transported on his donkeys from the namashshum fo Ashkur-Addu did not arrive in Razama. And his donkeys returned without their load to Ekallatum. They (say), ‘Ishme-Dagan is hungry. There is no grain whatsoever in the land.’

Hempel 2003, 402-403

Animals as mediators

Beside carrying the provisions, the animals themselves also were provisions. While the diet of the soldiers on the move almost certainly consisted primarily of grain-based food, it may occasionally have included meat. Certainly, significant amounts of sheep were also part of the army, as they were crucial for divination. Divination of sheep livers and entrails (extispicy/hepatoscopy) was an integral part of the army practices from at least the Old Babylonian period onwards. It involves the sacrifice of a sheep and subsequent inspection of its liver. This procedure was used to make enquiries about the next strategic step, and diviners were part of the army personnel. Surviving records explain how to interpret specific features found on the liver – for example a discolouration, lump or unusual shape:

If an enemy plans an attack against a city and its plan is revealed, it will look like this. 

If the enemy musters which hostile intent but the prince’s [army(?)], however considerable it may be, is not powerful enough, (it will look like this). 

Ulanowski 2020, 45

The practice is depicted in palace reliefs and other art. The exact number of sheep killed in this manner is impossible to establish, but given the prevalence of the practice, it must have been quite substantial and added up to many animals in total. To see that animal sacrifices occurred as part of the rituals of war at least as early as the third millennium BCE, we can return to the Stele of the Vultures. In the register where the Lagashian king presides over post-battle rituals, a priest making a libation stands on a pile of headless animals, presumably sacrificed for the occasion.

Palace relief from Nimrud, Northwest Palace, depicting army camp with divination of sheep (lower lefthand corner), 9th century BCE. British Museum 124548.

The aftermath of war

In the aftermath of war, beyond those fallen on the battlefield, animals were present in two ways: as scavengers and as part of the loot. Starting with the former, the Stele of the Vultures again provides a good early example. In the top register with the king on foot in front of an infantry contingent, another fragment of the stele shows vultures carrying human heads and other body parts, picked up from the battlefield (hence also the name of the stele). Similar images occur in other depictions; on a stele of Sargon found in Susa, dogs also participate in this scavenging activity. Such motifs are part of the ideology or we might even say propaganda of victorious rulers, and we can also here detect a repetition of this theme in the Neo-Assyrian repertoire. 

Palace relief from Nimrud, Southwest Palace, depicting a vulture carrying entrails from the battlefield, 8th century BCE. British Museum 118907.

Many animals, especially medium to large-sized mammals, were also important resources. The breeding, rearing, herding and training of various animals would have been an enormous and very expensive affair. For example, the horses used in war would require years of breeding, rearing and training by specialists, which would have required extensive management and administration. Wars were fought for a variety of reasons, but access to resources would have been one of the key ones, even if official narratives offer a different version. Even the Standard of Ur, with its lines of sheep, goats and equids (and some fish!), indicates the significance of (animal) resources. Animal loot was carefully recorded by the Neo-Assyrians along with people and goods. Just as mass deportations of humans was a common practice, so was that of the captured animals – they were displaced and moved long distances, often to the Assyrian heartland and capital. 

These are just some of the ways that animals were part of and caught up in human conflict in ancient Mesopotamia. It is far from an exhaustive account. For example, it is harder to reconstruct the impact on smaller and wild animals. One might here consider the heartbreaking devastation to animals caused recently by the wildfires in Australia – not a case of a human war, but a possible indication of the more ‘invisible’ damage of laying waste and setting fire to cities and animals such as dogs, foxes, rodents getting caught in it. Companion animals may equally lose their home, source of food and co-habitants. Stories of modern war naturally focus on the devastation to humans, but in recent reports on Ukranians forced to leave behind their animal companions, we get a glimpse of yet another aspect of the cruelty of human wars.

