F117

Daunian society is not well understood (chapter 2). The Daunians came late to literacy and did not typically depict figures upon their pottery or in wall paintings; they produced only a minimal number of figurines and even fewer architectural sculptures. The stelae provide the vast majority of Daunian self-representation we have of this period; it is of paramount importance that in the first instance they be considered in close reference to one another rather than in reference to evidence, iconographic or material, from any other region or culture. They must first be viewed through a Daunian lens, however cloudy that may be, before allowing data from other societies to aid in interpretation. 

To facilitate analyses, a typology has been constructed for each individual aspect of the stelae (fabric design, hem construction, fibula type, scene type, and so on) and logged into a purpose-built database. The database has been designed not as a catalogue per se, but as a tool to capture and break down each stele into a set of standardized, regulated parts so that overall trends and discrepancies can be detected in a systematic and scientific fashion by way of targeted searches. This allows for the objective identification and exploration of patterns and associations. Each attribute/motif can be looked at in relation to other examples in its class, or in relation to different attributes/motifs, and each stele and stele fragment in relation to the entire corpus (chapters 5–10). 

Once significant patterns (and anomalies) are identified, parallels in the material record are sought, from both Daunia and her neighbors, to help fix the stelae in time and place, to track cultural interactions, and to explicate meaning. Particular attention is paid to contemporary societies that the Daunians were in contact with: the “Illyrian” tribes of the Balkans, the Etruscans, the Picenians, Messapians, and Peucetians, the Lucanians and the Samnites, as well as the Greek migrants of Magna Grecia. Actual physical counterparts to the objects are investigated (often sourced from burial assemblages) and also any relevant iconographic representations, including later images of indigeni on South Italian vase painting, for which it can be argued there was a reasonable degree of direct continuity regarding certain elements of dress and custom. At times it is possible to draw on ancient literary sources, but as the Daunians themselves were preliterate and no contemporary texts deal directly with them, this is carried out with necessary caution. Lastly, anthropological analogy is on occasion utilized, often in the face of an absence of comparative archaeological data. This is delicate methodological territory. However, if applied with respect to cross-cultural norms and a demonstrable “direct historical” link between the archaeological and ethnographic records, the results can be of genuine worth (Hodder 1982:11–27). The approach has yielded valuable results, especially when dealing with depictions of biologically perishable materials. 

This particular course of action assumes that the motifs on the stelae reflect the contemporary material culture in a relatively literal way and that there existed at the time a Mediterranean-wide koiné that is comparable enough that associations can be drawn between different types and traditions of representation and material output. Furthermore, the study is underpinned by a tacit belief that there exist certain universals of human behavior that can manifest themselves in similar ways across a range of cultures. 

Following this methodology, which is primarily internal and seeks external clarification only after patterns have been observed, an accurate overall understanding of the stelae can be built up. Their morphology, development, and distribution can be better comprehended, and their sociocultural significance properly ascertained. Viewed alongside the rest of the extant Daunian material culture, the stelae truly are remarkable. They should not, however, for lack of contexts and more fulsome information on the Iron Age Daunians, be massaged to fit into what we know of other Archaic Italian societies. For the mute stones to speak and give a proper voice to their makers, they must be allowed to form their own context and to argue their own case.

Certain conventions have been used in this study, in terms of both language and presentation. In general, I have tried to adhere to Fedele’s plea that “since we are dealing with ideology, being careful and neutral about terminology is a pre-requisite . . . caution is especially required in the use of terms which imply culture-bound overtones. And absolutely to be avoided are terms which in our own western cultures notoriously carry religious meaning” (Fedele 2004:52). I have, however, at times opted against this principle, most notably with my retention of the spiritually redolent word “amulet” to describe what might be brooches or pendants in the shape of animals and humans worn on the breast of certain stelae. On such occasions it is because the word has already been adopted in the literature on the topic and I judge it too late or potentially confusing to overturn the tradition. Several terms I have altered, but some I have elected to leave as is. All are flagged.

When referring to an element of the anthropomorphic imagery, something that is “worn” by the stele or constitutes a physical feature of its human makeup, I use left and right proper. That is, I speak in terms of the stele and not the viewer, as one would of the left ear of a statue or friend. When referring to the subsidiary figurative imagery upon the stelae, I do the opposite and refer to it from the point of view of the observer, discussing “the figure at left” as one would in describing a two-dimensional painting.

The term “double circle” describes a set of two concentric circles incised on the stele, “triple circle” a set of three concentric circles, and so on. The term “of uncertain gender” does not mean that the stele is of ambiguous sex, but that it is a fragment that retains no gender markers and cannot be categorized as either male or female.

The use of the word “stele” does not necessarily imply a complete stele but may also be used to refer to a single fragment or a collection of (usually) joining fragments from the same stele. For the purposes of statistics each unit is treated with equal weight, although it is acknowledged that this has the potential to skew results. A substantial number of new joins have been made; nonetheless it is not possible to say securely whether some (usually smaller) fragments do or do not belong to the same stele as other existing fragments, so that the same stele may be being counted two times or more. For the most part this is immaterial: a fragment from the hem is never going to carry a fibula and so, in any examination of the fibulae, it is irrelevant that an extant piece from the hem of the same stele is being treated separately in the same analysis. The hem fragment is simply omitted at the start as no fibulae can be expected to have been preserved upon it. The only statistics that can be truly biased by a fragmentary corpus are those that deal with them all, most notably analyses of the fabric designs used in the stelae’s robes and when making overall comparisons between the genders. It is, however, general trends that are of interest, and if the results are tilted a little to one side or the other it is of no grave consequence. It is the nature of archaeological data sets to be incomplete.

I have renumbered all the 1,400 stelae and stele fragments in this study according to my own system. This has been done to provide overall consistency, so that the stelae in the National Museum of Manfredonia logged by Maria Luisa Nava (Nava 1980a), the occasional finds from Ordona and the Melfese, those in the Trinitapoli Collection, pieces housed in museums in Geneva, Mariemont, Malibu, Budapest, and Kyoto, those held in private collections, stelae published long ago but now of unknown whereabouts, and stelae not published at all can all be dealt with smoothly and on equal terms. Juggling inventory numbers (or making my own arbitrary labels when there are none) proved to confuse the issue. The system is a simple numerical sequence beginning from 1, but divided by gender into three classes, each of which is denoted by a letter: F for female, M for male, and U for uncertain gender. The females number F1 to F695, the males M1 to M150, and those of uncertain gender U1 to U444. This has the great advantage of making the gender of any given fragment explicit without having to announce it. A fourth category exists for the heads, H1 to H111.

A concordance is provided (appendix 3), listing each stele’s Norman number (used in this publication), location, inventory number, and, where applicable, Stele Daunie I number from Nava 1980a. Those with multiple numbers from Nava 1980a have been joined since publication. The dimensions and typology classifications, as outlined by Nava (and summarized here in chapter 3, “Maria Luisa Nava”), of each piece are also given in this listing, as is their figure number, if illustrated. Elsewhere, if the Nava Type appears in parentheses, I have made the attribution myself. Appendix 2 provides information on stelae included in this study that have not been published in Nava 1980a or Nava 2011 (the Trinitapoli Collection). The spelling of “stele” and “stelae” I have adopted following the Oxford Editor’s Dictionary.

The term “Daunian” does not necessarily denote a discrete ethnic group, but instead describes the people living in Daunia at the time with a shared culture.