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Near Pollonia, Milos, Greece — At first blush, my uninitiated eye could only see what appeared to be random jumbles and scatterings of large volcanic stones strewn across an arid, sloping, rocky island landscape. As I looked closer and longer, however, I could see some organization and structure to this expanse. Though the natural fury of volcanism was responsible for creating these stones, I knew nature did not place them here like this.

Humans did.

More than 4,000 years ago.

The site, known today to archaeologists and historians as ancient Phylakopi, was for centuries one of the most important commercial and trading centers of the Bronze Age Aegean. Situated on the northeast coast of what is present-day Milos, ships laden with goods from Minoan Crete, Mycenaean Greece and Pharaonic Egypt would ply their trade here and receive in return the best products the people of the island of Milos could offer. Here, a sophisticated community of people built and sustained administrative palaces, structures dedicated to sacred ritual spaces, house structures, and monumental defensive fortifications, among other features typical of Bronze Age urban settlements. Other significant Bronze Age urban settlements of the Aegean, like Phylakopi’s contemporaneous city of Knossos on the island of Crete and Akrotiri on the island of Santorini, have loomed much larger in the minds and imagination of the scholarly world and the public. Yet, at least among scholars of the Bronze Age Aegean, Phylakopi has not been lost in the shadow of those sites. In fact, in some ways, the archaeology of this island city has eclipsed them in the gravity of its importance. Archaeologists began to realize this as they explored this island-dotted Mediterranean region late in the 19th century.

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A view of the Phylakopi site as it exists today.

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The Fruits of Excavation

Adamas, the main coastal town of Milos, affords a rich variety of places to relax for an outdoor meal, and with the right location, one can view the blue water of the adjacent Milos Harbor while sitting and eating traditional Greek cuisine. It was under these circumstances that I met and conversed with Pavlos Kotronakis, a long-time resident of Milos and, for a time, an actively engaged archaeologist at the Phylakopi site. From 2004 to 2008 ( July 2004 until December 2008) he managed a team of excavators under the overall direction of Marisa Martha, who was then Director of the 21st Ephorate of Classical Antiquities of Greece’s Ministry of Culture.

Duncan MacKenzie, kneeling at the right during an excavation. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

Unlike previous excavations at the site, this project was primarily a clean-up operation, meant to clear the site of debris that remained after years of excavations earlier in the late 19th and then later in the 20th century, to make the site accessible to visitors. Historically, Phylakopi saw several British expeditions under the auspices of the British School at Athens, the first conducted between 1896 and 1899 by Duncan MacKenzie, the second from 1910 to 1911, and the third under Colin Renfrew from 1974 to 1977. A limited excavation was conducted in 1964 under Zepheiropoulou on behalf of the Zephorate of Antiquities for the Cyclades.

“Digging in and gradually removing the old British debris proved much more interesting and fruitful than anticipated, “ said Pavlos about the latest excavation of 2004 — 2008. “Excavators in the late 19th century, though close to modern standards, were quite far from paying much attention to excavation techniques, such as sieving the soil to find small artifacts, as would normally be required today for such an important site as Phylakopi. Consequently, we found many objects, even of significant archaeological value, that 19th century workers had simply overseen and thrown away. We were also able to bring to light again a part of the city walls that had been covered by the excavation debris.”

Some of the significant small finds of the excavations are now housed and exhibited at the Archaeological Museum of Milos, a modest yet architecturally beautiful edifice, affording well-appointed spaces richly endowed with artifacts not just from Phylakopi but from other sites and time periods, as well. 

Beyond artifacts, however, the physical site and features of Phylakopi bespeak a long-occupied ancient center that must have been an important player in the heydays of Aegean commerce from as early as the Late Neolithic through the Late Bronze Age. Key to this was one product Phylakopi, and by extension the volcanic island of Milos of which it was a part, had in abundance:

Obsidian.

“It is commonly believed that Phylakopi played a major role in the obsidian trade during the Later Neolithic – Early Bronze Age,” said Pavlos. “Phylakopi may well have been, if not the sole, perhaps main exporting center of obsidian — and that not only in Milos, but in the whole of the Aegean. But Phylakopi was not a production center. It was a refinement and exporting one. Obsidian was brought to Phylakopi from the production centers [also located on Milos], and was then refined on the spot and finally exported.”

