2017 Phoenicia in The Neo-Assyrian Perio

State Archives of Assyria
Bulletin
ISSN 1120-4699
Volume XXIII
2017
STATE ARCHIVES OF ASSYRIA BULLETIN
VOLUME XXIII, 2017
Editors
Frederick Mario Fales, Simonetta Ponchia, Giovanni-Battista Lanfranchi
Published by
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
1–46 MAKSIM KALININ – SERGEY LOESOV, Lexical Sondergut of Neo-Assyrian
47–53 SAJJAD ALIBAIGI, The Location of the Second Stele Commemorating Tiglath-Pileser
III’s Campaign to the East in 737 BC
55–66 MATTIAS KARLSSON, The Cursed Destruction of the North-West Palace
67–90 SANAE ITO (with an Introduction by SEBASTIAN FINK), Assurbanipal the Humanist? The
Case of Equal Treatment
91–129 CRISTINA BARCINA, The Conceptualization of the Akitu under the Sargonids: Some
Reflections
131–156 STEFANIA ERMIDORO, Ruling over Time: The Calendar in the Neo-Assyrian Royal
Propaganda
157–179 SIMONETTA PONCHIA, Slaves, Serfs, and Prisoners in Imperial Assyria (IX–VII Cent.
BC). A Review of Written Sources
181–295 FREDERICK MARIO FALES, Phoenicia in the Neo-Assyrian Period: An Updated
Overview
Editore: Sargon Editore Padova di ArcSAT s.n.c. di Vincenzo Valente e C.

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Finito di stampare il 25.02.2018
State Archives of Assyria Bulletin
Volume XXIII (2017)
PHOENICIA IN THE NEO-ASSYRIAN PERIOD

AN UPDATED OVERVIEW 1
Frederick Mario Fales
In memory of three scholars of international renown, all teachers to the next one, whom the author — in
childhood and youth — had the good fortune and great pleasure to meet, get to know personally, and
learn from:
Prof. Giorgio Levi Della Vida, titan of Arabic studies and Semitics, painfully exiled anti-Fascist patriot
and yet wrily sophisticated memoirist, on the fiftieth anniversary of his passing,
Prof. Sabatino Moscati, consummate innovator in Phoenician studies, acute scout of new territories
and mentor of fresh talents for research, on the twentieth anniversary of his passing.
and Prof. Giovanni Garbini, generous and wide-ranging investigator of inter-Mediterranean linguistic
correlations and cultural contacts, agreeable model for fledgling acolytes, in the year of his passing.
At its outset in the mid-19th century, research on the Ancient Near East was already long
accompanied by a set of general notions regarding the land known as “Phoenicia” and its
population, the “Phoenicians”. These notions not only derived from accounts in the Bible2
1. The author is indebted to Prof. Gonzalo Rubio (Pennsylvania State University), and to Prof. Paolo Xella
(CNR, Rome) for having, in recent years, stimulated him to tackle Levantine or Phoenician matters
within specific group research projects, which finally led him to conceive the present contribution for
the SAAB. Particular gratitude goes to Prof. Maria Giulia Amadasi (Guzzo), formerly Univ. of Rome,
for having kindly read through the manuscript, offering very useful critical comments and new mate-
rials. Many thanks also go to Prof. Felice Israel, formerly Univ. of Genova, to Dr. David S. Reese, Yale
University, to Dr. Ferdinando Sciacca, Univ. of Rome, and to Mr. Peter Zilberg, Hebrew University of
Jerusalem, for bibliographical support and kind suggestions. Needless to say, any possible misinter-
pretations or omissions are of the author’s own doing. Save for limited exceptions, the bibliographical
references in this contribution are meant to span the last three decades, i.e. approx. from 1990 onward
— corresponding to the current phase in research in which a more holistic view of the Levant has come
into being, with many examples of interdisciplinary cooperation.
2. See e.g. the collection of studies by Lipiński 1991, touching on various well-known cruces interpretum
regarding the areas of Phoenician-Israelite interrelations.
182 FREDERICK MARIO FALES
and in Greco-Roman literature,3 but were also the product of various attempts at deci-
pherment of the earliest known epigraphical data.4
Nowadays, some 170 years later, knowledge on Phoenicia/ns shows a quasi-paradox-
ical increase along various avenues of diffusion. On one hand, a wider audience may
retrieve comprehensive presentations of diverse data on Phoenicia/ns in encyclopaedias
on the Bible or the Ancient Near East,5 in exhibition catalogues,6 and in monographic
treatments of far-reaching scope.7 On the other hand, researchers may obtain more spe-
cific information on this field from a host of linguistic studies,8 dedicated international
journals,9 theme-oriented handbooks or collections of essays,10 as well as from interdis-
ciplinary lexica in print or online.11 And finally, continuously published scholarly papers
are to be added to all this material, not only in the traditional fields of philology, archae-
ology, and historical studies,12 but even along pathways extending beyond the social sci-
3. For the repertoire of Classical sources on Phoenicia/ns in the Mediterranean, see Bunnens 1979, and
Mazza et al. (eds.) 1988. Of particular interest is the description of the Phoenician coast with its cities
provided by the Pseudo-Scylax (possibly 4th century BC), which was analyzed in detail by Lipiński
2004, 267–336, and which may be further compared to the shorter description by Herodotus, III, 91: cf.
e.g. Rainey 2001.
4. Cf. e.g. Garbini 2006, 22–30; Schmitz 2012: 1-12, for the beginnings of Phoenician epigraphy, and R.G.
Lehmann 2013 on W. Gesenius and his predecessors back to the 17th century. For the multiple biases in
the overall “profile” of the Phoenicians in Western historiography, see Liverani 1998.
5. See e.g. ABD V, 349–357 (B. Peckham); OEANE IV, 313–318 (W.A. Ward), 324–331 (G. Markoe);
EBR XV, cols. 1191–1198 (C. McKinny); RlA X, 536–539 (W. Röllig).
6. E.g. Moscati (ed.) 1988; Matoïan (ed.) 1999; Aruz et al. (eds.) 2014 — all quite beautifully illustrated.
7. See e.g. Aubet 20012; Markoe 2005; Elayi 2013; Peckham 2014.
8. Following Schröder’s pioneering grammar of Phoenician (1869), a long hiatus was interrupted by the
innovative grammatical outline by Harris (1936). Important advances in available data subsequently led
to treatises on both Phoenician and Punic by Segert (1976); Amadasi Guzzo (1999, updating the prev-
ious editions of Friedrich and Röllig); Krahmalkov (2001; 2002); Hackett (2008). For linguistic studies,
see e.g. most recently Holmsted & Schade (eds.) 2013.
9. Such as the Rivista di Studi Fenici (Rome), which has now reached its 45th volume (indexes at http://
www.rstfen.isma.cnr.it/index.php/rivista-journal). Studies on Phoenician themes appear frequently in other
journals or annuals such as BAAL (Bulletin d'Archéologie et d’Architecture Libanaises); Studi epigra-
fici e linguistici; Syria; Transeuphratène; and Ugarit-Forschungen.
10. E.g. Lipiński (ed.) 1991; Lipiński 2004; Krings (ed.) 1994; Vita & Zamora (eds.) 2006; Sagona (ed.)
2008. The series of volumes (monographs or collected essays) Studia Phoenicia (Peeters, Leuven) which
began in 1983, has reached its 22nd volume in 2017: see http://www.peeters-leuven.be/search_serie_
book.asp?nr=205.
11. Lipiński (ed.) 1992; Xella et al. (eds.) 2017.
12. On these main and customary lines of enquiry, see e.g. the publications in multi-volume form of the
papers of the eight editions of the Congresso internazionale di studi fenici e punici held between 1979
and 2013 (cf. the site http://www.rstfen.isma.cnr.it/, for indexes of the volumes). To be sure, recent years
have also seen a vast output of mixed-content volumes of small conferences or of Festschriften in honour
of various scholars — retired or deceased — which may prove more difficult to locate, save in top-
PHOENICIA IN THE NEO-ASSYRIAN PERIOD 183
ences.13
Now, if this overall picture indisputably represents a rewarding outcome as regards
ongoing progress in research, it may on the other hand be pointed out that — by now —
the decided abundance of concrete items of available information, and of specific ap-
proaches to the latter, has come to constitute a somewhat “magmatic” compound of his-
torical knowledge on Phoenician matters.14 This compound thus proves to require, from
time to time, attempts to unravel its individual constituent “veins”, in order to review
them critically and to update them in the light of the steady growth of data and/or of
changing methodological stances. It is in this perspective that the following essay on
Phoenicia/n(s) during the Neo-Assyrian period — within the wider framework of the Le-
vant in the Iron Age, and with political history and economic issues brought to the fore
— should be understood.15
1. Assyria and Phoenicia: Generalia on Written Sources and Archaeological Data

a. Written Sources
Assyria reached the acme of its political power between the mid-eighth and the late sev-
enth century BC, with the creation of an empire stretching from northern Mesopotamia
budget University libraries. Fortunately, on the other hand, ways and means of electronic consultation
of scholarly works have also become more widespread and advanced of late.
13. See e.g. the paleo-environmental studies of Phoenician ports by Stefaniuk et al. 2005 (Byblos), Marriner
et al. 2008 (Tyre); or the detailed biological examination of purple-dye shells from Sarepta by Reese
2010; or the stylistic studies on Levantine ivories with a machine learning approach by Gansell et al.
2013; or the archaeometrical study of Southeast Asian cinnamon residue in Phoenician clay flasks of
the 11th–10th centuries BC by Gilboa 2015b; or the archaeologically-aimed provenancing of Eastern
Mediterranean cedar wood through strontium isotopes by Rich et al. 2016. These studies and many
others akin to them lie, alas, way beyond the technical competences of the author, but this does not
diminish his frank admiration of their approaches and results.
14. All the more so, since this overall scholarly horizon has come to comprise — from its very origins (due
to abundant and interesting epigraphical finds in Middle/Western Mediterranean contexts) and espe-
cially with the expansion of archaeological investigations since the late 1960s — a vast quantity of
studies on the maritime and colonial endeavours of the Phoenicians beyond their homeland, i.e. on the
so-called “Punic” historical and cultural domain, from Carthage to Italy to Spain, with ensuing sub-
specializations. See in general Baurain & Bonnet 1992; Aubet 2001 2; Bondì et al. 2009; and Ribichini
2012, for an overview of the many different research themes, albeit of prevalently “Punic” affiliation,
hosted by the Rivista di Studi Fenici in the course of its four decades of existence. Cf. fn. 15, below.
15. The “Punic” horizon lies almost entirely beyond the interests and attention of the present contribution
(but see §6, below). Moreover, due to the author’s range of competences, this essay will deal only in
minimal terms with the often-treated subjects of Phoenician cultic and burial practices, on which, how-
ever, the bibliography given in the footnotes above is rich in data and theoretical perpectives (and see
also fn. 56, below). Abbreviations of frequent use in the following pages are: (a) archeological: LBA =
Late Bronze Age: (E)IA = (Early) Iron Age, with numbering of sub-phases; (b) textual: ARI = Assyrian
Royal Inscriptions; OT = Old Testament; (c) philological/ linguistic (i.e. referring to language brackets):
NA = Neo-Assyrian; SB = Standard Babylonian: OA = Old Aramaic.
eastward and westward all over the Near East.16 The Assyrian official record (as repre-
sented by the ARI), especially between the reigns of Tiglathpileser III (745–727 BC) and
Assurbanipal (668–631),17 and a set of contemporaneous “everyday” sources (from letters
to administrative documents to legal texts to divinatory materials),18 all in cuneiform script,
represent our main guides for a reconstruction of the history of this period as regards the
subjugation and imperial administration of the so-called Levant19 — i.e. the entire Eastern
Mediterranean coast from the Gulf of Iskenderun to the first reaches of the Sinai. How-
ever, the data also stretch to the adjacent eastward-lying lands of present-day Syria and
16. In point of fact, however — as will be stated in detail below (§3) — Assyrian intervention in the Levant
must be taken into account from the 11th century onward. Thus, its initial chronological range overlaps
by and large with two significant features of investigation on “Phoenicia/ns”: (a) the earliest attestations
of linear alphabetic script to render native Semitic varieties in the city-states of the Lebanese coast, and
(b) the complex transition in archaeological evidence from the LBA to IA 1. Both such features will
thus require specific reflection in this section (§1a and §1b, below). For the historical geography of the
Assyrian empire, the standard atlas is Parpola & Porter (eds.) 2001. For a general history of the period,
cf. Liverani 2014, 420–432.
17. The ARI are couched — on the basis of a long compositional tradition — along structural and stylistic
guidelines meant to flaunt the (mainly warlike and consistently victorious) deeds of the Assyrian rulers
in basically topical terms, but they in fact hold various sets of “hard” information of potential interest
for the historian — although the latter should not take the material at face value, but should parse it in
depth and critically (Fales 1999–2001; Liverani 2017). The ARI name regularly, and with a certain
precision, the different peoples and places encountered by the Assyrian armies in their military expan-
sion westwards (see Bagg 2007), and provide general information on the status accorded to the different
polities following Assyrian conquest, whether as client kingdoms, forced to pay annual tribute while
retaining political autonomy (Postgate 1992a, 252–255) or as full-fledged provinces of the ever-growing
Empire (cf. Radner 2006). In some cases, these texts give extended topographical descriptions of the
itineraries taken by the Assyrian army; and the detail on the single halts involved has even allowed
modern scholars to calculate the time required to tread the routes (see e.g. Liverani 1992, 145–147).
18. See Fales 2001 for a history of the Neo-Assyrian period from the viewpoint of these “everyday” sources,
commonly considered to pertain to the “State Archives of Assyria”. An English translation of this work,
with the necessary updates, is in progress at this time.
19. “Levant”, as is well known, is a post-Renaissance French/Italian maritime term for “(direction of) the
rising (sun)”, i.e. the Orient (Mansel 2010). In practice, it coincides by and large with the territories of
SW Asia grouped together under the blanket designation Ḫatti in early Neo-Assyrian inscriptions (a
term which over time alternates with, or is flanked by, Amurrû, “the [southern part of the] West”) and
then dubbed Eber nāri “(Land) beyond the river (Euphrates)” from the late Neo-Assyrian period down
to Achaemenid times (Bagg 2011, 19–40), with its Hebrew and Aramaic counterparts. The present-day
polities/regions abutting on this area — “Transeuphratene” or “Transpotamia” according to current neo-
logisms — are (southern) Turkey, Cyprus, (northwestern) Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Palestine, Jordan,
north-eastern Egypt (Fig. 1). See the general presentation of the overall historical geography of the
Levant by Suriano 2014. For the numerous pitfalls in the use of the term “Levant”, as a historical-geo-
graphical designation per se and in relation to the varying local research priorities at work in the quoted
modern polities/regions, cf. Routledge forthcoming.
Jordan — and with extensions of shorter duration to Egypt and Cyprus.20
Fig. 1. Present-day polities forming the “Levant”.

From Steiner & Killebrew (eds.) 2014, xxiii.
20. Although Cyprus played a part in the Assyrian written record on the Levant only for a limited stretch of
time (see Cannavò 2007, and cf. §4), its close contiguity caused — as is well known — tight intercon-
nections with the Phoenician coast from the point of view of shared material culture and mutual trade
at least from the LBA, and all through the IA to the Persian period. Specifically, it may be recalled that
the southeastern portion of the island, around Kition, was colonized by Tyre ca. 900–850 BC, thus
allowing the Phoenicians access to the rich copper resources of the island (Yon 1997; Aubet 20012, 50–
54). The complex topic of Cypriote-Phoenician relations — which includes the rich sub-theme of ar-
chaeological interconnections with the Aegean — has been discussed at length: for overviews see, e.g.,
Bell 2006, and most recently Iacovou 2014; Sherratt 2015. For Cypriot IA chronology — mostly based
on ceramics, see Bikai 1987; Schreiber 2003 — and its pitfalls, cf., e.g., Iacovou 2004; Whincop 2009,
§2.5.2. For a radical critique of 19 th- and 20th-century historiography concerning the dates and phases
of hellenization on Cyprus, see Rupp 1998; Leriou 2002. For Cyprus as a test case in the investigation
on the connection between material cultures and ethnic constructs in the Eastern Mediterranean, cf.
Knapp 2014. For the abundant — but historically not very informative — epigraphical corpus in Phoe-
nician alphabetic script from Cyprus, cf. the linguistic-historical analysis by Steele 2013, and most re-
cently the data on Idalion of later phases by Amadasi Guzzo & Zamora Lopez 2016; Amadasi Guzzo
2017.
By analyzing these sources, and with further insights to be drawn from lists of toponyms
and geographical indications on other areas,21 it may be deduced that a spatial knowledge
of the lands falling under the interests of the Assyrian Empire was available to personnel
in charge at various levels, in function of the imperialistic or hegemonic control being
practiced over such lands.22 Thus, although no cartographical representation has come
down to us from this period,23 cognizance of the major landmarks was surely the guiding
principle of orientation and movement for the planning of sequential itineraries through
the Levant. To be sure, the main physical features of the Phoenician coastline (from the
Lebanon range to other mountains) are the object of particular mention in the ARI, as will
be seen (§§3–4, below).
Comparative geographical information on the Levant in the 1st millennium BC may
be drawn from the OT, even at the risk of possibly overestimating or misinterpreting the
abundant topographical data therein,24 whereas the West Semitic epigraphical record yields
meager tidbits of difficult interpretation,25 and the Neo- and Late-Babylonian texts cov-
21. See e.g. Levine 1974; 1989; Bagg 2006; Ponchia 2004; 2006; Radner 2008 as specific studies on Neo-
Assyrian itineraries.
22. Cf. the general guidelines of the issue as set forth by Parker 2013, and Thareani 2016 on the specific
locale. However, see §6, below, for a comprehensive discussion of the topic.
23. Bagg 2011, 58–64. More in general, on the issue of mapping and mapmaking in the Ancient Near East,
cf. now Düring 2017.
24. See fn. 2, above, and fn. 33, below. As further cases in point, see e.g. the detailed study of roads and
highways in the Bible by Dorsey 1991; and the vast discussion on “(the ships of) Tarshish”, taken up in
detail by Beitzel 2010 in the light of the possibility of open-sea sailing by the Phoenicians. The author
is in agreement with Beitzel (ibid., 45) that “one must be wary of embracing a historico-critical pre-
dilection having to do with the location of Tarshish and/or foundationally anchoring an assertion of a
single nautical enterprise on summary notations that, in point of fact, may be exegetical outliers”. In
this light, it may be recalled that the two extra-Biblical testimonials of (1) the attestation of tršš on the
Nora Stone (KAI 46, 1) and (2) the sole mention in the ARI of KUR.tar-si-si — with a perfect corre-
spondence of Assyrian sibilants on the West Semitic toponym — as the third of the lands “in the midst
of the sea”, after KUR.ia-da-na-na (Cyprus) and KUR.ia-man (Ionia or perhaps Crete), to whose kings
Esarhaddon “wrote … and they bowed down at my feet” (RINAP 4 135, 60, 10ʹ–11ʹ), jointly indicate a
western land or island, and would thus not contradict out of hand the temporal dimension in the tale of
1 Kings 10:22b and 2 Chronicles 9:21b, that Solomon “had at sea a navy of tršš with the navy of Hiram;
once every three years came the navy of tršš, bringing gold, and silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks”.
However, as noted with due caution by Lemaire 2000, 52, in rejecting the well-known Tartessos (and
also the Carthage) hypotheses, “l'horizon de la Bible hebraïque, au moins jusqu’à la fin de 1’epoque
perse, ne semble pas dépasser la Mediterranée orientale à 1’ouest. La Bible hebraïque n’a même pas de
nom pour l’Espagne, Malte, la Sicile, la Sardaigne, ou Carthage”, and “il est invraisemblable que la do-
mination d’Assarhaddon se soît étendue jusque là”. At the end, therefore, Lemaire’s choice falls, albeit
with reservations, on Tarsus in Cilicia. See also fn. 367, below on tršš in the oracles on Tyre.
25. See, e.g., the much-discussed list of toponyms from northern and central Syria given in the Aramaic
Sefire treaty (KAI 222–224 = AA V; Lemaire & Durand 1984, 59–89; Fales 2010). As is well known,
no actual epigraphical archive has hitherto come to light from the Phoenician cities themselves (Sader
ering the Levant are overall quite laconic.26 Summing up, therefore, it may be said that
the geographical indications from cuneiform texts of the Neo-Assyrian period on the Le-
vant, and in particular on the territory traditionally designated as “Phoenicia”, constitute
per se a relatively abundant and sufficiently rewarding corpus for the framing of political
events and economic realities within the area.27
As will be shown by going through the Assyrian written record (see §§3–4, below),
the most specific frame of geographical/political reference employed by the Assyrians on
“Phoenicia/ns” — apart from including this area and its people within the collective but
fluctuating terms for “Levant”, Ḫatti, Amurrû and Eber nāri — regarded the city-states
directly abutting on the Mediterranean “littoral”, šiddi (or aḫat or aḫi or kišadi) tamdi/
tim.28 In the ARI, the names of such city-states are explicitly noted, even through sequen-
tial itineraries (from N to S or vice-versa), and some of their rulers are named with pain-
stakingly accurate syllabic renderings. In the contemporaneous texts of the “State ar-
chives”, instead, only limited groups of documents deal in particular with “Phoenicia/ns”,
and thus only a few of the regional toponyms occur. However, Phoenician-type onomas-
tics, mainly referring to persons or groups residing in Assyria itself, are also to be found.29
2006, 27), although random finds of inscriptions have not been lacking in recent years (Amadasi 2006,
17f.). As will be stated below (see fn. 41), a particularly intriguing situation for research on the Neo-
Assyrian period is due to the presence of inscriptions in the Phoenician language and script from the
Cilician area in the 8th–7th centuries BC.
26. In essence, the Neo-Babylonian royal inscriptions prove to lack the gusto for describing the physical
landscape of foreign lands and the itineraries of the armed forces therein, which the Assyrians developed
to a high degree. The sole exception is — at least in part — the Wadi Brisa inscription, in which e.g. the
following outstanding passage, referring to a vast booty of cedars brought from Mt. Lebanon to Babylon,
occurs: “What no former king had done, I did: I cut through the high mountains, I crushed the stones of
the mountains, I opened up passes, I prepared a passage for (the transport of) the cedars for the king
Marduk. Strong cedars, thick and tall, of splendid beauty, supreme their fitting appearance, abundant
yield of Lebanon, I bundled together like reeds of the river(-bank) and I perfumed the Araḫtu (with them),
and I put them in Babylon like Euphrates poplars” (Da Riva 2012, 63).
27. See e.g. Liverani 1992; Liverani (ed.) 1995; Bagg 2011, for research aimed at deducing diverse his-
torical indicators from the topographical data regarding the Levant (among other areas) in Neo-Assyrian
sources. A selection of ancient texts explicitly dealing with the physical environment of Phoenicia was
usefully assembled by Brown 1969.
28. Bagg 2011, 25–40, usually with reference to the defeated or submitted “kings of the seacoast”. In Esar-
haddon’s Nineveh inscription (RINAP 4 23, v 55–63), the territories whence 12 “kings of the seacoast”
stemmed also included more southern polities (Judah, Ashdod, Ashkelon, Ekron, Gaza) and even fully
land-bound areas of Transjordan (Moab, Ammon, Edom); to this group were added “10 kings from
Yadnana (= Cyprus), which (lies) in the midst of the sea”. The same listing (with almost all of the same
22 foreign rulers) occurs in Assurbanipal’s Prism C (RINAP 5/I 118, ii 25ʹ–49ʹ), albeit with a more
precise distinction between “kings of the seacoast, of the midst of the sea, and of the mainland (nābali)”.
29. The personal names occurring in Phoenician and Punic inscriptions were assembled in Benz 1972, with
This general method of identification of foreign polities through their pre-eminent

urban sites (capital cities or fortified cities) is, in itself, hardly exceptional in the Assyrian
written record. However, it must be underscored that the NA testimonials are extremely
clear as to the fact that a land unitarily called "Phoenicia", a people named in general
"Phoenicians", and a (Semitic) language — with its characteristic consonantal alphabetic
script — to be designated as "Phoenician", represented entities which were totally un-
known and extraneous to the Assyrians, and, for that matter, to all neighboring peoples
prior to the Achaemenid period.
The case is thus different, in varying degrees, from those of two geographically ad-
jacent entities of the Levant itself, such as “Philistia” with its people designated as “Phil-
istines” on the southern Levantine coastline and interior,30 and the various (and fluctuat-
ing) inland regions of Syro-Mesopotamia dubbed “Aram”, with its “Aramean” peoples,
and even with its own language called “Aramaic”. Especially for the latter case — despite
the partial, at times muddled or even contradictory nature/status of the relevant testimo-
nials — sufficient evidence, both in the cuneiform and in the alphabetic textual record,
allows us to posit the presence of (a) ancient “mental maps” regarding regional geogra-
phical/political realities, (b) some distinctive features regarding ethnicity, and (c) linguis-
tic brackets recognized as such.31
In sum, the identification of “Aram/eans” and “Aramaic”, and to a lesser degree of
“Philistia” and “Philistines”, fell within the horizon of Assyrian interests and of those of
contemporaneous polities in Syria and Palestine at various intellectual levels. To the con-
trary, the quest for attestations of “Phoenicia/n(s)” in early 1st millennium written sources
from the Ancient Near East yields a homogeneous result: nil. A land named “Phoenicia”
would have been a terra incognita for the Assyrian, and even for the later “Chaldean”,
invaders of the Levant, as well as for the redactors of the Biblical text32 — and even if the
quotes of parallel attestations in cuneiform, drawn from the ARI; see also Israel 1991. For the Phoe-
nician names in NA “everyday” texts, cf. Zadok 1978; see also Fales 1991 on West Semitic name-
bearers within the Assyrian empire in general.
30. For the data on Philistia and the Philistines (Peleset/Pelištīm) in the OT, cf. e.g. Garbini 1997; Machinist
2000, 54–57. For the gentilic Palastayyu in Assyrian sources (alongside gentilics referring to individual
cities of the so-called Pentapolis), see recently Fales 2013 and cf. §4, below; for linguistic and other
traces of a Philistine identity, see e.g. recently Maeir et al. 2013.
31. For “Aram” in the OT, see Lipiński 2000a, 55–76; on “Aram” in West Semitic sources, see e.g. Grosby
1997, 6–17; Kahn 2007. For the “Arameans” and “Aramaic” in NA sources, see most recently the de-
tailed studies by Younger 2016 and Fales 2017. For the oldest Aramaic inscriptions, cf. most recently
the corpus of (mainly) official texts presented in KAI and most recently in AA (alphabetic epigraphs
from the different Aramaic states before the Assyrian conquest), and the corpus of “everyday” Aramaic
alphabetic inscriptions on clay tablets from Assyria, after the demise of the independent statehoods,
assembled over time in Fales 1986; Lemaire 2001b; Fales et al. 2005; and Röllig 2014.
32. As noted already many years ago by B. Oded (1974, 39 fn 6), “Similarly, we cannot with certainty
OT does, in point of fact, provide various references to “Canaan/ites” as neighbouring
lands and their inhabitants, the equation of the latter term(s) with Phoenicia/ns is far from
straightforward.33 As is usually explained at the outset of most treatises on the subject,
“Phoenicia/ns” are terms which do not occur before Homer, and then in later Classical
sources, and even therein they are toponymic or ethnonymic alternatives to indications
pointing back to the city-states of origin, whether “Sidonian” or (more rarely) “Tyrian”.34
* * *
As a further, and particularly crucial, marker of the overall culture going back to Phoeni-
cia/ns, the epigraphic evidence in alphabetic script and Phoenician ductus from the pre-
Achaemenid Levant may be subjected to a brief overview. Following the classification
by Amadasi Guzzo (1999), a four-tiered division of the entire available corpus may be
established on a chronological/linguistic/epigraphical basis between “Ancient Byblian”
(pre-Achaemenid, beginning with the late 2nd / early 1st millennium), “Byblian” (Achae-
menid and later periods), “Ancient Phoenician” (pre-Achaemenid, from North Syria/Ci-
licia, Mesopotamia, Cyprus and the West, from Sardinia to Spain), and “Phoenician”
identify any particular term in the Egyptian sources as referring to Phoenicia only”. The view pro-
pounded in Ch. Krahmalkov’s grammar (2001, 1–2; and see also 2002, 207), on the basis of a fragment-
ary inscription from Cyprus and a particular reconstruction of Psalm 45: 12b–14a, that “the indigenous
name of this subregion of Canaan was Pūt (PT), and the name of the Canaanite subgroup inhabiting it,
the Pōnnim (Phoenicians), the gentilic deriving from the place-name. Pōnnim was also the name of the
Canaanite dialect of the region”, was kindly but firmly refuted as “creative” by Naveh 2001, and has
not been followed since by most philologists.
33. Cf. Tammuz 2001 for a detailed study of the varying locations of “Canaan” and immediately adjacent
areas in various passages of the OT — with the region commonly known as Phoenicia entering the
picture to a large extent, but by no means as univocal correspondence to any single designation. On this
topic, see also Van Dongen 2010, 477, for the essential bibliography regarding the prior debate (basi-
cally involving N.P. Lemche and N. Na’aman) on the location of Canaan, especially in relation to the
northern borders of Israel.
34. From the vast literature on the subject, the author would like to single out in particular Winter 1995
[2010] on Homer’s (alleged) views of the Phoenicians, and Sommer 2010, also for the apt insight (p.
134) that “emic Phoenician identities are not distinguished” in Homer and elsewhere. It is of course
possible that this was due to the fact that — as suggested in 1976 by M. Sznycer (unpublished opinion,
reported in Niemeyer 2006, 143) — Graeco-Roman authors, as well as the OT, were the two “rocks”
(écueils) on which tradition on the Phoenicians had “shattered”, since neither of the two source-blocks
“ever had a specific interest in reporting on Phoenician matters correctly and in detail. On the contrary,
the Phoenicians were always just ‘the others’, often enough the enemy” (ibid.). On the vexata quaestio
of the ethnonym Phoinikes, see the recent overview by Ercolani 2015, who does not connect it with a
specific “Phoenician” identity.
(Achaemenid and later periods).35 Here, only the inscriptions from the Levant itself will
be dealt with.
The early Byblian inscriptions — going back to the royal figures of Aḥiram, Ittobaʻal,
Yehimilk, Abibaʿal, Elibaʿal, Šipiṭ-baʿal — were dated by W.F. Albright to ca. 1000–900
BC,36 and this date has been generally accepted until recent times, when a general lower-
ing by more than a century (850–750 BC) was suggested, on various grounds.37 This low-
ering would however, among other issues,38 imply a virtual overlap of the Byblian royal
texts (and a number of smaller, non-royal, documents from the Phoenician homeland with
a generally similar script) with the earliest of the inscriptions from North Syria, i.e. the
Phoenician inscription of Ki/ulamuwa, king of Samʾal/ Yaʾdi, usually dated to ca. 825
BC, which instead appears to have innovative paleographical features. 39 All said and
done, then, the Byblian royal texts may for the moment remain fixed to the 10 th century
BC — although admittedly leaving, as counterpart, a vast and hitherto unexplained gap
35. Amadasi 1999, ivf. This, altogether functional, chronological-linguistic subdivision takes after the prev-
ious editions of the same grammar by Friedrich and Röllig — although it was not reiterated in the brief
recent presentation of Phoenician and Punic by the latter author (Röllig 2011). On the difficulty of
distinguishing true “dialectal” varieties in Phoenician, see already Röllig 1983, in a gentle polemic with
Garbini 1980. Somewhat similarly to Garbini, Krahmalkov (2002, 207) distinguished two “dialects of
Lebanese Phoenician”, i.e. Byblian and “Tyro-Sidonian” (also called Ponnīm, cf. fn. 32, above [albeit
with different vowel-lengths]) — the latter being destined to become a “world-class language”, even
acquiring the status of a lingua franca “in parts of the Middle East” (obviously with implicit reference
to the Cilician and Samalian epigraphs).
36. Albright 1947. The inscriptions are KAI 1, 4, 5, 6, 7.
37. See especially Sass 2005 for the detailed advocation of the lower chronology; contra, also in great detail,
Rollston 2008. See however most recently Finkelstein & Sass 2017 as a further rebuttal of Rollston’s
traditional datings (which were reiterated in Rollston 2017).
38. E.g. the fact that the Abibaʿal text (KAI 5) was engraved on a statue of Pharaoh Sheshonq I (ca. 945–
924 BC) and that the Elibaʿal text (KAI 6) was inscribed on a torso of Pharaoh Osorkon I (ca. 924–889
BC): see in detail Rollston 2008, 58f. Sass’s view of this point is that the Phoenician texts (cf. the
detailed images in Sass 2005, 18, figs. 2–3) could have been added even more than a century later than
the sculptures’ original dates, which thus represent mere termini post quem. Now, this is undoubtedly a
difficilior theoretical solution — especially as applicable to both the Egyptian pieces — against that of
their possible straightforward re-dedication by the receiving (i.e. contemporaneous) Byblian rulers, as
Rollston believes. Admittedly, on the other hand, as intimated by G. Scandone Matthiae (2000, 193),
this reappropriation might more widely have represented an ideological “trend”, marking the end of a
millennial process of unilateral transfer of Pharaohs’ statues to the Levant and their reverential ac-
ceptance there: “pour la première fois, des princes de Byblos osent s’emparer des statues de ceux qui
avaient été leurs mâitres dans un temps désormais révolu. Abibaal de Byblos inscrit à son nom la statue
de Sheshonq Ier; Elibaal fait de même avec celle de Osorkon Ier”.
39. See the detailed epigraphical arguments brought forth by Rollston 2008, 80f. The same paleographical
innovations are noticed for the Hebrew Tel Dan inscription (KAI 310), the Moabite inscription of Mesha
(KAI 181), and the fragmentary El-Kerak text on basalt (KAI 306, also in Moabite), all usually dated to
the 9th century (Rollston 2008, 82).
in the documents originating from Byblos down to the Achaemenid period, and in partic-
ular no concrete textual testimonial for the period of the Assyrian military thrust into the
Levant.40
* * *
A fully different, and even more intriguing, linguistic-cultural scenario surrounds the
Phoenician inscriptions from North Syria and Cilicia, which have grown in number in
recent decades.41 From Zincirli/Samʾal of the late 9th century BC, the 16-line Ki/ulamuwa
orthostat mentioned above is in Phoenician,42 whereas subsequent alphabetic texts by the
same ruling dynasty — which bore Anatolian or Semitic names — are couched in two
further Semitic varieties: from the mid/late 9th to the mid-8th century, in a local “Sama-
lian” dialect (possibly an archaic form of Aramaic with many Canaanisms), and then,
down to the Assyrian conquest of this polity, in Old Aramaic.43
For the 8th century BC, a handful of seals bearing bilingual (Phoenician-Luwian) in-
scriptions, or merely Luwian personal names, derive from the antiquities market, and are
attributed to Cilicia or Aleppo.44 But the main epigraphical items from the 8th and 7th
centuries are represented by the Phoenician inscription of Hassan-beyli and the monu-
mental Luwian-Phoenician bilingual inscriptions discovered at the sites of İncırlı (with a
further Neo-Assyrian text), Karatepe, and Çineköy, located in a vague E-W semicircle
between the Amanus range northwest of Samʾal and the Cilician coast, while the site of
Cebelireis Dağı (with its Phoenician inscription of probably later date) lies more to the
40. Save for the mentions of kings of Byblos in the ARI, ú-ru-mil-ki under Sennacherib (PNA, 1419f.), and
mil-ki-a-šá-pa under Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal (PNA, 750f.). On the linguistic geography of Phoe-
nicia before the Persian period, see e.g. Lipiński 2000b, 127–130.
41. See e.g. Röllig in Krings (ed.) 1998, 640–645, for a general overview of the evidence; Lehmann 2008,
152, for an updated bibliography. See, however, further updates in fn. 45, below.
42. KAI 24. A short inscription on a golden scepter sheath by Ku/ilamuwa himself (KAI 25, formerly in
Berlin) has been reputed as equally written in Phoenician by many (including the author), although with
as many opponents.
43. The texts from Zincirli/Samʾal and the progressive linguistic shift within the corpus were clearly dis-
sected in the comprehensive monograph by Tropper 1993 More recently, however, the American ar-
chaeological expedition to Zincirli has yielded a handsomely written and executed 13-line funerary stele
of one Kuttamuwa (or perhaps Katumuwa), servant of king Panammuwa (Pardee 2009; Younger 2009
[2011]). The dialectal variety employed in this text falls somewhere between OA and Samalian; see
recently Fales 2011a, 560–563 for a brief overview of the entire Samalian evidence. On the other hand,
the connection of Zincirli/Samʾal with Luwian culture and writing appears to have been quite tenuous
(Lemaire 1999, 186): the main item that has come down to us is a signet ring bearing the Luwian version
of the name of the last Samalian king, Bar-Rakib (Hawkins 2000, II, 576).
44. See essentially Lemaire 1977; also Lipiński 2004, 130–133.
west close to present-day Alanya, in the region known as Rough Cilicia (Fig. 2).45 The
Fig. 2. Phoenician inscriptions in southeastern Anatolia.