References and further reading:

^{Bahrani, Z. Rituals of War: The Body and Violence in Mesopotamia. (Zone Books, 2008).}

^{Heimpel, W. Letters to the King of Mari: A New Translation, with Historical Introduction, Notes, and Commentary. (Eisenbrauns, 2003).}

^{Lau, D. Tiere im Krieg: Der mesopotamische Raum. Tiere und Krieg, 21–33 (Neofelis, 2017).}

^{Tsouparopoulou, C. The “K-9 Corps” of the Third Dynasty of Ur: The dog handlers at Drehem and the army. Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie 102, 1–16 (2012).}

^{Ulanowski, K. Neo-Assyrian and Greek Divination in War: Ancient Warfare Series Volume 3. (Brill, 2020).}

The Standard of Ur

As a Christmas special, I want to talk about one of my all-time favourite objects from the ancient Near East, which is an enigmatic item known as The Standard of Ur. Obviously, it’s mostly a favourite because it has wonderfully rendered equids on it (I’ll come back to why I like these particular depictions so much). But it is also one of these kinds of objects that is an excellent representation of so many things. Its place in the British Museum’s History of the World in 100 Objects is fully justified. Speaking of archaeological storytelling and object biographies, this is a great example of an object that can be used to tell stories going in many different directions, without contradicting each other.

The Standard of Ur, ‘War’ side. Image from The British Museum

‘Peace’ side. Image from The British Museum

The standard comes from an era and site in history that has become near-legendary. The site of Ur was in the area known as Sumer in southern Mesopotamia (modern Iraq). We are back in about the middle of the third millennium BCE, and it was a time of some of the first real cities, the emergence of writing in administrative systems and a remarkable display of wealth in tombs of the elite. Ur was excavated in the 1920s and 1930s under the direction of Sir Leonard Woolley, and many of the finds went to the British Museum and University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. The biography of Woolley is itself an intriguing one, reflecting ties between archaeology and intelligence agencies, with contemporaries such as Agatha Christie and T.E. Lawrence and interruptions by two world wars.

Woolley struck gold. Literally. Among many hundreds of tombs, 16 stood out for their more elaborate construction, a presence of human sacrifices and the sheer amount of wealth in terms of grave goods. They have since been known as the Royal Cemetery of the Early Dynastic period in Ur. Among the grave goods were jewellery, weapons, seal stones, fine vessels, musical instruments, statuettes, wheeled vehicles fully equipped with animals, grooms and drivers, and soldiers and ‘court ladies’ in all their regalia. The materials were made of silver, bronze/copper, wood, ceramics, stone, ivory, carnelian, lapis lazuli and shell, along with gold.

The ED III Royal Cemetery at Ur

 

The standard was found in the Royal Tomb of PG 779. It is a trapezoid box about 50 cm long. On each of its four sides are scenes with humans and animals, created with inlays of lapis lazuli, red limestone and shell (the composition is partially reconstructed). Its function is not known. Woolley thought it might be a standard of the kind carried by military units. This hasn’t been substantiated and finds little support in the ancient imagery, but the name has stuck nevertheless.

The two long sides are usually referred to as the ‘war’ and ‘peace’ side respectively. As you might expect, that is because one side appears to show military activity, with soldiers and equid-drawn vehicles in motion, and the other a more peaceful scene that includes a banquet and perhaps booty from the previous battle.

Much can be said about the compositions, but the fun part here is of course the equids! You might even have noticed that The Spirited Horse emblem is very similar in style to the equids on the standard. That’s because it comes from the same time period and same kind of art, although not from the standard itself (the emblem is instead inspired by a plaque found at Mari).

The ‘war’ side has three registers. The top register has one four-wheeled wagon pulled by equids, while the bottom register has another four vehicles with equids. Each team of equids consists of four stallions. The engravings offer some really interesting details about how these equids were observed and integrated into human activity. Starting with their tack, we can see that the animals were controlled by a nose ring. Reins were attached to the nose ring and run back to the driver through the rein ring (actual examples of rein rings were found in the Ur tombs). Probably only one rein was attached to each nose ring. This method of control (combined with the kind of vehicle) would mean a rather unwieldy vehicle that would have been difficult to turn.

The equids all carry neck collars with some kind of tassels attached, probably a textile or leather. The tassels might mostly have been decorative, but could also have served a practical purpose (for example, keeping insects from bothering the animals, especially when sweating).