The (often) black, hard, glassy consistency of this volcanically produced rock was enormously useful and effective for producing tools, its sharp, knifelike edges ideal for cutting and other productive activities. Though demand was robust for obsidian even during Neolithic times, trade and the use of it increased exponentially during the Bronze Age. Thus, Phylakopi is thought to have been a major destination or stopping point for maritime trade, in large part because it was one of only a few locations in the Mediterranean where obsidian could be acquired in such abundance with such high quality.

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Obsidian artifacts discovered on the island of Milos, as exhibited in the Milos Mining Museum.

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Obsidian artifacts discovered at Phylakopi, as exhibited in the Milos Mining Museum

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But obsidian was not all. Archaeological investigations turned up signs of another precious product — lithargyros fragments.

“Lithargyros was a by-product of the process of making silver (the Greek words “lithos” and “argyros” meaning “stone” and “silver”),” added Pavlos. “Renfrew has published some fragments of lithargyros found in his excavations. Lithargyros was “garbage” to be frank, and it was thrown away by the ancient workers. However, the existence of such “garbage” in Phylakopi shows that there may have existed workshops on the spot dealing with the production of silver. Though it was the “Bronze” Age, the people of Phylakopi may have had much more advanced knowledge in dealing with metals than previously thought.”

A Bonze Age Motherlode

I asked Pavlos about his thoughts on the most salient small finds of the combined series of excavations at Phylakopi. In his own words, he summarized the prolific results of the major efforts conducted at the site. What follows reflects his personal experience and perspective:

“First of all, unearthing a hitherto unknown and major commercial center of the Aegean Bronze Age was a great achievement; the British were lucky in “stumbling upon” its remains. The finds and findings of the British excavations were, of course, too many to number – however, some of them stand out in my mind:

Pottery, perhaps, would be number one: seemingly countless sherds appeared and a great percentage among them were decorated sherds; even whole vases appeared. This led to the building of a typology (a succession of ceramic styles, based on the relevant depth in which the sherds and the vases were found). This, in turn, greatly enabled dating and the building of chronological charts (the deeper a sherd/vase was found, the older it was. If found under a wall, for example, the sherd could date the wall and the whole building). The British were, thus, able to establish a solid new chronology for the specific era and place (Later Neolitihic / Bronze Age Aegean). This chronology applied not only to Phylakopi, Milos, but to the other Cycladic islands, as well.

“Linear A” findings could, perhaps, be number two. The inhabitants of Phylakopi knew how to read and write. Renfrew published a fragment of a clay tablet inscribed in Linear A script. Although this script has not yet been deciphered, it clearly shows connections with Crete. It also suggests that many more inscribed clay tablets once existed in the archives of the palace — in Knossos, for example, many tablets were saved because of the fire which destroyed the palace, thus “baking” the tablets and making clay durable. But in Phylakopi there was no fire; the city was simply abandoned sometime in the late 12th century B.C. and nobody knows what happened to the archives of the palace. It has even been supposed that the 19th century A.D. workers may have destroyed the tablets while digging, quite by accident, since unbaked clay would be almost indistinguishable  from the surrounding earth context and there was no knowledge of the existence of inscribed clay tablets at the time. Though the latter is a possibility explaining why no archives have been found except a sole tablet, I do not think it is a strong one.” 

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Above and below: Pottery and clay artifacts discovered at Phylakopi, as exhibited in the Archaeological Museum of Milos.

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A Monumental Place

For the casual observer, what stands out most strikingly is the massive assortment of scattered volcanic stones. Collectively, they distinguish the face of the site from the surrounding landscape much like an expansive, rocky outcrop might present in any other natural scene. But careful survey and investigation by archaeologists with trained eyes and excavation experience over the past century have gleaned a picture of a coastal city that boasted (for the Bronze Age Cyclades) a monumental presence. Although its evolutionary beginning as an urban center extends as far back as 3300 BC, in its heyday, particularly between 1550 and 1100 BC, Phylakopi must have struck an impressive view from the ships that approached its docks.

Most visible and prominent is the stone defensive wall, of which today only a small segment remains. Close to the edge of the site where the land meets the sea, it straddles the top of the cliffs that overlook the inlet. They appear as if suspended, situated as it were precariously above the waves that have continuously eroded the land upon which the site sits. The wall was constructed between 1600 — 1400 BC, during the Middle Bronze Age, a time when Minoan influence was strong at Phylakopi, and in the Cyclades generally. This wall was destroyed and then later reconstructed during the last phase of the settlement, a time when the Mycenaeans wielded great influence over the city. It is the remnant of this later wall that is primarily visible on the landscape. 