From Yakubovich 2015, 37.
multiple possible connections between these inscriptions, especially regarding their pro-
tagonists within a single/stratified dynastic setting, and in the context of the Cilician re-
gion with its historical-cultural heritage from the LBA to the IA, are the object of an on-
going debate, with a number of different (and sometimes conflicting) views being cur-
rently put forth.46
45. The Hassan-beyli inscription on a stone block, damaged in Byzantine times (KAI 23), was republished
by Lemaire 1983; see also Lipiński 2004, 117–119. The Karatepe inscriptions were thoroughly pub-
lished by H. Çambel, with an appendix on the Phoenician texts by W. Röllig (1999). The Çineköy
inscription was first published by Tekoğlu & Lemaire 2000. For the Cebelireis Dağı inscription, dis-
covered in 1980 (KAI 287), of juridical-economic character, see most recently Lipiński 2004, 119, Röl-
lig 2008 (with full interpretation and translation). The İncırlı inscription, on a much-weathered trilingual
stela (Phoenician, Luwian, Neo-Assyrian) discovered in the Maraş region in 1993, was subjected to a
new study leading to a stimulating “tentative reconstruction and translation” of the Phoenician text by
S. Kaufman in 2008.
46. In particular, the Çineköy inscription has drawn many comments, not only for its historical context (i.e.
dating, connections with the Assyrian evidence on ú-ri-ik/ú-ri-ik-ki/ú-ri-ia-ik-ki, see PNA 1414a–b), but
also for its interrelations with the Karatepe texts: cf. e.g. Lanfranchi 2005; 2007; 2009. A brief summary
of these positions is provided by Rollinger 2006, 284, “The bilingual inscription [of Çineköy] offers the
key to identifying the historical context. The statue was dedicated by Warikas/Urikki, king of Hiyawa/
Adana, i.e. Cilicia, who is well known from the Neo-Assyrian texts of Tiglath-pileser III (744–727) and
Sargon II (721–705). He is also named in the Phoenician stela of Hassan-Beyli and in the famous
bilingual inscription from Karatepe, which gives an account of the work of his subordinate ruler
Azatiwada. The Çineköy inscription introduces Warikas/Urikki not only as a successful king, but also
In any case, for the aim of the present essay, a broader problem to be taken into
account is that of the Phoenician cultural and social impact on the Cilician region. Now,
the sequentially continuous — and earliest — evidence from Zincirli/Samʾal, with its
progressive linguistic shifts (from Phoenician to Samalian to Old Aramaic) in the course
of approx. a century (825–733 BC), suggests that local rulers urged their scribes to write
royal inscriptions not only in function of the standard aims of prestige/legitimation, but
also possibly in view of an expected “readability” of such texts by their own ruling classes
and/or those of neighbouring polities, with the ensuing effect of gaining consensus for
their actions.47 How could this theoretical Sitz im Leben apply to the Luwian-Phoenician
texts from Cilicia? In recent years, various answers from different standpoints have been
provided, of which two, considered as particularly significant, will be examined here.
A. Lemaire (2001), in comparing the Cilician situation to that of Samʾal, where Phoe-
nician would seem to have been abandoned for political reasons,48 speculated whether the
as an ally of his Assyrian overlord and characterizes this special relationship in terms that hint at some
close bond”. To be further noticed is that a ruler named wryks is the protagonist of the İncirli stela dating
from the time of Tiglath-pileser III (Kaufman 2008, 22), thus yielding another variant for ʾwrk (Karatepe
and Hassan-beyli) and wryk (Cebelireis Dağı, but from a later date), and presumably quite similar to the
w[ryk(s) of Çineköy. Contra, see e.g. Simon 2014, for the view that the relevant protagonists, despite
the similarity of their names in the Luwian and Phoenician texts, were entirely different people. In any
case, what the Çineköy text makes clear is that the Phoenician toponym dnnym, also known from Ki/u-
lamuwa’s inscription (see fn. 48, below), and the Luwian place-name *Ḫiyawa (from which the NA/NB
renderings Quê, Ḫum/wê were drawn; cf. Jasink & Marino 2007, and especially Hawkins 2009) refer to
one and the same territory — see now also the 10th-century stelae from nearby ARSUZ for a possibly
earlier status of *Hiyawa(REGIO) and *Atana(URBS): Dinçol et al. 2015 — , while the further connection
of *Ḫiyawa with the Hittite ethnonym/toponym *Aḫḫiyawa is decidedly arguable, although not (yet)
watertight in its acceptance (see e.g., most recently, the negative judgment by Gander 2012, vs. the
positive opinions by Yakubovich 2015; Bryce 2016; Archi 2016, 35).
47. As stated a quarter-century ago, by Röllig (1992, 101): “there must have been a literate public who could
read and understand the language. This is not so easy to understand, though it might have something to
do with the fact that a multilingual and a multiscriptural tradition existed in Cilicia over an extended
period of time”. A somewhat connected insight on the Cilician multilingual texts was offered more
recently by Lanfranchi 2009, 131: while noting that the İncırlı text is trilingual with Neo-Assyrian, the
Italian author points out that “this multilingualism would seem to follow the ideal model of the
‘polyglot’ king put forward in Yariris’s inscription from Carchemish … and … would confirm that
ÇINEKÖY as well as KARATEPE were composed according to Neo-Hittite models”. Marginally, it may be
noted that similar principles of propaganda by multilingual means might also be taken into account for
the largely contemporary bilingual (Assyrian and Aramaic) inscription of Tell Fekheriye (KAI 309 =
AA II), on the linguistic intricacy of which cf. e.g. Fales 1983a, and even more for the trilingual (Assyr-
ian/Aramaic/Luwian) inscriptions of (N)inurta-bēl-uṣur, eunuch of the Assyrian turtānu Šamši-ilu, ca.
780, from Arslan Tash (AA III).
48. I.e., suggesting that the written use of Phoenician in Ku/ilamuwa’s reign was connected in some way
with this ruler’s former political ties with the dnnym/Quê, which were then replaced by an alliance with
Assyria (Lemaire 2001a, 189). On this political shift, see already the literary/ideological analysis of the
Ku/ilamuwa inscription might perchance imply that “Phoenician was aready utilized as
an official written language of the kingdom of Que, alongside Hieroglyphic Luwian, at
least from the middle of the 9th century”, although factual evidence for this suggestion is
at present unavailable.49 In any case, the French scholar noted that in Cilicia “Phoenician
was employed, concurrently with Hieroglyphic Luwian, in the second half of the 8th cen-
tury, and at least until 700 BC, perhaps even later”, although it “appears essentially as a
language of written culture and probably did not represent the language spoken locally”,
as also visible from the absence of Phoenician personal names in the inscriptions them-
selves or on seals.50
More recently, instead, I. Yakubovich (2015) underscored the prominence of the
Phoenician text on the Çineköy inscription, and concluded that “the principal official lan-
guage of Que/Hiyawa was not Luwian, even though Luwian was historically spoken by
the bulk of its population”. On the other hand, considering that “there is no independent
evidence for the social dominance of Phoenician newcomers in Early Iron Age Cilicia,
but a number of arguments have been advanced for Greek resettlement to this region in
the late second millennium BC”,51 this author asked wherefore the ruling dynasty “chose
Phoenician instead of Greek for the purposes of writing”.52 Attempting an answer, Yaku-
text by Fales 1979, and most recently the presentation by Green 2010, 136–156.
49. Lemaire 2001a, 189.
50. Ibid., 188f. The same idea that Phoenician was not “a language spoken by the indigenous population”
is expressed by Lipiński 2000b, 130. A totally opposite position was, however, taken by R. Lebrun
(1987, 25): “Je ne pense pas que dans cette zone, où la langue louvite demeure très vivante et où les
traditions cultuelles et religieuses louvites demeurent une réalité en dépit de quelques syncrétismes, le
phénicien ait fait figure de langue culturelle. Je croirais plus volontiers que les documents bilingues
(louvite-phénicien) ou unilingues (phénicien) étaient rédigés à l'usage des importantes concentrations
phéniciennes de Cilicie et des régions voisines”.
51. Yakubovich (2015, 36f.) bases this line of reasoning on Mopsos (“The strongest philological argument
for the Greek migration hypothesis comes from the local attestations of the name of Mopsus … Al-
though the mythological activities of Mopsus stretch all along the western and southern coasts of Asia
Minor, his specific connection with Cilicia is reflected in the local Hellenistic toponyms Μοψουκρήνη
and Μοψουεστία … The discovery of the KARATEPE inscriptions provided an earlier testimony for this
association. It had been known since 1948 that the ruling house of Que was called bt mpš, ‘the house of
Mopsus’, in the Phoenician version of the KARATEPE 1 inscription, while later the name mpš was also
identified in the CİNEKOY and İNCİRLİ texts. The Luwian phrase, muksassan parni, ‘to the house of Mop-
sus’, yields the stem muksa- as an equivalent of Phoenician mpš (KARATEPE 1 § 21)”. On the Luwian
and Phoenician renderings of the name, see also Bremmer 2008, not quoted by Yakubovich, who also
fails to quote López-Ruiz 2009, equally interested in Mopsos and in the “few detectable traces of the
long-lasting impact of Greek culture in the Levant during the Late Bronze Age and the transition into
the Iron Age, even if scarcely documented and of irregular intensity” (ibid., 498), and Schmitz 2009,
who reads archaic Greek names in one of the nine cuneiform tablets from Tarsus in Cilicia first pub-
lished by A. Goetze in 1939.
52. Yakubovich 2015, 49. In a not particularly convincing sequel, however, Yakubovich states (ibid.) that
bovich stated that the local rulers of Quê “were no longer Greek speakers, or only semi-
speakers, by the eighth century BC, when the royal multilingual inscriptions were pro-
duced”, and thus they “would have had few incentives to abandon the tradition of writing
Phoenician in favour of Greek literacy, even though it was already cultivated in the Ae-
gean and southern Italy in the same period”.53 In sum, a coherent picture emerges “if one
assumes that the written use of Phoenician in Que/Hiyawa developed as a contrastive
statement of identity on the part the Greek colonists, as opposed to the indigenous Luwian
population”.54
Despite these widely differing views, some progress has surely been made of late, as
an outcome of the growing documentation in the Phoenician alphabetic script and lan-
guage from Northwestern Syria and Cilicia. Such progress regards our heightened per-
ception of the temporally or locally conditioned use of Phoenician in a vast semicircular
territory around the bay of Iskenderun, vis-à-vis (a) the persistent, but fluctuating (and at
times even possibly flagging), prestige of Hieroglyphic Luwian for official purposes in
the former Hittite dominions of the area, (b) the presence of diverse ethno-linguistic com-
ponents of more ancient/recent origin in individual niches of these lands, in mutual com-
munication for different aims (and moreover uniformly faced with the progressive men-
ace of Assyrian power), and (c) a certain secondary/parallel thrust toward the rendering
of other local Semitic varieties through the Phoenician linear alphabetic medium. But the
basic questions of old still remain:55 why was Phoenician adopted as a prestige language
in this particular area, somewhat remote from its home base? 56 Did its status derive from
an explicitly aimed socio-economic and/or cultural input proceeding from the “heart-
land”?57 As will be seen below (§§4–5), only very tenuous additional clues in the NA and
“The written use of Phoenician was, however, abandoned as soon as the native Samʾalian dialect of
Kulamuwa and his descendants underwent reduction to writing or literarisation (Verschriftlichung)”.
53. Ibid.
54. Ibid., 50.
55. Essentially, they are the same ones posed by Röllig 1992, 98, “For whom were the inscriptions written?
Were there political reasons for the use of Phoenician as a lingua franca? Where did the scribes and the
stone masons who had command of the language originate?”.
56. And even in points further inland, as the Arslan Tash incantations (KAI 27) — basically in Phoenician,
albeit with some Aramaisms — demonstrate, despite the vast and complex debate on their authenticity
and contents since their publication in 1939 (see recently e.g. Van Dijk 1992; Pardee 1998; Conklin 2003;
Berlejung 2010; Häberl forthcoming [with ample illustrations]). Still different cases are represented by
the late 9th-century (?) stele from Breğ near Aleppo (KAI 201 = AA IV), in which the Tyrian god Melqart
is figuratively represented and praised in Aramaic (see Bonnet 1988, 133–136); and by the mid-8th
century treaty-document of Aššur-nirari V with Matiʾ-ilu of Arpad, in which both the main Phoenician
deities Melqart and Eshmun are mentioned as guarantors, alongside Aramaic gods such as Adad of
Aleppo and Ramman of Damascus, and divine figures of resonance in the Neo-Hittite world such as
Kubaba and Karhuha of Karkemish (SAA 2 2, vi 22).
57. As recalled by Röllig 1992, 101 (quoting previous commentators such as Garbini and Lipiński), “Xeno-
phon still knew of Myriandos as a ‘city inhabited by the Phoenicians’ located in Cilicia, and that is right
West Semitic record go some way in providing a concrete answer to these questions —
although the present author finds them sufficient to stimulate his own modest contribution
to the above debate.58
* * *
at the exit of the Cilician Gates. It must have been near Alexandrette. Pseudo-Skylax mentions it as a
Phoenician harbour. Furthermore, according to Stephanos Byzantios, Aigai, which lies in the same area,
was a Phoenician settlement. There is, then, good reason to think that Phoenicians were indeed living at
the foot of Mt. Taurus. Most probably economic circumstances led them to found these settlements. As
merchants they undoubtedly were interested in the control of goods moving across the Taurus and in
securing access to the Gulf of Alexandrette”. There can surely be no argument against this useful and
stimulating line of reasoning: however, the time-frame of Röllig’s references does not tally with a pre-
Hellenistic context such as is illustrated by the Phoenician/Luwian texts examined above — i.e. the
possible continuity between the latter and the historiographic traditions regarding subsequent periods
would still need to be more firmly grounded..
58. The present author's view moves from two of such tenuous epigraphical clues, both concerning Cyprus:
(1) the mid-8th century Phoenician inscription KAI 31, which mentions the city of qrtḥdšt (perhaps Li-
massol or Amathous, with Lipiński 1991, 63, or Kition, with Yon 1997, 11) ruled by king Ḥiram of
Sidon (known in Tiglath-pileser III’s inscriptions as Hiram of Tyre) and cultually tied to the “Baʿal of
Lebanon”, and (2) the attestation in Sargon II’s Kition stele of 707 BC regarding his overlordship of
“the 7 kings of Yaʾ, a district of Adnana which is situated in the midst of the Sea of the Setting Sun”
(see fn. 220, below). Regarding the latter source, the author follows K. Radner’s clear sum-up (2010,
436) that “Adnana is not the designation used [for Cyprus] in the Bronze Age when the island was
known as Alašiya in the Near East”, and that “the Iron Age name of Cyprus may be linked to … the
dnnym inhabiting Cilicia in the 9th century BCE according to the Karatepe inscription” (ibid.); and
concurs with her statement (based on a variety of references, here omitted) that, in the late eighth cen-
tury, “most inhabitants of Cyprus will have had, in no particular order, Eteocypriot ..., Greek or Phoeni-
cian as their native tongue, and while the Cypriot syllabic script … was used to record Eteocypriot and
Greek, the alphabetic script was employed for Phoenician (but not yet Greek)” (ibid., 443). Moreover,
it may be recalled that just a few years previously (715 BC), Sargon had attacked the “Ionians” ša ul-tu
[UD.MEŠ] ru-ú-[qu-te] U[N.MEŠ URU.ṣur-r]i [KUR].qu-e i-du-ku-ma, “who since far-[off days] had been
killing the peo[ple of Ty]re and Que” (see fn. 217, below, for quotes). In this light — and in some pro-
ximity to Yakubovich’s thesis above — the author suggests that the use of Phoenician by the Cilician
elites in their official inscriptions did not stem from an — allegedly direct and culturally prestigious —
outreach from the Phoenician “homeland” (which moreover turns out to be functionally and ethnolin-
guistically unjustified), but rather from needs of practical and ideological communication with (a) the
Tyrians who ruled over parts of Cyprus and/or (b ) with the people of Cypriot “Adnana” — whether
of older or more recent stock, and whether linked with the Queans/Ḫiyawa-dnnym as an overseas “dis-
trict” of theirs, or not — , against the backdrop of probably intense commercial relationships between
the island and the Cilician mainland (mostly concerning metals, see §4, below). On the other hand, in
some proximity to Lemaire’s view, the author believes that Ku/ilamuwa of Samʾal might have also
somehow participated in this interaction; but that his dynasty’s political attachment to Assyria thereupon
drew Samʾal decidedly away from the “dnnym connection”, thus leading its scribes to first develop an
adaptation of the Phoenician alphabet to their native dialect, and then to shift to the emerging “Syrian”
use of Aramaic.
All said and done, then, a relatively vast — albeit still partially problematical and “open”
— body of Ancient Near Eastern textual materials may be called upon for a number of
historical aspects concerning the region traditionally dubbed “Phoenicia”: however, as
stated above, there appears to be no contemporaneous unifying (political, geographical,
and cultural) concept of “Phoenicia/ns” to go with it. Rather, both the cuneiform and the
alphabetic evidence — in their very different outlooks and implications — would seem
to urge researchers to break down the allegedly collective traits and concepts of “Phoeni-
cia/ns” into a set of more detailed perspectives on the individual polities of the Mediter-
ranean seacoast (Fig. 3). This effort could be useful to gain further insights regarding the
exchange networks that these polities may have formed, not only mutually, but also with
the surrounding environment of the Levant in the early 1st millennium BC.59
Fig. 3. Main LBA and IA archaeological sites in Cilicia. From Rutishauser 2017, 136.
59. This point was made forcefully by Van Dongen 2011, 481f., in a recent deconstruction of the overall
notion of “Phoenicia/ns”; but see already Peckham 2001 in general, and Fletcher 2004 for a case-study
based on the specific origins of Egyptian(ising) imports in the Western Mediterranean. Partially counter
to this trend, the problem of a possible overall “Phoenician identity” — which was long the hallmark of
the “Roman school” of Phoenician-Punic studies, especially at the time of S. Moscati (cf. e.g. Xella
2006, 53f., in a historical-critical light) — has been recently taken up again by Pedrazzi 2012, regarding
the Western Asiatic region and with the aid of some concepts and tools of archeo-anthropological back-
ground. Cf. however fn. 131, below, for a “negative-identitary” view of Phoenicia/ns, suggested by various
scholars (e.g. Stieglitz 1990; Lehmann 2001, 66f.), and most forcefully expressed by Liverani 2014.
b. Archaeological Data
The relative copiousness of the written documentation from the early 1st millennium BC
— especially in cuneiform script — on the Levant and on the realities known to us as
Phoenicia/Phoenicians, first of all on geographical, but thence on historical-political and
economic-administrative matters, attains a particularly high level of significance if one
considers that it still lacks a satisfactory counterpart in archaeological data (Fig. 4).
Fig. 4. Main sites on the Phoenician coast. From Peckham 2014, 98.
In general, as is well known — despite the extraordinary progress of methods of excava-

tion and analysis of finds in recent decades — the archaeological record for the Levant
still presents itself as quite fragmented, and specifically uneven in both quantity and qual-
ity of primary and/or elaborated data, either due to shifting research interests over time or
to the different aims and slants leading to excavation and analytical activities in the indi-
vidual countries of the region.60 Moreover, this factor has reached a dramatic downturn
during the last two decades with the presence of generalized warfare and the large-scale
destruction of archaeological sites in different countries.61
With a specific focus on the coastal areas of the Levant and its immediate environs
inland, we may begin from the “core” territory attributed to the ancient Phoenicians,
which corresponds by and large to the modern state of Lebanon.62 This region has a long
and quite productive history of archaeological investigations since Renan’s Mission de
Phénicie (1864–74), albeit hampered by muddled methods in older excavations (as in the
case of Dunand’s multiple campaigns at Byblos), as well as by structural factors, since
some crucial coastal sites (especially Tyre and Sidon) lie under their later (Classical, Me-
dieval, even modern) urban counterparts, with serious limits to their significant re-
trieval.63 Further, it has become apparent that changing ecological conditions have come
to alter the profile of the Lebanese coastline over time, while the problem of anthropo-
genic deforestation over history has now reached critical limits for the formerly lush
woodlands of the region.64
Apart from these major obstacles, the archaeological situation in Lebanon before the
turn of the last century could still yield, despite the impact of some 15 years (1975–1991)
of civil war in the country, a moderately optimistic outlook on ongoing programs of ex-
cavation and restoration: see in particular the case-studies of Beirut, Sarepta, Byblos, Ka-
mid el-Loz (ancient Kumidi, Late Bronze Age), Baalbek (Roman period), the cemetery
of Tyre, Sidon, and Tell Arqa.65 In more recent years, however, due to further events of
60. For regionally-based archeological overviews, see e.g. Steiner & Killebrew (eds.) 2014 for the entire
Levant. Regarding regions adjacent to Phoenicia, see e.g. Akkermans & Schwartz (eds.) 2003, for Syria;
Finkelstein 2013, for ancient Israel; Bienkowski (ed.) 1992, for Edom and Moab. On the political
dimensions of cultural presentation/control of the past in the various locales of the Near East between
the end of the last and the beginning of the present century, cf. e.g. Meskell (ed.) 1998; Boytner et al.
(eds.) 2010.
61. See e.g. Casana & Panahipour 2014; and the articles recently presented in Casana (Guest ed.) 2015.
62. The Lebanese coastal area is often dubbed the “Phoenician heartland” (see e.g. Markoe 2000, 10); how-
ever, for a present-day critique of this definition and its geographical range, cf. fn. 79, below.
63. See Aubet 20012, 60–69, and 387f. (general bibliography); Markoe 2000, 192–206. Notice also the re-
cent overview by Tubb 2014. The location of the ancient harbours under the present-day city centers of
Tyre and Sidon is the focus of Marriner & Morhange 2005.
64. See e.g. Marriner & Morhange 2008 for proposals to protect and reconstruct the unique coastal archaeo-
logy of Tyre, Sidon, and Beirut. On the deforestation of the Lebanon and adjacent regions, see the
historical study by Mikesell 1969, the “inside view” of extant cedar groves in the Lebanon chain by
Elayi 1988, 16f.; and more recent scientific results e.g. in Yasuda et al. 2000; while proposals for sylvan
conservation have been put forth e.g. by Talhouk et al. 2001; Hajar et al. 2010.
65. These cases were treated in brief but in an informed fashion by Ward 1994. All these sites were also
briefly described by Markoe (see fn. 62, above), while the Phoenician necropolises and tombs were
war,66 religious divisions, and population displacement, and moreover due to aggressive
industrial or political priorities,67 the interruption of these programs or their limitations to
mainly salvage digs — e.g. in downtown Beirut68 — have caused a reduction of local spe-
cialized staff to employ in the field, while foreign interventions have also been fewer and
far in between, though not devoid of innovative results.69 Not surprisingly, present-day
appeals for the protection of the Lebanese cultural heritage underscore outright the ur-
gency of intervention.70
The outlook regarding the material culture of Phoenician sites that lie beyond the
modern Lebanese borders presents many local differences in investigation methods and
results, especially regarding the pottery of the earliest periods.71 Given, however, that
listed with brief comments by Sader 1995, and G. Lehmann (2002) assembled an updated and detailed
bibliography on each site. A more recent — but not overly optimistic — overview of “mainland” Phoe-
nician archaeology is provided by Sader 2006.
66. See e.g. Newson & Young 2015, with ample accompanying literature, for an overview of the effects on
the heritage of the 2006 war in Lebanon.
67. A distressing case in this connection, treated in Xella et al. 2005, is that of a monumental Phoenician
rock inscription on a watercourse near Sidon, the Nahr al-Awali, which had been described and photo-
graphed in 1979, but which was later destroyed for the construction of an electric plant.
68. Cf. e.g. Elayi 2010, for the account of the Lebanese-UNESCO initiative of 1995 to allow excavation of
some 90 hectares in the war-devastated city center of Beirut by local and foreign specialists. Various
sectors were chosen: to the east, the fortified tell, where a stone glacis indicates the presence of an LBA-
IA fortress wall, with many levels of destruction and abandonment (Aubet 2014, 711), the access gate,
and the cemetery of dogs; to the south, residential buildings, graves, and a favissa which yielded 700–
800 terracotta figurines; to the west, graves, an industrial area and commercial buildings, and the west-
ern quay of the harbor. The excavation results are still unpublished or have only been briefly presented
in non-coordinated preliminary reports.
69. Recent results in some of the Lebanese excavations — or at the very least, the publication of prior results
— may be pointed out, e.g. for Tell Kazel (see Capet 2003; 2006–07; Chiti & Pedrazzi 2014), Tell ʿArqa
(Thalmann 2006), Sidon (Doumet-Serhal 2006), and the as yet unidentified site of Tell el-Buraq, some
9 kms S of Sidon, with levels from the 8 th to the 4th century BC (see e.g. Finkbeiner 2001; Kamlah &
Sader 2010). A particular — and methodologically quite interesting — case is represented by the detail-
ed “museum-archaeological” study by Homsy 2003 of IA pottery preserved from Dunand’s excavations
in the citadel of Byblos, which yielded a number of possible loci for the (hitherto archaeologically un-
detected) IA occupation of the site.
70. See already Seeden 1994, who lamented the lack of public education programs in Lebanon regarding
the cultural heritage, also recalling war damages to archaeology (e.g. at Kamid el-Loz); and more re-
cently Massih 2010 and 2013, for descriptions of the slowly declining work and research conditions in
the country at present.
71. It should be recalled that the identification of Phoenician material culture hinges most explicitly on the
presence of characteristic pottery types found since the EIA in the “Phoenician homeland” (and at times
based on LBA typological forerunners or on “competition” with Aegean models), which spread out,
with local adaptments and evolutions, to diverse archaeological contexts, from the eastern to the western
Mediterranean: from stylistic features such as bichrome, black-on-red, and red slip decoration to parti-
cular shapes such as cups, goblets, bowls, flasks, spherical jugs, mushroom-lip jugs, and trefoil-mouth
numerous ceramic datasets from different archaeological contexts (comprising local, im-
ported, and imitation wares) are nowadays increasingly available, the main problem has
shifted to the precise correlation of these datasets among themselves and in relation to
those more characteristically linked to the “Phoenician homeland”. As recent studies cen-
tered on Phoenician pottery show, various complex aspects in classification remain and are
nowadays more and more apparent,72 with no accepted “new paradigm” in sight as yet.
In the northernmost Levant, from sites on the Gulf of Iskenderun and Cilicia in pre-
sent-day Turkey and their hinterland, Phoenician pottery proves to be extremely scarce in
the earliest period of the IA, with essential restriction to coastal areas.73 The situation
pitchers, with their attendant technological characteristics and changes (see however the critical over-
view by Bartoloni 1988b). The milestones for dating the earliest types of Phoenician pottery remain, to
this day, Patricia M. Bikai’s studies on the pottery of Tyre (1978) and of Cyprus (1987), together with
William P. Anderson’s seminal work on Sarepta (1988; 1990), although the ceramic sequence at Dor,
aided by radiocarbon dating (Gilboa 2008) has now acquired a crucial reliability: see recently Bell 2016,
94. Explicitly, the Phoenician mushroom-lipped jug has been often called a “Phoenician ‘calling card’ ”,
and is to be found in EIA contexts all over the Mediterranean (see e.g. Fletcher 2006, and Peserico 1996
for the Mediterranean repertoire; Ballard et al. 2002, 166 for the presence of this type of artifact on IA
shipwrecks off the coast of Ashkelon).
72. See e.g. Núñez Calvo 2008 for an attempt to build a comprehensive ceramic sequence for the “Phoeni-
cian homeland” and bordering regions by focusing primarily on the data from the excavations at Tyre
al-Bass cemetery; Jamieson 2011 for the systematic but arduous analysis of pottery from a spatially
restricted salvage dig on part of the tell of Beirut; and, more widely, Whincop 2009 and 2010 for the
detailed overview and critique of the limitations in past collection, compilation and interpretation stra-
tegies for North Levantine ceramic data, which indicates that many chronological/cultural attributions
or subdivisions concerning archaeological materials prove to follow — in a sort of quaint circular rea-
soning — the historical record as known/established from written sources.
73. See Lehmann 2008, 153–155. To be noted is this scholar’s puzzled final remark (ibid., 161) concerning
the widespread local absence of Phoenician material culture in IA 1: “This is in contrast with the quantity
of Phoenician evidence found in northern Palestine and Cyprus in sites contemporary with the Syrian
Iron Age I. Was there no significant Phoenician influence in northern Syria or Cilicia, or did it remained
(sic) for some reason ‘invisible’ ?”. The author would suggest that, at present, an at least partial response
on this point — perhaps along the former of Lehmann’s hypotheses expressed above — may lie in the
recently discovered/analyzed written evidence concerning a significant polity called Palistin/Walistin,
which ruled over the ʿAmuq plain and adjacent areas (Harrison 2009a; 2009b; 2013; Dinçol et al. 2015;
Weeden 2015) from the 11th to the late 9th century. The territory of this polity could have also extended
east to the former Hittite outpost of Aleppo — since its possibly earliest ruler, bearing the Hurrian name
Taita, flaunts in a monumental Luwian hieroglyphic text the restoration of the famed temple of the
Storm-god Hadad in that city (Gonnella, Khayyata & Kohlmeyer 2005, 92; Hawkins 2011) — and per-
haps even reached to Karkemish, as has been suggested (Galil 2014). Under a later ruler (also named
Taita), P/Walistin could have extended its control as far as the Hamath area (see already Yamada 2000,
96; Hawkins 2009, 172). The further possibility that P/Walistin could have corresponded with a popu-
lation of “northern Philistines” ultimately deriving from the “Sea-Peoples” known as pw-r-s₃-tj (Peleset)
in the Egyptian written record — particularly from the reign of Ramses III — has been variously sug-
gested (e.g. Kohlmeyer 2009, 200), and even argued (Singer 2012; 2013), although not without uncer-
changes in IA 2A and IA 2B, i.e. in the 9th and 8th centuries BC, when Phoenician pottery
appears in larger quantities. Such an increase in Phoenician influence in the named area
at this time is also flanked by the appearance of numerous inscriptions in Phoenician lan-
guage and script, both monolingual and bilingual with Luwian hieroglyphic (see above).
Slightly further south, on the coast of present-day Syria, the sites of Al-Mina (where
a small harbour marks the maritime outlet of the Amuq region), Ras al-Bassit, Ras Ibn
Hani, and Tell Sukas have yielded interesting evidence for the passage between the Late
Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age, although not all the data have been hitherto fully
elaborated.74 Detailed knowledge has been recently gained from the site of Tell Tweini,
nowadays 1.5 kms inland on the Rumeilah River in the Jebleh region and 40 kms south
of Ugarit, quite probably to be identified with the coastal city of Gibala known from Uga-
ritic texts, and which enjoyed — following a possible destruction during the invasions of
the “Sea Peoples” — a totally new development after the 9th century BC., with a well-
preserved city plan dominated by an elaborate street system, and various public structures
including a Phoenician temple district with domestic and industrial sectors, for the pro-
duction of olive oil and wine.75 A partially similar chronological hiatus in occupation dur-
ing IA 1 seems apparent at Tell Sianu, ancient Siyannu, which is just a few kilometers
tainties and alternative possibilities, which leave the problem still open-ended (Weeden 2013). What is
clear, instead, is that the earlier place-name(s) became over time contracted to Pattina — a polity also
known to in Assyrian and Aramaic texts as Unqi/ʿmq (Semitic for “basin, lowland”, like its modern
counterpart ʿAmuq) — , with a dynasty of Luwian-named kings and a capital at Kunulu(w)a/Tell
Tayinat (Hawkins 2009, 171f.) until its annexation to Assyria in 738 BC; whereas other parts of P/Wali-
stin disintegrated into the Aramean-ruled reigns of Hamath and Arpad (Bagg 2007 s.vv.). On the ar-
chaeological side of things, judgments seem at present still divided: if — according to Venturi 2015, 45
— particular traits of Cilicia and/or the ʿAmuq valley (the presence of Aegean cooking jugs, and the
more widespread use of Myc. IIIC ware; the sudden increase of small and medium size sites) might be
particularly fitting “with the written sources concerning the presence of ‘sea Peoples’ at the beginning
of the IA”, more cautious is e.g. Lehmann 2013, 328, “The Aegeanizing trends in the material culture
of Iron Age I Syria appear to be less the result of a short-term invasion of the Sea Peoples at the begin-
ning of the twelfth century B.C.E. and more of a witness for a continuing cultural exchange with Cyprus
and the eastern Mediterranean during the twelfth and eleventh centuries B.C.E”.
74. See e.g. Bonatz 1993, for general and specific datings, and for the main finds from these sites; brief
descriptions of Al Mina and Tell Sukas are given in Aubet 2001 2, 63f.; see also Abou Assaf 1997 for
Tell Sukas. For more recent studies on the pottery of Al-Mina (where Phoenician ceramic types appear
from ca. 800 BC onward), cf. Lehmann 2005; a comparative view of the ceramics (and essentially those
of Aegean type) from Ras el-Bassit and Ras Ibn Hani, leading to different profiles for the two sites dur-
ing the LBA-EIA transition, is given by Du Piêd 2006–07. A comprehensive judgment on the develop-
ment of these sites (and of those quoted in the next footnotes) as marked by “distinct regionalism and
individuality” as “evident by the variety of Iron Age I assemblages” is put forth by Killebrew 2014, 597.
75. On Tell Tweini, cf. Bretschneider et al. 2008; 2011; and especially the amply illustrated monograph by
Bretschneider & Van Lerberghe 2008.
away.76 However, in this archaeological horizon, major gaps in knowledge still remain:
e.g. Arwad, the island site opposite mainland Antaradus (modern Tartus), exhibits for the
time being scarce remains of its pre-Roman material culture beyond the surveyed rem-
nants of its possible ancient port.77
Areas to the south of the modern Lebanese border, i.e. in northern Israel, show, in-
stead, more abundant and clear-cut archaeological results, in relation to Phoenician early
economic and political settlement into the coastal areas of Galilee and the plain of Akko.
Thus, Tel Dor — ancient Duru, mentioned both in Wenamun’s report (§3) and Esarhad-
don’s treaty with Baal of Tyre (§4) — , was marked by Phoenician pottery since the late
12th/early 11th century, as the largest and most important site along the Carmel and Sharon
coasts, densely built and fortified, and its decidedly Phoenician character was to end only
in the Hellenistic period. It is nowadays clear, from updated investigations concerning the
site, that the material culture — as well as the trade networks — of Dor in the early IA
cluster closely with sites to its north (in the Akko plain and in south Lebanon), and not
with those of the Philistine sites to the south,78 so that it has been stated that “the coastal
regions as far south (and including) the Carmel coast constitute part and parcel of the
Phoenician cultural milieu”.79 Moreover, Dor — geographically and topographically un-
mistakable as the most convenient intermediate maritime stop between the Egyptian Delta
and the Lebanese coast80 — constitutes one of the most advanced platforms from which
76. On the chronological framework for Tell Sianu, cf. Maqdissi et al. 2010, 321.
77. Cf. most recently Yon & Caubet 1993, with older literature. To be recalled in this connection is the apt
remark by G. Lehmann (2008, 138) concerning Arwad: “Since the material culture of this important site
remains almost completely unknown, the identification of this site as a Phoenician city rests exclusively
on historical interpretations and linguistic considerations”.
78. On Tell Dor’s material culture, see Stern 1990; 1995, 276–278; and more recently, the innovative views
of Gilboa (e.g. 2005; 2008; 2015a; 2015b). For the chronological partitions suggested for Dor, see
Sharon et al. 2005 (radiometric dating methods); for these dates in a comparative view with the ones
for other sites/areas in the Iron Age Levant, cf. the useful synoptic chart in Lehmann 2008, 176f.
79. Gilboa et al. 2015, 88. This view is in decided opposition to the older idea of a relation of the Carmel
area with the alleged “Phoenician heartland” (see fn. 62, above) along the parameters of Phoenician ex-
pansion and influence (although in a slightly more nuanced approach, also Tammuz 2011, 180 indicates
that “Southern Phoenicia is a strip of land ca. 80 km long from Sidon to Akko along the Mediterranean”).
In Gilboa’s view, this element of a “relation” of the Carmel with Southern Phoenicia is non-existent,
insofar as Dor was fully Phoenician in culture in the early IA, whereas a Phoenician influence may be
posited as residual only from the mid-9th century (i.e. IA 2a) onward. On Dor in later periods, cf. e.g.
Nitschke et al. 2011.
80. This factor of strategic/commercial convenience should be not only viewed in function of Dor’s dis-
tinctively felicitous topographical location, but also in connection to the quaint fact that — possibly due
to a marshy environment — southward of Dor and down to the Yarkon river, the seacoast of the vast
Sharon plain, defineable as “the kingdom of Israel’s main outlet to the sea”, proves to have been “almost
devoid of signicant human activity during a period of intensive maritime activity in the Mediterranean,
the overall phenomenon of seagoing commerce along the Mediterranean coast in LBA-
EIA may be observed, through its abundant and diverse ceramic evidence opening up to
a wide gamut of possible mercantile implications.81
In this light, other sites in the same general area (the so-called northern coastal plain)
are — at least theoretically — to be ranged within the Phoenician horizon.82 For example,
Tell Abu Hawam, immediately north of the Carmel (in modern Haifa, on the estuary of
the Qishon river), was a major port city of the LBA and was also settled by Phoenicians
in the IA until the late 8th century, as shown by the re-examination of earlier excavations;83
while on the opposite side of the bay to the north, Akko with its adjoining sites on the
coast and plain (Achziv, Tel Keisan)84 shows a restructuring of the territory and an in-
crease in population until the Assyrian conquest.85 Other sites of Phoenician affiliation
are more to the interior, in Galilee, e.g. the small 10th–9th century fortress site of Hurbat
Rosh Zayit, possibly destroyed by Shalmaneser III, and Atlit, with its vast acropolis and
coastal harbor.86 Continuing Phoenician influences may be also detected further inland,
in what had by the mid-9th century become Israelite territory, e.g. in the capital Samaria
and despite extensive settlement in other regions of the kingdom of Israel and of the demographic and
economic prosperity which characterized the era” (Faust 2011a, 120).
81. Gilboa 2015a, 254–259.
82. For a readable and informative overview of this area, in its archaeological highlights around the 10 th
cenury BC, see Peckham 2014, 61–67.
83. See Aubet 2014, 712, with previous literature; Faust 2015, 773. Most important here is the location of
the site at a hub of major roads leading inland to Yoqneʾam and Megiddo, since the LBA (see Artzy
2006, 51, fig. 5). As noted by Lehmann 2001, 86, “Only during the seventh century BCE was there no
harbour at Tell Abu Hawam. Apparently, the site was not occupied during most of the Assyrian period”.
84. See Faust 2015, 773, with literature.
85. More in detail, according to the results of a 1980–83 survey in Lower Galilee, immediately to the E of
the Akko plain, Z. Gal gave the following overview: “The 10 th century BCE was, therefore, the begin-
ning of a flourishing period in the Lower Galilee. Fifteen new fortified sites were established, and to-
gether with the rural settlements, there were at least thirty-six settlements in the region. Towards the
middle of the 9th century BCE, a major crisis occurred, during which 52% of the sites were destroyed.
… Attention should be drawn … to the possibility that this break resulted from the 841 BCE campaign
of the Assyrian king Shalmanaser III who reached the Phoenician coast. A renewal of Israelite settle-
ment took place at the end of the 9th century BCE. About ten totally new sites were now occupied, 37%
of the 8th century settlements in the Lower Galilee. The final destruction of the region was caused by
the Assyrians during the 733/32 B.C.E. campaign of Tiglat Pileser III” (Gal 1988–89, 62f.). For a NA
cuneiform tablet (unfortunately, undated) from Tel Keisan, see most recently Zilberg 2015.
86. See e.g. Gal 1992 for Rosh Zayit (see also previous fn.); and, for Atlit harbor, Raban 1985, 30–38;
Haggi 2006; Haggi & Artzy 2007. A further overview of sites in the Galilee — but with rare mentions
of their possible Phoenician antecedences — is given by Faust 2015, 768. That “the material culture of
the Upper Galilee differs from that of the central hill country and continues indigenous connections of
the Canaanite and later Phoenician world, so it should be considered part of the Phoenician hinterland”,
was convincingly maintained by Frankel 1994, 25–34 (see more recently Killebrew 2005, 169).
(pottery and ivories) until its fall at the hands of the Assyrians.87
2. Assyria and the Levant: Generalia

