Sanctuaries and ancestor worship at the origin of the Oppida

Mousaios XIX, Buzău, 2014, p. 111– 132.

SANCTUARIES AND ANCESTOR WORSHIP AT THE ORIGIN OF THE OPPIDA

Manuel FERNÁNDEZ‐GÖTZ

Key‐words:Iron Age, Urbanisation, Oppida, Sanctuaries, Collective identities, Ancestor worship Abstract: The origins and development of Late Iron Age oppida were traditionally viewed from economic perspectives and as dependent on contacts with the Mediterranean world. However, advances in research in recent decades make it necessary to qualify and re‐assess many of the traditional interpretations of the genesis and functions of these centres in Gaul and the surrounding regions. This paper focuses on the political and religious role of the continental oppida, showing that the existence of places for cultic purposes and holding assemblies very often pre‐dated the development of major settlements on the sites, a phenomenon which has profound implications for our understanding of Iron Age urbanisation. Religion appears to be an essential element in centralisation processes, being at the root of the fusion of previously scattered communities. Moreover, ancestor worship seems to have been at the centre of numerous public cults, and barrows very often acted as foci for political and religious meetings.

1. Understanding the oppida: Changing paradigms Traditionally, Late Iron Age oppida have been described as centres of industry

and trade, with specialised occupation and large‐scale production of manufactured goods, situated at strategic places for controlling trade routes and very often also raw materials (Collis 1984; Wells 1984) (Fig. 1). Nevertheless, this picture only applies, and then with qualifications, to some of these sites, like Manching or Stradonice for example (Meylan et al. 2002), but not to many others, and it should also be complemented with other aspects such as their politico‐religious role (Fernández‐Götz 2012; Fernández‐Götz et al. 2014; Fichtl 2012a; Fichtl et al. 2000; Metzler et al. 2006; Rieckhoff and Fichtl 2011). As Buchsenschutz (1995, 53) has auto‐critically pointed out: “As 20th‐century scholars, we associate this phenomenon almost automatically with the expansion of craft industries and trade activities”. Ethnocentric and presentist prejudices date back to the beginnings of research in the 19th century, marked by the industrial idea of progress found in the works of Bulliot and Déchelette, who exercised great influence practically up to the present day (Mölders 2010).

Broadly speaking, the functions of the more than 150 known oppida between France and Hungary can be grouped into two categories: 1) oppida as economic centres (craft activities and/or trade); and 2) oppida as political and religious centres (sites of sanctuaries, places where assemblies were held, capitals of Late Iron Age polities, etc.) (Fichtl 2005; 2012a). It goes without saying that both roles, economic and politico‐religious, were not mutually exclusive but must in fact have gone hand in hand in

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many cases, typical examples being Manching or Bibracte. Thus, the proximity between sanctuary and market place is repeatedly observed throughout History, as we can see in examples extending from the coastal sanctuaries of the Ancient Mediterranean to modern‐day Buddhist temples. However, in some oppida the politico‐religious role must have predominated (Bibracte, Titelberg, Gournay‐sur‐Aronde…), while in others, considerably fewer, the economic aspect was more important (Chalon‐sur‐Saône, Hengistbury Head…, real ‘ports of trade’).

There has been, and to some extent still is, a tendency to interpret the origin and functions of the oppida of temperate Europe from predominantly economistic perspectives. In contrast, the role played by ritual aspects was given little consideration until well into the 1980s. Previously, these centres were seen above all as defensive responses to external threats and/or as major hubs of craft industries and trade. The role of sanctuaries was reserved for the Viereckschanzen and natural spaces, with the archetypal image of druid gatherings in clearings in the woods. But this view has changed considerably over recent decades (Poux 2012; Wells 2006), due mainly to four factors: 1) the impact of the excavation and publication of the great sanctuaries of Picardy, Gournay‐sur‐Aronde and Ribemont‐sur‐Ancre, which drew attention to the existence of clearly defined La Tène places of worship equipped with buildings; 2) the re‐evaluation of the Viereckschanzen, which are today seen mainly as residential enclosures, whose functions could sometimes include certain cultic practices, as seen in Fellbach‐Schmiden or Mšecké Žehrovice; 3) the growing discovery of public spaces for holding assemblies and religious festivals within oppida like Manching, Titelberg, Villeneuve‐Saint‐Germain, Bibracte or Corent amongst others, and even in open settlements like Acy‐Romance; and 4) the influence, generally indirect and often unconscious but nonetheless present, of theoretical trends in Archaeology that emphasise symbolic and ideological‐religious aspects rather than purely functionalist interpretations.

