2015, Heroic fiction, combat scenes, and the scholarly reconstruction of Archaic Greek warfare

BICS-58-1 – 2015 33

© 2015 Institute of Classical Studies University of London

HEROIC FICTION, COMBAT SCENES,

AND THE SCHOLARLY RECONSTRUCTION

OF ARCHAIC GREEK WARFARE

FERNANDO ECHEVERRÍA

I. Introduction

The reconstruction of archaic Greek warfare has been the subject of a lively debate over

the past decades.1 The lack of contemporary written sources results in serious gaps in our

knowledge of archaic military events and practices and emphasizes the role of painted

scenes on vases, which represent military actions and fighting with some regularity, as an

alternative source of information. The extraordinary potential of painted scenes, however,

conceals a methodological problem: vase paintings are not detailed portrayals of reality,

but works of art, and as such they possess their own language and narrative. To distil

reliable and historically accurate information from them is problematic, to say the least.

The central question has been – and still is – how to interpret combat scenes. An

influential academic line of thought maintains that a substantial part of them were subject

to a recurrent artistic convention, i.e. the deliberate attempt to recreate topics and

narratives from the past, thus ‘archaizing’ them, or from the epics or legendary sagas, thus

‘heroizing’ them. Greek painters, wishing to illustrate the episodes of the extraordinarily

rich pool of Greek myths and legends, would have intentionally recreated the ways and

means of a heroic or past world and found inspiration basically in the Homeric epics.2 The

extent to which ‘heroizing’ and ‘archaizing’ conventions could have affected the

production of painted pottery in archaic Greece has never been assessed in detail, but it is

generally regarded as a widespread phenomenon. For military historians, this is a serious

This paper originated as part of a postdoctoral research project (2008-0221) and was developed under the aegis

of a ‘Ramón y Cajal’ contract with the Complutense University (RYC 2011-08161) and a research project

(HAR2012-30870) funded by the Spanish Ministry of Economy (MINECO). It benefitted from the helpful

comments of Hans van Wees, Philip de Souza, and the anonymous referees of the journal, to whom I am greatly

indebted. I am also thankful to Richard Simpson for his editorial help. All remaining mistakes are naturally my

own. Dates are BC unless stated otherwise.

1 See the recent elaborations of the debate in the contributions to the volumes of B. Campbell and L. A. Tritle,

ed., The Oxford handbook of warfare in the Classical world (Oxford 2013), and D. Kagan and G. F. Viggiano,

ed., Men of bronze. Hoplite warfare in ancient Greece (New Jersey 2013).

2 This view is traditionally found, for example, in H.L. Lorimer, ‘The hoplite phalanx with special reference to

the poems of Archilochus and Tyrtaeus’, ABSA 42 (1947) 76-138, and J. Carter, ‘The beginning of narrative art

in the Greek Geometric period’, ABSA 67 (1972) 25-58. For a complete study on the subject with further and

more recent references, see A. Snodgrass, Homer and the artists. Text and picture in early Greek art (Cambridge

1998).

34 BICS-58-1 – 2015


matter: ‘heroized’ or ‘archaized’ scenes, it is believed, introduce numerous elements of

fiction that make them unable to represent contemporary reality. As a result, they are

usually discarded as reliable evidence for the reconstruction of early Greek warfare.3

In broad terms, the debate revolves around the conflict between fiction and reality,

commonly perceived as irreconcilable opposites: fiction must be rejected for the sake of

the scientific search for historical reality. At the risk of oversimplification, two main

academic approaches to the question can be listed. On the one hand, a ‘realist’

perspective, mainly put forward by historians:4 scenes contain inaccuracies in detail due to

technical factors but are highly realistic and depict the ‘essential nature’ of warfare in a

very effective way. ‘Archaic’ or ‘heroic’ scenes merely present a distortion of reality,

most frequently from the dawn of the archaic age.5 On the other hand, a ‘constructionist’

approach, seemingly prevailing among art historians: scenes do not represent reality, but

an artistic construction, an interpretation of reality. ‘Archaic’ or ‘heroic’ scenes are then

the expression of the interests, ideals and values of the time.6 The development of

iconographic studies in the last years, however, calls for alternative views to that

exclusive opposition.

This paper offers a reappraisal of the issue, engaging in methodological and theoretical

aspects and focusing fundamentally on the analysis – partially quantitative – of combat

scenes from the period 600-450 BC.7 As a methodological choice, I will leave the literary

sources aside when possible and focus on the scenes as an independent source: I intend to

avoid problems of circularity, very common when shifting from literary to iconographic

evidence or vice versa. I will also leave aside medium-specific issues of vase painting

such as painting techniques, composition, or contexts,8 since they are not significant for

3 See a recent treatment of the issue in G. Viggiano and H. van Wees, ‘The arms, armor and iconography of early

Greek hoplite warfare’, in Men of bronze: Hoplite warfare in ancient Greece, ed. D. Kagan and G. F. Viggiano

(New Jersey 2013) 57-73.

4 Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2); H.L. Lorimer, Homer and the monuments (London 1950); T. B. L. Webster,

‘Homer and Attic geometric vases’, ABSA 50 (1955) 38-50; P.A.L. Greenhalgh, Early Greek warfare. Horsemen

and chariots in the Homeric and Archaic ages (Cambridge 1973) 1-6; J. Salmon, ‘Political hoplites?’, JHS 97

(1977) 84-101 (87); P. Cartledge, ‘Hoplites and heroes: Sparta’s contribution to the technique of ancient

warfare’, JHS 97 (1977) 11-23 (12); V. D. Hanson, The Western way of war. Infantry battle in Classical Greece

(Berkeley 1989) 50; J. K. Anderson ‘Hoplite weapons and offensive arms’, in Hoplites. The Classical Greek

battle experience, ed. V. D. Hanson (London 1991) 15-37 (16-17).

5 See, for example, Greenhalgh, Early Greek warfare (n.4) 1-6.

6 F. Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier: Archers, peltastes, cavaliers dans l’imagerie attique (Paris 1990) 2-3;

J. Boardman, ‘The sixth-century potters and painters of Athens and their public’, in Looking at Greek vases, ed.

T. Rassmusen and N. Spivey (Cambridge 1991) 79-102; T. Hölscher, ‘Images of war in Greece and Rome:

between military practice, public memory and cultural symbolism’, JRS 93 (2003) 1-17 (2); C. Marconi, ‘Images

for a warrior. On a group of Athenian vases and their public’, in Greek vases: Images, contexts and

controversies, ed. C. Marconi (Leiden 2004) 27-40; A. Alexandridou, The early black-figured pottery of Attika

in context (c. 630-570 BC) (Leiden 2011) 61.

7 Quantitative studies: L. Hannestad, ‘Athenian pottery in Italy c. 550-470 BC: Beazley and quantitative studies’,

Cronache di Archeologia e di Storia dell’Arte 30 (1991) 211-16; R. Osborne, ‘Images for a warrior. On a group

of Athenian vases and their public’, in Greek vases: Images, contexts and controversies, ed. C. Marconi (Leiden

2004) 41-54 (42-43). Example of quantitative study: R. Osborne, ‘Pots, trade and the archaic Greek economy’,

Antiquity 70.267 (1996) 31-44.

8 Issues that I briefly addressed elsewhere, F. Echeverría, ‘La composición de las escenas de combate en la

pintura vascular griega arcaica’, in Actas del I congreso internacional sobre estudios cerámicos, ed. L. Girón,

FERNANDO ECHEVERRÍA: COMBAT SCENES – ARCHAIC GREEK WARFARE 35


my main arguments to work: that the identification of combat scenes as ‘archaic’ or

‘heroic’ is to some extent driven by preconceptions about archaic Greek warfare, and that

elements of fiction and reality are compatible in pictorial narrative and do not hamper the

historical analysis of the military practices depicted in them. Liberated from the ‘phalanx

debate’, those scenes labeled as ‘archaic’ or ‘heroic’ can be rehabilitated as historical

evidence, useful for the reconstruction of archaic Greek military practices, values or

ideals.

II. The sample

A few words must be said about the iconographic sample that will be used here. It consists

of a pool of 657 combat scenes from the period 600-450 BC collected as part of an

ongoing research project on the iconography of combat in archaic Greek vase painting. In

order to provide a firm ground for the sample, the data is collected from the published

volumes of the Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum and supplemented with information

contained in the Beazley Archive.

Quantitatively speaking, these 657 scenes are derived from a total 544 vases, unevenly

distributed throughout the period under scrutiny: in our sample, only 8 vases (1%) belong

to the period 600-575, 117 vases to 575-540 (21%), 257 vases to 540-510 (47%), 137

vases to 510-480 (25%), and again only 25 vases to 480-450 (4%). Black-figure wares

represent an absolute majority, 489 vases (almost 90%) against the 53 red-figure vases

(almost 10%) from roughly 530 onwards; there are only two bilingual vases, from the

period 520-500. The vase forms are dominated by the different types of amphorae (45%),

specially the neck amphorae (30%), and cups (23%), while hydriai and lekythoi are much

less numerous (9,5% and 8% respectively). Only 3% of the vases in the sample are

kraters, another 3% are oinochoes, and less common types such as aryballoi, dinoi, olpes,

skyphoi, stamnoi, kantharoi and pixides make up the remaining 9%. Most of the combat

scenes (85%) are situated on the body of the vase, filling up the central and main band of

decoration, the rest of them scattered throughout the shoulder (10% in amphorae and

hydriai), the neck (1,5%), the handles (1,5%), and the interior or tondo in the case of the

cups (1,5%). Finally, 98% of the vases are Attic manufactures, a seemingly astonishing

majority, but in fact quite the expected proportion according to all sorts of evidence.9

The sample – while containing much from sixth-century Athens – is wide enough to

allow for typological and chronological diversity, covers an extremely interesting period

in the art and military history of Greece, and is made up of vases which have been studied

thoroughly, and which are currently preserved in some of the leading institutional

collections. Its representativeness, however, can be naturally questioned: from the point of

view of our different experience and familiarity with the iconographic record, all samples

may be in fact arbitrary and questionable, but the positive thing about statistical work is

M. Lazarich and M. Conceiçâo (Cádiz 2013) 177-91. See also H. A. Shapiro, ‘Old and new heroes: narrative,

composition, and subject in Attic black-figure’, CA 9.1 (1990) 114-48; E. Moignard, ‘Tools of the trade’, in

Word and image in ancient Greece, ed. N. K. Rutter and B. A. Sparkes (Edinburgh 2000) 35-49.

9 A reference: almost 80% of the vases catalogued in the Beazley Archive (www.beazley.ox.ac.uk) are labelled

as ‘Athenian’ (search 1 March 2015). Athenian vases are already a vast majority of our record, as is widely

known.

http://www.beazley.ox.ac.uk/

36 BICS-58-1 – 2015


that it can be easily contrasted with other samples. This catalogue presents interesting and

consistent patterns that deserve to be presented, but it will also be subject to future testing

against new or different evidence.