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Above and below: The Mycenaean wall as it is seen today.

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The Pillar Room

The excavations of 1896 — 1899 uncovered what remained of a structure named by the site investigators as the “Pillar Room”, a building complex that features two ground-floor rooms with a pillar in the center, a characteristic typical for Minoan architecture. Based on architecture alone, therefore, the archaeologists have ascertained influence from Crete, where the Minoan civilization was centered. But further evidence of this influence was discovered when excavators encountered fragments of fresco paintings, which they determined had fallen from what once were upper rooms. Some of the fragments came from the scene of an offering to a seated female, interpreted to be a goddess, in a coastal setting. Others originated from two narrow friezes of flying fish, a composition of white Lilly flowers, and a frieze featuring blue monkeys. Archaeologists have interpreted the rooms in which the fresco paintings were located as serving a religious function. The room featuring the seated goddess, for example, was quite possibly a shrine. The paintings have been dated to 1600 — 1500 BC, somewhat later than the dates for similar works discovered at the site of Akrotiri on the island of Santorini (ancient Thera).

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The East Pillar Room. Detail. Zde, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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Flying-fish diving and swimming among fish-eggs and sponges attached on rocks. Wall painting fragment from Phylakopi III/1, Melos. Late Cycladic I, 17th century BC. National Archaeological Museum Athens 5844. Zde, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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Published report illustration of the wall painting illustrating the flying fish.

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Offering table wall painting fragment with floral motifs. Zde, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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The Megaron

Not far from the Pillar Room, archaeologists encountered evidence for a ‘mansion’ complex. Dated to the 16th-15th c. BC, it was built during the time of Minoan influence. Not actually a private residential structure, it is thought to have been an administrative center for the city. Here, excavators unearthed a clay tablet inscribed in Linear A script. Linear A has yet to be deciphered, but it is often associated with palatial administrative contexts at sites in Crete that are dated to Minoan times. Later, a Megaron was constructed at the same location, and it is the remains of this latter structure that can be seen. Dated to the early 14th century BC, it is identified as a Mycenaean building, resembling similar such Mycenaean structures in Mainland Greece but somewhat simpler in complexity. Archaeologists uncovered defining features of an antechamber at its core with a threshold of two large stone ashlar blocks and a large hall with a plaster floor and hearth. This central portion was flanked by corridors and then a series of small rooms and spaces. 

The Sanctuary

Other than the defensive wall, perhaps the best defined and most visibly recognizable structural features at Phylakopi are the remains of what archaeologists have designated as the Mycenaean Sanctuary. Dated to an original nucleus (West Shrine) construction of 1360 BC, it was rectangular with a flat roof supported by wooden columns. The main room featured benches along the walls, with a doorway in its west wall leading to two ancillary rooms. The doorway was flanked by platforms with niches that supported figurines. About 1270 BC a new major rectangular construction was added, designated the East Shrine. Both the West and East Shrines functioned jointly. A structural collapse that occurred in 1130 BC led to architectural alterations, but the Sanctuary continued to be functional until around 1090 BC. Archaeologists recovered a significant number of clay figurines during excavation of the Sanctuary, including both female and male as well as bovine figurines. Here, the famous ‘Lady of Phylakopi’ figurine (c. 1350 BC) was found. Also found were three stone columnar lamps, tortoise shells that are thought to be parts of lyres, a gold mask, two bronze male figurines and two scarabs. Many of the finds have been interpreted as cult images and votive offerings and thus the Sanctuary is thought to have been a center for religious activity.

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Above and below: Remains of the Sanctuary, as they can be seen today.

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The South Entrance

A common feature of Bronze Age cities were monumental gates, or gateways, that led by definition into the settlement’s interior spaces. These gates were often part of the city fortifications, characterized by bastions and towers. This is no less true of Phylakopi and excavators encountered the remains of such in the area designated as the South Entrance. Here, archaeologists uncovered evidence of a bastion with a stone-built staircase that possibly led up to a tower. This is the only entrance to this city discovered, though archaeologists are certain there were more entrances. Erosion of the site by the adjacent sea has since destroyed all evidence of these entrances, excepting the South Entrance.

The Legacy of Phylakopi

One could say that Phylakopi, compared to better-known ancient Aegean sites such as Knossos, Akrotiri, and Phaistos, is a forgotten city. Few, other than scholars, students, and enthusiasts of Aegean and Cycladic history, have ever heard of the place. Yet unbeknownst to most, the site boasts a profound significance. 

