ancient people did stuff

Painted altar in Maya city of Tikal reveals aftermath of ancient coup

ancient people did stuff, Archaeology, indigenous americans, Maya, Mesoamerica, Pre-Columbian civilizations, Science, teotihuacan, tikal / Shannon Garcia / April 10, 2025

It’s always about colonialism

The altar marks the presence of an enclave of foreign elites from Teotihuacan.

This rendering shows what the altar might have looked like in its heyday. Credit: Heather Hurst

A family altar in the Maya city of Tikal offers a glimpse into events in an enclave of the city’s foreign overlords in the wake of a local coup.

Archaeologists recently unearthed the altar in a quarter of the Maya city of Tikal that had lain buried under dirt and rubble for about the last 1,500 years. The altar—and the wealthy household behind the courtyard it once adorned—stands just a few blocks from the center of Tikal, one of the most powerful cities of Maya civilization. But the altar and the courtyard around it aren’t even remotely Maya-looking; their architecture and decoration look like they belong 1,000 kilometers to the west in the city of Teotihuacan, in central Mexico.

The altar reveals the presence of powerful rulers from Teotihuacan who were there at a time when a coup ousted Tikal’s Maya rulers and replaced them with a Teotihuacan puppet government. It also reveals how hard those foreign rulers fell from favor when Teotihuacan’s power finally waned centuries later.

image of a rectangular limestone structure with recessed panels underground — Archaeologists don’t know what’s inside the altar, because they can’t excavate it without damaging the fragile painted panels. Credit: Ramirez et al. 2025

The painted altar

The altar stands in the courtyard of what was once a wealthy, influential person’s home in Tikal. At just over 1 meter tall, spanning nearly 2 meters in length and 1.3 meters wide, the altar is clearly the centerpiece of the limestone patio space.

It’s made of carved stone and earthen layers, covered with several smooth, fine plaster coatings. Murals adorn recessed panels on all four sides. In red, orange, yellow, and black, the paintings all depict the face of a person in an elaborate feathered headdress, but each is slightly different. All four versions of the face stare straight at the viewer through almond-shaped eyes. The figure wears the kind of facial piercings that would have marked a person of very high rank in Teotihuacan: a nose bar and spool-shaped ear jewelry (picture a fancy ancient version of modern earlobe plugs).

Proyecto Arqueológico del Sur de Tikal archaeologist Edwin Ramirez and his colleagues say the faces on the altar look uncannily like a deity who often shows up in artwork from central Mexico, in the area around Teotihuacan. Archaeologists have nicknamed this deity the Storm God, since they haven’t yet found any trace of its name. It’s a distinctly Teotihuacan-style piece of art, from the architecture of the altar to the style and color of the images and even the techniques used in painting them. Yet it sits in the heart of Tikal, a Maya city.

A pre-Columbian coup d’etat

Tikal was one of the biggest and most important cities of the Maya civilization. Founded in 850 BCE, it chugged along for centuries as a small backwater until its sudden rise to wealth and prominence around 100 CE. Lidar surveys of Guatemala have revealed Tikal’s links with other Maya cities, like Homul. And Tikal also traded with the city of Teotihuacan, more than 1,000 kilometers to the west, in what’s now Mexico.

“These powers of central Mexico reached into the Maya world because they saw it as a place of extraordinary wealth, of special feathers from tropical birds, jade, and chocolate,” says Brown University archaeologist Stephen Houston, a co-author of the recent study, in a statement. “As far as Teotihuacan was concerned, it was the land of milk and honey.”

Trade with Teotihuacan brought wealth to Tikal, but the Maya city seems to have attracted too much attention from its more powerful neighbor. A carved stone unearthed in Tikal in the 1960s describes how Teotihuacan swooped in around 378 CE to oust Tikal’s king and replace him with a puppet ruler. Spanish-language sources call this coup d’etat the Entrada.