III. ‘Archaic’ and ‘heroic’ conventions in Greek vase painting. How interpretation works

‘Archaic’ and ‘heroic’ are labels used by historians to identify certain elements of a

scene’s narrative and content as taken from fiction. The label ‘archaic’ was originally used

by art historians to describe the stylistic features of a certain period of Greek art, in

contrast with the following ‘classical’ period,10 but it was soon applied to historical

analysis in the interpretation of works of art, painted scenes in this case: ‘archaizing’

scenes are those in which a specific set of stylistic or iconographic elements with an

‘archaic’ taste indicate a narrative or topic inspired in a real or imagined past. Since the

depiction of the past by Greek artists could be exaggerated or distorted according to

circumstantial tastes and prejudices, or even be completely imaginary, the ‘archaizing’

convention entails a certain degree of fiction.11 On the other hand, the label ‘heroic’ refers

to the presence in a given scene of iconographic and narrative elements taken from Greek

myths. In this case, the element of fiction seems to be more evident.12 Moreover, since

heroes are the main figures in epic poetry, the term ‘epic’ has been used as a synonym for

‘heroic’.13

Both labels appeal to fiction and a notion of the past, but they are different concepts

describing different aspects of academic analysis: archaizing entails a deliberate depiction

of the past, but not necessarily – although fairly regularly – a legendary or mythical one,

while ‘heroic’ implies the depiction of the supra-natural qualities and conditions

traditionally attached to heroes. Since the most popular heroes feature in myth, and myth

is commonly situated in a distant past, ‘heroic’ quality may entail a look into the past as

well, but it is sensu stricto timeless: it can be applied to contemporary people. As a result,

‘archaic’ expresses mainly – past – time, and then secondarily – heroic or legendary –

quality, while ‘heroic’ expresses mainly quality, and only secondarily – past – time.

Despite this different emphasis, both ‘archaic’ and ‘heroic’ can sometimes be found

together in modern works14 and are in fact used in the same way when applied to combat

scenes, and to very much the same effect: ‘archaic’ or ‘heroic’ scenes are claimed to be

unlikely to contain accurate information about historical warfare, on the grounds either of

10 A summary of the issue with bibliographical references in C. H. Hallett, ‘The origins of the classical style in

sculpture’, JHS 106 (1986) 71-84.

11 This ‘orthodoxy’ was defined by Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2) 89; Homer and monuments (n.4) 156;

Carter, ‘Beginning’ (n.2) 56; and Greenhalgh, Early Greek warfare (n.4).

12 Webster, ‘Homer’ (n.4); G. F. Ferrari Pinney, ‘Achilles lord of Scythia’, in Ancient Greek art and

iconography, ed. W. G. Moon (Madison 1983) 127-46; J. M. Hurwit, ‘The Dipylon shield once more’, CA 4.2

(1985) 121-26; Boardman, ‘Sixth-century potters’ (n.6); Marconi, ‘Images’ (n.6); Osborne, ‘Images’ (n.7).

13 Marconi, ‘Images’ (n.6) 32, for example.

14 ‘Any archaism in the armature is meant to stamp the scene as heroic’, Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2) 95. The

Dipylon shield’s ‘heroizing symbolism remained intact, to be exploited and intensified by Archaic (and

purposefully archaizing) painters of myth’, Hurwit, ‘Dipylon shield’ (n.12) 126. Greenhalgh uses both

‘archaizing’ and ‘heroizing’ together and as interchangeable throughout his work, Early Greek warfare (n.4).



anachronism or of fiction, so they are frequently invalidated for historical analysis of

combat.

Furthermore, the methodology to label a scene as ‘archaic’ or ‘heroic’ is basically the

same, namely to identify certain elements in the scene as ‘archaic’ or ‘heroic’; the topic or

action of the scene is then assumed to be connected with myth or with the past, and thus to

be fictitious or anachronistic, which in turn is taken to mean that it is ‘non-historical’, i.e.

unreliable for the reconstruction of historical warfare.15 In practice, this is a simplified

version of what is in fact standard procedure in the analysis of painted scenes on vases:

interpretation through identification.16 There is some ground for this: narratological

studies applied to iconography suggest that all the visual and material elements of a

painted scene, their interconnection, and their relationship with a narrative known to the

viewer, contain specific nuggets of meaning that convey a unifying – albeit often complex

– message.17 Identification is then crucial, but the question here is whether or not we are

really able to identify the relevant elements and to draw the relevant meanings from them.

‘Archaic’ and ‘heroic’ conventions in combat scenes

The list of ‘non-historical’ elements, as it were, in combat scenes is in fact rather short,

and despite slight variations there is a certain consensus around some of them. The first

item in the list, invariably connected with mythical contexts, is the Boeotian shield.18

Snodgrass regarded it as an ‘entirely mythical’ piece of equipment, Greenhalgh as an

‘obsolete archaism’, and Lorimer as ‘a deliberate piece of romantic archaizing’.19 Besides,

its depiction with the double grip in vase paintings was for Lorimer ‘alien and

15 ‘Mythical episodes’ can be identified through a set of ‘iconic elements’, Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6)

101-02. See Ferrari Pinney, ‘Achilles’ (n.12) 127; and Boardman, ‘Sixth-century potters’ (n.6) 81-82.

16 A practical example of this methodology presented in C. Bérard and J.L. Durand, ‘Entering the imagery’, in A

city of images: Iconography and society in ancient Greece, ed. C. Bérard (Princeton 1989) 23-37.

17 A. Snodgrass, Narration and allusion in Archaic Greek art. A lecture delivered at New College Oxford, on

29th May, 1981 (London 1982); M. Stansbury-O’Donnell, Pictorial narrative in ancient Greek art (Cambridge

1999); Looking at Greek art (Cambridge 2011); A. Steiner, Reading Greek vases (Cambridge 2007). For painters

as – sometimes bad – storytellers, see J.P. Small, ‘How not to tell a story’, in An archaeology of representations.

Ancient Greek vase-painting and contemporary methodologies, ed. D. Yatromanolakis (Athens 2009), 76-86.

Schemata in archaic Greek art: B. Fehr, ‘Ponos and the pleasure of rest: some thoughts on body language in

ancient Greek art and life’, in An archaeology of representations. Ancient Greek vase-painting and

contemporary methodologies, ed. D. Yatromanolakis (Athens 2009) 128-58 (129-32). In this paper I will use the

term ‘narrative’ in its unspecific and general sense of the internal action or story represented in a painted scene.

18 Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2) 89, 123; Homer and monuments (n.4) 166-67; Webster, ‘Homer’ (n.4) 41, 50;

A. Snodgrass, Early Greek armour and weapons from the end of the Bronze Age to 600 BC (Edinburgh 1964)

58-60; Archaic Greece. The age of experiment (London 1980) 74-75; ‘Towards the interpretation of the

Geometric figure-scenes’, Ath.Mitt. 95 (1980) 51-58; Arms and armor of the Greeks (London 1999) 55; Carter,

‘Beginning’ (n.2) 55; Hurwit, ‘Dipylon shield’ (n.12) 125-26; ‘Reading the Chigi vase’, Hesperia 71.1 (2002)

1-22 (2); Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6) 42-43, 76-79; T. H. Carpenter, Art and Myth in Ancient Greece: a

Handbook (London 1991) 199; L. Hannestad, ‘War and Greek art’, in War as a cultural and social force: Essays

on warfare in Antiquity, ed. T. Bekker-Nielsen and L. Hannestad (Copenhagen 2001) 110-19 (114); Marconi,

‘Images’ (n.6) 32-33; Viggiano and van Wees, ‘Arms, armor’ (n.3) 63.

19 Snodgrass, Early Greek armour (n.18) 58-60; Archaic Greece (n.18) 74-75; Arms and armor (n.18) 55;

Greenhalgh, Early Greek warfare (n.4) 64, see 63-83; Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2) 89; Homer and

monuments (n.4) 156. See also Webster, ‘Homer’ (n.4) 41-42.

38 BICS-58-1 – 2015


anachronistic’.20 The reasons behind this consensus are, however, less clear: Lorimer

argued that it was an iconographical evolution of the Dipylon shield, and that once the

Dipylon type was abandoned, its preservation in paintings indicated a reference to an

heroic past. Webster, on the other hand, maintained that oval shields, both the Dipylon

and the Boeotian types, broke the continuum between older types of round shields and the

Argive shield.21 Reluctance to accept the Boeotian shield as a real piece of equipment,

however, stems in practice from the fact that only pictorial representations and no physical

remains of it have been preserved; moreover, it is usually regarded as less effective for

protection than the round surface of the Argive shield.22

The list includes other elements such as nudity, an artistic convention commonly

interpreted to emphasize heroic quality,23 and presented as the ‘archetypal state’ for the

Greek male in art, an ‘Hellenic norm’ embodying ‘the very essence of beauty’.24 A third

element is the always controversial presence of chariots,25 artefacts allegedly absent from

archaic battlefields and thus commonly regarded as romanticized references to Homeric

warfare. The same argument is used to justify the inclusion in the list of the presence of

pairs fighting in isolation,26 again a supposed reference to Homeric monomachiai. These

elements so far seem to refer to the ‘heroic’ convention, while others are closer to the

‘archaic’ convention: the use in the scenes of several spears, for example,27 claiming that

no contemporary fighting in the archaic period was carried out with other weapon than the

single, thrusting spear of the hoplite, and the presence of archers, allegedly more likely to

be found in Dark Age warfare than on contemporary archaic battlefields.28

This list is far from exhaustive, and other elements have been suggested.29 In any case,

they are far from innocent: all of them have been thought to belong to a style of combat

20 Lorimer, Homer and monuments (n.4) 166; cf. ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2) 98.

21 Lorimer, Homer and monuments (n.4) 166; Webster, ‘Homer’ (n.4) 50.

22 See this very same arguments applied to the Dipylon shield: Hurwit, ‘Dipylon shield’ (n.12) 125.

23 Hanson, Western (n.4) 50); Snodgrass, Arms and armor (n.18) 55.

24 J. M. Hurwit, ‘The problem with Dexileos: Heroic and other nudities in Greek art’, AJA 111.1 (2007) 35-60

(46-47). Hurwit enunciates the principle of ‘heroic nudity’ as follows: ‘Gods and heroes are regularly shown

nude, and mortals who wish to be ranked among heroes and those who are in fact heroized (e.g., warriors who

have fallen in battle) should be nude, too. Therefore, nude males (particularly those engaged in or about to enter

combat) are heroic’.

25 Snodgrass, Early Greek armour (n.18) 159-63; Archaic Greece (n.18) 73-74; Greenhalgh, Early Greek

warfare (n.4) 52-53; Ferrari Pinney, ‘Achilles’ (n.12) 131; Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6) 98; Boardman,

‘Sixth-century potters’ (n.6) 95; R. H. Sinos, ‘Divine selection. Epiphany and politics in archaic Greece’, in

Cultural poetics in Archaic Greece. Cult, performance, politics, ed. C. Dougherty and L. Kurke (Cambridge

1993) 73-91 (75-76).

26 J. Bazant, ‘War, poetry and Athenian vases’, LF 106 (1983) 203-09 (205-06); Boardman, ‘Sixth-century

potters’ (n.6) 95; Hölscher, ‘Images’ (n.6) 3.