2. From public spaces to political landscapes: The example of the Treveri One of the main advances in research in recent decades is the discovery of

various communal spaces used for political and cultic activities (Fichtl 2010; Metzler et al. 2006; Peyre 2000; Poux 2012). In fact, although in 1993 Woolf still argued that the lack of public spaces was a prove of the supposedly non‐urban character of the oppida, an increasing number of these enclosures is coming to light, both in Gaul and in regions further east. Public spaces and/or sanctuaries have been identified and partly excavated within oppida such as Corent, Bibracte, Martberg and Manching, to give just a few examples (Fig. 2). A particularly striking case is that of the Titelberg oppidum in Luxembourg, with its so‐called public space or area sacra where assemblies, fairs and religious ceremonies were held (Fernández‐Götz 2012; Metzler et al. 2006). This was a large area covering 10 hectares to the east of the oppidum, surrounded by a ditch and a mudbrick wall built on a stone base. The ditch, 500 m long, 4 m wide and 2.5 m deep, was excavated in the rock. Its infill contained abundant animal bones, around a

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hundred fibulae, and numerous spearheads, miniature weapons, coins, fragments of human skulls, etc. These finds demonstrate that cult practices took place here and indicate that the boundary marked by the ditch was not only physical but also to a large extent symbolic, as it separated the sacred space from the profane (Fig. 3).

Most of the public space remained open and free from any structures during the La Tène period, which meant it could hold a great number of people who gathered for large public meetings, like the Treveran assembly described by Caesar (De Bello Gallico V, 56). However, excavations in the southern section have allowed a succession of structures to be identified in the area situated at the highest point of the oppidum that has come to be called the ‘monumental centre’. The constructions began in Lt D1 and culminated in the Gallo‐Roman period with a monumental fanum which survived until its destruction in Late Antiquity. During most of the first half of the 1st century BC, a series of parallel movable palisades were built marking out corridors about 4 m wide and at least 60 m long that were arranged perpendicular to the main road through the oppidum. These structures, which according to the stratigraphic studies were erected and taken down many times, have been interpreted as voting installations similar to the saepta of Italian cities like Paestum, Fregellae or Rome. The identification of structures of this kind in a Gallic oppidum was first made by Peyre (2000) on the basis of the covered galleries that divide the site of Villeneuve‐Saint‐Germain into four parts, and is reinforced by the discovery at Gournay‐sur‐Aronde of finds very similar to those of Titelberg (Brunaux et al. 1985). This hypothesis, quite plausible despite the novelty of its application to temperate Europe, offers us exceptional archaeological evidence about the political life of Late Iron Age Gallic communities.

Even before the mid‐1st century BC a huge 15 x 14 m three‐nave building was erected on the traces of these voting corridors on the highest point of Titelberg. The site chosen was by no means coincidental, since the building was situated exactly on the axis created by the two gates giving access to the oppidum, and was thus rapidly visible to any person who entered it. According to the excavators, this large building was closer to a Roman basilica than a temple, a comparison that is not entirely far‐fetched if we remember the recent find in Bibracte of a stone basilica dating to the middle of the 1st century BC (Szabó et al. 2007). Be that as it may, there was a stone altar surrounded by large pits and bonfires in the square in front of this building in Titelberg. A new open building was built in the time of Tiberius, again on the highest point of the oppidum. Finally, in the second century AD, a large Gallo‐Roman fanum was erected in the same place.

The succession of structures on the highest part of the oppidum over the generations, their location within the large public space, and the fact that the monumental building programme culminated in the construction of a huge Gallo‐Roman temple, leaves us in no doubt as to the sacred nature of the site. At the same time, the detailed study of the over 100,000 recorded animal bones related to the public space of Titelberg provide evidence that animal slaughter was carried out on an


almost industrial scale. This, together with traces of occasional work in leather and bone, suggests that fairs and markets were held throughout most of the first century BC, probably linked to religious festivals (Metzler et al. 2006). We can think of general assemblies that would have been very similar to the óenacha of Ancient Ireland or the thing of the Scandinavian world (see below).