The rendering of the animals themselves is remarkable for its attention to detail and reveals good knowledge of their anatomy and behaviour. The lines of the head and muzzle, main body, hooves and hocks are particularly accurate. Other features conform to the standard manner of rendering, as can for example be seen in the way the eyes are done on both humans and animals.

On the ‘peace’ side, equids are only shown in the bottom of the three registers. There are two teams of four being led along without their wagon. They wear a collar and possibly nose rings (they are not well preserved, so this is a little unclear), but otherwise no tack.

The teams are shown at two different gaits. The ‘peace’ side equids and the two teams against the left edge on the ‘war’ side are all walking, while the remaining three teams in the bottom register appear to be charging or galloping. The synchrony of the animals is of course artificial, an artistic short-cut to convey the number of equids in the teams. The accuracy of the rendering of the animals’ gaits are in contrast with the anatomical details. 

The walking equids and other animals on the plaque are shown in a gait called the pace. This is a gait that some breeds of horses (such as Icelandic ponies) can perform, and is also the way camels naturally walk, with both legs on one side of the body moving forwards at the same time. However, it is not natural to most equids, and even less so at the slow speed of walking. A normal walk has four beats rather than the two depicted. Since all the walking animals are shown in the same manner, this is more likely due to artistic convention rather than lack of knowledge on the part of the craftsperson (or perhaps a bit of both).

Donkeys walking. No two legs are exactly parallel or hit the ground at the same time.

The gallop or charging is equally problematic. An equid’s canter/gallop has three beats, but the two front legs and the two hind do not move together as shown on the standard, even when at a full stretch. Charging would require the animals to be in an initially fairly stationary position, which seems inappropriate for the context. Might they instead be jumping over the fallen bodies underneath them? This would certainly explain the way the legs are depicted, but would the unwieldy vehicles be able to roll over the bodies afterwards and keep upright? The more plausible explanation here again seems to be an artistic convention that renders equids (and other animals) at full speed in this specific way. It is a convention that continues throughout the third, second and at least well into the first millennium BCE, both in the Near East and surrounding areas. The hunting reliefs from Nimrud and Niniveh in the 8th-7th centuries BCE still show horses galloping in the same manner, despite the otherwise incredible amount of detail and realism.

Canter sequence. Front and hind legs are never in the exact same position.

Another interesting detail is the way the ears are shown, with one pointing forward and the other backwards. This is a very typical equine action that usually means the animal is paying attention to something, without being overly stressed or anxious. It is so characteristic that it must have been observed at some point. But it is inappropriate for the three teams charging or galloping. Remember this guy from an earlier blog? Here he is again, demonstrating his use of one ear forward, the other back, paying close attention to the rider:

 

I keep calling these animals ‘equids’. What kind of equids are they, exactly? This question is another reason why I like this object. It is a great example of the discussion of equid species in the ancient Near East. The equids on the standard have been called onagers, donkeys, wild donkeys and mules/hybrids. One thing is clear: they are not horses. Beyond that, it is difficult from the iconography alone to establish with certainty what they are. There are such great variety in the sizes and shapes of equids that features like the length of the ears or the gracility of the body can only be suggestive. Donkeys might be a good candidate since they are by far the most commonly attested equid at this period, but it is also around this time that a hybrid (the kunga) is first mentioned. It is not known exactly what it is a cross between, but the domestic donkey is almost certainly one of the parents.

Whatever the case may be, these equids were highly valued and played a part (directly or indirectly) in human warfare from very early on. The Standard of Ur provides a peak at that aspect and represents some of the wealth amassed by a limited group of people. One thing about the standard and the Royal Tombs at Ur continues to puzzle me. Equids are animals associated with prestige and wheeled vehicles in the imagery – an equid figure of electrum is even placed on top of a rein ring. In several of the royal tombs, remains of wooden vehicles were found with their draft animals still in place at the front. Yet these animals are not equids but cattle. Since there is no lack of wealth, I wonder why. What made cattle more suitable for this purpose (or equids unsuitable)?

I will finish with this pondering of mine, which I keep coming back to every so often – maybe some of you will have an answer or even just a good old-fashioned conspiracy theory. In the meantime, I wish you all a very Happy Christmas.