“[Archaeologists] have unearthed a hitherto unknown Aegean civilization and a major commercial center of the Later Neolithic-Early Bronze Age, that had previously been completely unknown,” said Pavlos. “They were able to establish connections between Milos and Crete, since the findings clearly indicated close ties between these two islands and Cretan (“Minoan”) influence on Phylakopi.” Moreover, “Phylakopi, is considered to be one of the main centers of export for obsidian. It could well be possible that Phylakopi was the main center of this trade. This, apparently, makes Phylakopi stand out, since very few such exporting centers for obsidian are known (e.g. Nissyros), which, however, seem to have had a lesser part in this trade. And the obsidian exported from other centers was of rather inferior quality. The obsidian of Milos was number one.”

Beyond the fact that Phylakopi was the main center of a previously unknown Cycladic civilization, excavation work at the site established a foundation upon which later excavations and archaeological investigations of early Aegean civilizations could be based. The excavations at Phylakopi were particularly beneficial for the famous excavations conducted later under the direction of Arthur Evans at Knossos on the island of Crete.

“They [meaning the excavators of Phylakopi] were able to establish a stratigraphy, since different strata (layers) were documented and studied,” continues Pavlos. “This led to modeling a much-needed chronology pattern for the site. With the help of pottery found in these strata, the British were able to model chronological patterns for the era that also applied to other Cycladic islands. Last but not least, the investigators learned excavation techniques! Phylakopi was the first “modern”, so to say, excavation held in Greece. It was the first strictly “scientific” excavation, paying attention to stratigraphy, pottery evolution and chronology……. Duncan MacKenzie, the leader of the Phylakopi excavations, later went on to Crete at the beginnings of the 20th century, where the British School also held excavations at Knossos under Sir Arthur Evans. MacKenzie became the “right hand” of Evans and, with his valuable experience gained at Phylakopi, greatly helped in establishing chronology in the Knossos excavations. It is quite probable that without Phylakopi, MacKenzie would not have been able to help Evans as much and a solid stratigraphy and chronology pattern would not have been as easily produced.”

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Mycenaean fortifications, south of the top of the Archeological site in Phylakopi. Late Bronze Age. View from west. Zde, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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Finally, Phylakopi is among the longest lasting urban centers of the Aegean, progressing through a number of different developmental and construction phases, beginning in the Neolithic, but then continuing seamlessly throughout the Bronze Age (i.e. from the 3rd millennium BC until the 12th century BC), thus establishing its place as an important type-site for several chronological periods of the Aegean Bronze Age.

An Endangered Site

Today, thanks to site clean-up and preparations, the Phylakopi archaeological site draws hundreds if not thousands of visitors per year. With greater publicity, the numbers would surely climb. But Phylakopi faces a slow killer — erosion. For centuries, the sea has gradually eroded away the coastline of the ancient city, eating into the city itself. Much of what remains of this once critically important commercial port settlement has disappeared into the sea. The section of the city’s fortification wall that can still be seen at the edge of the cliff that overhangs the ocean appears precariously on the precipice of plummeting into the water below it. 

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Some remains of the wall precariously hug the edge of the cliff that overlooks the sea.

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I asked Pavlos about the plight of the site.

“Erosion by the sea of the volcanic rock on which the city lies continues,” he said. “One could say that erosion will, eventually, some day “eat” the rest of the city. Of course, centuries will need to pass before Phylakopi becomes ‘extinct’ in this way; but this is what will eventually happen unless modern technology finds a way to stop it. Rain and wind during winter also produce damage; the ancient walls of the city houses cannot withstand harsh weather conditions, unless they are reinforced [or protected] somehow.” 

“Nothing is being done to stop the erosion of the soil by the sea, nor to somehow protect the remains of the city from the impacts of harsh weather. It is such a pity.”

Efforts to protect the site will require an important resource — new money — words easier said than done in the current economy. But Phylakopi is not alone. It is an issue affecting many other ancient sites across the world. 