Although the public space of Titelberg is the best‐known example, other Treveran oppida also show traces of public places linked to gatherings and cult activities (Fernández‐Gotz 2012). To mention just one example, the sanctuary of Martberg comprises twelve phases that date from the beginning of the first century BC to the end of the fourth century AD. The profusion of finds is exceptional, with more than 7000 coins and hundreds of brooches (Nickel et al. 2008). Spaces for religious practices and assemblies have been identified in six of the seven Treveran oppida, in five cases at the highest point of the respective oppidum: Titelberg, Martberg, Wallendorf, Otzenhausen, and Kastel‐Staadt. The application of the Thiessen polygon method shows a nearly regular spatial distribution of the oppida, with the territory of the Treveri subdivided into six or seven entities, each one with an oppidum acting as a centre (Fernández‐Gotz 2014) (Fig. 4). This type of territorial structuring is to a large extent comparable with the situation found in some other Gaulish areas, such as those of the Mediomatrici or the Bellovaci (Fichtl 2012b).

Taken as a whole, the data reflect an organization of the territory of the Treveri around the oppida, which acted as elements of social and territorial aggregation (Fernández‐Gotz 2012). The territory of this group was made up of different entities, each one with an oppidum with a sanctuary at its core. These huge fortified centres were places for assemblies (→political role), collective rituals (→religious role), and fairs and the minting of coins (→economic role). In this context, it should be noted that the best known example of a Gallic public assembly is the Treveran gathering convened by Indutiomarus: “He proclaimed an armed convention. This in the practice of the Gauls marks the beginning of a war; and by a general law all grown men are accustomed to assemble at it in arms, while the one who comes last to the assembly is put to death with every kind of torture in sight of the host. At the convention Indutiomarus declared Cingetorix an enemy and confiscatedhis goods. Cingetorix was his son‐in‐law, the chief man of the other party, who […] had sought the protection of Caesar and had not deserted him. This business despatched, Indutiomarus declared in the convention that he had been summoned by the Senones, the Carnutes, and several other Gallic states, and that he proposed to march to them through the borders of the Remi, laying waste their lands, and before so doing to attack the camp of Labienus. He gave instructions as to what he would have done” (Caesar, De Bello Gallico V, 56).

It has been repeatedly suggested that this large‐scale assembly of men at arms described by Caesar could have taken place in the public space within the oppidum of Titelberg, whose 10 hectares would have more than enough space to hold a meeting of this kind. Although we can never be entirely certain about this specific point, thanks to this passage from De Bello Gallico we know for certain that large collective


encounters of this kind existed amongst the Treveri which, together with the archaeological data obtained from the civitas itself and other parts of temperate Europe, helps to shed more light on the purpose of the public spaces documented within the oppida. Once again we find an extremely close connection between politics and religion, since calling the Treveran assembly was both a political act (preparation for war, humiliation of the principal rival for power, etc.) but also a religious one (ritual sacrifice of the last warrior to arrive).

3. Identity and politics: Oppida as centres of power Identities are constructed through practice, and in this sense, the rituals and

celebrations held at the Treveran oppida as well as in many other Iron Age sites such as Manching or Corent would have been key elements in the fostering of social cohesion, self‐awareness and shared identity (Fernández‐Gotz 2014; Gerritsen and Roymans 2006). As is well known from multiple ethnographical and historical examples, the performances that took place on the occasion of public ceremonials would provide those attending with shared experiences that would create, reaffirm and reinforce the symbolic ties that united the communities. As Derks and Roymans (2009: 8) state, great sanctuaries were “the concrete anchoring points in the landscape where the polity’s core values –as exemplified in its tradition of origin– were transmitted to the wider community through recitals, dramatic performances and collective rituals”. They would therefore be sites in which politics, religion and the building of collective identities would go hand in hand.