27 Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2) 83; Bazant, ‘War, poetry’ (n.26) 204-05.

28 Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2) 93-95, 100-02; M. F. Vos, Scythian archers in Archaic vase-painting

(Groningen 1963); Ferrari Pinney, ‘Achilles’ (n.12); Bazant, ‘War, poetry’ (n.26) 206-07. For Lissarrague, the

secondary role of archers is bound to emphasize the primary and ‘heroic’ role of ‘hoplites’ (L’autre guerrier

(n.6) 113-14).

29 Thigh guards (in Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2) 89), the harnessing of chariots, mounted squires, and even

the motif of warriors carrying away a dead comrade (in Bazant, ‘War, poetry’ (n.26) 205).



alien to phalanx warfare. Boeotian shields, chariots, several spears, and even archers, have

been traditionally connected with an open and flexible way of fighting, closer to Homer than

to packed ranks of hoplites.30 They are, therefore, supposedly hard to reconcile with the

phalanx,31 which is commonly thought to be the basic tactical formation and way of fighting

in archaic Greece.32 The argument runs as follows: if the scenes truly represented

contemporary military practices, they would depict phalanx warfare, since the phalanx was

the standard way of fighting at that time; the scenes do not represent phalanxes, but archers,

chariots and isolated warriors utterly incompatible with closed formations, so they do not

represent contemporary practices but either past or legendary – ‘heroic’ – ones.33 This

argument has several methodological implications: first, preconceptions about combat – the

monopoly of the hoplite phalanx – take preference over evidence itself, and the

reconstruction of the archaic Greek military is carried out with the phalanx already in mind.

Second, these ‘non-historical’ elements are not selected according to their inherent qualities

to represent the legendary past, but because they do not fit the standard view of archaic

warfare. Everything that does not fit the phalanx becomes then ‘heroic’, and hence fictitious.

But there is a final, further reaching implication: ‘fiction’ and ‘reality’ are supposed to

convey information of different nature for the historian, and while ‘fictional’ elements

seem to inform about the mythological or ideological spheres, only ‘realistic’ elements are

regarded as valid for the reconstruction of historical military practices. According to that

logic, ‘fictional’ elements must be discarded in the pursuit of an accurate reconstruction of

archaic warfare. This entails in practice overlooking the wide range of nuances and

possibilities between ‘reality’ and ‘fiction’, and perhaps to confuse what is ‘historical’

with what is ‘real’. Since it is universally agreed that both ‘reality’ and ‘fiction’ are in the

end historical products, then ‘reality’ in a painted scene can be an accurate depiction of

contemporary life, but ‘fiction’ can be taken to be nothing but a cultural discourse about

30 Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2); Homer and monuments (n.4); Webster, ‘Homer’ (n.4); Greenhalgh, Early

Greek warfare (n.4); Cartledge, ‘Hoplites’ (n.4); Salmon, ‘Political hoplites’ (n.4); Marconi, ‘Images’ (n.6)

32-33).

31 Already noticed by H. van Wees, Greek warfare. Myths and realities (London 2004) 50-51.

32 Bibliography on this point is too vast to condense here. Here is a sample of recent references: Hanson, Western

(n.4); A. Schwartz, ‘The early hoplite phalanx: order or disarray?’, C&M 53 (2002) 31-64; Reinstating the

hoplite: Arms, armour and phalanx fighting in Archaic and Classical Greece (Stuttgart 2009); ‘Large weapons,

small Greeks: the practical limitations of hoplite weapons and equipment’, in Men of bronze: Hoplite warfare in

ancient Greece, ed. D. Kagan and G. F. Viggiano (New Jersey 2013) 157-75. E. L. Wheeler, ‘The general as

hoplite’, in Hoplites: The classical Greek battle experience, V. D. Hanson (London 1991) 121-70; ‘Greece: mad

hatters and March hares’, in Recent directions in the military history of the ancient world, ed. L. L. Brice and

J. T. Roberts (Claremont 2011) 53-104; G. Viggiano, ‘The hoplite revolution and the rise of the polis’, in Men of

bronze: Hoplite warfare in ancient Greece, ed. D. Kagan and G. F. Viggiano (New Jersey 2013) 112-33.

33 See Bazant, ‘War, poetry’ (n.26) 205-06. Boardman, for example, states that ‘the fighting scenes are the most

consistently dominated by heroic rather than contemporary behavior since the hoplite battle, with ranks

advancing shoulder to shoulder, was the typical scheme for Archaic Greece, and this is ignored in art in favour of

individual duels’ (in ‘Sixth-century potters’ (n.6) 95). See also Hölscher, ‘Images’ (n.6) 4-5. The alternative

view is that Greek artists knew the phalanx but intentionally decided not to depict it, in Bazant, ‘War, poetry’

(n.26) 206.

40 BICS-58-1 – 2015


contemporary life, and for that reason equally interesting for historical analysis and

interpretation.34 It is time to treat it as such.

IV. How fictitious is ‘fiction’? Iconographic conventions and myth

If ‘fiction’ is, in the context of combat scenes of the archaic period, the depiction of

military episodes inspired by myth or legend, then we must assess the influence of Greek

mythical traditions over artistic expression, and the key for that is identification. For a

number of reasons I believe that a safe and sound identification of mythical episodes in

combat scenes is most of the time beyond our reach. Let us explore why.

As the quintessential repository of Greek mythical tradition, Homer and the epic

poems are obviously the starting point: it has been claimed that the spread of the Homeric

poems prompted a new interest in recreating the mythical past in art, and that, as a result

of that revival, archaic vase painters supposedly recreated in their scenes the kind of

warfare described in the epics.35 The idea found some criticism: Snodgrass pointed out

that ‘it is surely not a regular phenomenon, at any period, for artists to respond directly to

a literary stimulus and take their inspiration entirely from it’.36 Snodgrass himself proved

that strictly Homeric scenes are indeed a minority in archaic Greek iconography, and

suggested that, alternatively, a vast pool of tales and traditions, unsystematic and orally

transmitted, circulated at that time, occasionally inspiring painted scenes on vases.37 It was

then possible that Greek artists were able to recreate ‘heroic’ contexts and topics and to

look into the past in search of identity and legitimization,38 but they probably did not do so

on a regular basis, and they almost certainly not resorted systematically to Homer for that

purpose. There were other, equally important and not necessarily exclusive sources of

inspiration for artistic expression.

The question of identification is then crucial. Mythical episodes must naturally be

identifiable by the audience – otherwise they are pointless – which means in turn that the

scenes somehow contain easily accessible and recognizable elements to facilitate

identification – for example, the ‘archaic’ or ‘heroic’ elements discussed above. For the

argument to work, however, identification should be as easy and frequent as possible,

perhaps not truly systematic but at least following fairly consistent patterns. In fact, the

repetition of iconographic elements has been recently emphasized as crucial in visual –

34 For a much deeper and substantiated criticism of the opposition between ‘reality’ and ‘fiction’ in Greek art, see

L. Giuliani, Bild und Mythos: Geschichte der Bilderzählung in der griechischen Kunst (Munich 2003). See also

Hölscher, ‘Images’ (n.6) 2, and Hannestad, ‘War’ (n.18).

35 For descriptions of this line of thought, see J. M. Hurwit, The art and culture of Early Greece, 1100-480 BC

(Ithaca 1985) 106-24, 231-34; Snodgrass, Archaic Greece (n.18) 70-73; ‘Homer and Greek art’, in A new

companion to Homer, ed. I. Morris and B. Powell (Leiden 1997) 560-82; Homer and artists (n.2). For an

alternative view, see H. van Wees, ‘The development of the hoplite phalanx. Iconography and reality in the

seventh century’, in War and violence in ancient Greece, ed. H. van Wees (London 2000) 125-66 (139-46).

36 Snodgrass, Archaic Greece (n.18) 71. The predominance of the Homeric epics over archaic art has been

consequently questioned. See Snodgrass, Archaic Greece (n.18); O. Murray, Early Greece (Brighton 1980);

R. Hägg, ed., The Greek renaissance of the eighth century BC: Tradition and innovation (Stockholm 1983); and

R. Osborne, Greece in the making, 1200-479 BC (London 1996).

37 Snodgrass, Archaic Greece (n.18) 71.

38 Hurwit, Art and culture (n.35) 122-24.



and literary – narrative.39 How can a consistent identification be achieved in practice?

According to Hoffman, ‘pictures (…) consist of clusters of signs. Considered in isolation,

these signs do not take us very far. It is through their connectedness with each other that

they become interesting, that they reveal the “core significance”’.40 Iconographic elements

must be then integrated into a coherent whole, and their meaning – that is, their

identification by the viewer – ought to be systematic, or at least fairly established. In the

case of specific figures, action or posture are also relevant elements: Herakles, for

instance, can be recognized through his lion skin and his club, and/or through his struggles

with Kyknos or Andromache.

However, the ability of painters to depict unmistakably personal attributes to

differentiate one hero from another was naturally limited.41 As a result, only highly

idiosyncratic characters – Herakles – or actions – killing an Amazon queen – can be

systematically identified in combat scenes. How can we be positively certain that every

single scene depicting a warrior carrying the dead body of a comrade represents Aias and

Achilles?42 In practice, beyond Herakles’ club and bow, indistinct figures are more likely

to be anonymous warriors.43 ‘Anonymity’ in this context can be of two kinds: ‘partial’,

when figures are unknown to us – i.e., not included in the main legendary and mythical

sagas – but not necessarily unknown to the painter or to the potential audience; or

‘absolute’, when figures and topics are unknown even to ancient audiences, for example

as a narrative device to put the emphasis on the action itself,44 or when a scene is taken out

of its original context and transferred to another – as in the case of the massive export of

Attic vases to Etruria during the sixth century.45

39 Steiner, Reading (n.17), with relevant bibliography. See also Stansbury-O’Donnell, Looking (n.17) 88-92.

40 H. Hoffmann, ‘Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori’, Metis 5.1-2 (1990) 127-36 (127). See also Bérard and

Duran, ‘Entering’ (n.16) 26, and Boardman, ‘Sixth-century potters’ (n.6) 81.

41 Hurwit, Art and culture (n.35) 107; Small, ‘How not’ (n.17) 82-85; cf. K. Schefold, Gods and heroes in late

Archaic Greek art (Cambridge 1992) 303-21.

42 In fact, we simply cannot. See Shapiro (‘Old and new’ (n.8) 126), who leaves the issue cautiously aside in

‘Comings and goings. The iconography of departure and arrival on Attic vases’, Metis 5.1-2 (1990) 113-26, and

Marconi, ‘Images’ (n.6) 33-34 and n.24. Cf. Hurwit, Art and culture (n.35) 113-15; Alexandridou, Early black-

figured pottery (n.6) 57-58.