Walking among this ancient port city’s remains, I could imagine a bustling monumental center of tradesmen, skilled artisans, laborers, palace administrators,  religious officials and many others carrying out their daily tasks. Here was a center of work, government, and cultural symbolism, as well as a place where the elite ran their up-scale households. Goods from Crete and Mainland Greece found their way here, and scribes recorded important business transactions and other documents on clay tablets, first in the form of a script (Linear A) that is today yet undeciphered, and then likely later in a script (Linear B) with which many scholars of Greek today are already familiar. People lived and worked here continuously for centuries, and people living and working in far-flung communities across the sea likely knew the names of this city and their inhabitants. After the 12th century BC, however, there was silence and stillness. The city was abandoned or slowly depopulated and never re-occupied. It was not until the late 19th century that explorers and scholars came to recognize and act on what the local population had known for centuries — that there was something very significant going on in this place in the distant past. The jumbled stones and the artifacts they picked up and dug up at the site over the years told them so. 

It may be many years before archaeologists return to this site to investigate its secrets further.  Pavlos, and others like him, are only hoping that the sea, the wind, rain and global warming will be merciful long enough to allow them the chance to add to the city’s story — provided there is the financial grace to make it happen.

Cover Image, Top Left: The western edge of the Mycenaean fortification in Phylakopi. Zde, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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Over a millennia before Homer’s Odysseus followed Ursa Major home from Troy, the Minoans of Crete were already sailing by the stars. According to a new study* published in the Mediterranean Journal of Archaeology and Archaeomety, Bronze Age Minoans used celestial navigation techniques similar to the Polynesians, despite living over 17,800 km and thousands of years apart.

The Minoans flourished on the Greek island of Crete in 2,600–1,100 BCE and are considered the first European civilization. Crete quickly became a place of immense wealth (which was consolidated in the hands of the elites) and specialized in trade with the Near East and Egypt. Access to the gold, ivory, and tin that the Minoans craved required advanced sailing techniques.

The findings have shown that the technique of using star paths to navigate the seas emerged much earlier than previously thought. Ancient Minoan traders, and possibly even the legendary navy of King Minos (thought to be the world’s first professional navy), used the rising of key stars to traverse the Aegean and Mediterranean seas.

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A simulated example of a star path

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Minoan palaces and the stars of the east

The many grand palaces built on Crete by the Minoans point to the importance of international trade. These palaces, including those at Knossos, Kato Zakro, and five other locations, were orientated towards trading partners to the east and south and toward the navigational stars that would take them there. Wealthy Minoans looked out upon famous bright stars, like Sirius, Orion’s Belt, and Spica. As these stars rose to the horizon, they could be used to direct open sea navigators to the east.

Crete maintained important trade partnerships in the east, including with Sidon and Byblos (both in present-day Lebanon), Tel Kabri (in modern Israel), Tell el-Dab’a (Egypt), and other key locations. Evidence of Minoan artifacts and murals has been found in many of these places.

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Map of proposed star path orientations from Crete to the Near East

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Minoan elites: wealth, knowledge, and trading by starlight

Connections with the east mattered to the elites of Bronze Age Crete. The eastward orientation of Minoan palaces symbolized elite influence in foreign trade. Wealthy Minoans likely monopolized long-distance trade (and the profits made from exporting Crete’s wine and oils). Just as the uber-wealthy of the 21st century flaunt their Birkin bags and Rolex watches, Bronze Age elites exhibited their wealth through prestige goods, such as ivory and gold, which came from abroad.

Minoan elites may have protected their trade networks by gatekeeping the knowledge of celestial navigation. Studies in the 1990s showed that the Minoans had knowledge of night sailing and further work in 2013 by Thomas Tartaron suggested that the elites kept the knowledge of using stars for navigation a secret (like the chief navigator families of the Pacific). According to Tartaron, maritime knowledge was ‘worth guarding as a potential source of power and independence…those with access to distant places with their exotic products and…knowledge possessed a special, perhaps even mystical status.’

The wealth of Minoan elites would have allowed them to access foreign knowledge, like an incipient trigonometry perhaps used for establishing the orientations of the palaces, as well as develop their own technologies such as the sidereal compass. Used by traditional sailors in the Caroline Islands of Micronesia, the sidereal compass, known from at least the 9th century in the Indian Ocean, could determine the directions to specific islands based on star paths, which were marked as points analogous to a mariner’s compass. It’s possible existence in the Bronze Age highlights the sophisticated understanding of navigation that existed at this time.

A new study looks to Crete’s palaces for answers

The problem often facing classical and ancient scholars – that is, the lack of written evidence – makes an appearance here. But the lack of written evidence from Crete can be partially overcome. The comparative study of Polynesian and Micronesian sea-faring can point to possible techniques used by the Minoans — for example, the Polynesian practice of observing star paths for navigation or even the use of the sidereal compass.