The number of people that lived permanently in the oppida would have been less important than the function of these centres as objects of identification for larger groups, generating collective identities and serving as nuclei of aggregation and points of reference in a basically rural world. We could say that in some way it was around these centres that communities were ‘constructed’ (Cohen 1985). During politico‐religious festivals public meals would be held, generally preceded by sacrifices and libations, as testified by the enormous quantity of animal bones found at sites such as Titelberg, or the large number of wine amphorae documented in sites like Bibracte or Corent. These celebrations constituted essential arenas for political action, representing privileged opportunities for establishing and reinforcing the social order (Poux 2004). In a world imbued by religion and that did not distinguish between sacred and profane, ritual spaces would have served as landmarks in the territory, acting as elements that brought together different extended family groups.

Communities are ultimately symbolic constructs (Cohen 1985). Given the fact that public cult places often functioned as lieux de mémoire where foundation myths were reproduced through rituals and cult celebrations, we can conclude that these sites played a vital role in the symbolic construction of ethnic communities in Antiquity and in the creation of boundaries with outside groups (Derks and Roymans 2009; Gerritsen and Roymans 2006). In fact, in recent years various authors have pointed out that there may have been a close link between the appearance of large cult


centres like Gournay‐sur‐Aronde, Ribemont‐sur‐Ancre and Mirebeau, and the emergence of politicized ethnic identities such as pagi and civitates in pre‐Roman Gaul (Fichtl 2007), similar to that demonstrated by Polignac for the origins of the Greek poleis (Polignac 1995).

Of course, the political, religious, economic and sometimes defensive spheres must in most cases have been closely interconnected: if on one hand politics and religion constituted inseparable notions in the world studied here, on the other we can assume that holding an assembly‐fair‐religious festival would generally be accompanied by a market at which various economic transactions would be carried out, just as the frequent development of artisanal production within these central places should not be surprising. In any case, it is worth keeping in mind that the vast majority of the oppida should be seen in the first instance as centres of politico‐religious aggregation, which would serve as meeting places and forums for negotiation where aristocratic leaders accompanied by their respective clienteles, or part of them, would come together, at least periodically. This is attested by the great Aeduian assembly held at the oppidum of Decetia (Caesar, De Bello Gallico VII, 33), the fact that Bibracte was the site of the concilium totius Galliae at which Vercingetorix was proclaimed commander‐in‐chief of the confederation against the Romans (Caesar, De Bello Gallico VII, 63), or a rarely quoted passage that tells us that the Aeduian vergobret Convictolitanis and a large part of the senate met with Litaviccus at Bibracte (Caesar, De Bello Gallico VII, 55, 4). The fact that Caesar’s strategy was often aimed at obtaining the submission of a whole civitas by taking a key oppidum (as happened for example with the Bellovaci in the Bratuspantium episode, De Bello Gallico II, 13, 2, or as can be seen in his approach to Avaricum, De Bello Gallico VII, 13, 3) also underlines the role of these settlements as political centres, already well attested by Archaeology and written sources describing the celebration of councils, assemblies and great communal banquets (Fichtl 2010; Poux 2004; 2012).

In addition, and as we have already seen in the Treveran case, these sites would play an important role in the organisation of the territory, frequently acting as the nuclei of pagi and some even as central places or ‘capitals’ of their respective civitates (Fichtl 2012a; Garcia and Verdin 2002). This latter function has been proposed for example for Vesontio (→Sequani), Avaricum (→Bituriges), Lutetia (→Parisii), Bibracte (→Aedui), Durocortorum (→Remi), Fossé des Pandours (→Mediomatrici) or Titelberg (→Treveri). In short, the oppida, at least a considerable proportion of them, served above all as elements of collective identification, structuring the territory and social interaction within the framework of the politicized ethnic communities known in Late La Tène Gaul as pagi and civitates (Fernández‐Götz 2014; Fichtl 2012b). To conclude with some words of Wells (2008, 368): “If the oppida were territorial «capitals» and their walls intended to communicate information about the power of the community, then these sites were potent symbols of the identity of the communities who lived in the smaller settlements in their hinterlands, as well as of the several thousand who lived within the walls. The large oppida are spaced across the


landscape of central temperate Europe in such a way that would not be inconsistent with this model of territorial centers or capitals”.