The stone is carved in the style of Teotihuacan, but it’s also covered with Maya hieroglyphs, which tell the tale of the conquest. After the Entrada, there are traces of Teotihuacan’s presence all over Tikal, from royal burials in a necropolis to distinctly Mexican architecture mixed with Maya elements in a complex of residential and ceremonial buildings near the heart of the city.

And the newly unearthed altar seems to have been built shortly after the Entrada, based on radiocarbon dates from nearby graves in the courtyard and from material used to ritually bury the altar after its abandonment (more on that below).

Ramirez and his colleagues write that the altar is “likely evidence of the direct presence of Teotihuacan at Tikal as part of a foreign enclave that coincided with the historic Entrada.”

orthographic map of Tikal — This map shows the courtyard in relation to other major structures in Tikal. Credit: T.G. Garrison and H. Hurst

A wealthy household’s ritual courtyard

The buildings surrounding the courtyard would have been a residential compound for wealthy elites in the city; it’s not far from the city’s center with its temples and huge public plazas. Residents had used the courtyard as a private family ceremonial space for decades or even a couple of centuries before its owners installed the altar. And Ramirez and his colleagues say it’s no coincidence that archaeologists have found many such courtyards in Teotihuacan, which people also used as a space for household ceremonies like burials and offerings to the gods.

“What the altar confirms is that wealthy leaders from Teotihuacan came to Tikal and created replicas of ritual facilities that would have existed in their home city. It shows Teotihuacan left a heavy imprint there,” says Houston.

And in the Maya world, as in the world of Teotihuacan, ceremonial spaces usually come with skeletons included.

Ramirez and his colleagues unearthed the grave of an adult buried beneath the patio, in a tomb with limestone walls and a stucco floor. Nearby, a child had been buried in a seated position—something rare in Tikal but very common in Teotihuacan. The child’s burial radiocarbon-dated to decades before the Entrada, between 205 and 350 CE. It looks like someone buried both of these people beneath the floor of the courtyard of their residential compound not long after they moved in; it’s a good bet that they were members of the family who once lived here, but archaeologists don’t know for sure. These kinds of burials would have been exactly the sort of household ritual the courtyard was meant for.

Teotihuacan’s enclave in Maya Tikal

Sometime later—between 380 and 540 CE, based on radiocarbon dating—the people living in the compound buried the courtyard beneath a layer of dirt and rubble, laid a new floor over it, and essentially started over. This is when Ramirez and his colleagues say someone built and painted the altar.

It’s also when someone buried three babies in the courtyard, each near a corner of the altar (the fourth corner has a jar that probably once contained an offering, but no bones). Each burial required breaking the stone floor, placing the tiny remains underneath, and then filling in the hole with crushed limestone. That’s not the way most people in Tikal would have buried an infant, but it’s exactly how archaeologists have found several buried in very similar courtyards in faraway Teotihuacan.

In other words, the people who lived in this compound and used this courtyard and painted altar were probably from Teotihuacan or raised in a Teotihuacan enclave in the southern sector of Tikal. The compound is practically in the shadow of a replica of Teotihuacan’s Feathered Serpent Pyramid and its walled plaza, where archaeologists unearthed Teotihuacan-style incense burners made from local materials.

sketch of a rectangular altar with painted sides — This rendering shows what the altar might have looked like in its heyday. Credit: Heather Hurst

The end of an era

Sometime between 550 CE and 654 CE, based on radiocarbon dating, the foreign enclave in Tikal closed up shop. That’s around the time distant Teotihuacan’s power was starting to collapse. But it wasn’t enough to just leave; important buildings had to be ritually “killed” and buried. That meant burning the area around the altar, but it also meant that people buried the altar, the courtyard, the compound, and most of southern Tikal’s Teotihuacan enclave beneath several meters of dirt and rubble.

Whoever did the burying went to the trouble of making the whole thing look like a natural hill. Ramirez and his colleagues say that’s unusual, because typically once a building had been ritually killed and abandoned, something new would be built atop the remains.