Over time, the Assyrian conquest of the Levant came to intercept and exploit a series of
interconnected trade circuits of regional but also of international relevance operating
throughout the area, either of newer formation or with premises already in the LBA. The
Levantine commercial circuits, which are more clearly traceable at local level along the
coastline than in the interior,88 seem to have accompanied all the novel forms of secondary
statehood of IA1, such as those of the Philistines or the “Neo-Hittites” which emerged in
the area in the wake of the decline or actual demise of the empires and city-states forming
the globalized network of the LBA — and here the Phoenicians, with their unique mari-
time capabilities, were surely among the main protagonists of this renewal.89
The overall result of Assyrian control was basically attained by means of a long-term
penetration of military, political and commercial character over the Levantine land routes,
from north to south, with “their junctions in the cities or towns, the mountain passes and
river valleys”,90 including their ways of issue toward adjacent regions (Cilicia, Egypt).
Such a penetration became a concrete possibility following the initial achievement of
having forced the Arameans to retreat from the main fords on the northern Syrian Euphra-
tes, in the early years of Shalmaneser III (mid-9th century BC); the Assyrians could at this
point spread out in the steppeland between the river and the Aleppo region, thence taking
the main itineraries to the west, or to the south. Over these itineraries, ultimately linking
the Levant with Mesopotamia through Northern Syria, observation posts and fortresses
were placed for the detailed control of the territory and the regulation of land (or even
maritime) traffic.91 Instead, a straightforward E-W caravan transit from the Middle Eu-
87. Cf. the overview by Aubet 20012, 47–49, with a mixed approach combining the Biblical narrative in 1
Kings (the marriage of the Tyrian princess Jezebel with Ahab of Israel; the polemic of the prophets
against the introduction of Phoenician cults) and quotes of archaeological evidence of Phoenician in-
fluence at Samaria, Megiddo, and Hazor. More concretely for the latter, see e.g. the case of Red-slipped
Ware thin-walled bowls, which were initially labelled “Samaria Ware Bowls” until their mass retrieval
at Tyre (Bikai 1978, 26); and that of the cylindrical storage jar (“torpedo jar”), well attested at Hazor
and elsewhere in Israel, but probably originating in Phoenicia (Bikai 1985; Finkelstein et al. 2011). On
the current discussion concerning the ethnic “identity” of the Samaria ivories, cf. § 5, below.
88. Elat 1991, 23.
89. See Joffe 2002; Bell 2006.
90. Deszö & Vér 2017, 354.
91. A case in point is that of the Assyrian fortress of Tell Qudadi on the Yarkon Stream estuary (nowadays
within northernmost Tel Aviv), which proves — on the basis of a recent archaeological re-examination
— to have been not only placed “on the road that traversed the length of the coastal plain, linking Syria
and Phoenicia with Egypt”, but also, due to its location at the mouth of the stream on the Mediterranean,
phrates to the Central Levant through the wide stretch of Syro-Arabian desert was an op-
tion by and large precluded to the Assyrians — as is clear from the written sources — due
to tactical difficulties caused by roaming Arab armed groups, as well as by corresponding
technological shortcomings (viz. the lack of a camel-based military corps).92
The Levant, despite its many geographical intricacies, may be viewed as a “globally
interconnected” region,93 with its naturally longitudinal profile giving rise to a corre-
sponding orientation of the road system, mainly based on a series of N-S routes with
relatively few traverse arteries. During the “Assyrian century” of conquest/occupation,
military and commercial traffic between Mesopotamia and the Levant thus passed to and
fro through the Orontes valley,94 from the northern area of Unqi/Pattina to Hamat and
then to Ṣupite (Biblical Ṣobah, near present-day Homs), and thence to Damascus or west-
ward to the Phoenician littoral and northern Palestine, with limited detours.95 At the height
of the Assyrian occupation, with its mass dislocations and relocations of local popula-
tions, and with the transfer of many locally-produced commodities to the heart of the
empire and its capital cities in the Upper Tigris region, a regular system of “royal roads”
(ḫarrān šarri), entailing many intermediate facilities (post-houses, barracks, stables, etc.),
was established throughout Mesopotamia, and it seems to have also been extended to the
central Syrian plains.96
to have served the purpose “to protect maritime trade along the coast of Palestine” (Fantalkin & Tal
2009).
92. On the (mainly antagonistic) relations of the Assyrians with the Arabs in the desert-bordering areas of
central Syria, and sometimes even in the southwestern reaches of inner Mesopotamia, cf. Fales 2002. It
may be recalled, by contrast, that the peaceful relations established by the Middle-Euphrates polity of
Mari in the 18th century BC with the mobile pastoralists of the Syro-Arabian desert allowed king Yas-
maḫ-Addu to envisage three different itineraries of direct E-W transit to reach the kingdom of Qatna (in
the present-day region of Homs, Syria): Joannès 1996; 1997,
93. This term is used by Routledge forthcoming.
94. On the Orontes basin region, both as a geographical and an archaeologically-observed anthropical
“landscape”, see most recently Turri 2015; and the essays in Parayre & Sauvage (eds.) 2016.
95. A case in point is the textual passage on the possible Assyrian march upriver on the Orontes, drawn
from the annals of Aššurnaṣirpal II discussed in §3, below. To be sure, much still needs to be done in
the study of local thoroughfares — of which, moreover, due to lack of paving, hardly any traces of pre-
Roman date have been physically discovered (see e.g. Zertal 2011, 342f.; for the existence and mana-
gement of “wheelworthy” — Greek hamaxitos — but still unpaved local roads in the Achaemenid
period, cf. Briant 2002, 361f.). Thus, in practice, the main indicators of such itineraries are to be re-
trieved in lines and clusters of ancient sites: and the present-day strong interest in settlement patterns
has yielded useful information on this count in various contexts. See, e.g., Mazzoni 1995; case-studies
e.g. in Mazar (ed.) 2001; Wilkinson et al. 2004; and cf. also Burke 2007 for the LBA — IA *mgdl,
“watchtowers” (and in particular — as concerns the present essay — see ibid., 41, for their location
along passes through the Ğebel al-Ansariyye, behind the centers of the Lebanese coast, and on the main
road linking the Beqaʿ Valley and the coastal plain).
96. On Assyrian deportations, cf. the by now “classic” work by Oded 1979. On the transfer of goods from
In sum, there are numerous indications — starting from the very use of the compre-
hensive geographical monikers Ḫatti, Amurrû and Eber nāri — that the Assyrian strategic
perspective on the Levant, despite the many diverse peoples to be encountered and ulti-
mately vanquished in the region (from Luwians to Arameans to Israelites to Philistines,
and even considering the Transjordanian polities), was an essentially unitary and unifying
one.97 This aspect may also be observed, e contrario, through the many interconnections
and alliances that the local polities, despite their differences in languages, cults, and po-
litical organization, were prompt to thread in the face of the menace of Assyrian inva-
sion.98
* * *
It is in this light that the coastal Mediterranean area commonly known as the “Phoenician
heartland” should be framed, both as a well-defined and enclosed geographic environ-
ment and as seat of particular geographical relations with the Levantine interior. Phoeni-
cia was indisputably a clear-cut geographical unit, centered on a narrow strip of coastland,
with a maximal width of less than 7 kms, bordered by the range of Mt. Lebanon, averaging
1,500 meters and reaching up to 3,000 meters in height, with its Mediterranean flank
abutting directly and precipitously on the constricted coastal fringe. Segmented by large
river gorges and rocky promontories into numerous and regularly spaced landing and
docking sites for maritime craft, each of its sub-units was sufficient for the needs of one
actual urban center, with its minor dependencies as direct agricultural hinterland.
the periphery of the empire to its centre, see the comprehensive picture traced by Bär 1996; but cf. also
Liverani 1992, 155–163, for the 9th century evidence. The Assyrian sources for the ḫarrān šarri have
been recently treated by Favaro 2007 (see pp. 57–61 for the western areas). As for other sources, on
roads in the Levant, the OT record (Dorsey 1961) indicates, albeit sketchily and vaguely, a main in-
ternational coastal highway between Egypt and Northern Syria (through Gaza, Carmel, and Phoenicia),
with an eastward branch leading to Hazor, Damascus, and thence to Mesopotamia — the so-called Via
Maris, which however is a later denomination with no terminological antecedent in the Bible itself
(Beitzel 1991). According to Bagg (2013, 127), in the Levant “the Assyrians probably established some
road stations for messengers and caravans, but they basically used the existing road system without
improving it substantially”.
97. See the sections on Levantine goods (from food to purple dye to ivory to metals to wood) in §5, below,
which show — despite a vast number of past critical approaches aiming at strict “ethnic-identitary” sub-
divisions — multiple territorial overlappings. This unifying geographical/political/economic approach
to the domination/incorporation of the Levant would by and large also seem to have applied to all sub-
sequent imperial endeavours, down to Rome — with a possible interruption in the Neo-Babylonian
period, when the entire Western horizon became a hotbed of competition between Mesopotamian and
Egyptian power and/or influence (see e.g. Kahn 2008; Da Riva 2015, 603, on this issue).
98. See e.g. Na’aman 1991.
This overall space was “an ideal setting for the development of a maritime culture”,
with “cliffs, coves, and natural bays suitable for anchorage”, and with “a narrow conti-
nental rise that could accommodate ships with relatively large hulls close to shore, unlike
the northern Syrian coast and the southern coastal plain beyond the Carmel range, which
are very wide and shallow”.99 Anchorages were sought in the chosen sites by cutting up
the rocky shore or by adapting reefs or rocky land masses to form protective breakwaters
against winds and currents, i.e. with no underwater building structures attested before the
Hellenistic period.100 The interplay of natural conditions and artificial arrangements could
give rise to twin harbors for different sailing needs, such as are clearly documented for
Tyre, as well as Sidon. In general, Phoenician harbors were “open”, i.e. with no particular
defensive structures from seaborne attacks.101
Of course, the Phoenician cities were not isolated from one another: a coastal thor-
oughfare linked the polities along the littoral, despite some rough spots in rocky areas.
Moreover, as shown by the archaeological data quoted above (§1), it now seems that,
albeit in possibly different phases, a set of inland sites, connected by corridors both to the
north (such as the Homs gap near Arvad) and to the south of the modern Lebanese border
(inland from Tel Dor) came to be occupied coterminously with the “core” Phoenician
sites: both for the exploitation of the agricultural resources that the plainsland could sup-
ply to the coastal zone, and — in the opposite direction — as intermediate points of trade
with areas further inland. If the sites in the ʿAkkar plain (Tell Kazel, Sheikh Zenad and
Tell ʿArqa) show decided cultural interrelations between coastal Phoenician and inland
north Syrian milieus, the same (perhaps to an even greater degree) may be said for the
locations in the hinterland of Akko with regard to Galilee and regions perhaps even farther
east. In sum, both these archaeological scenarios illuminate the avenues whence the Phoe-
nician coastal emplacements could have derived their basic reserves of cereals and other
foodstuffs, and at the same time the inland itineraries through which the Phoenician trade
could have moved, as an alternative to maritime routes along the coast.102
99. On the description of the Phoenician littoral, cf. e.g. recently Edrey 2016, with previous refs. The
quotes are from ibid., p. 45.
100. Aubet 20012, 178.
101. See e.g. Marriner et al. 2006 for Sidon, Marriner et al. 2008 for Tyre. For Dor, see e.g. Gilboa 2015a;
for Atlit, Haggi & Artzy 2007. A widespread technical renewal of Levantine harbor facilities around
the turn of the millennium was invoked by Raban 1998 — with the possible effect of an increase in
maritime outreach (Cilicia, Cyprus, the Aegean: see also Sherratt & Sherratt 1993, 365).
102. Aubet 1993, 58, and more recently Joffe 2002, 436 and Bell 2006, 113. Cf. on one hand Capet & Gubel
2000, who suggest — with abundant evidence — that parts of western Syria, like the ʿAkkar plain, were
occupied by Phoenicians in the EIA; and on the other Finkelstein 2013, 110, who states, “the highlands
of the Galilee and the territory bordering on the northern coastal plain must have been at least partially
inhabited by groups related to the Phoenician coastal cities” — on the basis of survey activities such
* * *
As has been often underscored, even after securing the Levantine littoral for commercial
and military purposes with its armies and logistic structures, Assyria did not develop a
regular maritime unit or corps of its own.103 This situation should however be reviewed
taking into account an often neglected aspect: that the Assyrians were by no means for-
eigners to river navigation and were actually quite dexterous in the trasport of men and
merchandise by boat on the Tigris, Euphrates, and their affluents, as both texts and fig-
urative depictions abundantly prove.104
A relatively vast correspondence directed to the royal court, especially from Sargon’s
reign, indicates regular shipments downriver of foodstuffs, artifacts, quarried stone, raw
materials, and even selected groups of personnel. Thus, we find the transport and arrival
e.g. of wine-jars, cultic objects in bulk intended for the main temple at Assur, logs to be
towed from the northeastern areas cut by the Zab rivers or from the northwestern regions
(the Upper Euphrates, with its Khabur and Balikh),105 and even winged human-headed bull
colossi in limestone of 3–4 meters’ height from the Upper Tigris quarries. The palace bas-
reliefs show different typologies of river boats: barges of large capacity (perhaps identi-
fiable with the term maškuru), and especially smaller but sturdy craft of circular shape
built of wood and leather, still known in Iraq as the guffa,106 as well as the square raft
crowned by a hut or storeroom, the kalakku (nowadays kelek).
In sum, lack of initiative and poverty of know-how in boatmanship do not seem in
any way ascribable to the Assyrian sailors and oarsmen on the network of Mesopotamian
waterways.107 A well-known bas-relief dating to the reign of Sargon II (Fig. 5) shows ex-
tensive and complex log-towing operations, which were originally interpreted as involv-
as that of Lehmann 2001.

103. See e.g. Elat 1991, 24f., and Kelly 1992, who points out the parallels between the Assyrians and later
empires in this respect.
104. See Fales 1993; 1995. Nowadays, even archaeological evidence may be summoned for this picture:
see e.g. Morandi Bonacossi 2014 for the retrieval of quay-walls of Assyrian date as positive evidence
of navigation on the rivers Gomel and Khazir, which led to the Zab and thence to the Tigris.
105. On the transport of timber in the letters to Sargon, see Fales 1983b.
106. Herodotus I, 194 gives a description of the shape, the methods of construction, and the uses of the
guffa, however mixing up this type of boat with the kelek (translation and commentary in Fales 1995,
212f.). Modern exemplars of guffa are however built in a slightly different way from those of Anti-
quity, as a basket frame vessel covered with bitumen on the inside (Fales 1993, 87).
107. Even upstream navigation — with the aid of rudimentary square sails in the flattest/calmest stretches,
or, perhaps more frequently, by towing the boats from the shore — should not be ruled entirely out:
see Fales 1995, 214, with textual references.
ing a Mediterranean “seascape” and the cedars of the Levant,108 but which instead —
according to a further interpretation by a maritime historian, which the present author en-
dorses — should refer to an Assyrian riverine environment, on the basis of the depictions
Fig. 5. Transport of timber for Dur-Sharrukin.

From Botta & Flandin 1849, pl. 3.
108. Albenda 1983. See already De Graeve 1981, 125–127, who considers these boats as “coasters of the
eastern Mediterranean”. The attached historical reconstruction is however, problematical: “The beams
would be brought down from the forest to the coast; then, they would be transported by boast north-
wards along the Mediterranean coast, further overland on chariots (sic) to the Euphrates, and from
there down the Euphrates to their ultimate destination, as rafts or on boats” (ibid., 126). This would
imply a second Mediterranean receiving port north of the Lebanese littoral (but where?) and would
not in any case rule out overland transport of the beams themselves and later river boat-navigation. A
similar critique of De Graeve’s reconstruction was already effected by Cogan (1984, 258 fn. 21), with
the wry observation that “inadequate attention to the logistical problems involved in transferring
timber and stone from southern Lebanon to Assyria is characteristic of modern works on Assyrian
imperial rule”.
of flora, fauna, and boats.109 The latter were built of wooden planks, flat-bottomed with
low sides and straight upturned ends. Paddles served as means of propulsion, although
some of the boats appear with a central mast fastened to the prow and stern by stays which
theoretically may have served for sails. A crow’s nest or functional loading device for the
timber is fixed on the mast, whereas further loads of timber were towed, by attaching
them to the stern.110
To a certain extent, moreover, the conflicting views on this bas-relief have hinged on
a particular characteristic of the boats’ prows, bearing a decoration in the form of a horse’s
head. Admittedly similar to the seafaring Western models later called hippoi, this deco-
ration has been viewed as being adopted in Assyria through Levantine influence; how-
ever, many different types of boats depicted in Assyrian bas-reliefs, mainly referring to
river navigation, show animal heads, even of birds and lions, and it could be even main-
tained that, to the opposite, the motif was taken up by Phoenicians through Assyrian in-
fluence.111 In sum, the lumber transport such as is depicted here could well have gone
back to log-cutting operations performed by Sargon in the Levant — i.e. in Phoenician
territory or in adjacent areas (cf. §5, below) — but it would have ultimately reached Dur-
Šarrukin, the new Assyrian capital built by this king, through the deft navigation of the
northern Mesopotamian waterways network, with alternative relays overland.112
109. Linder 1986; see Fales 1993, 83f. Interestingly enough, already in april 1847, i.e. soon after the discov-
ery of the bas-relief and its transfer to the Louvre, the French maritime historian Auguste/Augustin Jal
wrote an article to the effect that the depicted “navires … sont de petits bateaux de rivière”, on the
basis of the upright position of the four consistently depicted paddlers, which recalled the gondoliers’
position in Venice and of boatmen on rivers and lakes all over Europe (Jal 1847). De Graeve (1981,
125) counters this argument invoking a non-realistic depiction of the paddlers (“it could be a number
according to the space available in the picture”), but Linder (1986, 278, fn. 48) recalls Jal’s monu-
mental contributions to maritime history, and considers his arguments on the relief as “based on sound
nautical observations”. See also Basch 1972, who described Jal as “the father of naval archaeology”,
in a useful and extensive history of the field.
110. This point is decisive in Linder’s (1986, 278) argument against a depiction of seafaring boats in this
relief: “Pulling logs tied by means of rope behind the boats, which allows them to float freely, thus
obscuring the navigator’s course and impairing the boat’s maneuverability, or loading the timber high
up above the boat’s balance point, these are practices which disregard basic shipping principles of
open sea navigation”. A further point which should be added to the discussion is that, at least as regards
his official inscriptions, Sargon does not seem to have led expeditions to fell timber on Mt. Lebanon,
but only on Mt. Amanus (cf. §5): so perhaps the depicted scene should refer to the Karasu - Afrin river
basins, to the east of the mountain range, with the Euphrates as a further possible objective (or lap) of
the shipment. Cf. fn. 322, below.
111. De Graeve 1981, 123–128; Bass 1995, 1430. For the opposite view, see Linder 1986, 277f.
112. In this connection, it is necessary to further mention the Assyrians’ representations of boats associated
with Phoenician seaside cities in the three sets of bas-reliefs on bronze bands from Balawat (ancient
Imgur-Ellil, some 25 kms SE of Nineveh), both from the reigns of Aššurnaṣirpal II and Shalmaneser
III. In Aššurnaṣirpal’s reliefs on the pairs of gates of the Mamu temple, two bands (MM ASH II L4
On the other hand it is true that, for their rare expeditions in open sea, the Assyrians seem
to have considered themselves somewhat “land-locked” and thus to have relied fully on
the advanced, and traditional, maritime know-how of Phoenician shipwrights and sail-
ors — similarly to the complete dependence on Ḥiram of Tyre by Solomon in the Biblical
narrative;113 and it is probable that this clientship on technical bases was a non-negligible
factor in allowing the Phoenician city-states to enjoy the status of “allies” in the frame-
work of their formal submission to Assyria (cf. §§3–4, below).114 Thus, Menander of
Ephesus apud Josephus Flavius (Ant., IX, 283–287) recalled that the siege of Tyre by the
Assyrian king “Selampsas” (Shalmaneser V or perhaps Sennacherib)115 succeeded thanks
to the naval aid of rival Phoenician polities. The few cases of Assyrian-Phoenician naval
interaction directly documented by Assyrian sources (cf. §4, below) are those of Sargon’s
expeditionary force against Cyprus, which was brought to the island on the ships of the
Tyrian fleet for a probable 2- or 3-day voyage;116 and that of Sennacherib’s expedition
downriver to the Persian Gulf in 694, for which Tyrians, Sidonians and Ionians (or per-
haps Cypriots) built and equipped ships at Nineveh and at Til-Barsib.117
and L5, Curtis & Tallis 2008, figs. 63–64 and 65–66) show — in progression from left to right —
tribute of various types being taken from a walled city, loaded on two boats (with flat bottoms, low
sides and straight upturned ends with birds’ heads at prow and stern) manned by one rower accom-
panied by two/three standing passengers, and finally the disembarking of the persons and their march
toward an unspecified destination. The Phoenician context here may be deduced, but is not supported
by accompanying inscriptions. On the other hand, in Shalmaneser III’s Balawat bands (see Fig. 6, and
fn. 178–180, below), the cities of Tyre and Sidon are explicitly mentioned in the appended texts; the
boats have the same characteristics as those of the previous group, albeit with two rowers, one at prow
and one at stern. In both cases, the boats should represent harbor service vessels, certainly not seagoing
watercraft.
113. The Biblical tale (1 Kings 9:26–8; 10:11; 10:22; 2 Chron. 8:17–18) of the joint Tyrian-Israelite naval
expedition to far-off Ophir — possibly in the southern reaches of the Red Sea, whether on the African
or Arabian shore: Kitchen 1997, 143–145 — , might in any case reflect the Phoenician capacity for
mid- to long-range seafaring with no intermediate bases in search of raw materials already at an early
date (but see e.g. Liverani 1992, 111; Lemaire 2002, for the idea that the story reflects an IA 2 setting).
To what extent these developments — which would also encompass the Biblical tradition of joint
Phoenician-Israelite naval ventures on the Mediterranean (cf. fn. 24, above) — ensued from the col-
lapse of Mycenean and Egyptian naval power with their respective commercial networks (Liverani
1987, 72f.), remains an open question.
114. See e.g. Raban 1985, 30, for the notion that (Assyrian) “imperial demand soon gave the Phoenician
ports of Tyre, Sidon, Byblus, Arwad and Ṣumur a tremendous economic clout, although with limited
political autonomy”. See also §6, below.
115. Cf. e.g. Tammuz 2011, 185f.
116. Although the Assyrian king speaks of a “seven-day” distance: cf. Radner 2010, 438.
117. RINAP 3/II 82, 57–60, and see ibid., apparatus, for the possible alternative readings of the third
ethnonym in a fragmentary part of this passage. In any case, the ships were built both at Til Barsib (so
as to navigate the Euphrates) and at Nineveh (on the Tigris). The Tigris vessels were hauled out of the
This said, it may be noted that — counter to the earlier LBA and to later periods —
the IA Levant has not bequeathed a particularly rich archaeological documentation for
Phoenician seacraft.118 Not by chance, therefore, our best knowledge of Phoenician naval
techniques derives from a figurative analysis of Assyrian bas-reliefs, whichever its pitfalls
and complexities.119 From the palace of Sennacherib, a well-known scene depicts the fleet
of king Lulî of Sidon evacuating Tyre and its population (cf. §4, below), with Phoenician
vessels of the double-banked, or bireme, type, representing transport galleys escorted by
warships (Fig. 6).120
The ships of the former type had a rounded, bowl-shaped hull, and the prow and stern
were of equal height, with symmetrically upturned stem- and stern posts, decorated with
zoomorphic images. These “rounded / tubby” ships, attested all over the Eastern Medi-
terranean,121 were wide at the beam (possibly in a 1::3 proportion to their length, the latter
attaining some 20-30 meters), with a draught of ca. 1.5 meters, and could carry up to 25
tons.122 They also had an upper deck covering their full width with high bulwarks, the upper
part of which (the “gunwale”) was lined with a pavesade of round shields, presumably of
practical defensive use, since armed men are visible on the deck. It has been asked whether
such ships — with their three partitions similar to the war-galleys, but with no visible sail
and their sole propulsion apparently provided by two staggered rows of oars — were true
merchantmen, or rather transport craft, functional to the task at hand.123
However, as has been noticed, “there is no example in the ancient Mediterranean of
ships whose masts could not be lowered and it would be strange if Lulî’s ships were an
exception”,124 so that it is quite probable that also in this case the ships were endowed
river at Opis, dragged overland, then launched into a canal that eventually led to the Euphrates where
they joined up with the remainder of the fleet, proceeding downriver to the coast of the Persian Gulf
while the king followed by land.
118. Cf. e.g. Polzer 2011, 360–362, who includes the LBA Uluburun and Cape Gelidonya cases in his dis-
cussion, before going on to cases from the Western Mediterranean, but ignores the Ashkelon IA ship-
wrecks (Ballard et al. 2002). For the image of a sailing ship on a Hebrew seal see Avigad 1982.
119. Bass 1995, 1430; Bartoloni 1988a; in greater detail, Aubet 20012, 172–178. The analysis by De Graeve
1981, 109–143, despite some shortcomings (see fn. 108, above), certainly marked an innovation on
earlier debate (Casson 1971; Basch 1969; 1972; etc.) which was largely focused on comparisons be-
tween Greek and Phoenician ships.
120. Barnett et al. 1998, 52, nos. 30–31. But perhaps not all Phoenician warships were biremes: see fn. 130,
below.
121. Their name was gaulos/gauloi (“rounded” or “tubby”) according to the later Greek sources: see Casson
1971, 66, and ibid., fn. 114.
122. Ballard et al. 166.
123. De Graeve 1981, 131.
124. Basch 1969, 150.
Fig. 6. Phoenician merchantmen and warships leaving Tyre.