43 Hannestad, ‘War’ (n.18) 110-11; Small, ‘How not’ (n.17) 77.

44 A pair of anonymous warriors fighting might represent not a specific mythical story, but ideas connected with

combat, like courage, manliness, or violence. See A. Stewart, Art, desire, and the body in ancient Greece

(Cambridge 1997) 91; R. Osborne, Archaic and Classical Greek art (Oxford 1998) 63; Hannestad, ‘War’ (n.18)

112; P. Krentz, ‘Warfare and hoplites’, in The Cambridge companion to Archaic Greece, ed. H. A. Shapiro

(Cambridge 2007) 61-84 (75 and n. 29); S. Muth, Gewalt im Bild: Das Phänomen der medialen Gewalt im Athen

des 6. und 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. (Berlin 2008).

45 Attic exports to Etruria: L. Hannestad, ‘Athenian pottery in Etruria c. 550-470 BC’, AArch 59 (1988) 113-30;

‘Athenian pottery in Italy’ (n.7); ‘The reception of Attic pottery by the indigenous peoples of Italy: the evidence

from funerary contexts’, in The complex past of pottery, ed. J. Crieland, V. Stissi and G. van Wijngaarden

(Amsterdam 1999) 308-18; T. Rasmussen, ‘Corinth and the Orientalising phenomenon’, in Looking at Greek

vases, ed. T. Rasmussen and N. Spivey (Cambridge 1991) 57-78; N. Spivey, ‘Greek vases in Etruria’, in Looking

at Greek vases, ed. T. Rasmussen and N. Spivey (Cambridge 1991) 131-50; ‘Volcanic landscape with kraters’, in

An archaeology of representations. Ancient Greek vase-painting and contemporary methodologies, ed.

D. Yatromanolakis (Athens 2009) 50-75; J. P. Small, ‘Scholars, Etruscans, and Attic painted vases’, JRA 7

(1994) 34-58; R. Osborne, ‘Why did Athenian pots appeal to the Etruscans?’, World Archaeology 33.2 (2001)

42 BICS-58-1 – 2015


A potential help in this question of identification and anonymity is naturally the

presence of name-tags in some scenes. Tags appeared in archaic vase painting by the end

of the seventh century and only became widespread by the second quarter of the sixth.46

They help to identify figures such as Herakles (Boston MFA 01.8059), Achilles (London

BM B 210), Aias and Hektor (Munich AS 1408), or Andromache (London BM E 45).

They can also give substance to otherwise unknown figures, like the warriors Smikythos

and Skythes (Cambridge FM 04.22), or Sosias, Pyles, Chariades, Dikes and Leukon

(London BM B 199) (Figure 1).47

However, the real value of name-tags as a device to facilitate identification must be

questioned, and our sample can be of some help. First, name-tags are a strikingly

infrequent device: a meager 14% of the vases in our sample present some kind of writing,

but only 3% of the total – 22 scenes – present proper names:48 archaic painters preferred

to draw senseless sequences of letters instead of naming their figures. Second, the

distribution of labels on the vases is seemingly unsystematic:49 in an Attic dinos in Paris

(E 875), 24 out of 36 figures bear name-tags, but there is no clear pattern to explain the

exact distribution of labels, why some figures are named while others are not. The

complete list of the names in our catalogue’s scenes includes six names of gods and divine

figures, 17 of heroes and known figures from myth, 22 of unknown warriors, and 19 of

unknown amazons. At first sight, there seems to be a simple majority of unknown but

named figures, but while unknown names occur only once, the names of the known

figures recur in different scenes: Herakles is named in eight scenes, Achilles in six,

Aeneas and Andromache in four, Aias and Telamon in three, and a handful of other

277-95; C. Reusser, Vasen für Etrurien: Verbreitung und Funktionen attischer Keramik im Etrurien des 6. un 5.

Jahrhunderts vor Christus (Zürich 2002); Steiner, Reading (n.17), 234-36. Greek weapons in Etruria:

J. R. Jannot, ‘Armement, tactique et société. Réflections sur l’exemple de Étrurie archaïque’, in Arte militare e

architetture nuragica, ed. B. S. Frizell (Stockholm 1991) 73-81; D. Frère and L. Hugot, ‘Images et imaginaires

des armes en Étrurie archaïque: du rituel au combat. La mise en scène des armes dans la peinture des VIIe et VIe

siècles avant J.-C.’, in Les armes dans l’Antiquité: de la technique à l’imaginaire, ed. P. Sauzeau and T. von

Compernolle (Montpellier 2007) 121-44. Trade and circulation of Greek pottery: J. H. Oakley, ‘State of the

discipline. Greek vase painting’, AJA 113.4 (2009) 599-627; A. Alexandridou, ‘Early sixth-century directional

trade: the evidence of Attic early black-figured pottery’, in The contexts of painted pottery in the ancient

Mediterranean world (Seventh-Fourth Centuries BCE), ed. D. Paleothodoros (Oxford 2012) 5-20.

46 For names and writing in general on Greek vases, see H. R. Immerwahr, Attic script: A survey (Oxford 1990);

A. Snodgrass, ‘The uses of writing in early Greek painted pottery’, in Word and image in ancient Greece, ed.

N. K. Rutter and B. A. Sparkes (Edinburgh 2000) 22-34; Steiner, Reading (n.17).

47 Unknown characters figure alongside the heroes of the epic sagas: A dinos in Paris (E 875) displays a massive

amazonomachy in which most of the named figures (24) are unknown, except for Telamon, Herakles and

Andromache. An Attic kylix in Berlin (F 2264) represents one Hipasos standing by Aeneas’ side and fighting

against Diomedes and Aias for the body of Patroklos; in an Attic neck amphora in Boston (98.916), Herakles kills

Andromache with the support of Telamon, while one Timiades and the amazons Pantariste and Ainipe complete the

scene. Other examples can be found (Cambridge FM G 44, London BM E 45, Munich AS 1426, Oxford AM 522).

48 Leaving aside the cases of signatures, ‘kalos’ inscriptions, and senseless sequence of letters. Senseless

inscriptions: H. R. Immerwahr, ‘A projected corpus of Attic vase inscriptions’, in Acta of the Fifth International

Congress of Greek and Latin Epigraphy (Oxford 1971) 53-60 (54, 59-60, n.8); Attic script (n.46) 44-45;

Snodgrass, ‘Uses of writing’ (n.46) 29-30.

49 Immerwahr, Attic script (n.46) 45.



Figure 1: A. The warriors Pyles, Chariades (fallen) and Dikes, on an Attic amphora from the

British Museum (London BM B 199, c. 530). B. The warrior Smikythos on an Attic kyathos

from Cambridge (Cambridge FM 04.22, c. 500). Photo: Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum.

figures – Athena, Diomedes, Hektor, Kyknos, Penthesilea – at least in two scenes. I

wonder why Athenian painters judged it necessary to use labels for such recognizable

characters as Herakles, and why they are sometimes labelled and sometimes – most of the

time in fact – not.50 As a result, name-tags do not in practice help to identify poorly known

characters, or even known but less easily identifiable characters, on a regular basis but

show a striking tendency towards really idiosyncratic and popular ones. Third, in a mostly

illiterate society like archaic and classical Greece labels must have been incidental for

identification.51 Their introduction and sudden spread could have had more to do with

artistic tastes and tendencies than with problems of identification.52

If we then remove the labels from the equation, as happens in some 95% of the evidence

in our sample, we are left with a landscape of – either partially or absolutely – ‘anonymous’

warriors, the consequence of our lack of contexts and references for the narratives depicted:

figures must be regarded as anonymous because we simply have no hint of their identity.53

50 Herakles is labeled 8 times out of 108 appearances in our catalogue. On Herakles, see Alexandridou, Early

black-figured pottery (n.6) 49-52. Achilles, on the other hand, appears in just 8 scenes but he is labeled 6 times.

Is he perhaps a less easily recognizable figure who needs further elements to be correctly identified?

51 For illiteracy and painting, see Boardman’s brief remarks (‘Sixth-century potters’ (n.6) 82). In his Topica

(140a21-22), Aristotle confesses that recognition of older topics and figures was becoming difficult for 4th-

century viewers ‘unless they were inscribed.’ For a recent comment on Aristotle’s remark, see Snodgrass, ‘Uses

of writing’ (n.46) 22, who connects the ‘tag-inscriptions’ to the symposion and other aristocratic contexts (‘Uses

of writing’ (n.46) 26-29).

52 Snodgrass, Homer and artists (n.2) 160-61; ‘Uses of writing’ (n.46) 31-33.

53 Boardman, ‘Sixth-century potters’ (n.6) 84. ‘Without these labels we could not be sure who the players

(Achilles and Aias in the chessboard game) are’, in J. M. Hurwit, ‘The human figure in early Greek sculpture

and vase painting’, in The Cambridge companion to Archaic Greece, ed. H.A. Shapiro (Cambridge 2007) 265-86

(269). See also Small, ‘How not’ (n.17) 77.

44 BICS-58-1 – 2015


Failure in recognition is crucial for us, modern audiences with an academic interest, because

accurate identification is the premise on which historical interpretation must be

substantiated. This is perhaps the reason why for modern scholarship identification has

mainly consisted of recognizing mythical or legendary episodes, in an attempt to connect

otherwise unexplained scenes with passages of the literary tradition. Recognition is felt safe

and unequivocal, but it entails at least two assumptions: first, that mythical or legendary

tradition is the actual source of inspiration for most scenes, and second, that the scenes

reproduce passages from legendary traditions known to us.

Without firm references, the identification of the topics and narratives of archaic

combat scenes depends to a great extent on two variables: the ‘language’ – the specific

code of symbols, references, and iconographic elements – and the potential audience –

individuals, families, communities, social classes.54 The relationship between these

variables is extremely close: different audiences can perceive different messages, and

different ‘languages’ are aimed at different audiences. As a result, small groups can

operate with an internal and idiosyncratic ‘language’, but large groups need an agreed

system of symbols, references and iconographic elements to make the message

understandable to everyone. Transferred to archaic vases, this idea implies that different

scenes had different potential audiences: some were intended for vast groups, some others

just for local markets, families and individuals, and as a result employed different

iconographic ‘languages’.55 If any of these variables failed – wrong language, or wrong

audience, or both – recognition was difficult, even impossible.

Apparently, this was no real trouble for ancient audiences, who could always give the

scenes their own meaning in their own context. As the literary sub-genre of the ekphrasis

shows, ancient audiences were always likely to draw meaning and sense from a work of

art, despite the lapse of time between them. In Lissarragues’ words, ‘the viewer does not

read the image, he recognizes it’.56 Snodgrass pointed out that Geometric artists were

concerned not so much with the identification of a subject than with the composition of

the scenes, and composition has been in fact claimed to be an overarching concern for

Greek painters in the specific arrangement of topics, figures and actions in the limited

54 For iconography as a ‘system of expression’ and a ‘figurative language’, see Bérard and Durand, ‘Entering’

(n.16); Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6) 9-10; Steiner, Reading (n.17) 10-15; Stansbury-O’Donnell, Pictorial

narrative (n.17); Looking (n.17) 72-88. For a discussion on topics, painters and markets, see Boardman, ‘Sixth-

century potters’ (n.6); Osborne, ‘Pots, trade’ (n.7); ‘Images’ (n.7); Alexandridou, ‘Early sixth-century trade’

(n.45). They suggest that certain products could be targeted at specific markets, which implies that the product

may contain a message intended for specific audiences. For the audience of the vases, see Marconi, ‘Images’

(n.6); Osborne, ‘Why did Athenian’ (n.45); ’ Images’ (n.7); Steiner, Reading (n.17) 67-68; J. de la Genière, ed.,

Les clients de la céramique grecque, actes du colloque de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, Paris

30-31 Janvier 2004 (Paris 2006).