My recent study used ancient sea routes, software simulations of ancient skies, archaeological records, and wind patterns to highlight the link between Minoan palaces and sea-faring techniques.

A key example was the orientation of the palace of Knossos – the largest Minoan palace in Crete and home to the legendary King Minos. This important palace was oriented toward the star Spica – the movement of which would have helped navigators sail to the important Levantine harbor of Sidon, where evidence of Minoan artifacts has been found. Although mythology should not be taken as concrete evidence, the connection between Crete and Sidon was memorialized on ancient Minoan coins which showed the myth of Zeus turning into a bull and abducting Princess Europa (mother of King Minos) on the beaches of Sidon, from where she was taken to Crete.

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A view of the palace at Knossos. ii7017, Pixabay

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Satellite photo of the Minoan Knossos palace showing the short axis of the central court pointing along the star path of Spica toward the ancient trade harbor of Sidon, the location where Minos’s mother Europa was abducted.

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Comprehending the importance of stars for navigation brings us a step closer to understanding the Minoan civilization and its role in the ancient world. By looking to the stars, the study shows us the island’s centrality in the Bronze Age economic and cultural landscape and the importance of trade in shaping Crete’s palaces. 

A sophisticated maritime culture existed in Bronze Age Crete, and the study showed that the Minoans ‘relied on long-distance sea voyages for trade’. These findings offer a better understanding of ancient culture and connections in the Bronze Age Mediterranean.

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A. Berio

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*Berio, Alessandro, Minoan Star Sailors: Linking Palace Orientations with Maritime Trade Routes and Celestial Navigation, Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry, Vol. 22, No 3, (2022), pp. 149-177

Along the Argiletum, a heavily trafficked street in old Rome that led down from the summit of the Esquiline Hill, then through the Subura quarter, entering the Forum Romanum between the Senate House and the Basilica Aemilia, one could encounter a daily microcosm of the city’s populace.

A person could stake out a shady sidewalk spot beneath an umbrella pine and divert themself for hours just watching the ceaseless river of changing faces flow by. The eclectic multitude might include a prominent senator, with a conspicuous entourage of bodyguards, an obnoxious man of great wealth with a cadre of obsequious clients, actors, bankers, businessmen, teachers and teenagers, ladies of the social register, down-and-outers, veterans, and pickpockets.

Their one common denominator?

A passion for good books.

The Argiletum, you see, was Rome’s answer to London’s Paternoster Row, or New York’s ‘’Publishers Row” on 5th Avenue, i.e., the heart of the publishing and book-selling trade. Many of the Eternal City’s publishers not only had their offices along the clamorous paved thoroughfare, but their factories and retail outlets as well. It was also a rendezvous for the distinguished literati of the day who would be on hand to help promote sales of their latest “volumes.” (The Romans often used the word volumen instead of the word liber for book.)

And what did a book look like in Roman times? While no original manuscripts survive, archeologists excavating Herculaneum – the other city buried, like Pompeii, in A.D. 79 by the eruption of the Vesuvius volcano – discovered a house with an extensive library of eight hundred plus “books,” i.e. scrolls, that afford us the answer to that question. These consisted of long strips of fine bark papyrus imported from Egypt. After the papyrus had been pressed into “sheets,” it was pressed a second time and sun-dried before being cut into “page” widths that could be written on, on one side, with a stylus dipped in ink made from lampblack. These pages would be glued one to another at the edges and then rolled tightly around two wooden rods, or dowels, about twelve inches long. The last leaf, or page, would be fastened to the right hand rod. The left hand rod would serve as the take-up reel. The reader would hold the “book” with both hands and unroll it from right to left until a page was centered between the two rods, and repeat this step for each subsequent page. These books ranged in length from as little as six feet (a pamphlet) to as much as sixty feet or more for an edition, say, of Virgil’s Aeneid.

Each of the rods would be tipped with metal or ivory for decorative purposes. To the top end a small tag of parchment bearing the title, and perhaps the author’s name, would be attached, hanging down when the book was placed on its side in a bookcase.

There were no breaks between the words nor the sentences. There was no paragraphing nor punctuation. These devices were introduced in later centuries as a service to the reader.