4. From sanctuaries to towns In the case of Titelberg, excavations have determined that the ditch of the

public space was made around 100 BC at the same time the murus gallicus was built, which indicates that rigorous large‐scale planning of the oppidum took place around that time (Metzler et al. 2006). Given that Titelberg’s period of greatest occupation and splendour was in Lt D2, that is, several decades later, we can conclude that a significant permanent settlement and growing economic activity seem to have been developed because of its importance as a meeting place for politico‐religious celebrations, not vice versa. That is: first the sacred space for public events was defined, and then the settlement, artisanal production and trade took off. Still in the Treveran area, the fact that the highest point of the oppidum of Wallendorf remained free of any residential structures in both the Early and Late La Tène occupation phases can only be attributed to conscious choice, suggesting that the sacred significance of the public space may date back to the 5th or 4th centuries BC (Fernández‐Götz 2014).

Seen in this way, the occupation and fortification of the big hilltop Treveran sites was primarily a response, both in the Early and Late La Tène periods, to a desire to define and mark out sacred spaces of assembly, worship and celebration. Or to put it another way, multi‐purpose meeting places that would have constituted ‘places for gods and for men’, to follow the sense of the expression found in the north‐Italic inscription of Verceil: campus com(m)unis deis et hominibus (Peyre 2000) (Fig. 5). The public spaces within them –situated in particularly remarkable topographic places and defined from at least the beginning of the protohistoric occupation of the respective sites– would represent demarcated areas or nemeta in which communication between humans and gods took place, and the principal socio‐political acts would be celebrated under the auspices of the deity at the level of pagi or civitas. All these aspects are also linked with power relations within the community, since the ceremonies that took place would constitute an excellent opportunity for dominant groups to negotiate their power positions.

Taking these observations as a starting point, a broader look demonstrates that the principal thrust or at least initial impulse for the development of many of the oppida of temperate Europe came from the politico‐religious component, the true prime mover of the whole process. The other functions (defensive, artisan, commercial, etc.), while they may sometimes have acquired considerable importance, were, in my opinion, largely a secondary effect, as can be observed at sites such as Manching, Bibracte, Corent, Titelberg and a long etcetera (Fernández‐Götz 2012; Fleischer and Rieckhoff 2002; Metzler et al. 2006; Ramona 2011). A very important article, which exemplifies the changing trend to some extent, was that published by Fichtl, Metzler and Sievers (2000) under the title ‘Le rôle des sanctuaires dans le processus d’urbanisation’.


Today it is possible to go one step further and propose an idea I think is essential for understanding the processes of centralisation and the construction of collective identities that took place during the Iron Age: many Late La Tène oppida may have had their origin in spaces for ritual gatherings. In other words, they developed on particular sites precisely because those places had a sacred significance and had already been frequented on a more or less regular basis from before the 2nd and 1st centuries BC. This new interpretation should not be surprising in view of the archaeological data we are obtaining and in the light of similar processes known in other periods and regions. To give just one example, numerous Scandinavian cities grew up around places where people had congregated since antiquity to hold their assemblies (Thing), as happened in the case of Viborg, Odense or Ringsted in Denmark. What is beyond question is that religion appears to be an essential element in urbanisation processes, being at the root of the fusion of previously scattered communities.

In temperate Europe there are various examples of oppida where it has been proved that a place for cult activities and/or assemblies preceded the concentration of a significant number of people or even the fortification of the area, a phenomenon that is particularly evident in Manching (Eller et al. 2012; Sievers 2007). At the centre of this oppidum was temple A, the first phase of which dates back to the end of the 4th century BC (Fig. 6). Nearby was a paved space covering an area of 50 x 80 m that may have been used as a meeting place, and several votive deposits of materials dating from between the 4th and 2nd centuries BC. The occasional object dating to the Early Iron Age leaves open the possibility that the religious significance of the temple enclosure was even older, while a number of human bones could perhaps be related with ancestor worship. These finds, added to the discovery of the remains of other human bones, including many skulls, at different points of the settlement and the presence of the two most important La Tène cemeteries of the south of Bavaria and of a Bronze Age tumular necropolis allow the hypothesis that Manching probably originated at an assembly place linked to ancestor worship to be proposed. Finally, it is interesting to note that the wall of the oppidum of Manching describes a circumference whose centre is the previously mentioned temple A, which existed before the settlement was founded and lay at its heart from the beginning. It is quite clear that this cannot be a matter of chance and probably relates to cosmogonical conceptions and foundation rites such as those known in the Mediterranean area.