Drawing of bas-relief, reign of Sennacherib.
From SAA 2, p. 26, fig. 9.
with a mainmast fastened to the keel with the well-attested Mediterranean square/rectan-
gular sail — presumably with a deep bunt which ballooned out like a spinnaker, and thus
was fit for downwind sailing.125 A broad, oar-like blade, used as a rudder (or rather a
double set of steering oars) was attached on the port side of the ship near the stern. The
crew was usually no more than 20 men.126 As for the origin of these merchantmen, Egyp-
tian cargo ships, known from the XVIII dynasty reliefs at Deir el-Bahari, have been sug-
125. Casson 1971, 68. The subsequent development of the “lateen” sail, “a very tall and high-peaked trian-
gular sail set along the line of the hull so that its angled edge points forward and its lower, horizontal
edge stretches aft towards the stern”, which allowed a vessel to sail closer to the wind, is not attested
in the Greek textual record before the 4th century BC: see Polzer 2008, 241 and passim.
126. De Graeve 1981, 128–131.
gested as prototypes.127 Various types of wood were employed in their construction, as
illustrated by Ezek. 27:5–6.128
The second main type of Phoenician galley attested in Assyrian palace reliefs is a
warship, equipped with a tactical weapon, a cone-shaped ram (presumably of bronze).
Similarly to the merchantmen, basic propulsion is guaranteed by two staggered rows of
oars, one line being worked through ports in the hull, another from the gunwales.129 Also
similarly to the “civilian” type of ship, the deck is elevated, with a pavesade of shields
hanging on the sides, and the rudder-like blade (or pair of steering oars) is fixed at the stern.
In this case, however, the ships have a single mast, held in place by one stay at the stern
and two stays at the bow. The yard is hoisted up on the mast and has a furled sail with
loose brailings. The dimensions of the warships seem larger than those of the merchant-
men. It is extremely likely that such ships transported Assyrian troops to Cyprus in Sar-
gon’s time or aided the Assyrians to combat the Ionian pirates during the same reign or
that of his predecessor Tiglath-pileser III.130
3. From Tiglath-pileser I to Aššur-nirari V

We may now directly address the matter of Assyrian involvement with the coastal polities
comprising the land to be later known as “Phoenicia”, which started very early on, and
lasted without substantial interruptions from the mid-9th century to the fall of Nineveh.
This section and the next (§4) will be devoted to a reading-out of the Assyrian sources on
“Phoenicia/ns” in their present — quite advanced and accessible — editorial status, while
the following section (§5) will attempt to provide a balanced overview on the still rela-
tively open problems of (a) the various (primary and secondary) components of Phoeni-
cian economy; (b) the Assyrians’ specific use of the resources from this geographical
127. Aubet 20012, 172f.

128. See §5, below. But probably many more types of wood were used, considering the fixtures involved,
and possible repairs: thus, e.g. the hull of a fishing-boat recovered from Lake Tiberias/Kinneret, dated
between the 1st century BC and the 1st century AD, presents 12 types of wood remains, among which
Cedar of Lebanon (for the planks of the hull), Aleppo pine, carob, Tabor oak, terebinth and willow
(Evans 2014, 221).
129. Markoe 2000, 80f.
130. See the wall painting retrieved in rooms 21 of Til Barsip (Fig. 7), for which the description by Albenda
2005, 54, is of interest: “The fragmentary Til Barsip painted sea battle scene reveals an episode of
close combat, since one attacking soldier (Assyrian?) grips the arm of an opponent who stands on the
enemy ship. Of particular interest is the representation of a single bank of oars on the presumably
Phoenician ship, and this differs from the two banks of oars on the ships or biremes that are illustrated
in the maritime scenes depicted on the palace wall reliefs of the seventh century Assyrian king,
Sennacherib”.
Fig. 7. Warship with Assyrian (?) mariners in close combat.

Wall-painting from Til Barsip.
From Thureau-Dangin & Dunand 1936, front cover.
area; and finally (c) the Phoenician commercial itineraries. A conclusive section (§6) will
take up the vexata quaestio of possible (positive/negative) Assyrian involvement in the
Phoenician thrust toward the colonization of westward-lying lands and the many compet-
ing models of Assyrian-Phoenician economic relations.
In a scenario of substantial cultural persistence with the LBA, despite the vast de-
structions of cities and outlying countrysides occurring at the end of the 12th century
BC,131 it may be said that the seafaring techniques learnt and applied at Ugarit — as well
131. See e.g. Vita 2003. This very scenario of cultural persistence has been invoked in a clear-cut manner
as the main characteristic of the Phoenicians by Liverani 2014, 420f.: “the Phoenicians of the Iron Age
as the relevant trade networks — were taken up by a number of city-states, whether spared
by the destructions affecting the metropolis or subject to rapid “revivals” after a period of
impending danger.132 These city-states of the early IA, spread at regular intervals on the
Mediterranean coastline and in an annexed hinterland between Arvad and Akko — polit-
ically and religiously autonomous, although endowed with some shared traditions and a
common “Canaanite” linguistic background in the main — start appearing in the written
record soon after the fall of Ugarit itself. 133
were direct descendants of those people inhabiting the area in the Bronze Age. This aspect is partic-
ularly visible on a cultural level. In the Bronze Age, the coastal cities were part of kingdoms that in-
cluded the cities in the hinterland. Around 1200 BC a process of division between the cities along the
coast and the ones in the hinterland began to occur … This turning point was further emphasised by
the invasion of the Sea Peoples, who broke down the consolidated system promoted by the regional
empires of the time. In this way, the Phoenician cities managed to regain their long lost independence.
The main city in the north, Ugarit, was destroyed by the Sea Peoples. Therefore, it never became a
‘Phoenician’ city. On the contrary, the other cities in the area between Arwad and the Carmel ap-
parently managed to survive the invasion. They separated themselves from the Southern Levant, now
occupied by new populations. Moreover, by then the nomadic element had affected the hinterland,
leading to substantial changes in the way in which states were organised. Meanwhile, the coastal cities,
which were protected from these tribes by the Lebanese mountains, continued to maintain their divi-
sion in city-states centred on royal palaces. The survival of this ancient type of organisation is also
visible from the presence of an assembly alongside the king, and the return of an ideology of kingship
centred on the ideals of ‘justice and fairness’ ”.
132. For the varying reconstructions, cf. e.g. Gilboa 2005, 51; Tubb 2014; as briefly summarized by Joffe
2002, 430, “most of the cities of the Northern Levant either continued to exist in a diminished condition
or were quickly reoccupied”; cf. also Pedrazzi 2013 on the difficulty in establishing precise traits of
continuity/discontinuity in the overall North Levantine ceramic record for the LBA/IA 1 ages from the
temporal and spatial viewpoints. In particular as regards Phoenicia and adjacent areas to the north, the
following overview offered by H. Sader (2014) is illuminating: “The transition from Late Bronze to
Iron Age differed from site to site. The archaeological record showed that the transition took place
either directly, with no stratigraphic break, as at Sarepta and Tyre, after a short period of abandonment,
as in Kamid el-Loz and Tell el-Ghassil, or after a violent destruction, as in Ras Ibn Hani, Tell Sukas,
and Tell Afis. With the exception of sites such as Tell Arqa, Sidon, and Qatna, which experienced an
occupation vacuum in Iron I, most sites were almost immediately reoccupied and resumed agricultural,
industrial, and trade activity. The above-mentioned disruptions were in most cases very short, and did
not lead to regression in land occupation. On the contrary, survey results noted a substantial increase
of settlements in Iron Age I, with a vast majority of small village sites”.
133. The role of the Phoenician coastal cities during this intermediate period as being momentarily free of
previous overlordship has been repeatedly underscored (see e.g. Stieglitz 1990; Zaccagnini 1996; Mar-
riner et al. 2006), and may thus be considered as emerging into “autonomous, commercially active,
and even prosperous entities in the early Iron Age” (Beitzel 2010, 46). A comparative perspective was
brought forth by Sherratt & Sherratt 1993, 364: “Both Egypt and Assyria, while benefitting from the
elimination of rivals, were hard hit by the collapse of centralized power, which brief military revivals
did not reverse. The area which recovered most rapidly was the southern Levant (Philistia and Phoe-
nicia), linked both to Cyprus and now also to the incense-producing areas of southern Arabia, via the
* * *
In point of fact, relations between Assyria and this “new” Levant show a beginning al-
ready at the tail end of the LBA, when the Mesopotamian reign enjoyed a final period of
flourish under Tiglath-pileser I (1114–1076 BC), before plunging in a centuries-long tran-
sitional phase of major economic and military decline.134 A passage of this king’s an-
nals135 is very clear on his unopposed march to Mt. Lebanon and the Mediterranean:
I marched to Mount Lebanon. I cut down (and) carried off cedar beams for the
temple of the gods Anu and Adad, the great gods, my lords. I continued to the
land Amurru (and) conquered the entire land Amurru. I received tribute from
the lands Byblos, Sidon, (and) Arvad. I rode in boats of the people of Arvad
(and) travelled successfully a distance of three double hours from the city Ar-
vad, an island, to the city Ṣamuru which is in the land Amurru. I killed at sea a
nāhiru, which is called a sea-horse.136
In this earliest of passages in the ARI regarding the Phoenician coast, the list of polities
paying tribute to the Assyrian ruler proves to be headed by Gubla/Byblos — which will
not be the case in subsequent phases. As is well known, of course, Byblos also features
as a major commercial power, with its autonomous rulership and its customary legal and
diplomatic practices, in the intriguing Egyptian Story of Wenamun, possibly to be dated
west Arabian coast route. This southern Levantine focus was the core region of expansion at the start
of the first millennium”.
134. See e.g. most recently Fales 2011b, for a critical discussion of the two main historical perspectives on
Assyria’s decline from ca. 1200 to 900, viz. that of Postgate 1992 — with its picture of “a long re-
cession of varying intensity”, possibly subdivided into “a period of gentle recession, down to the reign
of Tiglath-Pileser I” and “a much more intense loss of power which saw Assyrian control wither to the
minimal core of Assur itself and to the cities to its north on the Tigris”, perhaps also due to the climate
as a “contributory factor” — and that of Liverani 2014 [1988], who views a general crisis with the po-
litical dissolution of LBA statehood in all of Western Asia, which was merely delayed by the presence
of powerful and charismatic figures such as Tiglath-Pileser I, Nebuchadrezzar I in Babylonia and Šil-
ḫak-in-šušinak in Elam; moreover, the crisis itself would show a “general movement from West to
East”, also contributing to the named delay (see Fales 2011b, 13f., for quotes). The author, in con-
clusion, supported both Postgate’s initial “gentle recession” and Liverani’s idea that “a long-delayed
systemic surge of crisis finally hit the Euphrates during the 11 th century” (ibid., 31).
135. The texts of the ARI in the following pages are all given in translation, following the versions given
in the relevant RIMA and RINAP volumes (and the Fuchs volumes for Sargon), with merely small de-
partures.
136. RIMA 2 37: A.0.87.3, 16-25.
in its setting to the 11th century as well.137 After the mention of Byblos, the account of the
Assyrian king goes on to list Sidon and Arvad, possibly implying first a southward jour-
ney, then a northbound return itinerary.138 From Arvad, the Assyrian king also describes
a boat trip down the coast for some “three double-hours” (approx. 33 kms) which brought
him and his men to the next major port, Ṣamuru (=Ṣumur/Ṣimirra), “which is in the land
Amurru”.139
During his expedition, the king claimed to have killed at sea “a nāḫiru, which is called
a ‘sea-horse’ ”.140 Of this animal, the king stated to have made replicas in basalt for the
Old Palace of his capital Assur, obviously for the sake of commemorating his exploits in
far-off lands:
I made replicas of a nāḫiru, which is called a sea-horse, (and) which by the

command of the gods Ninurta and Nergal, the great gods, my lords, I had killed
with a harpoon (pa-ri-an-gi) of my own making in the [(Great)] Sea [of the
land] Amurru, (and) of a live burḫiš which was brought from the mountain/land
Lumaš […] on the other side of the land Ḫabḫu. I stationed (them) on the right
and left at my [royal entrance].141
The identification of the nāḫiru is still at present the subject of controversy, with a vast
gamut of suggested solutions (hippopotamus, dolphin, shark, seal, walrus, monk seal,
sperm whale, orca (killer whale), humpback whale, toothed whale, cetacean).142 As has
137. See Bagg 2007, 80, modern Ğubayl (or Jbeil). On the Tale of Wenamun, see Goedicke 1975 for the
textual edition, and more recently Sass 2002 on the chronological implications. On the legal and diplo-
matic “rules” operating at Byblos (and at Dor, where Wenamun was first robbed) see most recently
Brinker 2011. On the commercial framework of trade between Egypt and Dor, as shown by early Iron
Age Egyptian jars and amphorae retrieved in the latter location, see Gilboa 2015.
138. Although e.g. Katzenstein 19972, 63 reasonably suggested that the Assyrian king sojourned only at the
northernmost site of Arvad, receiving here the tribute of Byblos and Sidon — as may be also surmised
for Aššurnaṣirpal II more than two centuries later (see fn. 164, below).
139. RIMA 2 A.0.87.3, 21–23 (p. 37). This city may be identified with Tell Kazel (Bagg 2007, 232), which
was a major center of Hittite-controlled Amurru one century earlier, as clarified by a cuneiform tablet
discovered there (Roche 2003). See also Stieglitz 1991; Devecchi 2010; and Capet & Gubel 2000 for
a review of the archaeological evidence from the early 1st millennium BC, while Gubel 2010 provides
a useful overview of the hydrology of the surrounding ʿAkkar region.
140. RIMA 2 A.0.87.3, 16–25 (p. 37).
141. RIMA 2 A.0.87.4, 67–71 (p. 44). A conflated presentation of this passage is given in Lundström 2012, 324.
142. On these many varied suggestions for the identification of the nāḫiru, going back to 1874, with etymol-
ogical attempts relevant to Akkadian and Ugaritic, see now Lundström 2012, 328f., with abundant lite-
rature. The author only misses the inclusion of Caubet 2008 (who again suggested “hippopotamus”).
Further, Lundström refers countless times to the extensive study by Wapnish 1995 (! not 1985), but
no relevant quote appears in the final bibliography.
been noticed, Tiglath-pileser’s account is vague, so it is not clear if this creature was hunted
and killed while at sea, or instead while sailing along the coastline (which would justify
the hypothesis of a hippopotamus).143
Finally, although it is not explicitly mentioned in his own annals, the king had a statue
of his erected on Mt. Lebanon (perhaps above Sidon), where it still stood in 840 BC, as
recalled by his successor Shalmaneser III:
On my return I ascended Mount Lebanon (and) erected my royal statue with the
statue of Tiglath-pileser, a strong king who preceded me.144
* * *
A similar expedition to that of Tiglath-pileser was self-attributed, but in very general

terms, by Aššur-bēl-kala (1073–1056 BC) in a passage of the so-called “Broken Obelisk”,
with the quite obvious aim of emulating (at least verbally) the deeds of the previous king:
The gods Ninurta and Nergal, who love his priesthood, gave to him the hunt
and in boats of the land Arvad he rode (and) killed a nāḫiru in the Great Sea.
He killed … superb wild bulls and cows at the city Araziqu which is before the
land Hatti and at the foot of Mount Lebanon. He captured … live calves of wild
bulls (and) formed herds of them. He felled … elephants with his bow. He cap-
tured … live elephants (and) brought (them) to his city Assur.145
And, again similarly to Tiglath-pileser, this king claimed to have decorated his palace
with statues of the exotic animals he had felled or captured:
I built the palace of cedar, boxwood, terebinth, (and) tamarisk in my city Assur.
143. Lundström 2012, 330, fn. 34.

144. RIMA 3 A.0.102.10, 12–15 (pp. 54f.). In passing, it may be noticed that, in an unspecified area at the
“foot of Mount Lebanon”, Tiglath-pileser states — in a summary of his feats — to have encountered
and defeated the Aḫlamû-Arameans (RIMA 2 A.0.87.3, 31 [p. 38]), as would also Aššur-bēl-kala
(RIMA 2 A.0.89.6, 10′–15′): see Fales 2017, 137f., for discussion. The possibility that these Arameans
were the predecessors of the “Yasbuqeans” mentioned in Shalmaneser III’s annals — and identifiable
as such as a West Semitic population group (Bagg 2007, 126f.), with its own territorial enclave some-
where near Pattina — should not be entirely ruled out.
145. RIMA 2 A.0.89.7, IV 1–5 (p. 103). On Araziqu, see Bagg 2007, 306 (possibly on the East bank of the
Euphrates). Certainly the fact that, after this toponym, the text states explicitly ù ina GÌR KUR.lab-na-
a-ni might indicate that two totally different environments were subsumed in the same clause. For the
archaeological remains of the African/“Syrian” elephant, see most recently Pfälzner 2013.
I made (replicas of) two nāḫirus, four burḫiš, (and) four lions in basalt, two
genii in parūtu-alabaster, (and) two burḫiš in white limestone and stationed
(them) at their doors.146
* * *
Almost three centuries after Tiglath-pileser’s pioneering expedition, and as a precise mar-
ker of the end of a long period of political and military stagnation, Aššurnaṣirpal II (885–
859 BC) led his ninth campaign against the polities of the Levant, and in particular toward
Mount Lebanon. As reconstructed by Liverani, this campaign was “quite different from
all the others [scil. of this king], for its peaceful development, and as it took place outside
of the traditional borders of the empire, and opened long-distance trade relations” — i.e.,
without outright “imperialistic” implications for the Levantine polities.147 In sum, Aššur-
naṣirpal’s isolated campaign to the Mediterranean was “similar in purpose (trade and cere-
mony) to that of Tiglath-pileser I”.148
As may be reconstructed from the detailed campaign account,149 the king crossed the
Euphrates at Til-Barsip, then proceeded slightly northward to Karkemish, finally taking
a W/SW route to the land Pattina,150 of which the eastern fortified city (āl šarrūti) of
Ḫazazu (modern ʿAzaz), the capital Kunulua (now Tell Tayinat), beyond the river Aprê
(present-day Nahr al-ʿAfrīn) and the southern fortified city of Aribua, are mentioned.151
In the latter location, the king stated to have established a temporary base, in which he
stored a vast amount pillaged from the nearby territory of Luḫutu:
I entered the city Aribua, the fortified city of Lubarna, the Patinu, (and) took
the city in hand for myself. I reaped the barley and straw of the land Luḫutu
(and) stored (it) inside. I staged a banquet in his palace, I settled people of As-
syria in (the city). While I was in the city Aribua I conquered the cities of the
land Luḫutu. I massacred many of their (inhabitants), I razed, destroyed, (and)
146. RIMA 2 A.0.89.7, V 14–19 (p. 103).

147. Liverani1992, 96.
148. Liverani 2004, 213.
149. Liverani1992, fig. 10.
150. See fn. 73, above, and Bagg 2007, 188f.
151. See Bagg 2007, 102, 147, 289, for the Patinean sites. The location of Aribua is problematical (ibid.,
22): Liverani suggested Ğisr as-Šuġur, following others before him, also on the basis of the two days’
march from Kunulua at a medium speed of 30 kms per day, which is to be halved in hilly territory
(1992, 145), while Na’aman 2002 linked the place-name with Sefire, 25 kms SE of Aleppo, which is
however totally off the royal itinerary. See also fn. 156, below.
burnt. I captured soldiers alive (and) impaled (them) on stakes before their cit-
ies.152
The location of Luḫutu in this passage as well as the subsequent, not described, itinerary
towards Phoenician territory opens a few questions. Liverani maintained that, on the basis
of the well-established equation between LBA Nuḫašše — Luʿaš in the OA Zakkur in-
scription153 — and the Assyrian rendering Luḫutu, the Assyrian king would have made a
foray eastward in the grain-rich lands of the Central NW Syrian highland, around present-
day Tell Afis.154 More recently, however, B. Cifola questioned this reconstruction: why
would the ruler “have left the well-irrigated Orontes River valley to collect grain in fields
distant at least a two-days’ march” ? 155 She thus suggested that, rather, Aššurnaṣirpal
would have exploited the Orontes’ valley very resources in its cultivable areas not sub-
jected to marshy degradation — even upstream from Aribua, sending the grain to the city
by boat — , thus justifying in full the choice of the city as hub of the army’s supplies.156
Moreover, as for the subsequent itinerary of the Assyrians, quite cursorily described
(i.e. implying the arrival to the “slopes of Mount Lebanon” before reaching the “Great
Sea of Amurru”),157 Cifola does not concur with Liverani that the road taken was the
shorter albeit more jagged one through the Ğebel Ansariyyeh to the coast near present-
day Latakia,158 but that the Assyrian king “took the route ‘going up’ the river valley and
then went through the rift between the Jebel Ansariya and the Lebanon mountains …
known today as the ‘Homs Gap’ ”, through which “he could then have reached the Med-
iterranean at the plain of ʿAkkar near Tripoli as Tiglath-pileser I did before him”.159 In
this context, the “slopes of Mount Lebanon” mentioned as arrival point in Phoenicia by
152. RIMA 2 A.0.101.1, III 81–84 (p. 218).

153. KAI 202 = AA VI.
154. Liverani 1992, 77, and fig. 10. It hardly needs to be recalled that Tell Afis is where the monumental
inscription in Aramaic of Zakkur, “king of Hamath and Luʿaš" was discovered in 1903 by H. Pognon.
155. Cifola 1997–98, 156.
156. The author is, on the whole, less enthusiastic about Cifola’s idea (ibid., 157) that “it is not equally cer-
tain that Luḫutu corresponds to Luʿaš. In this regard it is interesting to notice the existence of a Western
Semitic root LḤḤ associated with moisture. This may indicate that Luḫutu was the canalized — or
marshy — segment of the Orontes valley south of Jishr esh-Shughur where … modern land uses
include grain production”. In effect — without disturbing the intricacies of comparative Semitic phi-
lology — it is quite possible that the territory of mid-9th-century Luḫutu (i.e. differently from that of
Luʿaš of Zakkur’s time, a half-century later) could have partially extended westwards to a segment of
the Orontes river valley. Or, in alternative, that Aššurnaṣirpal’s officials/scribes were perhaps some-
how misled as to its location.
157. See fn. 176, below. For the many variant designations of the Mediterranean as the “Upper Sea”/ “the
Great Sea (of Amurru/of the setting sun)” in the ARI, see Bagg 2007, 294–299.
158. Liverani 1992, 77, and fn. 375.
159. Cifola 1997–98, 157.
the ruler should refer either to “the south of the Jebel Ansariya proper or, tentatively, the
northern end of the Lebanon mountains”.160
However as this may be, the arrival of Aššurnaṣirpal on the present-day Lebanese
coast was marked by a ceremonial cleansing of weapons in the Mediterranean, and then
by the reception of tribute from the “kings of the seacoast”:
At that time I made my way to the slopes of Mount Lebanon (and) went up to
the Great Sea of the land Amurru. I cleansed my weapons in the Great Sea (and)
made sacrifices to the gods. I received tribute from the kings of the seacoast,
from the lands of the people of Tyre, Sidon, Byblos, Maḫallatu, Maiṣu, Kaiṣu,
Amurru, and the city Arvad which is (on an island) in the sea — silver, gold,
tin, bronze, a bronze casserole, linen garments with multicoloured trim, a large
female monkey, a small female monkey, ebony, boxwood, ivory of nāḫirus
(which are) sea creatures (bīnūt tamdi). They submitted to me.161
As may be seen, Tyre heads here a list of tributaries, followed by “Sidon, Byblos, Ma-
ḫallatu, Maiṣu, Kaiṣu, Amurru, and the city Arvad which is (on an island) in the sea”, in
a well-construed S-N sequence of sites along the coastline — first from Sidon to Byblos,
then possibly to Tripolis or adjacent areas,162 and thence to Ṣimirra (=Amurru),163 ending
at Arvad.
An item of a certain interest is, of course, the following: where exactly did the Assyr-
ian king receive the tribute? Moving from a passing suggestion by Liverani,164 it may be
posited that the northernmost location, Arvad, was quite probably the collecting site and
the sole actual halting point of the Assyrians in “Phoenicia” — also because the following
passage of the king’s annals relates of a subsequent foray further northwards to the Ama-
nus, for the purpose of obtaining various prized types of timber.165 This possible aggre-
gation at Arvad of a combined tribute for the benefit of the incoming Assyrian force would
not be devoid of a certain historical-political value, insofar as it points to a joint and coor-
dinated assemblage of high-level goods on the part of the various separate “Phoenician”
160. Ibid.
161. RIMA 2 A.0.101.1, III, 84–88 (pp. 218f.).
162. See Bagg 2007, 163 and passim; Liverani 1992, 79 presents more specific proposals.
163. See fn. 139, above; surely Ṣimirra was meant again, and not the entire “plain of ʿAkkar” (Liverani
1992, 78).
164. Liverani 1992, 80.
165. RIMA 2 A.0.101.1, II 88–90: “I climbed up to Mount Amanus (and) cut down logs of cedar, cypress,
daprānu-juniper, (and) burāšu-juniper. I made sacrifices to my gods. I made a memorial to my valour
(and) erected (it) therein, I transported cedar logs from Mount Amanus and brought (them) to Ešarra,
to my temple the shrine, a joyful temple, to the temple of the gods Sîn and Šamaš, the holy gods”.
city-states all along the coastline — at least as the first truly documented occasion as such.
On the other hand, a hint as to which could have been the most prominent polities in
this list comes from a totally different inscription of this very same ruler: the well-known
“banquet” text regarding the inauguration of Aššurnaṣirpal’s new palace in Kalḫu, in
which Tyre and Sidon are individually singled out as participating (through their envoys)
to the event.166 Thus, going back to the previous text, the southernmost city-states — Tyre
and Sidon — could have led the operations for the collection of a large and varied tribute,
such as to appease the Assyrian king at his northern entry point at Arvad, and such as to
avoid his armed penetration of the littoral.
On his part, Aššurnaṣirpal flaunted the full submission of all these coastal polities,
accompanied by a rich booty comprising metals (“silver, gold, tin, bronze, a bronze cas-
serole”),167 textiles (“linen garments with multicoloured trim”), and — again — exotic
animals (“a large female monkey, a small female monkey, ebony, boxwood, ivory of na-
ḫirus (which are) sea creatures”). The named monkeys were put on display to the Assyrian
people in the new capital city Kalḫu, as is clear from a further passage,168 as well as from
a much-reproduced bas-relief from the royal palace there.169 As for the “ivory of naḫirus”
— a product which would fit various of the animals listed above, whether mammals or
fish — it is uncertain whether a bas-relief on one of the Balawat bronze bands from the
reign of Shalmaneser III provides a figurative representation of such prized goods.170
* * *
Shalmaneser III (858–824 BC), as is well known, devised a long-term strategy to attack
the many diverse polities lying outside the traditional borders of Assyria, so as to bring
them at certain conditions under the “yoke of Assur”. He thus largely innovated on the
activities of his father Aššurnaṣirpal II, which were in the main concentrated on recaptur-
ing the inner territories of Assyria lost in the two centuries after the conquests of Tiglath-
166. RIMA 2 A.0.101.30, 145 (p. 293): The entire passage (ll. 143–147) lists “5,000 dignitaries (and) en-
voys of the people of the lands Suḫu, Ḫindānu, Pattinu, Ḫatti, Tyre, Sidon, Gurgumu, Malidu, Ḫubu-
šku, Gilzānu, Kummu, (and) Muṣaṣiru”.
167. See §5, below.
168. RIMA 2 A.0.101.2, 31–32 (p. 226): “ I brought them (the monkeys) to my land Aššur. I bred herds of
them in great numbers in Kalḫu (and) displayed (them) to all the people of my land”.
169. For the depiction in bas-relief of Phoenicians bringing monkeys, see Barnett & Falkner 1957, 59, no. 10.
170. The “ivory of nahirus” mentioned in the quoted text by Aššurnaṣirpal might — as noted by Yamada
2000, 269, fn. 113 — correspond to the series of small tusks depicted in one of the bronze bands of
Balawat/Imgur-Ellil from the reign of Shalmaneser III as tribute of Tyre and Sidon, although the re-
levant caption (RIMA 3 A.0.102.84 [p. 147]) only mentions “silver, gold, tin, bronze, wool, lapis
lazuli, (and) carnelian”. See fn. 142, above.
pileser I.171 To the opposite, the new king’s first campaign “to the western sea, also called
the sea of the land Amurru”172, represented the immediate consequence of having ensured
once and for all the unimpeded passage of the Euphrates, thus opening the Transeuphra-
tene to outright invasion and military conquest.
Not by chance, therefore, the king met with the earliest of various armed coalitions
of Levantine states, coordinated to oppose him upon his arrival at Samʾal (formed by
Samʾal itself, Pattina, Bit-Adini and Karkemish).173 After the alleged rout of this coali-
tion, the Assyrians proceeded southwards, crossing the Orontes and reaching Pattina,
where, however, the very same opponents, moreover strengthened by contingents from
Que, Ḫilakku, Yasbuqu and Yaḫanu174 — in practice a joint force from all the lands of
present-day NE Syria and SW Anatolia, between the Euphrates and the Mediterranean —
attempted to confont the invaders again, but were once more overcome, with heavy
losses.175
Continuing on his march, Shalmaneser finally reached the littoral, and then ascended
the Amanus:
I overwhelmed [the cities on the shore of the] upper [sea] of the land Amurru,
also called the western sea, (so that they looked) like ruin hills (created by) the
deluge. I received tribute from the kings on the seashore. I marched about by
right of victory in the extensive area of the seashore. I made an image of my
lordship which establishes my fame (lit. “name”) for eternity (and) erected (it)
by the sea. I ascended the Amanus range (and) cut down beams of cedar (and)
juniper. I marched to Mount Atalur, where the image of Anum-ḫirbe stands, (and)
erected my image with his image.176
171. The basic reference work for this vast and complex military thrust is of course Yamada 2000; but see
also Liverani 2004, especially for the difference with the policies of Aššurnaṣirpal II in the Levant.
172. RIMA 3 A.0.102.1, 41–42 (p. 9).
173. Ibid., 54ʹ-55ʹ. The Samʾalians were led by Ḫayānu, who is mentioned (as ḥyʾ) as Ki/ulamuwa’s father
in KAI 24, 1.
174. On Yasbuqu, see fn. 116, above; for Yaḫanu, a further polity of Arameans already known from the
annals of Aššurnaṣirpal, located in the environs (or in part of) Bit-Aguši, i.e. in the general area of later
Arpad, see Bagg 2007, 123, with literature.
175. RIMA 3 A.0.102.1, 64ʹ–69ʹ (p. 10).
176. RIMA 3 A.0.102.2, II 6–10 (p. 17). For the identification of Mt. Atalur as the Kurt Dağı, SE of the
Amanus, also named Lallar in later texts of Shalmaneser III, see Bagg 2007, 34.Yamada (2000, 101)
believes that Shalmaneser reached the Mediterranean littoral, arriving “either at the mouth of the
Orontes near Jebel Aqra (Mons Cassius) or else at the coastal plain of Latakia”. However, as specified
below, account should be taken of two different actions condensd by the ruler in the same narrative: a
N-S military foray, probably reaching to Sidon and Tyre, and back, to which the Amanus tree-cutting
expedition was then appended.
Of a certain interest in this passage is that the receipt of tribute from the king of the sea
coast is recorded in most, but not in all of the inscriptions/versions describing this cam-
paign — and it is moreover never associated with specific toponyms, although it has been
held that, by and large, the same Phoenician cities that provided tribute to Aššurnaṣirpal
could have been meant.177 Confirmation for this view might come from a pair of bronze
bands from the king’s Balawat gates,178 accompanied by the inscription “I received tribute
from the boats of the people of Tyre and Sidon” (Fig. 8).179 The image represents the
transfer of goods from a walled city by boat, and the subsequent arrivals of the vessels on
land, followed by the transport of the goods (among which bales and entire cauldrons are
clearly visible) on foot.180 It would thus imply that the initial clauses of the king’s annals
given above — whatever their degree of boast or hyperbole — referred to an actual mili-
tary foray carried out by Shalmaneser on the Phoenician littoral.
Fig. 8. Balawat gates of Shalmaneser III: transport of Tyrian tribute to the mainland.
From King 1915, pl. XIII.
Phoenicia/ns return to the fore in the account of the 6th regnal year (853 BC), when the
king’s forceful attempt to penetrate the areas west of the Euphrates met with a massive
resistance at Qarqar on the Orontes by an enemy coalition:
1,200 chariots, 1,200 cavalry, (and) 20,000 troops of Adad-idri, the Damascene;
177. Ibid., 101f.