“The Maya regularly buried buildings and rebuilt on top of them,” Brown University archaeologist Andrew Scherer, a co-author of the recent study, said in a statement. “But here, they buried the altar and surrounding buildings and just left them, even though this would have been prime real estate centuries later. They treated it almost like a memorial or a radioactive zone. It probably spoke to the complicated feelings they had about Teotihuacan.”

Antiquity, 2017. DOI: 10.15184/aqy.2025.3 (About DOIs).

Kiona is a freelance science journalist and resident archaeology nerd at Ars Technica.

Painted altar in Maya city of Tikal reveals aftermath of ancient coup Read More »

Studies pin down exactly when humans and Neanderthals swapped DNA

ancient DNA, ancient genomics, ancient people did stuff, anthropology, Archaeology, Neanderthals, out of africa, Science / 9u50fv / December 12, 2024

We may owe our tiny sliver of Neanderthal DNA to just a couple of hundred Neanderthals.

The artist’s illustration shows what the six people buried at the Ranis site, who lived between 49, 500 and 41,000 years ago, may have looked like. Two of these people are mother and daughter, and the mother is a distant cousin (or perhaps a great-great-grandparent or great-great-grandchild) to a woman whose skull was found 130 kilometers away in what’s now Czechia. Credit: Sumer et al. 2024

Two recent studies suggest that the gene flow (as the young people call it these days) between Neanderthals and our species happened during a short period sometime between 50,000 and 43,500 years ago. The studies, which share several co-authors, suggest that our torrid history with Neanderthals may have been shorter than we thought.

Pinpointing exactly when Neanderthals met H. sapiens

Max Planck Institute of Evolutionary Anthropology scientist Leonardo Iasi and his colleagues examined the genomes of 59 people who lived in Europe between 45,000 and 2,200 years ago, plus those of 275 modern people whose ancestors hailed from all over the world. The researchers cataloged the segments of Neanderthal DNA in each person’s genome, then compared them to see where those segments appeared and how that changed over time and distance. This revealed how Neanderthal ancestry got passed around as people spread around the world and provided an estimate of when it all started.

“We tried to compare where in the genomes these [Neanderthal segments] occur and if the positions are shared among individuals or if there are many unique segments that you find [in people from different places],” said University of California Berkeley geneticist Priya Moorjani in a recent press conference. “We find the majority of the segments are shared, and that would be consistent with the fact that there was a single gene flow event.”

That event wasn’t quite a one-night stand; in this case, a “gene flow event” is a period of centuries or millennia when Neanderthals and Homo sapiens must have been in close contact (obviously very close, in some cases). Iasi and his colleagues’ results suggest that happened between 50,500 and 43,000 years ago. But it’s quite different from our history with another closely related hominin species, the now-extinct Denisovans, with whom different Homo sapiens groups met and mingled at least twice on our way to taking over the world.

In a second study, Arev Sümer (also of the Max Planck Institute) and her colleagues found something very similar in the genomes of people who lived 49,500 to 41,000 years ago in what’s now the area around Ranis, Germany. The Ranis population, based on how their genomes compare to other ancient and modern people, seem to have been part of one of the first groups to split off from the wave of humans who migrated out of Africa, through the Levant, and into Eurasia sometime around 50,000 years ago. They carried with them traces of what their ancestors had gotten up to during that journey: about 2.9 percent of their genomes were made up of segments of Neanderthal ancestry.

Based on how long the Ranis people’s segments of Neanderthal DNA were (longer chunks of Neanderthal ancestry tend to point to more recent mixing), the interspecies mingling happened about 80 generations, or about 2,300 years, before the Ranis people lived and died. That’s about 49,000 to 45,000 years ago. The dates from both studies line up well with each other and with archaeological evidence that points to when Neanderthal and Homo sapiens cultures overlapped in parts of Europe and Asia.

What’s still not clear is whether that period of contact lasted the full 5,000 to 7,000 years, or if, as Johannes Krause (also of the Max Planck Institute) suggests, it was only a few centuries—1,500 years at the most—that fell somewhere within that range of dates.