Gournay‐sur‐Aronde is also very revealing in relation to the present discussion, because although the famous sanctuary’s origin lay in the 4th century BC, the oppidum itself did not develop until well into the 1st century BC (Brunaux et al. 1985). Recent research at the oppidum of Corent, the capital of the Arverni, is also very important, since it shows that the sanctuary there was founded before the settlement developed (Poux 2011). With respect to Bibracte, isotopic and dendrochronological datings indicate that the public space known as ‘La Terrasse’, measuring 110 x 92 m and situated near a Gallo‐Roman fanum, could have been established in the 3rd


century BC (Fleischer and Rieckhoff 2002) (Fig. 7). Although this last date needs to be treated with caution, if true it would imply that the place was used and visited for assemblies and religious purposes well before the oppidum was founded at the end of the 2nd century BC. And it is interesting to note that even after Bibracte was abandoned in favour of the city of Autun on the plain, the mountain on which the ancient oppidum was situated continued to be frequented for centuries in order to hold ceremonies, make offerings and hold fairs, as testified by the Gallo‐Roman sanctuary mentioned, a later church and chapel situated on the same site, a great fair held on the first Wednesday of May each year and the veneration of sacred springs such as the Fontaine‐St‐Pierre (Romero 2006). It is, therefore, an authentic lieu de mémoire whose special symbolism can only be fully understood from a longue durée perspective.

Examples like those of Manching, Bibracte, Gournay, Corent or Titelberg show that, in many cases, the use of a place for cultic purposes and holding assemblies would have been the cause, and not the consequence, of the development of oppida at these sites. A broadly similar situation is also seen in the south of Gaul at sites such as Entremont or Glanum, where the sanctuaries originated earlier than the oppida (Garcia 2006). Although there will evidently be exceptions to this model, it provides a new insight into the origin of numerous central sites that can help us gain a better understanding of the processes of aggregation and urbanisation in the Iron Age.

That said, the following words of Haselgrove (2000, 106), referring to the British territorial oppida are, in my opinion, equally applicable to many continental oppida, and permit a better understanding of their characteristics and, in particular, their origin: “Several territorial oppida potentially originated as sacred locations used periodically as meeting places by widely dispersed populations, with little or no permanent occupation […]. This role as a neutral place where otherwise separate groups came together under the auspices of the gods –for instance to elect a war leader– encouraged further development of their communal functions […]. What had begun as a neutral meeting place thus gradually evolved into the recognised focus of the wider social grouping, whose identity it came to symbolise, although the local lineage heads continued to reside on their ancestral lands”.

Following on from this, it is important to note that the location of a whole series of hilltop sites, like Bibracte, Heidetränk or the Spanish Ulaca, can only be explained on religious grounds, linked to ancient traditions that normally elude us but that must have been perfectly obvious to protohistorical peoples. Contrary to what is often claimed, there is a whole series of oppida whose choice of site cannot be understood solely on the basis of what we would consider ‘rational’ parameters, such as a position that provides easy access to the main long‐distance trade routes or economic potential in the immediately surrounding area. Bibracte is a good example: without denying the existence of certain economic and/or strategic components such as the mining of mineral ore, the site is on a mountain belonging to the Morvan massif and its position is not ideal for trade, agriculture, or as a place to live, particularly in the cold winters. A purely economistic reasoning is insufficient to explain why this


place became the “by far the largest and the best‐provided of the Aeduan towns” (Caesar, De Bello Gallico I, 23, 1).

