In February 1938, during the construction of military works in the Sedes airfield in Thermi, Thessaloniki, a built cist tomb came to light — the so-called "Tomb Γ (Gamma)."
The tomb — "found untouched," as archaeologist N. Kotzias notably records — featured painted decoration on its interior and a wooden ceiling that is believed to have been lined with colorful fabric, likely decorated with stars, symbolizing a celestial sky for the tomb’s occupant: a young, wealthy woman, as inferred from her numerous and valuable grave goods, mostly jewelry.
Among these grave goods was a solid gold ring (inventory no. ΜΘ 5420), dated to 330–320 BCE, bearing an engraved depiction on its bezel: a seated woman leaning her head downward, gazing tenderly at the small child nursing in her arms. She is dressed in a sleeved chiton, a himation, and a head covering (sakkos), and is seated on a klismos — an elegant wooden chair with a low back and outward-curving legs. With her right hand, she holds the child, while with her left, she lifts its head toward her breast. The child is depicted nude, with short straight hair, suckling at her right breast and gently touching her left with its palm. Its size suggests it is not an infant.
Scenes of breastfeeding are quite rare in ancient Greek jewelry and somewhat more common in vase painting, on funerary relief stelae, and in figurines. Figurines depicting women nursing infants (of the “kourotrophos” type) appear in Greece as early as the Neolithic period, reflecting archetypes of affection and protection. What makes this particular gold ring exceptional is not only its subject matter but also the emotional intensity and expressive power of its miniature sculptural rendering. With remarkable skill, the ancient craftsman managed to carve —on a very small surface (measuring just 1.65 x 2.07 cm)— realistic details of the figure’s garment folds and jewelry, while also capturing with sensitivity the unique emotional quality of physical contact, love, and tenderness conveyed through the act of breastfeeding.
But who, in fact, is the nursing woman depicted on the ring? Does the scene portray a moment from everyday life, showing a loving mother or perhaps a wet nurse responsible for breastfeeding a child — a common practice in wealthy families? Or could this be a representation of a Kourotrophos (divine nurturer), a protector of children, a role often attributed to deities such as Artemis, Aphrodite, Eileithyia, Gaia, and others? We will likely never know, as the depiction lacks any identifying symbols that could reveal her true identity.
The ring bears scattered signs of use and wear — scratches, rounded edges, and other marks — indicating that it had certainly been worn for a long time before being placed in the tomb. If it did not belong to a relative or friend of the deceased who offered it as a posthumous gift to accompany her in her final resting place, then we may assume it was a personal ornament of the woman herself, worn during her lifetime. In that case, another question arises: did the ring’s imagery have a connection to the role and identity this woman held while alive? Was she, perhaps, a mother herself — or someone who longed to become one? Another question that will remain well hidden, like a secret, in the silence of the tomb.
The gold ring with inventory number ΜΘ 5420 can be seen in the permanent exhibition "The Gold of the Macedonians", display case 34.