55 See Marconi, ‘Images’ (n.6), and Osborne, ‘Images’ (n.7), for two recent and conflicting approaches to the

issue. For different approaches to the interaction between audiences and markets, see the different contributions

in de la Genière, Clients (n.54).

56 F. Lissarrague, Greek vases: The Athenians and their images (New York 2001) 87. For the viewer response,

see Stansbury-O’Donnell, Pictorial narrative (n.17); Looking (n.17) 82-85, 101-03. For a comprehensive study

on the ekphrasis, see J. Palm, ‘Bemerkungen zur Ekphrase in der griechischen Literatur’, Kungliga

Humanististiska Vetenskapssamfimdet i Uppsala (1965) 108-211; F. I. Zeitlin, ‘Figure: Ekphrasis’, G&R 60.1

(2013) 17-31.



space of the vases.57 The material aspects of the vase and the conditions of space should

be also taken into account in the analysis of combat scenes, as a potentially crucial

element in the pictorial representation of stories and events. For ancient audiences, then,

anonymity prompted an active response to fill the scene with new and personal or local

sense: an unidentified warrior on a painted vase had a potential value for permanent

identification. Sharing largely the same weapons and fighting styles, it was always

possible for the viewer to identify with the figures depicted, and to equate the warlike

deeds on the scenes, real or imaginary, with their own.58

As a result, we should be ready to accept the possibility that at least some patterns and

elements of recognition would be easy to grasp for the original audience, but beyond

recovery for us: scenes can be potentially telling a local, private or family story of which

we are unlikely to know anything. This is crucial: ‘fictional’ stories, mythical or legendary

episodes among them, can potentially have a great influence on painted scenes, but their

narratives are extremely difficult for us to identify because we need to ‘recognize’ them –

that is, we need to know them beforehand – as Lissarrague points out, which is not always

possible. But we anticipated that there were sources of inspiration other than fiction for

painted scenes, and this is where ‘reality’ steps forward.

V. ‘Reality’ and the phalanx

Emphasis on the ‘fictional’ elements of a scene, important as they are, draws us into some

methodological shallow water. The alternative is to take a fresh look at other elements

present in the scenes, elements potentially extracted from contemporary reality. This path is

not free of obstacles either. Since the scientific analysis of the scenes is based on

interpretation, the key question now is not what military reality can we reconstruct from the

images – not yet, at least – but what kind of ‘reality’ are we ready to read into the images. I

will try to prove the relevance of this approach.

Contemporary life – current interests, expectations, events, and material life – is no

doubt one of the most important sources of inspiration for artistic expression, what

Boardman describes as ‘knowledge of life’.59 This approach has its limitations: Lissarrague

critically points out that the scenes may not always reproduce ‘real’ things, and that they do

not reproduce all aspects of reality either.60 When labels are absent and internal narratives

seem impossible to recover, scenes are still potentially revealing of contemporary objects,

attitudes and practices. The aim of painted scenes was not simply to recreate the past, but

better to portray it to the present. In that sense, scenes must always be contemporary in

order to be meaningful for the audience. Boardman claimed that ‘in warlike scenes the

armour is always contemporary, even on the Trojan plain’, and that ‘in representations of

the past, dress and objects were never anachronistic. So even in the message-laden images

of Greek myth-history the classical Greek always viewed the stories in modern dress. This

57 Snodgrass, Homer and artists (n.2) 159.

58 See Osborne, ‘Why did Athenian’ (n.45) 287-92; Marconi, ‘Images’ (n.6); Spivey, ‘Volcanic landscape’ (n.45)

66-75.

59 J. Boardman, Greek art (London 1996) 181.

60 Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6) 3. See also Hölsher, ‘Images’ (n.6) 2-4.

46 BICS-58-1 – 2015


must have reinforced the immediacy of those messages’.61 According to van Wees, both

‘realistic’ and ‘heroic’ scenes are hard to distinguish because ‘artists and painters alike

drew their images of combat largely from the contemporary experience of war’.62 This

means that, at least as far as the physical setting goes, contemporary reality could be an

important source of inspiration. Other authors agree on this point.63 So a scene, like a text,

addresses always the present, because it can be permanently reinterpreted, but it is also

contemporary, because it reflects the time and context in which it was produced.

As a result, contemporary reality and practices were a source of inspiration for archaic

painters. However, what contemporary practices, what ‘reality’, is represented in the

combat scenes of the archaic period? The answer to this question has traditionally been

constructed around the ‘phalanx debate’, which has greatly contaminated the academic

analysis of archaic Greek military iconography: the scenes’ reliability and historicity is

often predicated upon their ability to represent phalanx warfare. I contend that this

apparent fixation with the phalanx actually stems from an academic preconception about

tactics in the archaic period, so in order to answer the central question about reality we

need to come to grips with the phalanx. Several arguments can be offered to re-evaluate

the role of iconography in the midst of the scholarly discussion on archaic Greek warfare.

First, influential voices have reconsidered the development of the phalanx during the

archaic period.64 As a result, it has been convincingly argued that open and more flexible

ways of fighting were the norm in archaic Greek battlefields, allowing the interaction of

different kinds of light-armed troops – archers, slingers, stone-throwers – with heavier-

armed warriors. Troops, perhaps arranged in small units according to bonds of kinship or

social dependence, would enjoy greater initiative and autonomy, selecting their own

targets and proceeding with greater mobility. Broader spaces and more flexible units

would allow the presence of horses, although not necessarily as a fighting force, and even

– but more controversially and hypothetically – of chariots. The phalanx is then conceived

as the result, in early classical times, of a long process of evolution and experimentation,

leading gradually to the physical separation of the different kinds of troops on the

61 Boardman, ‘Sixth-century potters’ (n.6) 95, and Greek Art (n.59) 264, respectively.

62 Van Wees, ‘Development’ (n.35) 155.

63 Snodgrass, Archaic Greece (n.18) 69-70; Hurwit, Art and culture (n.35) 122-24; Hannestad, ‘War’ (n.18) 112-

13. This must be somehow connected with the expectations of the viewers; see Hölscher, ‘Images’ (n.6) 3-4. Cf.

Ferrari Pinney, ‘Achilles’ (n.12) 127, 130-31.

64 H. van Wees, ‘The Homeric way of war: the Iliad and the hoplite phalanx – II’, G&R 41.2 (1994) 131-55

(141-43); ‘Development’ (n. 35) 155-56; Greek warfare (n.31) 166-97; ‘War and society’, in Cambridge history

of Greek and Roman warfare vol. I, ed. P. Sabin, H. van Wees and M. Whitby (Cambridge 2007) 273-99

(192-202); P. Krentz, ‘Fighting by the rules: the invention of the hoplite agôn’, Hesperia 71 (2002) 23-39 (35-

37); ‘Warfare and hoplites’ (n.44) 79-80; The battle of Marathon (New Haven 2010) 51-60; L. Rawlings, The

ancient Greeks at war (Manchester 2007) 54-59; J.W.I. Lee, ‘The classical Greek experience’, in The Oxford

handbook of warfare in the Classical World, ed. B. Campbell and L.A. Tritle (Oxford 2013) 143-61 (152);

E. Jarva, ‘Arms and armor. Part I. Arming Greeks for battle’, in The Oxford handbook of warfare in the

Classical World, B. Campbell and L.A. Tritle (Oxford 2013) 395-418 (396). Debate on the archaic phalanx

continues to be lively, though, as shown in the recent overviews presented in the volume edited by Campbell and

Tritle, Oxford handbook (n.1), and specially in the conflicting contributions to the recent volumes of Brice and

Roberts (ed., Recent directions in the military history of the Ancient World, Claremont 2011), and Kagan and

Viggiano, Men of bronze (n.1).



battlefield. This process pushes the light-armed and cavalry to the margins and

consolidates the – both spatial and social – centrality of a block of heavy armed warriors.

As a result, allegedly ‘heroizing’ elements such as Boeotian shields, archers and several

spears could fit really nicely the picture of open and more flexible battlefields.

Second, even if the phalanx was already in use during the archaic period, nudity,

archers and the like do not really need to be incompatible with it. Only a rigid,

deterministic notion of a phalanx made of closed ranks of ordered hoplites armed with

Argive shields and single, thrusting spears can lead to that exclusion.65 Abundant evidence

in the literary sources reveals that the classical phalanx was more flexible in its structure

and performance than previously thought. Recent studies on light-armed troops in

classical warfare emphasize the crucial role of archers, slingers and peltasts in phalanx

battles, interacting with the hoplites in a socially and ideologically determined

symbiosis.66 Furthermore, Snodgrass described the ‘piecemeal’ introduction of the

different weapons that formed the ‘hoplite panoply’, while Jarva convincingly showed

that variations in weaponry were perfectly possible inside the phalanx: the Greek principle

of self-armament would in practice entail the use of different kinds of weapons.67 True,

there is little positive evidence to prove this heterogeneity – leaving aside painted scenes

on archaic vases – but, apart from deterministic arguments about the Argive shield, there

is even less ground to support the idea of such an extreme homogeneity. The possibility at

least of a phalanx with Boeotian shields, several spears, and different degrees of body

armor cannot be completely ruled out. Our modern, rather rigid and static, conception of

the phalanx should be tested against ancient evidence.68

Third, a look at combat scenes from the archaic period shows that closed formations

are difficult to find.69 Discussion on the famous works of the Macmillan Painter – the

Macmillan aryballos, the Berlin aryballos, the Chigi Vase, and the Erithras oinochoe – is

65 See Schwartz, ‘Early hoplite phalanx’ (n.32); Reinstating (n.32). His attempt to ‘reinstate’ the hoplite and the

phalanx stems from a severely deterministic approach to Greek military technology and practice (see

F. Echeverría, review of A. Schwartz, Reinstating the hoplite: Arms, armour and phalanx fighting in Archaic

and Classical Greece, JHS 131 (2011) 206). Determinism and the phalanx: F. Echeverría, Ciudadanos,

campesinos y soldados. El nacimiento de la pólis griega y la teoría de la ‘revolución hoplita’ (Madrid 2008)

193-248; ‘Weapons, determinism and ancient warfare’, in New perspectives on ancient warfare, ed. G. Fagan

and M. Trundle (Leiden 2010) 21-56.

66 H. van Wees, ‘Politics and the battlefield: ideology in Greek warfare’, in The Greek world, ed. A. Powell

(London 1995) 153-78; Greek warfare (n.31) 61-76; ‘War and society’ (n.64); P. Hunt, Warfare and ideology in

the Greek historians (Cambridge 1998); ‘Military forces’, in The Cambridge history of Greek and Roman

warfare, vol. 1, ed. P. Sabin, H. van Wees and M. Whitby (Cambridge 2007) 108-46. See also F. Echeverría,

‘Taktiké téchne. The neglected element in classical ‘hoplite’ battles’, AncSoc 41 (2011) 45-82.