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The beginning of what we know of today as books made its premier as the unrolling scroll. Smufotos, Pixabay

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Photos of the papyrus fragments PHerc.1103 (a) and PHerc.110 (b,c). Image contrast and brightness were enhanced to better visualize the details visible to the naked eye on their external surface. Sara Stabile, Francesca Palermo, Inna Bukreeva, Daniela Mele, Vincenzo Formoso, Roberto Bartolino & Alessia Cedola.  Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International, Wikimedia Commons

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Up to the first century before Christ, the publishing business was virtually non-existent. There were as yet no public libraries and the literacy rate was woefully low. In the Roman world of letters, such as it was, authors would produce copies of their writings in their own homes for distribution among friends and kin.

Cicero however, the great statesman, orator, and essayist, had the advantage of a wealthy entrepreneurial friend, Titus Pomponius Atticus, who put his corps of skilled slaves to work mass-producing editions of Cicero’s manuscripts. When Atticus noted the literacy rate significantly growing, and the ever increasing market of book lovers, the astute financier jumped into the publishing business with both feet. He soon entered into agreement with a number of accomplished poets, satirists, story-tellers, biographers, and historians. Naturally Cicero, the master wordsmith of the day, headed his list of authors. It was a stroke of genius on Atticus’ part to add to his portfolio a bookshop and a publishing firm. He quickly struck gold with beautiful editions of the two most brilliant of all Ciceronian essays: De Amicitia (on Friendship) and De Senectute (On Old Age).

In a letter to Atticus from 13 February in 61 B.C., Cicero had pointed out the high real estate values on the Argiletum:

“My brother Quintus has purchased the remaining three-quarters of the Argiletum property for 735,000 sesterces.

(Classical scholars calculate that today such a sum would come to about 350,000 U.S. dollars.)

Accordingly, Atticus established his production plant in that fast developing business district. The establishment had a room where slaves pressed the papyrus into sheets, another where they glued the edges together. In the third room – a rather large hall in fact – dozens of his workers skillful in penmanship sat at drafting tables and wrote feverishly on these sheets, while a reader at a lectern dictated, in a loud, deliberate voice, from the original manuscript.

Another word or two, now, about Marcus Tullius Cicero. “Tully,” as third-level Latin students and their teachers fondly refer to him, maintained a prolific correspondence which was destined to have a significant impact on the nascent book-making industry. Tiro, Cicero’s intellectually gifted Greek slave – whom he dearly loved and treated as a member of the family – carefully wrote out the great man’s dictated letters and always made a second copy of each, which he meticulously maintained in a file. After his master’s death in 43 B.C., Tiro turned over some nine hundred of them for publication by the firm of Titus Pomponius Atticus. Their release met with such wide acclaim and wild enthusiasm that soon letter-collections of prominent Romans became a popular new literary form with avid readers, and publishers were only too eager to accommodate this growing mania.

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Cicero with his friend Atticus and brother Quintus, at his villa at Arpinum. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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In the late first and early second century A.D., the personal correspondence of Pliny the Younger topped the sales charts on the Argiletum. These epistolary writings of such literary celebrities afford the modern reader fascinating and authentic insights into numerous aspects of Roman life, e.g. the leisure interests, the politics, the culinary preferences, the religious beliefs and practices, the medical advancements, the family unit, the home decor, the raising of children, the legal profession, the variety of occupations, the compulsory military service, the ownership and treatment of slaves, the entertainment industry, the government welfare programs, the holiday festivals, the trade and commerce, the frantic pace of urban life vis-a-vis the tranquility of residence in a country villa, summer vacations, travel abroad, the Zeitgeist, and so much else of each era of Roman antiquity. All this made for very scintillating reading and a new, very marketable genre for the publishers.

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Pliny the Younger and His Mother at Misenum. Painting by Angelica Kauffmann, Exhibit in the Princeton University Art Museum. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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According to Martial, the first century poet, Roman readers could be quite discerning, fussy if you will, about choosing a book:

“The people of Rome have demanding tastes in literature. The young, the old, even the children have the nose of a rhinoceros [an idiom meaning, back then, knowing how to judge well].”

In 39 B.C., as the literacy rate continued to grow dramatically, the affluent C. Asinius Pollio founded a for-profit lending library on the Aventine Hill. With the resultant growing demand for books, the fledgling publishing trade began to flourish and more and more companies and shops blossomed on the Argiletum. Just before his assassination, Julius Caesar had plans in the works to build the first State Library. It was left to his successor Augustus to complete the ambitious project.