178. King 1915, Pl. XIII, Band III.1, which continues on Pl. XIV, Band III.2. See fn. 112, above.
179. Text in RIMA 3 A.0.102.66 (p. 142).
180. The description by King (1915, 23) is worth reproducing, both in its precise traits as well as in its small
flights of fancy : “On the left of Plate XIII is the fortified city of Tyre, on its rocky island off the Syrian
coast. Tribute is being carried across to the mainland in boats, which, as they near the shore, are drawn
in with ropes attached to the prow. They are being unloaded by porters, who wade up to their knees
into the sea, and wear shoulder-pads very like those in use in Syrian ports at the present day. Bales of
goods, bronze cauldrons, trays perhaps containing ivory, and other objects of value (PI. XIII f.) are
being carried in procession before the king (Pl. XV). All the Phoenicians wear pointed skull-caps,
those of the better class having turban-cloths rolled tightly round them”.
700 chariots, 700 cavalry, (and) 10,000 troops of Irḫulēnu, the Hamatite; 2,000
chariots (and) 10,000 troops of Ahab the Israelite (Sirʾalaia); 500 troops of By-
blos; 1,000 troops of Egypt;181 10 chariots (and) 10,000 troops of the land
Irqa<<na>>tu; 200 troops of Matinu-baʿal of the city Arvad; 200 troops of the
land Usanātu; 30 chariots (and) [N],000 troops of Adunu-baʿal of the land Ši-
anu; 1,000 camels of Gindibuʾ of the Arabs; [N] hundred troops (ii 95) of
Baʾasa, the man of Bit-Ruhubi, the Ammonite. They attacked to [wage] war
and battle against me.182
In sum, alongside Aramean states and Neo-Hittite polities, the vast western coalition fac-
ing the Assyrian army also comprised a mixed Phoenician contingent, formed by 500 men
from Byblos (written gu-<bal>-a-a),183 10 chariots and 10,000 soldiers from Arqâ;184
200 soldiers of Mattan-Baʿal of Arvad;185 200 men from Usnû; 30 chariots and [n] troops
of Adon-Baʿal of Šiyannu. The encounter on the Orontes seems to have ended in a draw
181. Did 1,000 Egyptian troops actually participate to the collective resistance against Shalmaneser? The
text of RIMA 3 A.0.102.2, 92 (p. 23) has 1 LIM ÉRIN.MEŠ šá KUR.mu-uṣ-ra-a-a, on which an extensive
discussion was provided by Bagg 2007, 306, also on the basis of Middle Assyrian sources, with the
following conclusion: “Es kann nicht völlig ausgeschlossen werden, dass sich die beiden Belege aus
den Inschriften Salmanassars III. … nicht auf Ägypten, sondern auf ein anderes Land beziehen”. On
the other hand, this author’s conclusive suggestion, albeit given with all due reservations, to take into
account “eine weitere Bezeichnung für … Til-Barsip/Masuwari” (ibid.), would introduce a polity on
the Upper Euphrates, which seems totally “off limits” with regard to the consistently more western
location of the allied forces, doubtless concretely interested in blocking the Assyrian invasion of Trans-
euphratic/Levantine territory.
182. RIMA 3 A.0.102.2, 92–94 (p. 23), and in five parallel accounts. Cf. Yamada 2000, 143–164, for the
variants involved. Of particular interest is (ibid., 159–161) the discussion on the problem of the desig-
nation “Baʿasa, the man of Bit-Ruhubi, the Ammonite”, which could have hidden (as already believed
by E.F. Weidner), through a scribal error, two different polities, i.e. Bit-Ruhubi, known from the Bible
as Aram-Bet-Rehob, and thus located between the Beqaʿ and the foot of Mt. Hermon, and the Ammon-
ites — thus making the count of the anti-Assyrian contingents actually 12, as specified in the text, and
not only 11, as would seem at first sight.
183. Ibid., 157–158. This identification stems from a suggestion by H. Tadmor, also based on the impro-
bability of the identification with Que, due to the absence of the interposed polities of Samʾal and
Pattina. See also the confirmative opinion by Bagg 2007, 306.
184. Present-day Tell ʽArqā, NW of Tripolis; Bagg 2007, 26: see fn. 69, above, for excavation results.
185. Despite Arvad’s hostile presence in the Qarqar coalition, the Assyrian ruler (later?) fashioned “with
skill a gold (statue of) the god Armada”, “which had never been previously made”, and dedicated it in
the temple of the god Assur (RIMA 3 A.0.102.55 [p. 135]). It is common opinion that this deity was
the patron god of Arvad: see already Katzenstein (1997 2, 179), and most recently, Karlsson (2013,
131f.), who notes that Shalmaneser’s official inscriptions celebrate in all six distinct foreign deities,
Amurru, Hallasua, Sheru, Adad of Aleppo, Adad of Zaban, and Armada, thus ideologically presenting
the king “as the priest to the foreign deities as well”.
of sorts; and the Assyrian king bided his time before attacking central-southern Syria and
adjacent regions again, with the local polities regularly cast in the role as submissive trib-
utary entities.186
Thus, Shalmaneser’s next mention of Tyre — coupled with Sidon — occurs in his
18 campaign (841 BC). After a victorious (but not decisive) encounter with Ḥazā-ʾel of
th
Damascus, the Assyrian king states:
I marched to Mount Baʾali-raʾasi, which is a cape (jutting out into) the sea, (and)
erected my royal statue there. At that time I received tribute from the people of
Tyre (and) Sidon (and) from Jehu (Iaua) of Bit-Ḫumrî.187
Three years later, in his 21st year of reign (838 BC), Shalmaneser proceeded again on
Aram-Damascus, then received tribute from Tyre, Sidon, and Byblos, as stated briefly on
the Black Obelisk.188 The Annals are more expansive on the subject:
Baʾil, the man of [Tyr]e, submitted to me (and) I received tribute from him. I
erected my royal statue in the temple of the city Laruba, his fortified city. Now
the tribute of the inhabitants of the lands Tyre, Sidon, (and) Byblos I received.
I marched as far as the land Muṣuruna.189
* * *
After this king’s powerful and repeated expansionist thrusts beyond the Euphrates, the
campaigns to the west of Adad-nirari III (810–783 BC) — who ruled over Assyria in a
time of internal weakness and stagnation in foreign policy — were more limited in num-
ber and scope, albeit were held along the same general guidelines. In the stele of the gov-
186. For the tributary relationship which Shalmaneser reintroduced, as a “systematic tribute-collecting me-
chanism that applied no longer to the inner cells but to the outer vanquished states”, see Liverani 2004,
219. Notice, in passing, the many occasions in which the king states to have climbed the Amanus to
cut cedar (and juniper) beams (see §5, Chart 1).
187. RIMA 3 A.0.102.8, 22ʹ–27ʹ (p. 48) and variants (see Yamada 200,: 186).The mountain called *Baʿali-
raʾasi should plausibly be Raʾs an-Naqura, some 22 kms S of Tyre (Bagg 2007, 40): in other passages
the tributary king of Tyre is named as Baʿali-manzēr(i)/manzi (PNA, 242a; Lipiński 1970). For Bit-
Ḫumri, see fn. 194, below.
188. RIMA 3 A.0.102.14, 102b–104 (p. 67).
189. RIMA 3 A.0.102.16, 160ʹ–162ʹ (p. 79). As noted by Katzenstein (19972, 179): “This information con-
firms our belief about the regularity and continuity of the Tyrian payments”, although “the notation of
Byblos is surprising and we have no explanation for it”. The Tyrian king was probably again Baʿali-
manzēr(i) (Yamada 2000, 208). The name of the fortified city might be emendated to Ma!-ru-ba, thus
yielding a toponym comparable to Maʾrubbu, located between Sidon and Tyre in the inscriptions of
Esarhaddon (ibid., 209; Bagg 2007, 171). Muṣuruna might be the Jebel ʿĀmil, to the southeast of Tyre
(Bagg 2007, 180).
ernor Nergal/Palil-ēreš discovered at Tell al-Rimah, near the Jebel Sinjar, a mention of
the tribute of Joash of the land of Samaria, “and of the people of Tyre and Sidon” is com-
prised within a reference to the imposition of perpetual “tax and tribute” from “the entire
lands of Amurru and Hatti”.
I mustered my chariotry, troops, (and) armed forces (and) ordered the march to
the land Hatti. In one year I subdued the entire lands Amurru (and) Hatti. I
imposed upon them tax (and) tribute forever. I (text “he”) received 2,000 talents
of silver, 1,000 talents of copper, 2,000 talents of iron, 3,000 linen garments
with multi-coloured trim — the tribute of Mariʾ, the Damascene. I (text “he”)
received the tribute of Joash of the land Samaria (iu-ʾa-su KUR.sa-me-ri-na-a-
a) (and) of the people of Tyre (and) Sidon”.190
After this, the king states, again in line with Shalmaneser’s utterances:
I marched to the great sea in the west. I erected my lordly statue in the city Ar-
vad, which is on an island in the sea. I ascended Mount Lebanon (and) cut down
100 strong beams of cedar for the requirements of my palace (and) temples.191
However, a major variant is now known from a version of Nergal/Palil-ēreš’s stela from
Dur-katlimmu:
I ascended Mount Lebanon. I cut strong logs of cedar. At that time, I placed
those cedars from Mount Lebanon in the gate of the temple of the god Salmanu,
my lord. The old temple, which Shalmaneser, my ancestor (lit. father) had built,
had become dilapidated and I, in a stroke of inspiration, built this temple from
its foundations to its parapets. I placed the cedar roof beams from Mount Leb-
anon on top.192
The sole other mention of the campaigns of Adad-nirari III to Phoenicia (which however
occupy at least two years — 803 and 802 BC — in the eponym lists for his reign193) is in
the so-called Nimrud Slab, a summary of conquests :
I subdued (the territory stretching) from the bank of the Euphrates, the land
190. RIMA 3 A.0.104.7, 4–8 (p. 211).

191. Ibid., 9–12.
192. Radner 2012, 270f., ll. 12–18. The ancestral reference is to Shalmaneser I, 1263–1234 BC.
193. Cf. Shea 1978, 103; Millard 1994, 34 (803: ana URU.ba-aʾ-li; 802: a-na UGU tam-tim, with the variant
mu-ta-nu, “epidemic”). On the subject of epidemics within the Assyrian armies, see Radner 2009,
228–231.
Ḫatti, the land Amurru in its entirety, Tyre, Sidon, the land of (Bit-)Ḫumri (=Is-
rael), Edom, (and) Palastu (=Philistia), as far as the Great Sea in the west. I im-
posed tax (and) tribute upon them.194
* * *
During the next four decades, under the reigns of Shalmaneser IV, Aššur-dan III and
Aššur-nirari V, no actual territorial expansion of Assyria in the Levant is reported in the
ARI, and only short mentions of western campaigns appear in the Eponym Chronicle.195
For the reign of Shalmaneser IV, the eponymy of Nergal-ēreš, governor of Raṣappa (775
BC), is marked by a campaign “against the cedar mountain” (KUR.e-re-ni); an expedition
“against Ḫatarikka” accompanied the eponymy of Aššur-bēl-uṣur, governor of Kalḫu (772
BC). For the reign of Aššur-dan III, the first western campaign in the chronicle is that of
765 BC, “against Ḫatarikka”, which was marked by an “epidemic” (mutanu).196 The reign
of Aššur-nirari V only registers a campaign of Šamši-ilu, the commander-in-chief ina
māti, “in the country” for 752 BC.197 In the main, the Assyrian rulers of this period had to
deal with the containment in growth of the most important local polities in Syria (from
Arpad to Hamat and Damascus), even by diplomatic means.198
4. From Tiglath-pileser III to the Fall of Nineveh

With Tiglath-pileser III (745–727 BC), the systematic construction of an empire formed
194. RIMA 3 A.0.104.8, 11–14 (p. 213). Kelle 2002, 654 suggests that the designation “(Bit-)Ḫumri” here
regards “the widespread land of the northern kingdom, which includes Judah”, whereas the Rimah
stela’s wording on miu-ʾa-su KUR.sa-me-ri-na-a-a would refer “not to a city but to the administrative
district created under Ḥazā-ʼel, which Adad-nirari encountered when he returned to the west” (ibid.).
However, for the possible identification of Mariʾ of Damascus in this passage not as Ḥazā-ʾel, but as
Bar/Ben-Hadad, his son and successor, cf. PNA, 737b, with literature.
195. See Glassner & Foster 2004, 70–73 for the relevant time-span.
196. However, the last two years of the same ruler, 755 and 754 BC, also saw thrusts to the Levant: resp.,
a campaign “against Ḫatarikka”, and “against Arpad”. It may also be recalled that the name of Aššur-
dan has been read by Lipiński (2004, 117f.) in l. 4ʹ of KAI 23, the Hassan-beyli inscription (“King
Ashurdan entered [in] the territory belonging to Awar(i)ku, but the kingdom of Assyria and the king-
dom of the king made peace in Aleppo(?), from everlasting to all [time]”), thus dating the Phoenician
text to this reign and to this specific campaign.
197. The general contemporaneity of Šamši-ilu, as a high official operating in a certain political indepen-
dence from his subsequent rulers, with the similar figure of Azatiwatas in the Karatepe Phoenician/
Luwian inscriptions is pointed out by Fuchs 2008, 113.
198. Cf. Ponchia 1991; Fuchs 2008; Bagg 2017, and see e.g. the Antakya stele of Adad-nirari III (with
Šamšī-ilu) mentioning Zakkur of Hamat and Attar-šumki of Arpad (RIMA 3 A.0.104.2) and the treaty
between Aššur-nirari V with Mati-ilu of Arpad (SAA 2 2).
by annexing previous tributary lands to Assyrian core territory as provinces under direct
control began in earnest — marking, as a consequence, significant changes in the eco-
nomic practices and strategy of the Phoenician coastal polities. Three stages are normally
singled out in Tiglath-pileser’s annexation of the Levant:199 (1) In 743 BC, after a victory
in pitched battle over the Urartians and their local allies for hegemony over Syria, the
king put the rebellious Arpad to siege, which ended victoriously after three years;
(2) thereupon, in 738, the king defeated Pattina/Unqi and “19 districts of Hamat”, conse-
quently annexing the northern Levantine coast and inland Syria into the provincial units
of Kullania/Kunulua and Ḫatarikka, whereas the area of the former kingdom of Hamath
W of the Orontes became the province of Ṣimirra, to which further southward-lying ter-
ritories were added in time (Fig. 9).200 Here the king transferred deportees from various
regions:
I settled [... ]captive highlanders (lit. Qutû) of the land Bit-Sangibuti, 1,200
people of the (tribe) Illilu, (and) 6,208 people of the (tribes) Nakkabu (and)
Budu [in the cities …, Ṣ]imirra, Arqa, Usnû, (and) Siannu, (cities) on the sea-
coast.”201
The kings of Tyre during this period — quite probably in the order Tubail/Ittobaʿal II →
Hiram II → Mattan II/Metenna202 — mainly pledged loyalty to the Assyrian ruler, paid
heavy tributes, and were thus spared incorporation in the provincial system.203 However,
199. Yamada 2008, 297–299.

200. Radner 2006, 58–62. For Ṣimirra and other seacoast cities as being originally part of Hamat in Tiglath-
pileser’s geographical perspective, see e.g. RINAP 1 43, II 16–24 (p. 109): “The cities Ḫatarikka,
Gu[bla], Ṣimirra, Arq[â, … ], Usnû, Siannu, [ … ], Reši-ṣuri [ … ], (ii 20) Arâ, Nuqudi[na], Ašḫani,
Yata[bi], Ellitarbi, Zi[tanu], Turanu, (and) [ … ] — cities of the land Ha[math]”.
201. RINAP 1 14, 5–6 (with variants passim) (p. 46). A wider geographical perspective for Ṣimirra and
other “Phoenician” cities is given in RINAP 1 35, II 11ʹ (p. 85), in a long list of conquered cities : “the
cities Ellišu (and) Ṣimirra, which are at the foot of Mount Lebanon, the city Reši-ṣuri, Mount Ṣapuna,
the city Aḫtâ — the emporium of the seashore — the royal ‘storehouse’, the boxwood mountain”. For
Aḫtâ as site near the Jebel al-Aqraʿ (=Mt. Ṣapuna), suggested identifications are Raʾs al-Basiṭ or even
al-Mina (see Bagg 2007, 101); for the unique expression bīt ṣa-bu-ta-te šarrūti, of uncertain transla-
tion, see discussion in Tadmor 1994, 104, apparatus. The “boxwood mountain” should be the Anti-
Lebanon (Ammanana), on the basis of the passage RINAP 1 13, 6 (p. 42) (“Mount Ba[ʿali]-ṣapuna, as
far as Mount Amma[na]na — the boxwood mountain”). As for Reši-ṣuri, a further passage in the same
text (ibid., II 22ʹ–24ʹ: “I marched about from the Great Sea of the Rising Sun to the cities Reši-ṣuri
(and) Byblos on the shore of the Great Sea of the Setting Sun”) opens the way for identifications
around Lattakia (Bagg 2007, 301). The toponym recurs in the fragmentary NA letter SAA 19 26, 15ʹ.
202. Cf. the reconstructions by Cogan 1973; Na’aman 1998; Boyes 2012, 36.
203. See RINAP 1 35, III 6–7 (p. 87) for Tubail; ibid., 47 r. 16ʹ (p. 123); 50, r. 26 (p. 133), for Metenna.
Fig. 9. Assyrian provinces in the Levant from Tiglath-pileser III’s reign onward.
47 Asdudu; 48 Dimašqa; 50 Ḫatarikka; 51 Ḫaurīna; 52 Kullania; 53 Magiddû
54 Manṣuāte; 56 Qarnīna; 59 Samerīna; 60 Ṣimirra; 61 Ṣubutu; 63 Tuʾammu; 65 Ṣidunu
From Radner 2006, 60.
in the last stage (3) of Assyrian intervention (734–732) against Philistia, Damascus, and
Israel, Hiram II was punished for taking part in the anti-Assyrian “Syro-Ephraimite” co-
alition of Rezin of Damascus and Peqah of Israel:204
[(As for) Hi]ram of the land Tyre, who conspired with Raḫianu (Rezin) (against
204. See e.g. Baker in PNA 1330a; Frame in RINAP 1, 135f.

me), [ … ] — I captured (and) plun[dered the city] Maḫalab, his fortified city,
together with (other) large cities (of his). [ … ] he came [be]fore me and kissed
my feet. [I received] twenty talents of [gold, … ], multicoloured [garments],
linen garments, eunuchs, male (and) female singers, … [ … ], Egypt[ian horses,
… ].205
A few letters in NA written to Tiglath-pileser III illustrate the activities of Qurdi-Aššur-

lamur, governor of Ṣimirra, who also had control of the seaside quays at the foot of Mt.
Lebanon; some of these texts — retrieved at Nimrud — should date to the period after
the subjugation of Hiram II.206 In one particularly telling letter,207 the governor opens with
a quote from a previous message by the king, who had urged him to keep good relations
with the Tyrian ruler.208 The governor replies that he has fully complied, since the serv-
ants of the Tyrian king are free to use all their own quays (karrāni gabbu ramūnišu) —
i.e. the quays pertaining to the city territory — , with no restrictions of movement, to the
aim of selling and buying at leisure.209 The next clause introduces the topic of timber,
which — instead — has a special status for the relationship between the locals and the
Assyrians:
Mount Lebanon is (also) at his disposal, and they go up and down as they wish
and bring down the timber. I collect a tax from anyone who brings down timber,
and I have appointed tax-collectors over the ports of trade of the entire Mount
Lebanon. They are keeping watch over the mountain.210
In practice, the Tyrians were allowed to hew and gather wood from Mt. Lebanon, upon
205. RINAP 1 49, r. 5–8 (p. 131). The city Maḫalab is identifiable with Ḫirbat al-Maḩālib, approx. 6 kms N
of Tyre (Bagg 2007, 164).
206. Yamada 2008, 298-302.
207. SAA 19 22, This letter has been often quoted and translated: see e.g. Zaccagnini 1996; Yamada 2008;
Walton 2015, 407f.
208. Ibid., obv. 4.: “Speak kindly to him”. Cf. Fales 2009 on this ideological attitude of magnanimity on
the part of Assyrian kings and its terminological expression in contemporaneous epistolary texts. The
later study by Tammuz 2011 — which does not quote this contribution — , presents the political
relationship of the king of Tyre with the Assyrians along a territorial split (184f.: “The evidence shows
a change in the political system in southern Phoenicia, which the Assyrian broke into two units: the
island of Tyre, which was under the undisputed authority of the king of Tyre, and the rest of the king-
dom, where the supreme authority was in the hands of Qurdi-Aššur-lamur. He had the power to impose
taxes and to reverse decisions of the king of Tyre”) which does not seem, in point of fact, to have any
real basis in the Qurdi-Aššur-lamur correspondence.
209. SAA 19 22, 5–7.
210. SAA 19 22, 8–13.
payment of specific taxes to the Assyrians before they engaged in further shipping activi-
ties (since Tiglath-pileser’s tax-collectors awaited them at the quayside). A recent addi-
tion to the Assyrians’ control of timber trade had been, instead, made for the quays of
nearby Sidon, but the inhabitants had rebelled against the fiscal dues involved, chasing
out the taxman. Thus, the governor had been forced to dispatch a notoriously ruthless
corps of auxiliaries, employed as Assyrian military police, to give the Sidonian lumber-
men a scare:
The Sidonians chased away the tax-collector whom I appointed to the ports of
trade that had been added to me in Sidon. Thereafter, I sent the Ituʾeans into
Mount Lebanon, and they frightened the people. Afterwards, they (= the Sido-
nians) appealed to me, accepted the tax-collector and allowed him to enter into
Sidon. I said to them as follows: “Bring down the timber, carry on with your
work there, but do not sell it to the Egyptians or the Philistines (KUR.pa-la-áš-
ta-a-a), otherwise I will not let you ascend the mountain (any more).211
This last clause has been interpreted to mean that “the Assyrians permitted Sidon to en-
gage in trade activities only in the coastal and inner regions of central Phoenicia, from
Sidon north”;212 but other possibilities are also open, such as that of a functional subdivi-
sion of foreseen destinations — which envisioned Tyre as the preferred trading partner
with southern maritime areas (as will be the case in later periods), and perhaps Sidon as
responsible for business with Cyprus.213
In any case, it is clear that the Assyrians had, by this time, by and large shattered the
pre-existing inter-Levantine commercial circuits through destruction and conquest. They
were thus in the position to develop a tight monopoly on some particularly lucrative as-
pects of Phoenician trade and to enforce its rules — while at the same time keeping rela-
211. Ibid., 14–r. 2.

212. Zaccagnini 1996, 452. Certainly, a maritime link between Sidon and more northerly areas — even be-
yond the Phoenician littoral itself — is attested approx. a half century later, under Esarhaddon: see fn.
237, below.
213. See fn. 58, above, for the Phoenician inscription from Cyprus KAI 31, where presumably the same
king Hiram is called “King of the Sidonians”. In any case, Zaccagnini’s suggestion (ibid.) “that, at the
end of the 8th century, Tyre and Sidon were in a state of strong conflict concerning their respective ac-
cess to the forests of Lebanon and the trade activities deriving from it” seems unwarranted on the basis
of this letter. See Tammuz 2011, 180, on the fact that “most scholars agree that in 701 B.C.E., Tyre
and Sidon were a united monarchy”, and even those who favor a late date for their reunification con-
sider that in the age of Tiglath-pileser III the king of Tyre was also king of Sidon (see e.g. Boyes 2012,
39–41). Cf. also most recently Elayi 2017, 94: “L’existence du double royaume de Tyr et de Sidon
sous l’égide du roi de Tyr … pourrait avoir duré jusqu'en 701”.
tively serene political relations with the local population and its leaders.214
Sargon II (722–705 BC) completed his father’s formation of a full-fledged territorial
empire in the Levant, by punishing rebellious polities, such as Ṣimirra, which had sided
with the anti-Assyrian ruler of Hamath, Iaʾu/Ilu-biʾdi,215 with the aid of Egypt in 720 BC,
and by continuing previous imperial support of faithful vassals.
He thus gave military assistance to both Tyre and to Que in 715 against Ionian pirates,
who were presumably disrupting seafaring traffic between the Cilician mainland and the
island:216
In order to [conquer the Ionians, who live] in the midst of the sea, who since
long [in the past] used to kill the inhabitants [of the city] of Tyre (and) [of the
land] of Que and interrupted commercial traffic, I attacked them at sea [with
ships from the land] Hatti and destroyed them all, big and small, with my
weapon.217
214. See Botto 1990, 31f., and passim, who notes the Assyrians’ interest (during Tiglath-pileser’s and
Sargon’s reigns) in maintaining the Phoenician ruling dynasties — and especially the Tyrian one —
in power, to the aim of exploiting the native productions and the seafaring commercial capacities of
the locals. Other letters of Qurdi-Aššur-lamur to the king on Phoenicia are unfortunately in a more
fragmentary condition: SAA 19 23 also regards Hiram, and his failed attempt to move a sacred wooden
symbol (?) from the acropolis of Sidon to Tyre (on this letter, see the analysis by Na’aman 2006).
Tribute from king Metenna of Tyre and from neighbouring towns is also attested (SAA 19 24). Finally,
one letter (SAA 19 25) reports a Ionian naval attack on the Levantine coast — on Samsimuruna and
Hariṣû — which aborted due to the intervention of Qurdi-Aššur-lamur’s troops (Rollinger 2017, 276,
considers this letter and a further one, SAA 19 26, to be “so far, the earliest Assyrian attestations of
the Yamnāya”, i.e. the Ionians; but see already the treatment of the text, with full transliteration and
translation, by Parker 2000, under the very same heading).
215. PNA, 497a.
216. The analysis by Lanfranchi 2000, 14 on this issue is quite clear: “The identification of the homeland
of these Ionians is an open problem, since no specific hint is given in the Assyrian texts. The only in-
dication is that of an island, and this might be interpreted as an allusion to Cyprus. However, both in
the Annals and in other Sargon texts, Cyprus is consistently given a specific, different name, Yadnana.
The name Yamnāiu might have been used for designating Ionian people originating from, or in-
habiting, a part of Cyprus; but other possibilities, such as some Greek island along the Anatolian coast,
or even along the Greek mainland, cannot be excluded a priori. In any case, a differentiation is made
between Cyprus and Ionians, which clearly shows that in Assyria these Ionians were perceived as a
specific entity, to be distinguished neatly in the background of the ethnic and political landscape of the
area”.
217. Fuchs 1994, 319f., 117–119; and notice also ibid., 34, 21: “(Sargon) who, like a fisherman, fished the
Ionians in the midst of the sea like fish, and gave peace to Que and Tyre”. See fn. 209, above, for the
topic of Ionian piracy already in the Nimrud letters of the same general period. More vastly on the
historical problem of Greek mercenary soldiers in the Eastern Mediterranean, see Luraghi 2006; Deszö
& Vér 2013, with abundant previous literature.
But the situation in Cyprus was presumably in political ferment, with attempts toward
new demarcations of power. Thus, in a first move, Sargon returned to Tyre between 709
and 707 for the support of the local ruler (Silṭa or perhaps Lulî)218 against his unsubmis-
sive Cypriot vassals.219
However, after a delegation of Cypriot petty rulers came to Babylon to invoke As-
syrian overlordship in 707, Sargon had a stele erected on a high mountain on the island
(perhaps above Kition) marking Cyprus as his westernmost periphery: on the attached
inscription he claimed to have accepted the submission of
the 7 kings of Yaʾ, a district (nagû) of Adnana which is situated in the midst of
the Sea of the Setting Sun, a distance of seven days.220
As noticed by many scholars, this declaration of the Cypriots’ submission has no actual
counterpart in military activity and/or territorial annexation.221 Sargon’s action, in point
of fact, would seem to have represented a move to gain direct control of Cypriot com-
merce, at the expense of a previous Cilician — Tyrian network,222 presumably involving
the copper deposits in the island and the iron sources on the mainland.223 This move,
which led to the direct vassalage to Assyria of the “kings of Yaʾ ”, in a position of formal
equivalence to that of Tyre (as later visible in the ARI of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal:
cf. below),224 seems — more widely — to confirm the present-day emphasis on the con-
trol of maritime trade as the driving force behind the overall economic system of the
southern Levant under Assyrian domination.225
Sennacherib’s ascent to the throne (704–681) followed his father’s untimely death
on the battlefield, and the failed recovery of his body for a ritually proper burial: thus the
218. Si-il-ṭa is an enigmatic figure, who appears only in one passage of Sargon’s annals as “Tyrian (king)”,
who appealed for military aid against the kings of Cyprus. The designation might actually be a misun-
derstood title (from West Semitic šlṭ, “to dominate, rule”) — somewhat similarly to Mariʾ of Damas-
cus, see fn. 194, above — rather than a name, as suggested by A. Fuchs apud Na’aman 1998, 242. See
PNA, 669a–b, 1112a.
219. Na’aman 1998; Radner 2010.
220. Radner 2010, 440f. As for Yaʾ, it is derived from West Semitic ʾy, “island”: cf. Bagg 2007, LXXXVIII.
To be noticed is that here (and elsewhere, cf. ibid., 121) the toponym KUR.ad-na-na is given in al-
ternative to the prevailing KUR.ia-ad-na-na, also used by Sennacherib and Esarhaddon, with variants,
i.e. presumably as *Yaʾ+Adnana.
221. Iacovou 2002; 2014.
222. Cf. already, in part, Lanfranchi 2000, 16.
223. Cf. e.g. Yener 1986; 2010, for analyses of the archaeometrical data from the Bolkardag mining district
in the Taurus, a mere 40 kms from the Cilician Gates, with a good representation of IA sites.
224. Cf. Radner 2010, 440.
225. Cf. e.g. Raban 1998, 436; Faust & Weiss 2005, 85; Katz 2008.
new king was forced to quell a set of revolts at the outset of his reign. In 701, the king had
to deal with a number of Levantine cities, which had ceased to deliver their annual tribute
to the Assyrian court. Having established his camp “in the plain of the city Ušû”, the king
received the “substantial tribute” of “the kings of the land Amurru”,226 among which were
the Phoenician polities of Samsimuruna, Sidon, Arvad, and Byblos:
LOCAL KING’S ACTION

STATUS OF LAND ASSYRIAN STATUS AT END
NAME/STATE UPON ASSYRIAN
UNDER SARGON REACTIONS OF 701 CAMPAIGN
INVASION
Miniḫimmu of
Tributary vassal submission none Unchanged
Samsimuruna
Abdi-liʾti of
Arvad
Uru-milki of
Byblos
Newly imposed
Tubaʿlu of Sidon king: tributary submission none Unchanged
vassal
Chart 1.
The status of Phoenician rulers before, during, and after Sennacherib’s 701 campaign. 227
As may be seen, Sidon’s fate was special: in the earliest account of the campaign, written
in 700, Sennacherib states that king Lulî of Sidon, upon hearing of the advance of the
Assyrian troops and terrified by this news, fled “far off into the midst of the sea”.228 His
city and the region controlled by him, from north to south (comprising “Great Sidon,
Lesser Sidon, Bit-zitti, Sariptu, Mahalliba, Ušû, Akzib and Akko, his fortified cities and
fortresses, an area of pasture(s) and water-place(s)”)229 was overwhelmed by the force of
226. RINAP 3/II 46, 19 (p. 79). Other “kings of the land Amurru” who submitted to Sennacherib, yielding
“extensive gifts, four times (the normal amount), as their substantial audience gift” (RINAP 3/I 4, 35
[p. 64]) were Kamusu-nadbi of Moab, Malik-rammu of Edom, Ṣidqâ of Ashkelon, Padî of Ekron.
227. The chart is drawn from the larger one in Fales 2014a, 240f., which, alas, came out somewhat gra-
phically confusing in its printed result.
228. RINAP 3/I 4, 32 (p. 63): see also Frahm 1997, 53:32. The flight of Lulî and his people from the Phoe-
nician littoral is depicted in a well-known bas-relief of Sennacherib (see fn. 120, above, and Fig. 7).
The fate of Lulî as described in later Assyrian official texts (consistently as king of Sidon, RINAP 3/II
42, 7b–9 (p. 48); 44, 17–19 (p. 69); 45, 1ʹ-4ʹ (p. 74); but as fleeing from Tyre — ul-tu qé-reb URU.ṣur-
ri — in ibid. 46, 18–19a [p. 79]), with Cyprus (KUR.ia-ad-na-na) as his destination, and his (later)
demise in exile (ibid., 42, 9 [p. 48]: “In that same land, he disappeared on account of the awesome
terror of the weapon of the god Assur, my lord”), combined with the intricacies of his possible iden-
tification with the Eloulaios mentioned by Menander apud Josephus (Ant., IX 284), are discussed by
E. Frahm (PNA, 668f.). See also Tammuz 2011, 187–189.
229. RINAP 3/I 4, 33–34 (p. 63).
arms, and Tubaʾlu was seated on the local throne, with the imposition of “tribute and
payment” (biltu u mandattu) to be delivered “yearly and without interruption”.230 This
event represents the first direct Assyrian military engagement against a Phoenician city
in absolute, entailing the further consequence of a weakening of the hold of the cities of
the littoral on their immediate mainland — a policy that would be continued and enhanced
under Esarhaddon.231
The fate of Tyre in this connection is unclear — also because it is by and large un-
specified. In a detailed set of studies on the 701 campaign, Gallagher (1999) evaluated
various hypotheses, relevant to the possibility that (1) the city resisted Sennacherib and
was conquered by him (despite the extreme difficulty of its conquest by later enemies, for
topographic reasons), or that (2) it surrendered to Sennacherib with other Phoenician cit-
ies (although it is not in the lists of Sennacherib’s conquered cities), or that (3) the city
resisted Sennacherib but later made a compromise with the Assyrian king (although there
is absolutely no information in any source on this issue) — finally judging the latter to be
the most probable solution.232 On the other hand, an alternative possibility would be to
consider that — at least at this time — “Tyre and Sidon” were (or were perceived as) a
political “hendiadys”: this solution could explain (1) Lulî’s flight to Cyprus from the port
of Tyre, and (2) the fact that Maḫalliba and Ušû, i.e. the Tyrian outposts on the mainland,
were considered Sidonian sites in the Assyrian texts.233
To be sure, as noted by all authors, “Tyrians” and “Sidonians” are presented side by
side, together with “Ionians” (or perhaps “Cypriots”), in the account of Sennacherib’s
maritime expedition to the Persian Gulf in 694 BC.234 Here, however, the ideological
accent of the text seems to lie in the vastness and diversity of the Levantine shipbuilding
capacities that the Assyrian king was able to summon for his aims — and to gather at his
behest all the way east at Til Barsip on the Upper Euphrates — , with absolutely no rela-
tion to the political situation of the two coastal cities in themselves.
Esarhaddon’s reign (681–668) has bequeathed to us the most abundant information
on Assyrian-Phoenician relations. In 677 BC, the Sidonian ruler Abdi-milkūti was con-
sidered to be rebellious (since he was one who “did not fear my lordship (and) did not
listen to the words of my lips, (and) who trusted in the rolling sea”). 235 He thus received
230. Ibid., 35.