67 Piecemeal introduction of the panoply: Snodgrass, Early Greek armour (n.18) 193-204; ‘The hoplite reform

and history’, JHS 85 (1965) 110-22; Arms and armor (n.18) 48-88. Heterogeneous equipment in the phalanx:

E. Jarva, Archaiologia on Archaic Greek body armour (Rovaniemi 1995); ‘Arms and armor’ (n.64); van Wees,

Greek warfare (n.31) 47-52; Lee, ‘Classical Greek’ (n.64) 148-49.

68 See F. Echeverría, ‘Hoplite and phalanx in Archaic and Classical Greece: a reassessment’, CPh 107.4 (2012)

291-318.

69 P. Krentz, ‘The nature of hoplite battle’, CA 4 (1985) 50-61 (53); F. Lissarrague, ‘The world of the warrior’, in

A city of images: Iconography and society in ancient Greece, ed. C. Bérard et al. (Princeton 1989) 39-51 (44).

48 BICS-58-1 – 2015


so vast that I will not reproduce it here.70 I will merely point out that explanations other

than the phalanx have been attempted for the striking accumulations of warriors depicted

on these vases, like marching columns or iconographic techniques to represent mass

combat. However, even if the scenes actually represented a phalanx, there is no firm

argument yet to explain why they remain isolated exceptions in the vast range of vase

painting,71 a pattern never reproduced again before 600, and only very rarely in the period

600-450.

Rows of heavy-armed warriors, represented in a way reminiscent of the Chigi vase,

can be found in several painted scenes, for example in an Attic vase in Naples (MN

132642) (Figure 2). The possibility that the row represents a phalanx has been questioned:

the centre of the composition shows the killing of a baby by a warrior, which situates the

scene in the context of an attack on a town – allegedly the sack of Troy. More crucially,

the warriors are not fighting, but running, perhaps hurrying to get in the city to start the

sack and pillage, and there is no enemy ‘phalanx’ to engage with. The rows do not

represent fighting units, but accumulations of troops moving from one place to another,

more or less what some of the warriors in the Chigi Vase seem to be doing. This pattern of

warriors in a row, often merely standing, was in fact very common in archaic vase-

painting, but the rows never seem to be engaged in any kind of combat.72

Moreover, archaic Greek vase painting did not favour the presence of large groups of

fighters, and preferred to split up the action into smaller and not always coordinated groups.

Our sample can be of some help here as well. Statistically speaking, vases representing only

one fighting group, whether infantrymen alone or combined with other troops, account to

more than 80% of the scenes in our catalogue. Within this large group, the most common

type of scene is the pair of heavy-armed warriors engaged in single combat – roughly 36%

of the total – followed at a considerable distance by the trio of fighters – 12%. Groups can be

enlarged adding up new fighters, but never, as far as the collected evidence shows, totalling

more than ten. This preference for single pairs or trios should not be interpreted as a literal

borrowing from Homer’s monomachiai, but rather as the employment of a similar narrative

technique focusing on the individual in order to emphasize their exploits. Pairs and trios

would not be fighting in a vacuum.73 Alternatively, representations of collective and

individual combat can be seen as complementary views of the same experience and reality

of warfare, suitable for different contexts and audiences.74

70 For recent discussions on these vases with updated bibliographical references, see van Wees, ‘Development’

(n.35); Greek warfare (n.31) 168-72; Hurwit, ‘Reading’ (n.18); Echeverría, Ciudadanos (n.65) 138-46; Viggiano

and van Wees, ‘Arms, armor’ (n.3) 67-68.

71 Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6) 14-15 and n.8. He lists a group of scenes containing groups of ‘hoplites’

fighting, but notices that the figures are merely juxtaposed.

72 For recent comments on Naples MN 132642, see van Wees, Greek warfare (n.31) 177-79. Running warriors:

New York MMA 91.1.463, Cambridge FM G 44. A sample of scenes representing standing warriors: Paris ML E

858, Munich AS 1436, Paris ML E 855, Rome MC 96, Warsaw NM 198028. The number of figures in the group

commonly ranges between 3 and 9 individuals. Heavy-armed warriors can be shown mixed with archers, as in

London BM B 294 and Northampton CA 14. For a complete list with references, see Krentz, Battle of Marathon

(n.64) 52 n.19.

73 Hannestad, ‘War’ (n.18) 112.

74 Hölscher, ‘Images’ (n.6) 5.



Figure 2: Details from an Attic lekanis in Naples (MN 132642, c. 580-570). Rows of tightly

packed warriors run towards the centre of the action (another warrior killing a baby). The

disposition of the rows and the homogeneity of equipment are comparable to those on the

Chigi Vase. Photo: Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum.

50 BICS-58-1 – 2015


Figure 3: Main band (below) and central section (above) of the combat scene on an Attic

cup from Munich (AS 2244, c. 540-530). Despite the apparent confusion, the action is

clearly split up into pairs and trios. Photo: Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum.

According to this analysis, less than 20% of the combat scenes in the period 600-450

displayed more than one fighting group in action, but around three quarters of them

consist of only two or three fighting groups – most typically pairs – the rest, the portion of

scenes showing more than 3 groups – only 3% of the collected evidence – is made up

from the accumulation of small groups, up to a maximum of seventeen – in both sides of a

cup in Munich AS 2244 – but most typically five or six groups, again pairs and trios

(Figure 3). This means that, even in the most complex combat scenes, Greek painters

tended to split up the action into smaller units, emphasizing individuality.

The phalanx is not the real problem, in my opinion, but our expectations about what

archaic combat scenes should be displaying, that is, what are we ready to read into the

images. Looking through the lens of the phalanx has led to a certain stagnation, and it should

definitely not be the starting point of our approach to the reconstruction of archaic warfare.75

An alternative to the phalanx can be put forward, so ‘real’ elements could then have slipped

into the scenes along with ‘fictional’ ones, both combined together and in variable degrees,

without compromising the integrity of the narrative. In the current state of our knowledge of

archaic Greek pictorial narratives, however, it just seems safer to assume that contemporary

material culture and practices were the primary source of inspiration.

75 Hölscher, ‘Images’ (n.6) 4.



VI. Iconographic conventions under a new light

So far we can conclude that both ‘reality’ and ‘fiction’ were in practice different but

absolutely compatible sources of inspiration that operated at several levels – material setting,

action, narrative – at the same time. This means that ‘archaic’ or ‘heroic’ conventions, to

illustrate the case study of this work, do not necessarily preclude the possibility of elements

of ‘reality’ in a scene. As noted above, some of them – Boeotian shields, several spears,

archers – are considered ‘heroic’ mainly because they are thought to be incompatible with

the phalanx, while some others – nudity, chariots – are elements with clear status and quality

connotations attached, and they deserve to be treated separately. I believe, in fact, that these

conventions can be interpreted in alternative ways other than as ‘fiction’, that they are not

necessarily ‘fictional’ – in the sense of representing non-realistic practices – and that their

role in the scenes can be thus reconsidered. I will analyze then the ‘heroic’ qualities of these

conventions both in archaic vase painting and in Greek military practice, but I will only deal

with some of them, those in my opinion more relevant in the discussion of Greek warfare.

The result will necessarily be preliminary, but it will hopefully open future lines of research.

Conventions outside the phalanx

Boeotian shields, to start with the flagship of ‘heroic’ conventions, cannot be

uncontroversially claimed to be ‘fictional’. The reasons to reject them as real shields are

basically their alleged incompatibility with the phalanx and the lack of physical remains

of them,76 but these may seem insufficient: they have in fact been recently claimed to be

entirely real and historical artefacts, their shape explained through the process of

fabrication from animal hides, and the presence of the double grip as a perfectly possible

borrowing from the Argive shield.77 In fact, archaic vase painting is extremely consistent

in this point: when the inner side is depicted, Boeotian shields are shown without

exception with the double grip (Figure 4).

Furthermore, they are not really frequent in archaic vase painting: only one in ten heavy-

armed warriors in the combat scenes of our catalogue carries a Boeotian shield, clearly far

from the 82,7% of heavy-armed figures carrying an Argive shield – a proportion of 1 to 7.

We must add to these the several chariot drivers carrying a Boeotian shield at their backs –

48, almost a 50% of the total number of charioteers recorded in our survey. No chariot driver

is represented carrying an Argive shield. However, only three figures identified as gods or

goddesses carry Boeotian shields – against the roughly 80% of divine figures handling

Argive shields in combat – while heroes and other mythical figures can be depicted with

76 The argument ex silentio seems to me insufficient in this case: other kinds of shields, like the pelte, have left

no physical rests either, but their existence is not questioned. The Dipylon shield is also interpreted as a sign of

‘archaic’ or ‘epic’ quality and rejected as a real piece of equipment: see Lorimer, Homer and monuments (n.4)

156; Webster, ‘Homer’ (n.4) 41; Snodgrass, Early Greek armour (n.18) 58-60. As a real weapon: Carter,

‘Beginning’ (n.2) 57-58; Hurwit, ‘Dipylon shield’ (n.12); J. Boardman, ‘Symbol and story in Greek Geometric

art’, in Ancient Greek art and iconography, ed. W.G. Moon (Madison 1983) 15-36.

77 Boardman, ‘Symbol’ (n.76) 27-33; van Wees, ‘Development’ (n.35) 134, n.17; Greek warfare (n.31) 50-52;

J.P. Franz, Krieger, Bauern, Bürger. Untersuchungen zu den Hopliten in der archaischen and klassischen Zeit

(Frankfurt am Main 2002) 183-84; P. Krentz, ‘Hoplite hell: how hoplites fought’, in Men of bronze: Hoplite

warfare in ancient Greece, ed. D. Kagan and G.F. Viggiano (New Jersey 2013) 134-56 (136-37).

52 BICS-58-1 – 2015


Figure 4: Examples of the inner side of Boeotian shields, displaying the double grip.

A. Berlin AS F 1842 (Attic neck amphora, c. 530-520). B. Aberdeen 64020 (Attic hydria, c.

530-520). C. Munich AS 1764 (Attic oinochoe, c. 520-510). D. Oxford AM 1960.1291

(Attic neck amphora, c. 540-530). E. London BM B 380 (Attic Siana cup, c. 575-550).