Libraries began to be organized in the provinces and municipalities throughout the empire. By the end of the first century A.D. there were numerous such facilities – as many as twenty-nine in the capital alone, the most impressive among them being the twin libraries built by Trajan, one stocked entirely with works in Latin, the other in Greek. (Interesting note: it was considered the height of bad manners for a library patron to return a book without rewinding it to the first page, as a courtesy to the next borrower.)

In addition to all this, there was now a private collection craze for the publishers to satisfy, as well. Good home libraries tended to include as many as three or four hundred volumes. Book collecting by this time had also become a status symbol and a form of ostentation. (A book was a most welcome gift to bring along if one were invited to a dinner party.) Cicero would say: “A house without books is like a body without a soul.” He would then add: “If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need to be happy.”

The beginning of Rome’s Imperial Age also saw the establishment of a sort of canon of literature to be taught in the schools, thereby further spiking the output of the publishing companies. Publishing houses soon dominated the Argiletum. Quintilian the rhetorician and Martial the satirist both mention the firms of Tryphon, Attrectus, and Secundus. Horace (first century B.C.) had told of another. After instructing his readers on what should go into a volume of poetry, he writes:

“Brothers, Hic meret aera liber Sosiis (Such a book would be a real money-maker for the Sosii).”

We also see references by other writers to the publishing houses of Dorus, and Q. Pollius Valerianus. All these were the MacMillans, Random Houses, and Simon and Schusters of that day and age.

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While the idea of royalties was still unknown, the publisher and author surely must have reached some kind of share-the-profit agreement. Of course, first time and unknown authors, desperate to have their work produced, show-cased, and disseminated, would settle for a pittance. But then, even well-known writers could, from time to time, be exploited.

Publishers grew rich by shipping their neatly packaged products to Gaul, Spain, Illyria, Sicily, North Africa and other distant provinces. Martial liked to boast that his works were being read and quoted by soldiers deployed in far off Britain, but then complained: “I don’t make a dime off it.”

A publisher would try to estimate the demand and market for any new manuscript and then put as many copiers as called for to work on its production. No copy left his establishment until the whole edition – anywhere from a hundred to two hundred – was ready.

Since copyright laws did not exist, a new publication could be easily pirated and mass-produced by a smaller firm in a cheap and unattractive issue.

By the mid-second century A.D. in addition to raking in huge profits from their provincial trade, the Argiletum dealers continued doing a thriving business right on the premises. The voracious reading, book-buying public would daily jam the street, seeking the latest best-sellers. Stores and stalls would hang advertisements in conspicuous places, giving the prices of new releases. Sometimes tantalizing excerpts would be posted for the convenience of browsers, who would swarm like flies around the entrance to each retail outlet.

In our time, an author of a newly released work is expected to help with the promotion and sales of it by book-signings, by doing interviews with journalists, and mostly, by making the rounds of popular radio and television talk shows. In Roman times, authors would hold readings from their newest efforts in private homes, on street corners, in theaters, in porticoes, and even in the Forum. Some of the more renowned writers might even be invited to the emperor’s palace to provide the entertainment portion of an elegant state dinner and on other special occasions. Hadrian, with his own funds, erected in the heart of Rome a spacious auditorium just for this purpose. The place drew an eager audience for every event.

Many poor illiterates often joined in, this being their only means to enjoy outstanding writing.

Often, an aspiring but as yet unpublished author would invite family and friends, neighbors and co-workers to a private reading of his latest manuscript. So as not to offend the nervous neophyte, most of the invitees would show up, though some with great reluctance. Lame excuses, for not being able to comply, abounded.

Literary clubs and discussion groups eventually also became commonplace – as did the expression: “What’s new on the Argiletum?” It was the golden age of Roman publishing.

In the late fourth century, a kind of industrial revolution hit the publishing trade. A new book format was introduced. This involved the use of parchment (dried and specially treated animal skins) cut into “pages” which could be written on, on both sides. These were numbered and stacked in numerical order, then stitched together in the back to form what was called a codex, or in other words, the prototype for books ever since. The companies lining the Argiletum had to adapt or perish, for the reading public quickly preferred the ease of turning pages to the cumbersome old way.

Today there is hardly a trace of the ancient book bazaar street. It courses somewhere beneath eighteenth century buildings and Mussolini’s Via dei Fori Imperiali. The short stretch of the Argiletum that penetrated the Forum Romanum is now overrun with weeds and shattered paving stones, and is busy playing host to a colony of vagrant cats.

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