The stories we tell – Vertical and horizontal narratives in archaeology

Archaeologists don’t only dig in the ground and make exciting discoveries. When relating the discoveries, archaeologists essentially also have to be storytellers. We have to put things together into a coherent and appealing narrative. Often this means putting together large amounts of data from various kinds of investigations and expert analyses. Different version of the story is created depending on the format and audience.

The stories can, very broadly speaking, be categorised as what I here call ‘vertical’ and ‘horizontal’. The two of course overlap, but for the sake of clarity, I will here discuss them separately.

A vertical story flows diachronically through time. The best examples are person biographies. We can tell a vertical story of the life of mystery writer and playwright Agatha Christie. This can be illustrated with a time line highlighting selected important points in her life. The storytelling is in this case unilinear and diachronic.

If you know anything about Agatha Christie, you will probably note that for all the points mentioned, many are missing. There is nothing about her enigmatic 11 missing days, for example. Storytelling is as much about what we choose not to say, as it is about what we do say. For every point we include, there is a multitude of things we don’t include. This is partly a feature of compelling and meaningful narrative, and partly a feature of the human condition in general: filtering is necessary for meaning to be possible. It is also part of archaeological conditions. Not only is it not possible to record everything, many things are simply also not recordable, not preserved.

The choice of which points to include (and exclude), and how to interpret them, is what can lead to varying narratives, even using the same material and information. And that’s not here getting into the choices made for which material and information to record in the first place! In archaeology, vertical narratives similar to a biographical time line of Agatha Christie are sometimes called object biographies or life histories. These kinds of biographies can be applied to animals (including humans), objects, assemblages, sites or even larger environments or regions – it simply depends on the imagination of the storyteller-archaeologist. An example of the time line for a ceramic vessel could look something like this:

Image of A8q122.4 courtesy of IIMAS

In this case, the gaps between selected high points are mostly due to gaps in knowledge and gaps in how this object has been examined using scientific methods. For each of the points concerning the object, we could tell a corresponding story involving the people it has met and the places it has travelled to:

If we examine the shape, clay and technique used to make the pot, we can learn much about ancient skills in pottery production – whether they used handmade or wheelmade methods, where they obtained their clay and what they chose to temper it with, firing temperatures and the kinds of vessels priorities by the residents at this point in time. This in turn may tell us about contact with other regions (if, for example, the clay or tempering needed to be traded elsewhere) and production/consumption taking place most likely involving liquids (a hole in the bottom of the vessels suggests this). The bitumen repair shows us that 1) they had access to bitumen, 2) they knew how to use it for waterproof repairs, and 3) this vessel was valuable enough to expend material, skill and time on. When it broke again, those values no longer applied, for whatever reason. But the life of the pot does not end there. Fast forward over 4000 years, and modern excavations brings it back into the light of day. The excavation itself could prompt a long and intricate tale of modern explorations and a time where the vessel is once again repaired and valued in a different manner. Finally, its exact current location and condition are uncertain, but the story of them cannot ignore the sad reality of war and looting.

Each of these, in effect, is a small horizontal story. Horizontal stories take a synchronic approach, choosing one point in time to examine more broadly (in archaeological terms, a ‘point’ can be hundreds of years). Let’s look at another example that might illustrate both vertical and horizontal stories. Let’s imagine we journey back about 4000 years to northern Syria, to a city known as Nagar (modern Tell Brak). In a northern section of the city, we find a complex of buildings and temples which may have functioned as a caravanserai, or way station, for traders and other travellers. The donkeys of the travellers would rest and receive refreshments here, while merchants may deliver some of their goods.

Taking a short tour through the complex, we find the main entrance in the south through the first room. This room then divides into two new ones, which both open onto a large courtyard with the temple on the northern side. On the eastern side is a row of very narrow rooms which likely supported more storeys which would have afforded a good view of the entire area from above. The eastern part of the complex contained a set of larger rooms where diplomats may have been received by a local high official. At some point in the late third millennium BCE, the entire complex was deliberately closed by filling it in and placing a number of deposits throughout. The deposits consist of donkeys, a dog, pig and deer remains, human remains, pottery, jewellery, weapons and tools. This was most likely a ritual event that may have been intended as preparation for completely new structures or as a response to contemporary events. 