Photo: Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum.

either kind of shield: Herakles carries a Boeotian shield in four scenes, but an Argive

shield in eight – Herakles’ most common outfit, however, includes no shield; Achilles

carries a Boeotian shield in four scenes, and an Argive shield in another four; finally, only

10% of the 267 Amazons armed with heavy equipment recorded in our sample carry a

Boeotian shield, while 83% of them carry an Argive shield. These numbers speak for

themselves: Boeotian shields fail to identify widely known mythical figures on a regular

basis.78

Several spears are also debated as a mark of ‘heroic fiction’. Again, they have been

judged to be exclusively associated with the phalanx, upon the assumption that the single,

thrusting spear became the only offensive weapon during the archaic period, but several

spears are not necessarily incompatible with closed formations. The Roman legion can

offer an adequate comparison: I wonder whether we would reject as ‘ghost spears’ any

pictorial representation of the two pila of the Roman legionary if the literary sources about

the practice were lost. The Roman pila were throwing spears, and part of the discussion

78 Carter, ‘Beginning’ (n.2) 57. See also Steiner, Reading (n.17) n.34. For a criticism of the unsystematic

application of the ‘heroic’ qualities of the Boeotian shield, see Boardman, ‘Symbol’ (n.76) 27.



has dealt with the possibility that Greek spears could have had loops for throwing.79 This

is just incidental though, because, while a loop may indicate a throwing spear, the absence

of loop does not imply that the spear could not be thrown anyway.80

From Homer onwards, two spears seem the standard equipment of the ‘status warrior’,

and the situation is similar in archaic vase painting, where warriors are often depicted with

them: in arming and departure scenes, and in representations of standing warriors.81

Anderson cautiously concludes that ‘the simplest explanation, that the men (…) actually

do have two spears, seems the most acceptable’, which is consistent with all kinds of

written and pictorial evidence from the archaic period.82 We could safely conclude, then,

that there is nothing necessarily ‘archaic’ or ‘heroic’ about them. In proper combat scenes,

however, they play a limited role: only 48 figures are depicted carrying two spears in

combat, 20 of them heavy-armed warriors and the rest light-armed troops and horsemen.

Incidentally, most of the heavy-armed figures seem to be preparing for combat, some of

them even mounted on a chariot, and not actually fighting. As a result, although they do

not seem to be a sign of ‘heroic’ quality, several spears clearly have certain connotations

regarding their actual role in combat, a question that needs to be addressed outside the

phalanx debate and its single, thrusting spear.

The presence of archers in archaic vase painting seems to be again an inadequate

indication of a fictional narrative or setting. True, combat scenes, focusing primarily on

heavy-armed warriors, do not pay special attention to archers, but they seem fairly

consistent when they do: there are 87 archers for a total of 57 scenes – they feature in only

9% of the scenes – and, with just a few exceptions, this means one single archer per scene,

usually shooting from a safe distance behind other warriors. This pattern of ‘squatting’

archers in archaic painted scenes has been claimed to reflect contemporary practice,

extremely consistent with literary evidence: in a context of open battlefields with flexible

and mobile formations, archers would operate scattered among the infantrymen, receiving

protection from the warrior’s shield and offering in turn long range fire.83

The nature or identity of archers in combat scenes is of interest for the debate:

Herakles is the only identifiable hero depicted with his bow and shooting arrows in

combat – 4 scenes – usually in the context of a gigantomachy with other gods involved;

the rest are largely anonymous characters who can only be differentiated through their

clothing and equipment. A large portion of the archers – 58 out of the 87 – wear Phrygian

caps, which commonly identify them as ‘Scythian’ in the eyes of modern scholarship, but

they in fact present great variations: first, 15 of them are Amazons, while the rest are male

archers; second, the cap is the only recurrent piece of clothing, since a majority of the

archers in a Phrygian cap wear a simple chiton (31), while 19 wear the typically

79 Anderson, ‘Hoplite weapons’ (n.4) 19; van Wees, ‘Development’ (n.35) 136.

80 Snodgrass, Early Greek armour (n.18) 136-39; Jarva, ‘Arms and armor’ (n.64) 409.

81 Echeverría, Ciudadanos (n.65) 182-83.

82 Anderson, ‘Hoplite weapons’ (n.4) 19. Evidence from the archaic period: Snodgrass, Early Greek armour

(n.18) 198-99; Arms and armor (n.18) 57-58.

83 ‘Squatting’ archers: van Wees, ‘Development’ (n.35) 152-54. Archers in Greek historical combat: van Wees,

‘Politics’ (n.66); Greek warfare (n.31) 170-77. Archers in combat scenes: Vos, Scythian archers (n.28) 70-80;

Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6) 113-14.

54 BICS-58-1 – 2015


‘Scythian’ trousers;84 six more are inconclusive due to the state of the painting, three

others wear a skin that in two cases is combined with the chiton, and one is simply naked.

As a result, only a small proportion of archers – roughly 20% – appear in proper

‘Scythian’ garments. Conversely, eight archers wear a simple cap or pilos, and at least 10

even wear helmets – three Thracian, one Corinthian, four resembling Chalcidian helmets,

and two resembling Attic helmets. Finally, two wear nothing but a chiton, another two

wear a wolf skin, and two others are completely naked. All these entail a considerable

flexibility in terms of clothing and equipment.85

‘Scythian’ archers are commonly interpreted as a sign of ‘otherness’, a materialization

of the quintessential Greek enemy, either Trojan, Amazon or, more historically, Persian.86

This may explain why both male and female figures can be depicted in ‘Scythian’

garments in combat scenes. However, what is crucial here is that attitudes, postures and

actions remain extremely similar regardless the archer wears Scythian garments or not.

There seem to be no clear distinctions, and an archer, whether ‘Scythian’ or not, male or

female, behaves in a rather standard way: mingling among the infantry and shooting

arrows from safe distance. If they carry any connotations of fiction, it must be something

other than their function, which seems extremely consistent and not really incompatible

with contemporary practices.87

‘Quality’ conventions

The phalanx has been so far the main criterion to judge a certain element as ‘fictional’ or

not, but others seem to range outside the phalanx debate. Nudity is a particularly complex

element, displayed in the scenes in different degrees and affecting both weapons and

costumes. In the field of weapons, fighting figures may lack different elements of the

defensive panoply: only an estimated third of the heavy-armed figures (37,7%) in our

catalogue wear the full defensive panoply – helmet, shield, cuirass, greaves; in fact,

another third of the figures (34,9%) do not wear any kind of cuirass or chest protection,

while again a third of them do not wear greaves (34,3%); a considerable number of

warriors (14,4%) do not wear neither cuirass nor greaves, and some even lack helmet.

Jarva’s study of archaic Greek body armour describes a really similar situation: defensive

equipment was really heterogeneous in practice, and some elements – cuirasses, greaves,

84 Ferrari Pinney, ‘Achilles’ (n.12) 129.

85 Jarva, Archaiologia (n.67) 131.

86 Ferrari Pinney, ‘Achilles’ (n.12); Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6) 97-149.

87 ‘Scythian’ archers as symbolic representations of non-hoplite status: Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6);

A. I. Ivanchik, ‘Who were the ‘Scythian’ archers on archaic Attic vases?’, in Scythians and Greeks: Cultural

interactions in Scythia, Athens and the early Roman empire (sixth century BC-first century AD), ed.

D. C. Braund (Exeter 2005) 100-13. For ‘Scythian’ archers in archaic vase painting, see Vos, Scythian archers

(n.28); Lissarrague, L’autre guerrier (n.6); Osborne, ‘Images’ (n.7); H. A. Shapiro, ‘A non-Greek rider on the

Athenian Akropolis and representations of Scythians in Attic vase painting’, in An archaeology of

representations. Ancient Greek vase-painting and contemporary methodologies, ed. D. Yatromanolakis (Athens

2009) 325-40; A. I. Ivanchik, ‘Amazonen, Skythen und Sauromaten: Alte und moderne Mythen’, in Amazonen

zwischen Griechen und Skythen. Gegenbilder in Mythos und Geschichte, ed. C. Schubert and A. Weiss (Berlin

2013) 73-87.



thigh and ankle guards – could even be discarded altogether.88 This coincidence has been

thought to mean that archaic painters represented genuine variations in contemporary

equipment: according to van Wees, nudity ‘probably reflects the fact that not all hoplites

fought in a full panoply’.89 Lacking elements of the defensive panoply would then be a

mark of ‘realism’.

Lack of clothes, however, is a different matter. Leaving aside the numerous cases in

which the specific kind of cloth – if at all – is difficult to identify, heavy-armed

infantrymen are commonly depicted in vase paintings wearing some kind of garments, in

combination or not with the defensive equipment: 75% of them in our sample wear a

chiton, and an interesting 5% – 95 figures – wear the typically archaic combination of

chiton and hide as the sole element of protection. Conversely, different degrees of

nakedness are possible, with 13% of the fighting warriors wearing no chiton or cloth, and

3% of naked figures wearing a cuirass. Only 4% of the heavy-armed warriors are

completely naked – wearing only a helmet and a shield – but these percentages must allow

for the number of inconclusive cases in which it is difficult to identify clothes or

equipment. In any case, the maximum proportion for naked warriors is 1 to 10, so our first

concern should be to figure out how this pattern relates to the alleged ‘heroic’ convention.

Nudity is commonly recognized as an iconographic device involving some kind of

‘heroic’ quality, based not only on the Greek interest for human anatomy but also on its

intrinsic values of manliness and bravery. In a clothed society nudity is meant to establish

a social distinction that is likely to be translated as ‘quality’ in art.90 Hurwit summarizes

the most common view stating that ‘those who aspire to heroic status are regularly nude in

classical Athenian art’.91 This implies a sort of correlation between nakedness and heroic

quality that has been naturally questioned, nudity itself even rejected as an artistic

convention:92 other non-elite figures such as archers or squires can be represented nude as

well, and nothing ‘heroic’ seems to be implied then. Moreover, some naked figures are on

the defeated sides in the fighting,93 so nudity cannot be systematically identified with

military success. Hurwit has recently suggested that there was not a single nudity in Greek

art, but a ‘wide variety of nudities, with different (and sometimes contradictory)

connotations’, which means that the meaning of a naked figure cannot be taken for

granted.94

88 Jarva, Archaiologia (n.67).

89 Van Wees, ‘Development’ (n.35) 132.

90 For nudity in Greek art, with relevant bibliography, see N. Himmelmann, Ideale Nackheit in der griechischen

Kunst (Berlin 1990); L. Bonfante, ‘Nudity as a costume in classical art’, AJA 93.4 (1989) 543-70; T. Hölsher,

review of N. Himmelmann, Ideale Nacktheit in der griechischen Kunst, in Gnomon 65 (1993) 519-28; ‘Images’

(n.6) 7-8; and specially Hurwit, ‘Problem’ (n.24) 45-58, who differentiates between ‘idealizing’ and ‘heroizing’

nudity (‘All heroes may be idealized, but not all idealized figures (e.g., athletes) are heroes’, 46), recognizing it

as a hard line to draw. Nudity as heroic quality: Jarva, ‘Arms and armor’ (n.64) 396.

91 Hurwit, ‘Problem’ (n.24) 47.

92 Boardman, ‘Symbol’ (n.76) 27. Hurwit, ‘Problem’ (n.24) 53 n.102 adds further references. See also Hurwit’s

discussion of the arguments against ‘heroic nudity’, in ‘Problem’ (n.24) 47-51.

93 For example, Kyknos in his duel with Herakles (Paris ML F 31) and Troilos in his duel with Achilles (Paris

ML G 18).