231. See e.g. Aubet 20012, 94.
232. Gallagher 1999, 102–104.
233. This idea would in point of fact tally with the suggestion by Tammuz 2011, 183, who — although re-
ferring to an earlier period, i.e. the reign of Shalmaneser III — noted that “it seems that the Assyrians
regarded Tyre and Sidon as ‘two that are one’ ”.
234. Cf. fn. 117, above.
235. RINAP 4 1, II 65–67 (p. 16). The clause ša UGU tam-tim gal-la-tim it-tak-lu(-ma) is unique in the list
of natural phenomena in which the enemies of the Assyrians vainly put their trust, although the ad-
a harsh reprisal by the Assyrian army.
I leveled Sidon, his stronghold, which is situated in the midst of the sea, like a
flood, tore out its wall(s) and its dwelling(s), and threw (them) into the sea; and
I (even)made the site where it stood disappear.236
As specified elsewhere, the “sin” of Abdi-milkūti was an unjustified alliance with one
Sanda-uarri, king of Kundi and Sissû:
Moreover, Sanda-uarri, king of the cities Kundi and Sissû, a dangerous enemy,
who did not fear my lordship (and) abandoned the gods, trusted in the impreg-
nable mountains. He (and) Abdi-Milkūti, king of Sidon, agreed to help one an-
other, swore an oath by their gods with one another, and trusted in their own
strength.237
The two cities ruled by Sanda-uarri might be sought on the mountain-protected coast of
the Gulf of Iskenderun or Cilicia, rich in metals and timber,238 and the harsh condemna-
tion of the geographically wide-ranging relationship of alliance between Sidon and the
petty northern ruler might have implied an avenue of maritime trade which the Assyrians
were not able to control directly.239 In any case, Sidon was severely punished, with the
leveling of its walls and the plunder of its royal palace; the rebel king escaped by boat,
jective in the fem. in connection with tâmtu occurs various times elsewhere in the ARI and SB literary
texts: cf. CAD G, 18b, with no translation; CDA, 88b “rolling?” < *galālu. The expression tâmtu(m)
gallatum could have, purely and simply, referred to the “wide open sea” — and thus Abdi-milkūti’s
“trust” in this element might have underscored a futile confidence in long-distance (and far-offshore)
navigation, similarly to the one possibly expressed in general by the Biblical “ships of Tarshish” (cf.
fn. 24, above, and see Jonah 1:3 for an equally misguided trust in the open sea).
236. RINAP 4 1, II 68–70 (p. 16).
237. RINAP 4 20–27 (p. 17); also 38–46 (pp. 28f.).
238. The location of Kundi and Sissû were treated by Bing (1993), and more recently by Hodos et al. (2005,
64), in possible connection with Kinet Höyük, close to the Amanus on the Gulf of Iskenderun. Other
hypotheses, linking Kundi with Strabo’s Kyinda in Western Cilicia, between Soloi and the Kydnos
river, are discussed by Bagg 2007, 146. For the Anatolian PN Sanda-uarri, cf. PNA, 1088a.
239. The earlier view by Bing (see previous footnote) connected Esarhaddon’s hostility to the alliance
between Abdi-Milkūti and Sanda-uarri to the possible interest of the Sidonian king in the metalliferous
districts controlled by the Cilician ruler. In a different vein, Watkins(!)-Treumann (2000–01, 82)
suggested linking “some of the Phoenician ‘mercantile interests’ in Cilicia quite specifically with the
exploitation of timber in the Amanus”, and that Esarhaddon’s campaign of 677 was meant to break up
this commercial chain between the Phoenician coast and Cilicia (ibid., 83). It may be recalled, more-
over, that the monumental Luwian-Phoenician inscription of most recent date, from Cebelireis Dağı,
is usually ascribed to the 7th century BC (see fn. 45, above).
but was caught and beheaded. Two Sidonian cities were returned to pro-Assyrian king
Baʿal of Tyre. Sidon itself was rebuilt and renamed Kar-Esarhaddon (“E.’s Port”) as cap-
ital of an autonomous province, where deportees were resettled.
(The inhabitants of) the cities Bīt-Ṣupūri, Sikkû, Giʾ, Inimme, Ḫildūa, Qartim-
me, Biʾrû, Kilmê, Bitirume, Sagû, Ampa, Bīt-Gisimeya, Birgiʾ, Gambūlu, Da-
laimme, (and) Isiḫimme, cities in the environs of Sidon, places of pasturing and
watering for his stronghold, which I captured with the help of the god Aššur,
my lord, I settled in it (together with) the people plundered by my bow from the
eastern mountains and sea and I restored (the city) to Assyrian territory. I reor-
ganized that province, placed my official as a governor over them, and in-
creased and imposed upon it tribute and payment greater than before. From
among those cities of his I handed over the cities Maʾrubbu (and) Ṣarepta to
Baʿalu, king of Tyre. I increased my lordly tribute beyond his earlier, annual
giving and imposed (it) on him.240
Already in 676, Esarhaddon had summoned in pomp and circumstance the “kings of Hatti
and ‘beyond the river (Euphrates)’ ” — who comprised a first group of 12 “kings from
the seashore” representing by and large the same polities (with the obvious replacement
of Sidon by Tyre) that had submitted to Sennacherib a quarter-century before, but with
the addition of Judah, Gaza, Bit-Ammon, and Ashdod; the Phoenician rulers were Baʿal
of Tyre, Mattan-Baʿal of Arvad, Abi-Baʿal of Samsimuruna. To them were further added
“ten kings of Cyprus (Iadnana)”, representing different cities on the island, and charac-
terized by their mainly Greek names.241 The collective task imposed on these rulers was
to supply valued timber (explicitly from the mountains of Phoenicia) and a wide variety
of different prized stone (perhaps mainly from Cyprus) for the statuary and building ma-
terials of the Assyrian king’s palace at Nineveh:
I sent orders to all of them for large beams, tall columns, (and) very long planks
of cedar (and) cypress, grown on Mount Sirāra and Mount Lebanon, which
from early days grew thick and tall, (and) they had bull colossi (made of) pendû-
240. RINAP 4 1, III 1–19 (p. 17). For the names of these 16 ālāni sa limēt Ṣidūnu, cf. Bagg 2007, s. vv.,
passim,with the relevant (and varied) hypotheses of identification. Abi-Baʿal had already risen to the
throne of Samsimuruna, following Miniḫimmu (cf. chart 1, above) during the late reign of Sennache-
rib, as clarified by a limestone cylindrical bead marked by Nummulite fossils with the inscription
“Palace of Sennacherib, king of Assyria — (this is) the audience-gift that Abi-Baʿal, king of Samsi-
muruna, presented to me” (Frahm 1999, 81–83; PNA, 8b; RINAP 3/II 145, 102; Gubel 2010, fig. 2).
241. See Lipiński 1991; Radner 2010, 436.
stone, lamassu-statues, zebus, paving stones, slabs of marble, pendû-stone,
breccia, colored marble, brownish limestone, (and) girimḫilibû-stone, (every-
thing that was) needed for my palace, dragged with much trouble (and) effort
from the midst of the mountains, the place of their origin, to Nineveh, my cap-
ital city.242
In the same year 676 BC, Tyre was subjected to a treaty with Assyria. The text of the
treaty opens with the expected formulae (“[The treat]y of Esarhad[don, king] of Assyria,
son of [Sennacherib, likewise king of Assyria, with Baʿa]l, king of Tyre, with [… , his
son, and his other sons and grandsons, with a]ll [Tyrians], young and old […”),243 but
then is highly fragmentary until its third column. Here a partially broken section244 lays
out the duties of the locals vis-à-vis the Assyrian deputy (qēpu) appointed over them, also
with a fleeting mention of the “elders of your country in counsel” (LÚ.par-šá-mu-te šá
KUR-ka i-na mil-ki), which has prompted various commentators to view here a reference
to the typical (although of course not exclusive) Phoenician-Punic institution of the suf-
fetes, or “judges”.245
Following this, a first intact proviso allowed the Assyrians to apply the overarching
right of lawful property to the cargo of any Tyrian craft shipwrecked along the coast. This
move should be viewed as ultimately in Baʿal’s favour — so as to counteract the long-
established practices of piracy and unlawful smuggling — also because it foresaw the
restitution of the men on board to their respective homelands (thus implicitly prohibiting
their capture and sale into slavery).246 But a fundamental passage is the next one, which
242. RINAP 4 1, V 73–VI 1 (pp. 23f., with duplicates).

243. SAA 2 5, i 1–3.
244. Ibid., iii 6ʹ–14ʹ.
245. Ibid., iii 7ʹ. Cf. e.g. Aubet 20012, 146f.
246. Previously, this proviso was instead regarded as unilaterally in Assyria’s favor: cf. e.g. Elat 1991, 27:
“… the Assyrian emperor had the right to confiscate the cargo of any Tyrian ship, royal or private,
which was rammed … along the ‘Assyrian’ or Philistine coast … The right of the Assyrians to
confiscate the cargo of stranded ships … must have been a heavy burden on Tyrian sea trade”. Instead,
the interpretation offered by the present author is in agreement with the evaluation by Walton 2015,
173: “Although it is possible that Elat is correct in his interpretation, it is not at all clear that the
stipulations of Esarhaddon were an attempt to grab the cargo of all stranded ships for Assyria. In the
context of the treaty, Esarhaddon was ensuring the protection of Tyrian sailors shipwrecked in As-
syrian territory. One must assume that a beached ship would have been a prime target for looting by
local kings or individuals … Thus, it is possible that this statement in the treaty was part of a larger
situation where shipwrecked cargos and persons belonged to Esarhaddon, in that they were under his
protection. In this case, to loot them would be equivalent to stealing from the Assyrian king”. For
archaeological evidence of shipwrecks of “rounded and beamy” freighters, laden with prize wines, off
the coast of Ashkelon, cf. e.g. Ballard et al. 2002.
grants permission to king Baʿal to trade within a number of Assyrian-controlled ports of

trade (kārus) southward and northward along the seacoast, from Akko, Dor, all of Philistia
to Gubla/Byblos, and even along the connecting trade routes on the Lebanon mountain
range:
If there is a ship of Baʿal or the people of Tyre that is shipwrecked off the land
of the Philistines or within Assyrian territory, everything that is on the ship be-
longs to Esarhaddon, king of Assyria; however, one must not do any harm to
any person on board the ship but one must return them all to their country.
These are the ports of trade and the trade routes (KASKAL.MEŠ) which Esarhad-
don, king of Assyria, [entrusted] to his servant Baʿal: at Akko, Dor, and in the
entire district of the Philistines, and in all the cities within Assyrian territory on
the seacoast, and in Byblos, the Lebanon, all the cities in the mountains, all
(these) being cities of Esarhaddon, king of Assyria.247
In a nutshell, this passage of the treaty entrusted Assyrian-sponsored commerce to Baʿal

over the entire Phoenician littoral. Unfortunately, however, the explanatory sequel to this
passage is rather fragmentary: by conflating two different attempts at interpretation,248 a
tentative picture of the collection of commodities (e.g. timber) on land by hired hands and
their subsequent loading on ships, where the Tyrian sailors awaited, may be summoned:
Baʿal [may enter these] cities. The people of Tyre [will], in accordance with what
Esarhaddon, king of Assyria, has given [to them, stay] in their ships, but all
those who enter into the inhabited sites of [Esarhaddon (?)], (whether) his
towns, his villages, (or) his quays, which […] for collecting [merchandise (?)],
or all (the places) in their outskirts, will be hired (in-na-ga-ru-u-ni), as (were)
[the Sidonians] in the past — nobody will do injustice [to those who are on
land(?)] or are (staying) in their ships.249
247. SAA 2 5, iii 15ʹ–22ʹ.

248. Viz. the detailed translation given in SAA, pp. 24f., and the attempt by Na’aman 1994, which has the
merit of introducing the clause “as the Sidonians in the past” (repeated in l. 30). This would imply that
a previous treaty of the Assyrians with Sidon existed before the time of Abdi-Milkūti, and even up to
the latter’s “betrayal” through his “pact” with Sanda-uarri. More widely, it could imply that the pri-
vileges here granted to Baʿal comprised largely the same ones that had been previously recognized for
Sidon.
249. SAA 2 5, iii 15ʹ–27ʹ. Na’aman 1994 translates “as the Sidonians agreed in the past”, believing the
verbal form in-na-ga-ru-u-ni (iii 27ʹ, admittedly a hapax) to be an N-form of magāru, while in fact it
derives from agāru, “to hire, rent”.
A set of fully readable curses, emanating first from the Assyrian gods and then from the
Phoenician pantheon, concludes the treaty. Of particular maritime interest is the following
one:
May Baʿal Šamaim, Baʿal Malagê, and Baʿal Ṣaphon raise an evil wind against
your ships to undo their moorings and tear out their mooring pole, may a strong
wave sink them in the sea and a violent tide [rise] against you!250
Some Assyrian letters from this same period may be of use in clarifying a non-secondary
point in these Assyro-Phoenician commercial dealings: if the cities “belonged” to the As-
syrians — i.e. were under the authority of qēpus or governors in the case of annexed
provinces — , how did the Phoenicians logistically operate their own commercial activi-
ties (whether taxable or not)? The answer (possibly implicit already in the 8th-century evi-
dence examined above) should lie in the existence of a double set of seaside quays — one
for the locals, one for the Assyrians. That the Assyrian kārus were established separately,
but presumably not far, from the local quays, is apparent in the case of Arvad.251 Here the
rules of a commercial agreement possibly similar to Tyre’s were blatantly violated by
king Iakin-lû/Ikkilû, as denounced in a letter by an official named Itti-Šamaš-balāṭu to the
Assyrian ruler.252
The king, my lord, knows the nature of the land where the king, my lord, placed
me. Ikkilû does not let the boats come up to the quay of the king, my lord, but
has turned the whole trade to himself. He provides for anyone who comes to
him, but kills anyone who docks at the Assyrian quay, and steals his boat, He
claims: “They have written to me from the Palace: ‘Do only what is good for
250. Ibid., iv 10ʹ–13ʹ. This curse reveals (as noted by Kelly 1992, 15) a detailed awareness of the potential
dangers of seafaring due to the elements of wind, wave, and tide — per se foreign to the language of
Assyrian diplomacy. Since it opens a further sequence of curses with reference to the Phoenician city-
gods Melqart, Eshmun and Astarte, it may be suggested that a parallel Phoenician text bearing naval
imagery could have flanked the Akkadian version.
251. This point is explicitly made to update notions such as the one expressed by Elat 1991, 23, that “This
… area included the important port at Arvad, part of which was directly controlled by Assyrian offi-
cials and was known as the ‘Assyrian harbour’ (kāru ša KUR Aššur) or ‘the harbour of the king’ (kāru
ša šarri)”, with reference to the epistolary text quoted below.
252. The identity of the royal recipient is uncertain. Since Mattan-Baʿal is recorded as the king of Arvad
during Esarhaddon’s reign (e.g. RINAP 4 1, 60 [p. 23]), and Iakin-lû is said to have submitted to As-
surbanipal for the first time (PNA, 488b), this letter should be dated either to the time of the transition
of power upon Esarhaddon’s death on his second Egyptian campaign in 669 BC or later (as suggested
e.g. by Elayi 1983, 50f.). See also fn. 260, below.
yourself!’ ”.253
On a vaster scale of anti-Assyrian activity, Baʿal of Tyre openly rebelled in the tenth year
of Esarhaddon’s reign (671 BC), siding with Taharqa of Egypt, 254 and thus became the
object of a blockade from the mainland which cut its supplies, causing its eventual sur-
render.
In the course of my campaign, I set up fortifications against Baʿalu, the king of

Tyre, who trusted in his friend Taharqa, the king of Kush, threw off the yoke
of the god Aššur, my lord, and kept answering (me) with insolence. I cut off the
supply of food and water that sustained their lives.255
Elsewhere in his official inscriptions, the king specifies that this rebellion had the effect
of calling off all previous political agreements with Tyre, despite Baʿal’s ultimate sub-
mission. The city was not only despoiled, but deprived of its mainland possessions:
Heavy [tribu]te, his daughters with [their] dowri[es, …] all of his [annu]al [giv-
ing] which he had stopped, […] (and) he kissed my feet. […] I took away from
him cities of his (that were on) on the mainland [… I] established and I gave
back to Assyrian territory.256
I conquered Tyre, which is in the midst of the sea, (and) took away all of the
cities (and) possessions of Baʿalu, its king, who had trusted in Taharqa, king of
Kush.257
These territories were reorganized as an Assyrian province already by Esarhaddon or in

the early years of his successor.258
Assurbanipal (668–631 BC) was mainly engaged in maintaning the territorial herit-
age in Phoenicia established by his father, against the background of growing Egyptian
ambitions for power over the Southern Levant.
As for Iakin-lû of Arvad, an undated oracular query to the Sungod regards a message
(presumably of political détente) which Assurbanipal wished to send to the Phoenician
253. SAA 16 127, 13–23. An alleged connivance, for economic reasons, between some elements of the As-
syrian court and the local merchants, in opposition to the royal representative, is denounced in a further
part of this letter as well as in SAA 16 128, by the same writer.
254. See Kahn 2004, for the anti-Assyrian actions of this young ruler.
255. RINAP 4 34, 12ʹ–14ʹ (p. 87). Cf. Matty 2016, 102.
256. RINAP 4 32, r.5ʹ–9ʹ (p. 76).
257. RINAP 4 60, 6ʹ–7ʹ (p. 135).
258. See e.g. Na’aman 1994.
ruler.259 On the occasion of Assurbanipal’s first campaign against Egypt, Iakin-lû appears
in a list of 22 Levantine and Cypriot rulers (again with Tyre, Byblos, Samsimuruna, for
the Phoenician cities) as paying him homage and assisting him with men and sea-craft.260
The account of the king’s third campaign stresses the fact that Iakin-lû, together with
the kings of Tabal and Hilakku, paid homage to Assurbanipal and
brought their daughters, their own offspring, to Nineveh to serve as housekeep-

ers, together with a substantial dowry and a large marriage gift, and they kissed
my feet.261
The daughter is omitted in a further account which however relates of the Arvadite’s
yearly tribute: gold, reddish wool, dark wool, fish, and birds. 262 Later, upon the death of
Iakin-lû, his sons Azi-Baʿal, Abi-Baʿal and Aduni-Baʿal, “who reside in the middle of the
sea, came up from the middle of the sea, came with their substantial audience gift(s)” and
paid homage to the Assyrian king. The eldest son was installed as king of Arvad, whereas
the other two brothers were given gifts and taken into royal service.263
Quite different was the fate reserved to Baʿal of Tyre, who — after his military defeat
and his subsequent pardon by Esarhaddon — had promptly recognized the new Assyrian
ruler, thus appearing on the list of faithful vassals in the account of Assurbanipal’s first
campaign (see above).
In 662 BC, however, probably due to a new rebellion, Assurbanipal followed in his
father’s footsteps by setting up blockades at every access point to the city, obtaining
Baʿal’s submission once more.
On my third campaign, I marched against Baʿalu, the king of the land Tyre who
resides in the middle of the sea. Because he did not honor my royal command(s)
(and) did not obey the pronouncement(s) from my lip(s), I set up blockades ag-
ainst him. To prevent his people from leaving, I reinforced (its) garrison. By
sea and dry land, I took control of (all) his routes (and thus) cut off (all) access
259. SAA 4 89.

260. RINAP 5/I 6, ii 25ʹ–55ʹ (p. 118) and passim.This list presents the 22 submissive kings in exactly the same
order, location, and subdivision — first the twelve mainland rulers, then the ten from Cyprus — as the
previous one by Esarhaddon (see fn. 226, above). The sole variations regard the PNs of the kings of
Arvad (previously Mattan-Baʿal, now Iakin-lû) and Bit-Ammon (previously Budi-il, now Ammi-nadbi).
261. RINAP 5/I 4, ii 45ʹ–48ʹ (p. 88) and passim.
262. PNA, 488b; SAACT 10, 102.
263. RINAP 5/I 3, ii 75–86 (p. 64) and passim. Other versions (e.g. ibid., 11, II 82–84 [p. 235]) present seven
further names of heirs: Sapaṭi-Baʿal, Būdi-Baʿal, Baʿal-iašūpu, Baʿal-ḫanūnu, Baʿal-maluku, Abī-Mil-
ki, (and) Aḫī-Milki, who shared Abī-Baʿal and Adūnī-Baʿal's fate as royal servants (ibid., II 90–92).
to him. I made water (and) food for the preservation of their lives scarce for
their mouths. I confined them in a harsh imprisonment from which there was
no escape. I constricted (and) cut short their lives. I made them (the people of
Tyre) bow down to my yoke.264
To ensure Baʿal’s loyalty, his son Yāḫi-Milki, a daughter of his, and several of his nieces
were taken to Nineveh, and Assurbanipal dismantled the circle of surrounding fortifica-
tions and re-opened the trade routes from and to the city.
I dismantled the blockades that I had constructed [agai]nst Baʿalu, the king of
the land Tyre. By sea and dry land, I opened (all of) his routes, as many as I had
seized. I received from him his substantial payment. I returned safely to Nine-
veh, my capital city.265
However, Tyre did not remain loyal and solvent for the duration of Ashurbanipal’s reign
— whether under Baʿal or his successors. Sometime during his third decade on the throne
(ca. 645–642), on a return march from Arabia, the king saw reason to launch an all-out
attack on the southernmost sector of Phoenicia. Ušû, the mainland portion of Tyre, was
attacked and looted due to disobedience against the Assyrian governors. Akko was also
sacked and its people deported.
On my return march, I conquered the city Ušû, whose location is situated on

the shore of the sea. I slew the people of the city Ušû who had not been obedient
to their governors by not giving payment, their annual giving. I rendered judge-
ment on (those) unsubmissive people: I carried off their gods (and) their people
to Assyria. I killed the unsubmissive people of the city Akko. I hung their corpses
on poles (and) placed (them) around the city. I took the rest of them to Assyria.
I conscripted (them) to (my royal) contingent and added (them) to my numerous
troops that (the god) Aššur had granted to me.266
This item is the chronologically last piece of information on Assyrian policy concerning
Phoenicia at present available. However, the downfall under Egyptian control of the pro-
vincial system patiently built up by the Sargonids could have taken place after 620 BC,
as may be desumed from a stela of Psammetichus I dated to 613 BC. 267 Certainly, under
264. RINAP 5/I 3, ii 38–48 (p. 63) and passim. Cf. Matty 2016, 102f.
265. Ibid., 50–62 and passim (the translated passage is = ll. 57–62).
266. RINAP 5/I 11, ix 115–128 (p. 258).
267. Perdu 2002, 39–41; Kahn 2015, 512.
Nebuchadnezzar II, the entire Western horizon became a diffuse area of competition be-
tween Mesopotamian and Egyptian power and/or influence.268
5. Notes on Phoenician Primary and Secondary Production

The mainstays of Phoenician economic organization, beyond a primary production
founded on fishing and agriculture (i.e. combining the available resources of the littoral
and its immediate hinterland), were based at secondary level on industry and applied art
— and in particular on imported raw materials and exported finished products, on the sale
of timber, and on the transit trade of animals, manpower, metals and luxury items from
abroad, with sea transport as the main, but not exclusive, means of conveyance. 269 Some
of these productive sectors have been so long and so amply discussed as to give rise to
oft-repeated writ; but, in point of fact, they nowadays prove to deserve some updates in
basic information and at times more focused perspectives, such as will be briefly at-
tempted here, within the confines of the present author’s competences. The main items
will be taken up by separate points (a-f), for greater clarity.
a. Agriculture and Fishing

Counter to the abundant LBA evidence from Ugarit and Alalakh, only hints in the proph-
ecy of Ezekiel 27:17–18 (see f, below) have reached us concerning the primary production
of the Phoenician coastline and its immediately adjacent regions. 270 However, the recent
detailed study of archaeological assemblages,271 and the ever-developing disciplines of
paleozoology and archaeometrical mineralogy may integrate this vacuum to some extent.
268. Kahn 2008; Da Riva 2015, 603.

269. Elat 1991, 23.
270. With the further — but hardly reliable — exception of the Biblical testimonial in 1 Kings 5:24–25, “So
Hiram gave Solomon timber of cedar and timber of cypress according to all his desire. And Solomon
gave Hiram twenty thousand measures of wheat for food to his household, and twenty measures of
beaten oil; thus gave Solomon to Hiram year by year”. For “beaten oil”, as a high-purity product
deriving from olives crushed by a heavy stone, thus containing much less residual water than through
beam-and-weight pressing, cf. e.g. D. Eitam in Zertal (ed.) 2012, 389.
271. Just to give some examples from recent archaeological evidence: cf. e.g. Haggi 2006, 55, for olive-oil
presses and the relevant warehouses retrieved in early 8 th century layers at Tell Shiqmona, north of
Athlit — which surely, like other centers along the Carmel ridge, provided the nearby Phoenician city-
states with this product (as well as wine). Further downward along the coast, close trade relations have
been posited between Phoenicia and Ekron in Philistia, the most prominent center for olive oil pro-
duction in the Southern Levant, with more than 115 discovered installations for oil production (Gitin
1997, 87–90). In the opposite direction, distinctively Phoenician-type jars were retrieved in unusual
quantity alongside cedar beams at IA 2B Beersheba (Singer-Avitz 2010) as “evidence of the existence
of a trade network by which the products arrived from the Lebanese coast to sites in Judah” (ibid.,
195). Unfortunately, no data on the possible commodities stowed within these jars are available.
Tel Dor, which is nowadays in the position of the best-investigated Phoenician urban
site, has yielded for the EIA abundant bone samples of domestic livestock (sheep, goat,
cattle), with butchery marks indicating the main preparation stages (skinning, dismember-
ing, filleting, cooking). Much rarer is the presence of pack animals, while evidence for
wild fauna (deer, gazelle, auroch, fox) as well as for pig (possibly wild boar), hippopota-
mus and turtle is minimal.272 Birds attested are freshwater fowl (mallard, cormorant, pel-
ican) or grassland species (crane, goose, partridge). Fish remains are of particular interest,
since they indicate — as a major food resource of the site — the combined presence of
Mediterranean varieties such as shark or stingray, mullet, sea bream (presumably captured
rather in the shallow littoral waters than in deep sea), rarer freshwater species (catfish, St.
Peter’s), and Nile varieties (perch, catfish).273
The latter fish species (Lates niloticus) 274 may be associated with the vast quantity
of Egyptian jar specimens and fragments — as judged especially by the type of clay em-
ployed — , which are curiously a virtual unicum of Dor from the LBA to the EIA (excep-
tions being some Cypriot locations and Philistine Ashkelon, with sporadic cases from
other Carmel coastal sites, such as Athlit and Shiqmona, but with no evidence from Tyre
or Sarepta, etc.). Among the possible contents of the Dor Egyptian jars, Nile perch —
indicated by paleozoology, as seen above, as a coveted and presumably prestige commod-
ity at Dor, and which could have been transported by sea in a salted or dried state — rates
high in recent theoretical reconstructions, although other foodstuffs, such as lentils or grain,
should be also (or perhaps even preferably) taken into account.275
Finally, Tel Dor has also marginally yielded a set of micromorphological, mineralog-
ical and phytolithic data in a locus overlooking the southern lagoon, hinting at the “con-
sumer” habits of its ancient inhabitants. Fish remains and burned mollusk shells occur in
various “floors” of the examined statigraphy, while the phytolithic composition of the
plaster of the floors themselves suggests dung-plastered surfaces consistent with in situ
primary livestock deposition (in accumulations even half a metre thick). In sum, the long-
term activities of livestock stabling and fish processing could have regularly practiced in
272. Sapir-Hen et al. 2014.

273. Raban-Gerstel et al. 2008.
274. See Van Neer et al. 2004, 103f., for the observation that in Western Asia “most finds of Lates niloticus
date to the Bronze Age and younger periods, when commercial relationships with Egypt were well
established”. Finds of Nile perch are recorded also in Jerusalem, at Beersheba, Kuntillet ʿAjrud and
Tell el-Hesi in the Negev, Lachish in the Shephelah, Ashkelon and Ekron on the coastal plain, as noted
by Walton 2015, 94f., who states that “looking at the pattern and extent of their distribution suggests
a large overland network connecting the southern Levant to Egypt”.
275. See Gilboa 2015, 255f., who further recalls that the Wenamun story actually mentions fish packed in
sacks or baskets for delivery from Egypt to Byblos.
the examined structures at Dor, to be dated to the EIA.276
b. Purple
Purple dye, to be used on textiles, was drawn from the glandal mucus of several species
of predatory, carnivorous sea-snails of the Muricidae family, to be found in mid-depth
waters along the coastline or in shallow, sandy coves,277 through a time-consuming ex-
tractive and work process.278 It came to represent an industry of prestige goods in which
the Phoenicians became prominent specialists — albeit quite surely in competition with
various other centers in the Eastern Mediterranean279 — and diffused their coloured wo-
ven products both eastwards to Mesopotamia and westwards, as is attested both by textual
evidence and archeological data.280 It is nowadays clear that LBA Ugarit already had
flourishing purple-dyeing establishments — located in Minet el-Beida, but possibly also
at Ras Ibn Hani281 — which produced blue/violet (hyacinth) or red/violet (later called
“Tyrian purple”) hue.282 Even earlier Minoan origins for the latter hue have been
276. Shahack-Gross et al. 2005.