5. Looking abroad: Assemblies as foci for community identity Much has been said so far about the central role of assemblies and collective

rituals in Late Iron Age Temperate Europe (see Fernández‐Götz 2013 for a more detailed analysis). How should we imagine the development of these great collective celebrations? Without attempting to make a direct comparison, a brief look at the óenacha of Ancient Ireland is certainly of inspirational value. The óenacha were mass gatherings that combined features of public assemblies and fairs, and which were attended by members of a túath or Province‐Kingdom on certain dates (Alberro 2006; Binchy 1958). Amongst the principal places where they were held were Tara, Emain Macha, Uisnech or Tailtiu. The celebrations combined very varied components that can only be fully understood as part of a whole: a recreational aspect (consisting of festivities: music, jugglers, eating and drinking, games and sports); legal‐administrative (such as holding meetings to discuss proposed laws, levies and taxes, make known lists of prisoners or fugitives, issuing ordinances, and holding public trials between clans or individuals); economic (buying and selling animals or goods); and ritual (such as fetching water from sacred springs, ceremonial fires, druidic ceremonies, or celebrating glorious feats of the past with processions and by reciting sagas). People whose daily lives were lived dispersed through the rural hinterland, had the opportunity to meet each other, socialize and get to know others, exchange goods and information, establish closer social ties, arrange marriages, and attend religious ceremonies. It was a way of reaffirming the social order, power relations and the sense of belonging to a wider community.

Of great interest for the problems discussed here are also the governing assemblies of the Scandinavian world, known by the term Thing and usually presided over by lawspeakers (Barnwell and Mostert 2003; Wenskus 1984). These meetings of free men were usually celebrated in the open air and were held at regular times as well as on an ad hoc basis for specific needs. There were hierarchies of things celebrated at different levels (local, regional and supra‐regional), so local things were represented at the higher‐level thing. They were where disputes were settled, laws issued and political decisions taken, all accompanied by public religious rites and economic activities. Thus the ‘Thing of all Swedes’ held annually at Gamla Uppsala combined a general assembly, a great fair and a religious celebration known as Dísablót. All free men living in the kingdom and who were able to wield a weapon had the right to participate at the assembly that took place at this major judicial, royal and sacred location: “In Svithjod it was the old custom, as long as heathenism prevailed, that the chief sacrifice took place in Goe month at Upsala. Then sacrifice was offered for peace, and victory to the king; and thither came people from all parts of Svithjod. All the Things of the Swedes, also, were held there, and markets, and meetings for buying, which continued for a week: and after Christianity was introduced into Svithjod, the Things and fairs were held there


as before” (Saga of Olaf Haraldson, part II). According to the Law of Uppland, it was also at this assembly that kings proclaimed that the public levy of free farmers would be summoned for warfare during the summer.

In any case, the most famous example of assemblies of this kind is the Icelandic Althing, established in the 10th century AD and the remote ancestor of that country’s present parliament (Bell 2010). It represented the main social event of the year, being attended by large crowds of farmers, traders, artisans, storytellers and travellers. The symbolic centre of the gathering was the ‘Law Rock‘ (Lögberg), from which the Lawspeaker presided over the assembly.

6. From tombs to sanctuaries In the case of Ancient Ireland, the places where the óenacha were celebrated

normally seem to have been ancient burial grounds, so it has been suggested that these gatherings may have originated in the funeral games held to honour the memory of kings and warriors/heroes (Ettlinger 1953‐54). As Alberro (2006: 179) says, the óenacha were a wake for the deceased founder, and the races and contests his funeral games. This should not surprise us: in many cultures, memories of the dead and the past define the present, and the present in turn defines the future. Thus in the Scandinavian world we find numerous examples of Thing places directly associated with funerary monuments. Several well‐known assembly places are located in ancient cemeteries, as in the case of Gamla Uppsala, where the ‘Thing of all Swedes’ was held at the great royal mounds that are still visible in the landscape. Similar phenomena have also been documented in Early Medieval Britain, where it has been suggested that mounds provided a platform for speakers, probably in a similar way to the ‘Law Rock’ of the Icelandic Althing.

It is worth remembering that in the Greek world the celebrated sanctuary of Olympia developed around a great tumulus dating to the Third Millennium BC which was considered by the Hellenes to be the tomb of Pelops, the hero of Greek mythology who gave his name to the Peloponnesian Peninsula (Senff 2012). In fact, it is plausible to think that the origin of the Olympic Games would have been in the celebration of funeral games.