Natural selection worked fast on our borrowed Neanderthal DNA

Once those first Homo sapiens in Eurasia had acquired their souvenir Neanderthal genes (forget stealing a partner’s hoodie; just take some useful segments of their genome), natural selection got to work on them very quickly, discarding some and passing along others, so that by about 100 generations after the “event,” the pattern of Neanderthal DNA segments in people’s genomes looked a lot like it does today.

Iasi and his colleagues looked through their catalog of genomes for sections that contained more (or less) Neanderthal ancestry than you’d expect to find by random chance—a pattern that suggests that natural selection has been at work on those segments. Some of the segments that tended to include more Neanderthal gene variants included areas related to skin pigmentation, the immune response, and metabolism. And that makes perfect sense, according to Iasi.

“Neanderthals had lived in Europe, or outside of Africa, for thousands of years already, so they were probably adapted to their environment, climate, and pathogens,” said Iasi during the press conference. Homo sapiens were facing selective pressure to adapt to the same challenges, so genes that gave them an advantage would have been more likely to get passed along, while unhelpful ones would have been quick to get weeded out.

The most interesting questions remain unanswered

The Neanderthal DNA that many people carry today, the researchers argue, is a legacy from just 100 or 200 Neanderthals.

“The effective population size of modern humans outside Africa was about 5,000,” said Krause in the press conference. “And we have a ratio of about 50 to 1 in terms of admixture [meaning that Neanderthal segments account for about 2 percent of modern genomes in people who aren’t of African ancestry], so we have to say it was about 100 to maybe 200 Neanderthals roughly that mixed into the population.” Assuming Krause is right about that and about how long the two species stayed in contact, a Homo sapiens/Neanderthal pairing would have happened every few years.

So we know that Neanderthals and members of our species lived in close proximity and occasionally produced children for at least several centuries, but no artifacts, bones, or ancient DNA have yet revealed much of what that time, or that relationship, was actually like for either group of people.

The snippets of Neanderthal ancestry left in many modern genomes, and those of people who lived tens of thousands of years ago, don’t offer any hints about whether that handful of Neanderthal ancestors were mostly male or mostly female, which is something that could shed light on the cultural rules around such pairings. And nothing archaeologists have unearthed so far can tell us whether those pairings were consensual, whether they were long-term relationships or hasty flings, or whether they involved social relationships recognized by one (or both) groups. We may never have answers to those questions.

And where did it all happen? Archaeologists haven’t yet found a cave wall inscribed with “Og heart Grag,” but based on the timing, Neanderthals and Homo sapiens probably met and lived alongside each other for at least a few centuries, somewhere in “the Near East,” which includes parts of North Africa, the Levant, what’s now Turkey, and what was once Mesopotamia. That’s one of the key routes that people would have followed as they migrated from Africa into Europe and Asia, and the timing lines up with when we know that both Homo sapiens and Neanderthals were in the area.

“This [same] genetic admixture also appears in East Asia and Australia and the Americas and Europe,” said Krause. “If it would have happened in Europe or somewhere else, then the distribution would probably look different than what we see.”

Science, 2023 DOI: 10.1126/science.adq3010;

Nature, 2023 DOI: 10.1038/s41586-024-08420-x;

(About DOIs ).

Kiona is a freelance science journalist and resident archaeology nerd at Ars Technica.

Studies pin down exactly when humans and Neanderthals swapped DNA Read More »

Ancient fish-trapping network supported the rise of Maya civilization

aerial archaeology, ancient people did stuff, Archaeology, fisheries, indigenous americans, Maya, Pre-Columbian civilizations, Science / Beth Washington / November 22, 2024

Harrison-Buck and her colleagues calculated that at its peak, the system could have produced enough fish each year to feed around 15,000 people. That’s based on modern estimates of how many kilograms of fish people eat every year, combined with measurements of how many kilograms of fish people in Zambia harvest with similar traps. Of course, people at Crooked Tree would have needed to preserve the fish somehow, probably by salting, drying, or smoking them.