277. As recalled by Koren (1995, 117f.), “purple” is a term referring to the general color of the raw pigment,
and is also used to describe textiles dyed with the substance. However, the actual color of the pigment
may range from reddish purple to violet (or bluish purple), depending on the relative compositions of
the dye components, and the dyed textiles may range in color from reddish purple, violet, blue, and
even turquoise, also depending on the stage (before/after/during dyeing) in which specific processing
techniques were employed.
278. Of late, a hands-on (experimental-archaeological) approach to reconstructing Murex dye production
(Ruscillo 2005, for Kommos in Crete) has revealed many previously unclear aspects involved in the
productive process, among which the following may be quoted: Murex individuals were probably
baited and hand collected during antiquity; Murex dye is colour-fast even without the use of additives
and mordants (e.g. the color remains fast on the hands for weeks), although deeper colors are reached
with minimal water addition to the dye glands, and a urine additive makes the purple dye more vibrant;
steeping for three days produces a deep vibrant purple; wool absorbed the most dye and attained the
deepest shades vis-à-vis other materials; the number of human hours used to produce one garment is
substantial, not considering the arduous tasks Murex dye production involve (ibid., 105).
279. See e.g. Singer 2008, for dyeing at LBA Lazpa (Lesbos). D. Reese indicates numerous sites in Crete
(mainly of Minoan date) and Cyprus — Hala Sultan Tekke, Pyrgos-Marvoraki, Polis (Marion), Palaeo-
paphos (Kouklia), Kourion, Enkomi — in which dumps of murex shells have been retrieved (personal
communication).
280. See overviews on the subject in Fales 1992–93; 1998. For Classical sources linking the Phoenicians
with purple, the monograph by Reinhold 1970 may still be usefully consulted. Basic references to
Phoenician purple are Doumet & Lipiński 1992; Doumet 1999, for the three main species of molluscs
for purple production on the Levantine coast, i.e. the two Murex types (see fn. 282, below) and Thais
(Purpura) haemastoma (now better defined as Stramonita haemastoma — D. Reese, personal com-
munication).
281. Schaeffer 1951; and cf. now Matoïan & Vita 2009, 487.
282. Resp. tekēlet and ʾargāmān in Biblical Hebrew, takiltu and argamannu in Akkadian: see the still basic
study on the double namings of the colours for purple in Akkadian (and Semitic) by Landsberger 1967,
claimed,283 although imports of dyed wool may have come to Mesopotamia from shells
processed in Qatar via Kassite Babylonia at the time.284
In any case, it may be affirmed that the Phoenicians took up time-honoured skills and
well-tested techniques, and spread them far and wide — to Greece, North Africa, Italy —
apparently with an unprecedented experimental and commercial approach.285 Dumps of
mollusc shells from numerous Phoenician cities have been reported or found, as e.g. from
Sarepta,286 Beirut, Tyre, Sidon,287 but actual evidence of dyeing installations is quite rare
— e.g. at Dor, Akko, Tel Keisan,Tel Shiqmona,288 and more recently at Tell Abu Ha-
wam.289 Undoubtedly, however, with the Assyrian conquest the spread of purple-colored
garments became a crucial symbol of imperial prestige and power.290
c. Ivory
If the widespread retrieval of shells of Muricidae in ancient Lebanese sites poses no prob-
lem for a straightforward and primary connection of the Phoenicians with the dyeing in-
dustry, the case of the manufacture, trade and diffusion of ivory presents a fully different
163f. In general, of the two main species employed, Murex trunculus (“banded murex”) yields the
blue-violet color, whereas Murex brandaris (“spiny murex”) forms the reddish-purple color, although
natural — and of course chemical — processes may alter these hues (cf. McGovern & Michel 1990,
esp. 138f.).
283. Stieglitz 1994.
284. Edens 1999.
285. Cf. Acquaro 1998, for the Punic horizon.
286. Reese 2010.
287. Reese (personal communication).
288. Karmon & Spanier 1988, 184, with previous refs.; Peyronel 2006, 57f.
289. Baruch et al. 2005. Of a certain interest, in this well-researched archaeomalacological study derived
from a rescue excavation, is the suggested provenance of two species of molluscs as indicators of the
inhabitants’ commercial relations with the Red Sea and the Nile (cf. fns. 273–275, above, for fish).
290. Just by way of example, Shalmaneser III specifically mentions argamannu as item of booty and tribute
from the north Syrian area: “I received the tribute of Qalparunda of Unqi, (of) Mutallu of Gurgum,
(of) Hayānu of Samʾal, (and of) Aramu, the man of Bīt-Agūsi: silver, gold, tin, bronze, iron, bronze,
red purple wool, elephant ivory, garments with multicoloured trim, linen garments, oxen, sheep, wine,
(and) ducks” (RIMA 3 A.0.102.1, 93ʹ–95ʹ [p. 11]); this tribute is further specified in another version
of the same episode: “I received from Qalparunda, the Patinean, three talents of gold, 100 talents of
silver, 300 talents of bronze, 300 talents of iron, 1,000 bronze casseroles, 1,000 linen garments with
multi-coloured trim, his daughter with her rich dowry, twenty talents of red purple wool, 500 oxen,
(and) 5,000 sheep. I imposed upon him as annual tribute one talent of silver, two talents of red purple
wool, (and) 100 cedar beams, (and) I regularly receive (it) in my city, Aššur” (RIMA 3 A.0.102.2., ii
21–24 [p. 18]). Sangara of Karkemish was also one of the providers of red purple wool, with a booty
of 20 talents, and a yearly tribute of 2 talents (ibid., 27–29). Although Unqi/Pattina is actually a coastal
state, purple was drawn also from inland polities, as product of interstate commerce, as had already
been the case for Aššurnaṣirpal II (Liverani 1992, 160).
profile, with many obscure areas and issues. Ivory, derived from tusks of the hippopota-
mus or of the African/“Syrian” elephant,291 represents an item well known in the Meso-
potamian milieu in the Bronze Age and especially attested in the rich and productive pa-
latial milieus of Egypt and the Levant in the LBA for the production of luxury goods —
e.g. in the case of the vast hoard of ivory plaques from Megiddo VIIA (12th century BC).292
As for the IA, Phoenicia itself and inner Syria have provided virtually no “indige-
nous” archaeological evidence for ivory production.293 However, many urban/palatial
pre-/extra-Assyrian contexts in the surrounding areas of Syria-Palestine — Zincirlı, Hama,
Samaria — and the Assyrian(-age) contexts of Hasanlu, Khorsabad, Tell Tayinat, Tell
Halaf, Arslan Tash, Til Barsip, culminating in the vast collection of the Assyrian capital
Nimrud, both in its palaces/temples and in its royal arsenal (Fort Shalmaneser),294 as well
as excavated contexts/levels in Cyprus, Samos, Etruria, Carthage, and Spain, have yielded
exemplars or actual collections of ivory work, which thus forms one of the major — and
most widespread — categories of remains available from the 9th–7th centuries.295
Thus, although no unequivocal Akkadian or West Semitic textual attestations may be
summoned linking the organization of craft production in Phoenician cities with ivory
carving,296 this vast geographic range of material retrievals has implicitly pointed, since
291. Moorey 1994, 115f., who notes that hippopotamus ivory was abundant in LBA Syria, much less so in
the IA, perhaps due to population decline; and see ibid., 116–119, for the African elephant as the most
frequent source of IA Western Asiatic ivory, through Egypt, North Africa, Cyprus and Rhodes. A vivid
picture of the skills and techniques required for elephant hunting in inland Africa, drawn from later
periods, but possibly applicable to the IA as well, is traced by Feldman 2014, 27. For the Syrian ele-
phant, see fn. 145, above.
292. Loud 1939; and see the critical analyses by Feldman 2009; 2013.
293. As clarified by Nunn 2007, 129; but see some cases in Winter 1976, 13f.
294. As is well known, A.H. Layard (1845) discovered ivories in the NW Palace, the largely forgotten geo-
logist W.K. Loftus (1854) in the Central Palace and Burnt Palace (publication: Barnett 1975 2); M.E.L.
Mallowan (1949ff.) in the NW Palace, Ezida temple and the so-called Town Wall Houses (publication:
Mallowan 1966), and David Oates (late 1950s–early 1960s) discovered the main group of Nimrud iv-
ories at Fort Shalmaneser (publication: Herrmann et al. 2004). Finally, an Iraqi team discovered more
ivories in the NW palace (Safar & al-Iraqi 1987). Overall, more than 6,000 published pieces are avail-
able from Nimrud (Suter 2015, 32). Moreover, some 1,100 complete or fragmentary pieces excavated
by the Centro Scavi of Turin at Fort Shalmaneser between 1987 and 1990 are still unpublished (Fiorina
2008).
295. A remark by Feldman (2012, 200) combines the point of the vast quantities of IA Levantine(-ge-
nerated) ivory production with its presumably consistent elite destination: “The enormous quantities
of ivory produced during a fairly short period of time (maybe two or three hundred years), the generally
high quality of its carving, and its archaeological association primarily with palatial structures when
found in the Levant suggest that access to and consumption of ivory was closely linked to bodies of
ruling elites and that ivory participated in a pan-Levantine culture as a prestige marker”. See also the
same clause in Feldman 2014, 27.
296. E.g. a complete Phoenician dedicatory inscription on an ivory object comes from a plaque discovered
the outset, to the Phoenicians as executors and/or traders of this specific class of artwork
— a position that nowadays, in the general critical deconstruction of “Phoenicia/ns”, has
been sometimes exposed, perhaps with a slight sense of frustration, as tainted by hints of
circular reasoning.297
Ivory with intricately carved figurative scenes was used for cosmetic items (pyxides
and handbowls); fixtures or inlaid decorative parts for household furniture, ceremonial
tables, thrones and chariots; handles or staves for luxury apparel (mirrors, fly-whisks,
even daggers and swords); and for horse ornaments. Since the earliest discoveries, various
attempts have been made to explain the thematic context of the repertoires in its fixed
elements and its countless variations: a “semantic” search for mythological and ritual el-
ements has progressively given way to emphasis on religious symbolism, on apotropaic-
beneficent meanings, even on representations of power and prestige — but with no com-
monly accepted interpretation, and certainly not encompassing a representative swathe of
production.298 However, on the basis of variations in style and iconography — i.e. using
the time-honored “connoisseurial method” — numerous available ivory pieces and frag-
ments have been assigned over time to different possible regional styles (or “traditions”,
at times conflated with “schools”/“workshops”, etc.). We thus have a “Phoenician” group,
marked by plentiful and recurrent Egyptian(izing) motifs,299 vs. a “North Syrian” one, re-
in 1974 at Sarepta, while a further, somewhat similar, one is from Mesopotamia, i.e. the well-known
“Ur box” from Leonard Woolley’s excavations: see e.g. Amadasi Guzzo 1990, for datings between
the 7th and the 6th century BC.
297. See e.g. Di Paolo 1996, 160, for a passage which, due to its relevance to the subject at hand, is here
given in translation (by the present author): “The insistence on the Phoenician origin of a nucleus of
Nimrud ivories is rather perplexing, especially considering the fact that what is meant by Phoenician
has never been clarified. In this regard, the distinction made by F. Poulsen in 1912 between ivories of
pure Egyptian style (imported) and mixed style ivories, attributable to Tyrian and Sidonian craftsmen,
seems paradoxical, since once more the figurative and stylistic elements attributable exclusively to
Phoenician art are not identified critically, but are visually enucleated, i.e. as non-Egyptian products.
The indeterminacy that is traditionally associated with the adjective ‘Phoenician’, only partly just-
ified by the impossibility of making a global assessment of Phoenician culture due to the lack of artistic
evidence in this regard, is a constant also in the history of studies on the Nimrud ivories”. The reference
is to the pioneering classificatory work by Poulsen 1912, 38; and see also fn. 299, below.
298. See the historical overview by Suter 2011, 221f., with specific literature. On a different line of rea-
soning, Feldman (2014, 50) has suggested that Levantine ivories be considered in the light of Alfred
Gell’s theory of “enchantment by technical virtuosity … the spell-like effect that skilfully crafted ob-
jects exert on viewers who can fathom but not replicate the processes by which they came into being”.
This effect would be crucial in construing a double community, formed by a network of makers (crafts-
men) and a network of consumers/viewers.
299. See already Barnett 1935. Among its many focal points, this pioneering study not only illustrated the
history of the very first identification by C. Lenormant of the “Egyptian appearance”, and “pseudo-
Egyptian workmanship” in many ivories as a hallmark of Phoenician art — and its eventual confirma-
tion for Nimrud through the rare Phoenician appended inscriptions, as well as through parallels from
miniscent of “Syro-Hittite” sculpture.300 A “South Syrian” or Damascene/Samarian work-
shop style has also been posited,301 whereas, in purely Assyrian contexts, an “Assyrian
style” reminiscent of that of limestone palace bas-reliefs was also theorized.302
In recent studies, on the other hand, most of this classification has been confronted
in various ways: by considering the connoisseurial approach dense with pitfalls,303 by cri-
tically casting in doubt the traditional (art-historical) vs. the practical (archaeological) ap-
plicability of the concept of “workshop” to IA ivory production, 304 and finally by shifting
the emphasis from “canonical” locally-fixed styles to the “interconnected” cultural land-
scape of the IA Levant.305 At present, this entire range of discussions has resulted in (be-
latedly) recognizing that the Samaria ivories, originally labeled — essentially on the basis
of the Biblical information on King Ahab and his Phoenician wife Jezebel — as a “for-
eign” import at the court of Israel,306 actually represent an excellent case-study of a truly
Levantine artisanal tradition, which moreover proves to have parallels and connections
with a number of figurative results eastwards and westwards, i.e. both in Assyria and in
the Eastern Mediterranean.307 To sum up, whether actually “Phoenician” or “Phoenician-
influenced”, a Levantine identity in IA ivory-carving tradition would seem to have been
attained at present with the Samaria corpus — thus reopening the entire discussion on the
latter’s overall classification within the “community of artefacts” represented by IA ivory
the later retrieved corpuses at Samaria and Arslan Tash. It also indicated that Egyptian elements in
Phoenician art — explained as a “degree of approximation” to Egyptian iconography, “which was
most likely closest in the chief cities of Phoenicia, that had been in commercial and political contact
with Egypt from time immemorial”: ibid., 199 — should be also viewed in the domain of seals, and
especially in the 1st-millennium scarab type with true figurative scenes, so that “amid these cross-
currents of borrowing the art of the Nimrud Ivories can compare to advantage with some other kindred
branches of art in Phoenicia” (ibid., 200). Of course, the by now immense field of studies on I A
Levantine scarabs — to a large extent referrable to the school of Othmar Keel at Fribourg — cannot
be included within the confines of the present essay. However, the author would like to point out two
recent case-studies of particular interest, tied to the Fribourg school in different ways: Gilboa et al.
2004, in which a group of stratified scarab seals from Dor is used as a benchmark for the well-known,
and enduring, “controversy of the 10th century BC” in Levantine chronology; and Boschloos 2014,
which gives evidence for a Phoenician IA 2 scarab seal workshop at Tyre, with parallels from Achziv
and Kition.
300. Winter 1976; for possible further subdivisions within this group, see Herrmann 1989; Wicke 2005.
301. Winter 1981.
302. Mallowan & Davies 1970.
303. Feldman 2014, 18–26.
304. Di Paolo 2014.
305. Suter 2015, 39.
306. A biased label which moreover had not — at the same time — given rise to a possible evaluation of
their style as the closest imaginable one to an alleged “Phoenician” canon, for a variety of reasons (as
explained by Naeh 2015, 81 fn. 5).
307. Ibid., 87–90.
production.308
This said, however, if one considers the complex of IA ivory craftsmanship from the
exclusive viewpoint of its findspots within the Assyrian empire, a relatively traditional,
but still apparently valid, picture may be drawn. Save for the so-called “Assyrian-style”
group, which most likely was manufactured within the imperial capitals themselves, the
majority of the pieces could/should have been imported to Assyria as “gifts”, tribute, or
booty from the Levant, as some sparse West Semitic alphabetic signs on them might also
suggest.309 However, some retrieved remnants of unworked elephant tusks, e.g. at Nim-
rud310 — such as are also recorded in numerous Assyrian booty lists, and depicted as
coming from Karkemish in Aššurnaṣirpal II’s Balawat Gates and from Pattina on Shal-
maneser III’s Black Obelisk311 — also suggest craftsmanship in situ by deportees from
the West, who would have carved them in their native styles.
Finally, it may be asked to what extent this myriad of delicate ivory pieces/fixtures
was appreciated by their recipients at various social levels (from kings to commoners),
and which could have been the inherent reasons for its accumulation. Despite many fig-
urative depictions on the use of elaborate ivory panels in Assyrian furniture (e.g. in As-
surbanipal’s throne in the famous “garden scene” from Nineveh),312 ivory is almost absent
from the tombs of the Assyrian queens at Nimrud, in contrast to gold objects, jewelry,
clothing, and pottery of many kinds.313 Thus, although it is obvious that ivory in foreign
styles was acquired by the Assyrian courts in bulk, it could have mainly been put in stor-
age, and, as has been suggested, “there is little evidence to prove that the Neo-Assyrian
kings and queens actually liked it”,314 e.g. differently from what seems to have been the
case in some Levantine courts, such as Samaria,315 and perhaps differently from the re-
ception of exemplars in Assyrian style. In sum, the IA Assyrians might have entertained
308. Di Paolo 2015, 72. The possible existence of Phoenician specialized (even “luxury”) workshops out-
side the “homeland”, from southern Anatolia to Inner Syria to Palestine, was already surmised, e.g. by
Bunnens (1985, 129).
309. Millard 1962; Herrmann 2008. For the inscriptions on the ivories from Arslan Tash, see Amadasi
Guzzo forthcoming.
310. Mallowan 1966, 451f.; Moorey 1994, 123. The same case occurs at Samaria, and — as has been noted
(Oggiano in Botto & Oggiano 2003, 133) — “The presence of the Samaria laboratory … opens up
once more the problem of the location of the workshops within the walls of the palace, suggesting that
at least some of them, especially those in which precious materials were employed, could be strictly
controlled by the palace authorities” (translation by the present author).
311. Cf. Aruz 2014, 120.
312. Cf. Feldman 2014, 100f.
313. Publication of the finds was given in Damerji 1999. Further contributions in Curtis et al. 2008, passim;
Hussein 2014.
314. Herrmann & Millard 2003, 398.
315. See, however, Thomason 2004, 159f., for a different view, based on diachronical considerations.
a more restricted aesthetic taste than in earlier native tradition, which, instead — judging
e.g. from the many elegant artifacts (also of ivory) of the 13th century tomb of Babu-aḫu-
iddina at Assur316 — was fully in line with the rich and complex “international style” of
the LBA.
d. Timber and Wood

A mainstay of Phoenician commerce stemmed from the exploitation and sale of strong
and resilient timber in their homeland and in the immediate environs. As is well known,
the coastal belt of southwestern Turkey and the Levant forms the Mediterranean phyto-
geographical region, where a number of species of timber trees are attested since Antiq-
uity: essentially Cedrus libani/cedar of Lebanon, Quercus/evergreen oak, Fraxinus/ash
tree, Pinus halepensis/Aleppo pine, Platanus orientalis/plane tree, Abies cilicica/Cilician
fir, and Cupressus sempervirens /cypress.317 These and other species,widespread in areas
further inland (from Juniperus/juniper to Ulmus/elm tree, Pistacia atlantica/Atlantic pis-
tachio, Pistacia palaestina/terebinth, Taxus/yew, Buxus/box tree or boxwood, and Tama-
rix aphylla/tamarisk, etc.), were exploited for the gathering of fuel (as dry wood, with
shrubs), or felled for architectural purposes (as roof beams in mud-brick buildings), boat-
building, or hewn in various ways for use in wood-paneling and furniture making. On the
other hand, this general phytogeographical picture requires verification through palyno-
logical (pollen stratigraphical) analysis, as well as — possibly — dendrochronology on
retrieved exemplars, in order to determine whether particular species were extant, and in
what numbers, in specific environments over time: and problems of sampling and inter-
pretation have at times hindered concrete results.318
A further viable perspective on the matter is thus to take account of the information
that the ARI provide of the Assyrian kings’ abundant “withdrawals” of timber and wood
from the Transeuphratene; in particular, the Assyrian exploitation of the cedars of the Le-
banon has not escaped the attention of previous researchers.319 At a more detailed obser-
vation, however,320 the timber taken in the West for various building operations by Assyr-
ian rulers proves to derive from four (or perhaps only three) different Levantine mountain
ranges, i.e. the Lebanon, the Amanus, the Anti-Lebanon (Ammanana), and/or Mt. Her-
mon (Sirara),321 and it is represented — alongside the renowned cedar — , also by two
316. Feldman 2006.

317. Wilcox 1992, 2.
318. See e.g. Bottema 1984, on methodological issues; and Liphschitz & Biger 2001 on the alleged presence
of Aleppo pine in the mountains of Israel, with mainly negative results.
319. See in general Elayi 1988; Zaccagnini 1996.
320. Such as was carried out in a seminal study by Postgate 1992.
321. It may be noted that Sirara (Hermon) does not appear before Sennacherib’s annals, and thus was pro-
species of juniper, cypress, boxwood, and a further conifer (liāru, perhaps a type of fir).322
Save for cypress (šurmēnu), which is also mentioned in connection with other regions
of the empire, these species seem to have had no other major area of exploitation for the
Assyrians than the Levant. They thus formed a surely important sector of wood procure-
ment — especially in view of their utilization in public architecture — albeit limited in
gamut, if one considers that the entire range of wood species known and exploited by the
Assyrian rulers, such as may be uniquely made out from Aššurnaṣirpal II’s “banquet” text
from Nimrud, comprised some 40 types of trees/plants.323
The following chart gives the attestations of Levantine wood species explicitly men-
tioned as such in the ARI:
burāšu
Aššurnaṣirpal II Amanus (timber) RIMA 2 A.0.101.1, 88–90 (p. 219)
“a juniper”
RIMA 3 A.0.102.2, ii 6–10 (p. 17);
Shalmaneser III Amanus beams
A.0.102.10, iv 17–18 (p. 55)
daprānu
“a juniper”
Tiglath-pileser III Lebanon door See wood
erēnu
Tiglath-pileser I Lebanon Temple, palace RIMA 2 A.0.87.3, 16–17 (p. 37)324
“cedar”
Lebanon doors, roof beams RIMA 2 A.0.101.50, 26–30 (p. 320)
RIMA 3 A.0.102.2, ii 6–10 (p. 17);
Shalmaneser III Amanus beams A.0.102.6, iii 15 (p. 38); A.0.102.10, iv
17–18 (p. 55); A.0.102.14, 140 (p. 69)
bably a substitute for Ammanana, which disappears at the same time: both toponyms should thus refer
to the Anti-Lebanon range (as suggested by Cogan 1984, 258).
322. Postgate 1992, 182. As recalled above (§2, fn. 110), the transfer of the timber from the Levant to As-
syria was effected partially on land, partially by boat. A presumable first objective could have been
the Orontes, navigable downstream (barring swampy areas) from south to north; then possibly a trans-
fer by water (using the Karasu or Afrin) or overland toward the Euphrates, which could have been
navigated at least as far south as its intersection with the Khabur; from there an upstream tow to the
Khabur triangle in its eastern ramifications, or a last eastward lunge on carts on the well-trodden tracks
of the Jezirah toward the Tigris, would have brought the logs to their final destination. See Fales 1983b
for a general picture.
323. The following arboreal species — mostly of uncertain identification — are mentioned in this text as
having been encountered in the course of Aššurnaṣirpal’s military expeditions far and wide: “In the
lands through which I marched and the highlands which I traversed, the trees (and) plants (lit. ‘seeds’)
which I saw were: cedar, cypress, šimiššalû, burāšu-juniper, …, daprānu-juniper, almond, date, ebony,
meskannu, olive, ṣuṣūnu, oak, tamarisk, dukdu, terebinth and murranu, meḫru, …, tiyatu, Kanish-oak,
haluppu, (45) ṣadanu, pomegranate, šallūru, fir, ingirašu, pear, quince, fig, grapevines, angašu pear,
ṣumlalû, titipu, ṣippūtu, zanzaliqqu, ‘swamp-apple”, ḫambuququ, nuḫurtu, urzīnu, and kanaktu”
(RIMA 2 A.0.101.30, 40–46 [p. 290]).
324. And passim for duplicates.
RIMA 3 A.0.104.7 (p. 211); also
Adad-nirari III Lebanon palaces, temples
Radner 2012, 270f., ll. 12–18
Lebanon, Amanus,
Tiglath-pileser III roof beams RINAP 1 47, r.26ʹ–27ʹ (p. 12)
Ammanana
Sargon Amanus columns Fuchs 1994, 436
Sennacherib Amanus roof beams RINAP 3/II 165, 9–10 (p. 235)
Amanus, Sirara roof beams RINAP 3/II 46, 125–127 (p. 85)
Amanus columns, doors RINAP 3/II 46, 147 (p. 87)
RINAP 4 1, v 75 (p. 23); 77, 53 (p.
Lebanon, Amanus,
Esarhaddon roof beams 156); 79, 9ʹ (p. 162); 93, 28 (p. 176);
Sirara
104, iv 2–3 (p. 198)
RINAP 5/I 51–52 (p. 206); 11, x 98–
Assurbanipal Lebanon, Sirara roof beams
99 (p. 261)
Lebanon, Amanus roof beams RINAP 5/II, passim.325
liāru
Sennacherib Amanus doors RINAP 3/II 165, 10–12 (p. 235)
“(a conifer)”
šurmēnu
Aššurnaṣirpall II Amanus doors RIMA 2 A.0.101.1, 88–90 (p. 219)
“cypress”
Lebanon (timber) RIMA 2 A.0.101.50, 26–27 (p. 320)
Sennacherib Amanus, Sirara roof beams RINAP 3/II 46, 125–127 (p. 85)
RINAP 4 1, v 75 (p. 23); 2, v 2 (p.
Esarhaddon Lebanon, Sirara roof beams
33); 57, vi 7–8 (p. 127)
Assurbanipal Lebanon, Sirara doors RINAP 5/II, passim326
Lebanon, Amanus roof beams RINAP 5/II, passim327
taskarinnu
Tiglath-pileser I Lebanon palace RIMA 2 A.0.87.5, 1ʹ–4ʹ (p. 46)
“boxwood”
“boxwood RINAP 1 13, 6 (p. 42); 30, 2 (p. 74);
Tiglath-pileser III Ammanana
mountain” 35, ii 19ʹ (p. 86)328
“boxwood, musuk-
wood Tribute from Hatti kannu-wood,
as tribute/ Tiglath-pileser III (and Arameans/ c[eda]r, šurmēnu, RINAP 1 47, r.23ʹ–24ʹ (p. 123)
booty Chaldeans) [burāšu, and] da-
prānu”329
Chart 2. The exploitation of the Levantine mountain ranges for wood in the ARI
(after Postgate 1992, with updated references and some additions).
325. This volume had not yet appeared at the time of this writing. Postgate’s quote goes back to Streck
1916, 246f. (ll. 58–60).
326. This volume had not yet appeared at the time of this writing. Postgate’s quote goes back to Streck
1916, 70 — but this reference seems erroneous.
327. Same quote as in fn. 325, above.
328. See fn. 201, above.
329. A further reference of Postgate’s to Esarhaddon for “wood” from “Phoenicia” goes back to the “ebony
and boxwood” (usû taskarinnu) taken from the Sidonian Abdi-Milkūti’s palace in RINAP 4 1, ii 76
(p. 16 ) (and passim) — but there is no actual reference to the place of origin of these two species with-
in the quoted booty list, as in various other similar cases.
As may be seen, the Assyrian rulers would seem to have considered the various mountain
ranges within the Mediterranean belt mentioned above to a certain extent as a single ex-
ploitable sylvan environment, from north (the Amanus) to south (Mt. Hermon), with the
Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon at its center. Despite the possible concentration of particular
species (such as burāšu and liāru) only in some of such areas, or — alternatively — de-
spite the possibility that the kings (and/or their logging experts) knew of, and appreciated,
some fine points of difference in the nature/worth of the relevant woodlands,330 it is a fact
that they seem to have used all the named ranges to obtain products for basically similar
architectural or carpentry purposes.331
On the other hand, if one were to pose the (partially idle) question of a possible ab-
solute preference on the part of the Assyrians among these environments, it may be sug-
gested that the Amanus range was considered the most luxuriant area of the lot. Especially
in the inscriptions of Sargon and his successors, the uprooting and transport of various
types of trees from Levantine mountains (and quite likely from elsewhere as well), so as
to build vast and diversified floral collections and parks in the royal palace precincts “like
Mt. Amanus”, is amply attested.332 To be sure, the geographical reference to this Levan-
tine mountain range might be viewed as a mere catchword within a hyperbolic statement,
but even this would not deter from the possible priority of the Amanus in the sphere of
Assyrian environmental appreciation.
Of a certain interest, on the other hand, is that in the sole West Semitic text which
gives indirectly a full overview of the Levantine woodlands exploited by the Phoenicians
— i.e. the initial verses of Ezekiel’s famed prophecy against Tyre, relevant to the “ship
Tyre” — the Amanus is entirely absent, whereas Bashan (between the Golan and the Her-
mon) and Cyprus are also included, alongside the mountains also known from the ARI,
i.e. Senir (the Hermon) and the Lebanon:
(Of) juniper from Senir they built for you all planks (on both sides), cedar from
Lebanon they took to make a mast over you; / (of) oaks from Bashan were made
your oars, your bench(es) they made (of) ivory (inlaid) in cypress(-wood) from
330. As possibly implied in the Mesopotamian textual evidence by a set of connections between mountain
ranges and particular types of trees, dubbed by Michael Rowton “Tree-toponyms” (1967, 265–274).
331. And for secondary uses: e.g. the resin of cedar was also employed for caulking boats and for treating
illnesses (Kuniholm 1997), while the wood itself was used for purposes of fumigation (see e.g. Rehm
2010, 450). For a tribute comprising a significant amount of cedar resin, see e.g. Shalmaneser III in
RIMA 3 1.0.102.2, ii 26 (p. 18), relevant to Ḫayānu of Samʾal: “I imposed upon him as tribute ten
minas of silver, 100 cedar beams, (and) one homer of cedar resin (dām erēni), (and) I receive (it)
annually”.
332. Reade 2004, 258–262.
the island(!) of Cypriots.333
e. Metals
The traditional scenario indicates a major technological innovation occurring all over the
Near East between the end of the 2nd millennium and the early centuries of the 1st millen-
nium: the shift from bronze to iron. In point of fact, however, this scenario is nowadays
to be revised to a certain extent: copper, the most widely employed of non-precious metals
both in Mesopotamia and the Levant, remained fully in use — especially in its alloyed
state with tin and other ingredients (bronze) — for tools, weapons, and luxury objects all
through the IA, although it was increasingly flanked and to a certain extent replaced by
iron.334
It is widely assumed that Cyprus and Anatolia may have been the main copper
sources for the Levant already in the 2nd millennium, and both areas also represented a
major, although not exclusive, source of import of this metal for Mesopotamia as well.
On the other hand, tin deposits are virtually absent throughout the Near East (including
Anatolia), and this metal must have traditionally arrived — at high costs — from areas
east of Mesopotamia,335 being brought up the Euphrates, and thence redistributed west-
wards; it follows that also unalloyed copper or arsenical copper by itself must have been
in use.
From the early 1st millennium onward, Cyprus remained a pre-eminent producer of
copper/bronze in the eastern Mediterranean; the metal-rich areas of the Troodos moun-
tains made Kition a continuously important site for the control of exploitation and trade
of copper, especially in relation to nearby Tyre.336 However, growing evidence shows that
traffic of raw copper or manufactured bronze goods expanded to comprise locally active
zones at greater distance or even revitalized mining areas, such as the Aravah in the ter-
ritory of ancient Edom,337 thus yielding a tempting picture of widespread interareal ex-
change, and opening the way for a later direct interest of the conquering Assyrians in the
333. Ezek. 27: 5–6. The translation given here follows that of Diakonoff, with annexed critical commentary
(1992, 172). See also fn. 128, above, for other species of wood used in shipbuilding. It may be further
noted that the LBA Uluburun shipwreck gives evidence for the association of cedars of Lebanon and
oaks, since the ship’s planks, made of cedars of Lebanon, were joined together by oak tenons inserted
into mortises and then locked in place with oak pegs (Katz 2008, 132).
334. Moorey 1994, 242, 263. For the attestations of metals (and especially bronze) in Phoenician and Punic
inscriptions, see Zamora Lopez 2015.
335. See Pigott 2012 for a recently discovered tin source in the Zagros.
336. See e.g. Yon 1997; Aubet 20012, 50–54. Artzy 2012, for the earliest phases.
337. Both on the western flank, e.g. at Timnaʿ, and to the East at Wadi Faynan: cf. Ben-Yosef et al. 2009;
2012.
relevant output.338 As for tin in the 1st millennium, Assyria may have continued to benefit
from its eastern sources of import, as well as profiting from Western Mediterranean sup-
plies (e.g. Sardinia, the Iberian peninsula, etc.), brought to the Levant on Phoenician
ships.339
Iron was preferred for its mechanical qualities (strength; hardness; capacity to take/
hold a good cutting edge), despite the time and labor involved in its manufacture, starting
out from ferrous minerals (magnetite, etc.) extracted through mining, and entailing a com-
plex process of smelting, addition of carbon, quenching, hammering, and tempering
through heat. These techniques seem to have originated in the Levant between the 12 th
and 11th centuries,340 possibly as chance offshoots of copper smelting,341 and they spread
rapidly: the traditional view that they were introduced in Assyria slightly later than else-
where, and often with imperfect technology, would seem nowadays disproved. 342 But
economic reasons were also involved: although copper was the cheapest of metals until
600 BC, its counterpart — tin — was rare and expensive, thus making iron the most con-
venient choice, also due to abundant deposits of iron ore in almost every region.343
Copper (and much more rarely tin), or iron, usually in ingots of standard weight,
feature prominently in the ARI from the 9th century onward, as importants items of booty
or tribute drawn from several kingdoms in southern Anatolia, upper Mesopotamia, or the
Levant (e.g. Pattina and Damascus).344 Such mentions of metals in the local treasuries of
the subjected kingdoms do not point directly to their possible places of origin (although
they may suggest their locations close by, e.g. Cyprus for the Phoenician cities, the Taurus
for Pattina), but are especially useful to indicate a relatively widespread inter-regional cir-
culation of such metals as products of trade and/or prestige gifts.345 This picture is con-
firmed by archaeological finds of luxury goods pointing to North Syria, e.g. at Zincirlı or
Tell Tayinat, or originating therefrom and retrieved elsewhere — such as a bimetallic
mace-head from Nimrud with the name of the mid-8th century king Matiʿ-ʾel of Arpad, or
the decorated horse frontlet with a text referring to Ḥazā-ʾel of Damascus retrieved in a
deposit of the Heraion temple of Samos.346 The import of western iron from the Levant
338. Millard 1992.

339. See e.g. Zaccagnini 1990, 498.
340. Muhly 1997, 13.
341. Gale et al. 1990; for Cyprus, cf. Sherratt 1994, 66.
342. Curtis 2013, 144–147, for a new perspective, albeit still admittedly marked by a number of open ques-
tions, on the matter.
343. Zaccagnini 1990, 502. For Anatolia, see e.g. Yener et al. 1996.
344. For the iron ingots known from excavations in Assyria, see most recently Curtis 2013, 127–129.
345. Liverani 1992, 161.
346. Winter 1988; see more recently Fales 2006, with previous literature.
(Cyprus, Lebanon, Cilicia, etc.) would continue in the Neo-Babylonian period.347
As for archaeological evidence of finished metal products of possible Phoenician
origin, two cases may be quoted. The best-known example is that of the large cache of
embossed and decorated bronze bowls discovered by A.H. Layard in room AB (the
“Room of the Bronzes”) in the NW palace of Aššurnaṣirpal II at Kalhu, together with
many undecorated exemplars, as well as tripods and cauldrons. The hoard itself (some
170 exemplars, complete or fragmentary)348 is decidely a composite of plain types and
decorated ones:349 the latter are of many different types and styles, which were subdivided
by R.D. Barnett — following the same “connoisseurial” method used for ivories which
goes back to the pioneering study by F. Poulsen (1912) — with attributions to different
regional traditions (“North Syrian”, “Phoenician”,“Aramean”), as well as to groups char-
acterized by common stylistic and figurative elements (although not necessarily of com-
mon origin).350
The Assyrian findspot is surely for the most part secondary; the cache of bowls pre-
sumably represents war booty or tribute/gifts collected by the Assyrians armies during the
latter half of the 8th century BC. Their precise source/sources of origin remain of course
unspecified, but — also recalling the “silver, gold, tin, bronze, a bronze casserole” which
Aššurnaṣirpal claimed to have received from the Phoenician kings at Arvad (cf. §3,
above) or the heavy tributes paid by successive Tyrian kings to Tiglath-pileser III (cf. §4,
above) — , there is a fair chance that many of these vessels were the work of a number of
Phoenician workshops or groups of craftsmen operating in the major Levantine coastal
centers.351
347. Elat 1991, 33–35.