56 BICS-58-1 – 2015


The correlation between nudity and ‘heroic’ quality is far from being perfect. On the

one hand, heroes are in fact not ‘regularly nude’ in combat scenes, but dressed:95 in our

sample, Herakles is shown naked – that is, without chiton, but wearing perhaps different

pieces of defensive equipment – only three times out of 112, while Achilles appears naked

again three times – one of them as a dead body, stripped from his armour and carried

away by Ajax – out of 10. On the other hand, naked figures can be identified with heroes

from epic in only a minority of cases: only 5% of the naked infantrymen in the combat

scenes in our sample are heroes like Achilles or Hektor – another 5% can be identified as

‘giants’ in gigantomachy scenes – while some 90% are in fact anonymous warriors. As

pointed out above, not only prestigious figures such as heavy-armed infantrymen can be

shown naked, but also ‘commoners’ such as light-armed infantrymen, archers, or squires.

As a result, heroes are not always nude in combat scenes, but naked figures are not always

heroes either. Nudity remains an extremely complex question, and perhaps individual

cases should be examined independently on their own merits. For the time being, and in

the context of our main concern here – the use of combat scenes as a source for

contemporary practices – we should bear in mind the fact that nudity always acts in a

wider context of perfectly dressed figures. In this sense, nakedness may emphasize an

individual quality – and not always, apparently only in the case of heavy-armed

infantrymen – which does not necessarily ‘contaminate’ the scene as a whole. This may

be a starting point of a historical analysis of this convention in combat scenes.96

Chariots represent an entirely different question. Although instrumental in typical

scenes like the departure of warriors, they are not really common in proper action: there is

a total of 118 chariots in 93 scenes in our sample, which means that they take part in only

15% of the combat scenes. The number of chariots per scene is commonly one, and only a

few scenes involve two or more chariots – up to a maximum of 4. Some are driven by

gods or otherwise recognizable heroes such as Herakles – an estimated 18% – and when

they do, they represent the centre of the action, invariably chasing or trampling a falling or

fleeing enemy, with the god or hero throwing a spear from the box; in a few cases, the

chariots are merely accompanying the fighting gods, driven by anonymous charioteers,

and in a few others the gods themselves seem to be driving the chariot while another god

or hero does the actual fighting. This pattern is reproduced almost identically, with the

same attitudes, stances and actions, in a small group of scenes in which only anonymous

warriors are involved.97 It has been argued that in those cases the chariot, an

unquestionable status weapon, implies some kind of elite activity perhaps related to

‘heroic’ quality.98


96 See, for example, Hölscher’s interpretation of nudity as ‘a real factor in the conception of war’, and not as an

idealization, in ‘Images’ (n.6) 7-8.

97 For example, Amsterdam APM 3361, Copenhagen NM 13110 or Munich AS 1515.

98 The alleged ‘paradigmatic’ role of ‘heroic’ elements. See Sinos, ‘Divine selection’ (n.25) 75-76; Steiner,

Reading (n.17) 25, 131; M. Steinhart, ‘The razor’s edge: heroes in danger in early fifth-century’, in An

archaeology of representations. Ancient Greek vase-painting and contemporary methodologies, ed.

D. Yatromanolakis (Athens 2009), 1-24 (16-20); Alexandridou, Early black-figured pottery (n.6) 71-72.



Figure 5: Examples of chariots in the context of anonymous combat but not participating

in the fighting. A. Moscow PSM II 1b 71 (lid of an Attic amphora, c. 540-530). B. Thebes

AM 6026 (Attic cup, c. 520-500). C. Munich AS 2244 (Attic cup, c. 575-550). Photo:

Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum.

58 BICS-58-1 – 2015


On the other hand, the largest group of scenes – 61, 65% of the chariot scenes – display

chariots in contexts not directly connected to mythical episodes. A small portion, only five

scenes, shows anonymous warriors on chariots participating in the fray, i.e. attacking and

being attacked in turn by the surrounding warriors, but the majority of the evidence points at

chariots as secondary figures, merely present in the scene but not actively taking part in the

action. In 19 scenes, a warrior is mounted alongside the charioteer, while in 37 scenes the

charioteer is the only occupant, but the pattern is exactly the same: the chariots seem to be

running back and forth, but no figure is shown engaging with them or even noticing them

(Figure 5). It is tempting to interpret this as a more ‘realistic’ presentation of the role of

chariots in late archaic warfare: very rare machines intended as mere transport for elite

warriors, but having no impact whatsoever on the actual fighting.

The chariot has been almost unanimously removed from Greek battlefields by modern

scholars, but too often on the grounds of its alleged incompatibility with the phalanx.99

Archaeological evidence suggests that the chariot was abandoned in many contexts early in

the archaic period, and only preserved in some ceremonial situations or some geographical

areas of the Aegean.100 This had probably nothing to do with the eventual spread of the

phalanx. Epic poetry aside, there is simply no literary evidence presenting chariots in action

during the archaic period, so the expensive and clumsy chariot losing ground in favour of

cavalry as a fast and mobile unit would be a quite likely scenario. It seems fairly safe to

conclude that chariots were not commonly used in combat during the archaic period, at least

in significant numbers. Hypothetically speaking though, a limited number of chariots would

still be compatible with an open and mobile way of fighting, acting as transport for elite

warriors as already acknowledged.101 There would still be room, although admittedly small,

for chariots in archaic Greek warfare as an aristocratic artefact.

The scenes, then, could potentially represent a wide range of possible meanings of the

chariot, none of them really incompatible with the others, and none of them really

invalidating the scene as a source. The chariot is a mark of wealth and prestige, and it

commonly represents aristocratic distinction. In this sense, it probably embodies a sort of

‘heroic’ quality that announces that something extraordinary is happening. But this quality

must be tested against the specific function of the chariot in the scene, as described above,

whether it is a secondary weapon with no real impact in the fighting or the absolute centre

of the action. A chariot can be an iconographic convention to emphasize the quality of a

certain figure, but it seems to me that this is again an individual distinction that does not

necessarily contaminate the scene as a whole.

99 Greenhalgh, Early Greek warfare (n.4); Snodgrass, Early Greek armour (n.18) 159-63; Archaic Greece (n.18)

73-74; Arms and armor (n.18) 87-88; J.H. Crouwel, Chariots and other wheeled vehicles in Iron Age Greece

(Amsterdam 1992); ‘Chariots in Homer and in early Iron Age Greece’, in Homeric questions: Essays in

philology, ancient history and archaeology, ed. J. P. Crielaard (Amsterdam 1995) 309-12 (311).

100 Ceremonial contexts: Greenhalgh, Early Greek warfare (n.4); Crouwel, Chariots (n.99); ‘Chariots in Homer’

(n.99). Aegean: Lee, ‘Classical Greek’ (n.64) 151.

101 J. K. Anderson, ‘Greek chariot-borne and mounted infantry’, AJA 79.3 (1975) 175-87; Boardman, ‘Symbol’

(n.76) 28-29; Crouwel, ‘Chariots in Homer’ (n.99) 311; van Wees, Greek warfare (n.31) 176-77. Aeneas

Tacticus (16.14-15) recalls this use of the chariot as transport for hoplites in Cyrene and other Greek north-

African colonies.



So far I have tried to substantiate my claim that some iconographic elements traditionally

identified as ‘heroic’ or ‘archaic’ conventions cannot be consistently interpreted as marks

of a ‘fictional’ setting or narrative. Clearly some of them entail certain connotations that

contribute to define the meaning of a scene, but not all of them and, more importantly, not

always. Some elements have been found to be consistent with a more flexible and open

way of fighting during the archaic period, while some others seem to act as conventions,

visual metaphors, to represent the special nature or quality of certain figures individually.

They are different iconographic devices with different applications, characteristics and

connotations; only the distorting lens of the phalanx has led us to believe that they could

be working together to produce entirely fictional scenes.

VII. Conclusions

Several iconographic elements have been thought to represent ‘heroic’ or ‘archaic’

conventions on, to my mind, controversial grounds. As a result, any element contrary to a

previously formulated idea of phalanx warfare has been dismissed as distortion or

invention. The fundamental cause of this dismissal has been basically the need to

reconcile the scenes with the prevailing view of archaic Greek warfare, dominated by

hoplites and phalanxes. As a consequence, potentially crucial details on weapons and

military practices during the archaic period have been rejected, for two main reasons: first,

because they are thought to belong to a period before the phalanx; second, because they

are identified with the fighting style described in the Homeric epics. Hence, ‘non-hoplite’

elements are pushed back into the past, to Geometric times, and their presence in archaic

vase-paintings is regarded as an ‘archaism’, a deliberate reference to a heroic or mythical

past. To summarize, the study of archaic military elements in vase-paintings becomes a

mere attempt to identify items ‘inconsistent with hoplite equipment’.102

The analysis of the pictorial evidence here, however, allows for a few suggestions:

first, that the labels ‘archaic’ and ‘heroic’ applied to combat scenes are potentially

misleading, based on a certain approach to the phalanx and the dynamics of combat in the

archaic period; we should liberate ourselves from the phalanx question – as much as

possible – when approaching iconography and analyze the combat scenes on their own

merits. Second, that some iconographic elements actually convey connotations of special

or supernatural quality that the ancient Greeks ascribed to the heroes and that we may

label ‘heroic’, but I would emphasize its timeless nature and its independence from

mythical or legendary episodes: an anonymous and contemporary warrior can be

presented as embodying heroic qualities. Third, that identification – of objects, figures,

actions, and narratives – is but one tool to be used in combination with others. Plausible

identifications – specially when narratives are concerned – cannot always be achieved but

other levels of historical analysis – composition, statistics, literary sources – can be

attempted anyway.

The main controversy, however, revolves around the interaction between ‘reality’ and

‘fiction’ in the scenes, a debate that represents our concerns and preconceptions in our

search for ‘historical truth’. Far from being mutually exclusive elements, ‘fiction’ and

‘reality’ combine together in the scenes to produce stylized, idealized or simply improved

102 Lorimer, ‘Hoplite phalanx’ (n.2) 89.

60 BICS-58-1 – 2015


depictions of cultural episodes or messages. As Greenhalgh pointed out, ‘In all cases the

military historian must try to estimate how far the heroizing is likely to have affected the

representation. It may extend to items of dress or equipment, or to their use and tactics, or

to both or to neither. Individual cases must be decided on their individual merit, but it is

perhaps safe to say that artists will generally have found it easier to portray what they

saw’.103 In this mixture, ‘real’ and ‘fictional’ elements can be found in variable

proportions and operating at different levels – material life, actions, narrative – and in

different ways. This produces a cultural construct, full of historical information, that we

can still use as a source for historical analysis. The result would be to liberate a vast pool

of information from the chains of the phalanx, making it accessible for historical

interpretation on the light of the new approaches to Greek warfare. This study has focused

fundamentally on the image, but many other aspects are also crucial and deserve attention:

further scrutiny of the structure, shape, function and context of the vase can provide

complementary insights to the complex debate on composition, audience and narrative in

Greek vase painting.

Complutense University of Madrid

103 Greenhalgh, Early Greek warfare (n.4) 83.

2015, Heroic fiction, combat scenes, and the scholarly reconstruction of Archaic Greek warfare

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