“Fisheries were more than capable of supporting year-round sedentarism and the emergence of complex society characteristic of Pre-Columbian Maya civilization in this area,” write Harrison-Buck and her colleagues.

When we think about the Maya economy, we think of canal networks and ditched or terraced fields. In just one patch of what’s now Guatemala, a lidar survey revealed that Maya farmers drained thousands of acres of swampy wetland and built raised fields for maize, crossed by a grid of irrigation canals. To feed the ancient city of Holmul, the Maya turned a swamp into a breadbasket. But at least some of their precursors may have made it big on fish, not grain. The common feature, though, is an absolute lack of any chill whatsoever when it came to re-engineering whole landscapes to produce food.

This Google Earth image shows the area containing the ancient fishery.

Infrastructure built to last and last

From the ground, the channels that funneled fish into nearby ponds are nearly invisible today. But from above, especially during the dry season, they stand in stark contrast to the land around them, because vegetation grows rich and green in the moist soil at the base of the channels, even while everything around it dries up. That made aerial photography the perfect way to map them.

Ancient fish-trapping network supported the rise of Maya civilization Read More »

To invent the wheel, did people first have to invent the spindle?

ancient people did stuff, Archaeology, flywheel, Science, textiles / Mike M. / November 18, 2024

It’s not so much that the spindle whorl was the direct evolutionary ancestor of the wheel, the way wolves were the ancestors of modern dogs. Instead, it was one of the first ways that people got really familiar, in a hands-on way, with the idea that you can attach something round to a stick and use it to turn one kind of motion into another. Pottery wheels, which emerged a bit later, work on the same general principle.

“I don’t jump to saying, ‘Okay, spindle whorls are [cart] wheels,” Yashuv tells Ars. “In many studies of the invention of the wheel, they’re talking about sledges and all sorts of things that are focused on the function of transportation—which is correct. I’m just adding another layer: the foundation of the mechanical principle.”

Once that mechanical principle was firmly embedded in humanity’s collective stash of knowledge, it was a matter of time (a few thousand years) before people looked at animal-drawn sledges, then looked at their pottery wheels and spindles, and put two and two together and got a cart with wheels—or at least, that’s Yashuv’s hypothesis. She and Grosman aren’t the first to suggest something similar; early 20th-century archaeologist Gordon V. Childe suggested that most of the major inventions of the Industrial Revolution were just new applications of much older rotary devices.

on the left, a diagram of two hands using a drop spindle. On the right, a woman in a yellow shirt spins thread with a drop spindle. — Spinner Yonit Kristal tests a replica of a spindle from the 12,000-year-old village. Credit: Yashuv and Grosman 2024

A village of prehistoric innovators?

Exactly how long people have understood (and made use of) the whole circle-on-a-stick concept is still an open question. Nahal Ein-Gev II is the oldest site with evidence of drop spindles that archaeologists have found so far, but Yashuv says the villagers there probably weren’t the first to invent the concept. They just happened to make their spindle whorls out of rocks with holes drilled in them, leaving a clear trace in the archaeological record.

Modern spindle whorls are often made of wood—either a disc or an X-shaped pair of arms. The trouble with wood, especially in small pieces, is that it’s not very likely to survive thousands of years (although that’s not impossible), so wooden spindle whorls from a site as old as Nahal Ein-Gev II are invisible to archaeologists. In some cultures, spinners might even tie a rock (or even a potato—no joke) to the end of their fibers in lieu of a spindle. Those rocks lack the telltale drill holes that let Yashuv and Grosman recognize the stone spindle whorls at Nahal Ein-Gev II, so they’re also invisible to archaeologists; they just look like rocks. Nahal Ein-Gev II is just the oldest place that recognizable spindle whorls happen to have survived.

To invent the wheel, did people first have to invent the spindle? Read More »