This short tour of the complex is essentially a horizontal narrative. I could elaborate greatly on this horizontal narrative by mentioning the important role played by donkeys and other equids in the life of the area. Eight complete donkey skeletons were deposited during the closing event, but equid figurines were also found associated with the buildings, along with inscriptions mentioning the prestigious kunga-equids. The story could go on about the trading networks of the Near East, the mobility of various groups of people, or the possible implications of the deliberate deposits placed during the closing. Vertical stories could instead be told by focussing on this particular section of the city and its changing structures throughout its history. Or shorter (and much  patchier) biographies could be told by examining what we know about each of the donkeys. For example, Donkey 5, found in the courtyard, was a female donkey. She was quite old when she died (perhaps over 20 years), and during her lifetime, she had probably given birth several times. Notching on her incisors might be evidence of crib-biting, which means she had been stabled for longer periods of time, and damage on her vertebrae could suggest she had also been ridden. We do not know exactly when each of these events took place in her life, but throughout, she was deeply involved in and part of human affairs.

 

Diverging stories and multivocality

Sometimes (ok, quite often), archaeologists don’t agree. We tell different stories of the same place. The stories may compliment each other – for example, there may be one story about the dead and one about the living at a specific site (corresponding to narratives of funerary practices in a cemetery and social structures in a settlement). There can also be a range of ‘voices’ concerning the history and meaning of a specific site. These voices can come from archaeologists as well as local or indigenous groups, and various other interest holders. Multivocality is just a fancy word for all these different kinds of narratives – giving space and consideration to multiple voices. It is increasingly encouraged, and has been a big part of the excavations at for example Catalhöyük in Turkey. This does not mean that all voices or stories are equal for all purposes.

There are also directly contradictory stories. Stories where two opposing views are expressed that cannot both be upheld. From my world of looking at ancient horses, we can return for a minute to the discussion about domestication. One of the pieces of evidence used to try to prove domestication of the horse is the use of the bit. The idea is that if you can prove a bit was used, that implies the horse was ridden and domesticated. The leap is perhaps too much, but I will leave that aside for the time being. Apart from finding a bit in the mouth of a horse or discovering images that depict such a usage, it may be possible to argue for bitting by examining wear on the teeth. Specifically, we are talking about the lower second premolar, where the bit would be against the lower premolars. 

Beautiful Santall with overlaid skull to show position of bit in the mouth

Wear on lower second premolar

One argument is that if a significant level of wear can be detected on those teeth, the horse was used with a bit, which then proves domestication. Another argument is that the wear can be explained with natural causes, the upper and lower teeth rubbing against each other (“natural occlusion”), which does not prove domestication. The two conclusions are not simply divergent but in direct contrast to each other.

I am here very much paraphrasing the situation – choosing to exclude many details in order to explain these particular narratives. In this case, what is really needed is more information. We would need to know much more about how various bits affect the teeth and what kinds of natural occlusion can occur. Since it seems that both processes can cause wear, we especially need to know if it is possible to differentiate between the two. Until then, the narrative of horse domestication includes a number of gaps and a level of uncertainty. These gaps may be at least partly filled in by other types of evidence, but that is a story for another time.

As a final note, I will leave you with this wonderfully honest reminder of the changing conditions of interpretation, which I think applies not only in archaeology:

 

… and the one donkey who always knows better:

 

[“The stories we tell” was originally a presentation for the Festival of Ideas at Cambridge, 26 October 2017. See also bonebroke’s post on the event]

References and image credits:

Plan of Tell Brak Area FS adapted after David Oates, Joan Oates and Helen McDonald, Excavations at Tell Brak, Vol. 2: Nagar in the third millennium BC (2001), fig. 42.

Debate concerning bit wear vs. natural occlusion, see especially papers by Anthony & Brown and Benecke & von den Driesch in Marsha Levine, Colin Renfrew and Katie Boyle (eds.), Prehistoric Steppe Adaptation and the Horse (2003). Image of tooth wear adapted from Anthony & Brown, fig. 5.5.

“… and the truth?” information board from the Museum of Gamla Uppsala, Sweden.

Image from The Neverending Story here.