348. This number was reached through the author’s calculations from various sources (e.g. Sciacca 2005,
400, fn. 782), and tallies with the quantity reached by Feldman 2014, 129; but see the 137 items reckon-
ed in Curtis 2013, 69, and the 120 items on the BM website quoted in fn. 351, below.
349. Albeit uniform in chemical composition, with a standard 10% of tin and no zinc (Curtis 2008, 244).
350. See Falsone 1988, 237f., with previous literature; see also Markoe & McGovern 1990, 35; Curtis &
Reade 1995, 134–140, and the bird’s-eye view of this hoard by Sciacca 2005, 400 and passim, with
reference to Urartian, Greek, and Etruscan parallels.
351. A full catalogue of the Layard Nimrud bowls has not yet been published, although a British Museum
(Dept. of Middle East) project, headed by Dr. J. Curtis, is at present (2017) underway, with the follow-
ing aims: “The bowls will be carefully described and illustrated in photographs, watercolour paintings
and drawings, and metal analyses made by atomic absorption spectrometry will be made available.
There will also be detailed studies of the inscriptions (mostly West Semitic) on nine of the bowls. The
bowls will be contrasted with other bowls of Phoenician and Syrian type, and the decoration compared
with the known art styles of particular regions, in an attempt to identify the centre or centres in which
the bowls were manufactured. The project will also consider when the bowls were most probably
brought to Assyria, focusing on the theory that they may have been brought back to Nimrud by the
Assyrian king Tiglath-pileser III in 740 BC. It is expected that this study will make a fundamental
contribution to our knowledge of Phoenician, Syrian and Assyrian art and material culture in the early
However as this may be, it is worth noting that — differently from the problem of
ivories in their possible function and level of appreciation (cf. above) — the bronze bowls
appear to have had, or gained, a specific practical function for (ritual) drinking and liba-
tion in Assyria (as shown e.g. by a number of palatial bas-reliefs, in which such bowls are
depicted)352 and, consequently or not, also came to form part of high-level grave goods,
as shown by tombs at Assur and especially by the burials of the queens at Nimrud.353
The second case involves Phoenicians and Assyrians again, but on the “neutral” or
intermediate ground of Philistia, and concerns the metal that is considered the most widely
circulated currency in the 7th century BC: silver. At Ekron (Tel Miqne), which became a
vassal city-state of Assyria from Sargon’s reign onward, six different hoards of silver —
formed by jewelry fragments of different types, ingots and hacksilver (bits and pieces of
silver items treated as bullion or as currency by weight) for a total weight of almost 1,5
kgs — also comprise decorated pieces of Egyptianizing Phoenician make (basket pendant
earrings, a ring with a cartouche-shaped bezel and hieroglyphs in intaglio, a pair of silver
and gold-plated Horus eyes).354 Here the contextual interface of the Levantine produc-
ing/commercial horizon with that of the Mesopotamian conquering/exploiting entity ap-
pears to be concretely tangible and may be perceived in its operational dimension on a
day-to-day basis.
f. The Movement of Goods

All the above elements of primary and secondary production considered, barring the pos-
sible competition from commercial networks set up by other actors in the Eastern Medi-
terranean scenario,355 the inhabitants of the cities on the Phoenician littoral would seem
to have successfully engaged in the regular circulation and trade of a considerable (and
possibly growing) number of goods throughout the Near East, the Levant itself, and points
west during IA 1–2.356 This result was presumably reached by profiting from progres-
1st millennium BC, and also to our understanding of the relations between Phoenicia and Assyria”
(http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/research_projects/all_current_projects/the_nimrud_bowls.
aspx; accessed Dec. 2017).
352. Sciacca 2005, 30–34 (reliefs from the NW palace of Nimrud)
353. See Curtis 2013, 70, for three distinct groups from Assur. For the Nimrud tombs, see Feldman 2014;
Sciacca 2005, 35f.; Sciacca 2015.
354. Gitin & Golani 2001.
355. And disregarding for the time being the specific Assyrian impact on Levantine trade, which finally led
to a certain control of the latter, for which see §6.
356. Cf. e.g. Van Alfen forthcoming, 1: “The Phoenicians did little else but trade, it seems, and they were
very good at it, inspiring both the awe and resentment of their Iron Age contemporaries; centuries later
not much had changed. Their outward success at trade, and the ubiquity of their presence across the
Near East and Mediterranean, have encouraged scholars to talk of an early Phoenician (or Tyrian)
‘commercial empire’, perhaps an overstatement, but one that underscores the centrality of trade to
sively intensified needs in specific sectors during the post-LBA rebirth and consolidation
(e.g. metals, timber, animal power, human personnel, luxury items), and from a progres-
sive thrust toward the creation of specialized manufacturing points and wider trade en-
trepots, of new supply chains and connecting routes — both overland and by sea — all
over the board, in a surely complex process of economic growth which ultimately came
to replicate and possibly dwarf the standards and achievements of the late 2nd millennium
“international” scenario.357
A much vaster problem of course regards determining the geographical directives
and overall range of this vast circulation of commodities of different types to which the
Phoenicians participated — in the main separately from other commercial powers, but at
times in a possibly concerted effort with them.358 This attempt has been made on various
occasions, usually by singling out elements of IA material culture in their specific archae-
ological findspots, and thereupon retracing them back to their possible origins in Phoeni-
cia. However, results on this line have been disappointingly vague, with rare exceptions
such as that of a model case study, in which specific Tyrian and Sidonian trading patterns
were recognized in the distribution of Egyptianizing amulets.359
This is of course not to say that all notions of possible Phoenician commercial itiner-
aries in the Eastern Mediterranean and inner Western Asia, such as are portended by the
data on material culture, escape us. Quite to the contrary: merely skimming over the com-
perceptions of who they were and what they did”.

357. See Elat 1991; Sherratt & Sherratt 1993. See also the slightly different judgment by Allen 1997, 151:
“The Levantine world-system of the 12th–8th centuries drew wealth into this system through external
connections to peripheral zones or from other world-systems. Contact is made with the Arabian and
Jordanian desert fringe and with the Greek islands. Philistine cities import Egyptian goods into the
system. Israelite ships and Edomite caravans replace Egyptian ones in drawing goods from the Red
Sea and Horn of Africa. Phoenicians inherited the trade routes to Cyprus and the Mediterranean. The
sistem mimics many of the patterns of the Late Bronze Age trading system at a less organized and
intensive level”.
358. Cf. Liverani 1991, 65: “The documentation and the studies on Phoenician trade build up a somewhat
peculiar case. On the one hand, both the ancient texts and modern research consider as obvious and
well known the involvement of the Phoenician cities in trade (especially maritime trade), to the point
of viewing it as the distinctive feature of their economic and general characterization. But on the other
hand, the data (and consequently the research) on the concrete modalities of such trade are extremely
limited”.
359. Fletcher 2004; see fn. 59, above. As stated by Van Alfen forthcoming, 2, “There is a great abundance
of Phoenician things found in excavations as far afield as the Iberian peninsula and Mesopotamia, but
tracing the line back from where these things were found through the hands that traded them to the
producer is impossible. Nor should we expect that line to be a straight one anyway: older arguments
that “pots equal people”, for example, that Phoenician pots found in Iberia were carried there by Phoe-
nicians, who acquired them from Phoenician producers, have long been demolished, reminding us that
what appears to be Phoenician trade possibly wasn’t, and could in fact be anyone’s, or vice versa”.
plex of observations collected above regarding the primary and secondary productions of
the Phoenicians (sections a-e), at least five trade circuits in different directions may be
singled out — or at least sketched — as fully activated during the pre-Achaemenid period:
(a) an “Egyptian” circuit, linking Phoenicia and the Nile Delta by ship or overland through
the Southern Levant (Philistia, Gaza);360 (b) the “island” circuit, connecting by sea the
Phoenician littoral with Cyprus, perhaps Rhodes and/or Crete, and thence to Yawan/Io-
nia;361 (c) the Anatolian circuit, linking North Syria by sea or land to Cilicia and Cappa-
docia, and thence possibly to Phrygia and beyond;362 (d) the Transjordanian-Arab circuit,
again through the Southern Levant but on the inland routes to the North Arabian oases and
thence beyond, whether by land or sea;363 (e) the Mesopotamian circuit, leading through
North Syria to the Euphrates-Tigris river basin and even to points eastward.364
* * *
The next question, of course, regards the possible ways and means of integration and
overall “management” of these diverse circuits. We may at this point turn to the written
record, scanty and obscure as it may be. In a seminal reading-out of Ezekiel’s famed
oracle against Tyre (Ezek. ch. 27) as a vast and comprehensive “mental map” centered on
the early 6th century (i.e. after the conquest of Jerusalem by the Babylonians), but also
with the use of data from earlier contexts, M. Liverani proposed viewing the Biblical
prophet’s list of suppliers of Tyre (Ezek. 27:11–24) as arranged in four geographically
concentric belts — with the implicit suggestion of one or two organizational principles
underlying each of them (Fig. 10). 365
360. Essential references to themes treated above: the evidence of Wenamun; Pharaohs’ statues in Phoeni-
cia; the Egyptian trade activities of Dor and Ashkelon; Tiglath-pileser’s prohibition to the Sidonians
to trade with the Philistines and Egyptians; etc.
361. Essential references to themes treated above: the diffuse circuit of murex-derived purple dye produc-
tion; Cypriot copper and Cypriot ceramics in the Levant; Sargon’s disruption of a Tyrian-Cypriot com-
mercial network; the triad Tar-si-si, Ia-da-na-na and Ia-man quoted by Esarhaddon; etc.
362. Essential references to themes treated above: the Phoenician inscriptions from Cilicia and the Adnana
— dnnym cultural connections (possibly also involving Cyprus); the sources of iron in the Taurus;
Esarhaddon’s condemnation of the alliance between Abdi-Milkūti and Sanda-uarri; etc.
363. Essential references to themes treated above: Phoenician motifs in the silver hoards at Beersheba; the
copper mines in the Aravah; the Biblical story of the expedition to Ophir; etc.
364. Essential references to themes treated above: the distribution of luxury items in ivory between Phoe-
nicia (or at least, the surrounding sites of Zincirlı, Hama, Samaria), North Syria (Tell Tayinat, Tell Ha-
laf, Arslan Tash, Til Barsip) and the Assyrian capitals.
365. Liverani 1991. This outline is taken up by Aubet 2001 2, 124f., with well-redrawn maps.
Fig. 10. The reconstruction of the “mental map” of the trade partners with Tyre in Ezek 12:12–24.
From Liverani 1991: 68.
In Liverani’s scheme, the innermost or smallest belt (Judah, Israel, Damascus) was re-
sponsible for supplying the Phoenician city with agricultural products; the next one (To-
garmah,366 Arabia/Qedar, Damascus) with animals and animal products; the third one
(comprising Yawan/Ionia, Tubal and Meshek — i.e. Cappadocia and Phrygia — , Edom,
Harran and Assur) with manufactured products (from bronze utensils to colored textiles
to cloth, etc.) and slaves; and finally the outer belt (comprising Tarshish, Sheba, Cilicia[?],
Edom, etc.) with metals and luxury goods (iron, tin, lead, gold, spices, precious stones,
ebony, and ivory).367 One of the main results of this overall picture would be a functional
366. For Togarmah = Ass. Til-Garimmu, possibly lying in the Elbistan plain, not far from Melid in central-
southern Anatolia, cf. Yamada 2006; Fales 2014b.
367. See the details of the reading-out in Liverani 1991, 73f. It may be recalled that the prophetic text is
intersection of the maritime and the terrestrial trade-routes — although perhaps Liverani’s
notion that “the relevance of the sea trade (Tarshish and Yawan) is quite secondary in
comparison with the land trade, which was presumably carried out by means of caravans”
might be an overstatement.368
Liverani’s attempt to chart the routes and zones of Tyrian commerce from the text of
Ezek. 27 through a series of concentric “belts” tied to different categories of products
indisputably represents the boldest and most lucid sketch hitherto brought forth on the
matter — and, already at first sight, it tallies neatly with the sum of data portended by the
cumulative evidence of material culture from the geographical point of view (see above).
This said, however, a point to be raised is that Ezekiel’s list — studded at every verse
with the expression that one or the other land “was thy agent/broker” — need not have
been restricted to the description of Tyrian imports for internal consumption or accumu-
lation, as Liverani maintains.369 It might have also taken into account products for further
redistribution to the Near East and beyond, which the Phoenician city somehow controlled
— i.e. precious goods or staples that passed through Tyre, or were handled by its person-
nel in outer emporia, by seafaring merchants and caravan-riding partners en route, but
which need not have all been unloaded at the quays of the coastal city for the enrichment
of its royal or communal coffers.370 After all, in his long and passionate rant the prophet
riddled with difficulties in various points regarding the readings of the toponyms: see e.g. Diakonoff
1992; Walton 2015, 380–390 for the various possibilities involved, with references to suggestions in
previous literature.
368. Ibid., 68. Specifically, the alleged “Dedan” joined to “many islands” in 27:15 might, through a copyist’s
error, reflect the Adnana (= Cyprus) of the texts of Sargon II (see fn. 220, above), as partially surmised
by Liverani himself (ibid., who suggests Cilicia). More widely, Phoenician maritime trade as the driv-
ing force behind the overall economic system of the Southern Levant under Assyrian domination has
been recently underscored by various authors (cf. fn. 225, above).
369. Liverani 1991, 74: “it is evident that the commodities listed in Ezek. 27:12–24 are the typical products
of their respective lands. They are, therefore, the Tyrian imports that the foreign countries ‘give’ to the
Phoenician town. No parallel list of exports is given, nor would it be appropriate, considering the
celebrative purpose of the text. Using our list as a closed system, we have to understand that all the
goods mentioned are either consumed by the Tyrians or contribute to a process of accumulation …
We could say that it is not a matter of Tyre working for trade, rather of trade working for Tyre”.
370. A composite commercial view of the prophetic passage had been already put forth by Lipiński (1985,
217), according to whom the listed countries are mainly designated “as rokelīm and soḥerīm, i.e. as
dealers and agents working in their own country on behalf of Tyre. They barter manufactured goods
brought by the Tyrian merchantmen for products and raw materials from their own countries, thus
acting as brokers”. Quite differently, but with a somewhat similar non-uniform approach, Diakonoff
(1992, 181–193) distinguishes three orders of commercial dealings as described in the list: (1) import
for local use and consumption (mʿrb); (2) ransom from Greek traders returning from Naucratis in Egypt
(or orders to them) in the technical term ʾškr applied to the bny r/ddn, “Rhodians”, in verse 15 (see fn.
368, above); and (3) import for re-exportation in the plural ʿzbwnym, “storing-places”, applied to the
movements of wares involving Tarshish, Togarmah, Aram/Edom (?), Damascus, Sheba and Raʾma.
also dwells outright on Phoenician export as a crucial factor in the former fame and wealth
of the city, perhaps even subtly dividing seaborne from land-based commerce:
When your merchandise went out on the seas, you satisfied many nations. With
your great wealth and your wares, you enriched the kings of the earth.371
On the basis of this doubt regarding Liverani’s ultimately centripetal reading-out of Ezek.
27:11–24, the prophetic passage might be alternatively — i.e. less elegantly, but perhaps
more realistically — evaluated as portending a general canvas of the manifold commer-
cial networks of the Ancient Near East and adjacent regions, insofar as they were to some
extent, and over time, manned or intercepted by the Tyrians. It may also be noted that the
approximately two dozen lands trading with Tyre in Ezechiel’s prophecy — ranging from
Upper Mesopotamia to southwestern-central Anatolia, from the northern mountainous ar-
eas flanking the Mediterranean southward through the inner and coastal Levant, down to
the Arabian sands — were presumably involved in sub-networks of their own, with geo-
graphical convolutions and recourses that could have brought this or that merchandise
hither and thither, whether it was ultimately meant to find its destination in Tyre or not
exclusively so.372
In sum, therefore, it may be suggested that the prophet most likely meant to provide
a sweeping bird’s-eye view of the main foci of the universe of Phoenician commerce
known to him, a view endowed with some points of geographical proximity, with some
levels of interareal hierarchical structure, with some differentiations between land- and
sea-routes, but not necessarily forming, at the end of the day, a fully organized and co-
herent pattern to be fitted on a geographical grid of the Ancient Near East — and certainly
not meant for the convenience/satisfaction of a cartographically-endowed posterity. In
other words, the prophetic utterance in its entirety (including the first part of the oracle,
on “the ship Tyre”) could have meant to extol — and in the very next breath to fervently
Recently, Walton (2015, 388f.) has taken up Diakonoff’s categories with the following comments:
“Thus, the list of goods includes two main categories: imports for local use and consumption, and
imports for the purpose of re-export and trade. In the former category are foodstuffs, livestock, and
some metal implements and textiles. In the latter category are precious metals, precious stones, fine
textiles, and horses … This fits a logical separation between staples and luxury goods, although to be
sure Tyre must also have consumed luxury goods such as silver, gold, and fine textiles, and not only
facilitated trade in these materials”.
371. Ezek. 27:33.
372. See e.g. §4, above, for the possible links between the cities of the Phoenician littoral with Cilician
polities through Cyprus. Or cf. the intense commercial links between Ashkelon and Egypt all through
the LBA and the IA, on which Phoenician commerce came to insert itself in the 7th century BC, as
demonstrated by ceramic types and the relevant petrographic analyses (Master 2003).
and inexorably condemn — the outstanding results of Tyrian-based trade in the Eastern
Mediterranean, through a “mental map” made of far-off, widespread, and vastly differen-
tiated focal points, possibly assembled more for their overall impression of remoteness
and variety on the potential audience, than for their “panoramic” cogency.373 But only
future breakthroughs or more detailed breakdowns of available data will confirm or dis-
prove the view propounded here.
6. Theories and Models on Assyrian-Phoenician Economic Relations

As anticipated above (§2), the Assyrians took special interest in the trade circuits of re-
gional, but also of international, relevance in the wake of their penetration throughout the
Levant, and chose over time to turn the Phoenicians’ native productions and industries as
well as their network of import-export within the Eastern Mediterranean (and possibly
even further abroad) to their exclusive economic advantage. Chronologically, a first phase
of contact of the Mesopotamian state with the polities of the littoral, exclusively aimed at
the collecting of heavy annual tributes (§3), was succeeded by a second phase of gener-
alized conquest and increased control. In the latter phase, from Tiglath-pileser III’s reign
onward, whereas the Levantine polities lying all around were annexed outright and incur-
porated in the imperial provincial system, the Phoenician city-states were subjected to a
formal vassalage, implying the Assyrians’ right to economic exploitation, both through
local tributes and through direct/indirect revenues from external commerce, in exchange
for a degree of political autonomy — a status which was progressively restricted and then
brought to an end during the 7th century, with their final annexation (§4).
While the progression of Assyrian arms through the Levant and the political control
of Phoenicia — before and during the “Assyrian century” — is thus legible along rela-
tively clear guidelines of histoire évenémentielle, the underlying pattern concerning the
specific aims (or, in other words, the basic strategy) that the Assyrian empire had on, and
for, the Phoenician coast — per se and in its outlying commercial bases — is more de-
batable and has been as such a frequent object of study, with diverse suggestions. The
conclusive point in the present essay is thus to examine which models, or overarching
frameworks, are nowadays up for discussion concerning the imperial strategy exercised
by Assyria on the Phoenician trade capacities and its existing network.374
373. The well-known point that neither Egypt nor Cyprus are mentioned in the list represents, in fact, a
stumbling-block of sorts in Liverani’s reconstruction, which the author sidesteps with reference to the
specific 6th-century date of the text (Liverani 1991, 171) — but the very same factor had been initially
sidestepped for the opposite aim of including in the picture other polities of major importance in earlier
periods.
374. On this theme, cf. Walton 2015, 399–411, along guidelines of applied (historical-)economic models.
As is well known, a by now “classic” formulation is due to S. Frankenstein (1979),
according to whom Phoenician expansion and settlement in the Central and Western Med-
iterranean should be viewed as a straightforward consequence of Assyrian imperialistic
oppression, i.e. initiated and developed to serve Assyria’s progressively growing tributary
demands for raw materials, luxury items and precious metals.375 This stance on the Phoe-
nicians as (forced) Assyrian commercial agents and providers — with its obvious asset
of implicitly “solving” the problem of the causes and of the timing for the beginning of
the large-scale development of the Punic settlement horizon during IA 2 — 376 has been
more recently refuted by some scholars along different perspectives.
Prominently among these, A. Faust (also with E. Weiss)377 has extensively argued that
Assyria’s role in the world economy of IA2 was negligible and that the actual “core” of
this period was not represented by Assyria and its conquests over the entire Near East,
but rather by the inner workings of Mediterranean trade and by the progressively growing
activities of Phoenician traders — and specifically that the prosperity of the entire South-
ern Levant resulted from the flourishing Phoenician maritime trade, which “ate up” all
the surpluses produced in these polities. Faust further states that “it is true that Assyria
375. Frankenstein 1979; her position is followed to a large extent e.g. by Aubet 20012, 70–91.
376. Frankenstein’s reading-out has recently been cast into doubt from the chronological point of view: cf.
Aubet 2008, 179, for radiocarbon datings indicating that characteristic Phoenician pottery was present
in the Andalusian center of Huelva already at the beginning of the 9th century. The same datings more-
over indicate the founding of the Tyrian colony of Carthage ca. 835–800, in line with the chronology
handed down by Classical authors for this event (ibid.); thus essentially well before the Assyrian mili-
tary-political dominion and tributary pressure on the Phoenician homeland during the late 8 th–7th
century. Contra, support for Frankenstein’s theory has been voiced by Fantalkin (2006, 200), with the
sole major modification that the “delicate arrangement, which eventually transformed the Phoenicians
into pan-Mediterranean traders, started in the days of Hazael, with Phoenicians serving the trade am-
bitions of Aram-Damascus”.
377. Faust 2011b; Faust & Weiss 2005; 2011. As noted by Walton (2015, 32f.), Faust’s stance falls, albeit
idiosyncratically (for his centering on the Mediterranean area as a whole), within the confines of World
Systems Theory, and thus borders other positions which have applied to the Assyrian empire the basic
underlying principle of WST of an asymmetrical exchange between a dominant core and its periphery,
in the sense that “the core uses the asymmetrical relationship for its own enrichment”(ibid., 32f.), and
that a world empire is “one in which the inter-societal division of labor is encompassed by a single
overarching imperial polity” (as theorized by Chase-Dunn & Hall 1991). These positions have in com-
mon with Faust’s — maximalist anti-Frankensteinian — view a critique of Assyria as playing nothing
but the role of the bully, extracting tribute with low regard for the economic development of vassal
territories. For this position (as analyzed by Walton 2015, 223), see e.g. Schloen 2001, 146, 152; Bagg
2013, 131 (for whom the empire’s “principal goal was to draw raw materials, livestock, luxury objects,
and manpower from all regions of the empire into Assyria”), Berlejung 2012, 30 (for whom the
empire’s “goal was that the optimized result of trade and economy in the provinces and vassal states
flowed as direct tax/tribute back into Assyrian pockets”), and, from a different standpoint, Bedford
2009, 46.
greatly benefited from this prosperity through taxation and tribute. They did not, however,
generate it, nor did they plan it or invest in it. In a sense, the prosperity was due to the
market forces of the 7th century, and not to any pre-planned state enterprise. The Assyrians
helped principally by not destroying, and indirectly perhaps also by demanding tribute
which forced the local rulers to find additional sources of income”.378 For reasons of geo-
graphical distance from Mesopotamia, and because other, more “exotic” goods than agri-
cultural staples were of value to the Assyrians, the latter had little or no interest in becom-
ing direct investors in the wine and oil industries of Ashkelon and Ekron; whereas the
Phoenicians had every reason to take on a role as distributors of the produced goods both
by sea and inland routes.379
Along virtually opposite guidelines, H.G. Niemeyer suggested that Assyrian requests
for heavy tribute on the part of the Phoenician polities should rather be viewed in the per-
spective of more balanced gains for all concerned. In other words, Assyrian-Phoenician
relations should be understood “in a climate of economic and political symbiosis, which
on the one hand gave the small and comparatively weak city-states along the coast a de-
gree of independence from the great military power of Mesopotamia, and on the other
secured for Assyria a more or less regular supply of luxury goods, vital raw materials …
and financial resources in the form of precious metal. The arrangement was mutually
378. Faust 2011b, 78.

379. Faust’s polemic is specifically aimed at the equally maximalistic notion propounded by S. Gitin (1997)
that the arrival of a pax assyriaca on a periphery in itself passive and powerless was the driving motive
for the economic growth of the olive oil industry in Philistia — in other words, that the Assyrian domi-
nation of the region provided specific economic advantages by stimulating worldwide trade and com-
merce, through the exploitation of local resources and their subsequent conversion to silver, by trans-
forming Phoenician ports into international commercial centers, and by developing overland trade
routes (ibid., 80f.). In a well-executed (and long overdue) critical overview of pax assyriaca, Walton
2015 initially notes that “the concept of the pax Assyriaca has become widespread across scholarship
of the economic development of the southern Levant” (ibid., 229), and then expresses his critique that
Gitin’s formulation “seems to be heavily modeled after early perceptions of the later pax Romana, and
runs the risk of anachronistic application of the ideals and assumptions of the later pax Romana back
onto the Assyrian Empire” (ibid., 232), by mimicking to some extent Gibbon’s and others’ description
of pax Romana as a phase of socio-political tranquility, economic prosperity, administrative efficiency,
and cultural renown (ibid.). On the other hand, Walton notes that a quite different application of pax
Assyriaca — which was formulated by the present writer (Fales 2008) and goes back to Oded 1992 —
stems from Assyrian sources “and focuses on the concept of hegemonic peace, that is, peace through
pacification. Hegemonic peace is represented by a lack of revolts in the provinces, security and well-
being in the center, and the maintenance of order” (Walton 2015, 232). Moreover, recent views of the
pax Romana itself have come to underscore the Augustan concept of “a hegemonic peace: peace
through pacification”, i.e. not intended to create a period of peace and prosperity throughout the empire,
but to to bring about the security of the core through the pacification of the periphery, to limit rebellion,
and maintain the imperial, hegemonic order (ibid., 233).
beneficial, and it was out of a well-understood desire to survive politically that the Phoe-
nician city-states had developed into a kind of service society for Assyria. But none of
this evidence goes far enough to enable Tyre to be seen as an ‘instrument’ of Assyrian
imperialism, expansionism and demand for raw materials”.380
Two newcomers to the debate are the archaeologist and anthropologist Y. Thareani,
who of late has attempted a “more balanced view of the evidence” between the positions
of Frankenstein and Faust; her position shows numerous points of agreement with those
of J.T. Walton, an American scholar working along quite strict analytical guidelines of
economic theory and history.381 Going back to long-accepted notions and judgments (cf.
§2, above), Thareani maintains that “the Assyrians’ desire to expand their rule farther to
the west — indeed, as far as Cyprus and the Aegean — in order to facilitate transportation
and increase the imperial revenue from maritime commerce was challenged by their being
a ‘land-based empire’ … It was for these reasons that the Phoenician coastal kingdoms
were subjugated to the empire and that Phoenician activities in Mediterranean ports were
regulated … Deprived of their own navy and being culturally alienated from the sea, the
Assyrians used the Phoenicians as their intermediaries”.382 This position is, of course,
antithetical to Faust’s view of the Phoenicians as being their own masters, and the major
playmakers, in the conduction of seaborne commerce in the late IA Southern Levant, and
it finds many parallels in the conclusions by Walton.383 Thareani then further expands her
evaluation to the more southernly area of Philistia (fully assimilated to Phoenicia in the
Esarhaddon-Baʿal treaty, and paralleling Phoenicia as seat of multiple rebellions against
the Assyrian takeover of local revenues from maritime commerce) and concludes by stat-
ing that “Assyrian dominance of coastal cities in Phoenicia and Philistia was motivated
by the empire’s will to control the trade passing through the Levantine coast. Control stra-
tegies here involved legislation, taxing the revenue from trade through inspected harbors,
and stationing garrisons and administrators”.384
380. Niemeyer 2006, 159. Niemeyer is also a supporter of the argument that Phoenician expansive trade all
over the Eastern Mediterranean had developed autonomously long before the “Assyrian century”, on
which cf. fn. 376, above.
381. See the next two footnotes.
382. Thareani 2016, 94.
383. Cf. Walton 2015, 410: “even if Assyria wanted to mandate Phoenician trade it is unlikely that they had
the necessary information. It was the Phoenician traders, not the Assyrians who knew how much of
certain goods could be sold or traded where, at what margins, for which desired commodities, and how
to best make use of price differentials … Assyria did not have the long term build-up of contacts, and
thus was incapable of controlling this type of trade. … This is why the Phoenicians were integral to
incentivizing mainland participation in the market. They used their knowledge and connections to
lower the cost of transacting and incentivize increased participation in the Mediterranean market
system”.
384. Ibid., 95. In a clear rebuttal of the Frankestein paradigm, Thareani (ibid., 94f.) agrees with Walton
***
Summing up, then, it may be stated that an evolution of previous interpretive models is
underway at present, along less impassioned and maximalistic guidelines. While precious
few “hard” data continue to be available for an outright contextualization of Assyrian-
Phoenician relations, both on the textual and archaeological side of things (and in the
latter case, especially as regards the cities of the Lebanese littoral), the cumulative mass
of material and cultural-historical information from adjacent areas of the Eastern Medi-
terranean, and especially from the Southern Levant and Cyprus, has led to a set of new
formulations in which more balanced historical perspectives are coming to the fore.
In these perspectives, the Assyrians should neither be viewed as strategically blind
bullies fueled only by egotistical greed for Levantine riches, nor as indifferent spectators
of the Phoenicians’ sleight of hand on the maritime markets; and neither as wisely paci-
fying entrepreneurs for the rebirth of the Southern Levant, nor as as relentless prodders
of local polities to distant shores for the procurement of increasing revenues. A much
more regulated arrangement of give-and-take between the military conquerors and their
coastal vassals may be suggested from the combination of the Assyrian written sources
and a number of archaeological contexts: in a situation of hegemonic peace (pax Assyria-
ca), the Phoenicians and their southern cronies were allowed to exercise their long-stand-
ing trade along the Levantine coast under the aegis of the Assyrians, who took their part
of the returns from these enterprises, as well as imposing taxation on goods landing on
the Phoenician kārus from afar, and finally conditioning through their provincial strong-
holds in the interior the import-export of Levantine assets along the caravan routes.
This was probably not a particularly enriching arrangement for the Phoenicians and
their neighbours — but the moderate grip and strategically wise political attitude on the
part of the conquerors in exchange for some degrees of local autonomy must have been
profitable for all concerned in day-to-day order and protection. Of course, the Assyrians’
capacity to unleash quick and violent reprisals when their interests were at risk, repre-
sented the direct counterpart to this generally illuminated policy, hovering as a dire per-
petual threat over the people of the littoral. On the other hand, as the well-documented
(2015, 405f.) that in the Assyrian records, and specifically in the Esarhaddon-Baʿal treaty “there is no
mention of the status of ships venturing out into the western Mediterranean. The Phoenician colonial
system was not part of Assyria, and these territories are not mentioned in this treaty …There is no
mention of going to distant lands and securing specific resources for the Assyrians abroad, merely that
any ship arriving in a port within Assyrian territory must pay an appropriate tax to Assyria. There is
no stipulation for them to serve as middlemen for particular goods, nor any mention of activity in areas
outside of Assyrian control. Certainly the Assyrians were interested in obtaining these resources and
taxing their percentage, but there is no reference to a larger partnership where the Phoenicians act as
Assyrian agents abroad”.
vicissitudes of Baʿal of Tyre suggest, the Assyrians seem to have been the player with the
highest stakes in the game: thus the repeatedly rebellious Tyrian ruler set a record in the
three-century history of the empire, by being first punished by military means and then
personally pardoned and reinstated in his power over two successive Assyrian reigns.
This set of totally unusual political solutions must find its raison d’être in the fact that, at
the end of the day, to retain a hold of vassalage over Phoenicia represented a major stra-
tegic move by the Assyrians to keep the growing military power of Egypt from entering
Western Asia.385
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State Archives of Assyria

Editore: Sargon Editore Padova di ArcSAT s.n.c. di Vincenzo Valente e C.

PHOENICIA IN THE NEO-ASSYRIAN PERIOD

Frederick Mario Fales

1. Assyria and Phoenicia: Generalia on Written Sources and Archaeological Data

Fig. 1. Present-day polities forming the “Levant”.

This general method of identification of foreign polities through their pre-eminent

Fig. 2. Phoenician inscriptions in southeastern Anatolia.

In general, as is well known — despite the extraordinary progress of methods of excava-

2. Assyria and the Levant: Generalia

as that of Lehmann 2001.

Fig. 5. Transport of timber for Dur-Sharrukin.

Fig. 6. Phoenician merchantmen and warships leaving Tyre.

3. From Tiglath-pileser I to Aššur-nirari V

127. Aubet 20012, 172f.

Fig. 7. Warship with Assyrian (?) mariners in close combat.

I made replicas of a nāḫiru, which is called a sea-horse, (and) which by the

A similar expedition to that of Tiglath-pileser was self-attributed, but in very general

143. Lundström 2012, 330, fn. 34.

146. RIMA 2 A.0.89.7, V 14–19 (p. 103).

152. RIMA 2 A.0.101.1, III 81–84 (p. 218).

177. Ibid., 101f.

Damascus, the Assyrian king states:

190. RIMA 3 A.0.104.7, 4–8 (p. 211).

4. From Tiglath-pileser III to the Fall of Nineveh

199. Yamada 2008, 297–299.

204. See e.g. Baker in PNA 1330a; Frame in RINAP 1, 135f.

A few letters in NA written to Tiglath-pileser III illustrate the activities of Qurdi-Aššur-

211. Ibid., 14–r. 2.

LOCAL KING’S ACTION

230. Ibid., 35.

242. RINAP 4 1, V 73–VI 1 (pp. 23f., with duplicates).

grants permission to king Baʿal to trade within a number of Assyrian-controlled ports of

In a nutshell, this passage of the treaty entrusted Assyrian-sponsored commerce to Baʿal

247. SAA 2 5, iii 15ʹ–22ʹ.

In the course of my campaign, I set up fortifications against Baʿalu, the king of

These territories were reorganized as an Assyrian province already by Esarhaddon or in

brought their daughters, their own offspring, to Nineveh to serve as housekeep-

259. SAA 4 89.

On my return march, I conquered the city Ušû, whose location is situated on

5. Notes on Phoenician Primary and Secondary Production

a. Agriculture and Fishing

268. Kahn 2008; Da Riva 2015, 603.

272. Sapir-Hen et al. 2014.

276. Shahack-Gross et al. 2005.

d. Timber and Wood

316. Feldman 2006.

338. Millard 1992.

347. Elat 1991, 33–35.

f. The Movement of Goods

perceptions of who they were and what they did”.

6. Theories and Models on Assyrian-Phoenician Economic Relations

378. Faust 2011b, 78.

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