The custom of holding assemblies at the tomb of a hero is a very common phenomenon in numerous cultures, as can already be seen in the Iliad when Hector and the counsellors ‘holdeth council by the barrow of godlike Ilos’, and therefore under the protection of the founding hero who gave his name to the city of Troy (Homer, Iliad Book X, 414‐415). Practices of this kind should also be related with the widespread belief that the ancestors were present and could intervene in the lives of the living. The importance of the cult of the founding hero as protector of the polis and a cohesive element of community life is ref lected in the fact that in Greek cities his worship used to be located in the agora (Polignac 1995).

In the light of these examples, to which many more could be added, the question that inevitably arises is: can similar phenomena be found in the Late Iron


Age of Central‐Western Europe? Although this is a subject that still requires more exhaustive examination, at least in certain cases a close link can be seen between meeting‐assembly‐cult places and funerary remains (Almagro‐Gorbea and Lorrio 2011; Fernández‐Götz 2013; Häussler 2010). Indeed, ancestor worship seems to have been at the centre of numerous public cults, and barrows very often acted as foci for political and religious meetings. Together with the eloquent information available for southern Gaul and Britain and the previously mentioned case of Manching, for the Late La Tène period we have examples such as the open site of Acy‐Romance, where a Late Bronze Age tumulus served as the key point of reference when tracing the general plan of this agglomeration of some twenty hectares (Lambot 2006). At Corent, in turn, a great tumulus of some 30 m in diameter has been located in the vicinity of the La Tène sanctuary. Probably dating to the Late Bronze Age, this funerary monument once again suggests that there was a close link between the La Tène public space and an ancient tomb, probably identified with the founding hero and therefore with the tutelary deity of the oppidum and perhaps even of the civitas (Ramona 2011). In addition, various linear structures of LT D have been identified in the enormous German oppidum of Heidengraben, which have been interpreted as enclosures dedicated to cult activities, and that are directly linked with the large barrow cemetery of Burrenhof dating to the Urnfield and Hallstatt periods (Ade et al. 2012) (Fig. 8). Finally, amongst the most recent finds is the one made in Ymonville, where a warrior tomb earlier than the foundation of the agglomeration was respected and included within its public space (Josset 2010) (Fig. 9). This brief list, which constitutes just a few of the examples available, is intended to draw attention to a topic often neglected by scholars, but one that is of the utmost importance for understanding the ideology of Iron Age societies. As in the Greek world, in Temperate Europe real or mythical ancestors were an integral part of religion and civic life, playing a key role in giving communities a shared focus for their identity (Fernández‐Götz forthcoming). Be that as it may, the aspects explored remind us of the fundamental importance of ‘the past in the past’ or, as Olivier (2004: 204) has well expressed it, “the importance attached to their own past or to the remains of civilisations and cultures which had preceded them, by the ancient societies studied within archaeology”.

Dr. Manuel Fernández‐Götz School of History, Classics and Archaeology University of Edinburgh M.Fernandez‐[email protected]


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126 Manuel FERNÁNDEZ-GÖTZ

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127SANCTUARIES AND ANCESTOR WORSHIP AT THE ORIGIN OF THE OPPIDA

Fig. 2: Reconstruction of the centre of the of Corent with main public structures(after Poux 2014)

oppidum


Fig. 3: Plan of the Titelberg : 1) cultic ditchoppidum that marks the boundary of the publicspace; 2) excavation of the monumental centre; 3) concentration of the La Tène habitat; 4)possible Roman military establishment; 5) east gate; 6) west gate (after Metzler et al. 2006,redrawn by author)


Fig. 4: Organisation of the Treveran territory based on the application of theThiessen polygons method (after Fernández-Götz 2014)

Fig. 5: Boundary marker of Verceil (northern Italy), one of the four stones that defined aritual space for the celebration of festivals and games (after Peyre 2000)


Fig. 6: Plan of templeAat Manching (after Sievers 2010, modified by author)

Fig. 7: Bibracte: Late Iron Age public space of 'La Terrasse' and nearby Gallo-Roman(after Fichtl 2005)fanum


Fig. 8: Barrow cemetery and associated later enclosures for ritual activity at theof Heidengraben (afterAde 2012)

oppidum

et al.


Fig. 9: Plans of the Gallic agglomerations of Ymonville (top) and Acy-Romance (bottom),showing the tombs of the probable founding heroes (after Ramona 2011)